#jhyoos

You were a model—not a household name, not a face plastered on every billboard in Manhattan or Paris—but you walked. You moved. You made it somewhere. You’d been in a few Vogue spreads, dimly lit behind the star of the page. You’d walked Victoria’s Secret runways, wings stitched to your back like borrowed dreams. You weren’t the centerpiece, but you were there, shimmering in the glow of flashbulbs and eyes that didn't always see you.

As much as girls romanticized it—modeling was war. Polished smiles in front of the camera, but behind the scenes? It was elbows out, lips stitched shut. A competition of bone counts and measurements, where praise sounded like “you finally look thinner” and love came in the shape of hunger.

When you first started, your manager had you on diets so strict they felt like rituals—punishment masked as discipline. Celery sticks for breakfast, water for dinner, shame for dessert. There were nights when your body rebelled, when you’d throw everything up until your vision blurred and your ribs ached. You smiled anyway, because that’s what pretty girls did.

Then came the miracle.

Victoria’s Secret reached out. They wanted you—a new Angel. And God, you flew. You cried in the back of your Uber, mascara bleeding into your palms. When the official post dropped on their Instagram, your phone lit up like a Christmas tree. Follows. Blue checks. Brands. People cared.

And yet... people commented.

Under the glowing announcement, buried between the fire emojis and “she’s perfect,” came the venom. “She’s too thick to be an Angel.” “She doesn’t have the face for it.” “Bet she slept her way in.”

You told yourself not to look. You did anyway. You always did.

And you tried to brush it off. You liked the positive comments. You reposted the good ones. You told yourself the hate came with the fame. That it was just noise. But even angels have soft spots under their wings.

You weren’t famous-famous. You were known. Seen. Not always remembered. But in a world that wanted you to be skin and air, you were something real. And that, maybe, was enough.

Abby Anderson was everywhere.

Her face graced the cover of every major sports magazine—ESPN, Women’s Health, Boxing Monthly—always front and center, gloves slung over her shoulder like royalty, like muscle wrapped in silk. When competition season rolled around, her image lit up city billboards like neon prayers. Times Square. L.A. Live. Hell, even Tokyo had her gritted smile above the skyline.

She wasn’t just known—she was inevitable.

Her Instagram was a force of nature. Millions of followers, all eyes on her knuckles, her callouses, her workouts, her smirks. The caption could be two words—“Try me”—and it’d break the algorithm. Her fans called themselves the Anderson Army, flooding every comment section with love, awe, thirst. Her fights sold out in minutes. Pay-per-view numbers shattered records. Even people who didn’t watch boxing knew who she was.

Abby was a beast in the ring. Some called her a bull—not because she was reckless, but because she was unstoppable. Every match she walked into, she didn’t just win, she dominated. Her fists moved like poetry written in blunt force. Her footwork was tactical, brutal, almost unfair. Opponents fell before the second round like they knew what was coming.

And she looked damn good doing it.

Viral TikToks caught her mid-punch, sweat-glossed and godly, jawline sharp enough to cut diamonds. There were fan cams edited like music videos. Tweets that said, “Abby Anderson could knock me out and I’d say thank her.” Gym clips turned into thirst traps. She didn’t try to be hot—she just was.

She had the fame, the fans, the money, the muscles, the girls who lined up for a chance to be close. And her team? Top-tier. Nutritionists, trainers, publicists, stylists. Everything about her life looked like it was curated for a champion, and it was—because she earned it.

Every scar, every bruise, every early morning and broken rib—it paid off.

Abby Anderson had the world in a chokehold, and the world loved it.

Your friend was the kind of model who didn’t just walk runways—she owned them. Her name alone got invites to the most exclusive parties in the city, the kind of places where no phones were allowed but everyone knew everything that happened anyway. You were surprised when she asked you to be her plus-one.

“Please come,” she’d said, voice syrupy over the phone. “Some other friends are coming, but you're the only one who doesn’t drink. Help me make sober choices, yeah?”

You laughed softly but agreed. You couldn’t say no—not just because you cared, but because deep down, you wanted to see it. That other world. That forbidden, neon-lit underbelly of the elite.

She helped you pick out a dress, too—that dress. A black, sequined slip of a thing that clung to every curve like it had been sewn on with whispers. The neckline plunged like a dare, held up by the thinnest black straps. A small silver clasp cinched the cutout just beneath your chest, the only thing keeping the whole thing from unraveling completely. It was short—dangerously short—and it shimmered with every breath, every turn, catching the light like stars stuck to your skin. Paired with simple black heels and your hair down in soft waves, you looked like temptation bottled.

The party was already in full swing by the time you arrived.

It was hot—humid with bodies and bass, sweat and perfume clinging to the air. The kind of party where everyone was somebody. The room reeked of status, of secrecy. Celebrities you once idolized were tucked into dark corners, drinking like they were trying to forget their own names. Others were laughing too loudly, eyes glassy, pupils blown wide. The scent of weed, champagne, and something chemical lingered everywhere. A haze of smoke floated near the chandeliers like a ghost.

If only the paparazzi saw this. The unfiltered version of fame.

Your friend tugged you by the wrist to a booth she had rented out—elevated just enough to overlook the dance floor like a throne. You sat down, pressing your thighs together on the cold leather couch, the sequins of your dress crackling faintly. You nursed a single drink, barely sipping it as the others around you knocked shots back like water.

Laughter. Slurred voices. Someone snorted something off a phone screen. You stayed silent, posture poised, eyes scanning. Watching.

Eventually, your friend stood, swaying just a little. “I’m heading to the dance floor with them,” she said, already halfway gone.

You nodded, a little uneasy, but you understood. This was her scene.

Now it was just you. Sitting alone in a storm of sound and sweat, the only one not drunk, not high, not tangled up in the mess. Just quiet, calm, and breathtaking in your dress like a still frame inside a film reel spinning too fast.

You lasted longer than you thought you would—sitting pretty and still, the only clear head in a room full of beautiful chaos. But it was starting to crawl under your skin. The sound, the heat, the way the air felt like it was breathing you in. Your nerves were humming too loud for comfort. So, with a quiet sigh, you got up from the booth and decided to make your way to the bar.

Eyes followed you the moment you stood. Like hounds catching a scent.

You kept your gaze low, trying not to make contact. You weren’t here to mingle with the rich tweakers and chemically confident heirs of nothing. Every time someone tried to strike up a conversation, you gave them a single word—“No.” “Sorry.” “Taken.” Short. Sharp. Enough to cut without bleeding.

Then someone touched you.

A hand, too firm, closed around your arm. You stopped cold. Turned.

His face was familiar—he might’ve been in a movie, or maybe the son of someone who was. But his pupils were so wide they swallowed the color of his eyes, and the whites were streaked red like cracks in glass. He wasn’t just high. He was gone.

“Hey…” he slurred, breath sticky. “What you doing all alone?”

You flinched at his tone, at the sway of his body. Your stomach twisted, but you managed a polite, strained smile. “I’m not alone, sir. I’m here with my friends.”

“Mm,” he grinned, like he didn’t believe you. Like he didn’t care. He tugged your arm, pulling you closer like you were some party favor to unwrap.

Your heart skipped in fear and instinct—your fingers grabbed at your arm, trying to yank free.

“You got a boyfriend?” he asked, voice low and greasy.

“I—”

Before you could answer, you felt a heavy hand on your shoulder. Solid. Protective. Warm.

“Fuck off,” a deep voice growled behind you. “She’s with me.”

The guy froze. His hand dropped like he’d touched fire.

You turned your head—and there she was.

Abby Anderson.

She stood tall, her shadow swallowing the guy whole. Muscles carved into her like she’d been sculpted, not born. Her jaw clenched just enough to say try me. The air shifted. The guy muttered something, barely audible, then backed off into the crowd like a kicked dog.

You exhaled for what felt like the first time in minutes.

“Thank you so much,” you said, voice still shaky with adrenaline.

“No problem,” Abby replied, eyes steady on yours.

Then she looked you up and down—slowly, deliberately. Her gaze lingered at your dress, lips twitching in approval. “You want a drink?” she asked.

You nodded. “Yeah... I was on my way to the bar.”

“Perfect,” she said, her hand brushing your lower back. “Let’s go.”

The dance floor was a different world entirely—smoke in the air, lights strobing in pulses of red and gold, bodies packed so tight you could feel the music in your bones. It wasn’t dancing, not really. It was moving, grinding, existing too close and not close enough all at once.

Abby held your hand as she led you through the crowd like she knew exactly where to go. Her grip was firm, grounding. She stopped in the center, surrounded by heat and rhythm, and turned to face you with a look that was half playful, half something deeper.

You bit your lip. “So this is the part where you pretend to dance?”

Abby chuckled, hands already settling on your waist. “Nah. This is the part where I let you lead and pretend I’m doing something.”

The bass thumped through the floor, into your heels, your spine. You started slow, swaying your hips to the beat, your hands brushing up Abby’s chest to hook behind her neck. She followed your rhythm effortlessly, bodies pressed just enough to tease, but not quite enough to satisfy.

She was warm, solid, her scent sharp and clean beneath the smoke and sweat. Her gaze didn’t leave yours—not for a second. Not even when your thighs brushed, not even when your hips tilted forward in a soft, suggestive grind.

You felt her breath catch. Yours did too.

You tilted your head up, lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Still pretending?” you whispered.

“No,” she breathed. “Not anymore.”

Her hands slid down to your hips, pulling you flush against her. Every motion was slow and deliberate, like she was trying to memorize how you moved, how your body fit into hers.

Your hands were in her hair now, fingers threading through the strands as your mouth hovered near hers, your noses touching, foreheads brushing.

And then—

She kissed you.

Right there on the dance floor, under a flickering red light, while the whole room spun and bodies crashed around you. Her lips crashed into yours with a heat that left no room for second thoughts. It was messy and perfect, her mouth tasting like whiskey and victory. Her hand slid up your back, cradling the base of your neck like you were something precious, and the kiss deepened—tongues brushing, teeth grazing, everything hungry and real.

You kissed her like you were tired of pretending. Like the night belonged to you both and everyone else was just noise.

By the time you pulled away, breathless and dazed, her forehead was still pressed to yours, eyes half-lidded, lips slick from yours.

“Still wanna call it one dance?” you asked, voice husky.

She smirked, lips brushing yours again. “Nah. I’m not done with you yet.”

“Come with me,” she murmured, her voice like gravel and silk.

She took your hand again—firmer this time—and pulled you through the crowd. Past the dancers. Past the bar. You barely noticed where you were going, but when she pushed open the heavy black door and the cool tile of the upscale bathroom greeted your heels, it hit you—

This wasn’t gonna be a quiet conversation.

The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the chaos outside. The room was dim, bathed in golden light from crystal fixtures on the walls. Too pretty a place for what was about to happen.

You turned around to face her, but Abby was already close again, crowding into your space in the most delicious way. Her hands found your hips, then slid around to your lower back, pulling you against her like she needed you there.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” she whispered, leaning down, lips brushing over your jaw. “Walking around like that in that little black dress…”

Your breath caught as her mouth ghosted along your skin—cheek to jaw to neck.

“I didn’t know I’d catch a boxer’s attention,” you teased, voice barely steady.

Abby’s teeth scraped lightly against your throat, just enough to make your knees wobble.

“You caught a lot more than that,” she growled. “You think I was just gonna let you sit there alone, looking like that? Not a chance.”

Her lips met yours again, but this time it was rougher—needy. Her hands explored your back, your sides, fingers grazing bare skin as she pushed you gently until your back hit the cool tile wall. The contrast made you gasp, and she took full advantage, deepening the kiss like she owned your mouth, like she’d waited too long already.

Your hands were in her hair again, tugging gently, nails dragging along her scalp. She groaned into your mouth, one hand sliding down to your thigh—lifting it so it rested against her hip.

You moaned softly as the pressure between you built, your bodies locked together in this stolen moment of heat and hunger and want.

“Say the word,” she breathed against your lips, her hand hovering, waiting.

“I want this,” you whispered. “I want you.”

That was all she needed.

Her lips brushed yours—not a kiss yet, just the idea of one. Soft enough to make your breath catch. Her nose nudged yours, foreheads touching. You could smell her—warm and clean beneath the sweat and cologne, with a faint trace of whiskey still on her breath.

Her hand slid up your thigh, knuckles grazing the hem of your dress. “This is driving me insane,” she whispered. “You in this little thing, walking around like you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

You grinned, high on the rush. “Maybe I do.”

Abby groaned, a low sound in the back of her throat that lit you up from the inside out. Her mouth met yours in a kiss that melted all the air between you. Her lips were soft but firm, her hand gripping your waist, dragging you into her as if she couldn’t bear even an inch of space left untouched.

You whimpered into her mouth when she pressed you harder into the wall, thigh slipping between yours, nudging upward with steady pressure.

“You’re already warm,” she whispered against your lips, voice thick and ragged. “And fuck—you’re shaking.”

You were. It wasn’t fear. It was anticipation, trembling like your body already knew what was coming.

Her hands moved with purpose—sliding up your sides, over your ribs, finding the zipper of your dress and pausing. “Can I?” she asked, voice low.

You nodded.

The zipper purred down, slow and deliberate, as cool air kissed the skin of your back. Your dress slipped from your shoulders like it was made to fall. Abby let it, guiding it down your arms until it pooled around your feet.

The way she looked at you then—

Like she was starving. Like you were everything.

Her hands roamed up your thighs, trailing goosebumps in their wake. Her palms were rough, used to wrapping around gloves and landing punches, but they touched you like silk. Her fingers splayed across your stomach, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra as she leaned in and kissed the base of your throat—slow, reverent.

“You’re unreal,” she murmured against your skin.

You tilted your head back, a soft moan escaping you as her lips traveled down your collarbone, every kiss a promise, every pause a test of restraint. She took her time, building you up with touches and kisses so gentle you felt like you were going to come apart before she even got there.

She dropped to her knees, lips ghosting over your stomach now, her hands gripping your thighs again. You looked down at her—this powerhouse of a woman, a boxer with bruised knuckles and fire in her eyes—kneeling for you, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Abby…”

“I got you,” she whispered. “I want to take care of you.”

And the way she said that?

It didn’t sound like a pick-up line.

It sounded like a promise.

Her mouth pressed a kiss to your hipbone. Then another. Then lower.

You threaded your fingers into her hair, back arching as you felt her breath where you needed her most, every nerve ending screaming awake, your whole body aching for her.

When her mouth finally met your skin, hot and slow and deliberate, you gasped—and that was when you stopped thinking altogether.

You were hers. In this moment. In this heat.

Your breath hitched, when you felt her mouth on your heat, exploring you.

She picked up on every whine you made in certain spots and attacked them with her tongue.

"Fuck you're so sweet," she mumbled against you which made up moan.

She was slow, at first. torturously soft licks and kisses on your clit that made your knees buckle. Then deeper—pressing and sucking in a rhythm that felt otherworldly. You gripped her hair, fingers tangling in her golden strands, moaning shamelessly as she devoured you like it was the only thing she needed to survive.

She worked you open like a prizefighter dissecting her opponent—calculated, relentless, skilled. She knew exactly when to add pressure, when to ease up, when to slide her two thick fingers inside you and curl them just right, making you yell out her name in pleasure.

She sucked on your clit as she continued to finger you. The sound of your arousal filled the bathroom as she fingered you. "Fuck Abby," you moaned out.

The sound of your voice moaning out her name only made her more determined to make you cum. Her fingers got faster and your moans only got louder.

You heard loud knocks on the bathroom door and a few voices, but that didnt stop Abby as you grew closer to your climax.

Abby pulled her mouth away and stood, her fingers still inside of you as she kept a steady pace. Her thumb rubbing your abused and swollen clit making you tremble. She used her other hand to grab your throat, gripping it with just enough pressure. "Are you gonna cum?," she whispered.

"Yes...fuck yes. I'm so close," you whined.

"Be a good girl and cum all over my fingers," she commands.

After a few more pumps of her fingers inside of your cunt. You came and hard. Abby kissed you muffling your moans as she slowed her pace, helping you calm down from your high.

The silence after the storm was thick and golden.

Your chest was rising and falling fast, dress wrinkled and hanging low on your hips, hair a wild halo around your flushed face.

You both stayed like that for a few heartbeats—no words, just the sound of your breathing and the muted thump of the party outside, miles away from the moment you were in.

Then, slowly, Abby's big hands gently slid up your sides.

“You good?” she asked, voice hoarse and low, her thumb brushing along your jaw.

You nodded, still breathless. “Yeah,” you murmured, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. “Very good.”

She let out a soft laugh, something cocky and proud warming her expression. “Yeah? Scale of one to ten?”

You leaned back against the wall, eyes twinkling. “Ten. Maybe eleven.”

“Damn right,” she said, grinning now, stepping behind you to pull the straps of your dress back over your shoulders.

Her fingers moved deftly, pulling the zipper up in a slow, smooth line that sent a fresh shiver down your spine.

Then you turned around to face her and—

“Oh my God,” you giggled, pressing a hand to your mouth.

“What?” Abby blinked, instantly alert. “Did I mess up the zipper?”

“No,” you said, biting your lip to stop from laughing. “You’ve got lipstick all over your mouth. Like… everywhere. You look like you fought a tube of MAC and lost.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That bad?”

You nodded, laughing now, reaching up to wipe her face gently with your thumb. “You look ridiculous. Hot, but ridiculous.”

Abby grinned, totally unfazed. “Badge of honor.”

Then—bam bam bam—a sudden knock on the bathroom door, followed by the obnoxious giggle of some drunk stranger.

“Yo, hurry up in there! We gotta piss!”

Abby rolled her eyes and looked at you with a smirk. “And just like that… the moment’s gone.”

You both burst out laughing, quietly, like a shared secret. She reached for the door handle, pausing just before she opened it.

“You wanna get outta here?” she asked. “We can go somewhere quieter. Talk. Or… not talk.”

You tilted your head, smiling soft, still feeling the fire she left behind glowing low in your belly.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’d like that.”

The bathroom door swung open and the two of you stepped out, back into the chaos.

The music hit first—thick, heavy, vibrating through your chest. Then came the blur of heat, perfume, weed, strobe lights flickering off mirrored walls. People pressed in from every side, some dancing, some spilling drinks, all of them moving like they were floating through honey.

But you weren’t really paying attention to any of it—your focus was still wrapped around Abby, your skin still buzzing where she touched you.

Then—

“Baaaaabe!” your friend slurred, suddenly appearing from the crowd like a glittering, unhinged fairy. Her dress was sliding off one shoulder and her mascara had migrated halfway down her cheek, but she was grinning ear to ear, holding a bottle of something pink and dangerous.

She threw her arms around you in a sloppy hug. “We’re leaaavinggg,” she declared, then looked up at you with wide eyes. “I want Whataburger. Like now.”

You blinked. “You’re hungry?”

“I’m starviiing,” she drawled, stumbling a little in her platforms. “I want fries. And a honey butter chicken biscuit. And you’re drivinggg.”

Of course. You should’ve known. Mom friend mode: activated.

You turned back to Abby, who stood there watching you with that low smirk that made your knees weak. Her hair was tousled now, lips wiped clean, but her eyes still held that same heat from the bathroom. That want.

You hesitated. “I’m sorry,” you said, stepping closer, keeping your voice low. “I gotta take care of her. But I’ll—um—I’ll add you on Instagram. And we can text. Set something up. Soon.”

Abby nodded, the smirk shifting into something softer. “Yeah,” she said. “I’ll be waiting. Don’t leave me on read.”

You smiled, heart fluttering a little. “I won’t.”

And even though it wasn’t a kiss goodbye, there was something electric in the way your eyes lingered on each other just a second too long, like the universe wasn’t done with this yet.

Then your friend yanked on your hand. “WHATABURGER, BITCH.”

You laughed, throwing one last look over your shoulder at Abby before diving into the crowd, one arm wrapped around your intoxicated bestie, guiding her like a lighthouse through a sea of chaos.

Your phone buzzed in your purse.

A follow request from Abby Anderson.

Your friend was still tearing up her Whataburger like it was a competition and she was winning gold. Honey butter chicken biscuit? Gone. Fries? Vanishing. Drink? Half-empty and clutched in her glittered claws like she was fighting dehydration and heartbreak.

You? You were in another world, sipping your diet coke and staring at your phone like it had just whispered something sinful.

[1 notification] abbytheanderson sent you a follow request.

You blinked. Already? You hadn’t even left the damn parking lot. She was good.

You tapped accept, and no lie—your stomach flipped like it was performing stunts. Not even thirty seconds later, another buzz.

abbytheanderson 🥊: hey beautiful

You bit down on a smile, typing back before your brain could overthink it.

you: hey you :)

Buzz.

abbytheanderson 🥊: couldn’t let you disappear like that. you left me wanting more.

You swore your pulse skipped. This woman had a black belt in flirting.

you: good thing you found me then

abbytheanderson 🥊: definitely. hey, random—but you free this weekend?

Your heart sped up. You took a quick sip of your drink to cool down your face, fingers dancing over the keyboard.

you: yeah, i think so. why?

abbytheanderson 🥊: there’s a film showcase downtown. some sports doc screening, bunch of celebs. got an invite +1, and i figured it might be more fun with you.

A movie showcase. That was not casual. That was dress up, flashbulbs, maybe a red carpet territory. Your stomach turned into champagne bubbles.

you: you want me to be your date?

abbytheanderson 🥊: unless you’ve got another famous boxer in your dms rn 👀

You laughed into your drink.

you: nope. just the hottest one.

abbytheanderson 🥊: damn right. i’ll pick you up saturday. wear something that’ll make me stare the whole night.

You locked your phone with a sigh, brain short-circuiting. Your bestie looked up from her fries with ketchup on her cheek.

“Why do you look like you just got proposed to?”

You smiled into your straw. “I’ve got a date.”

Your best friend stood behind you, clutching a makeup brush like it was a wand. "Sit still or I’m gonna make your winged liner look like a lightning bolt."

You giggled, sipping your iced coffee while she dabbed a warm highlight onto your cheekbones. “If Abby sees me and combusts, I blame you.”

She winked. “That’s the goal.”

The dress was hanging up on the door like it needed its own spotlight.

It was the dress—like Aphrodite and red carpet royalty had a baby and named her “divine.” A shimmering champagne gold that sparkled under even the faintest light, clinging to your curves like it was sculpted just for your body. The fabric was sheer but layered in all the right places, ruched along the hips and gathered at the waist in a delicate knot that accentuated everything. Strapless and sensual, the neckline cupped your chest softly and dipped into a subtle sweetheart shape, drawing the eye upward—no necklace needed, just collarbones and confidence.

The choker was a sheer mesh ribbon, soft and romantic, tied in the back like a little secret. And in your hand? A small velvet clutch that looked like luxury.

"Okay," your friend said, stepping back and crossing her arms like a proud stylist. "You look like you're about to walk into a movie and walk out with the star."

You turned to the mirror and exhaled. You looked… expensive. Golden. Ethereal.

And somewhere out there, Abby Anderson was probably trying to tie a tie and not think about your lips.

“Okay,” you said, smoothing your dress down, trying not to ruin your makeup by grinning too hard. “Let’s go melt her brain.”

The car door clicked shut behind you, heels clicking on the pavement like your own entrance music. The showcase was already buzzing—paparazzi lights flashing in bursts, guests in tailored designer looks pouring into the venue like liquid silk and velvet. Your driver looped back around, and your friend gave you a quick squeeze on the hand.

“You got this. Go make that boxer wish she had a mouthguard.”

You grinned, rolling your eyes and walking toward the entrance, that golden dress shimmering with every step like you were dipped in honey and starfire. The fabric clung just enough to whisper with movement, catching the camera flashes even when they weren’t aimed at you. Heads turned. People stared. And somewhere near the doors—

She saw you.

Abby was standing near the carpet, talking to some guy in a sports jacket, but the second her eyes landed on you? Conversation dead. Her jaw? Slightly dropped. Like someone had just uppercut her with Cupid’s fist.

She looked… good. Too good. A tailored black suit, no tie, but the first two buttons of her shirt open to show a bit of her collarbone and that stupidly strong chest. Her hair slicked back like she stepped off a Vogue Homme cover, one hand in her pocket, the other holding a drink she no longer remembered existed.

You saw her lips move—"Holy shit."

You floated up to her like you were gliding, heels clicking like punctuation to her stunned silence.

“Hey,” you said, giving her a smile that would’ve won wars. “I clean up alright, huh?”

“‘Alright’?” Abby shook her head slowly, eyes never leaving you, and damn if there wasn’t a glint of something primal in them. “You look like a damn goddess.”

You blushed, biting your lip just a little. “Not bad for a plus-one?”

“I’m upgrading your title. You’re the main event now.”

She reached out, offering you her arm like some old Hollywood gentleman, but the smirk on her face was all Abby—cocky, smooth, a little dangerous.

You took it.

The two of you walked the carpet together, and the cameras noticed. Photographers subtly turned toward the tall boxer and the glowing mystery girl on her arm. Whispers floated like perfume: “Is that Abby Anderson’s date?” “Who is she?” “She looks like a star.”

Inside, the lights were dimmer, the ambiance expensive and dramatic—velvet seats, champagne trays, and a giant screen waiting for the showcase to begin. Abby guided you to your seats, but not without sneaking glances at you like you were illegal and she wanted to get arrested.

“So,” she murmured, leaning close once you were seated. “What are the odds I get you to be my plus-one again? I was thinking… a real date. One with dessert and less paparazzi.”

You looked at her, still glowing from the lights, the crowd, the adrenaline.

“I’d say the odds are pretty high,” you whispered back.

She grinned, and you swore your stomach did a little backflip.

The movie hadn’t even started, but you already felt like you were living in one.

The afterparty was on the rooftop of the venue—elevators opening to golden lights strung like constellations, sleek white lounges, and a panoramic view of the city glittering below like a spilled jewelry box. The music was mellow, expensive-sounding. People sipped cocktails like they were made of stardust and name-dropped producers like prayers.

Abby got swept into a circle of suits and sharp smiles, people clapping her on the back, toasting to her latest win, asking questions with ulterior motives. She smiled through it, charming without trying, but you could feel her eyes flick to you every few minutes.

You wandered off to the ledge, the wind teasing your hair, your dress still glowing faintly under the rooftop lights. You leaned your elbows on the glass railing, the city stretching out like a promise, the hum of nightlife pulsing below you like a heartbeat.

Your drink was cold in your hand, but your skin still buzzed from earlier—her arm on yours, the way she looked at you like you were art in motion.

“Hey.”

Her voice came soft behind you, lower now, free of the public version of herself. You turned and found her there, hands in her pockets, her suit jacket open just enough to make your pulse trip.

“You done charming the VIPs?” you teased.

She gave a low chuckle, stepping up beside you. “They were boring as hell. I missed this view.”

You raised a brow. “The skyline?”

“No,” she said without hesitation, her eyes dragging down your profile like a caress. “You.”

That earned her a quiet laugh from you, heat rushing up your neck. “You’re really laying it on tonight, huh?”

“I’m just saying what I’m thinking.” Her shoulder brushed yours. “So… what do you do when you’re not breaking hearts in golden dresses?”

You hesitated for a second, still looking out at the city. “I model. Victoria’s Secret.”

That made her blink. “Wait—seriously?”

You nodded, a little sheepish. “I mean… I’m not like, one of those Angels. I’m usually backup. Fill-ins. Commercial stuff. They don’t exactly put me on billboards in Times Square.”

Abby looked at you for a long moment, her head tilted. “That’s wild.”

“What is?”

“That there are people out there who didn’t put you on a billboard. I’d hang a photo of you in every damn room of my house.”

You turned to her with a laugh, playful and warm. “Wow, romantic and a little bit stalker-y. Impressive.”

She grinned, closing the small space between you. “Tell me where the line is, and I’ll try not to cross it.”

You looked at her. Really looked. The city lights caught in her eyes, and something about her felt safe even in the middle of all this chaos. You smiled, heart softening.

“There’s no line,” you murmured.

Abby’s smile shifted, gentler now. She looked at you like you were something to be unwrapped slowly. “Then I’ll keep standing right here.”

You turned toward her fully now, leaning your hip against the railing, one hand cradling your glass while the other played with the condensation on the side. The wind tugged gently at the fabric of your dress, making it shimmer even more in the light. Abby was looking at you like you were unreal, but she blinked when you spoke, brought back to the present.

“So…” you tilted your head, curiosity playing in your voice. “Why boxing?”

That made her smile, and not the kind she gave the higher-ups—this one was smaller, more personal, like a story lived too long in her chest.

She shrugged a little. “I used to watch it on TV with my dad. Every Saturday night. He was always busy at the hospital, but when there was a fight on, we were synced. Like… we got each other.”

You nodded softly, listening.

“I started wrestling in school—figured it was the closest I could get. Got recruited, did alright. But it never felt like mine, y’know? Then I tried boxing. First time I landed a punch clean, everything clicked. I was like—this is it. This is the fire.”

You bit your lip, something warm blooming in your chest. There was a sparkle in her eyes now, not from the city lights, but from the weight of meaning behind her words. Passion always looked good on people—but on Abby? It was devastating.

“That’s hot,” you said, softly but truthfully. “Like, actually hot. You knowing who you are like that.”

She huffed a little laugh, rubbing the back of her neck, suddenly sheepish. “You’re the first person I’ve told that to in a while.”

You shrugged, eyes twinkling. “Well… you picked the right person. I’m an excellent secret-keeper. They don’t let just anyone model underwear, you know.”

That made her grin wide, her eyes roaming your face like she was trying to memorize it. “You really gonna keep talking like that and not expect me to kiss you again?”

Your breath caught a little, heartbeat fluttering as the tension curled tighter between you like a string pulled taut.

“I mean,” you whispered, leaning in just an inch, “I wouldn’t be mad if you did.”

She didn’t rush. Abby leaned forward slowly, giving you time to pull away if you wanted—but you didn’t. You leaned in, too, until your lips met in a soft, barely-there kiss. Not like the heated one from the club. This one was warm and lingering, like a question you already knew the answer to.

When you finally pulled back, both of you smiling, you rested your head lightly against her shoulder, looking back out at the glittering skyline.

“So…” you murmured, “You planning on knocking anyone out tonight, champ?”

She smirked. “Only if they try to take you from me.”

The car ride back was quiet in a good way. Abby drove with one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally brushing your thigh like she just had to remind herself you were really there. The city outside the window melted by in a blur of neon and soft shadows, and the gentle beat of the music wrapped around you like a lullaby.

By the time you reached your apartment, the air had cooled down to a soft breeze, lifting the hem of your dress and brushing over your skin like a whisper. Abby parked and got out before you could even reach for the door handle. She walked you to your door like a proper date, her hands in her pockets, her steps slow—like she didn’t want the night to end just yet.

You turned to face her at your door, heels clicking softly against the concrete. “Thank you for tonight,” you said, your voice warm and low, your smile a little sleepy but no less sincere.

Abby looked down at you with that easy grin of hers, one side of her mouth curling higher than the other. “No problem, angel,” she murmured. The nickname settled on your skin like velvet, making your cheeks heat in the soft moonlight.

You turned to unlock your door, keys jingling—but something stopped you. A quiet little nudge in your chest. You turned back around, heart kicking up a notch. She looked surprised at first when you stepped toward her, but she didn’t ask questions.

You leaned in and kissed her.

This one was slower. Softer. There wasn’t any club music thudding behind you this time, no crowd, no chaos. Just the two of you and the buzz of the porch light. Her lips tasted like the mint gum she always chewed, yours like sweet gloss and maybe a little bit of stardust.

When you finally pulled away, her eyes fluttered open like she’d been floating somewhere far off.

She smirked and licked her lips, clearly feeling the gloss residue.

You laughed quietly, hand brushing her chest as you stepped back toward the door. “I put on just lip gloss this time… so it’s not hard to take off.”

She grinned, something a little cocky flickering behind her lashes. “You planned that?”

You winked. “Maybe.”

“Smart girl,” she murmured, biting her bottom lip before taking a slow step back. “I’ll text you when I get home.”

You nodded, your fingers resting on the doorframe, reluctant to let the night end. “Okay. Drive safe.”

“Always do,” she said, and then—one last look, one last smirk—she turned and walked back toward her car, the night gently folding around her.

You leaned against the door with a quiet exhale, smiling to yourself like a fool.

"Jayce… don’t piss me off," you mumbled groggily, swatting at the air as you turned away from the light creeping in through the curtains. Your brother had this awful habit of waking you up early, and this time, it was no different. You groaned as you felt the edge of his foot on your nightstand, a clear sign that he wasn’t planning to leave until you gave him the attention he craved.

"Please, sis. Just tell me if they go good with my outfit. It's my junior year. I gotta look fresh," Jayce said, his voice high-pitched and over-the-top, just the way it always was when he was seeking validation.

You blinked open one eye, then the other, squinting up at him. The sight of his goofy grin—complete with his messy hair—did nothing to help the headache that was already forming. He was holding a pair of sneakers in one hand, his new must-have shoes for the school year.

You rubbed your eyes and sighed, giving him the most unimpressed look you could muster. "Yeah, Jayce. You look good," you said flatly, trying to roll over and go back to sleep.

But Jayce, of course, wasn’t done. He let out an exaggerated sigh and plopped down on the edge of your bed, his body taking up far too much space. "Don’t go back to sleep, c’mon! It’s your first day here at ASU. You gotta make a statement," he said, wiggling his eyebrows, clearly proud of his well-meaning, annoying attempt to motivate you.

You cracked open an eye again, giving him a deadpan stare. "I don’t want to hear it, Jayce. You’re lucky I’m even awake right now."

Jayce chuckled, nudging you lightly with his foot. "Get up, you lazy bum. I need to know if this shirt works with my new kicks or not. It’s important!"

You sighed, sitting up slowly, still trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. Looking at him—his eager face, his ridiculous outfit—wasn’t helping your mood. You glanced at his sneakers, then his shirt, then his whole vibe. Jayce looked like he was trying way too hard to impress everyone on his first day back. He had his typical “I’m cool” swagger on display, and you weren’t sure if you should laugh or just roll your eyes harder.

"Yeah, Jayce. You look good," you muttered, not really caring but knowing that was the answer he wanted to hear.

Jayce leaned in closer, his face inches from yours, all dramatic as he asked, "Really? I mean, really? You sure about that? ‘Cause I need you to be my fashion consultant today."

You shook your head, not even bothering to reply to his antics. You were too tired for this. But he wasn’t backing down. He was, after all, Jayce—a master at annoying people to no end.

"Don’t make me get Mom on the phone, you know she’s got the best opinions," he teased, but you could hear the hint of excitement in his voice. He wasn’t just annoying you for attention; he genuinely seemed to need your approval.

You shot him a glare. "If you don’t stop, I’ll tell Mom you’ve been wearing the same pair of socks for two days."

Jayce’s grin faltered, just for a second, before he playfully shoved your shoulder. "Low blow, sis. Low blow."

Finally, you could hear him sigh in defeat. "Fine. I’m leaving, I’m leaving. Get up, though! Or I swear, I’ll drag you out of bed myself."

You stared at him as he got up and headed toward the door, but not without another remark. "Oh, and don't even think about that raggedy bus today. We’re taking my car. And you're making a statement whether you like it or not."

The door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment, there was silence—glorious silence.

You glanced at the time on your phone. 5:47 AM. With a groan, you threw the covers off and rolled out of bed.

The thought of the first day at ASU made your stomach churn with nerves, but you couldn't show it. Not after all the teasing and endless talk of “making a statement” from your brother. You needed to at least pretend like you had it all together. So, with a loud sigh, you shuffled into the bathroom for a shower, hoping the cold water would wake you up enough to deal with the day ahead.

As you stood under the stream of water, you tried to clear your head. You'd never been one for drama, but here you were, starting college at one of the most prestigious schools in the country. It was supposed to be exciting. New people, new opportunities, new everything. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were stepping into something much bigger than you were ready for.

Still, there was no turning back now.

You had spent your freshman and sophomore years in Italy, a place you quickly grew to love. It was a dream come true—walking cobblestone streets, sipping espresso in tiny cafes, and studying architecture and art history in a country that felt alive with culture and tradition. At first, you were nervous about being so far from home, but Italy embraced you with open arms, and soon, it felt more like home than your actual home ever had.

The plan had been simple: you would study abroad, and Jayce would come with you. Your mom had made it clear that he had the option to join you. “Think about it,” your mom had said, “two years of sibling bonding while experiencing a whole new world.” But, of course, Jayce had shrugged it off.

"Pass," he'd said without hesitation. "All my friends are here. Plus, who's gonna keep the soccer team alive without me?"

You’d rolled your eyes when he said it, but deep down, his refusal stung. He didn’t even consider it. And as much as you hated to admit it, part of you had wanted him there. Sure, he was annoying and constantly in your space, but he was also your big brother—the one who always knew how to make you laugh when you were stressed, the one who looked out for you when no one else did. Without him, you felt a little more alone than you were ready to admit.

But Italy had been a journey all its own. You’d found your rhythm there, made lifelong friends, and grown in ways you never expected. You learned to navigate bustling markets in Florence, spent lazy afternoons sketching by the canals in Venice, and even picked up enough Italian to argue with locals over gelato flavors. It wasn’t just a study abroad experience; it was a transformation.

Then, two years flew by faster than you thought they would. And just like that, it was time to say goodbye to everything you’d built in Italy. The narrow alleyways you knew like the back of your hand, the corner cafe where the barista always greeted you with a warm "Ciao, bella," and the friends who had become family. It wasn’t easy leaving it all behind, but the opportunity to finish your degree at home on a full-ride scholarship was too good to pass up.

There was one silver lining to returning home: Ekko. Your best friend since middle school. He’d been the one constant in your life before you left for Italy, and as much as you loved your new friends abroad, no one quite compared to Ekko. He was like a brother to you, but cooler than Jayce ever could be—not that you’d ever tell Jayce that to his face.

Ekko was in ASU with a full ride scholarship majoring in Engineering, balancing school with being on the soccer team alongside Jayce. The two of them had always been close, despite being complete opposites. Jayce was loud, confident, and always seeking the spotlight, while Ekko was more laid-back and analytical, content to let his skills speak for themselves. The idea of seeing them again—especially Ekko—was one of the few things keeping you grounded as you prepared to face New York after two years away.

After your last class wrapped up, you decided to head over to the campus coffee shop to grab something to eat. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods hit you as soon as you walked in. You ordered an iced coffee and a bagel sandwich before making your way outside, where small tables with umbrellas dotted the courtyard.

Finding an empty table near the edge of the patio, you set your things down and took a seat. The campus buzzed around you as students chatted or hurried to their next destination. Sipping your coffee, you opened your book and began reading while occasionally taking bites of your sandwich.

As you lost yourself in the story, two hands suddenly grabbed your shoulders, making you jolt and nearly drop your sandwich. Your head whipped around, your heart racing, only to be met with a familiar face—Ekko.

“Holy—Ekko!” you exclaimed, standing up with a wide grin.

He laughed, his grin just as big as yours. “Surprise!”

Without hesitation, you threw your arms around him, hugging him tightly. “I missed you so much,” you said, your voice muffled against his shoulder.

“Missed you too,” Ekko said, his arms wrapping around you firmly. After a moment, he pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders as he took a good look at you.

You twirled around dramatically, giving him a full view of your outfit. His brows shot up in surprise as he took it all in. “Damn… Italy changed you in more ways than one. What happened to my (Y/N) who wore oversized hoodies and partied like a rockstar every other weekend?”

You smirked, crossing your arms. “She’s dead, but I still love a good party,” you quipped.

Ekko leaned casually against the wall, his arms crossed and a playful smirk on his face. “There’s gonna be a first-day bonfire tonight. Good music, new faces, and…” he paused for effect, “…Caitlyn Kiramman, the cheer captain, might be there. You could ask her about whether there’s a chance you’re on the team since you submitted that video for tryouts.”

Your face lit up with excitement. “You always come in clutch,” you said with a grin. “Only if you’re taking me, though.”

Ekko shook his head, his smirk turning into a sheepish grin. “Can’t. I’ve got a date for the bonfire.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Aw, really? Who’s the lucky girl?”

“A girl named Jinx. She’s in most of my classes. Thought she was cute, so I asked her out,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal. “She surprisingly said yes.”

“Surprisingly?” you teased, folding your arms and leaning toward him. “Please, Ekko, you’ve got more game than you think. Good for you, seriously.”

He chuckled, his cheeks dusted with a hint of pink. “Thanks, I guess. What about you? Got your eye on any girls here yet?”

You grinned mischievously, your voice dripping with confidence. “Always.”

Ekko leaned in slightly, his eyebrows raised. “Oh, really?” he asked teasingly.

“Yup. Vi,” you said with no hesitation. “She’s really hot—pink hair, tattoos on her back. God, I would love to take a ride on h—”

“Oh, fuck no,” Ekko interrupted, his voice sharp as his expression shifted to something between disbelief and warning.

You blinked, startled by his sudden tone. “What?!”

Ekko groaned, running a hand down his face. “She’s a player, (Y/N). I should know. She’s on the soccer team with Jayce. Don’t mess with her—you’ll get hurt. Real shit.”

You frowned, confused by his sudden seriousness. “What are you talking about? She seemed fine when I talked to her earlier.”

He pushed off the wall and crossed his arms again, his expression dark. “I’ve seen it happen. She’s got game, yeah, but not the kind you want. I don’t like the way she moves. I used to hang out with her, but I stopped for a reason. The only time I’m even around her is when Jayce is.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Okay, but maybe she’s different now.”

Ekko narrowed his eyes at you, unimpressed. “Look, I’m just saying—don’t let her mess with your head, (Y/N). You’re better than that. Just…be careful, okay?”

You rolled your eyes, though a small part of you appreciated his concern. “Fine, Dad.”

When you got home, Ekko’s warning was the last thing on your mind. Vi was texting you, and there was no way you were going to ignore her. She was too hot not to respond to. Balancing your bag on your shoulder and your coffee cup in one hand, you pushed the door shut with your foot. As soon as the door clicked behind you, you checked your phone again, a grin spreading across your face as you read her latest message.

Heading upstairs, you scrolled through the playful back-and-forth between you and Vi, feeling giddy. The attention she was giving you was addictive. You were so lost in the conversation that you didn’t notice Jayce stepping out of the bathroom until you nearly bumped into him.

He stood there with a towel slung around his waist, droplets of water still clinging to his skin. He raised an eyebrow as he noticed the stupid grin on your face. “The fuck are you smiling about, dopey?” he teased, crossing his arms over his chest. “You look a little too gay right now.”

You rolled your eyes and brushed past him. “Ha, ha, hilarious,” you muttered, holding your phone a little closer as you tried to move toward your room.

But Jayce wasn’t going to let it go. He reached over and snatched the phone right out of your hand.

“Jayce! What the fuck!” you yelped, spinning around and reaching for it.

Jayce held it out of your reach, laughing as he glanced at the screen. But his laughter quickly died when he saw the name at the top of the conversation. His eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “You’re fucking around with Vi?” he asked, his tone dripping with judgment.

“It’s the first day, so not yet, clearly,” you snapped, grabbing your phone back with an irritated glare.

Before you could retreat to your room, Jayce stepped in front of you, blocking your path. His expression shifted to something more serious, almost protective. “Whatever you’re doing with her, stop. She’s a close friend of mine, and she gets around, (Y/N). It’ll be awkward as hell, and on top of that, I’m not trying to get embarrassed by you.”

You rolled your eyes, brushing past him. “Whatever,” you muttered dismissively, though his words stung.

Jayce didn’t move from where he stood, following you with his eyes as you turned toward the stairs. “Hey, wait. Are you going to the bonfire tonight?”

You stopped and turned to face him. “Yeah, Ekko has a date, so I need a ride. Can you take me? Mom and Dad still haven’t gotten me a car yet, so I’m stuck.”

Jayce shook his head immediately, folding his arms again. “Oh, you’re not going. No way. Vi’s gonna be there, and that’s officially off fucking limits.”

Your jaw dropped in disbelief. “What? What the fuck, Jayce! I can’t even go socialize?”

Jayce gave you a hard look. “You’re not going to socialize, (Y/N). I know how you are when it comes to alcohol and…other shit. Or do I need to call Mom and tell her you need to go back to Italy after I let you relapse?”

His words hit you like a slap. Your stomach dropped as anger flared in your chest, and your eyes burned with unshed tears. “Fuck you, Jayce,” you said, your voice trembling with a mix of rage and hurt. “What a low blow.”

You yanked your arm out of his grip and stormed up the stairs, slamming your bedroom door shut behind you. You locked it for good measure, leaning against it as hot tears began to roll down your cheeks.

Outside the door, Jayce’s voice softened, guilt creeping into his tone. “Wait, sis… I didn’t mean it seriously,” he said, knocking lightly.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t even look at him right now.

When it became clear you weren’t going to answer, Jayce sighed. “Let me know if you want anything to eat when I get back,” he said quietly before walking away. The sound of his footsteps faded down the hall, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

While you sat on your bed, still upset over the argument with Jayce, your phone buzzed. You glanced at it, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw it was a text from Vi.

Vi: Are you coming to the bonfire party? I wanna see you.

You hesitated for a moment before typing back.

You: Can’t. My brother’s not letting me go. And I don’t have a car. He was my only ride.

Her reply came almost instantly.

Vi: Well, I have a car. Give me your location and get ready. I’ll pick you up, beautiful.

A grin spread across your face despite everything, and you quickly sent her your location. Tossing your phone onto the bed, you sprang up and went straight to your closet. You scanned your options until you finally settled on a black fitted mini-dress paired with, a denim jacket draped off your shoulders, and chunky black boots. The look was edgy yet flirty—perfect for a night out.

You glanced in the mirror and realized your makeup was a mess from crying. Grabbing a makeup wipe, you cleaned up the smudges, reapplying your eyeliner and lipstick carefully. After smoothing out your hair and giving yourself one last look-over, your phone buzzed again.

“I’m parked outside the complex,” the text read.

“Shit,” you muttered, scrambling to find a cute bag. You tossed your phone, keys, wallet, and lip gloss inside, then rushed out the door.

As you left your apartment complex, you gave the doorman a quick wave. “Goodnight!” you called, like always.

“Have fun!” he replied with a knowing smile.

Outside, a sleek car idled by the curb. You spotted Vi leaning against the driver’s side, her pink hair glowing under the streetlights. She grinned when she saw you, and as soon as you slid into the passenger seat, she leaned over and kissed you.

You froze for a second, caught off guard, but then you melted into the kiss, returning it shyly. When she pulled back, her smirk was devilish.

“Nice place you live at,” she said, glancing at the complex as she started driving. “A friend of mine stays in one of these apartments. You must have a lot of money to live here.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Vi gave you a quick side glance, her smile softening. “Well, good for me. I like spoiled girls,” she teased.

As soon as you and Vi stepped onto the sandy beach where the bonfire party was in full swing, she casually draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in close. The heat of the fire reflected in her smirk as she held you there like she had no care in the world.

Immediately, you pulled away, glancing around to make sure no one—especially your brother—had noticed. “Stop,” you hissed, swatting at her arm. “You’re going to blow my cover. I’m not even supposed to be here, remember?”

Vi chuckled, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her ripped jeans, clearly enjoying your paranoia. “Fine, fine,” she relented. “But text me when you’re ready to leave.”

“Where are you going?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m gonna go find Jayce and keep him occupied,” she said with a smirk, already scanning the crowd. “Don’t worry, princess. I got you.”

“Cool,” you said with a nod before slipping away from her, weaving through the bodies of drunken students and the glow of the bonfire’s flickering flames.

Your eyes darted across the party until they landed on Ekko. He was in the middle of a crowd, dancing with a girl who had strikingly light blue hair, her movements wild and carefree as they swayed to the music.

“Hey, Ekko!” you called out over the sound of the music.

Ekko turned his head at the sound of your voice, a grin forming when he spotted you pushing through the crowd toward him. “(Y/N)!” He gestured for you to come closer. “This is Jinx. Jinx, this is (Y/N), my best friend since middle school.”

You smiled, sticking out a hand for her to shake. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Instead of shaking your hand, Jinx’s face lit up, and she immediately pulled you into a tight hug. “Sorry, but I’m a hugger, girl,” she said, squeezing you before letting go. “And middle school? That’s so adorable!”

You chuckled. “Yep. We used to do chemistry projects together in high school and blow shit up. My parents had to pay millions.”

Ekko laughed, shaking his head. “Yup, we were menaces,” he agreed, nudging you playfully.

Jinx grinned, eyes flickering between the two of you. “I like you already.”

The party was loud, the music pulsing through the air as laughter and shouts filled the night. You were mid-conversation with Jinx when suddenly, a random frat guy shoved an opened Cayman Jack into your hands. The condensation from the bottle chilled your skin as you instinctively curled your fingers around it.

“Chug, pretty thang,” he slurred, grinning like he had just offered you the holy grail.

“Oh, um… no, it’s okay. I’m taking a break from drinking,” you said, trying to hand it back to him.

Instead of taking the rejection, he popped the cap off with his thumb and shoved it back toward you, his eyes wild with excitement. “Chug!” he chanted.

At first, it was just him, but soon, others joined in, the word picking up like a wave, echoing louder and louder around you. "Chug! Chug! Chug!"

Ekko shot you a worried look, his lips parting as if he was about to intervene, but before he could, the pressure of a dozen eyes on you—waiting, watching, expecting—became too much. Without thinking, you tilted your head back and downed the entire drink, the carbonation burning your throat, the alcohol hitting your stomach like a rock.

“There, happy?” you said, shoving the now-empty can into the frat guy’s chest.

He let out a cheer, eyes gleaming with drunken satisfaction. Then, in a final act of bravado, he crushed the can against his forehead with a loud crack and stumbled off into the crowd.

Ekko’s hand was on your shoulder in an instant, his grip firm but gentle. “Fuck…” you muttered, your stomach twisting. Your fingers trembled slightly, your body already remembering the ghosts of your past. “I haven’t had a drink since I…”

Ekko rubbed your shoulder reassuringly. “I’ll get you some water.” His voice was calm, but you saw the worry in his eyes. He turned to Jinx. “Watch her for me?”

Jinx gave a quick nod, her face uncharacteristically serious.

Ekko disappeared into the crowd, leaving you standing there with the taste of alcohol still lingering on your tongue.

“What’s wrong?” Jinx asked, tilting her head.

“I—I just…” Your voice faltered.

Before you could finish, a voice sliced through the noise, sharp and furious.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Your stomach dropped. You turned to see Jayce standing a few feet away, his face twisted with anger, his fists clenched at his sides.

“I’m just hanging out, Jayce,” you said, trying to keep your voice even.

Jayce scoffed, stepping closer. “(Y/N), I can smell the alcohol on your breath.” His eyes darkened, his voice tight with frustration. “Shit, dude—not even a whole two weeks and you’re already relapsing?”

Your throat tightened. “I’m not relapsing. I was just pressured into taking a drink by those stupid frat boys,” you argued.

“Bullshit,” Jayce snapped.

Ekko returned just in time, a bottle of water in his hand, but he barely had time to process what was happening before Jayce was right in your face again.

You barely heard him, your mind spiraling as the weight of his words sank in.

Yes, you were an addict in high school.

After your dad’s death, you took it harder than anyone else in your family. You fell in with the wrong people, numbing the pain however you could. The night you overdosed, you had been left in an alley, a needle in your arm, your body convulsing, vomiting, barely clinging to life.

Your mother couldn’t handle it anymore.

Instead of sending you to rehab, she sent you to Italy—far away, somewhere new, somewhere she hoped you could start over. And you did. You got therapy. You worked on yourself. You fixed yourself.

But now, standing here with Jayce looking at you like you were a failure, it felt like all that progress meant nothing.

His next words shattered whatever was left of your resolve.

“Go home,” he said coldly. “I don’t care how you get home—just go.”

Then, without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your vision blurring with tears.

Ekko’s hand found yours, squeezing it gently. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

Jinx nodded, stepping closer. “Yeah, I’ll come too.”

You swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in your throat. “Thanks. Just—let me say goodbye to someone first.”

Ekko nodded. “Cool. We’ll wait by the car.”

He took Jinx’s hand, leading her toward the parking lot, leaving you alone in the middle of the party, feeling like the ground beneath you was slowly cracking apart.

You pushed through the crowd, weaving between sweaty, drunken bodies, the pulse of the music thrumming in your ears. The fire in the middle of the yard crackled, casting flickering orange light over the partygoers gathered around it. Your breath was shallow as you scanned the area, searching for Vi.

And then you saw her.

She was standing by the fire, her red hair illuminated by the flames, her toned arms flexing slightly as she laughed at something. But she wasn’t alone.

A girl with long blue hair stood close—too close. She traced her fingers up and down Vi’s arm, her nails dragging over the inked skin like she had every right to touch her. Vi smirked, that signature, cocky grin that made your heart race earlier in the night. But now, it only made your stomach twist.

Then, before you could even process what was happening, Vi grabbed the girl by the waist and pulled her in. Their lips crashed together in a deep, messy kiss—not just a casual peck, not like the ones you and Vi had shared. This was something more. Their bodies were flush, Vi’s hands gripping the girl’s hips, their mouths moving like they’d done this before.

You felt a lump in your throat, but not because you were heartbroken. No, this wasn’t heartbreak. It was disappointment.

Because everyone was right.

Vi was a player. A flirt. She wasn’t the kind of girl to settle down—not even for you.

Without a second thought, you turned away, pushing through the crowd with more force this time, ignoring the people who grumbled or stumbled in your wake. Vi didn’t even see you.

By the time you reached the car, Ekko and Jinx were already waiting.

“You good?” Ekko asked as you slid into the backseat.

You didn’t answer. You just stared out the window, watching as buildings and trees blurred past. The streetlights flickered across your face, casting shadows that stretched and disappeared.

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t even feel angry.

You just felt disgusted.

For the first time in two years, that familiar, suffocating feeling crept back in—the one that made your skin crawl, the one that made you want to disappear.

Vi had been a well-known name in the streaming world for a while, skyrocketing to fame after her The Last of Us playthrough went viral. Her genuine reactions, quick wit, and undeniable charm—along with the fact that she was, undeniably, hot—made her an internet sensation. Meanwhile, you had carved out your own space in the streaming community, building a dedicated following through your high-energy Roblox horror game playthroughs. People loved watching you scream at pixelated jumpscares, and your frequent collaborations with other big-name streamers only expanded your reach.

Your paths crossed during a crossover event that neither of you expected to lead anywhere—but after that first collaboration, you never stopped talking. Texting turned into late-night calls, which turned into video chats, and before you knew it, months had passed, and you'd both fallen hard. Moving in together felt like the natural next step, and soon, you found yourselves in a shared apartment with two separate, decked-out streaming rooms.

It was Vi who first suggested the idea of a joint stream. Just one game, babe. The internet’s gonna lose its mind. You didn’t need much convincing, and the next thing you knew, you were live on her channel, settled comfortably on her lap as you navigated the latest chapter of Poppy’s Playtime. Vi, however, wasn’t nearly as focused on the game as she was on you. Every time you hit a checkpoint, she pressed a slow, teasing kiss to your shoulder, her smirk widening at the way your concentration wavered. When you struggled with a puzzle, her hand slid over yours, guiding your movements effortlessly—but she didn’t pull away after helping. Instead, her fingers intertwined with yours, her chin resting on your shoulder as she murmured a low, “You got this, babe,” just for you.

The chat went absolutely feral.

The teasing started slow—just little touches that could’ve been innocent if not for the way Vi’s fingers lingered a little too long. At first, it was just her hands resting on your thighs, a casual, almost absentminded gesture as she watched you play. But then her fingers started tracing slow, deliberate patterns against your skin, inching higher with every passing minute.

You swallowed hard, your focus wavering as she casually slipped her fingers between your thighs, applying the slightest bit of pressure. Instinctively, you parted your legs just a little, the movement barely noticeable—but Vi noticed. Of course, she did.

Your breathing grew heavier, the game on the screen blurring in and out of focus as her fingertips skimmed dangerously close to where you were beginning to ache for more. But when you flicked your gaze toward her, expecting to find her watching you with that signature smirk, she wasn’t even looking at you.

Her face was the picture of nonchalance, her eyes glued to the computer screen as if she weren’t doing anything at all. As if she weren’t driving you absolutely insane.

You continued to focus on the game, looking at the chat every now and then and interacting with them. “Yeah I’ve never played this game before. Vi did the other ch—ah!,” you gasped as you felt Vi’s hand go into your panties.

Thankfully, something that was jumpscare worthy popped up on the screen covering up your gasp. Vi looked at you “You okay?,” she says innocently. You looked at her with a nod “Y-yeah,” you say. She took that as a sign to continue as she rubbed circles onto your clit, kissing your shoulder. You cleared your throat, trying to cover up the moan that almost escaped as you continued to play the game.

Your walls clenched around nothing as you tried your best to focus on the game as Vi continued to play with your bundle of nerves, creating a pool in your panties. “Fuck…,” you let out a moan, trying to cover it up as a sigh of frustration. “Just focus, baby. You got this,” she says.

She getting off on this as much as you were, grinding up against your ass slightly trying not to let the viewers see. The feeling soon stop, relief rushed over you but it was soon short lived when two fingers went inside of you. You bit your lip as you tried not to moan.

“Vi…,” you say shakily as she starts to pump her fingers in and out of you slowly. There were faint sounds of wetness from your arousal bring swished around with her fingers. It couldn’t be heard because of the game sounds. Vi used her other hand to help you with the game, putting her hand on top of yours. “There you go,” she says.

You didn’t know if she was talking about the game or you.

You continued to play the game as she slowly pumped in and out of your cunt. You leaned over slightly which made her fingers reach the spongy part of your insides, you unexpectedly let out a moan.

The chat started to explode wondering why you moaned. “I…hit my toe on the monitor,” you said. You bite your lip as you continued the game, this time Vi’s fingers didn’t move.

You needed them to move.

You took a quick peek at her and she only gave you a smile, a knowing one.

Suddenly, her fingers started to move faster than what they did before. You automatically clenched against them, but that didn’t stop the pace of her fingers.

You bite your lip as you try to focus on the game but then Vi spoke up. “We’re gonna continue this later tonight, you guys. Thank you for watching and remember to turn on your notifications for when I go live again,” she says before pulling her hand out of your shorts and ending the live.

She immediately attacked your lips with hers as she wrapped her hand around your neck, pulling you closer than what you already were. “Fuck. You’re so hot,” she says in between the kisses.

You thought she was going to go in for another kiss until she moved her hand from your neck and started to kiss your neck, leaving marks.

Her fingers made its way back into your cunt as she started to finger you at a fast pace, her thumb rubbing your clit. You moan loudly, it almost sounded pornographic as you put both of your legs on the desk, spreading them wider for her.

“You’re such a slut. Letting me finger you while we’re live. You enjoyed it didn’t you?,” she teased.

“Vi!,” you managed to get out. It was the only thing you could respond with besides your whines and moans. You were getting close and Vi knew from how tightly you were clenching to her fingers.

“Come on. Cum for me, pretty girl,” she says in your ear before harshly biting it. It only sent you over the edge.

“Fuck!,” you moaned out loudly as you came around her fingers. Vi’s pace slowed down as she helped you calm down from your high.

You whined when she finally pulled her fingers out, putting them in her mouth as she sucked your arousal off her fingers. When she was done, she grabbed your face and kissed you deeply. You kissed her back.

ping!

The sound made you guys both stop in your actions. You looked over at the computer. The camera was off, but the audio was still going.

The stream was still on.

Fuck.

“Vi! I thought you said you ended it!,” you said hitting her in the chest.

if you don’t like it…you can punch me in the tit.

You were the daughter of the town’s esteemed sheriff, a symbol of grace and perfection molded by the expectations of high society. To the townspeople, you were nothing short of divine—each appearance sending ripples of admiration through the crowd. A new dress, a shimmering necklace, or simply the glow of your porcelain skin under the sun was enough to make them sigh in awe. Your mother ensured you lived up to this image, shaping you into the perfect lady with a delicate yet unyielding hand. Every morning was a lesson, every evening a test—how to curtsy at just the right angle, how to smile without showing too much teeth, how to keep your spine straight even when the bones of your corset dug deep into your flesh.

You liked being a lady, or rather, you liked the beauty of it. The elegance, the fine silks that draped over your body, the glint of candlelight against your jewelry—all of it had a certain enchantment. But there was an unspoken weight that came with it. The corsets were suffocating, the carefully practiced posture left your muscles aching, and the shoes—oh, the shoes—were a punishment wrapped in luxury. Worst of all, you were expected to endure the sharp tongues of high society with nothing more than a polite smile and a veiled retort, never truly allowed to bite back. Even horseback riding, one of the few freedoms you had, was made into an ordeal by layers of lace and ruffles that always found a way to tangle in the saddle. You wanted more. You craved more.

And then, as if the universe had heard your silent plea, she arrived.

No one knew who she was—not yet. But you did.

You had heard your father speak of her in hushed yet furious tones, piecing together the stories, the rumors, the scraps of information collected from frightened witnesses and unlucky men who had crossed paths with her. A woman built like a warrior, golden-haired, with a gaze sharp enough to cut. A leader. A ghost. A legend. Abby Anderson.

And there she was, in the grandest ballroom of the year, standing among politicians and the wealthy elite as if she belonged. Her suit was crisp, fitted in a way that made her broad shoulders even more imposing, yet she moved with an ease that suggested she was not the least bit intimidated by the opulence around her.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched her. You should have been terrified. But terror was not what you felt.

Her eyes found you.

She smirked, slow and deliberate, as she strode toward you, weaving effortlessly through the dance floor until she stood close—too close.

"Didn’t think I’d meet an angel at a place like this," she murmured, her voice a low hum, thick with something dangerous.

Your throat went dry. You knew who she was. You knew what she was. And yet—

"And I didn’t think outlaws got invited to presidential balls," you managed to say, your voice steadier than you expected.

Her smirk deepened. "You wound me, sugar. I’m no outlaw. Just a woman who knows how to walk through the right doors."

The heat of her presence was intoxicating. Every brush of her fingers against your sleeve, every lingering glance, sent a thrill rushing through you. You should have left. You should have turned away.

But you didn’t.

"You shouldn’t be talking to her."

Your mother’s voice sliced through the moment like a blade, and before you could react, she was there, her gloved hand gripping your wrist tight enough to leave marks. "Go dance with one of your suitors, darling. This one is… not our kind."

You barely had time to process the loss of Abby’s warmth before your mother was dragging you away, her nails digging into your skin through the delicate lace of your gloves.

She didn’t stop until she found an empty hallway, away from prying eyes. When she finally released you, she was fuming, her lips pressed into a hard line.

"Women like that," she spat, as if the words themselves were poison, "are not fit for society. They’re unnatural. Filthy. Do you understand me?"

Your stomach twisted.

"I have seen what happens to girls who entertain… that kind of company," she continued, her voice low and seething. "They end up outcasts. Ruined. And I will not have you ruin yourself over some broad-shouldered brute pretending to be a man."

You felt like you had been struck, though she had not laid a hand on you. Shame and anger warred inside you, tightening your throat.

"She was just talking to me," you whispered, though you knew it didn’t matter.

Your mother scoffed. "She was corrupting you," she corrected. "And you, foolish girl, were letting her."

She took a deep breath, smoothing down the fabric of her dress as if that alone could erase the conversation. "Now, go back inside. Dance with someone respectable. And do not let me see you near that woman again."

With that, she turned and disappeared back into the ballroom, leaving you alone, trembling with something that was not fear—but something much more dangerous.

And then—

"Well, that was somethin’."

You spun around, your pulse hammering in your ears. Abby leaned lazily against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with an unreadable expression.

"You—"

She pushed off the wall, stepping closer, her voice softer now, intimate. "Figured she wouldn’t like me much. Pity. I like you plenty."

The air between you was thick, electric. You should have run. You should have turned and gone back inside.

But instead, you did something reckless.

"Abby," you breathed.

She froze.

A flicker of surprise passed over her face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by something slower, something deeper.

"You know who I am," she murmured, more statement than question.

"My father—"

"I know who your father is," she interrupted, taking another step closer, so close you could see the flecks of green in her stormy eyes.

You swallowed hard. Your name was on the tip of your tongue. And before you could stop yourself, you gave in.

"My name is—"

"I know who you are," Abby cut in, her voice a low whisper, tinged with something that made your breath hitch.

She lifted her hand, fingers grazing your jaw, slow and deliberate. The moment stretched, thick with unspoken words, with all the things you wanted to say but couldn’t.

A slow smile curled at the edges of her lips.

"See you around, angel," she murmured before turning, disappearing into the shadows.

And for the first time in your life, you wanted to follow.

The memory of that night at the ball clung to you like the lingering scent of roses after a storm. No matter how hard you tried to push her away from your thoughts, Abby Anderson remained, etched into your mind like an ink stain that refused to fade. You saw her in the flickering candlelight of your bedroom, in the whispers of the wind that slipped through the cracks of your window, in the ghost of a touch that never truly left your skin.

You had danced with suitors, entertained polite conversations, played your role as the perfect daughter of the sheriff, but none of it mattered. Not when your mind drifted back to her. The way her voice curled around her words, the way her fingers had ghosted over your wrist like a promise, the way she had looked at you—like she saw something worth stealing.

And clearly, she couldn’t forget you either.

It was a late night, the kind where the world was quiet, draped in darkness and secrets. You had slipped away from the manor, seeking solace in the gazebo overlooking the still waters of the estate’s lake. The moon painted silver ripples on the surface, casting a reflection so serene it almost made you forget the cage you lived in—the beautiful, gilded prison of your family name.

You leaned against the wooden railing, letting the cool night air kiss your skin, lost in your thoughts.

How did one move on from someone like Abby?

A soft sound behind you sent a shiver down your spine. The rustle of fabric. The faintest scuff of a boot against wood.

And then—

A tap on your shoulder.

Your breath caught.

You turned, pulse hammering in your ears.

And there she was.

Abby stood before you, half-drenched in moonlight, her golden hair tousled by the breeze, her piercing eyes drinking you in like she had been searching for you just as desperately as you had been searching for her. She looked so effortlessly out of place in the elegance of your world, a predator among painted dolls. And yet, she fit so perfectly in the darkness, in the forbidden spaces where only the bold dared to wander.

"How—" Your voice came out breathless, barely above a whisper. "How did you get in here?"

The manor was a fortress, guarded at every entrance. Even you, the daughter of the sheriff, had to be mindful of your steps. No one got in without permission. No one.

She smirked, slow and wicked, like she held all the answers to the questions spinning in your head.

And then—

She kissed you.

It was sudden, overwhelming, the warmth of her lips stealing the breath from your lungs. She tasted of something untamed, something wild and dangerous, and yet you melted into her like she was the only thing keeping you standing.

The question of how she got in, how she had managed to slip past the guards, the locked gates, the watchful eyes of your mother and father—it all faded away.

This was your answer.

Abby Anderson had a way of taking exactly what she wanted.

And tonight, she wanted you.

The moment her lips met yours, the world ceased to exist. The cold night air, the distant hoot of an owl, the flickering lanterns lining the garden path—none of it mattered. All that mattered was her.

Abby kissed you with a certainty that sent a thrill down your spine, her hands finding purchase on your waist, pulling you flush against her. She wasn’t tentative, wasn’t careful—no, she kissed you like she had waited a lifetime for this, like she was staking her claim, like she had been searching for something and finally found it in you.

And you let her.

You melted into her, your fingers gripping the fabric of her shirt as if letting go would send you plummeting back into the carefully constructed life you were supposed to live. The life where you were nothing more than the sheriff’s perfect daughter. The life where women like Abby Anderson were nothing but a whispered warning from your mother’s lips.

But here, under the moonlight, in her arms, you were something else. Someone else.

She broke the kiss, just barely, her lips still ghosting over yours as her breath fanned against your skin. You were dizzy, lips tingling, chest heaving, but she only smirked—pleased, confident, as if she knew exactly what she had done to you.

"Still wondering how I got in?" she murmured, her voice teasing, yet thick with something deeper, something that made your knees weak.

You swallowed hard, staring up at her, trying to gather your scattered thoughts. "I should be worried," you whispered, though your grip on her hadn’t loosened in the slightest. "If you can get in this easily, what’s stopping someone else?"

"Sweetheart," she drawled, thumb brushing against your waist in slow, lazy circles, "no one else is as good as me."

Your stomach flipped.

She wasn’t lying—she was a ghost, a legend, the woman your father had spent months trying to track down. She had no face on wanted posters, no official name in bounty records. She was a whisper, a shadow, and yet here she was, standing before you, real and solid, her hands warm against your body.

"You shouldn’t be here," you finally said, though the words had no weight behind them.

She chuckled, dipping her head just enough that her lips brushed against the shell of your ear. "And yet, you don’t seem too eager to send me away."

Damn her. Damn her and that voice and the way she knew exactly what she was doing to you.

Your silence was all the answer she needed.

Slowly, she pulled back just enough to look at you properly, her hands never leaving your waist. In the dim light, her expression softened—not entirely, not enough to strip away the sharp edges that made her who she was, but enough for you to see something real in her eyes.

"I haven’t stopped thinking about you," she admitted, her voice quieter now, more serious. "Since that night at the ball."

Your breath hitched.

Neither had you.

Every fleeting thought, every stolen moment, every memory of her touch had haunted you. But hearing her say it—knowing she felt the same—it sent something dangerously close to hope blooming in your chest.

"You’re going to get caught," you murmured, though it wasn’t a warning. It was a fear. A truth.

She smirked again, tilting her head. "Then I guess I better make this visit count."

And before you could say another word, she kissed you again—slower this time, deeper, as if sealing a promise neither of you had spoken out loud yet.

You lost yourself in her.

The taste of her, the feel of her—Abby was fire and sin wrapped in something dangerously intoxicating, and you drank her in like you’d been starved your whole life. The kiss was slower now, deeper, her hands firm on your waist as she pulled you closer, leaving no space between you. It was different from before—less about staking a claim, more about savoring.

And you let her.

The night wrapped around you like a well-kept secret, the moonlight spilling through the gazebo casting silver streaks across her face. You could see the way her brows furrowed, the way her lips parted against yours, the way she let out the faintest sound when your fingers found their way into her hair.

You could’ve stayed like this forever.

But forever was a fragile thing.

A distant sound—rustling in the trees, the crunch of gravel under boots—sent reality crashing back into you.

Your eyes flew open. “Abby,” you whispered, a warning in your tone.

She didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, she lingered for a second, pressing one last kiss to your lips, softer this time. Like she knew this moment was about to slip away.

When she finally leaned back, her hands stayed on you. “You expecting someone?”

You swallowed hard. "No, but my father has men patrolling the estate."

Her jaw tensed slightly, the rogue in her sharpening. “Damn. They’re getting better.”

Your heart pounded against your ribs. The thought of your father’s men finding her here, of her getting caught, of what would happen if your father realized his own daughter was sneaking around with the very outlaw he had been hunting—it sent a cold dread down your spine.

"You need to go," you whispered urgently.

But she just smirked, tilting her head. "You trying to get rid of me already?"

"Abby," you hissed, stepping back, but she only followed, hands finding your waist again, keeping you close.

"You worried about me, sweetheart?" she teased, but there was something softer underneath, something real.

You scowled. "I am when my father wants your head on a spike."

Abby hummed as if considering that. "Wouldn’t be the first time."

"Abby."

She sighed, but her smirk never fully faded. "Alright, alright." Reluctantly, she let her hands fall from your waist, stepping back into the shadows of the gazebo. "But I’ll see you again."

It wasn’t a question. It was a fact.

Your stomach twisted, a mixture of fear and something else, something dangerously close to excitement. “You shouldn’t.”

She grinned. "That never stopped me before."

With a last lingering look, she melted into the darkness, disappearing as easily as she had arrived.

And as you stood there, breathless, pulse still hammering, you realized something terrifying.

You wanted her to come back.

Ever since that night, you and Abby fell into a dangerous, intoxicating routine.

Every few nights, when the house was quiet, when the guards had long settled into their rounds, you would slip out of your room and make your way to the gazebo. And every time, without fail, she would be there.

You never saw how she got in—never heard the crunch of boots on gravel, never caught the flicker of movement in the shadows. She simply appeared, like a ghost summoned only by your presence. Sometimes she was already leaning against the railing, arms crossed, that ever-present smirk tugging at her lips. Other times, she’d wait for you to turn, wait for the moment your back was to her before grabbing your waist, making you gasp as she chuckled softly against your ear.

She lived for the way you reacted to her.

And you lived for the moments you could be near her.

It started with stolen kisses—rushed, heated, lingering. Pressed against the wooden posts of the gazebo, hands tangled in fabric and hair, trying to take as much of each other as you could in the fleeting moments you had. Abby kissed you like she was afraid you’d slip through her fingers, and you kissed her back like you were terrified this was all just a dream.

But over time, it became more than that.

It became whispered conversations under the moonlight, words meant only for each other. Abby told you about the world beyond your gilded prison—the vast open lands, the hidden saloons where no one asked questions, the thrill of outrunning the law. And you told her about your world, about the weight of expectations, about the loneliness that came with perfection.

She listened.

She always listened.

And slowly, without meaning to, you started leaving little pieces of yourself with her.

It began one night when she ran her fingers through your hair, idly twirling a loose strand between her calloused fingers. “This is nice,” she murmured, almost to herself.

Without thinking, you pulled the lace from your hair, the one your mother insisted you wear to keep yourself "presentable," and tied it around Abby’s wrist instead.

“There,” you whispered, running your fingers over the delicate bow. “Now you have something nice too.”

Abby looked at it, then back at you, something unreadable flashing in her gaze. She didn’t say anything—didn’t need to. The way she leaned in and kissed you told you everything.

After that, it became a habit.

A bracelet, one of the many you had been gifted but never wore, found its way around her wrist. A pocket square embroidered with your initials, tucked into the inside of her coat. Small things, things no one would question if they saw you without, but things that meant everything when you saw them on her.

And then, one night, you gave her something more.

It was a simple photograph, a small portrait taken at your father’s insistence. In it, you were poised, elegant, the very image of the sheriff’s perfect daughter. But when you handed it to Abby, her fingers brushing yours as she took it, her expression softened in a way you had never seen before.

“You carry this around with you?” she teased, though her voice was gentler than usual.

You swallowed, unsure why your hands suddenly felt clammy. “I thought… maybe you’d want something to remember me by.”

Abby stared at you for a long moment, thumb brushing over the edges of the photo. Then, carefully, she tucked it into the pocket of her coat.

“I don’t need this to remember you,” she murmured. “But I’ll keep it anyway.”

And when she kissed you that night, it was different—slower, deeper. Like she was savoring you. Like she was memorizing every part of you.

Like she already knew she’d never be able to let you go.

The ride around town with your father had been uneventful—quiet, almost peaceful if you didn’t know any better. The streets bustled with familiar faces tipping their hats or offering polite smiles as you and the sheriff rode past, your father a man well-respected, and you… the pristine daughter of law and order.

You played your part well, as you always did, nodding, smiling, waving when expected. But inside, an uneasiness clawed at your chest, an unshakable feeling that something was coming.

And then, as you returned to the estate, it came.

Your father helped you off your horse, his hands steady as ever as he guided yours away from the reins. “I’ve set up a meeting with an eligible bachelor for you tomorrow morning,” he said, voice calm, firm—unchallenged.

You felt your stomach drop, but you kept your face carefully composed as he continued.

“He’s a nice man. From Italy. Nice oceans, views, new culture…” His eyes met yours then, serious. “And most importantly, you’ll be safe there. You will marry him.”

Your lips twitched into a practiced, obedient smile. It was all you could do. You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as he reached out, pulling you into a brief hug.

He kissed the top of your head. “I have to go back to the office. I’ll see you at dinner,” he said, his words final, before mounting his horse and riding away, leaving you standing there in the settling dust.

The moment he was out of sight, your composure cracked.

You barely made it up the path before the tears slipped free. Silent, burning, bitter. You pulled off your gloves as if they, too, suffocated you, your pace quickening toward the manor. A few ranch hands caught sight of you but said nothing. They knew better.

But someone did speak.

A hand grabbed your arm, yanking you off the main path and into the barn. Not just any barn—the hidden one, the one your father used for storing crates of moonshine, whiskey, and whatever else kept his business running behind closed doors. The flooring was clean, meant for storage, not animals, and it smelled of wood, liquor, and secrecy.

You already knew who it was before you saw her.

And when you turned, breath shaky, it was confirmed.

Abby.

She stood in the dim barn light, her sharp blue eyes scanning your face, immediately locking onto your tears. Her expression hardened, concern creasing her brows. “What happened?”

That was all it took. The moment she spoke, you broke.

A sob tore from your throat as you crumpled into her arms. She caught you, strong and steady, pulling you close without hesitation. One hand cradled the back of your head, the other wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you together when you felt like you were falling apart.

You buried your face into her coat, voice muffled, breaking as you confessed, “I’m getting married really soon… and I’m leaving to Italy.”

Abby stilled.

Her entire body went rigid, the grip on your waist tightening for just a second before she pulled back just enough to look at you. Her hands still framed your face, thumbs brushing at the wet streaks beneath your eyes.

Her voice was low, dangerously calm. “What?”

You sniffled, trying to keep yourself together. “I don’t wanna get married… I don’t want to leave you, Abby.”

There. You said it. The truth, raw and trembling between you.

Something dark flickered in Abby’s gaze. Her jaw clenched, a muscle twitching beneath her skin. “Who decided this?”

“My father.” Your voice wavered, barely above a whisper.

Abby let out a bitter laugh, one that held no humor. “Of course.” She shook her head, her grip on you never loosening. “And you’re just… going along with it?”

You looked away. “What choice do I have?”

Abby inhaled sharply through her nose, exhaling like she was trying to control herself. “He says I’ll be safe there,” you continued, your voice small. “That it’ll be good for me.”

Abby scoffed. “Safe?” Her eyes burned into yours, piercing, fierce. “You think a gilded cage in a foreign country with some man you don’t even know is safety?”

Tears threatened again, but you held them back this time. “It doesn’t matter what I think. My father has already decided. It’s happening tomorrow.”

A silence stretched between you, thick, suffocating.

Then, Abby spoke, voice low and steady.

“No.”

You blinked, frowning. “No?”

“No,” she repeated, stronger this time. “You’re not marrying him. You’re not leaving. You don’t want this, so you’re not doing it.”

You let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Abby, it’s not that simple—”

“Yes, it is.” Abby stepped closer, her hands tightening on you, grounding you. “You don’t belong to him. Or to anyone. And I’ll be damned if I let him take you away from me.”

Your breath hitched.

Abby exhaled, calming herself, her voice gentler when she spoke again. “Look at me.”

You did.

Her eyes softened, but the fire in them never dimmed. “Do you trust me?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Abby nodded, her jaw set, her grip firm. “Then run away with me.”

Your stomach flipped. “What?”

Abby leaned in, forehead nearly touching yours. “Run away with me. Tonight.”

Your heart thundered in your chest. Run away. With Abby. Leave everything behind—your father, your family, the only life you had ever known.

It was reckless. Impossible.

You didn’t know what to say.

The words sat heavy in your throat, tangled in doubt and longing, in fear and hope. Every possible response warred inside your mind, but nothing came out. You were terrified—terrified of the unknown, of leaving behind everything you had ever known, of stepping into a future so uncertain.

But then there was Abby.

Abby, whose presence made your heart race. Abby, whose touch set your skin on fire. Abby, who had become the only thing that made sense in your world of suffocating expectations.

You loved her. That much was clear. And being with her… being truly hers—it would make you happier than anything else ever could.

She must have seen the hesitation in your eyes because she didn’t push for an answer. Instead, she kissed you.

Soft at first. Patient. But the moment you melted into it, the moment your lips moved in sync with hers, it turned into something deeper, something more.

Her hands found your waist, gripping you like she was afraid to let go. Then, her lips left yours, trailing down the curve of your jaw, then lower, pressing slow, lingering kisses along your neck. Each one sent a shiver through you, heat pooling low in your stomach.

A small gasp escaped your lips when your back suddenly met the rough wood of the crate behind you, bottles clinking faintly inside. Abby was against you now, her hands roaming, her body pressing closer, her mouth working against the sensitive skin of your throat.

Then, fingers toyed with the buttons of your blouse, and in one smooth motion, she undid them, peeling the fabric from your shoulders.

Your breath hitched.

“Abby, wait…” Your voice was barely a whisper.

She stilled immediately, lifting her head to meet your gaze. Concern flickered across her features, her hands halting their movements. “What’s wrong?”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of her coat as you hesitated. “I—I don’t know how to do this… Especially not with a woman.”

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, Abby’s expression softened, and a slow, reassuring smile curved her lips. “That’s okay,” she murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll lead the way.”

There was no judgment in her voice. No impatience. Just quiet understanding.

Then, she kissed you again.

Abby kissed you slow, deliberate, like she was savoring every second. The warmth of her breath fanned against your skin as she trailed soft kisses down your collarbone, her hands resting firmly on your waist as if grounding you, making sure you stayed with her in this moment. Your body was tense beneath her touch, not from fear, but from the unfamiliarity of it all—the thrill of stepping into something you had never allowed yourself to consider before.

Her fingers traced the bare skin of your arms, slow and careful. “You’re shaking,” she murmured against your shoulder, her voice a mix of amusement and tenderness.

“I… I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

She pulled back slightly, her piercing blue eyes searching yours. “You don’t have to,” she said softly. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Her words were comforting, but they didn’t stop the nervous energy buzzing inside you. You wanted this—you wanted her—but the weight of everything, the years of being told how you were supposed to act, how you were supposed to be, left you hesitant.

“I just… I’ve spent my whole life being told what I should do, what’s expected of me.” You exhaled, your fingers gripping the fabric of her coat. “This—you—it’s the first thing I’ve ever actually wanted for myself.”

Abby’s expression softened, and she reached up, cupping your face with both hands, her thumbs brushing gently over your cheeks. “Then let yourself have it.”

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs.

She kissed you again, this time slower, deeper, as if silently reassuring you that there was no rush, no expectations—just the two of you in this hidden space, stealing time before the world could take you away from her.

Her hands moved again, featherlight against your skin, tracing the curve of your spine before settling at your waist. The warmth of her touch sent another shiver down your body, and you found yourself gripping her wrists, not to stop her, but to hold onto something real, something steady.

“I want this,” you finally whispered against her lips, and you felt her smile.

“Then trust me.”

Abby had undressed you. She was able to find some blankets in the barn and locked the barn from the inside. Your legs was resting on her shoulders as she devoured you like you were her last meal.

She licked up your folds and clit repeatedly before sucking on your clit. She moaned against you, enjoying the taste of you which only sent vibrations through you, making you jerk.

She held your thighs caressing them, her muscles flexing as the sunlight from the holes of the barns relflected onto them. She looked beautiful, like your own personal god.

The feeling was foreign to you, but you couldnt deny that it felt amazing, making soft whimpers and quiet moans.

You were trying to be quiet as there was still farmhands and guards patrolling the manor, but Abby wasnt helping at all as her tongue made it's way inside of you. You gasped loudly as your hand made it's way to her hair.

"Ha! Wait!," you moaned out, as you felt tongue move around inside of you, her hand moved down to your clit, rubbing it in circles with her thumb.

You bite your lip as you looked down at Abby, who was looking at you. You two made eye contact as she continued to move her tongue in and out of you.

The intense eye contact was soon broken when Abby pulled away and kissed you, eagerly. You could taste yourself on her as you kissed her back.

Two of her fingers found their way into your entrance, making you gasp against her mouth. Her fingers moved around inside of you stretching out your walls as you clenched around them.

She notices it and kisses your forehead as she starts to move her fingers in and out of you. "Does that feel good?," she asks.

"Yeah. It feels really good," you whined out.

"You're so beautiful," she says as she uses her other hand to grope one of your boobs, pinching your nipple before putting it in her mouth.

You whined as you grinded against her fingers "Please...,"

"Please what, babygirl?," she asked, before putting your nipple back in her mouth.

"Move your fingers faster, please," you begged.

She responsed by fingering you faster, the sound of your pussy juices faintly filling the sound of the barn.

You put your hand tightly to your mouth, muffling your moans. You had to be quiet, knowing farmhands and patrol was right outside.

Abby unlatches from your nipple, moving your hand and kissing you. The pace of her fingers got fasters which you didnt even think was possible, your hand went to her bicep, your nails digging into her arm.

There was a tight feeling in your gut, felt like you almost needed to pee the pressure of it was painful yet pleasurable. It made your wall clench tightly around her fingers again.

"Cum for me," she says in between your lips.

Just like that you came, gasping and moaning in Abby's mouth as she slowly finger fucked you.

When you came down from your orgasm, she pulled away. She put her hands around your waist, rubbing her hands up and down. "Did you like it? Your first time?," she asks.

"Yeah," you say "You're really good with your fingers."

Abby chuckles before getting up and getting your clothes. "Come on so you can go back before your parents start wondering where you are."

The morning light poured through the grand windows of the sitting room, casting a golden hue over the pristine furniture and polished floors. You sat still, painfully still, dressed in the most suffocating gown your mother had chosen for you. It was a delicate shade of ivory, lace wrapping around your arms and corset laced far too tight, restricting every breath you took.

The weight of your elaborate hairstyle made your head ache, strands pulled and pinned with too many clips, too much perfume clouding your senses. You felt more like a decorative doll than a person, meant to sit pretty and obedient as men discussed your fate.

The Italian man had arrived promptly, dressed in fine fabrics, his dark hair slicked back with precision. He was handsome in a distant, statuesque way, with sharp features and an air of entitlement. But it was clear from the moment he walked in—this meeting wasn’t about you. It was about what you represented.

Your father and the man spoke easily, exchanging pleasantries and discussing business affairs. Your mother sat beside you, a tight smile on her face, pleased that everything was going smoothly. You had barely been acknowledged beyond your father listing off your ‘best qualities’—your grace, your talents, your ability to be a good wife.

It was only when the Italian man turned to you directly that you felt truly seen, though not in the way you wanted.

“You are very beautiful,” he said in a thick accent, his gaze sharp as it swept over you. “And tell me, what makes you a good wife?”

You forced a polite smile, the words coming from your lips like they weren’t your own. “I am skilled in embroidery and music. I can manage a household, and I have been trained in etiquette and diplomacy.” You swallowed the bitterness threatening to rise in your throat. “I will be a loyal and dutiful wife.”

Your mother’s approving smile widened. Your father gave you a satisfied nod.

The man hummed, taking in your words with an impassive expression. Then, he turned to his mother, an older woman draped in luxurious silks, her beady eyes watching you with scrutiny.

“Stand up,” the man instructed.

You hesitated for a fraction of a second, but under your mother’s expectant gaze, you obeyed. Rising to your feet, you folded your hands neatly in front of you, waiting.

“Turn around.”

The request sent a cold wave of humiliation down your spine, but again, you complied, slowly spinning in place as if you were nothing more than a product being inspected.

His mother tilted her head, her lips pursed as she examined you. Then, she spoke.

“She’s a good weight, nice hips—good for baby-making,” the older woman noted, her voice firm, clinical, as though she were evaluating livestock. “And her skin… it’s perfect.”

You stilled, blinking as the words settled in.

Good for baby-making.

Perfect skin.

Your hands clenched at your sides. Your lips parted, but no words came out. You had no words, no way to express the sickening feeling curling in your stomach.

They weren’t looking at you as a person. You were nothing more than a vessel, a means to an end—a bride to be sent away, a future mother to bear their lineage.

Your mother beamed at the woman’s words, clearly proud. Your father nodded in satisfaction.

And you?

You wanted to scream.

But instead, you simply smiled. A perfectly practiced, empty smile.

Because that’s what they expected of you.

After what felt like hours of conversation—most of which you weren’t even part of—the Italian man finally reached into his pocket, retrieving a small, elegant box. Your breath caught in your throat as he flipped it open, revealing a ring so extravagant it nearly blinded you under the chandelier’s glow.

The band was gold, thick and heavy, adorned with a massive diamond at its center, surrounded by smaller shimmering gems. It was undeniably beautiful, but as he delicately took your hand, sliding it onto your finger, the weight of it felt suffocating. A symbol of ownership rather than devotion.

He smiled, pleased by the sight of it on you. “A fine ring for a fine wife,” he said, holding your hand a little too long, his fingers pressing firmly against yours. “I will return in a few weeks for the wedding.”

Your heart dropped, but you forced yourself to nod, your expression carefully composed.

Your mother was practically glowing with pride, while your father clapped the man on the shoulder, a hearty laugh escaping him. “A fine match,” he declared. “You’ve made an excellent choice.”

The man chuckled, giving you an approving look. “Yes, I believe I have.”

You swallowed the bile rising in your throat.

The farewell was quick, formal. You and your parents stood at the grand entrance of the manor, bidding him goodbye as he prepared to leave for Italy once more. His mother gave you a final once-over, satisfied, before stepping into the carriage.

And then, before leaving, he turned back to you.

His arms wrapped around you, his embrace stiff and firm. You barely had time to react before he leaned in, pressing a brief kiss to your cheek.

It took everything in you not to flinch.

Your skin burned where his lips had been, not from warmth, but from the sheer discomfort of it. You managed a stiff smile, whispering, “Farewell.”

He stepped back, nodding at you one last time before climbing into his carriage. The horses stirred, the wheels creaked, and just like that, he was gone.

The moment the carriage disappeared down the road, you let out a quiet breath, your hands trembling at your sides. The weight of the ring on your finger felt unbearable.

Your mother turned to you, sighing with delight. “What a wonderful day,” she mused, clasping her hands together. “You should be honored, dear. A future in Italy, with a respectable man, a prosperous family. It’s everything we could have wanted for you.”

Everything they wanted.

You simply nodded, feeling the cold wind against your skin, wishing—praying—for something, anything to stop this.

The moon hung heavy in the sky, casting silver light over the still waters beyond the gazebo. The air was thick with the scent of blooming gardenias, and the distant hum of crickets filled the silence. You sat at the wooden table, hands folded tightly in your lap, heart hammering against your ribs. You knew she’d come. She always did.

And she did.

Abby emerged from the darkness, her boots light against the wooden floor as she stepped toward you. But the moment she saw the glint of gold on your finger, her stride faltered. Her jaw tightened, and for the first time, she hesitated before coming closer.

“You’re actually engaged…” she murmured, her voice low, almost hollow.

You inhaled sharply. “No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “He never asked.” You pulled the ring from your finger, the heavy weight of it leaving an imprint on your skin. You set it down on the table between you, as if casting it away would make it mean less. “The ring is nothing, Abby.”

Abby didn’t sit. She stood there, tense, her gaze fixed on the ring as though it might attack her. “It doesn’t look like nothing,” she muttered, arms crossed, muscles flexing beneath her worn shirt.

Your throat felt tight. “I love you, Abby,” you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips. “I love you so much. And I wish—God, I wish—I wasn’t who I am. Maybe then… we could be together.”

Abby’s gaze snapped to yours, her eyes dark with something unreadable. She stepped forward, closing the space between you in two long strides. Her calloused hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing along your cheeks, and you melted into her touch, leaning forward as if she could hold you up.

“We can be together,” she said, her voice fierce. “Right now. You just have to come with me.”

Your breath hitched.

“Run away with me.”

Her words lingered in the air like a prayer, like a promise. The temptation of them curled around you, warm and intoxicating. The idea of freedom—of being hers, only hers—was almost too much to bear.

But then reality clawed its way back in. The expectations. The duty. The eyes that followed you everywhere. Your father’s voice, your mother’s hands arranging your hair, the weight of their hopes pressing down on you like an iron cage.

You shut your eyes, willing yourself not to cry. “Because, Abby… my duty is here.”

Abby exhaled sharply, her fingers slipping from your face. “Duty,” she scoffed, shaking her head. “And what about you? What about what you want?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

She stepped back. “They hold you up so high,” she muttered, voice laced with something bitter. “So high you can’t even breathe.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them back. “It’s not that easy,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice breaking just slightly. “It never is.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words and unbearable truths. The weight of your confession hung in the air, suffocating, as if the very walls of your gilded cage were pressing down on you. Abby stood there, fists clenched at her sides, her jaw tight, her breath uneven.

She was furious—not at you, never at you—but at the world that refused to let you have each other. At the people who decided your fate before you even had a chance to.

Her fingers flexed like she wanted to reach for you, but she didn’t. Instead, she turned away, dragging a hand down her face. “You say you love me,” she muttered, voice raw. “But you won’t fight for us?”

Her words cut through you like a blade. You shot up from your seat, hands trembling. “You think I don’t want to fight?” you snapped, stepping toward her. “You think I don’t lie awake at night, dreaming of running away with you? Of never looking back?”

Abby turned to you, her expression softening. You sucked in a breath, fighting the lump rising in your throat.

“I have spent my whole life being who they wanted me to be,” you whispered. “If I leave, I will be ruining everything they built for me.”

She took a step closer. “But you’d be free.”

You swallowed hard. “And you’d be hunted.”

That was the other cruel truth. Even if you ran, even if you somehow escaped the eyes watching your every move, Abby would never stop running. She may not have been on wanted posters yet, but that wouldn’t last forever. You knew your father—knew how ruthless he was. If he realized who Abby truly was, if he found out you left with her… he’d never stop looking.

Abby shook her head, frustrated. “I don’t care about that.”

“Well, I do!” you blurted out, your voice cracking. “I care if something happens to you. I care if they put a bullet in you because of me.”

That stopped her.

Her shoulders fell slightly, and for the first time that night, you saw something like defeat in her eyes. It terrified you.

“You really won’t come,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart twisted painfully. “I can’t.”

Her eyes searched yours, looking for something—hope, hesitation, anything to hold onto. But she must have found nothing, because she exhaled sharply, stepping back.

“Then this is it, huh?” she murmured.

Your lip quivered. “I don’t know.”

Abby studied you for a long moment before nodding to herself, as if coming to terms with something. She took a deep breath, looked up at the stars, then back at you.

“If you ever change your mind,” she said, voice steady, “I’ll be waiting.”

Tears burned your eyes as she turned, disappearing into the darkness.

This time, you didn’t stop her.

Days bled into weeks, and Abby never returned to the gazebo. You told yourself it was for the best, that this was the life you were meant to live, but every night, when you lay in your lavish bed, staring at the ceiling, you felt hollow.

The day of the wedding arrived faster than you wanted.

The grand estate was transformed into a spectacle—flowers draped over the balconies, silk banners rippling in the breeze, and the scent of expensive perfume and freshly baked pastries filling the air. Townspeople gathered beyond the estate gates, desperate for a glimpse of the sheriff’s daughter marrying into wealth, while esteemed guests filled the halls, sipping on imported wines and exchanging pleasantries.

Your mother was all smiles, fussing over your gown, ensuring every stitch was in place, every curl of your hair perfectly arranged. She beamed at you in the mirror, her hands resting on your shoulders.

“You look perfect,” she said, voice thick with pride.

You looked at yourself—the gown, the jewels, the poised expression you forced onto your face.

Perfect.

Then why did you feel like you were drowning?

Your father entered the room, nodding approvingly before offering his arm. “It’s time.”

You walked through the estate with him, each step feeling heavier than the last. The grand doors opened to reveal a courtyard full of people, all rising to their feet, their eyes on you. Music played, a soft melody meant to feel like a dream, but it felt more like a funeral march.

At the end of the aisle stood the Italian man—your husband-to-be—dressed in the finest suit, his family standing beside him. He smiled at you, but you barely saw him.

Your mind was elsewhere.

Not here.

Not with him.

Abby.

Where was she now? Had she truly left? Had she moved on?

You wished she would storm in at that moment, like something out of a storybook—grab you, take you away, free you from this life.

But she wouldn’t.

She had given you a choice. And you had made it.

Your father placed your hand in the groom’s, and the ceremony began.

The priest’s voice droned on, but you barely heard him. The courtyard felt suffocating, the weight of a thousand eyes pressing down on you, waiting—expecting. Your hands trembled in the Italian man’s grip, your breath shallow.

You weren’t here. You weren’t present.

You were back at the gazebo, feeling the warmth of Abby’s hands against yours. You were in the barn, crying into her arms as she whispered promises you were too afraid to believe. You were beneath the moon, with her lips on your skin, telling you she’d wait.

And now you were about to let it all slip away.

“Do you, signorina, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

The world blurred.

Your mother sat upright in her chair, poised and elegant, but you knew that look in her eyes—stern, unwavering. A silent warning. Your father stood tall, expectant. He had done everything to ensure this marriage, to secure your future. You could feel his presence like a brand on your skin, tying you down.

You turned your head slightly, and through the crowd, you spotted the ranch hands, the same ones who had seen you crying that day in the stables. Some looked away uncomfortably. Others pitied you.

The Italian man squeezed your hands. “Cara,” he murmured, urging you to respond.

The silence stretched too long.

Your throat tightened. Your heart pounded. The words wouldn’t come out.

You looked at your father. “I…”

He nodded encouragingly.

Then, you looked back at your husband-to-be, at the man you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with.

And all at once, it hit you.

This wasn’t your choice.

You had never had a choice.

Your breath shuddered as your hands slipped from the groom’s grasp. A murmur rippled through the crowd. You took a step back, the long train of your gown dragging behind you.

Your father’s face fell.

Your mother clenched her jaw.

“Tesoro?” The Italian man’s voice wavered.

You shook your head. “I can’t.”

Gasps filled the courtyard.

You turned on your heel and walked away.

Not rushed. Not frantic. Just steady, deliberate steps toward the entrance of the estate, past rows of shocked faces, through whispers of scandal.

Your mother rose to her feet. “You will come back here,” she hissed, her voice sharp like a blade.

You didn’t stop.

Your father’s voice followed next, low and threatening. “If you walk away from this, you walk away from everything.”

You hesitated for half a second.

Then, you kept walking.

Through the halls of the estate, past the maids and butlers frozen in place, out into the open air. You lifted your skirts and ran.

Ran until your lungs burned.

Ran until the estate faded behind you.

Ran until all you could think about was her.

The world blurred around you as you ran, feet pounding against the dirt path leading away from the estate. Your wedding gown—so pristine and elegant just minutes ago—snagged on twigs and tore as you lifted the heavy skirts, desperate to keep moving. Your lungs burned, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

The estate’s walls loomed behind you, filled with gasps, outrage, and disappointment. Your mother’s voice echoed in your head, sharp and seething. Your father’s threat burned in your chest. If you walk away from this, you walk away from everything.

Good.

Everything had been a cage.

And you were finally breaking free.

Your breath hitched as you stumbled toward the stables, your heart hammering against your ribs. The stable hands were already in a frenzy, muttering among themselves about the chaos unfolding at the wedding. Some of them looked at you in shock—the sheriff’s daughter, still in her wedding dress, panting, desperate.

You didn’t have time to explain.

You reached your horse’s stall, flinging open the gate. Your hands shook as you fumbled with the reins, the golden band on your finger catching in the light. The ring. His ring. You yanked it off, giving it to a stable hand.

“Miss—” One of the stable hands stepped forward hesitantly. “Where are you—?”

You climbed onto the saddle, yanking the reins tight. “Tell my father I made my choice.”

Then you kicked your heels into the horse’s sides, and you were off.

The wind tore through your hair as you rode past the pastures, past the ranch hands who stood frozen in shock, past everything that had ever tried to hold you down. Your heart raced, but this time, it wasn’t from fear. It was from exhilaration. From hope.

You didn’t know where you were going, not exactly.

But deep down, you did.

You were going to her.

The world spun as you ran, feet pounding against the dirt road, your breath ragged. The wedding had crumbled behind you—gasps, screams, the sound of your mother calling your name, your father’s voice booming with betrayal. None of it mattered anymore.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as you pushed forward, ignoring the tears streaming down your face, the fabric of your wedding dress tearing with every desperate step. You had one destination. The place Abby had whispered about, night after night at the gazebo. The place she dreamed of taking you.

“There’s a valley past the river,” she had murmured, tracing patterns on your palm as you sat together in the dark. “No law, no rules. Just open land and the sky stretched so far it swallows you whole.”

And now, you were chasing that dream. Chasing her.

The journey felt like an eternity, but you rode harder than you ever had before. You knew this path by heart. Abby had spoken of it too many times for you to forget.

The valley stretched before you, bathed in golden hues of the setting sun. The river cut through the land like a glistening ribbon, the grass swaying in the breeze. And there, standing beside her horse, waiting as if she had known you were coming—was Abby.

Your breath caught, a sob choking its way out of your throat. She looked up, her sharp blue eyes locking onto yours. And for a moment, time stopped.

Then you were off your horse, feet barely touching the ground before you sprinted toward her.

“Abby!”

She barely had time to react before you crashed into her, your arms wrapping around her neck, your body slamming into hers with the force of everything you had held back. She caught you instantly, arms tightening around your waist as if she was afraid to let go.

You buried your face into her shoulder, shaking. “I left,” you choked out. “I left, I left, I left—”

Abby held you so tightly it almost hurt. “You’re here,” she whispered into your hair, her voice breaking. “You really came.”

You pulled back just enough to look at her, your hands trembling as they framed her face. “I couldn’t do it,” you breathed, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I couldn’t marry him. I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t—”

She silenced you with a kiss, desperate and deep, like she had been waiting her whole life for this moment.

You melted against her, fingers tangling into her shirt, gripping onto her like she was the only thing keeping you grounded. And maybe she was.

When she finally pulled away, her forehead rested against yours, both of you breathless.

“You’re mine now,” she murmured.

You nodded, eyes still glistening. “I always was.”

Abby exhaled sharply, her hands sliding down to your waist. “We leave tonight.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “Take me with you.”

She grinned, the same cocky, reckless grin you had fallen for all those nights ago. “Darlin’, I was never leaving without you.”

And as she lifted you onto her horse, hands warm and steady against your waist, you realized something.

You weren’t running anymore.

You were finally free.

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The night of the queen’s death remained seared into your memory like a jagged scar, a moment that altered the course of your life—and the kingdom—forever.

Your mother had always been the kingdom’s heart, her kindness radiating like the sun, touching the lives of every villager, knight, and noble. She possessed an innate gift for seeing the good in people, even when they couldn't see it in themselves. When she had married your father, her warmth had melted away the rougher edges of Silco, a man who was once feared for his ruthlessness.

Before her, Silco’s reign had been efficient but cold, his focus solely on maintaining power and expanding the kingdom's borders. But with the queen by his side, something shifted. She softened him, guiding him to rule with compassion as well as strength. Under her influence, roads were built, trade flourished, and the kingdom prospered. When you were born, the union of their love, Silco seemed to find an even deeper purpose. He adored you from the moment he held you in his arms, his mismatched eyes filled with awe.

“She’s perfect,” he’d whispered to the queen, who smiled through her exhaustion. “Just like her mother.”

Your early years were filled with laughter and warmth. Your mother would sing to you in the mornings while brushing your hair, and Silco, despite his busy schedule, would often sneak away from his duties to spend time with you. He read you bedtime stories, his deep voice weaving tales of adventure and bravery. You were his reason to rule with integrity, his reminder that the kingdom’s future depended on more than power—it depended on love.

But everything changed the day your mother decided to visit the village alone.

You were six years old, clinging to her skirts as she prepared to leave.

“Must you go?” you asked, your voice small and pleading.

She knelt before you, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I must,” she said gently. “The children in the village are sick, and they need help. But I won’t be long, my love. I’ll be back before the sun sets.”

She kissed your forehead, her smile warm and reassuring, and then she was gone. You spent the rest of the day waiting by the window, watching as the sun dipped lower and lower in the sky.

When the sun finally set and she had not returned, unease settled over the castle like a heavy fog. It was Sevika—then a young squire barely in her teens—who came running into the throne room with the news. Her face was pale, her breath coming in short gasps as she fell to one knee before Silco.

“Your Majesty,” she said, her voice trembling. “There’s been… an attack. The queen—she—”

Silco rose from his throne, his voice cutting through her stammering like a blade. “What happened?”

“She was ambushed,” Sevika managed, her hands clenched into fists. “A group of thieves—they didn’t know who she was. She fought back, but…” Her voice broke, and she couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

Silco didn’t need her to. The look in his eyes was enough to send a shiver through the room, a mix of fury and anguish so profound it was almost unbearable to witness. He left the throne room without another word, his footsteps echoing through the silent hall.

The days that followed were marked by grief and silence. Silco locked himself away, emerging only for the queen’s funeral. You remembered the way he stood by her casket, his shoulders rigid, his mismatched eyes devoid of the warmth they once held. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse but steady.

“She was too good for this world,” he said, his gaze fixed on her peaceful face. “But I will ensure her legacy lives on.”

He turned his focus to you, doubling down on his efforts to keep you safe. Guards followed you everywhere, even within the castle walls. He forbade you from going into the village, insisting it was too dangerous. His love became suffocating, a cage built from his fear of losing you as he had lost her.

You grew up under the shadow of that fear, but you refused to let it define you. Determined to honor your mother’s memory, you threw yourself into your studies, mastering everything from diplomacy to combat. Your father disapproved of your training, insisting that the daughter of a king had no need for swords or bows. But you persisted, finding solace in the discipline and focus it required.

It wasn’t until you were sixteen that you truly began to make a name for yourself among the knights. One of the senior knights, impressed by your determination, arranged for you to train with Sevika, who had recently returned to the castle after years spent serving on the borders.

Sevika was in her early twenties then, already gaining a reputation as a skilled and fearless warrior. She had a scar running down the side of her face, a mark of the battle that had earned her the rank of head knight. She rarely spoke, her focus entirely on her duties, but when she did, her words carried weight.

Your first session with her was a turning point. She showed you how to hold a bow, correcting your posture and guiding your hands with a gruff patience you hadn’t expected. “Don’t overthink it,” she said, her voice low and steady. “Just breathe and let the arrow fly.”

For a brief moment, you saw a softer side of her, a flicker of something almost kind beneath her stoic exterior. It was enough to make your heart flutter, a feeling you didn’t entirely understand at the time.

From then on, your crush on Sevika only grew, fueled by fleeting moments of warmth amidst her cold professionalism. She was everything you admired: strong, capable, and unyielding. But she was also distant, her loyalty to your father a wall you doubted you’d ever be able to breach.

You were every bit the spoiled princess, and you made no apologies for it. Your wardrobe was filled with the finest gowns in silks, satins, and velvets, each more extravagant than the last. Shoes adorned with delicate embroidery and shimmering jewels lined your chambers, matched meticulously to every ensemble. The maids who styled your hair each morning knew your tastes well—tight curls for formal occasions, elegant braids when you ventured to court, and soft waves for quiet evenings spent reading in your chambers. It was a life of luxury and ease, one that you embraced wholeheartedly.

Your favorite moments, however, were the hours spent with your ladies-in-waiting. Gathered in the sunlit parlor, the scent of freshly brewed tea mingling with the fragrance of blooming flowers, you would sit for hours, gossiping and laughing with your closest confidantes. Together, you exchanged stories, whispered secrets, and speculated about the various knights, courtiers, and even the visiting nobility. You didn’t shy away from discussing the beauty of the women who graced the castle halls, often causing a ripple of giggles among your companions when your admiration turned bold.

Through it all, there was one secret you kept entirely to yourself: your growing infatuation with Sevika. It wasn’t the kind of crush you could casually admit during tea or in the middle of idle chatter. Sevika’s cold professionalism and the unyielding strength she displayed as the head knight made her a figure of both admiration and intimidation. Her rare moments of warmth toward you—brief, fleeting instances where she adjusted your grip on a bow or gave a quiet word of approval—were treasures you tucked away in your heart, replaying them long after they passed.

But secrets have a way of surfacing, and yours was no exception. One lazy afternoon, as Mel helped you reorganize your chambers, she discovered a bundle of papers hidden beneath your bed. They were scraps of poetry and unsent letters, scrawled confessions of your feelings for Sevika. Mel’s gasp of surprise as she read them turned your blood cold. You tried to snatch them away, but it was too late—she knew. Her teasing smirk was almost unbearable as she leaned against your bedpost, waving the papers at you.

“Sevika?” she drawled, one perfectly arched brow lifting in amusement. “You’re in love with her?” Mel, ever the quick-witted daughter of a noblewoman, didn’t let you live it down easily. Though she was sworn to secrecy, she took great delight in teasing you about your unspoken feelings, often poking fun at how flustered you became whenever Sevika was nearby. Despite your embarrassment, there was a part of you that found comfort in sharing your secret with someone, even if Mel’s constant smirking made you regret it at times.

The dining hall was bathed in warm candlelight, the long table laden with golden platters of roasted meats, fruits, and delicacies from across the kingdom. Laughter and chatter filled the room, and for a brief moment, everything felt peaceful. You sat at your father’s right hand, the place of honor, dressed in a gown of soft lavender silk. The fabric shimmered with each movement, the embroidery catching the flickering light. Around you, nobles toasted to victories, knights traded boasts, and your ladies-in-waiting whispered behind their hands, no doubt commenting on which of the lords appeared most eligible.

You entertained their murmurs with a polite smile, but your focus drifted to the heavy doors of the hall. You noticed them before they opened, as if instinctively sensing Sevika’s arrival. She stepped inside, her boots echoing against the stone floor. She wasn’t in her usual armor but a simpler, dark tunic and breeches, though her presence alone was as commanding as any battle regalia. She moved with purpose, her scarred face set in a grim line.

“Sevika,” Silco called, his voice cutting through the noise. The room fell silent as she approached the king, bowing her head slightly.

“Apologies for the interruption, Your Majesty,” she said, her voice low but carrying easily through the hall. “There’s news from the gates.”

The room seemed to hold its breath. Silco’s eyes narrowed, his wineglass forgotten in his hand. “Speak.”

“The monsters at the borders are escalating their attacks,” Sevika began. “They’re not just striking in waves anymore. It’s constant now. The knights are struggling to keep them contained, and we’re losing ground. Reports suggest their numbers are too great for our current defenses.”

A murmur rippled through the assembled nobles. Silco’s grip on his goblet tightened before he set it down with a sharp clink. “And the commanders? Have they devised a solution?”

Sevika hesitated, her silence answering for her. Finally, she said, “No. They’re holding the line, but we’re losing too many. We need to regroup and rethink our approach.”

Silco’s jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames of the chandelier above. Then, decisively, he pushed back his chair and stood. “I’ll go to the gates myself. I need to see this for myself and consult with the commanders directly.”

You didn’t think—you simply acted. Rising from your seat as Silco and Sevika left the dining hall, you followed them into the dimly lit corridor. Your silk skirts swished as you hurried after them, your jeweled slippers clicking softly against the stone floor. You reached the shadows just in time to overhear Silco’s voice.

“I’ll leave at dawn with the first battalion,” he said. “The reports alone aren’t enough. If this is as dire as it seems, I need to see it myself. There’s no room for error.”

“Understood,” Sevika replied. “But it’s a risk. The journey to the walls is dangerous, especially with the creatures lurking along the roads.”

“I’ll take that risk,” Silco said firmly. “The kingdom’s stability depends on it. If we don’t act now, there won’t be a kingdom left to protect.”

“Father!” Your voice rang out before you could stop yourself. They turned, surprise flashing across Silco’s face before his expression hardened.

“This doesn’t concern you,” he said, his tone sharp but not unkind.

“It concerns me when you’re talking about putting yourself in danger,” you countered, stepping closer. “You can’t just leave. What if something happens to you?”

Silco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t up for debate, child. I need to go. I won’t make the same mistakes as before by sitting idle.”

Your chest tightened, and the memory of your mother’s final words hit you like a blade. “The last time someone told me they’d come back, they didn’t,” you said, your voice breaking. “She promised me, and she never came home. How can you ask me to watch you walk out that same door and pretend it’s fine?”

Silco’s expression softened, though the steel in his resolve remained. He placed a hand on your shoulder, his mismatched eyes meeting yours. “I understand your fear,” he said quietly. “But I have a duty to this kingdom—and to you. If I don’t go, the threat will only grow worse. You’re stronger than you think, and I’ll return. I promise.”

Before you could respond, Sevika stepped forward, her presence grounding the moment. “He’s right,” she said, her tone firm but not unkind. “Your father’s not reckless. He’ll have me and the best knights in the kingdom with him. You don’t need to worry.”

Her words, though meant to reassure, did little to ease the ache in your chest. You looked between them, fighting the tears welling in your eyes. Finally, you nodded, though the knot of unease remained.

As they turned to leave, you stood alone in the corridor, your hands clenched at your sides. The weight of their footsteps faded, leaving only the faint flicker of torchlight and the hollow echo of your thoughts.

The next morning, you woke to the sound of hurried footsteps and quiet murmurs just beyond your door. The servants were already at work, preparing for your father’s departure. Their shuffling echoed in the hallway as they polished the portraits, hung banners in the kingdom’s colors, and arranged the grand send-off for the king. A knot formed in your chest as the realization settled—he was really leaving.

When your maids entered, they didn’t need to speak to know you were already awake. They moved with gentle precision, draping you in a gown of deep crimson, black, and silver. The silk hugged your frame, the silver embroidery catching the faint morning light. Your hair was styled intricately, each strand woven into a braid that they adorned with silver pins shaped like roses. They murmured compliments, but you barely heard them, your thoughts elsewhere.

As soon as they were done, you hurried to the throne room, your stomach twisting with each step. When you entered, the sight of your father nearly stole your breath.

Silco stood at the base of his throne, dressed in armor that seemed more fitting for a king from a storybook than the man you’d grown up with. The polished silver breastplate bore the royal crest, its sharp lines gleaming under the golden light of the chandeliers. A long crimson cape hung from his shoulders, draping elegantly to the floor. At his side rested a sword with a gilded hilt, its weight a reminder of the battle he was about to face.

You didn’t speak at first, your throat tight with the effort to hold yourself together. But when he saw you, his expression softened. For just a moment, the weight of his responsibility lifted, and he looked at you not as a king but as a father.

You crossed the room quickly, wrapping your arms around him in a fierce embrace. He stiffened, surprised, before his arms came around you, holding you as tightly as you held him. His armor was cold against your cheek, but you didn’t care.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice trembling, “be safe. I love you, Father.”

His grip tightened, his hand brushing the back of your head. “I love you too,” he said, his voice low and filled with something you rarely heard—uncertainty. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his mismatched eyes searching your face. “You’ve grown so much,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Every time I look at you, I see your mother. Her strength, her heart… I hope you know how proud I am of you.”

Your throat burned as tears welled in your eyes. “Then don’t go,” you pleaded softly, your voice breaking. “Please, Father. I can’t lose you, too. I can’t…”

He cupped your face with one hand, his calloused thumb brushing away a tear that slipped down your cheek. “I have to, my love,” he said, his voice steady despite the sorrow in his eyes. “This kingdom needs me. And more than that, it needs you. You’re stronger than you think—you always have been.”

His words were meant to reassure you, but they only made the ache in your chest worse. “Promise me,” you whispered. “Promise me you’ll come back.”

“I promise,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. The gesture was lingering, full of the unspoken things he couldn’t bring himself to say. “You’ll see me again before you know it.”

You nodded, though the doubt remained, and reluctantly let him go. As he stepped back, you noticed Sevika standing near the doorway, watching the exchange silently.

You crossed the room to her, your steps hesitant but determined. She straightened when you approached, her expression unreadable.

“I need you to promise me,” you said, your voice firmer now, though your heart still raced. “Promise me you’ll bring him back safe.”

Sevika’s brow furrowed slightly, her usual coldness faltering for a moment. “I promise,” she said simply, her tone calm and even.

You narrowed your eyes, stepping closer until you could see the faint scar on her cheek. “No, Sevika. I’m being serious. I know you just see me as some spoiled princess, but I’m not. He’s all I have. Promise me for real.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she glanced briefly at your hand as it reached for hers. The warmth of your touch seemed to catch her off guard. For a moment, something flickered in her expression—something unspoken.

“I’ll protect him with my life, your highness,” Sevika said, her voice quieter this time. “He’ll come back. You have my word.”

You held her gaze for a long moment, searching for any sign of insincerity. But there was none. Finally, you let her hand go, your heart still heavy but steadied by her promise. As she turned to join your father, you watched them walk away, the ache in your chest growing with each step they took.

For now, all you could do was trust—and wait.

Days turned into weeks, each one heavier than the last as you anxiously awaited your father’s return. The castle felt hollow in his absence, the echo of his authoritative voice replaced by an unnerving silence that no amount of bustling servants or lively courtiers could fill. You tried to busy yourself with your routine, but nothing seemed to dull the ache in your chest.

Mel did her best to distract you, her endless ideas for entertainment failing to ease your worry. She often led you to the gardens, coaxing you to admire the blooming roses or walk among the neat hedgerows. She’d chatter about trivial things—her mother’s letters, the latest gossip among the ladies-in-waiting, or the prospect of an upcoming festival—but her words felt distant, like a hum in the background.

On some days, she’d take you to the nearby lake, where you’d lounge by a small boat anchored at the shore. The gentle lapping of the water against the wood, the songs of birds in the trees, and even Mel’s attempts to make you laugh with exaggerated tales of court drama couldn’t pull you from your thoughts. You were miserable.

The anxiety seeped into your nights, turning them restless. You woke more often than not in cold sweats, the remnants of nightmares clinging to you like a suffocating shroud. Dreams of your father not returning—or worse—haunted your sleep, leaving you too afraid to close your eyes again. You’d toss and turn, clutching the heavy blankets as though they could shield you from your fears.

It wasn’t long before you could no longer bear being alone at night. Mel, ever loyal, started sharing your bed, her presence offering a sliver of comfort. She’d hold your hand or hum softly, her voice lulling you into uneasy sleep. But even with her there, the nights felt unbearably long, and the ache in your chest only grew.

You missed your father. His commanding presence, his sharp words that were always tinged with an undercurrent of affection. No matter how stern he could be, he was your anchor, and his absence left you adrift.

And, though you hated to admit it, you missed Sevika too. Her presence lingered in your mind like a ghost. Even though her words were often clipped and dismissive, there had been something in the way she spoke to you that lit a fire within you. A rare spark of interest, a momentary pause that felt like a flicker of attention just for you.

Her aloofness only made her more enigmatic, her sharp gaze and blunt demeanor stirring feelings that you didn’t quite understand. You replayed your interactions with her over and over in your mind, from the sarcastic comments to the way she’d adjust your posture during archery. It wasn’t much, but to you, it was enough.

It was foolish to feel this way, you told yourself. She was the head knight, loyal to your father and bound by duty. She likely thought of you as nothing more than the king’s spoiled daughter, another responsibility on her long list of obligations.

And yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Each day that passed felt heavier than the last, the weight of your longing for both your father and Sevika pressing down on you. You clung to the hope that their return would bring relief, but until then, you were left to endure the suffocating stillness of the castle and the ache that refused to fade.

Mel, ever persistent in her attempts to lift your spirits, decided that simply resting by the lake was no longer enough. She wanted to give you a moment of true peace, something that might soothe the restlessness in your soul. With a few words to the castle staff, she arranged for a servant to row one of the small boats onto the still waters of the lake.

When the boat was ready, she guided you down to the shore. The late afternoon sun bathed the lake in a soft, golden glow, and the air was filled with the gentle hum of dragonflies and the occasional splash of fish breaking the surface. The sight was tranquil, almost idyllic, but your heart was still heavy.

Mel helped you onto the boat, her steady hand ensuring you didn’t slip on the polished wooden planks. You settled onto the cushioned seat, and as the boat pushed off from the shore, the rhythmic sound of the oars dipping into the water began to lull you into a state of calm.

You leaned against the edge of the boat, resting your head on your folded arm. The water was cool beneath your fingertips as you let your hand trail lazily through it, brushing against the occasional lily pad that floated by. The gentle sway of the boat and the soft rippling of the water were almost hypnotic. For the first time in weeks, you felt a fleeting sense of tranquility.

“If my father and Sevika come back…” you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper. The words felt heavy on your tongue, like a confession you hadn’t intended to make. You glanced at your reflection in the water, your face distorted by the ripples. “I’ll actually obey him... and I’ll confess to Sevika about my feelings for her.”

The admission hung in the air, a vulnerable truth you hadn’t even fully admitted to yourself before.

Mel, sitting beside you, turned to look at you. Her usual sharp wit and playful banter were absent as she took in the sincerity of your words. After a moment, she smiled softly, a flicker of warmth and understanding in her expression.

“We’ll see about that, Your Majesty,” she said, her tone light but with a hint of skepticism.

You turned your head slightly to glance at her, catching the faint curve of her lips and the knowing glint in her eye. She didn’t press you further, didn’t tease or pry as she usually might. Instead, she simply leaned back in her seat, allowing you the space to lose yourself in your thoughts.

As the boat glided across the lake, the silence between you was comfortable. Mel’s presence was steady, a quiet reassurance that you weren’t entirely alone in your longing or your fears.

For now, you could allow yourself to hope.

The following week arrived quietly, marked by the same monotony that had filled the days since your father left. You were seated by your vanity, your servant brushing your hair in slow, careful strokes. The rhythmic tug of the bristles on your scalp was almost lulling, but your mind was elsewhere.

Then, a sound shattered the quiet—faint but unmistakable. The trumpets of the king’s arrival.

Your heart leaped in your chest as you sat up straight, the brush slipping from your servant’s hand. “Your Highness?” they asked, startled.

But you didn’t answer. Without hesitation, you jumped to your feet and ran to your balcony, the cool morning air rushing to greet you as you flung open the doors. The grand stone entrance of the castle stretched below you, and there he was—your father, dismounting his horse in a flurry of movement.

As though sensing your presence, his gaze lifted to meet yours. His face softened instantly, a warm smile spreading across his features. He lifted a hand and waved to you, and you couldn’t stop the answering grin that broke across your face.

“Father!” you called out, your voice carrying down to him.

Without a second thought, you spun around and hurried back into your chambers, your bare feet sliding slightly on the polished floors as you moved. You quickly grabbed your slippers, slipping them on clumsily.

“Your Highness, you’re still in your sleepwear—” your servant began, her voice tinged with concern as she reached for you.

“I don’t care!” you called over your shoulder, already halfway out the door.

Your heart raced as you darted through the halls, the familiar corridors blurring past you in your excitement. The heavy stone walls seemed brighter, the tapestries more colorful, as if the castle itself had come alive with his return. The sound of your footsteps echoed off the marble staircase as you descended, nearly stumbling in your haste.

When you finally reached the entrance, your father was just stepping down from his horse, his gloved hands steady as he handed the reins to a nearby stable hand. His cloak billowed slightly in the breeze, his regal presence commanding the attention of everyone around him.

“Father!” you called again, your voice breaking slightly from your breathless sprint.

He turned toward you, his expression shifting from one of composure to pure, unrestrained joy. The moment his eyes met yours, his arms opened wide, and you didn’t hesitate for a second. You closed the distance between you, throwing yourself into his embrace.

His arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you as if he never wanted to let go. His grip was firm, steady, and warm, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

“It feels like I’m seeing an angel,” he murmured, his voice low and full of emotion.

You buried your face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and faint traces of ink from his correspondence. “I know... me too,” you replied, your voice muffled but no less sincere.

Silco finally pulled back from the embrace, his hands resting on your shoulders as he looked you over, his sharp eyes softening with affection. “Have you been well, my daughter?” he asked, his voice steady yet tinged with concern.

You nodded, though you hesitated before answering. “Yes, Father. I’ve kept up with my studies and my training... though I missed you terribly,” you admitted, your voice faltering slightly at the end.

His expression softened further, and he cupped your cheek with a gloved hand, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “I missed you as well. It was far too long to be away from my only child.”

As he spoke, you noticed the weight of exhaustion in his features—the faint lines of weariness etched into his face and the slight droop of his shoulders. Yet even so, there was a glimmer of pride in his eyes as he looked at you.

He stepped back, his posture straightening as he addressed not just you but the attendants and soldiers gathering around. His voice carried, commanding attention with its authority.

“My soldiers and I have returned victorious,” he announced, his tone filled with the subtle pride of a ruler who demanded respect but did not flaunt his power unnecessarily. “And such a triumph deserves celebration.”

Your heart skipped slightly at his words, and you couldn’t help the small smile that formed on your lips.

Silco continued, his gaze sweeping over the gathered servants and knights. “A feast will be held tonight in the Great Hall. Let it be a night of joy and gratitude for our success and the safety of our kingdom.”

The attendants and soldiers murmured their approval, the quiet hum of excitement rippling through the crowd.

He turned back to you, his expression softer once again. “And you, my child, will be at my side as the kingdom celebrates.”

“I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else,” you replied, your voice steady despite the excitement bubbling within you.

“Good,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “But first, you’ll need to prepare. I expect you to look every bit the queen you are destined to be. I trust Mel will see to it?”

You nodded quickly. “She will, Father. I’ll make sure everything is perfect.”

“Good,” Silco repeated, placing a hand on your shoulder briefly before turning to his steward to give further instructions about the preparations.

As the crowd began to disperse, Sevika stepped forward, her ever-stoic presence now standing close behind your father. Her sharp eyes glanced over you briefly before she addressed Silco. “I’ll ensure the knights are ready for the evening, Your Majesty,” she said, her tone curt and professional.

Silco nodded in approval, but before Sevika could leave, his gaze shifted back to you. “Sevika, see that my daughter gets back to her chambers safely. She shouldn’t be running through the halls like that again.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Sevika replied without hesitation.

Your father gave you one last affectionate glance before turning back to his advisors, leaving you standing there with Sevika.

“You heard him,” Sevika said gruffly, her tone laced with the usual edge of authority. “Let’s get you back to your chambers. Can’t have you causing another scene.”

You rolled your eyes slightly but complied, following her as she led the way back into the castle. Despite her sharp words, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort knowing she was there, her towering presence a reminder of both your safety and... something else you weren’t quite ready to admit.

As you and Sevika made your way back through the dimly lit halls of the castle, the cool stone beneath your feet and the drafty corridors sent a shiver down your spine. Without a word, Sevika unclasped her cloak and draped it around your shoulders, the heavy fabric engulfing you in warmth. Her movements were brisk and efficient, as if she had done this a hundred times before, yet the gesture left your cheeks warm in a way that had nothing to do with the cloak itself.

“Thank you,” you murmured, clutching the edges of the cloak tightly around yourself. The faint scent of leather and smoke lingered on the fabric, unmistakably hers.

Sevika gave a short nod, her gaze fixed ahead as the two of you continued walking. The rhythmic clink of her armor filled the silence, but your mind was elsewhere. You kept stealing glances at her, your heart thudding harder with each one. You wanted to speak, to finally confess the feelings you had held onto for so long. The words were right there, resting on the tip of your tongue.

But before you could summon the courage to open your mouth, Sevika’s voice cut through the silence, low and steady.

“Don’t run out in your nightgown again,” she said gruffly, not bothering to glance your way. “It’s quite transparent in the right lighting.”

You froze mid-step, your eyes widening as her words sank in. The warmth in your cheeks flared into a full blush, spreading down your neck as you quickly looked away, your hands instinctively tugging the cloak tighter around your body.

“I-I wasn’t thinking,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I just wanted to see my father.”

Sevika finally glanced at you, her sharp eyes briefly scanning your flustered expression before she huffed a soft, almost amused sigh. “That much was obvious.”

You felt your stomach twist with embarrassment, but there was something in her tone—a faint trace of humor, perhaps—that eased the sting of her bluntness.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time,” you muttered, your gaze fixed firmly on the stone floor as you walked.

“See that you do,” Sevika replied, her voice returning to its usual sternness. “You may be the king’s daughter, but you’re not above common sense.”

Her words stung, but there was no malice in them, only the no-nonsense practicality that defined her. Still, your heart ached as you realized how far away your confession still felt. How could you possibly tell someone like her—so composed, so seemingly unimpressed by you—what you truly felt?

As you neared your chambers, the weight of the unspoken words pressed heavily on your chest. For now, you would settle for the warmth of her cloak and the fleeting moments of attention she gave you, even if they were laced with sternness.

The feast was a spectacle of grandeur. With Mel and a team of diligent servants, you were adorned in your finest jewels, your hair styled to perfection, and the shimmering gown hugging your frame like it was made of starlight itself. The dress—delicate and intricate, like spun silver—glittered under the candlelight, catching every flicker and transforming it into magic. The translucent layers of the fabric hugged your silhouette, leaving just enough to the imagination while maintaining an air of regality.

Mel circled you with a satisfied smile, tucking one final lock of hair into place. “If Sevika doesn’t fall for you tonight,” she teased, “she must be made of stone.”

You swatted her arm lightly but couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your lips. With a deep breath, you stepped out into the party, your heels clicking softly against the polished marble floor as you entered the grand ballroom.

The hall was alive with music, laughter, and clinking glasses. The party was far too large for the dining hall, so the grand ballroom served as the perfect venue. Guests danced beneath glittering chandeliers, their movements synchronized to the lively tunes of the string quartet. You and your ladies joined in, swirling through the dance floor in familiar patterns, your laughter mixing with the music.

You’d had two glasses of wine by then—an indulgence you rarely allowed yourself—and it left you feeling warm and light. Your inhibitions melted away, and you let yourself be swept up in the joy of the moment.

That was when you saw her.

Sevika stood near the edge of the ballroom, her tall frame unmistakable even among the most decorated soldiers. Her usual rugged attire was transformed, enhanced with gold detailing that caught the light in flashes of brilliance. Her armor had been polished to a mirror finish, and though her expression remained stoic, she looked breathtakingly regal.

Your gaze lingered, and Mel—ever observant—caught on immediately. She grabbed your wrist, pulling you from the dancing circle with a knowing grin. “Now’s your chance,” she whispered.

You hesitated, your heart racing. “I don’t know, Mel.”

“What if you don’t see her again? What if she leaves for a mission and never comes back?”

The weight of her words struck you, and you turned to look at Sevika again. She was speaking with someone, her stern profile illuminated by the golden light of the chandeliers. Mel was right—you couldn’t waste this moment.

With a deep breath, you smoothed your gown and made your way toward her, weaving through the crowd. When you reached her, you placed a tentative hand on her arm, causing her to turn and look at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Can I speak to you somewhere privately?” you asked softly.

Sevika’s brow furrowed slightly, but she nodded, following you out of the ballroom and into one of the quieter hallways.

The hallway felt like it was closing in around you, the flickering sconces casting fleeting light on Sevika’s armor. Her stern expression was unreadable, and her imposing frame seemed even more unyielding in the dim corridor. Still, you gathered every ounce of courage you could muster. This was your moment, and you couldn’t let it slip away, no matter how heavy the weight of her cold demeanor felt.

You hesitated, the stem of the wine glass trembling in your grip as you tried to muster the courage to speak. She didn’t move, her arms crossed over her chest, waiting. Always waiting, as if the weight of your words was little more than an inconvenience.

"Well?" she said flatly, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. "If you dragged me away from the ball for this, I suggest you make it quick."

“I’ve held this in for too long,” you started, your voice trembling slightly. “I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t matter, that you don’t matter.”

Sevika’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she said nothing, her silence more oppressive than any words could be. You stepped closer, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I love you, Sevika,” you said, your voice cracking under the weight of your confession. “I’ve loved you for years.”

For a moment, her mask slipped. There was a flicker of something in her eyes—surprise, uncertainty, maybe even longing. It was so fleeting you almost doubted you’d seen it at all. But it gave you the courage to close the distance between you, to take her face in your hands.

She didn’t pull away. Her body tensed under your touch, but she remained rooted in place, her breathing shallow and uneven. It was enough. You leaned in, your lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was as much a plea as it was a confession.

For a fleeting moment, she kissed you back. Her lips were hesitant, but warm, and you felt a spark—something you’d only ever dreamed of. It was like the world had stopped, and in that heartbeat, everything else ceased to matter.

But just as quickly, it was over. Sevika’s hands came up, gripping your wrists firmly as she pulled away. The space between you felt like a chasm, and the cold air rushed in where her warmth had been.

“No.” Her voice was sharp, almost a growl. She let go of your wrists, and you staggered back, staring at her in disbelief.

“Sevika—” you started, your voice cracking with desperation.

“Don’t,” she snapped, cutting you off. Her expression was hard, her eyes blazing with something you couldn’t place—anger, regret, pain. “This… whatever this is, it can’t happen. It shouldn’t have happened.”

“Why?” you demanded, tears welling in your eyes. “Why are you doing this? I know you feel something for me. I know you do!”

“Because you’re nothing but a spoiled little girl who doesn’t understand the world she lives in,” Sevika snapped, her tone cold and biting. Her eyes bored into yours, unyielding and merciless. “You think this is some fairy tale where you confess your feelings, and everything falls into place. But that’s not how life works. I serve your father. I protect this kingdom. That is my duty. Not indulging the childish fantasies of a princess who doesn’t know the meaning of sacrifice.”

Her words were a dagger, each one sinking deeper into your chest. You opened your mouth to respond, but no sound came out. The tears you’d been fighting spilled over, streaking your cheeks as you stared at her, your heart breaking with every second that passed.

Sevika’s gaze softened for the briefest moment, but it was gone just as quickly, replaced by the cold mask she always wore. She took a step back, putting more distance between you. “Forget this ever happened,” she said, her voice flat. “And stop chasing after things that aren’t meant for you.”

Without another word, she turned and walked away, her heavy boots echoing down the corridor. You stood there, frozen, as the weight of her rejection pressed down on you. The air felt colder now, the once-grand gown that adorned you suddenly feeling suffocating, like a cage meant to keep you trapped in a world where you could never truly be free.

You slid down the wall, your knees giving out beneath you as you buried your face in your hands. The sound of the ballroom felt even further away now, and for the first time in your life, you wished you could disappear completely.

Mel stepped into the hall, her steps echoing through the quiet corridors of the castle. She froze when she saw you, sitting on the cold stone floor, your body trembling with sobs. The sight of you, usually so composed, crumbled in such a vulnerable state, sent a pang of concern through her chest. “(Y/N)?” she called out softly, her voice filled with both worry and warmth.

Between the heavy breaths, you managed to choke out the words, “She said she didn’t love me back… she called me childish,” your voice breaking as the weight of the rejection hung in the air like a thick, suffocating fog.

Mel's heart ached at the sound of your pain. Without a second thought, she hurried to your side, kneeling down beside you. Her hands gently touched your arms, offering a quiet comfort as she whispered, “Come on, let’s get you back to your room.”

With surprising strength, Mel helped you to your feet, supporting your wobbly legs as you struggled to calm the tears that refused to stop. Her presence was grounding, a steady reassurance in the storm of your emotions. As the two of you walked slowly back toward your chambers, Mel kept a steady hand on your back, guiding you through the castle’s labyrinth of halls.

The comforting silence between you both was interrupted only by the occasional sniffle from you, as you struggled to regain some composure. Mel didn’t say anything more. She knew there was nothing to say—at least not yet. She just wanted to get you somewhere safe, where you could break down if you needed to, without the prying eyes of the castle around you.

Ever since that night at the party, it was like Vi had developed a magnetic pull toward you—one you weren’t exactly resisting. Her hands always found their way to you, whether it was sneaking you into an empty study room between classes, stealing kisses behind the bleachers after soccer or cheer practice, or late-night rendezvous in each other’s cars.

Every touch, every whispered tease, every stolen moment was laced with something more—something neither of you dared to put into words.

In Vi’s car, she’d pull you onto her lap, hands gripping your thighs as she smirked against your lips. In your car, she’d tug you over the console, her fingers trailing under your shirt as she whispered how much she’d missed you all day. Your bedroom became a battleground of tangled sheets and hushed giggles, her presence becoming so familiar that it felt strange when she wasn’t there. And her room? That was dangerous territory—especially with Caitlyn around. But even then, Vi found ways to keep you close, pulling you onto her bed under the excuse of watching a movie, only for it to turn into a mess of heated kisses and muffled moans.

The only real problem? Jayce.

He started noticing the way you and Vi gravitated toward each other, the lingering glances, the inside jokes, the way Vi would find any excuse to have her hands on you. His suspicion grew until one night at dinner, he finally confronted you.

"Okay, what’s going on between you and Vi?" he asked, setting his fork down and narrowing his eyes.

Your stomach flipped, but you kept your expression neutral. “What do you mean?”

Jayce scoffed. “Oh, don’t play dumb. You two have been attached at the hip lately. And don’t tell me it’s just because of soccer or cheer. I’m not blind.”

You took a sip of your drink, giving yourself a second to think. “We have a project together.”

Jayce raised an eyebrow. “A project.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, keeping your voice steady. “For one of my electives. She’s helping me with research.”

It wasn’t a complete lie—you did have a project due soon. Not that Vi had actually helped with any of it.

Jayce studied you for a long moment, as if trying to figure out whether to believe you. Finally, he sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Fine. But if I find out you’re lying—”

“You won’t,” you cut in quickly, forcing a small smile. “Relax, Jayce.”

He huffed but dropped it for now, returning to his food.

You let out a quiet breath of relief, but deep down, you knew this lie wouldn’t hold up forever.

The monotonous voice from the A&P biology video droned on, but neither of you were paying attention. Vi’s lips moved hungrily against yours, her hands roaming freely as she pulled you closer, gripping your ass with a firm squeeze. You let out a small gasp against her mouth, only for her to take advantage of the sound, deepening the kiss even further.

You were perched on her lap, your fingers tangled in her short, tousled hair as her hands explored your body. When one of her hands slid under your shirt, her rough palm making contact with your warm skin, you shivered at the sensation.

Your own hand flew to hers, stopping her movement as you pulled away slightly, lips swollen from the intensity of your makeout session. “My brother is across the hallway, Vi,” you whispered breathlessly.

Vi smirked, her fingers teasing along your waist. “I don’t care. It’s not like we haven’t done it with him in the same place,” she teased, her voice low and smug.

You shot her a deadpan look as you shook your head. “Not funny,” you muttered as you slid off her lap, adjusting your shirt.

And just like that, the moment was ruined. Right on cue, Jayce barged into the room, completely oblivious. “Sup, losers,” he greeted casually before looking at Vi. “Vi, let’s go to practice. You can finish the project later tonight.”

Vi stretched lazily, standing from your bed as if nothing had happened. “I most definitely am,” she said with a knowing glance in your direction. “Since it’s due tonight.”

You rolled your eyes, clicking the biology video off as she followed Jayce out of the room. But even as they left, the lingering heat of her touch still burned against your skin.

When you woke up, she was gone. No note, no text, no trace of her at all—just an empty space beside you, the sheets slightly rumpled, and the faint lingering scent of her perfume. You sighed, pushing away the small pang of disappointment as you forced yourself out of bed.

Dragging yourself to the bathroom, you winced at your reflection. The marks on your neck stood out in deep shades of red and purple, a clear reminder of last night. "Great," you muttered, grabbing your concealer and blending it over the evidence of Vi’s touch. It took a few layers, but eventually, you managed to make them disappear.

After finishing your makeup, you got dressed, slipping into a long-sleeved, off-the-shoulder top with an abstract, graffiti-like print. The fabric clung to your figure, ruched elegantly at the side, draping around your waist in a way that accentuated your shape. The muted tones and scribbled patterns gave it an effortless, edgy feel—exactly what you needed today. You paired it with black shorts, short enough to keep things playful but balanced against the long sleeves.

You checked yourself out in the mirror, adjusting the fabric slightly before grabbing your bag. With one last glance at your reflection, you exhaled and left the room, heading out the door and trying to ignore the way your heart clenched just a little at her absence.

After the party, Dina and Viktor left for Italy, you drove them back giving them both hugs. You missed them dearly. But before you had too much time to dwell on their absence, Jinx and Ekko naturally filled the space they left behind.

After school, you decided to surprise Jayce at soccer practice with his favorite Mexican dish—he deserved it after all the long, grueling days of practice. Plus, if you were being honest, you had another reason for showing up. Vi. Sweaty, dirty, and in her element.

When you arrived at the field, the team was still practicing, running drills under the late afternoon sun. Jayce was in his usual leadership role, barking out encouragement and instructions between plays. Jinx was sitting in the bleachers as she scoped out Ekko doing a scrimmage with his teammates.

Vi.

She had been focused on the scrimmage until she caught sight of you standing on the sidelines. For a brief second, her lips twitched into a smirk before she lifted the bottom of her shirt to wipe the sweat off her face. It was an innocent enough action, but it didn’t stop your eyes from trailing over her toned stomach, her abs practically glistening under the golden light. She knew exactly what she was doing.

You swallowed, pretending to ignore the warmth spreading through you as you turned back to Jayce, holding up the food. “Figured you could use a reward,” you called out.

Your brother jogged over, grinning wide when he saw what you brought. “No way,” he said, taking the container from you. “You’re the best.”

As the sun dipped lower, practice finally wrapped up. Jinx made you two stay for the whole practice. The team slowly dispersed, some heading to the locker rooms, others sticking around to chat. Jayce had been roped into a conversation with Ekko and Jinx, giving you a moment alone.

You didn’t have to wait long.

Vi strolled up to you, her usual cocky smirk in place, though her eyes held something more—something unreadable.

“Talis,” she greeted, voice smooth and teasing.

You rolled your eyes, arms crossed. “Lanes.”

She stepped closer, hands resting casually on her hips. For a second, she just looked at you, her gaze flickering down to your lips before she leaned in slightly. It was second nature at this point—the quiet, stolen moments, the way she always found some excuse to kiss you.

But this time, you stopped her.

“Vi,” you murmured, placing a hand on her chest, keeping her at bay. “We really need to talk about this.”

Her smirk faltered slightly, brows raising.

“I don’t want you to think I’m using you,” you continued, voice quieter now. You meant it. It had been weighing on you—the way you both kept falling into this thing, whatever it was. The secrecy, the thrill, the heat of it all. But if she thought it was meaningless to you, you needed to clear that up.

For a moment, she just looked at you. Then, to your surprise, she huffed out a laugh.

“If anything,” she said, smirking again as she leaned in close, her breath warm against your skin, “I’m using you.”

Your stomach flipped, but you kept your expression neutral. “That supposed to make me feel better?”

Vi just shrugged. “Guess it depends. Do you want us to stop?”

You hated how easily she could turn the conversation back on you, how quickly she could make you forget your point. But still, you met her gaze head-on, determined.

“Maybe,” you said, but you didn’t sound convincing—not even to yourself.

Vi smirked again, her fingers brushing against your wrist, her touch light but deliberate. “Liar.”

As you stepped off the soccer field, Jinx perked up the second she overheard you mention the mall.

“Did you say mall?” she asked, suddenly appearing at your side with that mischievous grin of hers.

You sighed, already knowing where this was going. “Yeah, I need new cheer shoes, and Jayce needs new soccer cleats.”

Jinx draped an arm over your shoulder, walking in step with you. “Say no more, princess. You know I love a good shopping spree. Plus, I need some new stuff too—maybe some more chains, maybe some combat boots… maybe something totally unnecessary that I’ll buy just because it looks cool.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto your lips. “You’re just looking for an excuse to spend money.”

“Duh,” Jinx said, flipping her blue braids over her shoulder. “Also, you should totally get some cute socks or something to go with those cheer shoes. Maybe ones with little skulls on them. Gotta add some personality, y’know?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’ll stick to the basics, thanks.”

“Boring,” she teased, nudging your side.

As the two of you headed toward the parking lot, you shot Jayce a quick text letting him know where you were going. He’d probably meet up with you later if he wasn’t too exhausted from practice.

Jinx clapped her hands together. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road! And don’t worry—I’ll make sure you don’t pick out the ugliest shoes in the store.”

You groaned. “You are so dramatic.”

“Obviously,” she said with a wink before dragging you toward your car, already hyping up the shopping trip before you even pulled out of the parking lot.

You walked into the living room after entering the house, the cool air from outside still lingering in your clothes. The moment you stepped inside, you froze. Jayce was sitting on the couch, talking to none other than Caitlyn. They were in the middle of a serious conversation, and it didn’t seem like a friendly chat. Their serious expressions made your heart race—shit, was Caitlyn talking about you and Vi?

Your mind instantly spun with possibilities. Were they discussing what happened between you and Vi? You felt your stomach tighten. No, you couldn't have Caitlyn finding out. Not like this.

You shook off the nerves and walked over to Jayce, trying to act as normal as possible, but your mind was elsewhere. You held the shoe box in your hands and placed it in his lap, offering a small smile. “You’re welcome. The ones you had on at practice was on their last leg,” you said, the attempt to sound casual coming off a little forced.

Jayce looked up at you, his usual easy-going smile returning. “Thanks, kid. I really appreciate it.”

Before you could turn to leave, Caitlyn’s sharp eyes followed you as you moved to step back. “You should’ve seen her, Jayce. She looked like she was playing with fire the other day…” Caitlyn said, her voice trailing off but heavy with intent.

Your blood ran cold. Was she trying to expose what was going on between you and Vi?

Without thinking, you quickly grabbed Caitlyn’s arm, pulling her away from Jayce, and out of earshot. You could feel your heart pounding, trying to keep calm. “What the hell are you doing?” you hissed at her in a low voice, keeping your eyes on Jayce who hadn’t noticed yet.

Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a slight smirk. “You really think you can keep things quiet with Vi, huh? I’ve known her longer than you, and this—this thing between you two? It’s just a phase. You’re nothing but a distraction, an innocent little Italian girl who she couldn’t wait to get her hands on.”

You bit back the urge to snap at her, holding your ground. “What the hell is wrong with you? You don’t know anything about me and Vi.”

“Oh, I know enough. I know Vi’s always had a thing for me. I dated her, remember? And now you’re just a little plaything to her.” Caitlyn’s voice was full of venom, and it was clear she was enjoying this.

“That’s not true,” you snapped, suddenly feeling a rush of anger rising in your chest. “You don’t get to say that. You think I don’t know what’s going on between you two? You think you can control everything just because you’ve been around longer?”

Caitlyn smirked again, leaning in closer. “I’m offering you a deal, sweetheart. You leave Vi alone, and I’ll keep your little secret. You can keep pretending nothing happened. But if you keep pushing her, I’m going to expose it. It’ll get messy.”

You felt the heat of frustration bubbling up inside. “I don’t need your deal, Caitlyn,” you said, your voice trembling with a mix of rage and defiance. “You can’t threaten me, and you sure as hell can’t tell me what to do with my life.”

“Fine,” she sneered, crossing her arms. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Vi’s not going to want a ‘nice girl’ like you forever. She’s got a taste for excitement, and trust me—I'm way more her type than you’ll ever be.”

Your blood was boiling now, and every word she said only made you feel more determined. “You’re the one who’s delusional. Vi doesn’t want you anymore, Kiramman.”

Caitlyn’s eyes flashed with fury. “You think you’re better than me?” she spat. “You’re nothing but a naive little girl who doesn’t know what she’s doing. You’ll ruin yourself over this.”

You clenched your fists, the anger still simmering. “I don’t care what you think. I’m not going anywhere.”

Caitlyn crossed her arms, staring at you with that smug, self-satisfied smirk. “You know,” she said, tilting her head slightly, “I actually know more about you than you think.”

You frowned, your gut twisting. “What the hell are you talking about?”

She pulled her phone out of her pocket, her fingers moving over the screen. “Mel told me all about you,” she said casually, not looking up as she scrolled. “She’s my best friend, you know. And your brother’s girlfriend. She tells me everything.”

Your stomach dropped.

Caitlyn’s lips curled into something cruel as she turned her phone toward you. “Like this, for example.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The screen was filled with photos and videos of you. Eyes glassy, hands shaking, pupils blown wide as you stumbled around, slurring your words. Injecting yourself with god knows what, Some videos showed you at parties, laughing too hard, too wild. Others showed you completely out of it, your body barely keeping itself up, your expression vacant.

You thought your mom erased everything.

Your hands clenched into fists as you felt shame claw up your throat. Your past—the one you worked so hard to bury, to escape—was right there in Caitlyn’s hands.

She watched you, taking in your horrified expression with satisfaction. “Does Vi know you used to be a junkie?” she teased, her voice light but sharp as a knife.

Your breath was shaky as you forced yourself to look back at her. “Shut up, Caitlyn,” you muttered, your voice unsteady.

She hummed, tilting her head. “I could send her these photos and videos now…” She hovered her thumb over the screen, the threat clear. “Or is that deal still on the table?”

Your jaw tightened. Every part of you wanted to fight back, to tell her to go to hell. But fear gripped you—fear of what Vi would think if she saw these videos, fear of what Jayce would do if he found out Caitlyn had them.

You swallowed hard, looking at her hand, her phone, then back at her cold blue eyes. Your pride screamed at you not to give in.

But you hesitated.

And then, finally, you nodded.

Caitlyn smirked, satisfied with your silent surrender. She slid her phone back into her pocket and stepped past you, but not without making a point to bump her shoulder against yours, hard enough to make you stumble slightly.

"Smart choice," she murmured, her voice laced with condescension.

You clenched your jaw, your nails digging into your palms as you held yourself back. The urge to snap at her, to rip that damn phone from her hands and erase every trace of your past, burned inside you—but you knew better. Caitlyn had already won this round, and she knew it.

She walked toward the door with an air of victory, throwing one last glance over her shoulder. "Stay in your lane," she said smoothly before stepping out.

The moment the door shut behind her, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your hands trembled as you exhaled sharply, your mind racing.

You hated that she had this power over you. Hated that she could dangle your past in front of you like a loaded gun.

And most of all, you hated that she made you feel like Vi wouldn’t want you if she knew the truth.

And what if she’s right?

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The energy in the gymnasium was electric, the noise of the packed bleachers reverberating through the air as students cheered, chanted, and hyped up the football team for their upcoming game. It was another Friday during football season, which meant one thing—a pep rally.

You stood in formation with your squad, dressed in your cheer uniform, your hair perfectly styled, makeup flawless, and yet, despite looking the part, you felt completely out of it. The past week had been exhausting—not physically, but emotionally. You hadn’t spoken to Vi, hadn’t answered her texts or returned her calls. Avoidance was the only way to keep your secret buried. If Caitlyn ever made good on her threat, if Vi ever found out the truth about your past, everything would come crumbling down.

It wasn’t fear of what your classmates would think—college students were notorious for having their own vices. But Vi? The thought of what she would think made your stomach churn. Would she look at you differently? Would she see you as weak? As a liability? The idea alone made your throat tighten.

Your squad shifted as the announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, calling the cheer team to the court. The deafening roar of the crowd was overwhelming, a mix of hoots and hollers echoing through the gym as you and the squad stepped forward. The energy should have been exhilarating, but your mind was elsewhere.

Your eyes swept the sea of faces in the bleachers, scanning rapidly, searching for that familiar short pink hair, that cocky smirk, that intense gaze that always found you first. Is she here? The thought buzzed through your mind, but before you could catch a glimpse of her, the opening beats of your routine’s music blasted through the speakers.

There was no more time to think. No more time to search for her. You took a deep breath, plastered on your best cheerleader smile, and launched into the routine—just another performance in more ways than one.

The moment the music started, your body moved on autopilot. Muscle memory took over as you executed every move with precision—high kicks, sharp arm movements, and perfectly timed tumbles. You cheered, clapped, and flipped, your smile unwavering despite the storm brewing inside you. The crowd’s energy was electric, but your focus was elsewhere.

As you hit the final pose, the gym erupted into cheers. You straightened, hands on your hips, chest rising and falling as you caught your breath. But your eyes were back to scanning the crowd, heart pounding in anticipation.

And then—you saw her.

Vi was there, standing near the back of the gym, arms crossed over her chest. She wasn’t cheering, wasn’t hyped like everyone else. No—her eyes were locked on you, intense and unreadable.

You felt a lump form in your throat.

You should’ve been relieved that she was here. That she showed up. But instead, all you felt was a painful, suffocating mix of emotions. Guilt. Fear. Longing.

You tore your eyes away from her just as the football team was called onto the court. Jayce, along with the rest of the team, jogged out, hyping up the crowd. The energy spiked again, and you forced yourself to clap and cheer like nothing was wrong.

The rally carried on, the gym pulsing with excitement, but all you could feel was Vi’s gaze burning into you from across the room. You hadn’t spoken in a week, yet she was still here. Still watching. Still waiting.

And you didn’t know what scared you more—the possibility of her leaving…or the fact that she hadn’t yet.

After the pep rally, while most of the students funneled out of the gym, your cheer coach waved you over. “You and Sarah, stay back for a few minutes. We need a picture with the soccer team for the school website,” she said.

You sighed internally but nodded, adjusting your skirt as you followed your teammate toward the center of the court. The soccer team was already gathered, the golden trophy gleaming under the bright lights. They had won their big game a few days ago, and now it was time for the school to flaunt their victory.

You and Sarah took your spots, kneeling between the trophy as the soccer team loomed behind you. The camera flashed as the photographer took multiple shots, instructing you all to smile and hold steady. You kept your expression neutral, feeling Vi standing just behind you. Her presence was suffocating, but you refused to turn around.

After the final picture, you shot up to your feet, smoothing out your uniform. Sarah did the same, muttering something about needing to fix her hair. You were just about to step away when, at the worst possible moment, Jayce decided to be his usual annoying self.

“You actually did good,” he said, crossing his arms with a smug smirk. “Surprised they could even lift you up.”

You whipped around to face him, scoffing. “Wow, Jayce. You just had to ruin the moment, huh?”

Your brother shrugged, completely unfazed. “I’m just saying, you’ve been eating real good lately.”

You smacked his arm playfully, rolling your eyes. “Yeah? And you’ve been running too much. Starting to look like a damn twig.”

Jayce laughed, throwing an arm around your shoulders, but as he did, you caught a glimpse of Vi watching the exchange. Her face was unreadable, her arms crossed, her jaw clenched.

She still hadn’t said a word to you.

And it was killing you.

You were one of the last to leave the locker room, dragging your tired body through the door after stuffing your cheer uniform into your duffel. Dressed in low-rise sweatpants and a baby tee, your hair tied up in a quick ponytail, you felt drained from the long day. The only thing on your mind was going home, showering, and passing out in bed.

That was until you saw her.

Vi stood outside, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over her chest. The second her eyes landed on you, she pushed off and walked straight toward you, her expression serious.

“What’s up? Why have you been avoiding me?” she asked, getting right to the point.

Your stomach twisted. You glanced around, seeing too many students still lingering nearby, their conversations filling the air. The last thing you wanted was for this to turn into a public scene.

“Can we not do this here?” you sighed. “Let’s go off campus, please.”

Vi narrowed her eyes slightly, but after a moment, she nodded. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Without another word, she turned and started walking toward the parking lot. You swallowed hard and followed, knowing there was no way you could keep avoiding this conversation forever.

You sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window as Vi drove off campus. The silence between you was thick, almost suffocating. You could feel her gaze flickering to you every few seconds, her grip on the wheel tightening.

"Alright," Vi finally said, pulling into an empty parking lot and cutting the engine. "We're off campus. Now tell me—what the hell is going on?"

You hesitated, gnawing at the inside of your cheek. "It's Caitlyn," you admitted, still unable to meet her eyes.

Vi scoffed, leaning back in her seat. "Figures. What'd she do now?"

You swallowed hard, your fingers gripping the hem of your hoodie. "She has something against me. Something serious. That’s why I’ve been avoiding you."

Vi furrowed her brows, her jaw tightening. "What kind of 'something'?"

You exhaled sharply, finally turning to look at her. "It's not just some high school drama, Vi. This is serious. She—she has videos of me. From before." You couldn’t bring yourself to say it out loud, but Vi’s expression shifted, her teasing demeanor gone.

Vi’s eyes searched yours. "Before," she echoed, realization settling in.

You nodded. "I don’t know how she got them, but she did. She knows. And she’s holding it over my head like it’s some game."

Vi’s hands balled into fists in her lap. "That fucking bitch," she muttered.

You sighed, leaning your head back against the seat. "I feel disgusting, Vi. Like all of that shit I went through is just… ammo for her. I can’t let anyone else see those videos. I just—" You inhaled shakily. "I can't let you see them."

Vi was quiet for a moment before she reached over, her fingers brushing against yours. "Hey," she said softly. "Look at me."

You hesitated before turning to her. Her expression wasn’t one of pity—it was something deeper.

"I don’t care what’s in those videos," she said. "I care about you. And if she thinks she can use that shit against you, then she’s got another thing coming."

Your chest tightened. "Vi—"

"I'm serious." Vi squeezed your hand. "You're not alone in this, alright?"

The air was thick with excitement as the football game was about to begin. The cheer squad was already making their way out to the field, but before you could step onto the sidelines, a firm grip on your wrist yanked you back. You turned, already knowing who it was before your eyes even landed on her.

Caitlyn.

She stood there, arms crossed, eyes cold and calculating as she tilted her head at you. “You really think I wouldn’t find out?” she said, her voice laced with quiet amusement.

You yanked your wrist free, glaring at her. “Find out what?”

“Don’t play dumb,” she scoffed, stepping closer. “You’re still talking to Vi. I have eyes everywhere.”

Your jaw clenched. Of course, she did. It wasn’t just about Vi—it was about control. Caitlyn thrived on knowing everything, using it as leverage to bend people to her will.

You took a step forward, standing your ground. “So what? You gonna run to Jayce? Show him your little blackmail collection?”

A smirk curled at the corner of her lips. “If I have to.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “You’re a horrible person, Caitlyn.”

Her smirk faltered, her expression hardening. “I’m protecting Vi.”

“Protecting her?” You scoffed, rage bubbling up in your chest. “From what? From someone who actually gives a damn about her?”

Caitlyn narrowed her eyes. “From someone who’s going to ruin her.”

Your fists clenched at your sides, nails digging into your palms. You still took a deep breath and calmed yourself down.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension between you two was suffocating, but you didn’t waver. Finally, Caitlyn exhaled sharply through her nose, taking a small step back.

“This isn’t over,” she muttered, before turning on her heel and walking away.

You stood there, your pulse hammering in your ears, before finally shaking yourself out of it and heading out to the field. You weren’t going to let her ruin this night.

Not a chance.

The stadium lights blazed down on the field as you stepped onto the sidelines, the roar of the crowd drowning out the thoughts swirling in your mind. You forced yourself to take a deep breath, rolling your shoulders back. Not tonight. You weren’t letting Caitlyn get into your head.

The cheer squad lined up, the routine already second nature to you as you watched the football team huddle on the field. You caught a glimpse of Jayce sitting in the stands with his teammates, Vi included. She wasn’t looking at the game—she was looking at you.

Your heart skipped.

But before you could let yourself linger on it, the music started, and muscle memory took over. You threw yourself into the routine, every jump, kick, and move fluid and powerful. Cheers erupted from the crowd as you and the squad executed a flawless sequence, and for a moment—just a moment—you forgot about everything else.

As the performance ended, you beamed, catching Jinx and Ekko cheering wildly from the stands. You grinned at them, shooting them a playful wink before jogging over to grab a sip of water. The adrenaline thrummed through your veins, making your hands tremble slightly as you unscrewed the cap.

“You killed that,” Jinx called from the bleachers, hanging over the railing with a grin.

“Obviously,” you shot back with a smirk.

But the moment of victory was short-lived. As you turned, your eyes landed on Caitlyn again, lingering at the edge of the field, arms crossed as she watched you with an unreadable expression.

You ignored her.

The stadium was alive with excitement, the halftime show just about to begin. The cheer squad was in position, the marching band ready to play, and the crowd buzzing with energy. But before anything could start, the entire stadium was plunged into darkness. A hush fell over the crowd, murmurs of confusion rippling through the stands.

Then, the giant screen flickered on, illuminating the field in an eerie glow. At first, it was just a black screen. Then, in bold white letters, your name appeared.

Your blood ran cold.

You barely heard the confused gasps and whispers from the crowd over the roaring in your ears. Your heart pounded violently against your ribcage as your eyes immediately darted to Caitlyn.

She was standing near the bleachers, arms crossed over her chest, a smirk stretching across her lips.

"Turn it off." Your voice came out shaky, barely above a whisper.

Caitlyn tilted her head, pretending not to hear you. Then, with an exaggerated shrug, she turned back to the screen.

The video started playing.

The world around you seemed to shrink, your vision tunneling as the first clip rolled. The dim, grainy footage of you—your past self—filled the screen. The shaky camera, the reckless nights, the dark circles under your eyes, the desperate way you moved. The people you were with. The things you were doing.

A wave of suffocating nausea washed over you.

The stadium was dead silent for a moment before the murmurs turned into scattered gasps.

"No, no, no..." You took a shaky step back, your breath coming in short, shallow bursts. The noise, the lights, the weight of hundreds—no, thousands—of eyes on you, it was too much. Your lungs felt like they were collapsing, your body trembling as the world started closing in.

Your teammates turned to you, their expressions unreadable through your haze of panic. Some people in the crowd had their phones out, recording.

You couldn’t do this.

You had to get out.

Ignoring the voices calling after you, ignoring the stunned and questioning looks, you turned on your heel and bolted off the field.

Your legs carried you blindly through the tunnel leading out of the stadium. The sound of the crowd faded behind you, your breath ragged, your pulse pounding in your ears.

Tears blurred your vision as you stumbled into the empty locker room, gripping onto the nearest bench for support. Your hands were shaking violently as you covered your face, gasping for air.

Everything you worked so hard to bury was out in the open now. Everyone saw.

And worst of all—Vi saw.

The locker room door slammed open as you stumbled inside, your breaths coming in shallow, rapid gasps. Your hands gripped the cool metal of the lockers, trying to ground yourself, but it was useless. The walls felt like they were closing in, the stadium noise muffled by the ringing in your ears.

You felt sick. Your past—your worst moments—plastered across the big screen for everyone to see. The judgment, the whispers, the looks. You could already hear them in your head.

Your legs gave out, and you slid to the floor, your body trembling as the sobs broke free from your chest.

Then, footsteps.

Heavy, fast, and filled with urgency.

"Hey, hey—" Vi’s voice was soft but firm as she knelt in front of you, her hands gently reaching for yours. "Breathe, baby. Just breathe, okay?"

You shook your head rapidly, your vision blurred with tears. "You—You saw it," you choked out, curling in on yourself. "Everyone saw it."

Vi’s jaw tightened, and she let out a shaky breath before cupping your face. "Yeah, I saw it. And? You think that changes anything for me?"

You flinched at her touch, pulling away. "It should," you whispered. "I—I was a mess, Vi. I was disgusting. You shouldn’t even want to look at me right now."

Vi’s brows furrowed, and she leaned in closer, refusing to let you pull away. "Don’t you dare talk about yourself like that."

You let out a bitter laugh between your sobs. "Why not? It’s true. I mean, Caitlyn was right—I’m just some stupid, broken girl who you—"

"Stop." Vi’s voice was suddenly sharp, her grip on your hands tightening. "I don’t give a damn what Caitlyn says. She doesn’t know you. I do."

You stared at her, your chest still rising and falling unevenly. "But—"

"I love you," Vi interrupted, her voice thick with emotion. "And nothing—not Caitlyn, not your past, not anything—is gonna change that."

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at her. Vi had never said those words so clearly before.

But still, doubt gnawed at you. "You say that now, but what if—what if you start seeing me differently? What if this—this changes everything?"

Vi exhaled sharply, then without hesitation, she pulled you into her arms, holding you so tightly it almost hurt. "The only thing that’s changing is how hard I’m gonna fight for you," she murmured against your hair.

Your body was still shaking, but for the first time since you ran out of the stadium, you felt a little less alone.

Vi wasn’t running. She wasn’t looking at you with pity or disgust. She was here, holding you together while you fell apart.

And right now, that was enough.

Ekko and Jinx rushed into the locker room, their faces etched with concern.

“Hey, hey,” Ekko said, crouching down beside you as Vi kept her hands on your shoulders. “Breathe, alright? We’re here.”

You were still gasping for air, shaking your head as tears streaked down your face. “It’s—it’s everywhere now. Everyone saw. I can’t—”

Jinx knelt beside you, rubbing your back. “Caitlyn’s a fucking snake for that,” she hissed. “But screw what people think, okay? You’ve come so far.”

Vi, still kneeling in front of you, reached for your hands, squeezing them tightly. “You’re not alone in this,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “I meant what I said. Nothing changes how I feel about you.”

Your chest still heaved, but their words grounded you, even if the panic still clawed at your throat. Ekko was watching you closely, the way he always did when you were spiraling. “You need air?” he asked.

You nodded weakly. Vi helped you up, keeping a protective hand on your waist. “Let’s go,” she murmured. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

Vi guided you out of the locker room, her arm still firmly wrapped around your waist as Ekko and Jinx flanked your sides. The stadium was still loud, but in your head, everything was muffled—like you were underwater, drowning in the weight of what had just happened.

You were exposed.

Caitlyn had shown the entire school your past, your worst moments, the version of yourself you never wanted to be again.

Your breathing was still uneven, but you forced yourself to keep moving, gripping onto Vi’s jacket like it was the only thing keeping you from collapsing.

Once you were outside, where the air was cooler and the noise was more distant, you leaned against the brick wall of the building, squeezing your eyes shut.

Ekko crouched in front of you again. “Talk to me,” he urged gently. “What do you need?”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “I—I don’t know,” you admitted. “I just—I feel like I can’t breathe.”

Jinx cursed under her breath. “I swear I’ll kill her,” she muttered, pacing back and forth. “She had no right—”

“She did it because of me.” Vi’s voice was low, guilty.

You opened your eyes, looking at her through your blurry vision. “What?”

Vi ran a hand through her hair, her jaw clenched. “She’s been trying to push you away from me, hasn’t she?” She exhaled sharply. “Fuck. This is my fault.”

“No,” you whispered. “She did this to hurt me. To make sure I lost everything.”

Vi stared at you, her expression dark with anger, but beneath it was something softer—guilt, regret, something else you couldn’t quite place.

Ekko rubbed the back of his neck. “We need to handle this. Not just let her get away with it.”

Jinx nodded aggressively. “Yeah, we can’t let her win.”

But right now, you didn’t care about revenge or fighting back. You just wanted to disappear.

“I need to go home,” you muttered.

Vi immediately straightened. “I’ll take you.”

Ekko hesitated. “Are you sure? Maybe you should stay with someone tonight.”

You met Vi’s gaze, and for once, you saw nothing but sincerity in her eyes. “I’ll be okay,” you murmured.

Ekko didn’t look convinced, but he sighed. “Alright. But call me if anything.”

Jinx gave Vi a warning look before hugging you. “Don’t do anything stupid, got it?”

You managed a weak nod before Vi gently took your hand, leading you toward the parking lot.

As you walked, she squeezed your fingers, her voice soft when she spoke. “I meant what I said earlier,” she told you. “Nothing changes how I feel about you. Nothing.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t know how to.

All you knew was that tonight, everything had changed.

The drive home was silent. Vi kept glancing at you, her fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white, but she didn’t push you to talk. You stared out the window, your mind replaying the video over and over again. The way the entire school saw your past. The whispers, the judgment—it was all going to follow you now.

When Vi pulled up to your apartment complex, you hesitated before opening the car door. The lights were on inside, meaning your mom was still awake. You weren’t sure if you were ready for this conversation, but it wasn’t like you had a choice.

Vi walked beside you, her presence grounding as you stepped through the front door. The moment you did, your mom looked up from the kitchen, immediately taking in your red-rimmed eyes and Vi’s tense stance.

“What happened?” she asked, concern laced in her voice.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Vi stepped in. “Caitlyn,” she said simply. “She—she put up a video of her past. At the game. On the big screen.”

Your mother’s face darkened instantly. Her grip on the counter tightened as she exhaled sharply, as if trying to contain her anger. Then, after a beat, she looked at you, her voice softer. “Do you need to go back to Italy?”

The question hit you harder than you expected. It would be so easy to say yes. To pack your bags, book a flight, and leave all of this behind. Run from the stares, the whispers, the shame.

But then your eyes flickered to Vi. She wasn’t looking at you, but you could see the tension in her jaw, the way her shoulders stiffened, like she was already preparing herself for your answer.

You swallowed thickly before shaking your head. “No,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. “I’m done running away from my problems.”

Your mother studied you for a moment, then nodded in understanding. “Alright,” she said softly. “But I need you to tell me if it gets too much. I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

You nodded, even though you weren’t sure you believed that talking about it would help.

“Go get some rest,” your mother said, reaching out to squeeze your hand before letting you go.

Vi didn’t say anything as she followed you upstairs. When you reached your room, you let out a heavy breath before closing the door behind you.

For a moment, you just stood there, staring at the floor, before finally whispering, “What am I supposed to do now?”

Vi sighed, stepping closer. “We figure it out,” she said. “Together.”

You looked up at her, searching her face for any sign of doubt. But there was none. Just quiet determination.

Vi sat on the edge of your bed, elbows resting on her knees, hands clasped together as she watched you. You sat across from her in your desk chair, hugging your knees to your chest. The weight of everything still pressed down on you, but Vi’s presence made it bearable.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” she started, her voice careful, “but I need to understand.”

You swallowed, fingers tightening around your knees. “What do you want to know?”

Vi hesitated before asking, “How bad was it?”

You exhaled slowly. “Bad,” you admitted. “It started small—pills here and there. Just something to take the edge off. Then it wasn’t just pills. It was whatever I could get my hands on.”

Vi stayed silent, letting you speak at your own pace.

“I thought I had control over it,” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “But addiction doesn’t work like that. It controls you. And the worst part?” You let out a bitter laugh. “I didn’t even care. Not until it nearly killed me.”

Vi’s jaw clenched, her hands tightening together. “And that’s when you went to Italy?”

You nodded. “Jayce, Ekko, my mom… they staged an intervention. I didn’t want to go, but they gave me no choice. I hated them for it at first, but…” You shook your head. “They saved my life.”

Vi looked at you with something unreadable in her expression. And then, carefully, she reached out, resting her hand on your knee. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said, her voice rough with emotion. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Your throat tightened, and for the first time in a long time, you felt truly seen. No judgment. No pity. Just Vi, looking at you like you were still worth something.

She exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair before looking back at you. “I meant what I said before,” she admitted. “That I love you.”

Your breath caught.

“I don’t care about your past. I don’t care about Caitlyn, or what anyone else thinks. I just—” She shook her head. “I just want to be with you. If you’ll have me.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You stood up from your chair, stepping between her legs, your hands cupping her face as you pressed your lips to hers.

Vi kissed you back immediately, her hands gripping your waist, pulling you closer. It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was soft, slow, and full of everything you hadn’t been able to say out loud.

When you pulled away, your forehead rested against hers. “I love you too,” you whispered.

A slow, relieved smile spread across Vi’s face. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Vi exhaled a laugh, pressing another kiss to your lips before pulling you onto the bed with her, holding you close like she wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon. And for the first time in a long time, you felt safe.

Vi’s hands roamed your waist, her fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Your arms wrapped around her neck, deepening the kiss as you shifted onto her lap. The warmth of her body, the way her lips moved against yours—it made your head spin.

Vi’s grip tightened as she pulled you even closer, her tongue teasing yours, making your breath hitch. Her lips trailed down your jaw, her breath hot against your skin.

And then—

Knock. Knock.

You froze. Vi groaned in frustration, her forehead dropping against your shoulder. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she muttered.

You quickly scrambled off of her, adjusting your shirt and running a hand through your hair before heading for the door. When you opened it, your stomach dropped.

Jayce.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes narrowing as he glanced past you into your room, where Vi was still sitting on your bed, looking very much caught.

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

Jayce exhaled, shaking his head. “So… this is why you’ve been acting weird?”

You swallowed hard. “Jayce—”

“No, no,” he cut you off, stepping into the room. “I mean, I should’ve known, right? The ‘project,’ the sneaking around, the stolen glances—” He turned to Vi, his expression unreadable. “How long?”

Vi stood up, standing her ground. “A while.”

Jayce scoffed. “Figures.” His gaze snapped back to you. “And you—when were you gonna tell me?”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “I don’t know, Jayce. Maybe when you stopped treating me like I’m made of glass.”

His jaw clenched. “That’s not fair.”

“No? Because ever since I came back, you’ve been waiting for me to mess up again,” you said, voice sharp. “I get it—you’re my big brother, you’re supposed to look out for me. But this?” You gestured between you and Vi. “This isn’t some reckless mistake.”

Jayce ran a hand down his face. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“Yes,” you said firmly.

Vi stepped beside you. “I care about her, man.”

Jayce looked between the two of you, frustration evident on his face. But there was something else, too—resignation. He sighed heavily. “Just… don’t make me regret trusting you,” he muttered, pointing at Vi.

Vi smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Jayce rolled his eyes before turning back to you. “And you—be smart.”

You gave him a small smile. “I always am.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, okay.” Then, shaking his head, he turned toward the door. “Mom’s looking for you, by the way.”

You nodded, watching as he left, the door clicking shut behind him.

You turned to Vi, exhaling deeply. She grinned, wrapping an arm around your waist. “That could’ve gone worse.”

You huffed a laugh, leaning into her. “Could’ve gone better too.”

Vi pressed a kiss to your temple. “At least it’s out now.”

And strangely enough—you felt relieved.

You sighed, leaning into Vi for a moment before pulling back slightly. “You should probably go,” you murmured, brushing your fingers against her wrist. “I’ll see you tomorrow at school.”

Vi raised a brow, tilting her head. “You kicking me out?”

You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “No. Just… I need to talk to my mom and Jayce. And if you stay any longer, I might not want you to leave, puppy.”

Vi smirked, clearly enjoying that confession, but she didn’t push. Instead, she leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. “Alright, alright. I’ll go,” she said against your mouth before pulling away. “Text me later?”

You nodded. “I promise.”

Vi squeezed your hand before finally making her way to the window—because of course, she still refused to leave through the front door. You rolled your eyes "Weirdo," you say teasingly, watching as she climbed down effortlessly, shooting you one last wink before disappearing into the night.

With a deep breath, you straightened yourself out and headed downstairs, where your mom was waiting in the living room. She looked up when she heard your footsteps, her expression soft but expectant. “You okay?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Just… a lot happened today.”

She patted the seat next to her, and you sat down, resting your hands in your lap. “You know, if you ever feel like Italy is still an option, it’s there,” she said gently. “But I’m proud of you for facing this head-on.”

You smiled slightly. “Thanks, Mom.”

She reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “And this… thing with Vi,” she started, eyeing you. “Is it serious?”

You bit your lip before nodding. “Yeah. I think it is.”

Your mom studied you for a moment before sighing, shaking her head with an amused smile. “Well, as long as she treats you right.”

“She does,” you assured her.

“Good.” She squeezed your knee before standing. “Now, I think your brother is waiting for his turn to lecture you.”

You groaned. “Fantastic.”

Sure enough, as soon as your mom left the room, Jayce came in, arms crossed. “So,” he started.

“So,” you repeated.

Jayce sighed, sitting across from you. “Look, I know you told Mom and me you have this handled, but Caitlyn isn’t someone who just drops things.”

You met his gaze, firm. “I do have it handled, Jayce.”

His brows furrowed. “How?”

You hesitated, not wanting to go into detail about the deal Caitlyn tried to make with you. “I just do.”

Jayce didn’t look convinced. “She’s dangerous when she wants to be. If she tries anything else—”

“I’ll handle it,” you interrupted, voice unwavering.

Jayce stared at you for a long moment before sighing. “Alright. But if anything happens—”

“You’ll be the first to know,” you promised.

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly still uneasy, but he let it go. “Fine. Just… be careful, alright?”

You nodded. “Always.”

With that, Jayce stood, ruffling your hair on his way out, earning a groan from you. As he disappeared up the stairs, you exhaled, leaning back against the couch.

Caitlyn wasn’t done. You knew that much.

But neither were you.

Vi walked beside you, her arm still draped over your shoulder as the two of you made your way through the bustling hallway. It felt oddly familiar—this was the same route she had taken you on the first day you met, when Jayce had introduced you and warned her to stay away. And yet, here you were, hand in hand, her presence by your side feeling like the most natural thing in the world.

As you passed groups of students lingering near their lockers or by the walls, you could hear the murmurs and hushed whispers. Some weren’t even trying to be subtle.

"Aren’t they dating now?""Didn’t Caitlyn say something about her last night?""Damn, Vi moves fast…"

Rolling your eyes, you let out an exaggerated sigh before speaking just loud enough for them to hear. "Funny how this is college, but it feels so much like high school."

Vi chuckled beside you, clearly amused. "Right? Bunch of grown-ass kids.” She shot a pointed glance toward the group, making a few of them look away awkwardly.

As you reached your classroom, Vi slowed her steps, her fingers brushing against yours before fully letting go. She looked at you with a slightly raised brow, her usual smirk playing at her lips. “You gonna be alright?”

You scoffed, shaking your head at her dramatics. “Jinx is in this class with me. I’ll be fine.”

Vi tilted her head, pretending to think. “Hmm… still, I could totally come in, sit in the back, scare off any weirdos—"

"Vi." You gave her a pointed look, though you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

She sighed dramatically, placing a hand over her heart. "Alright, alright. Guess I'll just have to survive an hour without you."

You rolled your eyes, squeezing her hand gently before letting go. “I’ll see you after, puppy.”

Vi winked. “I’ll be waiting, babe.”

With one last glance, you turned and stepped into class, catching sight of Jinx already sprawled across a seat, her feet kicked up on the chair in front of her. She grinned as she saw you enter, but before she could say anything, you heard Vi call out behind you, loud enough for half the class to hear—

"Don’t miss me too much!"

Heat rushed to your face as a few students snickered. You shot Vi a glare over your shoulder, but she only grinned, shooting you finger guns before disappearing down the hallway.

Jinx let out a low whistle. “Damn, you two are disgustingly cute.”

Rolling your eyes, you dropped into the seat next to her, shaking your head. “Shut up, Jinx.”

"Damn, you really walked in here like you owned the place," Jinx snickered. "Guess Vi finally locked you down, huh?"

You rolled your eyes, setting your bag down before taking your seat beside her. "Im really starting to see how you too are sisters...its not that serious. Everyone dates.

Jinx hummed, smirking. "Nah, it kinda is. I mean, people are talking." She leaned in closer, lowering her voice. "Caitlyn looked like she was about to throw hands when she saw you two walking together. Shit was hilarious."

You exhaled sharply through your nose, not surprised in the slightest. Caitlyn would be a problem, but she had already tried to humiliate you once—and you were still standing. Still with Vi.

"Let her be mad," you muttered, pulling out your notebook. "I'm not going anywhere."

Jinx chuckled, leaning back in her seat. "Damn right you’re not."

As the professor walked in and class began, you could still feel the weight of a few lingering stares. But they didn’t matter. Nothing Caitlyn or anyone else did could take this from you.

You had already decided—you weren’t running away this time.

After your class ended, you pulled out your phone to text Vi.

You: You out yet?

A minute passed before your phone vibrated with her response.

Vi: Still stuck in class. 30 mins left. Kill me.

You sighed, shoving your phone back into your pocket. Jinx had already bolted, mumbling something about helping Ekko with a science project, which left you with time to kill.

Deciding to freshen up, you made your way to the nearest bathroom. Once inside, you pulled out your makeup bag and leaned in close to the mirror, dabbing some concealer under your eyes before reapplying lip gloss. The dim fluorescent lights buzzed above as you smoothed out the product, adjusting your hair slightly.

The door suddenly swung open, and through the reflection, you saw Caitlyn stroll in, flanked by two other girls from the cheer squad. They looked at you like they had been waiting for this moment.

Caitlyn leaned against the counter, arms crossed, a smirk playing on her lips. "Hey, junkie. You think you can get with my ex and get away with it?"

You inhaled sharply through your nose, fingers tightening around your lip gloss. Without missing a beat, you discreetly reached into your pocket and tapped your phone’s record button before setting it facedown on the sink.

Taking a slow, deep breath, you finally turned to Caitlyn with a blank expression. "Yes, actually. Was the kissing and holding hands not enough proof for you?" You tilted your head, watching as her jaw clenched. "Those videos didn’t do shit, Cait. This is done. Get the fuck over yourself. This isn’t high school."

Her smirk disappeared. The tension in the room thickened as her eyes darkened with something unreadable—anger, jealousy, resentment. Maybe all three.

Then, it happened.

Caitlyn lunged first, shoving you back against the counter. The sudden impact made your phone slide slightly across the sink, but you had bigger things to worry about.

The moment her hands touched you, adrenaline surged through your veins. You shoved her off with enough force to make her stumble back, but before she could regain her footing, you were already on her.

A punch to the jaw. A satisfying grunt of pain.

One of the cheer girls shrieked as the other whipped out her phone to record.

Caitlyn swung back, her nails grazing your cheek, but it only fueled you further. You grabbed her by the collar of her shirt and shoved her into one of the stalls, the sound of her back hitting the metal door echoing through the bathroom.

"You crazy bitch!" Caitlyn spat, trying to get up, but you didn’t let her. You grabbed a fistful of her uniform and yanked her forward, bringing your face close to hers.

"You wanna ruin my life, Cait? Then come at me like a woman, not a bitter ex-girlfriend throwing a tantrum." Your voice was low, steady—dangerous.

She breathed heavily, glaring daggers at you, but she said nothing.

The bathroom door suddenly swung open again, and another cheerleader gasped, "What the hell is going on?"

You let Caitlyn go, roughly pushing her back as you adjusted your clothes. The girl still recording had a smug look on her face, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

"Send it to me," you told her flatly before grabbing your phone from the sink. You stopped at the doorway, glancing back at Caitlyn, who was still catching her breath.

"This isn’t over," she growled.

You smiled, brushing past the other girls as you walked out. "Yeah, it is."

As soon as you stepped out of the bathroom, you were met with a wall of students crowded around the door. Their faces were lit with anticipation, phones in hand, waiting to see what would happen next. Some were whispering, others outright laughing.

Caitlyn most definitely planned this. She wanted to fight you and humiliate you in the process, turn you into some kind of public spectacle.

Too bad for her—you weren’t the type to crumble.

You rolled your eyes, adjusting your shirt as you scanned the crowd. "Do any of you seriously have anything better to do?" Your voice rang out, cutting through the murmurs. "You're all fucking miserable, trying to bully someone who hasn’t done shit to you."

Some of them had the audacity to look surprised, as if they weren’t just standing there, watching like this was some free entertainment. Others just smirked, enjoying the drama.

You scoffed. "Well, guess what? Your comments don’t bother me. I’m that bitch, and you all are just my followers." You tilted your head, flashing a smirk that made a few people shift uncomfortably. "Every single one of you can kiss my ass."

With that, you pushed through the crowd, making sure to shoulder past a few of the bystanders who thought they had something to say. The hallway was buzzing with whispers behind you, but you didn’t care. You had made your statement.

You walked straight out of the building, not sparing a single glance back.

The moment you stepped outside, the cool air hit your skin, but it did nothing to cool down the heat still pulsing through your body. Your knuckles stung slightly, but you welcomed the pain—it was proof that you didn’t just sit there and take Caitlyn’s bullshit.

You ran a hand through your hair, exhaling sharply before checking your phone. Several notifications flooded your screen—texts, missed calls, and social media tags. The fight was already spreading. You barely had time to process it before your phone buzzed again.

Vi: Where are you?Vi: Jinx said something went down??Vi: Are you okay?

You sighed, typing back quickly.

You: Outside. By the parking lot. I’m fine.

It didn’t even take a full minute before you heard the heavy, familiar stomp of boots against pavement. Vi rounded the corner, her sharp eyes scanning you from head to toe as she stalked over. Her gaze flickered to your face, to your hands, and back to your face again.

“The fuck happened?” she demanded, voice low but tense.

You lifted a brow. “Caitlyn.”

Vi’s expression darkened immediately. “She touched you?”

“She tried,” you corrected. “And she lost.”

Vi let out a sharp exhale through her nose, her fists clenching like she was imagining what she would’ve done if she had been there. But as soon as her eyes landed back on you, they softened just a bit. “Are you okay, though?”

“I’m fine,” you assured her. “Just pissed off.”

Vi stepped closer, her hands coming up to gently cup your face. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

She let out a breath before leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your temple. “She’s fucking pathetic,” Vi muttered against your skin. “Did she really think she could pull some high school mean-girl shit and get away with it?”

You scoffed. “Apparently.”

Your phone buzzed again, and you glanced down to see a message from Jinx. Attached was a video. You clicked on it, and sure enough, it was footage of the fight. Someone had recorded the entire thing—the insults, the first punch, Caitlyn hitting the floor.

Vi peered over your shoulder, watching with an amused smirk. “Damn. You didn’t hold back.”

“She deserved it,” you said simply, locking your phone.

Vi chuckled, shaking her head before lacing her fingers through yours. “Come on, babe. Let’s get out of here before someone else tries to start shit.”

You didn’t argue. With your fingers intertwined, you let her lead you away, leaving the chaos—and Caitlyn’s bruised ego—far behind.

The next morning, you walked into the Dean’s office with your head held high, refusing to let Caitlyn or anyone else see you sweat. She was already sitting there when you arrived, dressed prim and proper, her hands folded neatly in her lap like she hadn’t just gotten her ass handed to her yesterday. She flicked her eyes toward you, and you could practically feel the smugness radiating off of her.

Let’s see how smug she is in a few minutes.

You sat down across from her, keeping your expression neutral as the Dean adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat.

“I assume you both know why you’re here,” he started, looking between you and Caitlyn.

You nodded. Caitlyn, however, took that moment to put on her poor, innocent me act.

“Yes, sir,” she said, her voice softer, almost sweet. “I was attacked yesterday in the restroom. I was just trying to have a conversation, and she suddenly got violent—”

You let out a sharp laugh, cutting her off. “Oh, really?”

The Dean raised a hand, signaling for silence before turning his computer monitor around. The moment the screen lit up, Caitlyn stiffened beside you. Video footage played, showing the exact moment she had cornered you in the bathroom, her voice loud and clear as she taunted you. Then, another clip played—one you hadn’t seen yet.

It was security footage from the hallway, capturing her shoving you first.

Your lips twitched. Busted.

“Well,” the Dean said, turning the screen back toward himself. “That certainly clears up a few things.”

Caitlyn’s face drained of color. “Wait, I—”

“There’s nothing else to wait for, Miss Kiramman. The evidence speaks for itself. You instigated the altercation, verbally threatened Miss Talis, and initiated physical contact first. This is not only inappropriate but completely unacceptable behavior, especially for a team captain representing our school.”

Caitlyn’s jaw clenched.

“Effective immediately, you are removed from your position as cheer captain,” the Dean continued, flipping through some paperwork. “Furthermore, due to your behavioral misconduct, you will be placed on probation, which means you are also suspended from participating in cheer activities for the remainder of the season.”

Your eyebrows shot up. Damn. You had expected some punishment for her, but this? This was perfect.

Caitlyn, on the other hand, looked like she had swallowed a lemon.

The Dean slid a formal document across the table. “Please sign here to acknowledge your disciplinary action.”

Her hands curled into fists before she snatched the pen and scribbled her name down in angry strokes. You sat back in your chair, watching her seethe, before giving her the pettiest, most satisfied smile you could muster.

When you finally stood and left the office, you spotted Vi waiting outside, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. As soon as she saw you, she pushed off the wall and walked over.

“Well?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

You smirked. “Caitlyn’s out. No more cheer, no more captain title. She’s on probation.”

Vi let out a low whistle. “Damn. So she really got her shit rocked twice in one week?”

“Seems like you’ve got a psycho ex, Vi,” you teased, bumping your shoulder against hers.

Vi grinned. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

With that, she threw an arm over your shoulder and pulled you in, pressing a kiss to your temple as you both walked away from the office, leaving Caitlyn and all her bullshit behind.

Vi led you into her house with that same cocky stride she always carried, tossing your bag onto the couch before taking your hand and guiding you up the stairs. You’d been here before—when you met Vander and Silco, very awkwardly after sneaking out of Vi’s room post-hookup—so the familiarity wasn’t new, but the situation was.

Now, you weren’t just sneaking around. You were her girlfriend.

Her room was exactly what you expected. The walls were deep red, covered in band posters—Metallica, Nirvana, and some punk bands you didn’t recognize. A few posters of half-naked bikini models were tacked up haphazardly, classic Vi style. You rolled your eyes at them, but your attention was quickly stolen by something else.

A poster of you.

In your cheer uniform.

Your jaw dropped as you let out a loud laugh, stepping toward the wall to get a better look.

“Vi, what the hell?” you said, turning back to her with an incredulous grin. “You’re such a dog. You really ordered my poster?”

Vi flopped onto her bed, arms behind her head, grinning like she had no shame. “Yep.”

You shook your head, crossing your arms. “You know that’s weird as hell, right?”

She snorted. “What’s weird about supporting my girlfriend?”

You looked back at the poster, still laughing, before smirking over your shoulder at her. “Then I’ll be ordering some posters of you ASAP.”

Vi lifted her head, amused. “Oh yeah?”

“Yep,” you said smugly. “Full-size. Multiple copies.”

Vi sat up, smirking. “I’d actually love to see what pictures you pick out.”

“Don’t test me, Lanes.”

She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, voice dropping into that teasing tone. “Oh, I am testing you.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile didn’t fade as you walked over and plopped onto the bed beside her. Vi grabbed your waist, pulling you into her lap effortlessly, her arms wrapping around you.

“So,” she murmured against your jaw, pressing a kiss there. “You staying the night?”

You tilted your head slightly, pretending to think. “That depends. Are you gonna try anything?”

Vi grinned against your skin. “Baby, I always try something.”

You sat comfortably in Vi’s lap, her arms wrapped securely around your waist, fingers drawing lazy circles on your lower back. The dim light of her room cast soft shadows across her features, making her look even more tempting than usual.

“Are your parents home?” you asked, glancing toward the door just to be sure. “What about Jinx?”

Vi smirked, already knowing where this was going. “They’re not gonna be home until four a.m. Jinx is spending the night with Ekko.” She tilted her head, watching the way you processed that information before adding, “We’re good.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, pressing a finger against her chest. “I’m gonna kill you if anyone hears us.”

Vi’s grin widened, but she nodded in mock obedience. “Yes, ma’am.”

Before you could say anything else, her hands found the hem of your shirt, her fingers grazing your skin as she slowly lifted it. You shivered at the touch, breath hitching slightly. Vi’s eyes darkened with something unreadable—something hungry—as she took her time sliding the fabric up your torso.

She made sure to brush her knuckles over every inch of exposed skin, as if savoring the moment. Then, with a final tug, she helped you slip the shirt over your head and tossed it carelessly onto the floor.

Her gaze raked over you, taking in the sight, her lips parting slightly before she looked up to meet your eyes. “Damn…”

You bit your lip, resisting the urge to roll your eyes at her obvious admiration. “You gonna stare all night, or…?”

Vi smirked. “Just appreciating my very beautiful girlfriend.”

Your face warmed at the compliment, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you leaned in, fingers threading into her short pink hair as you pressed your lips to hers, silencing whatever teasing remark she was about to make.

Vi’s hands were everywhere—palms gliding along your waist, fingers gripping your hips, holding you closer as your lips moved against hers. The heat between you both was undeniable, a slow-burning fire that flared hotter with every kiss.

Her tongue slid against yours, drawing out a soft gasp from you as her fingers traced up your spine, sending shivers through your body. She smirked into the kiss, clearly pleased with herself, but before she could say anything cocky, you tugged at her hair, making her groan.

“You play too much,” you murmured, lips brushing against hers as you spoke.

Vi chuckled, her grip tightening on your hips as she leaned back slightly against the headboard, pulling you further into her lap. “Nah, I just know exactly what you like,” she whispered, voice low and teasing.

Your fingers dragged down her chest, feeling the toned muscles beneath her tank top. “Cocky as ever,” you muttered, rolling your eyes, but you couldn’t deny how good it felt to be close to her like this.

Vi smirked, tilting her head slightly. “You love it.”

You didn’t answer—not with words, at least. Instead, you kissed her again, deeper this time, fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt as if pulling her even closer. Her hands roamed, one sliding up your back while the other settled on your thigh, gripping it just enough to make your breath hitch.

Just as things were starting to heat up, a sudden thud from outside Vi’s room made you both freeze.

You pulled away, heart racing. “What the hell was that?” you whispered.

Vi sighed, resting her forehead against your shoulder for a second before looking toward the door. “Probably just the wind or something. No one’s home, remember?”

You gave her a pointed look. “Vi, if one of your dads walks in—”

“They won’t.” She grinned, rubbing soothing circles on your thigh. “But if you’re scared, we can stop.”

You scoffed, shoving her shoulder lightly. “I hate you.”

Vi only laughed, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Nah, you love me.”

You bit your lip, hesitating for a second before murmuring, “Yeah… I do.”

The teasing glint in Vi’s eyes softened at your words. She didn’t say anything right away, just held your gaze as if committing this moment to memory. Then, slowly, she leaned in and kissed you again—not rushed, not desperate, but something softer, something more certain.

Like she wanted you to know she felt the same way.

Its been a hour and Vi's mouth hasnt left your cunt, sucking your clit and licking your juices like you were her last meal. Your fingers were tangled in her pink mullet, hearing her moan everytime you tugged a little too hard.

You were on your fourth orgasm you didnt know if you had anymore in you.

"Vi please," you moaned. She only replied with giving your sensitive swollen clit harsher sucks as she moaned into it, making you jolt and gasp loudly in response.

She then pulled away, making you sigh in relief. She then got on top of you giving you a messy kiss which you returned, you could taste yourself on her tongue.

"Fuck you taste so good," she says before playfully licking your cheek and getting off of you.

"Im starting to think you're a dog in heat...," you say teasingly.

"I always am when it comes to you, beautiful," she says.

Vi makes her way towards her dresser, taking out her strap and hooking it onto herself. Her seven inch hot pink dildo that she used in pride. The first time she used it on you she was gentle and loving, but now looking at the smirk on her face its gonna be the complete opposite.

You gasped when Vi grabbed you by you ankles and pulled you down to the edge of the bed. She got in between in your legs, putting them on her shoulders.

She lines her strap with your entrance before she pushes her length into you in one swift movement, making you moan "Fuck!," you moan out.

Her hands went down to the bottom of you thighs, putting you into a mating press your knees to your chest before she started thrusting into you. "Vi Jesus," you moan out.

"You're so tight in this position, baby," she teased "I'm gonna go faster."

She kept her word as she started to basically pound into you, looking down at you as she watched her dick make a bulge on stomach each time she thrusted. The sounds of your moans filling the room.

"Dont stop baby, please," you whined as you already felt yourself getting close.

"I dont plan on it, baby," she says as she continue the same pace, giving you a forehead kiss.

Crazy that shes babying you as she's rearranging your guts.

She was basically using you as a sex doll, taking advantage of your flexiblity. The thought of it made your pussy walls flutter.

She was focused, sweat dripping down her forehead, her biceps flexing as she held you down by your thighs, and most importantly her moans from the base of the strap rubbing against her clit.

She was so hot and it was pushing you over the edge.

"Im coming," you announced after a few more of her powerful thrust, you came. Your juices coating her cock as she slowly thrust into you, making squleshing sounds.

She put your legs down and pulled out of you. "Come on. Face down. Ass up," she says.

You didnt hesitate to roll over on all fours. She suddenly gave you a hard and harsh slap to your ass, making you yelp. You looked back to her see her with a cocky smirk on her face.

This was gonna be a long night.

Your body ached in ways that were both frustrating and satisfying as you blinked awake, the soft morning light seeping through the cracks in Vi’s curtains. The soreness settled deep in your muscles, a not-so-subtle reminder of the night before. You stretched your arms above your head, groaning slightly before rolling over—only to be met with the cool, empty side of the bed.

You furrowed your brows. Where the fuck was she?

Sitting up, you ran a hand through your tangled hair and immediately noticed that Vi had dressed you in one of her t-shirts at some point during the night—a Spider-Man one, to be specific. You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. That girl was such a dork.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you stood up, only to immediately regret it when your knees nearly buckled. Your legs felt like jelly, and you had to grab onto Vi’s dresser to steady yourself. Jesus.

You took a deep breath, gathering your strength before going through her drawers and grabbing a pair of her boxers. Pulling them on, you finally caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.

“Oh, hell no…” you muttered.

Your hair was a mess, lips slightly swollen, faint marks dusting your collarbone. You looked like you had been tossed, turned, and thrown into another dimension. With an exasperated sigh, you pulled your hair into a ponytail, doing what little you could to make yourself look somewhat presentable.

The smell of breakfast suddenly hit you—bacon, eggs, pancakes, the whole nine yards. Your stomach grumbled in response, and you finally left Vi’s room, rubbing your tired eyes as you made your way downstairs.

As you stepped into the kitchen, you stopped dead in your tracks.

There they were. All of them.

Vi. Jinx. Ekko. Vander. Silco. All casually sitting around the kitchen like it was just a normal morning. Vi was by the stove, flipping pancakes. Vander was sipping coffee, Silco reading the newspaper, Ekko munching on bacon, and Jinx—

The moment her eyes landed on you, a devilish grin spread across her face.

“Well, well, well…” she drawled, leaning back in her chair. “Look who finally decided to wake up.”

You shot her a glare, but before you could even think of a comeback, she smirked.

“Someone was turned every way but loose last night…”

Your jaw dropped.

Vi choked on a laugh, nearly dropping the spatula. Ekko covered his mouth to keep from laughing out loud, and even Vander let out an amused grunt. Silco, of course, remained unreadable, casually sipping his tea like he hadn’t just heard Jinx air out your business at the breakfast table.

Your face burned as you gaped at Jinx. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

Jinx only grinned wider, wiggling her eyebrows. “Oh, I’m very serious.”

Vi finally turned around, biting her lip to hold back a laugh as she looked you up and down. “Damn, babe, you good? Need me to carry you to the table?”

You glared at her, snatching a piece of bacon off Ekko’s plate. “I hate all of you.”

Ekko patted your shoulder with a smirk. “Nah, you love us.”

You groaned, stuffing the bacon in your mouth as you slumped into a chair. Vi placed a plate of pancakes in front of you with a smug smile. “Eat up, princess. You’re gonna need your energy.”

You shot her a look, but as you stabbed into your pancakes, you couldn’t help but feel… warm. Embarrassed? Absolutely. But surrounded by them like this—laughing, teasing, eating together—it felt good.

Maybe even a little bit like home.

You took a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering embarrassment as the laughter around the table finally died down. Your plate was nearly empty, save for a few stray crumbs from the pancakes, and the warmth of the morning sun streamed through the kitchen windows, casting everything in a golden glow.

Vi was sitting beside you, casually picking at the last of her bacon, while Ekko and Jinx continued their endless banter across the table. Vander and Silco, despite their intimidating presence, seemed more relaxed in this moment—Silco sipping his coffee as Vander leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, observing everything with an amused glint in his eyes.

For the first time in a long while, you felt something unfamiliar yet comforting—peace.

Vi reached over and tapped your knee under the table, catching your attention. “You good?” she asked lowly, her voice dipping into something softer, more intimate.

You turned your head slightly, meeting her gaze. Her expression was open, searching, as if she was making sure you weren’t still shaken from everything that had happened yesterday. From Caitlyn’s failed attempt to humiliate you, to your fight, to the meeting with the dean, to finally spending the night in her arms.

And yet, despite everything, you felt okay. Maybe even better than okay.

You gave her a small smile and nodded. “Yeah. I am.”

Vi studied you for a second longer before nodding in satisfaction. “Good.” Then, because she could never resist, she smirked. “So, you’re saying I rocked your world so hard last night that you woke up feeling like a brand new person?”

You groaned, pushing your plate away. “Why do I even like you?”

She laughed, throwing an arm over the back of your chair, bringing you closer. “Because I’m hot, charming, and madly in love with you.”

Your stomach flipped at how easily she said it—like it was the simplest truth in the world.

You didn’t say anything back, but the way you leaned into her touch, resting your head against her shoulder, was enough.

Jinx, of course, had to ruin the moment. “Alright, lovebirds, get out of my sight before I start gagging.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up and gathering your plate, but Vi beat you to it, swiping it from your hands before you could move. “I got it,” she said, taking your dish along with hers to the sink.

You stayed behind and helped dry, playfully bumping your hip against hers as she rinsed off the plates. Vi shot you a smirk, flicking some water in your direction. “So… you gonna start staying over more now?”

You narrowed your eyes, pretending to think about it. “Hmm… I don’t know. If Jinx keeps embarrassing me first thing in the morning, I might have to reconsider.”

Jinx, who was sprawled out on the couch, yelled back, “Too late, sis. You’re part of the family now.”

That made you pause.

Part of the family.

You had spent so long feeling like an outsider, like you were constantly running away from everything, trying to rebuild yourself into someone new. But here, surrounded by these chaotic, loud, and sometimes overwhelming people, you felt something settle inside you.

You belonged.

Vi must have noticed the shift in your expression because she set the last plate aside and leaned in, voice dropping into that same gentle tone from earlier. “Hey.”

You blinked, looking up at her.

“You ready to go?” she asked, brushing her fingers against yours before slowly lacing them together.

You glanced around the kitchen one last time—at Vander, who gave you a small nod of approval; at Silco, who merely raised an eyebrow, sipping his coffee; at Ekko, who gave you a knowing smirk; and at Jinx, who, despite her teasing, looked genuinely happy for you.

And then, finally, you looked back at Vi—the girl who had once been nothing more than a reckless flirt, a player, a challenge you swore you wouldn’t fall for. But now? She was something much more.

She was yours.

You squeezed her hand, exhaling softly before nodding. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

Vi grinned, tugging you towards the door. “Then let’s get out of here before Jinx finds a way to traumatize you again.”

As you both stepped outside, the crisp morning air hit your skin, waking you up even more. Vi reached into her pocket for her car keys, but before she could grab them, you snatched them out of her hand with a mischievous grin.

“Let me drive,” you asked, twirling the keys between your fingers.

Vi immediately narrowed her eyes. “My Mustang? Fuck no.” She reached for the keys, but you took a step back, holding them just out of her reach.

“Please,” you pleaded, looking up at her with the best puppy-dog eyes you could muster. “I’m a good driver.”

Vi groaned, her resolve clearly wavering. She ran a hand down her face before sighing heavily. “You’re killing me, babe.”

You only batted your lashes in response, still waiting.

She sighed again, long and exaggerated. “Fine. But—” she pointed a warning finger at you—“please be careful. Drive slow if you have to. I swear if you so much as scratch her—”

You laughed, throwing an arm around her neck and pulling her in for a quick kiss. “Relax, Vi. I got this.”

She still looked skeptical but let you take the lead, watching as you confidently unlocked the car and slid into the driver’s seat. Vi groaned again as she got into the passenger side, mumbling, “This is gonna be a disaster.”

You smirked, revving the engine. “Have a little faith in me, baby.”

Vi just shook her head, but there was a fondness in her eyes as she buckled her seatbelt. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make me regret this.”

With that, you pulled out of the driveway, a victorious smile on your face as Vi grumbled beside you. And as the car sped off down the street, the sun rising higher in the sky, you couldn’t help but feel like this—this moment, this morning, this girl—was exactly where you were meant to be.

The End.