#<- third time using that tag. i love using it

[cheftsunoda]

it’s only been 2 days but it feels like a lifetime, i simply can’t stay away.

ollie bearman x antonelli! law student! reader

ollie and kimi’s list of crimes grows by the week it seems and that has moved me so now we’re here. It just makes sense that kimis older sister is a law student who falls for oliver “can’t stop confessing to crimes” bearman.

i’m gonna have to start a notes app of the ideas i have for you, i’m starting to lose track.

(also i changed my picture, tell me im pretty (despite the obvious lack of mascara))

love you❤️

in the name of the law — ob87

smau + blurbs

ollie bearman x !law student antonelli reader

kimi antonelli x !sister reader

being kimi antonelli’s older sister was always a full time job. add law school and two races a month into the mix? you are stuck somewhere between impossible and unhinged. but kimi was in his rookie F1 season, hopelessly attached to you, and you had structured your third year of law school to be mostly remote — which meant that you were always in that monaco apartment. and then there was ollie. oliver bearman— kimi’s best friend, haas’ new golden boy, and human liability. he had a talent for racking up speeding tickets in different countries, for accidentally live streaming things that should’ve stayed private, and for looking at you like you are the only person in the paddock that mattered. you tried to focus on torts and case law, on keeping your little brother grounded in the most high pressure season of his life, but ollie kept showing up — in the kitchen, on your phone, in your head. somehow, between championship points and legal deadlines, you were falling for the one man who couldn’t stop confessing to crimes.

fc : ashton wood

(a/n) : omg hey my angellllll<3 you look absolutely stunning like i would marry you rn on the spot. like soooooo fucking good. barking. growling. on my knees. PICK ME PLEASE. and i get so sad if you’re not in my inbox for more than like two days… im just like does she not love me no more??? where is my WIFEEE?? but i love u sm and this idea was so cute and i had so much fun.

also i saw an interview where ollie said kimi was moving in with him after he graduates so i made that a thing in this fic so yayyyy:)

—

yn_antonelli

liked by kimi.antonelli, olliebearman, franciscagomes and 725,075 others.

yn_antonelli : officially back in monaco and i have two things to say. 1. i am in love with simba gasly 2. this picture of maggie refusing to let me go at the airport is precious and will forever be etched the back of my brain. that is all. goodnight x

tagged : kimi.antonelli and babickovaeli

—

view 87,005 other comments.

pierregasly : the real question is when are you babysitting again bc he cried as soon as you left

liked by yn_antonelli and franciscagomes

↳ yn_antonelli : do NOT tell me that. i will dognap him rn 😭

liked by pierregasly and franciscagomes

↳ franciscagomes : pretty sure he likes you more than us anyways🤷🏻‍♀️

liked by yn_antonelli

babickovaeli : i missed you so so much! we def need to go out again and make kimi pay 😌

liked by yn_antonelli and kimi.antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : i missed you even more 😚 dinner and drinks taste much better on kimi’s card.

liked by babickovaeli and kimi.antonelli

↳ kimi.antonelli : isn’t the older sibling supposed to pay for everything?

↳ yn_antonelli : 🍅🍅

↳ yn_antonelli : the older sibling in this case is broke from law school and flying around the world to comfort her little brother.

liked by babickovaeli and kimi.antonelli

↳ kimi.antonelli : fair. take my card anytime you want

liked by yn_antonelli and babickovaeli

kimi.antonelli : mia bella sorella, sono così felice di riaverti. (my beautiful sister, so happy to have you back.)

liked by yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : what do you want

↳ yn_antonelli : you are only nice like this when you want something

liked by kimi.antonelli

↳ kimi.antonelli : not true. SLANDER.

↳ yn_antonelli : you are using that wrong.

↳ yn_antonelli : anyways. get to it. what do you want?

↳ kimi.antonelli : just really grateful to have such a supportive sister (i need you to make sure what im signing is legit)

↳ yn_antonelli : there it is. be home soon.

↳ kimi.antonelli : also maggie never looked that happy to see me.

liked by yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : u just aren’t the fave

↳ username000 : the antonelli sibs are so special to me

maxverstappen1 : Glad you are back. Kimi has been rude since you left.

liked by yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : andrea. is this true?

↳ lando : oh she first named you bro.

↳ kimi.antonelli : MAX!!!! stop. yn he is just trying to get me in trouble. i have been an angel the entire time.

liked by yn_antonelli, maxverstappen1 and lando

↳ kimi.antonelli : slander. AGAIN. i need a lawyer.

↳ yn_antonelli : cannot be part of this case as it is conflict of interest srry

liked by maxverstappen1 and lando

olliebearman : you say goodnight and then proceed to send me 17 simba pictures

liked by yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : unappreciative 🤧 never texting you ever again

liked by olliebearman

↳ olliebearman : noooooo yn. i didn’t mean it!! how can i ever make it up to you??? 🧎‍♂️

liked by yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : send me a shirtless selfie xx

liked by olliebearman

↳ kimi.antonelli : OLLIE DO NOT. YN BAD. NO.

liked by olliebearman, yn_antonelli, and lando

↳ olliebearman : too late

liked by yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : licking my phone screen rn

liked by olliebearman

↳ kimi.antonelli : ugh gross 🤮

—

You barely get the door open before Kimi’s voice rings out from somewhere inside the apartment.

“Took you long enough. Did you adopt Simba or something?”

You laugh, toeing off your sneakers and dropping your bag near the couch. “Honestly? I wouldn’t have said no. That dog has better manners than you.”

Kimi pokes his head out of the kitchen with a dramatic eye roll. “He also tried to eat my sock last time I visited. We’re not pretending he’s innocent.”

You make your way into the kitchen, still sun-kissed from your weekend at Pierre and Kika’s place. “Okay but he is the love of my life. It’s Simba’s world and we’re all just living in it.”

Kimi snorts. “God help us all.”

You pull open the fridge, immediately grimacing. “Why is there nothing in here except Gatorade, one sad orange, and what looks like leftover fries in a coffee filter?”

“That’s Ollie’s attempt at dinner,” Kimi says, wandering in behind you. “He said he was ‘too tired use a plate’ like that explains anything.”

“You both need supervision.”

“Yeah, well,” Kimi shrugs. “That’s why you’re here.”

Right on cue, the front door opens and Ollie strolls in, kicking it shut behind him. He’s still in his team polo, curls slightly windswept, a grin spreading across his face the second he spots you.

“Well, well, well,” he says. “Monaco just got a little prettier.”

You shoot him a look, trying not to smile. “Did you practice that?”

“Nope,” he says, dropping his keys in the bowl by the door. “You just have that effect on me.”

Kimi groans. Loudly. “Do you hear yourself?”

“I’m just being polite,” Ollie says, walking into the kitchen. “Besides, I haven’t seen her in, what, three days? I think that earns me at least one compliment.”

“She doesn’t want your compliments,” Kimi mutters.

“I actually don’t mind them,” you say casually, pulling out a glass.

Kimi nearly chokes on air. “You’re both dead to me.”

Ollie leans against the counter next to you, close enough that you feel his shoulder brush yours. “So how was Simba? Did he try to come home with you?”

You grin. “Almost. Kika caught him trying to sneak into my suitcase.”

“Smart dog,” he says, then adds under his breath, “Same strategy I was gonna try.”

Kimi flings a kitchen towel at his face. “NO. No flirting with my sister! That is a rule. A written rule!”

“I’ve never seen this in writing,” Ollie grins, pulling the towel off his head.

“Do I need to draft a contract?” Kimi snaps.

“Boys,” you say, sipping your water with mock serenity, “I’ve literally passed two tort exams this week. I could sue both of you for emotional distress and win.”

Ollie leans in a little closer. “I’d represent myself. Just to sit across from you in court.”

Kimi makes a strangled noise. “I’m moving out. I’m going to Max’s.”

“Go ahead,” you and Ollie say in unison.

Kimi turns on his heel and disappears down the hallway, muttering about betrayal and restraining orders. You glance at Ollie, who’s still watching you with a soft, smug smile.

“Welcome home,” he says, a little quieter this time.

You shake your head, fighting the blush. “Shut up.”

But you’re smiling too.

—

The sun is high, the Mediterranean is sparkling in the distance, and your torts textbook is open in front of you, pages fluttering slightly in the breeze. You’ve managed two whole hours of peace — no noise, no distractions, just iced coffee, highlighters, and the faint hum of waves below. For once, it feels like law school might not destroy you. Naturally, the universe doesn’t let that last.

“OI, PROFESSOR,” Kimi’s voice echoes from inside the apartment. “DO WE GET EXTRA CREDIT IF WE BRING SNACKS?”

You don’t even look up. “Not if they’re flaming hot Cheetos again.”

A beat.

“What if it’s Oreos?” Ollie asks, suddenly appearing beside you with a grin and a very suspicious looking plate of cookies.

You blink at him. “You didn’t make these, did you?”

“I assembled them,” he offers proudly.

“You stacked them, didn’t you?”

“Triple decker,” he confirms.

Kimi barrels onto the balcony a second later with a half-full Gatorade and no sense of spatial awareness. “Move your highlighters. I need space.”

“You’re not studying,” you say flatly.

“I’m auditing.”

“This is not a seminar.”

“Yet.”

You sigh and scoot your books over slightly to make room, though it feels more like you’re giving your sanity away inch by inch.

Ollie plops down beside you, his knee bumping yours like it’s muscle memory. He rests his chin in his hand and squints at your open notes. “Okay, explain this bit to me. What’s ‘negligence per se’?”

You pause. “It’s when someone breaks a law that’s specifically meant to prevent the kind of harm that occurred. So the violation itself proves negligence.”

Ollie nods solemnly. “Right, like when Kimi—”

“Don’t.” Kimi warns.

“No, no, I need this for context,” you say, half-laughing, half-afraid. “What did he do?”

Ollie leans in, voice lowered like he’s telling you a secret. “Okay so last winter, Kimi tried to ‘drift’ a golf cart through a snow-covered paddock in Austria—”

“OLLIE.”

“—and he may have taken out a VIP lounge tent.”

“It was poorly placed!” Kimi argues, flailing one hand while sipping Gatorade with the other.

You stare at them. “That’s—okay, yeah, that’s textbook negligence. Possibly even reckless endangerment. You’re lucky no one sued.”

Kimi pouts. “You say that like it wasn’t sick.”

“It was impressively dumb,” you reply. “Which is different.”

Ollie grins, shameless. “Okay, what about unauthorized use of a vehicle?”

You narrow your eyes. “Why are you asking that?”

“No reason.”

“Ollie.”

“Well—hypothetically,” he says, drawing the word out, “if someone borrowed a security buggy in Baku because they were late for curfew—”

“OH MY GOD.”

“—and accidentally drove it onto pit lane—”

“KIMI,” you hiss, looking at your brother, who’s pointedly not making eye contact.

Kimi shrugs. “It was dark.”

“You two are a liability.”

“We’re a team,” Ollie corrects. “A chaotic, well-fed team.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “I am going to need my own legal insurance policy just knowing you two.”

Ollie leans closer, nudging your elbow until you peek at him through your fingers.

“If you ever get tired of civil law,” he says with a smirk, “you could always defend me full-time. I promise to make it worth your while.”

You stare. “Are you flirting while listing things I could put you in prison for?”

“Gotta keep you engaged,” he says innocently. “This is interactive learning.”

“Interactive insanity.”

Kimi snorts. “I should charge tuition just for having to listen to this.”

“Or therapy,” you mutter, scribbling unauthorized vehicle use into the margin of your notebook.

Ollie leans back in his chair, stealing one of your sticky notes and doodling a heart on it.

“C’mon, counselor,” he says with a lazy grin, “you love us.”

You roll your eyes. “I deal with knowing you.”

“Same thing,” Kimi mumbles around an Oreo.

You look between the two of them — one covered in cookie crumbs, the other still grinning like he’s the protagonist in a romcom. Your study session is in shambles, your textbook is now decorated with cartoon smiley faces, and you’re weirdly okay with all of it. Against your better judgment, you smile. “God help me.”

—

twitter!

f1gossipgirls : Kimi Antonelli went on a podcast and casually admitted to credit card fraud because he and ollie bearman “stole Ollie’s trainers credit card and bought a ton of stuff” — and his sister, who is literally in law school, interrupted the interview just to say, “As Kimi’s legal counsel, I strongly advise him to shut the fuck up.” no like this family is unhinged 😭😭😭😭

view 75,025 other replies.

username00 : i need to hear ollie’s side of the story rn

username0 : yn is so iconic. she was just there scolding kimi and those interviewers were dying laughing.

username1 : not kimi casually stealing a card and calling it “a misunderstanding” 💀

username5 : no but imagine yn just trying to finish her reading and kimi’s like “is stealing really stealing if it was an accident?”

username7 : yn antonelli is only 3rd year law student and she is already getting a taste of the real world trying to defend ollie and her brother 😭

—

The living room is deceptively calm. You’re planted on the floor with your back against the couch, surrounded by an explosion of law textbooks, color coded notes, and the faint hum of lo-fi study music playing from your headphones. You’ve got a midterm next week, a case brief due tomorrow, and maybe three functioning brain cells left. Kimi, meanwhile, is perched at the kitchen counter behind you, deep into a Zoom podcast interview with his mic clipped to his hoodie and zero adult supervision.

You’re not paying attention. You should’ve been. “Yeah, so we did actually steal his credit card.”

Your head jerks up so fast you pull a muscle in your neck. “Ollie dared me to do it, and I figured, you know, he probably deserved it after that one gym session where he made me run stairs for 45 minutes. So I just… took it.”

You freeze, blinking at the wall like it’ll provide answers. “We ordered like… a beanbag, noise-cancelling headphones, five boxes of protein bars, a punching bag — which is still in the hallway, by the way — and I think we accidentally subscribed him to like a fruit of the month thing.”

You slam your torts textbook shut and turn around slowly.

“Kimi. What the actual hell did you just say?”

He half-glances at you over his shoulder. “Huh?”

“You just confessed. To intentional credit card fraud. On camera.”

One of the podcast hosts snorts. “Wait, is that your sister?”

Kimi lights up like he’s proud. “Yeah, that’s her! She’s in law school.”

You march straight into frame, highlighter still in hand, and give the camera your most professional death glare.

“Hi, yes, as Kimi’s legal counsel — and unfortunately, his sister — I would just like to advise Kimi to shut the fuck up.”

The podcast hosts lose it. One of them chokes on their drink. Another is wheezing.

Kimi grins. “She’s mad because I wouldn’t let her eat the protein bars.”

“I’m mad because you’re out here building a felony portfolio and dragging me down with you!”

From down the hall, Ollie calls out helpfully, “Don’t forget the disco light!”

“YOU ORDERED A DISCO LIGHT?!”

“I thought it would help morale!”

“Oh my god.”

You drag a hand down your face, muttering to yourself about future bar applications and how early is too early to start drinking.

“Kimi,” you say slowly, “you knew it wasn’t your card?”

“Yeah, obviously. His last name is literally on it.”

You stare at him. The hosts are still dying.

“I hate this family,” you mutter, storming off screen.

In the distance, you hear Ollie yell, “Wait, do you know where the disco light went?”

You yell back, “INTO THE EVIDENCE BIN. NEITHER OF YOU GET IT BACK.”

—

Kimi left an hour ago for some cardio session you’re 90% sure he’s going to complain about in thirty minutes. He’d barely made it to the elevator before turning back to shout, “Don’t let Ollie set anything on fire while I’m gone!”

You’d saluted. Ollie had bowed. Now, the sun is casting golden light through the windows, and the chaos has settled into something soft and warm. You’re curled up on the couch, laptop back open, textbook balanced on the armrest beside you, highlighter clutched loosely in one hand. Your coffee’s gone cold, but you’re too lazy to care. Ollie’s across from you at the kitchen island, scrolling on his phone, chewing idly on a granola bar. He’s unusually quiet, for once not throwing a stress ball or trying to balance a fork on his nose. You catch him sneaking glances at you every few seconds.

You raise an eyebrow. “You good?”

He pauses, like he’s debating something. Then he sets his phone down and stands up, wiping his hands on his hoodie like he’s nervous. Which is weird. Ollie is never nervous.

“I was just thinking,” he starts, walking over to you, “you know between your legal intervention and Kimi admitting to credit card fraud on both of our behalf…it’s been a chaotic day.”

You smirk. “That’s what happens when you two share a frontal lobe.”

He grins but doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he leans his hip against the back of the couch, voice soft now. “You’re always dealing with us, huh? Cleaning up our messes, reading law books while we’re over here planning our next felony.”

You tilt your head. “It’s not technically felony-level. Yet.”

“Still,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “You do a lot. For Kimi. For me.”

You blink, heart doing that annoying fluttery thing it does whenever he gets like this — a little too sincere, a little too close.

He hesitates, then finally blurts, “So I figured maybe it was time I took you out. On a real date.”

You freeze. “A real date?”

He nods, eyes on yours. “Yeah. Not a team dinner. Not a group movie night where Kimi insists on sitting between us like a human traffic cone. Just me and you. Somewhere nice.”

You blink again.

“You’re serious.”

“I’m very serious,” he says. “I even googled romantic restaurants in Monaco, which is something I thought only Charles would do. So that’s how committed I am.”

Your cheeks are warm. “Did you really?”

“I did,” he says proudly. “I also accidentally made a reservation under the name ‘Oliver Bearclaw’ because I was on voice text and sneezed halfway through.”

You laugh, pressing your hand over your mouth. “That’s so stupid.”

He grins. “Yeah, but you’re smiling. So I’m calling it a win.”

You look at him for a moment — all sunlit curls and hopeful eyes and way too much heart in his stupid little grin — and it hits you that he’s not just asking you on a date. He’s been falling for you this whole time. The flirting, the teasing, the way he always walks into a room and makes sure to say hi to you first — it wasn’t just a joke. It was real. And maybe… you’ve been falling, too. You set your laptop aside and stand up slowly, facing him.

“Okay,” you say softly. “Take me out, Bearclaw.”

His grin widens like the sun just came up.

“For real?”

“For real,” you nod. “But only if you promise not to commit any crimes between now and then.”

He places a hand over his heart. “No felonies, I swear.”

“Misdemeanors?”

“Minor ones.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile’s too wide to hide.

—

The restaurant is tucked away on a quiet corner near the Port, a place you’ve passed a hundred times but never stepped inside. It’s warm and golden inside, all low lighting and tall windows that overlook the water. The kind of place where time feels like it stretches and softens around the edges. And Ollie — Ollie is waiting at the table, sleeves rolled to his forearms, curls a little too fluffy, smile entirely too wide when he sees you walk in.

He stands up fast, almost knocking into the waiter. “You look—wow.”

You glance down at yourself, at the simple dress and slightly curled hair. “I look what?”

He pulls your chair out for you. “Like you’re about to sue me and steal my heart.”

You laugh as you sit down. “That was tragic. And kind of sweet.”

“Story of my life.”

Dinner is easy — conversation flowing like it always does, but softer somehow. You talk about school, about the things you hate studying, about how you once considered switching to marine biology after a breakdown in year one.

He talks about growing up on tracks, about how surreal it still feels to be in F1. He doesn’t say it out loud, but you know the weight it isn’t always gentle. You reach across the table and touch his hand when his voice gets quiet. He relaxes immediately under your fingers.

Dessert comes and he orders two spoons without even asking. “I’m not letting you eat crème brûlée alone. That’s a crime.”

“You would know.”

He smiles, but there’s a shift — something tender in his eyes, something quieter than the usual chaos he tosses around like confetti. After dinner, you walk along the marina. Monaco glows at night — golden lights reflected in the water, luxury yachts bobbing gently, laughter drifting from balconies. He keeps brushing against your shoulder like he’s testing fate. You stop near the railing, just where the dock curves out toward the sea.

“Thanks for tonight,” you say, glancing up at him. “It was… really good.”

He looks at you like you hung the moon. “I’ve wanted to do this for a while.”

You smile. “I kind of figured. The flirting during my breakdowns was a giveaway.”

“I had to keep you entertained somehow. Also, I thought maybe you’d be impressed by my criminal record.”

You laugh, leaning into him. “It’s extensive. I might write a dissertation.”

“I’d be honored.”

He takes your hand then — slow, careful, like he’s waited exactly long enough to be sure. And when you look up at him, heart beating a little too fast, he leans in and kisses you. Soft, like a secret. Like a promise.

There’s nothing dramatic about it — no fireworks or cheers or music swelling behind you. Just his hand on your waist, the scent of the sea, and the feeling that maybe, finally, the chaos has led you somewhere you want to stay.

You pull back slightly, smiling against his lips. “So… what’s the verdict?”

He grins. “You’re definitely going to be the smartest person I’ve ever dated.”

“Yeah?”

“And the prettiest.”

Your face warms as you nudge him playfully. “God, Kimi’s gonna hate this.”

“Yeah,” Ollie laughs. “But I don’t really care.”

And neither do you.

—

twitter!

f1gossipgirls : Ollie Bearman went on the same podcast as Kimi Antonelli and not only CONFIRMED the credit card theft story — he added that he once “stole his trainer’s ID so he couldn’t leave the track and I wouldn’t have to do cooldown laps.” To which a poor and tired YN Antonelli yelled at him from behind the camera, “OLIVER. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. STOP. TALKING.” 

view 108,004 other replies.

username000 : someone needs to lock these men up and give yn a vacation + a bottle of wine

↳ yn_antonelli : i need it. pls. someone help.

username00 : they’re gonna get her disbarred before she even graduates

username1 : ollie’s smile when she scolded him?? he’s in love.

username5 : her legal career hasn’t even started and she’s already stuck doing crisis PR full time 😭

username7 : oh i love them all so much. give them to me.

—

The door is closed. Your laptop is open. The air conditioning is finally working. For the first time in 48 hours, you feel a tiny hint of peace. You’re curled up on the small couch in Ollie’s driver room, laptop buzzing and an absurdly large iced coffee next to you. There’s just enough WiFi to submit your assignment and watch a torts lecture on double speed. Across the room, Ollie is mid-interview with a podcast crew — his mic clipped to his race suit, feet kicked up on a stool, expression way too relaxed for someone with a camera in his face.

You’re only half-listening until you hear it.

“Yeah, the credit card thing was real.”

Your eyes snap up from your laptop.

The host laughs. “Wait, seriously? You and Kimi actually used your trainer’s card?”

Ollie just grins, dimples out, completely unbothered. “Oh yeah. We found it on the counter before a sim session and decided to test if it worked.”

Your highlighter slips out of your hand.

“It did,” he continues, like he’s talking about the weather. “So we just… kept using it.”

You sit up. “Oliver.”

“We didn’t buy anything crazy,” he says quickly. “Mostly snacks. Gym gear. A massage gun. I think Kimi ordered a beanbag chair. And like, maybe… matching hoodies?”

You slam your laptop shut. “Oliver.”

The host is laughing too hard to ask the next question. Another one goes, “That’s insane. What did your trainer say?”

“Oh, he was chill about it,” Ollie says, waving it off. “I gave the card back eventually. But that’s not even the worst thing I’ve done to him.”

Your head whips around. “Don’t—”

“There was this one time in Silverstone,” Ollie says, leaning back, “where I straight up stole his  ID.”

The room goes silent.

The hosts blink. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Yeah, I took his ID and hid it in my glove box. He couldn’t leave the track because security wouldn’t let him through the gates.”

You stare at him in pure disbelief. “Why?”

He shrugs, totally unapologetic. “Because I didn’t want to do cooldown laps alone and he said he had somewhere to be. So I… created a situation.”

From your corner, you yell without even thinking.

“OLIVER. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. STOP. TALKING.”

He jumps slightly and turns toward you with a guilty smile. “Oh. Hi.”

You stand up slowly, hands on your hips. “You’re on a recorded podcast. And you just admitted to identity theft.”

“Technically it wasn’t identity theft,” he says innocently. “I didn’t use it. I just… blocked his escape.”

“That’s not better!”

One of the podcast hosts mutters, “This is better than Drive to Survive.”

You walk into frame, highlighter still in hand like a legal weapon. “Hi. Yes. As Oliver Bearman’s unofficial legal counsel and the only sane adult in his orbit, I would like to make a formal statement— he is no longer allowed to speak in public.”

The hosts are crying with laughter now.

Ollie beams at you. “She’s cute when she’s mad, isn’t she?”

You turn slowly toward the camera. “He’s lucky he’s cute or I’d be representing him from a holding cell.”

He winks. “Wouldn’t be the worst date we’ve had.”

You groan, turning away. “I’m going to sue you.”

“Good thing you’re already in law school.”

Behind the camera, someone whispers, “I think they’re in love.”

You grab your laptop and head toward the door before Ollie can start confessing to international crimes.

As you’re halfway out, you hear—

“Wait, can I tell them the story about the golf cart in Barcelona?”

“NO, YOU CANNOT.”

—

yn_antonelli

liked by olliebearman, kimi.antonelli, lando and 875,130 others.

yn_antonelli : since ollie and kimi insist on admitting their crimes in front of the whole world, i made them take me to brunch and used both of their cards at hermes as payment for my defense.

tagged : olliebearman and kimi.antonelli

—

view 89,000 other comments.

franciscagomes : brunch and birkins… you’ve got a bright future in negotiations mama

liked by yn_antonelli

oscarpiastri : So what I’m hearing is that you extorted your clients?

liked by kimi.antonelli and olliebearman

↳ yn_antonelli : actually mr. piastri, it is considered compensation for emotional damages.

liked by oscarpiastri and olliebearman

kimi.antonelli : STOP SPENDING ALL MY MONEY PLEASEEEE

liked by yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : stop confessing to crimes on live podcasts and maybe we can discuss a compromise

liked by olliebearman

↳ kimi.antonelli : honestly fair point tbh.

alexandrasaintmleux : your honor, she’s iconic. sigh.

liked by yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : omg omg i love uuuuu

isackhadjar : that is ollie’s hand. i am not stupid.

liked by olliebearman and yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : look at the big brains on sherlock hadjar.

liked by isackhadjar and olliebearman

↳ kimi.antonelli : wait what

—

The sun is shining, the water is glittering, and Kimi Antonelli looks like he hasn’t slept in 36 hours. Even though he just slept for 14. 

“Why am I here,” he grumbles, slumped in the backseat of the Uber with sunglasses that cover half his face. “I didn’t even confess that many crimes.”

“You admitted to credit card fraud and stealing a man’s identity in the span of twenty-four hours,” you say, scrolling through the brunch menu on your phone. “I deserve eggs. I deserve champagne. I deserve a Birkin.”

“You’re going to steal our money to buy a Birkin.”

“I defended you from public ridicule and potential legal investigation.”

“I don’t even like brunch,” he mutters. “Who eats breakfast at 11:30?”

“People who aren’t under investigation,” you snap.

Ollie, sitting beside you in the Uber, just laughs — far too amused by the whole situation. “I like brunch,” he says, looking down at you with that stupid grin. “Especially when you’re mad. You get all—bossy.”

You glance up, squinting. “Would you like to confess anything else while we’re en route to a public restaurant?”

“Not unless you’re charging me by the hour.”

Kimi groans dramatically. “I hate whatever the fuck this is.” 

—

You’re seated at an outdoor table with a sea view, sunglasses on, napkin in your lap, and a mimosa already in hand. Kimi looks like he’s about to throw himself into the ocean.

Ollie’s watching you over his menu, smirking. “You’re glowing today.”

“That’s what financial revenge and fresh pastries will do to a girl,” you hum.

The waiter returns with your first round of orders — coffee for Kimi, a breakfast burger for Ollie, and a small mountain of avocado toast and poached eggs for you.

“I hope you’re both ready to pay,” you say brightly, stabbing your fork into your toast. “Because I ordered three sides. Out of principle.”

Kimi doesn’t look up. “I’m telling Nonna you bullied me.”

“She’ll be proud I’m finally asserting myself.”

“Does she know you're about to max out my card at Hermès?”

“She would be proud.”

Ollie sips his orange juice, clearly enjoying this too much. “Honestly, watching you argue is kind of hot. Should I confess to tax evasion next?”

You pause, slowly turning toward him. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

He grins, unbothered. “You’d still make me pay for brunch first.”

You tilt your head. “Damn right I would.”

Kimi finally looks up from his phone. “Are you two together or are you just blackmailing him through brunch?”

You and Ollie both respond at the same time—

“None of your business.”

“I think I’m in love with her.”

You nearly choke on your mimosa.

Kimi slaps his credit card on the table. “I’m leaving. I’m paying. I want nothing to do with whatever this is.”

“But we haven’t ordered dessert yet,” you pout.

Kimi glares at you through his sunglasses. “I will throw you into the sea.”

“Please do,” Ollie says, smirking again. “I’ll jump in after her.”

“You’re both sick,” Kimi says, standing and muttering as he walks toward the cashier. “I’m moving out.”

You smile as the waiter returns with a tiny silver bell and a dessert menu.

“Round two?” Ollie asks, reaching for your hand under the table.

You squeeze his fingers. “You’re paying.”

He grins, boyish and hopeless. “Always.”

—

You had planned for Hermes after brunch as Kimi made a comment about how “law students don’t need nice bags” and Ollie laughed, and now here you are, standing outside the most intimidating boutique in all of Monaco — sunglasses on, mimosa still coursing through your veins, and absolutely unhinged on principle.

“YN,” Kimi says warily as the automatic glass doors open, “let’s talk.”

“No,” you say sweetly. “You committed crimes. Now I’m committing retail.”

Ollie follows you in like a golden retriever on a leash made of guilt and admiration. Kimi drags his feet like a hostage.

“Do you need a bag that costs more than your first years tuition?” Kimi hisses as the polished sales assistant greets you like you’re royalty.

“I need financial restitution,” you say calmly, flipping your hair over your shoulder. “And emotional closure.”

The assistant smiles. “Are we shopping for anything in particular today, madam?”

You gesture to Kimi and Ollie, both standing awkwardly behind you like they’re about to be publicly executed. “They’ll be paying.”

The woman beams.

“Excellent. Right this way.”

—

You’re standing in front of a full-length mirror with a black Birkin draped over your forearm. It looks obscene. It looks divine. It looks like justice.

Ollie’s perched on the velvet bench nearby, watching you with the kind of dumb, smitten look that says, I would rob a bank if she asked nicely.

“You like it?” he asks, tipping his head.

You raise a brow. “I love it.”

“Then it’s yours.”

Kimi, from the corner, nearly chokes on the sparkling water the assistant brought him. “I’m sorry, what?!”

“She loves it,” Ollie shrugs, pulling out his card. “She deserves it.”

“She bullied us into a brunch we didn’t want and is now financially blackmailing us in Hermès!”

You smirk as the assistant gently takes the bag from you to box it up.

“You’re the one who said ‘it wasn’t even a big deal’ after admitting to stealing a man’s identity on camera.”

“You didn’t represent me! You just yelled ‘shut the fuck up’ from behind the couch!”

“That was the defense! And it worked!”

Ollie, whispering to the cashier— “Would now be a bad time to mention I also used the trainer’s gym membership without asking?”

“KIMI. HE DID MORE. THAT MEANS I GET SHOES TOO.”

Kimi is now fully slumped into the armchair, sunglasses on, mouthing prayers to the ceiling.

The assistant hands you the receipt with a reverent smile and says, “We’ve added a small gift for your troubles.”

You nod graciously. “As you should.”

As you walk out, massive shopping bag in one hand and Ollie’s hand in the other, you turn back and call. 

“Thanks for brunch! Thanks for the bag! Try not to commit any more felonies this week!”

Kimi doesn’t respond. He’s already Googling how to block you from his bank account.

—

The apartment is quiet. Sunlight pours through the windows, casting golden light across the hardwood floors. For once, there’s no podcast playing, no shoes being thrown, no one dramatically announcing a new crime. Just you and Ollie in the kitchen.

You’re leaned against the counter, his hands on either side of your hips, your fingers tangled in the soft collar of his hoodie. He’s smiling against your mouth — all warm lips, soft touches, and stolen breaths like this has been a long time coming. Because it has.

“I really like you,” he murmurs, nudging your nose with his.

“Even though I made you pay for the Birkin?”

“Especially because you made me pay for the Birkin.”

You laugh, tugging him closer by his hoodie strings, just as he leans in again — lips brushing yours, his thumb ghosting along your neck. It’s soft, easy, a little reckless.

And then— The front door bursts open.

“WHY IS THERE A PARKING TICKET WITH MY NAME ON IT?!”

You and Ollie freeze mid-kiss like two teenagers caught making out by a high school principal. Except the principal is your younger brother and he’s holding a crumpled parking citation and an espresso.

“OH MY GOD,” Kimi screams. “ARE YOU—ARE YOU KISSING?!”

Ollie pulls back slowly. “Hey, mate—”

“NO. NO HEY MATE. WHAT IS THIS?!”

You blink. “…Kimi, we’ve been soft launching for a month.”

“I THOUGHT THAT WAS A BIT,” he shrieks, tossing the parking ticket into the air like confetti. “I thought you were gaslighting me!”

“We literally held hands in front of you—”

“I THOUGHT IT WAS FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES.”

Ollie steps back with his hands up. “Look, we weren’t hiding it—”

“YOU,” Kimi snarls, pointing at him. “I LET YOU LIVE HERE. I LET YOU EAT MY CEREAL. I TRUSTED YOU.”

“To be fair, it’s my cereal, and my apartment.” Ollie mumbles. 

“IRRELEVANT.”

Kimi storms toward the kitchen, righteous fury in his socks. “Ollie, I swear to god, if you hurt her—if you so much as misplace a single hair on her law school head—I will run you over exactly 8 times.” 

“Okay,” Ollie says nervously, backing into the island. “That seems extreme—”

“You’re lucky you have dimples or I’d kill you right now.”

You step in between them, putting your hand on Kimi’s chest like a bodyguard. “Relax. He’s not hurting me.”

Kimi narrows his eyes. “Are you sure he didn’t put something in that mimosa?”

“Kimi.”

“I’m just asking!”

“I’m literally holding his hand.”

Ollie gives Kimi a little wave. “Hi.”

“I’M GOING TO MURDER YOU WITH MY BARE HANDS.”

You sigh, reaching over to grab the espresso out of his hand. “You need to calm down and hydrate before you combust.”

Kimi glares at both of you. “You owe me emotional damages. And a new box of cereal.”

Ollie shrugs. “Want me to buy you Hermès socks?”

“I DON’T WANT YOUR GUILT SOCKS.”

Kimi storms off to his room, slamming the door dramatically behind him. There’s a beat of silence. Then from inside his room,

“IF I HEAR KISSING SO HELP ME GOD—”

You burst out laughing and lean back into Ollie’s arms, grinning. “Well. That went well.”

Ollie kisses your temple. “Honestly, better than expected.”

—

olliebearman

liked by yn_antonelli, kimi.antonelli, lando and 1,810,001 others.

olliebearman : she loves me and my extensive list of crimes.

tagged : yn_antonelli

—

view 152,000 other comments.

yn_antonelli : this is legally admissible. delete immediately.

liked by olliebearman

↳ olliebearman : how romantic 🥰

liked by yn_antonelli

kimi.antonelli : I WILL BE PRESSING CHARGES. against both of you.

liked by yn_antonelli and olliebearman

↳ olliebearman : good luck. i have the best lawyer in the world.

liked by yn_antonelli and kimi.antonelli

georgerussell63 : something tells me the legal expert was not consulted prior to making this caption

liked by yn_antonelli and olliebearman

↳ yn_antonelli : def not but im used to it

estebanocon : ohhhh this is why kimi was pacing in front of the garage yesterday. happy for you both !! ❤️

liked by yn_antonelli and olliebearman

—

redbullracing

liked by maxverstappen1, kimi.antonelli, yn_antonelli and 3,720,005 others.

redbullracing : @/yn_antonelli please come get your menace. he has been caught in the act again.

—

view 235,007 other comments.

yn_antonelli : he does not belong to me. i have never ever seen that man in my life. i wish him the best of luck.

liked by kimi.antonelli, maxverstappen1, redbullracing, olliebearman and lando

kimi.antonelli : I TOLD HIM TO STOP DOING THIS. TOO MANY CAMERAS.

↳ yn_antonelli : oh so you’ve done it too?

↳ kimi.antonelli : no…

↳ redbullracing : yes. check dm’s

↳ yn_antonelli : GOD DAMNIT ANDREA

liked by lando and maxverstappen1

oscarpiastri : He does this at Mclaren too. Took my smoothie out of my hands. Said absolutely nothing and walked out.

liked by yn_antonelli, kimi.antonelli, lando and olliebearman

charles_leclerc : he stole like 5 coconut waters from me in the matter of a month

liked by yn_antonelli, kimi.antonelli, olliebearman and lando

olliebearman : ALL OF THIS IS SLANDER. I DO NOT SPEAK UNTIL MY LEGAL COUNSEL IS PRESENT. YNNNNNNN!!!!

liked by kimi.antonelli, maxverstappen1, lando, oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc and yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : i do not know you. stop bothering me. i will get a restraining order if necessary

liked by kimi.antonelli, maxverstappen1, lando, oscarpiastri, olliebearman and charles_leclerc

—

[arachine]

the other part of me that beats for you...

— pairing: void!robert 'bob' reynolds x reader

— synopsis: your boyfriend's alternate self pays you a visit, but something's different this time...

— genre: smut, light angst, non canon-compliant (?) bc idk much about his lore

— contents: explicit sexual content, vaginal penetration, oral sex (f receiving), dub-con (not sure about this bc reader and the void have an agreement but tagging anyway just incase), creampie, overstimulation, dacryphilia, unrequited feelings

+ playlist: 'wicked games' by the weeknd, 'in this darkness' by clara la san, 'you' by majid jordan, 'china love' by janet jackson

+ note: really try to suspend your belief with this because i don't know all the specifics about his powers, nor do i care to. when you're on this blog, you're in my domain! :3

bob is an eager lover. all gangly limbs, and hurried kisses. he's inexperienced, in every sense of the word, but endearingly confident and intentional in his actions. he's usually pretty good at keeping up with you but sometimes he'll slip—for lack of a better word—into his other self, the void.

for the most part, the switch is almost seamless...almost. you see, he likes to make an entrance, switches when you're at your most vulnerable—when your eyes are rolling to the back of your skull, and your head's all fuzzy with static. he'll never announce his sudden arrival, no, makes it a game of sorts. likes to make you guess, make you feel the difference—and there is a difference. you always feel him before you see him. and the darkness that accompanies him is ever-present as usual. all-encompassing, all-consuming.

it's intimidating the first few times he slips—but you've grown accustomed to your lover's alternate self these days, though involuntarily.

slowly, you pull away, opening your eyes with the anticipation of seeing white ones staring back at you. they're the same as ever—bright, in comparison to his physical form, almost eclipse-like—yet, devoid of life. empty. soulless. you think if you stare too hard, or hold his gaze for too long, you'll dissipate into thin air. so you break away first, fiddle with a loose thread on the sheets of the bed.

time seems to flow slower in his presence. he's still staring, still scanning, like he's looking for something—anything—(you aren't quite sure what it is), but it feels inquisitive. it makes you squirm. once, twice, almost a third time, but then he finally decides that he's had his fill of ogling. turns his attention to where the both of you are connected, then flits back up to you.

you breathe out a breath you didn't even know you were holding.

"you're early," you state plainly, pushing him back by the chest with your pointer finger. the action is playful, and familiar, maybe even a little too familiar for whatever this little "relationship" is. he allows it all the same, though. lets out a smooth, airy chuckle—which is unexpected, and so unlike your past interactions. you wonder if he's growing used to you too, or if he's simply just tolerating you to reap the benefits of this unconventional arrangement of yours.

he tilts his head to the side, stays in that position for a few before answering.

"not my fault the bastard couldn't keep up," he retorts, but there's still a lightness in his tone. "he knows i have enough stamina for the both of us—knows i please you better."

a beat.

"not true," you spit, but your voice wavers, and you pray to the gods above that he didn't pick up on it. on the way your voice betrays you, on the subtle increase of your heartbeat as it thrums in excitement against your ribcage. the air feels thicker now, like it's been vacuum sealed with the two of you inside. you think you might die.

"lie," he's quick to counter, eyes squinting as if there was another one written in invisible ink on your face. "your mouth says one thing, but your body—oh, your body is so responsive."

before you can blink, he's forced himself into your space. puts his face real close to yours, so close that if you were to move even a millimeter closer, your noses would nudge (accounting for basic anatomy despite not being able to tell by looks alone). still, the swift movement is enough to throw you off kilter, and your breath catches in your throat.

"like," he drawls, a lilt in his voice. he dips his head until his mouth is aligned with your ear. "when i do this." you close your eyes in anticipation, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that sounds a lot like fear, or excitement, reimagined in song. it's like the part in a score where the instruments are in perfect synchronization. it's calm, steady, until it isn't. until it crescendos, and the instruments burst into a cacophony of beautiful, controlled chaos.

that's what it feels like when his lips meet your neck. rough, and angry, and feverish, but beautiful in the way chaos can be in the eye of a storm. he's kissing, and sucking, and grunting into your neck like he wants to consume you. eat you whole. blood, and flesh, and bones and all.

"or here?" slowly, he begins to move down, down, down. finds himself between the pastures and plains of your chests. kisses and sucks until proof of his assaults begin to sprout like flowers in bloom. you can feel him smirking against your skin in between each kiss.

you'd like to tell yourself that you aren't enjoying this, partly because it feels like a betrayal to your boyfriend, but the terrible truth is that you are—incredibly so. you have half a mind to tell him to get on with it, to do what he came to do, though you decide against it. because deep down? deep down, some selfish, sick, twisted part of you wants him to consume you. blood, and flesh, and bones and all.

his lips eventually find their way to one of your buds. he circles the flesh with his tongue, once, twice, before he begins to suck it. every nerve ending in your body buzzes with electricity at the contact. involuntarily, a whimper escapes your lips. you move to throw your hand over your mouth, but he stops it midair. pins your hand above your head and keeps it there, grip firm but gentle enough to not harm you.

there's a nasty, wet sound when he pulls off of you to speak. "told you. your body will always betray you," he says matter-of-factly, "even if your words don't." he continues his attack on your body, moving closer and closer to the place that has come to know him most intimately.

curious, you blink your eyes open hesitantly. once again, you're met with those piercing eyes. only this time, they're blown wide, the irises just barely visible. time moves slower for a second time. you count all of the seconds in between the time it takes for him to slot himself between your legs, and the moment his tongue finally meets your cunt.

and god, you swear you almost cry out. maybe you did.

he hasn't even really done anything yet, but your body's responding so obediently. it's pathetic, really. you know it is, but you can't even begin to trouble yourself with feeling all the woes and throes of embarrassment. all you can focus on is his tongue, and the obscene sounds he's making, and all the sounds your body is making. you think it's making you wetter.

until now, the void has never gone through the trouble of foreplay. partly, because he tends to show up when you and bob are in the middle of fucking; mostly, because he just doesn't see a reason for it. sex for him is purely transactional, instinctual. something to be given and to be taken.

he knows that when he's presenting, you finish regardless of the amount of effort he puts in. your pleasure is "secondary to his"—his words, of course. and for some time, it was exactly that. when his slips were a little less frequent, still, you'd fall right back into rhythm. this never-ending song and dance that the two of you keep finding yourselves in.

but now? now you're confused. even amidst your lust-filled haze, you can't help but to wonder...what's changed? when did this dynamic transition from unwilling, to kind-of-willing participants, to whatever this is? your thoughts are left to disappear into the air when he calls your name.

it startles you. he's never done that before. when your eyes meet his again, he's lifting his head to speak.

"where'd you go just now?"

your brows scrunch in response, a look of confusion settling on your face. "w-what?" is all you can say. he's stopped his ministrations, part of you is disappointed.

"it's my turn right now," he starts, "focus on me, please."

please.

it sounds like a foreign word coming from his mouth. never during any of your interactions has he used that word before. it's a little unsettling, you think. he says it, no—asks it in the most zephyr-light tone ever that it could've been mistaken for a whisper if your heart was beating any louder than it was right now.

gentle and void don't go together. they shouldn't go together. it's a contradiction to his very existence. gentle was bob, your bobby. he's good, and kind, and patient, and sensitive. light incarnate. the void? the void is crass, and unpleasant, and vile, and cruel. he's the embodiment of everything ugly in this world.

you know this, and yet—

"for a night i'd like to pretend that i'm just as deserving of your love as he is...it's my only request. can you pretend?" he queries.

there's an ache deep in your chest. it sounds like he's on the precipice of tears. unconsciously, you nod before you can even really process what he's asking of you. it's hesitant at first, then you do it again, and again, and again, like a marionette being controlled by a puppeteer.

the only thing to still your movements is his tongue when he finally dips back down to taste you. he's kissing, and sucking, and tonguing you like his very existence depends on it—and maybe it does. you always thought him and bob were so different, that he was all of the worst parts of him in physical form. but right now he doesn't feel all that unfamiliar. you see the same brokenness that you see in your boyfriend, the same hurt kid who just needed some love. the only difference between them is that one was lucky enough to get it first.

"d-don't—fuck—don't stop," you cry out, hand flying to the crown of his head, fingers threading through dark silk. he uses your words as motivation to push in deeper, tongue licking from clit to taint, each pass tilting you off your axis just a little more. the way he's licking you should be a sin, but when he adds his fingers—long, thin, and deft—you think this might actually be a religious awakening.

slowly, he forces one in. pushes it all the way to the middle knuckle, then pulls all the way out. repeats this a few more times, rubs your cunt with the flat of his hand too, before ultimately slipping back in. he's teasing you, you're sure. annoying. just as you're about to voice your irritation, he slips in two. pushes them all the way to the hilt, scissoring them slowly but deliberately as if to figure out what makes you squirm.

and he does—figure it out. rotates between scissoring his fingers and curling them. each drag is electric, each thrust intentional. he's fingering you like he's searching for something, anything. salvation? forgiveness? he's not sure, neither are you. all you can focus on is him, and his fingers, and the nasty sounds he's making while eating you out—because he asked you to.

soon, his tongue is on you again. wet, and hot, and precise. he's latched onto your clit, sucking the flesh with purpose, all the while his fingers are still thrusting deep into your core. intermittently, he'll let a groan escape his lips, followed by broken, incoherent sentences. "so sweet," "tastes good," "mine". it makes you dizzy, makes every part of your body tingle with disgust. you're...

"i'm c-close, shit, i'm gonna—!" you pulse around his fingers once, twice, before a surge of ecstasy overtakes you. you're sputtering and thrashing, and his tongue is still applying pressure, fingers still working you in. it's too much, entirely too much, but you're so dazed that all you can do is ride it out, let the tide pull you further. deeper.

"i've got you," he coos, voice syrupy sweet. he places a heavy palm on your lower abdomen while the other rubs slow, lazy circles on your clit. even amidst your post-fingering haze, you don't miss his gentle words. or the way the hand on your abdomen reaches for yours, but decides against it. lazily, you hold it out, flexing your fingers as if the gesture alone was an invitation.

a beat. another. then, hesitantly, he takes it. you flip your hands to where yours is atop his, and you trace the back of his with your thumb. for a moment, the two of you sit like this. chests rising and falling in perfect asynchronicity, breaths ragged. eventually, he pulls away, turns his head to the side as if to ponder. the sudden disinterest makes you sit up on your elbows. you wonder what he's thinking right now—feeling right now.

"where'd you go?" you mirror his words back to him. in this moment you're not teasing, no snarky remarks, or playful smirks—just genuine, raw curiosity. he sits in his silence for a bit longer, like he's trying to choose his words carefully. when he finds them, he returns his gaze to you.

"do you think you could ever...," a pause, "come to love me?" he asks, laying it all out on the table—his vulnerability. that, up until now, you weren't even sure if he was capable of such a thing. the question alone knocks the wind out of you, you sit up fully this time.

you're scared to answer truthfully. partially, because at the crux of it, this little arrangement was just that. an agreement. you couldn't have predicted this outcome, never in your wildest thoughts. this time, it's you who stills for a few moments. you know that whatever you reply with will be disappointing, but you also don't have the heart to dismiss him.

you think back to earlier, recalling the words he uttered so softly, so timidly, as if it scorched his throat just to speak them:

"can you pretend?"

finally, you nod, a small 'yes' slipping past your lips. it's all you can say in this moment—it's a lie, of course. pathetically unconvincing. you think he knows it, too. if he does, though, he doesn't say anything. he asked you to pretend tonight, and that was something you could do.

for just a night, you could pretend to make love to him, pretend to whisper sweet nothings in his ear—pretend to tell him you love him. they'd all be empty, but that's neither here nor there for right now, because when you crawl into his lap and sink down on his cock, you're embracing him like he's your person. gasping, squirming, clutching onto him like he's your tether to this reality.

inch by inch, you take him further, using his shoulders to ease yourself down until he's buried to the hilt. and when he is, you still from the intrusion. giving yourself time to adjust, you let your head fall onto his chest. from where you lay, you can hear the calm thrum of his heartbeat. it's steady, alive. sometimes you forget that this entity shares a body with your lover.

for a few seconds, neither of you move—which is unlike him, because he's never been one for patience, but right now he's cradling you. running his hands down the expanse of your back. holding you like you're porcelain. breathing you in as if to remember your scent, because who knows the next time he'll get to hold you like this. after the stunt he's pulled tonight, bob will surely try to supress him from presenting anytime soon. he doesn't blame him.

when the pain subsides, you lift your head from his chest. carefully, you give one experimental roll of your hips. you shudder, clenching involuntarily around him, and he squeezes the fat of your hips in response, accompanied by a low groan. again, you roll your hips, repeat the movement for a few before beginning to fuck yourself down on him properly.

your arms slink around his neck loosely at first, rhythm steady, methodical. every rise and fall feels electric, like the tension between two particles of the opposite charge. with every drag, you focus yourself on a new sensation, like: the grooves and ridges on his shaft, the way he's unconsciously guiding you down on his dick, the little grunts and groans he's letting slip.

it's all too much. your thighs are burning, exhaustion is creeping up on you by the second, and for once, you think you're the one who can't keep up.

"i can't—" he's already moving before you can even finish your sentence, hand skillfully holding your back while he flips your positions. your hands find his neck again, and you pull him down closer, so close that his full body weight is practically on you.

"you know, i'm just realizing this but, we've never done it in missionary before. not even me on top either. why the sudden change of heart?" you ask with a smile, voice tinged with a sprinkle of mirth and curiosity.

"didn't love you then," he says exasperatedly, "just wanted to fulfill an instinctual need." your eyes widen at the admittance. you prod again.

"when did you realize you loved me?" you ask, this time rocking your hips against him. slowly, teasing. his head droops down to the crevice of your neck, he moans. here he was trying to be vulnerable with you, something he never did, and you were teasing him. he's starting to think you're the evil one.

"i can't remember when exactly," he pulls all the way out until his cockhead is left, "but i saw the way you looked at him, you know, when i was dormant, and it made me jealous," then he pushes back in, in one hard, deliberate thrust. a guttural moan rips through you, your hands fly to his back, claw at it to ground yourself.

"yeah?" you say, voice shaky.

"yeah."

"then make love to me."

it felt cruel—asking him to do that, telling him that you could learn to love him. this whole thing was so vile, and yet, you were on cloud nine. floating somewhere up in the stratosphere, too high to come down, but too low to ignore the guilt clawing at your chest every time he touched a body part of yours with reverence. like you were something to be worshipped and kept on the top shelf, safe from things that would bring you harm.

his head is fully buried into your neck this time, he's kissing and sucking the skin as if to lay claim, as if to leave a piece of him behind. a desperate attempt to show bob that he doesn't wanna be expelled from this reality. his hips are ramming into you with purpose now, his pace increasing gradually, steadily. it feels so good, how deep inside of you he is, how the front of his pelvic bone rubs against your clit.

the room feels like it's spinning, all you can do is hold onto him. lay there and take it as he rams his hips into you, over, and over, and over. at some point, he removes himself from your embrace and sits back on his heels. his hands are cupping the front of your thighs, and he's pulling you back down onto him in slow, unhurried movements.

while he's doing so, his head tilts to the side. he's watching you inquisitively, giving you that same curious look from earlier. you notice that his eyes are blown wide again, irises almost completely overtaken by the black. it feels like you're under a microscope whenever he's looking at you like this. it would bother you under any other circumstance, but right now you can't seem to care. the way he feels inside is permeating all of your thoughts.

"beautiful," he breathes. until now, he's never once said that about you. not that he didn't find you attractive (because you were, or at least in the way he understood human standards), but because he usually liked to take you with your face buried in the pillows. he thought it helped make the act less personal, more easier for you.

but in this moment, he says it without realizing. it's more of a whisper to himself than anything. he doesn't care if you heard it or not, though, it does seem to fall on deaf ears because you don't react. you're so out of it, that the only thing you can hear is the sound of your own whimpering, and the squelches coming from your cunt.

despite how fast his hips are rocking into yours, you feel like everything's moving in slow motion. like time is slowing down for you and him, perfectly encapsulating the two of you in this moment forever. unthinking, and without pause, you pull him impossibly closer to you, encircling his head with your arms and you kiss him. it's something you've never done before, kissing his lips—convincing yourself that it was too intimate. too personal.

it starts out hesitantly, unpracticed. like the two of you are figuring out how to find a rhythm. and it makes sense, you think, because you've never properly shared a kiss. but now that you're kissing him, you realize that he and bob are truly not the same.

bob kisses you with purpose, and passion, and patience. he kisses you with a certain familiarity that is only reserved for lovers. but the void? he's kissing you with a desperation that's so sickly, it has your head spinning. he's kissing you like he's got something to prove—and maybe he does, you think.

gradually, the kiss becomes slower, and he's starting to kiss you with intent. every now and then, his tongue dips into your mouth, teeth pulling on your bottom lip. you find yourself completely melting in his embrace, both from the way he's kissing you, and his thrusts, which have become somehow even deeper. harder.

intermittently, you'll moan into his mouth. wrap your legs tighter around his middle when he hits that sweet spot that makes your back arch and your pussy clench. his thrusts are growing weaker, and your stomach is full of knots. your climax is nearing closer, and closer, and he knows it. feels it.

"waitwaitwait, i'm gonna," you stutter out, arms wrapping tighter around him. the air is so thick, and you feel dizzy. everything feels like too much, but he's relentless. now he's sitting back on his heels, repositioning your thighs and pushing your legs behind your head.

"i know," he says plainly, "so do it."

his reassurance is enough to coax your orgasm. it comes unceremoniously, and without mercy. your entire body buzzes with electricity, all the way from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. instinctually, you tug him closer to you, legs criss-crossing around his back, heels digging into his spine.

still, his thrusts persist. he's leaning forward onto you, trapping you underneath him with the entirety of his body weight. you're stuttering and babbling "i love you"s into his neck, repeating them like a mantra. hoping they'll stick, and that he'll believe them this time.

he's spewing obscenities from his mouth, burying his head into the interstice of your neck as he plunges his cock into your walls for a final time. warm, thick, white ropes of semen fill your cunt, mixing with the slick already pooled between your legs.

you drop your legs by his side and pull him closer once more. all you can hear is panting, and the sound of your heartbeats intermingling as you lay in complete silence. for a few moments, you stay like this. eyes closed, just basking in your post-coital haze, running your fingers through the strands of his hair.

until now, this type of intimacy after sex was only ever reserved for bob. but you suppose just this once it's okay. you continue your ministrations in silence for a little while longer, moving from his hair to swirling your fingertips around the skin of his back.

he leaves without warning, and part of you senses he's gone when the body atop of you begins to stir. you open your eyes to see pale skin and brown, moussey hair.

"mmm, how long was i gone this time?" he queries, voice light and airy as if he's been dreaming, "feels like it's been forever."

"oh forever, huh?" you say, cupping his cheek with your hand. "missed me that much?"

"always," he responds, though it comes out muffled when he repositions himself back into your neck. "was he nice this time?"

"mhm," you say, resting your head atop of his, "really nice." 

© arachine 2025

[wildflowersandvibranium]

Heyyy

If you are accepting request could you do a chubby! Student bucky? Who got stood up on a date or maybe his date leaves in the middle of it. So he is all sad but then the reader sees him and joins him and makes him have a good time

Pretty pretty pls? With Cherries on top🥺💗

haiiii anon!! omg okay i swear im getting caught up on my requests and starting with this and omg this was the cuteest most sweet thing and turned out to be a full oneshot when i planned a drabble leaning lenght LOLL but omgg its so cut so sweet and thank you anon for sending this to me and trusting me with your idea!! REQUESTS ALWAYS OPEN (and if you want to use an emoji anons none are taken and i love those personally hehe okay okay enjoy!)

Sweet Tooth

Pairing: Chubby!College AU!Bucky Barnes x Reader (gender neutral)

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings/Tags: Negative self talk , rude side character , body image talk , a kiss , sweet sweet fluffff cutest little fic!

Authors Note: ive been so focused on my series that i frogto to check my inbox and im working on finsihing all the requests right now and here is the first!!! i hope you like it anon and all :33

REQUESTS ALWAYS OPEN <3

The little golden bell over the door jingled softly as Bucky stepped into the local ice cream shop two blocks from campus. It was a cozy little place with pastel painted walls and scuffed wooden padded booths , the kind of spot that tried too hard to look vintage without looking effortless. 

But he liked it. The booths were roomy enough for him to sit comfortably , and the place was cheap compared to the fancy Italian ice or gelato places farther into the city. Plus , he’d heard pretty good things about their double fudge brownie sundae special on Saturday nights .

He adjusted his polo shirt—the one with the soft barely there floral print that made him feel less boring , and scanned the room looking around.

And no one met his eye. He looked down and checked his phone for the third time that evening. The screen glowed back at him the time , 7:12 p.m.

She was now twelve minutes late. That wasn’t a big deal though. Maybe she got caught up , maybe car trouble. 

He her a quick text: “Hey! I’m here at Lenny’s. Let me know when you’re close :)”

He added the smiley face so it didn’t sound needy or complaining.

Then he chose a booth in the corner , facing the window sitting down. From here , he could see the string lights twinkling and glowing above the sidewalk , kids on scooters buzzing by , a guy walking a corgi with a bowtie collar and an older couple walking hand in hand.

He tried not to look around too much. Tried not to notice when people came in and weren’t her. Tried not to keep refreshing his messages and checking his phone every few seconds..

It was now 7:28 p.m. No reply.

The server came by with a small menu and a polite smile tugging at her apron with a little ice cream logo detail on the front. “You wanna wait to order , hun?”

“Um…Yeah,” Bucky’s eyes darted agin hearing the bell but once again now her , he cleared his throat. “Just a few more minutes.” The waitress nodded with a soft smile and walked off.

But when 7:45 rolled around and the place got a little busier and more full with students and kids alike , he gave in and ordered his sundae anyway not waiting any lomger. 

He splurged and got a big one. It was stacked and topped with whipped cream , sprinkles , hot fudge and brownie chunks. Go big or go home , right?

Except he already wanted to go home. How did this happen again to him? He should have known when one of the school's most likeable and popular girls asked him out , that it wasn't real or sincere.

He stirred his sundae more than he ate it , picking at it with a sigh. The whipped cream melted into a sad white creamy swirl , and his spoon clicked against the glass. Around him , couples laughed and shared bites and spoonfuls. Friends played cards at the table near the front of the place. And he was just… this kinda chubby guy in the corner , eating a sundae alone in a shirt that felt too tight all of a sudden as he looked around.

It sucked.

He’d never been good at dating. His confidence came and went , usually depending on who was looking at him or speaking to him. Sometimes he felt cute or decent about himself. Sometimes he felt like a walking afterthought. But this? Sitting here with a cold sundae and colder silence in his inbox?

This was a whole new level of pathetic.

He was pulling out his phone to maybe fake an emergency call in front of everyone and leave when he heard a chirpy yet soft voice speak.

“You’re not gonna eat that whole thing by yourself , are you?”

He looked up—and blinked.Then blinked again.

You stood beside his booth , hands in your jacket pockets , head tilted like you already knew you’d caught him off guard. You weren’t a server. You weren’t someone he recognized from class. Just… a stranger. With this warm , easy grin like he wasn’t some sad sack , killing time.

“I mean,” you went on gesturing to the table, “unless you want to. I respect that. I'm personally a big solo sundae person myself.”

Bucky laughed—short , surprised and breathy.

You nodded toward the other side of his booth that sat empty. “Mind if I sit?”

He blinked and glanced around looking for maybe a group of people watching , maybe you were sent as a dare or something…it had to be a reason right? But he saw nothing , no eyes on him or you. 

“You wanna sit here?” He blinked again.

“Well , yeah. You look like you could use some company. Unless you were expecting someone?” You pointed your thumb over your shoulder turning about to walk away worried you crashed a date or hangout.

His eyes dropped to the half-melted sundae then back at you.

“Oh,” you said softly , sliding into the seat across from him without waiting for his response , knowing. “Well… it's her loss. That’s a solid dessert and you're a good guy.”

He opened his mouth but hesitated, brows furrowing. “You don’t even know me.”

“True. But I figure you can tell a lot about someone by what they order. And I respect a guy who isn’t afraid of hot fudge and sprinkles.”

He snorted through his nose , and his shoulders finally relaxed dropping a little. “I'm Bucky.”

“Hi , Bucky” You smiled and gave him your name right after. “I was actually just on my way back to the dorms when I saw you through the window. Looked like you could use somebody.”

“I’m not usually this—uh… sad or pathetic looking.” He chuckled ,  self-deprecating.

“Well, I am usually this bold , so we’re a good combo,” you chirped , grabbing a spoon from the little dispenser. “Mind if I help out with this sundae? We don’t want it to go to waste.”

He motioned to it with a mock flourish. “Be my guest.”

You took a generous scoop of the sundae on your spoon , making a pleased hum as the fudge and dairy hit your tongue.

“Okay , this is stupid good. They put salted carmel on the brownie. That’s next-level.”

Bucky nodded , smiling for real now kinda toothy and kinda lopsided , it was cute. “Yeah. That’s why I picked this place.”

“Good call. So , you go on a lot of ice cream dates , or was this a special occasion?”

He shrugged, smiling dropping , then shook his head. “First one in… a while.”

You didn’t press , but your eyes were kind looking at his. And that made it easier for him to admit , “It was a friend of friend type of thing. Thought she seemed cool. We messaged for a few days , set this up….But guess she changed her mind.”

“Then she’s dumb,” you cut him off without hesitation , licking the rest of the whipped cream off your spoon. “Honestly , if I saw you sitting here with her , I’d think, ‘Damn, lucky girl.’”

Bucky’s cheeks turned pink as he looked down at the sundae , embarrassed but clearly flattered. “You’re… smooth.”

“I’ve been told,” you smile into your next bite.

The booth started to feel less cramped. The fluorescent lights didn’t buzz as loudly. And Bucky , sat up a little straighter. Even made a joke about how his shirt looked like a grandma’s tablecloth , and you said that was hot , in a retro kind of way.

By the time the sundae was long gone , you were both laughing like friends who’d known each other longer than what was actually only half an hour.

You glanced out the window then right back at him. “Sun’s still out. Wanna walk off that sugar crash before it hits?”

He hesitated for a beat. But when you smiled brightly at him —like this wasn’t pity , like this was fun—he nodded agreeing. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

Outside , the summer evening was warm without being unbearable or sticky. A cool breeze rolled through the trees as you crossed the street toward the small park that curved behind the edge of west campus.

Bucky fell into a rhythm of steps beside you , his hands stuffed in his jean pockets kicking a rock or stick every now and then. You noticed how he kept checking his pace to match yours. Like he didn’t want to crowd. Like he was being careful. But wanted to be by you.

“So You always approach sad-looking strangers in dessert shops on your Saturday nights?” he asked , glancing sideways. “Or just me?”

“Only the handsome ones ,” you replied easily.

He laughed , cheeks still flushing pink.

“Seriously,” you added , nudging him lightly with your elbow , “I know what that kind of night looks like. I’ve had them too. It just feels nice to not have someone sit in that alone.”

Bucky nodded. His voice was quiet when he spoke up again, “People don’t usually say yes when I ask them out. Or they do then don’t show. Sometimes I think maybe they think I’m just… a joke.”

You stopped walking abruptly at that , making him run into you slightly.

He looked over , confused all over his face.

You turned to face him , standing on the park path , under a string of old lamp posts that hadn’t lit up their amber lighting just yet. 

“Can I tell you something, Bucky?”

He nodded.

“You’re not a joke. Not even close. Anyone who can’t see that is probably still stuck thinking hotness and the perfect guy means having an eight-pack and no feelings.”

He raised an eyebrow at your words. “You saying I have feelings?”

You smirked. “Deep , manly ones. Buried beneath layers of whipped cream and sarcasm.”

He grinned , teeth showing again. “You’re not so bad at this pep talk thing.”

“I moonlight as a professional hype person” You teased , picking up your pace again “Now c’mon. Let’s keep walking before that sundae settles in my bloodstream.”

You meandered through campus for a while , passing the student center, the little koi pond with a fountain by the biology building , and the quad where kids were tossing a frisbee and throwing corn sacks in the air playing corn hole..

Bucky talked more now as you continued walking side by side —about his classes you learned he was a history major, his roommates , one of them was trying to start a kombucha business from their shared very crowded mini fridge, and his childhood dog , a pug named Winston who he swore snored like a chainsaw.

You matched his stories with your own. At some point , your hands brushed while walking. He didn’t move away. Or say anything.

And then , too soon , you were in front of your own dorm. Ending your evening together.

You turned to face him , the warm porch light casting soft shadows over his handsome face.

“Thanks for not letting me sit there alone,” he almost whispered, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

“Thanks for sharing your sundae with me , and your tragic dating tale.”

He smiled , sheepish. “Least it ended better than it started.”

You nodded agreeing , stepping closer to him . “I had fun.”

“Me too.” He smiled big , sighing.

A pause. A moment. Then you leaned up –slow , testing , and kissed his soft freshly shaven cheek. Smelling the after shave and cologne that lingered.

His breath hitched at the kiss. When you pulled back he looked at you like you’d just given him the most precious thing.

You took a step back just enough to say, “Give me your phone.”

He fumbled it out of his pocket  immediately , and you punched your number in, texting yourself to save it and handed it back.

“Text me when you get home?” you asked. “So I know you didn’t fall into a sugar coma on the sidewalk.”

He grinned and nodded. “You got it , doll.”

You gave him one last wave and turned for the stairs heading up , up , up. He stood there until you were out of sight making sure you got to your floor safely.

Your dorm room was quiet and calm , lit by the soft glow of your blue desk lamp hovering over texts and workbooks  and accompanying it , the city bleeding in through the cracked window. 

You kicked off your shoes , flopped onto your bed , and checked your phone.

Nothing yet. You smiled thinking. He was probably overthinking the text.

Sure enough , just two minutes later , your screen lit up with his name.

Bucky🍦 : made it back. no sugar coma (yet) also I can’t stop smiling and it’s kinda your fault

You grinned big, thumbs flying to reply.

You: if I say “guilty,” will you forgive me?

Bucky🍦 : depends.  what’s the penalty for stealing my night and making it amazing?

You laughed out loud , rolling onto your side on bed responding.

You: shared custody of future sundaes

Bucky🍦 : ...I accept these terms

Bucky🍦: for the record , I don’t usually click with people this fast

You: same maybe it was the fudge

Bucky: 100% the fudge and your smile and the fact that you didn’t treat me like a kicked puppy

You let that sit for a second.

You: not even close you’re funny. smart. way cuter than you realize. and I’d go on a lot more walks and sundae sat nights with you

Bucky🍦 : can we call them dates next time? just, like… real ones? me & you

Your heart stuttered. Blushing hard , good thing he couldn't see the goofy look that spread onto your face.

You: yeah. we can absolutely call them dates

Bucky🍦 : cool coolcoolcool

sorry I’m being awkward, just haven’t smiled this much in forever

You: awkward is endearing

Bucky🍦 : you’re gonna make me fall for you, aren’t you

You: Maybe , if i dont end up falling first

Bucky🍦 : I’d be okay with that ;)

You smiled and curled snuggling more under your blanket , cheeks surely bright pink and warm.

 Outside , campus was settling into the quiet of the night , but inside your chest , something buzzed bright and alive , light and real. Rising.

The date he was supposed to have? A total bust. But the night? Turned out to be something better. Something growing to be very sweet. 

-end

REQUESTS ALWAYS OPEN

Comments , Reblogs , Likes and Requests are always loved!

(although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience)

They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

[mrs-delaney]

Teleport 2 Me

Joe Burrow x Reader

Word Count: 4.4k and some change

Request: I was wondering to get a Joe burrow imagine where his fiancé is planning a surprise with kid cudi for their wedding. Whether it is kid cudi singing their first dance song or singing her down the aisle towards to Joe. But she had to turn off her location so the surprise can work because Joe would see where she at if she was taking forever to come home.

Author's Note: I loved the concept of this request immediately! The idea of trying to coordinate one of Joe's favs like Kid Cudi while keeping it from someone as observant as he is? Pure disaster potential. I chose the first dance route with "Teleport 2 Me" because the lyrics about wanting to be close despite distance felt perfect for them.

Thanks to the anon who requested this - hope it lived up to what you were imagining! 🤍 I'm slowly but surely working through them I promise.

✨ my masterlist ✨

💌 want to be tagged in future fics? join my taglist here 💫

🌙 ask box is open — come keep me company, i’m around tonight 💌

You pulled into the driveway at 10:47 PM, which was later than you'd told Joe you'd be home. Again. Every light in the house was on—porch lights, upstairs lights, the whole first floor lit up. Joe's way of letting you know he was awake and waiting without saying it.

Probably watching film. 

Your phone buzzed with a text from Cudi's manager: Rehearsal tomorrow at 2. Can you make it?

Tomorrow Joe had meetings with his agent until 4, which meant you could easily make it and be home before he was. You typed back: I'll be there.

The front door opened before you could reach it.

"Long day?" Joe asked, stepping aside to let you in. His voice was casual, but you caught the way his eyes scanned your face, looking for something. Clues.

"The Kroger campaign is killing me," you said, which wasn't technically a lie. The Kroger campaign was killing you—it just wasn't why you'd been gone for twelve hours. "Sorry I'm so late."

Joe nodded, following you into the kitchen. "You eat?"

"Grabbed something at the office." Another lie. You'd eaten takeout at the recording studio while listening to Kid Cudi run through "Teleport 2 Me" for the third time, making sure it would be perfect for your first dance.

"You've never had to work Sundays before."

The comment was light, conversational, but you knew Joe well enough to hear the edge underneath. He was starting to notice patterns. Starting to ask the questions you'd been dreading.

"It's just until the wedding," you said, hating how easily the deflection came. "Then everything calms down."

Joe's laptop was open on the counter, some defensive scheme paused mid-play. He'd been waiting for you to get home. Had been waiting for hours.

"Come here," he said quietly.

You stepped closer, letting him pull you between his knees where he sat on the barstool. His hands settled at your waist, thumbs brushing against the fabric of your shirt.

"You sure you're okay? You've been..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Pulling away lately."

Your heart hammered against your ribs. Three weeks of this secret had you jumping at shadows, and Joe's ability to read people like a book wasn't making it any easier.

"I'm not pulling away," you said quickly, reaching up to touch his face. "I'm just stressed about work and the wedding and trying to get everything perfect for us. I love you. I can't wait to marry you. It's just... a lot right now."

That got a small smile out of him, but his eyes stayed concerned.

"3 more days," he said, like he was trying to convince himself everything was normal.

* * *

You'd been at the venue for three hours, watching Kid Cudi run through the acoustic arrangement of "Teleport 2 Me" while his sound engineer adjusted levels for the reception space. Your phone had been buzzing periodically with texts from Joe, but you'd kept it on silent, location services turned off. The last thing you needed was him seeing you were at the wedding venue when you'd told him you were staying late at the office.

How's the Kroger campaign going?

Want me to pick up dinner?

Call me when you're wrapping up

Each message made your stomach twist a little tighter. Five days until the wedding, and you were running out of believable excuses for these long absences.

"I think we've got it," Cudi said, setting down his guitar. "The acoustic version's going to be perfect for the first dance."

You smiled, finally allowing yourself to feel excited instead of anxious. "He's going to lose his mind. He has no clue."

"Good. That's what we're going for." He grinned. "Man, I can't wait to see his reaction. This is gonna be special." He stood up, stretching. "Same time tomorrow for final soundcheck?"

Tomorrow's rehearsal was scheduled for 2 PM again, right when Joe would be at his final suit fitting. Another narrow window to coordinate around his schedule.

"I'll be there."

The drive home felt longer than usual, your mind already crafting explanations for why you'd been unreachable for the past hour. Traffic. Difficult client. Phone on silent during a presentation. All technically possible, none of them true.

Joe's car was in the garage when you pulled in.

"Hey," you called as you walked in, dropping your purse on the counter. "Sorry, that meeting ran forever."

Joe looked up from his laptop, where he appeared to be reviewing some kind of contract. "No problem. How'd it go?"

"Good. Finally got the creative approved." The lie came easily now, which should have bothered you more than it did. "What time did you get home?"

"Around six." He closed the laptop, giving you his full attention. "Your location's been off all day."

The statement was casual, conversational, but something in his tone made you freeze. You forced yourself to look confused, pulling out your phone.

"What? Let me check..." You tapped through to settings, pretending to investigate while your heart hammered. "That's weird."

Joe was already pulling up his phone, fingers moving across the screen with practiced ease. "It's back on now," he said, turning the screen toward you. There you were, a little dot on the map in your kitchen.

You stared at it for a beat too long before responding. "Huh. That's weird. I didn't turn it off. Must be a glitch."

"Must be," Joe agreed, but his eyes stayed on your face.

The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken questions. Joe had always been good at reading tells—it's what made him great at his position, the ability to see what defenses were really doing beneath the surface. And right now, you felt completely transparent.

"I'm going to shower," you said finally, needing to escape his analytical gaze.

"Yeah, okay." He reopened his laptop, but you could feel him watching as you headed toward the stairs.

In the bathroom, you leaned against the closed door and exhaled slowly. That had been close.  Joe wasn't stupid, and he definitely wasn't the type to let inconsistencies slide without eventually asking direct questions.

Your phone buzzed with a text from Cudi's manager: Tomorrow's rehearsal moved to 1 PM. Still work for you?

You typed back quickly: Perfect. See you then.

One more day. One more lie. And then Joe would understand why you'd been so secretive, why you'd been pulling away, why you'd been turning your location off and coming home exhausted from "work meetings" that made no sense.

When you came back downstairs twenty minutes later, Joe was still at the counter, but his laptop was closed again. He looked up as you entered the kitchen, and something in his expression had shifted.

"Everything okay?" you asked, though you weren't sure you wanted to hear the answer.

"Yeah," he said, but his tone suggested otherwise. "Just thinking."

About what, you wanted to ask, but didn't. Because you were pretty sure you already knew.

Joe stood, moving toward you with that measured way he approached everything when he was processing information. His hands found your waist, thumbs brushing against your sides.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?" he said quietly. "If something's going on, if you're stressed about the wedding or work or... if you're having second thoughts, we can cancel everything right now and just do something you and me. Whatever you need."  The sincerity in his voice almost broke you. Here he was, offering you an out, a chance to come clean, and all you could do was lie to his face again.

"I know," you said, reaching up to touch his jaw. "I want this wedding, Joe. I want to marry you in front of everyone. It's just work stuff - I've been putting in extra hours because of all the time we're taking off for the honeymoon. I promise it'll calm down once we're back."

Joe nodded, but you could see he wasn't entirely convinced. His quarterback brain was filing away details, building a case, waiting for more evidence before making his move.

"Okay," he said simply, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I trust you."

The words hit like a punch to the chest. He trusted you, and you were lying to him 2 days before your wedding. For a good reason, but still lying.

"I love you," you said, meaning it more than you'd ever meant anything.

"I love you too."

But as he held you in the quiet kitchen, you could feel something shifting between you. A small crack in the foundation of trust you'd built together, one that you hoped would heal completely when he finally understood what you'd been doing.

2 more days. You just had to make it 2 more days.

* * *

You were running out of believable excuses, and Joe was running out of patience.

"I can come with you," he'd said that morning when you mentioned needing to run wedding errands. "Help carry stuff, keep you company."

The offer was sweet and completely normal, which made lying about it feel even worse.

"I'm just getting my nails done baby" you'd said quickly. "Rumi is coming with me. Girl time, you know?"

Joe had nodded, but something in his expression suggested he was filing that information away with all the other inconsistencies he'd been cataloging.

Now you were pulling into the driveway after three and a half hours at the venue, coordinating final details with Kid Cudi and his team. Your phone showed two missed texts from Joe:

Nails taking forever?

You good?

You'd responded with vague reassurances about the salon being busy, but as you walked toward the front door, you realized your hands looked exactly the same as when you'd left that morning.

Joe was in the kitchen when you walked in, laptop closed in front of him, arms crossed. The posture of someone who'd been thinking.

"How'd it go?" he asked.

"Good. They were super busy, but Rumi and I got to catch up." The lie felt heavier each time you told one. "Sorry it took so long."

Joe's eyes dropped to your hands, taking in your unchanged manicure with the same analytical precision he used to read defensive formations.

"It doesn't take three and a half hours to get your fucking nails done."

The statement hung between you, sharp and pointed. You looked down at your hands, realizing too late that your excuse had fallen apart before you'd even made it through the door.

"They were really backed up," you said weakly. "And we grabbed lunch after."

"Your nails look exactly the same as they did this morning."

There was frustration in his voice, that quiet anger that meant he was putting pieces together and didn't like what he was finding. You could practically see him building his case, the same way he processed information on the field.

Your phone rang before you could respond, Kid Cudi's manager's name flashing on the screen. The timing couldn't have been worse.

"I should take this," you said, already moving toward the sliding door to the backyard.

"At 8 PM? The night before our wedding?"

You were already outside, pressing accept before Joe could ask any more questions.

"Hey, Dennis," you said quietly, glancing back toward the house. Joe was still visible through the glass, watching.

"Just wanted to confirm timing for tomorrow," Dennis said. "Cudi will be there at six for final sound check. We've got the acoustic guitar ready, and he knows to stay hidden until the DJ calls him out."

"Perfect," you whispered, turning away from the house. "And he remembers—"

"Make sure Joe can't know until the moment, yeah. We've kept it secret this long, we're not blowing it now."

Relief flooded through you. Tomorrow night, all of this secrecy would finally make sense. Joe would understand why you'd been pulling away, why you'd been lying, why you'd been—

The sliding door opened behind you.

"I have to go," you said quickly, ending the call.

Joe was standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable in the dim porch light.

"Work call?" he asked as you walked back inside.

"Yeah, just... client thing."

"At eight PM. The night before our wedding." His voice was still level, but you could hear the edge creeping in. "About someone who can't know what?"

Your stomach dropped. "What?"

"I heard you. 'Make sure he can't know until...' and something about keeping secrets." Joe closed the sliding door behind you, his movements deliberate. "Who is 'he'? And what have you been keeping secret?"

The kitchen suddenly felt too small, the walls closing in as Joe's pale blue eyes stayed fixed on your face. This was it. The moment you'd been dreading for three weeks.

"It's not what you think—"

"Then tell me what it is." He stepped closer, and you could see the hurt starting to break through his controlled exterior. "Because from where I'm standing, my fiancée has been lying to me for weeks. Disappearing for hours, turning her location off, taking mysterious calls about keeping secrets from some guy."

"Joe—"

"You said you were getting your nails done, but they look exactly the same. You've been 'working late' every night for two weeks. Your location's been off more times than I can count." His voice was getting quieter, more controlled, which somehow made it worse. "So help me understand what I'm missing here."

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Every instinct screamed to tell him the truth, to end this nightmare and explain everything. But tomorrow was your wedding day. Tomorrow night, when Kid Cudi walked out with his guitar, Joe would understand. You just had to make it eighteen more hours.

"I can't," you said finally.

"You can't." Joe repeated the words like he was testing how they sounded. "You can't tell your fiancé what you've been doing or who you've been talking to."

"It's not like that."

"Then what is it like?" The hurt was fully visible now, cutting through his usual composure. "Because I'm running out of explanations that don't involve you seeing someone else."

The accusation hit like a physical blow. "How can you say that? How can you think that about me?"

"What am I supposed to think?" Joe's voice cracked slightly. "You disappear for hours with bullshit excuses. You're taking secret calls about some guy who can't know something. You won't tell me what's going on." He ran a hand through his hair, the first sign of his legendary control slipping. "If you're having second thoughts about us, about the wedding, just tell me. Don't... don't do this."

"I'm not having second thoughts." The words came out fierce, desperate. "I love you. I want to marry you tomorrow more than I've ever wanted anything."

"Then tell me what's going on."

You stared at him, this man you loved more than breathing, watching him break apart because of your lies. Every fiber of your being wanted to explain, to take away the pain in his eyes, to make him understand that everything you'd done was for him.

"I can't," you whispered again.

Something shifted in Joe's expression then, shutting down like a computer going into safe mode. The hurt was still there, but buried under layers of protection.

"Okay," he said quietly. "I guess I'll figure it out eventually."

He moved past you toward the stairs, his shoulder brushing yours in the narrow space.

"Joe, wait—"

"I'm sleeping in the guest room tonight," he said without turning around. "And if there's someone else... if that's what this is... don't make me stand up there tomorrow. Just tell me now."

You listened to his footsteps on the stairs, heard the guest room door close with a soft click. The kitchen fell silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and the sound of your heart breaking.

Eighteen more hours. You just had to survive eighteen more hours, and then he'd understand. Then he'd know that every lie, every secret, every moment of distance had been because you loved him so much you were willing to risk everything to give him something perfect.

* * *

You didn't see Joe until you were walking down the aisle.

The morning had been a whirlwind of hair and makeup and your sister fussing over the bustle of your dress, everyone too busy to notice that you kept checking your phone for updates from Kid Cudi's team. The ceremony was at four, reception at six, and Cudi had already done his sound check that morning while you were getting ready. Everything was falling into place exactly as you'd planned for three weeks.

But first, you had to marry Joe.

When the music started and the doors opened, revealing the intimate garden ceremony you'd dreamed about, your breath caught. There he was, standing at the altar in his perfectly tailored navy suit, hands clasped in front of him, looking like he'd stepped out of a magazine. But it was his face that made your chest tighten.

The moment he saw you, everything shifted. The careful distance from this morning, the hurt from last night—all of it dissolved as his expression transformed into something soft and wondering. This was the Joe you'd fallen in love with, the one who looked at you like you were the only person in the world who mattered.

Your dad squeezed your arm as you reached the altar. "He's a good one," he whispered, placing your hand in Joe's.

"Hi," Joe said quietly, just for you, that slight smile tugging at his lips.

"Hi," you whispered back, and suddenly everything else faded away.

The ceremony passed in a blur of joy and laughter and tears. When it came time for vows, Joe's voice was steady and sure as he promised to love you through everything life threw at you, to be your constant in an unpredictable world, to choose you every single day for the rest of his life.

When you promised to be his safe place, his teammate, his biggest supporter, you meant every word. Even if you'd been lying to him for three weeks, even if he'd questioned everything last night, this moment was pure truth.

"You may kiss your bride."

Joe's hands framed your face as he kissed you, soft and reverent, and the small crowd erupted in cheers. When you broke apart, he pressed his forehead to yours.

"We did it," he murmured.

"We did it," you agreed, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt.

"I love you so much," he whispered, just for you, his voice thick with emotion.

"I love you too," you whispered back, and he kissed you again, softer this time.

The cocktail hour flew by in a haze of congratulations and photos and champagne. You caught Joe watching you during pictures, that little furrow between his brows that meant he was thinking.

"You okay?" you asked during a brief moment alone while the photographer adjusted lighting.

"Yeah," he said, reaching for your hand. "About last night—"

"After," you said quickly, squeezing his fingers. "Let's just enjoy this, okay? We'll talk about everything after."

Joe studied your face for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. But we are going to talk."

"I know. I promise."

Dinner passed in a blur of toasts and laughter and the best food you'd ever tasted. Joe seemed more relaxed as the evening went on, falling back into his usual rhythm of dry jokes and quiet observations that made you laugh until your sides hurt. This was your husband now. Your husband, who had no idea what was coming.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the DJ's voice cut through the gentle chatter of your sixty guests, "it's time for our newlyweds' first dance."

This was it.

Joe stood immediately, extending his hand with that easy confidence that made everything look effortless. "Ready, Mrs. Burrow?"

The name still sent a thrill through you. "I'm ready, Mr. Burrow."

He led you to the center of the dance floor, his hand finding its familiar place at the small of your back, the other intertwining your fingers. Around you, chairs scraped as guests turned to watch, phones already appearing to capture the moment.

"Just like we practiced," Joe murmured, that slight smile playing at his lips. "Try not to step on my feet."

"That was one time," you protested, laughing despite your nerves.

"It was more than three," he corrected, grinning. 

The familiar banter steadied you, reminded you why this surprise would be perfect. Joe had no idea that his favorite artist was about to walk out and perform the song that had gotten you both through so many late nights and long separations.

"Before we begin," the DJ announced, "the bride has a very special surprise for her new husband."

Joe's hand tightened reflexively around yours, confusion flickering across his features. "What—"

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Kid Cudi."

The words seemed to hang in the air for a split second before Joe's expression shifted from confusion to complete shock. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again, his eyes widening as he stared at you like you'd just performed actual magic.

From the side of the reception space, Kid Cudi emerged with an acoustic guitar, moving toward the simple stool and microphone setup that had appeared during dinner. The intimate crowd erupted in surprised murmurs and scattered applause, but Joe didn't seem to hear any of it.

He was staring at you like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

"You didn't," he breathed, voice barely audible over the growing excitement from your guests.

"I did," you whispered, watching his face cycle through shock, understanding, and something that looked close to tears.

Kid Cudi settled onto the stool, adjusting the guitar across his lap. When he spoke into the microphone, his voice was warm and genuine: "This is for Joe and his beautiful wife Y/N. Congratulations, man."

Joe's composure—that legendary calm that stayed intact under fourth-quarter pressure—finally cracked. His jaw worked for a moment like he was trying to find words that didn't exist, his hand squeezing yours tighter like he needed to feel something real.

"All those late nights," he said slowly, pieces clicking into place with almost audible precision. "The meetings that didn't make sense. Your location being off."

You nodded, thumb tracing over his knuckles. "I really hated lying to you."

"All those meetings." His voice carried that quiet amazement he got when he finally understood how a play was designed to work. "You were planning this with him."

"For weeks," you confirmed. "Planning this. Making sure it was perfect."

The opening guitar notes of "Teleport 2 Me" filled the space, gentle and acoustic and impossibly intimate. When Cudi's voice joined the melody, singing the words that had meant everything to you both —

Gettin in from the airport

You're gettin in from your study group

The only thing missing at this point is bonafide chillin time with you

Joe's carefully controlled expression finally shattered completely.

"Baby," he managed, voice thick with emotion. "You brought him here. For us."

"Don't cry at our wedding," you whispered, reaching up to catch the tear before it fell, even though your own eyes were burning.

He laughed, the sound watery and incredulous. "Don't cry? You coordinated with Kid Cudi to sing our song at our wedding. I think crying is pretty reasonable right now."

You started to sway as the music swelled, Joe pulling you closer than you'd practiced, needing you against him while he processed the magnitude of what you'd done. Cudi's voice wrapped around you: 

I want you girl and I need your body right here

Won't you teleport to me

I want you girl and I need your body right here

Won't you teleport to me

"This song," Joe murmured against your temple, "when I first played it for you..."

"When you were in Miami for a game," you finished. "And you said you wished you could just teleport home to me."

"I can't believe you remembered that. I can't believe you did this."

"I remember everything about you, Joe Burrow."

As the song continued, Joe caught sight of your families watching. His mom was crying, his dad had that proud smile he wore during big games. Your parents looked stunned and delighted. But mostly, he was aware of this moment—of Cudi singing —

A moment of loneliness and I can't close my eyes

Without you by my side

While he held his wife, finally understanding why you'd been so stressed, so secretive, so careful about keeping this surprise intact.

"I thought..." Joe started, then stopped, jaw tightening slightly.

"What?" you asked, pulling back to see his face properly.

"Last night, I thought you were..." He couldn't finish the sentence, couldn't even say the words out loud now that he knew the truth.

Your heart broke a little. "Joe, no. Never. This—" you gestured subtly toward Cudi, toward the impossibility of what you'd pulled off "—this is how much I love you."

When the song reached its emotional peak—

Hey, hey 

Teleport to me

Right here

Won't you teleport to me baby

Joe spun you gently, bringing you back against his chest.

"I'm sorry," he said into your ear, voice rough with emotion. "I'm so sorry I doubted you."

"You had every reason to," you replied. "I was being shady as hell."

"For this," he said, like he still couldn't quite believe it. "You were being shady to surprise me with Kid Cudi at our wedding."

"Worth it?" you asked as the song began to wind down.

Joe's answer was the way he kissed you—soft, grateful, overwhelmed—while their families and friends exploded into applause around them.

"So worth it," he murmured against your lips. "Best surprise of my life."

As the guitar notes faded into silence, Joe looked toward Kid Cudi, who was standing from the stool. Without hesitation, Joe crossed the few steps to him, pulling him into a genuine embrace.

"Thank you," Joe said, and everyone close enough could hear the emotion in his voice. "That was... thank you."

"Your wife's pretty special," Cudi replied, grinning. "She's been planning this for months. Wouldn't let me mess up a single detail."

Joe looked back at you, still standing in the middle of the dance floor, watching him with that soft smile that had made him fall in love with you in the first place.

"Yeah," he said, voice carrying that quiet certainty that defined everything important in his life. "She really is."

[skyracha]

Get It Out

[OT8]

500 Follower Event FINALE

Synopsis: You’re stressed, not sleeping, not eating, barely taking care of yourself. When the guys ask you what they can do to help, you don’t even think before you speak up, and they’re more than happy to help.

Word Count: idk… uhhh maybe ~4,000-5,000?

Warnings: Comfort sex, emotional care, multiple partners, stress relief, gentle dominance, praise, oral (F receiving), overstimulation, aftercare, CHOO CHOO TRAINNN, Dom/Sub themes, double penetration, mention of cock warming, “Dove” used once i think, i definitely missed some

NO TAGS DUE TO CONTENT

My Library HERE :)

——————————————

You didn’t mean to snap.

But when Hyunjin asked for the third time if you’d eaten today—eyes wide with concern, voice so damn soft—you finally cracked.

“I don’t know!” you blurted. “I don’t remember, Hyunjin. I don’t know when I last ate, or slept properly, or… I just—” You shut your eyes, pressing the heels of your hands against your forehead. “I don’t know how to ask for help anymore.”

The silence in the room was thick. Eight pairs of eyes fixed on you—stunned at first, then shifting into quiet urgency. You stood there in the center of their shared living space like a live wire ready to combust, shaking and raw.

Felix approached first, gently prying your hands away from your face. “Then don’t ask,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Just tell us what you need.”

That was the moment.

You didn’t think. Didn’t calculate. You just blurted the truth in the only form you could manage.

“I want all of you.”

They stared at you. A collective stillness that hung in the air like suspended breath.

“I’m tired,” you continued, eyes glassy. “I’m so tired. But when I’m with you, I feel… safe. Warm. Needed. And maybe it’s selfish or stupid but I just want… to feel wanted. To forget everything else. Even for a night.”

Changbin was the first to move. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, grounding you with a low hum in his chest. “That’s not selfish,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear. “That’s human.”

“We’re yours,” Seungmin said firmly from the couch. “If this is what you need, we’ll take care of you.”

Your heart thudded. Arousal mixed with vulnerability in your chest, heavy and heady. Their presence always made you feel safe—but this? This was surrender.

Bang Chan stepped closer, tilting your chin up with two fingers. “We’ll make you feel again,” he said. “No stress. No guilt. Just us loving you.”

And when he kissed you—slow, reverent, like he was memorizing the taste of your broken spirit—you let go.

They took you to the bedroom—yours, though it hardly mattered anymore. Hands trailed your skin with the kind of careful worship reserved for prayers.

You were laid out like art, their touches brushing away the tension in your muscles. Han’s mouth left feather-light kisses along your collarbone while Hyunjin ran his hands through your hair, whispering how beautiful you were, how good you were for asking for what you needed.

“Let us take care of everything,” Jeongin said, sliding your shirt up and over your head with a kind smile. “Don’t even think.”

You nodded—no words left—and let the eight of them undress you slowly, reverently. Their hands never left your body for long. Gentle grazes, grounding touches, soft kisses that built a kindling heat between your thighs.

By the time you were bare, you were already gasping. You hadn’t been touched like this in months. Tenderly. Selflessly. Fully.

They took their time.

Chan held you in his lap, murmuring affirmations while Seungmin and Felix took turns kissing your thighs, teasing the soft flesh until your legs trembled. Lee Know cupped your breast, warm mouth trailing over your nipple with practiced ease while Changbin rubbed soothing circles into your hip.

You were already dripping when Jeongin finally pressed a kiss to your core, looking up at you like you were something sacred.

“Can I?” he asked.

“Yes,” you breathed. “God, yes.”

He dove in, tongue hot and slow, and you cried out—finally, finally—as the pleasure unfurled like silk ribbon in your belly. Someone—Hyunjin, maybe—held your hand, squeezing it gently while another set of lips found your neck.

Your moans filled the room. Encouraged. Celebrated.

You were trembling, boneless, overwhelmed—and they loved it. Every little shake, every breathy gasp, made them hold you closer, touch you deeper.

“Let go,” Chan whispered against your temple. “Come for us. You’re safe.”

You shattered—loud and helpless, back arching as your body wracked with wave after wave of release.

You sobbed through it—months of exhaustion and repression bleeding into pleasure so intense it was almost too much.

And they never stopped.

Your orgasm left you in pieces—wet and pliant in Chan’s lap, skin slick with sweat and kisses.

“Still with us, baby?” Chan murmured against your temple, thumb brushing your jaw.

You nodded, eyes fluttering as he lifted your chin. “Color?”

“Green,” you whispered.

A chorus of low groans and murmured approval spread across the room. Felix smiled and whispered something in Jeongin’s ear, and Seungmin wiped the tears that clung to the corners of your eyes with reverent care.

Chan’s lips brushed your ear. “Good girl. You’re not done yet.”

He stood, holding you like you weighed nothing, and laid you back across the bed. Warm hands—Changbin’s, probably—ran down your thighs, keeping you open.

“You’re gonna take us all,” Chan said, stripping off his last bit of clothing, cock hard and heavy between his thighs. “One at a time. Nice and slow. Let us give you what you need.”

You nodded, heat pooling in your belly again.

“Safe word?” Seungmin asked, always the quiet observer.

“Red.”

“Good girl.”

Bang Chan

He was first.

He knelt between your thighs, pushing them wide apart and settling in like he belonged there. His eyes never left yours as he lined himself up and pressed in—slow, deliberate, so patient.

You moaned, arching your back, and Chan cursed under his breath.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned. “So fucking wet for us. For me.”

He moved with measured rhythm, hips grinding into yours, one hand sliding under your back to keep you pressed against him. His other hand wrapped around your throat—not choking, just holding—reminding you of where you were, who owned this moment.

“You’re ours tonight,” he whispered. “Mine right now. Mine to ruin. Mine to heal.”

And ruin you, he did. Slowly, lovingly, until you were clawing at his shoulders, gasping his name like a prayer. He fucked you through your second orgasm with praise on his lips and a possessive growl in his chest.

“Good girl,” he panted, pulling out. “Next.”

Minho went next.

Minho kissed you before he even touched you. Soft at first—deceptively gentle—until his tongue swept in to taste you, steal the moans still lingering from Chan’s touch.

He didn’t speak much. His fingers did the talking—sliding between your folds, toying with your clit until your hips bucked. Then he flipped you over onto your stomach, raising your ass with one sharp slap and gripping your hips with a bruising grip.

“Be still,” he muttered, cock pressing against your soaked entrance.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was inside you—deeper than Chan, sharper in rhythm. Where Chan worshipped, Minho possessed.

“You like being used?” he asked, snapping his hips forward. “Being passed around like a good little toy?”

“Yes,” you whimpered.

He spanked you once, hard. “Yes what?”

“Yes, sir!”

A growl rumbled in his throat. “Good girl.”

He dragged another orgasm out of you, relentless and rough, not stopping until your legs were trembling and your body was soaked with sweat.

Then he kissed the base of your spine, unexpectedly soft. “You’re doing so well.”

Changbin was already palming himself as he climbed onto the bed. “Baby,” he cooed, kissing your temple, “you’re so perfect like this.”

He rolled you onto your back again and lifted one of your legs over his shoulder. His cock was thick, stretching you even more, and he grunted as he pushed inside.

You cried out—already too sensitive, too full—and he kissed your ankle as he rocked into you.

“I’ll go slow,” he promised, hand stroking your thigh. “But you’re gonna take every inch.”

He was sweet. Almost tender—until he wasn’t. He picked up speed, holding your leg high, thrusts deep and consuming. You keened when he hit your g-spot dead on, over and over until you came with a scream.

He kept moving through your orgasm, whispering, “That’s it, baby. Give it to me. Cry for me.”

And you did.

They were all quick to chase their releases, each member quickly passing in a blur of pleasure. In a moment of clarity, you met two pairs of eyes hungrily approaching you. Seungmin and Jeongin.

You barely had time to recover when you felt them both near—one kissing your lips, the other pressing between your thighs again.

“We want to try something,” Seungmin murmured, lifting you gently onto your knees. “Tell us to stop if it’s too much.”

Jeongin was behind you, lathering lube between your cheeks while Seungmin lay beneath you, guiding your hips over his cock. You slid down onto him with a whimper, already overstretched and sore.

Then you felt Jeongin’s tip at your entrance—the other one—and you sucked in a breath.

“Breathe,” Seungmin whispered, thumbing your clit. “You can do it. We’ll go slow.”

The stretch burned, but they went slow. Inch by inch. Breath by breath. Until both of them were inside you—completely full, gasping, shaking.

You’d never felt anything like it. Every move made your vision blur.

They moved in sync, one pushing in as the other pulled back. Seungmin whispered praise while Jeongin growled filth into your ear.

“Fuck, you’re so tight like this,” Jeongin moaned. “So good, so fucking full.”

You came again, blinding and brutal, and blacked out for a moment.

“Do you need a moment?” Han’s voice sounded so far away with your mind clouded by the throbbing of your clit and your heart pounding in your chest.

You shook your head and shortly after you felt Hyunjin’s hands begin to massage your tits, his fingers gently playing with your nipples as Felix began leaving light touches and kisses on your neck.

“We’ll be gentle with you dove.” His low voice sent chills down your spine in anticipation.

The last three took you in turns—soft and slow, then wild and unhinged. They knew you were on the edge, and they wanted to see you fall apart completely.

Hyunjin cried with you as he kissed your tears away, holding your hands and whispering how beautiful you looked when you surrendered.

Han made you laugh through your overstimulation, praising every shake of your thighs, every cry of his name as he fucked you sideways, one leg draped over his shoulder.

Felix… he just kissed you. Deep and breathless. He didn’t even need to move much—your body responded to him like gravity.

When he finally came inside you, whispering your name like it was holy, you were wrecked.

When it was over, you were trembling, messy, and floating in their arms. They didn’t leave you for a second. Wiped you down. Kissed you clean. Fed you water and praise and whispered how proud they were.

Chan tucked you under his arm, warm and safe.

“You’re ours,” he said again. “Every piece. And we’ll always take care of you.”

You don’t remember falling asleep.

Only the feeling of being held — skin to skin, voice to voice, surrounded and safe. Your body, though used and exhausted, felt light. Like every heavy thing you’d carried had finally been set down.

You woke in layers.

Warmth. Breathing. The press of skin. The faint scent of sweat and something sweet, maybe Felix’s cologne.

A hand stroked through your hair. Another rested just above your hip. Someone was breathing against the nape of your neck.

And someone else had your legs tangled in theirs, humming softly into your back.

Chan’s voice was the first one you recognized. “She’s waking up,” he said gently, like you were something fragile.

You opened your eyes.

Sunlight painted soft gold over the sheets. Your body was sore but not in pain. Satisfied. Cared for. Languid in the way that only came from a night of being absolutely wrecked and lovingly rebuilt.

“Hey, baby,” Hyunjin whispered, kissing your temple. “How are you feeling?”

You stretched slightly, groaning. “Like I got run over by eight gorgeous men.”

Han snorted.

Felix giggled. “Accurate.”

They didn’t rush you.

You were helped into a warm bath, seated between Minho’s legs while Seungmin gently washed your hair. Jeongin massaged your shoulders, quiet and doting. Changbin kissed your knee with the kind of soft reverence that made your chest ache.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“Mm-mm,” Chan said from the doorway, arms crossed over his chest but smiling. “We thank you.”

Back in bed, the world felt gentler. Lighter. You were tucked in against Felix’s chest, your leg slung over his hip while he whispered about what he’d make for breakfast. Jeongin lay behind you, playing with your fingers.

“You’re glowing,” he said.

“You’re annoying,” you teased.

But your heart was full.

Then came the shift — subtle but unmistakable.

You turned over to face Jeongin. His cheeks were slightly pink, but his eyes glinted.

“You okay if we keep loving you?” he asked, voice low. “Just a little more?”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Please.”

You spent the next few days in each members rooms, on a rotation of who would take care of you each night.

And with each night came mornings filled with sweet kisses and gentle pleasure that you savored more than anything.

Jeongin was gentle, slow, and intimate. He took his time, letting you take what you wanted and letting the pleasure soothe you, not stimulate you.

He slid between your thighs slowly, his body warm, hands trembling slightly against your waist. This time, he made love to you like you were glass. Gentle thrusts. Long kisses. His forehead pressed against yours.

“I dreamed about you,” he whispered, “but last night was better.”

You moaned softly as he rocked into you, slow and perfect, your body molded to his.

When you came, he kissed your shoulder and followed seconds after, groaning your name like a secret.

Hyunjin and Felix were reassuring, praising your every move as they got lost in the taste of you, the sounds you made.

They didn’t want to fuck you—they wanted to worship you.

You lay on your back as Felix kissed your thighs, whispering, “So perfect, so sweet,” before his tongue dipped into you again.

Hyunjin sat behind you, cradling your head, kissing your tears and gasps away. His fingers played with your nipples, slow and patient.

“You’re safe,” he whispered, eyes soft. “Let go again.”

Felix didn’t stop until you came against his tongue, crying out as Hyunjin held you.

Then Hyunjin kissed your lips, tasting you. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured.

Minho and Chan were gentle but domineering. The way they teamed up between pleasure and praise always made you ride a high you’ve never known.

You were lying across their laps, hips raised, hands held.

Minho slid into you first this time—slow and smooth, a contrast to last night’s roughness. He moved with fluid grace, one hand gripping your waist, the other caressing your spine.

Chan sat beside you, whispering filth in your ear. “Look at how well you take him,” he murmured. “So full. You were made for this.”

You whimpered, eyes fluttering.

Chan didn’t even need to fuck you. His words alone made you come again—Minho still deep inside you, groaning as he followed with a shudder.

They laid you down after, holding you between them like a promise.

Changbin, Han and Seungmin were rewarding, needy yet gentle. They read you like a book and gave you three different kinds of attention based on your body language alone.

Han teased you first—rubbing you with the tip of his cock, never fully pushing in, just enough to make you beg.

“You look good like this,” he smirked. “Wrecked. Needy. Ours.”

When he finally gave in, it was fast and needy. He was always the most expressive—moaning into your neck, praising you through clenched teeth until you clenched around him and came hard.

Seungmin took his time. He fingered you first, letting you ride the edge, then entered you from behind, hands wrapped around your body. His pace was slow, deliberate.

“You’ve done so well,” he praised, breath hot against your ear. “Let me reward you.”

You were barely coherent when you came again.

Changbin was last.

He didn’t move at first—just sat with you in his lap, cock nestled inside, arms wrapped tight. “Feel that?” he asked softly. “How full you are? How safe?”

You nodded, resting your forehead on his shoulder.

Then he started moving—gentle, rolling thrusts that made you tremble. You cried as the last orgasm of the morning rolled through you, body exhausted and loved.

But then there were the nights all 8 boys would share your company.

Eight sets of arms. Eight warm bodies.

You were tucked back under the sheets, freshly cleaned and thoroughly ruined. They took turns holding you, feeding you bites of fruit and sips of water, whispering that you were everything.

“Next time,” Chan whispered with a grin, “you don’t need to break down to ask for this.”

“I know,” you mumbled, eyes heavy.

Jeongin kissed your shoulder.

Felix whispered, “We’ll always take care of you.”

And they did.

[flowersforthemachines]

Ship Sleep Dynamics

thank you @rookinthecrownest for tagging me <3 (and giving me a chance to again use this lucanisara screenshot I love so very much)

How often do they sleep together?

They definitely don't start sharing a bed right off the bat, but once Ghilasara builds up the courage to offer, it happens most nights as long as they are both in the Lighthouse.

Post-canon, not very often since they live apart and are both very busy. Ghilasara also visits more than Lucanis does, though he still comes by Weisshaupt to see her as well (and complain about the cooking there).

Where do they sleep?

Mid-canon, it's either the pantry, or the meditation room, neither of which are super comfortable for them both (Lucanis has a terrible bed, if you can even call it that, and the fish tank kinda freaks them both out). But they make it work :)

Post-canon, it's either the villa or Weisshaupt.

How do they prepare to sleep?

Ghilasara undoes her bun and braid, brushes her hair and then puts it up again in something comfortable for sleeping. It's a Whole Thing. About once a month, she also takes out and cleans her prosthetic. She and Lucanis will typically talk about their day(s) as she does it, especially if they were apart for long and need to catch up.

Once she's done, they'll also often read before sleeping, both just to themselves, and to each other :)

What do they wear to sleep?

Ghilasara would wear something like a loose long shirt (she would NOT wear that corset-y top veilguard you don't know her like I do). Lucanis - the same as in the game's canon.

Do they cuddle?

Ygeah. They are both very clingy - if they start holding on, they don't let go.

What are their preferred sleep positions?

Lucanis doesn't really have any - I headcanon that he doesn't have complex TM sleeping preferences. Just having a surface would be nice. Though, he does love being the little spoon (just like Ghilasara. which is exactly why they need a third wait who said that)

Ghilasara loves sleeping on her back or her side, but only the right side (because with only one seeing eye, sleeping on the left side would limit her field of view even further).

How easy do they fall asleep?

Lucanis falling asleep quickly when he's next to Ghilasara is very important to me <3 She usually falls asleep quickly as well, unless something is keeping her up.

Do they toss and turn a lot?

Ghilasara tosses and turns if she can't fall asleep, because not being able to fall asleep sort of pisses her off. Otherwise, both of them only toss and turn if they are having nightmares.

Do they snore?

Deeply traumatised by my father's insanely loud snoring during my childhood, I relieve any characters under my protection from the same horrors. No, they don't.

Who hogs the blanket?

Ghilasara only steals the blanket tactically when she wants Lucanis to get closer to her.

What do they dream about?

Blighted nightmares for Ghilasara, Ossuary nightmares for Lucanis :) Though I also headcanon that Spite learns to "eat" those (or, well ward them away), so they can get better sleep.

How easily do they wake up?

Lucanis is properly awake the moment he opens his eyes. Ghilasara doesn't have a lot of difficulty waking up either, but she will pretend to still be asleep if that gets her more cuddle time.

Tagging @hightowerqueen @thewardenisonthecase and @inquisimer if you wish to play <3

[simplyraeblue]

Forever Never Yours

You’re married to the king who wears his crown with quiet strength, whose touch is warm and steady. But it’s his oldest friend — the one with silver eyes and a smile too bright to be real — that watches you with a longing that never leaves, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. You look away first, every time. Until, one day, you don’t. King!Geto x f!Queen!Reader x King!Gojo

tags/warnings: medieval au, love triangle, slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, emotional manipulation, mutual secret pining, gojo is yearning and suffering at the same time, geto used to be an angel, kenjaku is his own warning, arranged marriage, queen reader, eventual comfort maybe, eventual smut, heavy themes, abortion/miscarriage mentions, no one says “i love you” but it’s there?

-.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅ -.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅ -.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅ -.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅

part four word count: 2,571 previous part ➺ here

The journey is long. Longer than it needs to be. The snow is thick across the roads, the wind biting through the cracks of the carriage walls. You do not sleep much. You read even less. On the third day, just as the pale light of morning spills over the horizon, the spires of the White Crown appear through the trees. 

You sit forward, breath catching in your throat. It’s beautiful here. Stark and sharp like winter itself—towers that glitter under frost, banners that ripple in the wind like silk made from snow. It’s nothing like the heavy gray stone of your own palace. 

This place doesn’t loom. It stands. 

The carriage creaks to a slow stop inside the main courtyard. The doors open, and he’s already there. No guards, no fanfare, and no intermediaries. Just him. 

Standing a few paces away, hands folded behind his back, wind tugging at his white coat and tousling the loose strands of his hair. He doesn’t wear a crown. His eyes find you before your feet even touch the ground. 

You step down slowly, the cold biting at your face, your cloak drawn tight. The air is crisp here—cleaner, brighter. It burns your lungs when you breathe. But he is warmer than the wind. He watches you with that same impossible stillness, like you are something he’s been waiting years to see again but is afraid to reach for too soon. 

“Did you have a good ride?” he asks, voice even but softer than you remember. 

You study him for a breath longer, taking in the quiet tension behind his expression—the faint crease between his brows, the way he doesn’t move toward you, doesn’t smile like he usually would. “I wasn’t expecting you to meet me,” you say finally. 

A small, flickering smirk touches his lips. “They told me not to.” 

You raise a brow. “And when has that ever stopped you?” 

The smirk fades into something gentler. Something more real. “It’s been a long time since you’ve come here,” he says. 

Your voice is steady. “I wasn’t allowed to.” 

He nods once. “You are now.” You don’t speak. You just stand there for a moment, the air between you charged with everything you can’t say here—not yet, not in front of the others watching from the archways, pretending not to. 

Gojo steps closer, careful, deliberate. Not too close. Just enough for you to feel it—that quiet tether that’s always existed between you. 

“I had them prepare your rooms,” he says, almost an afterthought. “They’re just beneath mine. Warmer. Better view.” 

Of course. You nod once, your voice softer now. “Thank you.” 

He holds your gaze. “You’re here to rest. No obligations. Not unless you ask for them.” 

You want to cry. Not because you’re sad—but because this is the first time in months someone has given you a choice. Instead, you nod again. “I understand.” 

He gestures gently. “Come. You should warm up.” 

After your maidens help you settle into your temporary chambers, you wander. The walls of this place don’t press in the way you’ve grown used to. Here, no guards follow you. No soft footsteps echo just behind. No quiet presence waits outside your chamber door to escort you from one carefully chosen room to another. 

The palace of the White Crown breathes differently. The halls are wide, pale with polished marble and soft light filtering in through tall arched windows. Warmth hums through the stone, drawn up from the intricate furnace systems below. Even in winter, there’s no chill here—not like home. 

You walk slowly, taking it in—the towering ceilings etched with constellations, the frost-stained glasswork, the way every corner curves gently, as if this place was never meant for sharp edges. 

It is beautiful. 

But what strikes you most is the quiet. Not heavy, like the silences in Geto’s court. Not strategic, not threatening. Just… quiet. 

You pass through a sunlit corridor and pause by a familiar alcove, a small reading nook tucked between two windows. There’s a cushion on the bench—soft blue velvet, worn slightly at the edges—and beside it, a carved wooden shelf holding a dozen old books. 

Your breath catches. It’s still here. 

This was where he brought you the first time he snuck you out of a lesson. You couldn’t have been older than ten. He said the tutors were boring and that the real stories were hidden in these halls. 

He showed you a book that day—an old tale of a warrior queen who saved her people not with a sword, but with a single, well-placed lie. You’d read it cover to cover in two hours while he sat beside you, pretending not to peek over your shoulder. 

You trace your fingers across the spine of the same book now. The leather is cracked, the title nearly rubbed away. But you remember every word. 

You blink slowly, and another memory blooms.  

A few years later, you’re sixteen. You’re running down this same hallway, cloak flapping behind you, laughter echoing. He’s chasing you barefoot, trying to steal back the polished crown replica you took from his dressing room as a joke. 

You’d darted into the alcove, pulled the curtain closed, and held your breath as he passed—only for him to double back with a grin and say, “You’re terrible at hiding. You always breathe too loud when you lie.” 

He never asked for the crown back. He let you keep it for a week. 

Your fingers curl into the fabric of your gloves. The ache in your chest feels rooted deeper here. 

You move on, through a gallery of painted archways and into a small, enclosed garden at the heart of the palace. There’s snow on the hedges, but it’s thin here—half melted, glistening under the sunlight spilling through the glass ceiling. You step onto the stone path, past frozen roses and leafless trees, until you reach the fountain at the center. 

The water still trickles, warmed from below. He brought you here once. You remember. It was early spring, just after a late snowfall, and you’d told him this garden felt forgotten. He told you nothing in this palace is forgotten. 

Not even you. 

- 

The dinner bell chimes softly through the walls as twilight settles in. Elira arrives soon after, eyes flicking over you with a mixture of concern and relief. She’s already prepared your attire—simple, elegant, dark. A midnight blue gown trimmed with pale thread. You let her dress you in silence. 

Outside, the lamps are lit. By the time you enter the dining hall, the room is already set. 

It’s not a formal banquet—no nobles, no ambassadors, no curious courtiers. Just a long table beneath an arched ceiling painted with night skies, candlelight flickering from tall candelabras, and dishes already steaming softly with delicate spices. 

There are only a few others present: your two maidens, seated respectfully a few chairs down the line; two of his guards, posted against the far wall; and a steward in quiet conversation with the cook near the service entrance. 

And him, seated at the far end of the table. The same way you’d dined with Geto for too long now—across a kingdom of polished wood, like two rulers sharing space but never warmth. You stop just inside the threshold. 

You think for a moment he’ll stay there. That he’ll offer you the seat at the other end, pretend this is still a diplomatic visit, pretend you’re still just a guest in a palace built to look like freedom. 

But then, he stands. Not with fanfare. Not to make a statement. 

He pushes his chair back slowly, then picks up his plate and goblet with one hand, balancing them casually. He rounds the table without a word, the soft thud of his boots the only sound in the vast room. 

Everyone watches. Your maidens glance at each other nervously, unsure if they should rise, unsure if this is permitted. The guards shift, eyes flicking to each other in the quiet tension. 

But he doesn't acknowledge them. He stops at the chair beside yours and lowers himself into it—graceful, unbothered. And then, as if nothing in the world is strange, he turns to you and says, “They’ve got citrus-glazed lamb tonight. I requested it.” 

You blink. “For me?” 

He tilts his head, smirking faintly. “For both of us. But mostly for you. I remember you hated that dry salted roast.” He picks up his fork and leans in a little, voice quiet. “Unless you’d rather I move back to the other end. I’m sure the diplomatic distance is what you’re used to.” 

You glance at your maidens. Elira looks positively pale. The younger one stares down at her lap, hands folded so tightly her knuckles are white. You breathe in, slow and deep, then meet his gaze. 

“No,” you say. “Stay.” 

He smiles then—not wide, not cocky, but real. A softened thing that only you see. “Alright,” he murmurs. “Then I will.” 

And he eats. Calmly. Like sitting at your side is the most natural thing in the world. 

And maybe, in another world, it would’ve been. 

He cuts his lamb with slow precision, glancing sideways at you like he’s waiting for you to say something first. When you don’t, he speaks without pressure, voice low and casual. 

“They’ve redecorated the guest wing,” he says, stabbing a bit of glazed carrot. “I told them to keep the view, though. You always liked the western windows.” 

“I remember,” you reply softly. “They face the forest.” 

“And the lake,” he adds. “When the snow melts, you’ll be able to see the light hit it just before dawn.” 

You give a small nod, eyes still on your plate. “You remembered all that?” 

He smiles, a corner of his mouth tugging upward. “I remember everything about you. Most people just pretend I don’t.” 

You look over at him, and for once, he doesn’t try to hide what’s in his eyes—something soft, something old, something aching. You drop your gaze quickly, your fingers tightening slightly around your fork. “That’s dangerous.” 

His chuckle is quiet. “It always has been.” You chew slowly, tasting the citrus glaze, surprised by how tender it is. 

“You weren’t exaggerating about the lamb,” you murmur, trying to shift the weight of the conversation. 

He perks up, visibly pleased. “Told you. My cook’s better than yours.” 

A faint laugh escapes you, unguarded and small. But real. He hears it and doesn’t hide the way his expression softens even more. 

“I missed that,” he says, almost a whisper. You look at him again. Not fully, just enough. He doesn’t press further. Doesn’t ask anything of you. Instead, he lifts his goblet, drinks, then sighs. “Do you remember the first time you stayed for dinner here? You wouldn’t eat anything. Thought I was trying to poison you with pickled radishes.” 

“I was twelve,” you mutter, cheeks flushing. “And they were horrifying.” 

“They were culturally significant!” 

“They were gray.” He laughs at that—really laughs. The sound fills the space between you, light and warm and normal in a way that makes your chest ache. 

The hall is still mostly silent. Your maidens pretend to focus on their food. The guards don’t dare look. But here, at this small stretch of table, it feels like no one else exists. 

He turns his goblet in his hand thoughtfully. “I know you didn’t come just for pickled radishes and lamb.” 

“No,” you say quietly. “I didn’t.” 

“Then while you’re here,” he says, voice gentle, “you should rest. Breathe.” 

You can only try to with him this close. 

The candles begin to burn lower, their flames thin and flickering, and the plates have long been cleared. You lean back slightly in your chair, your cup empty, the weight of dinner—of conversation—settled warmly in your chest, though your limbs are growing heavy with the kind of fatigue that only quiet can bring. 

“I should let you rest,” he says, softly. 

You glance at him. He hasn’t moved far from your side all evening, and even now, he speaks as if the suggestion pains him. His tone is gentle, laced with something tender and difficult. 

“You don’t have to.” 

It slips out before you mean for it to. He pauses, eyes flicking toward you—not surprised, but cautious. Careful. Then he smiles and stands. “At least let me walk you back. No sense letting you get lost in my own palace.” 

You rise with him. Your maidens, still seated far down the table, start to shift to follow, but Gojo turns to them with a polite dip of his head. 

“She’s safe with me.” His tone is easy, but final. They hesitate, then nod, and do not rise. 

— 

The halls of the White Crown are quiet at night—peaceful in a way your own palace never is. There, silence holds weight. Suspicion. Listening ears. Here, the quiet feels like space.  

Your footsteps echo softly against the stone floors as the two of you move through winding corridors and moonlit archways. The torches are dimmed now, and the light of the rising moon pours in through high windows, bathing the marble in a silver glow. 

You don’t speak for the first few minutes. He walks beside you, not ahead, not behind. One hand tucked into his coat pocket, the other hanging loose by his side. His pace matches yours perfectly. 

“How long has it been since you were able to walk a hall without guards?” he asks after a moment, not looking at you. 

You answer honestly. “I don’t remember.” 

He nods, slow. “That’s the part they take first. Freedom of movement. Then your words. Then your wants.” 

You say nothing, but he knows he’s right. 

He glances sideways, more serious now. “And when’s the last time you were asked what you wanted?” 

You turn your head to look at him, expression unreadable. “You just did.” 

He stops. You stop with him. 

For a breath, neither of you speak. 

Then he says, quietly, “Then I’ll keep asking.” 

You hold his gaze. The moonlight softens him—makes him look less like a king, and more like the boy you used to know. The one who always stood too close, who always knew when to speak and when to stay quiet. 

You nod, just once. That’s all you can give him tonight. 

But it’s enough. 

You reach your chamber door a few moments later. The corridor here is quiet, tucked away behind the guest wing, with tall glass windows framing the night sky. 

He stops beside the door and turns toward you, hands still in his pockets. He doesn’t lean in. Doesn’t touch you. 

He just says, “You’re safe here.” 

You believe him. 

“I know,” you say softly. Then, quieter still, “Thank you for meeting me at the gate.” 

He smiles, soft and small. “I wasn’t going to let you arrive alone.” 

You linger, fingers grazing the door handle. Part of you doesn’t want to go in—not yet. 

But he steps back slowly, giving you space. Giving you time. 

“Sleep well,” he says. “We’ll walk the gardens tomorrow. If you’d like.” 

You don’t say yes. You don’t say no. 

But as you slip into your chambers and close the door behind you, something warm lingers in your chest. 

-.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅ -.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅ -.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅ -.⋅˚₊‧ 🜲 ‧₊˚ ⋅

@holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @slvtforhim13 @peqch-pie @heli-inside @emochosoluvr @porcelain-ghost-444 @mangiswig @sorahatake @osohchoso @csolya @aldebrana @ravester @marie-is-in-the-dark @makingtimemine

[yoongleboonglepie]

Pechsträhne Chapter 20

BTS OT7 x Reader

Series Masterlist

Chapter playlist-Youtube music

Chapter Playlist-Spotify

Word Count Approx: 23k

_________________________________________

A/N: PHEW. She is here! Let's all give around of applause to my heating pads and ice packs that carried me through writing this, and the endless thunderstorms that watered my garden so I didn't have to. Love you all, and I'm seriously so excited for the next chapter, y'all don't even know what hit you😈😈

I apologize for any typos-I'll read over it for a third time later. I got new glasses and I keep forgetting to wear them LMAO.

Also I'm such a boomer, bc I'm going to post it on AO3 and the entire tagging system confuses the shit out of me. My wife is going to be teaching me the way around the site since I'm not fluent with it as a poster LOL

~Delyn

_________________________________________

recap:

“Have a nice trip, Yoongi?” Hoseok chuckled nervously, one of his hands coming up to swipe hair from sticking to his sweaty forehead. All four heads turned to him with varying levels of dissatisfaction–Yoongi’s fists clenched and released themselves at his side to keep himself from swinging one of them at him. 

“Shut up.” Yoongi bit back breathlessly, Namjoon and Jimin respectively sharing similar sentiments, their annoyance overlapping one another like a choir.  

“Not now, Hoseok.” 

“I suggest you remain silent for your own well being.” 

Hoseok scanned all of their faces with visible defeat etched into his features, stopping to take in Jungkook’s deadly glare before he closed his eyes and tipped his head to land on the floor below him with a thump. “Yeah, guess I deserve that.” 

Music crackled from the speaker table to Bear’s right, filling the ballroom that was vacant and lifeless with sound. The red drapes swooped down in elegant cascades of burgundy and wine and met the reflective golden surface in a clash of red and gold. The perfect mix of color brought forth memories of freshly trimmed pine trees and swiping more imported chocolates from overflowing dessert tables than his stomach could handle. But now all that it reminded Bear of was what he no longer had. The person he enjoyed spending those days with the most, flouncing around this very ballroom in the middle of the night before helping her line the gifts for her children out beneath the tree–almost all of them purchased by him–was gone. 

Grief wrapped around his heart and squeezed, limiting his breath until a choking sound escaped his mouth into the empty ballroom. He couldn’t find himself. He felt lost. His lifeline was the letter he clutched in his hands that was now peppered with damp spots from his hands that whipped across his cheeks more times than he could count.

And the worst of it all, was that he could tell no one–show no one of how this really felt. Not if he wanted to keep his head attached upon his own shoulders and his intestines pulsing within his middle instead of writhing on the floor. 

“Bear?” 

The ballroom door opened just a few inches, enough for a face still rounded at the edges with youth and a nose that resembled the person he wished to see the most. A stronger resurgence of emotion flooded through his system that he had to smother. 

Dorothea had always looked just like Patti. 

“What’s the matter, Dottie? Do they need me to come help clean up at the hotel?” Bear mopped at his face with his jacket sleeve, rushing to hide the extent of his misery from her keen tawny eyes that looked at him the same way Patti’s had; they both had a very specific way of using the observance of others as a guise to screen their own feelings. 

She shifted, one black dress shoe balancing behind the other and her face partially obscured from his view as she glanced about the empty room. She inherited everything from her mother: her dark curls, her complexion, her face shape–everything about her was a spitting image of her–a living memory of what was now gone. 

“No,” Dorothea finally answered, sounding just as shaky as he felt. “I just wanted to…” Her voice broke off and her shoulders cowered in on themselves, hands wrapping around her middle to soothe herself. “I just wanted a hug.” 

Bear was on his feet the moment the first sob left her mouth, his own emotions clouded to focus on hers. He engulfed her in his arms and felt the way she broke. Just sixteen, and here she was saying goodbye to her mother–what right did he have to wallow when the children needed him the most. 

“I got you Dottie.” Bear whispered, pressing her into his shoulder and letting her lean on it as he pondered what led her creeping back up the path  to him and not Duane. Though he likely knew the answer, he wanted to have some kind of hope. “Where’s your old man? You know he could probably use one of these as well.” 

Dottie sniffled, and brought her face back up to meet his gaze. “He’s at the bar.” 

That was an answer enough. While Duane had every reason to drink, he had three children to worry about first–a thought that had rage pooling in his belly and gnashing its teeth at his heart. Bear knew if he spoke, it would be unkind. Thus he just held her close to release some of her own strife onto his jacket. 

After a few moments, Bear swallowed down the tightness in his throat and tried his best at offering words of comfort. “You know, he’s trying–” 

“Don’t.” Dorothea cut him off, silencing any further effort. “He’s trying but it’s not enough.” 

Bear couldn’t even fight her words, for they were the blatant truth that he himself believed. Even at the funeral that morning, Johan held little Henry tucked into one side, and Dorothea in the other–he was shorter than his father, but he was twice the man in Bear’s eyes. Bear made a mental note to try and check on both brothers later in the evening. Henry was not yet ten years old, and his own father hadn’t even held him during one of his hardest moments. Johan may be in his early twenties but he was nonetheless a child in Bear’s eyes, and was just as deserving as a hand to hold. He deserved a father as much as the rest of them. 

Bear opened his mouth to speak, but Dorothea didn’t let him. “Please don’t defend him. Not today.”

“What shall I say then?” Bear offered quietly, waiting for her to leave the hug first–you would never catch him being the first to let go. 

“You shall be honest. Say how awful he was and has been!” Dorothea pulled her face from his shoulder to wipe aggressively at her eyes, her eyes burning with passion. “Say the truth! She is dead and still he had nothing special to share. I want to hear something real about her–not some generic eulogy about love and grace.” 

Bear sighed and ran the tip of his tongue over his lip apprehensively, holding her stare, too afraid to speak in fear he would say the wrong thing. 

“I know,” Dottie’s eyes shined up at him with unshed tears, her words wet and earnest. “We know. I want to hear about her from you.” She used her hand to slip the sheet of paper from his pocket that held Patti’s final goodbyes to him in the air between them. A physical embodiment of the secret being unleashed out into the open. 

The dam had been released, all of his feelings of guilt and horror pouring out of him as he crushed her to him.  “I’m so sorry,” He choked out with a gasp. “This isn’t how you should’ve found out…” 

Despite both of their predicaments, Dorotea managed a small meek laugh and shook her head. “Don’t be silly. We’ve known since we were children.” 

“What?” Bear managed a chuckle of his own through his burning shame, wiping a fresh tear. “Was it that obvious?” 

“Very,” Dorothea gave him a bittersweet smile, her chin crumpling into shapes as it shook. “I never saw her happier unless it was with you.” 

Bear tried to smile but it came out more of a grimace, and the backs of his eyes burned with a new wave of saltwater. “Are you angry with me?” 

“Not at all,” She shook her head with a shrug. “If anything I’m grateful. Life would have been a lot worse without you here.” 

“Don’t say that! Duane was–” 

“I said don’t defend him today.” Dorothea held a finger up to his lips with a look that dared him to continue. “Not when you know full well who painted our nurseries, tucked us in at night, helped with our homework, came to all of our recitals, and sat with us each night at the dinner table. Because it wasn’t him.” 

Bear couldn’t speak. 

It really was that obvious. 

He finally settled on something truthful, something he had never spoken aloud to anyone but finally let himself utter now. “I couldn’t stand by and watch it happen. Not when I know he has it in him to do better. I don’t leave anyone behind. Especially not family–not the ones I love.” 

Bear led them out of the ballroom and up to the rooftop terrace, the two of them reclined in patio chairs with their black attire standing out amongst the vivid shades of the summer blooms. He told her of everything he could remember of Patti–her resilience, her laugh, her favorite foods and what dress she liked to wear the most (even though she already knew that one). He told tales of the day he first met her, of her pregnancy with Johan and how he used to make her shoo fly pie with sliced strawberries on the side because it was one of the only things she could stomach during her first few months pregnant. He shared how the first time he had made it had been within his first few days back home after a long while away. He had served everyone a slice after supper, and watched as her eyes light up after the first taste hit her tongue. That one slice hadn’t been enough it seemed, because she had come to find him in the study far past midnight with a nervous smile and a belly hungry enough for two, starving for his creation of molasses and sugar and topped with vanilla ice cream. He had no choice but to oblige the moment he laid eyes on her standing in the door way, looking at him so.

That night the two of them stayed in the kitchen until dawn as he prepared her a new pie entirely of her own. It was the first night he had heard her laugh freely–the first time he had felt the warmth in his chest of a newly kindled affection for her.

Bear and Dorothea were still crying, but not for the same reasons as before. These tears were now warmed by their shared love of one of the best women they knew, not by just the shadow of her loss. It wasn’t long before Johan and his girlfriend found them, Henry’s lanky form trailing between them with one hand held up by the couple.

 Margaret was his long term girlfriend who had made a habit of coming around the house as often as possible as of late. And while from first glance she seemed rather rigid and inflexible, religious (which Johan was definitely not), and strict in behavior–she was kind and headstrong with the intelligence to match. When the two of them were together it was like watching a scale tip into balance, seesawing back and forth as the weight evenly distributed into a perfect equilibrium.  Johan softened her edges, while she toughened his. 

Bear had a feeling he would be seeing her around the estate long after the the night ended. 

 The new addtions found their own seats, Henry tucked on Bear’s lap with his head buried in his neck and his small arms wrapped around his shoulders and Johan and Margaret curled and posed on the floor next to one another–and the five of them (after Henry had dozed) continued to share their favorite memories of their mother until the sun had started to set and the breeze began to cool. 

Hurried footsteps on the stairs and labored breathing were the welcoming the fanfare for Youngho’s abrupt entrance, stopping once he spotted Bear and the children all circled around one another. Their conversation died out at his abrupt entrance, all heads turning to greet him. 

He smiled, tense and riddled with discomfort. He gave everyone a short wave before beelining over to Bear and bending at the waist to whisper in his ear, sliding a piece of torn notebook paper into his awaiting hands. “I suggest you guide the children away from here–quickly.” 

Bear stiffened as he thumbed the paper, scanning the large blocky capital letters that ran from one edge to the other. 

 “Squirrel ate a bad nut–stomachache. We need pollen and sunshine. – J&S” 

Bear regarded Youngho with concern. “What kind of ill are you implying?” 

“All of it.” Youngho sighed, voice low enough to be kept between them, rising with a hand on his hips and red rimmed eyes facing the children to address them kindly. “I heard they are serving pie and ice cream in the dining room shortly, came to find you and give you all a heads up.” 

“Thanks…” Johan wearily eyed both Bear and Youngho, scrutinizing their interaction as though under a microscope. He found Bear’s eyes, and nodded curtly as if sensing the tension, rising to his feet from his seat and tugging Margaret up with him. “I think we should go. We’ve been stowed away from the guests for quite some time now.” 

He helped his sister up to follow, and went to scoop Henry up from Bear before the four of them took the steps at a slow pace, Dorothea casting sidelong glances back at Bear with worry etched into her features until she had disappeared down to the balcony. 

Bear waited until he was sure they were out of earshot before his smile wiped from his face, and he turned to Youngho with urgency. “How bad?” 

“Bad.” Youngho affirmed, leading him into the attic to rush down through the dark cramped walls and down the stairs into the right hall of bedrooms. It would be best if the they avoided the children from here on out.  

Bear kept up with the taller man’s nimble speed easily, taking the stairs two at a time and shutting the door behind them. “Where?” 

“The Adelaide. Seonggi is already with him.”

The Adelaide–like the rest of the hotel–had been closed and vacated for the day as was customary when the family was in mourning, making their speedy pace through the front doors and lobby much easier than it would have been otherwise. Bear and Youngho skidded to a halt outside the closed doors of the Adelaide where Seonggi stood ramrod straight, an image of perfect professionalism to anyone that didn’t know him well enough to recognize the tension pinched between his shoulder blades and brow. 

The moment his almond eyes found the two of them, they visibly relaxed and he ran a hand through his cropped hair. “Lord have mercy, where have you been?” 

“I was with the children.” Bear caught his breath easily, giving the door a look of disgust. “They needed someone to be there for them.” 

“Well they are lucky it wasn’t him,” Seonggi began to unwind the lock he had placed on the outside of the door, presumably to keep Duane in, not them out. “Things really have taken a turn for the worst. First Adelaide and now Patti–we are outnumbered.” Seonggi turned his face skywards and sighed, as though gathering the strength from god himself before sending a pointed glance Bear’s way. “Don’t make it worse.” 

He tugged a bell from his pocket, waiting for the other two men to do the same. Bear tried not to let his remark get under his skin, but it was hard not to. This had nothing to do with Bear’s choices but everything to do with Duane’s own. He refused to take the blame this time.

Once the cool cylinder’s of metal were lodged in their fists, they shared one last look of courage before Seonggi placed his palm on the door handle, not quite getting to push before a voice called out to them from the hall. 

“What are you guys doing?” 

Margaret, Johan’s girlfriend stood with both hands on her hips at the end of the entrance hall, one black shoe tapping on the rug beneath her feet expectantly. It took a moment for the men to respond, shared looks of uncertainty saying enough for them.

“This is hotel business. Please return to the Estate to partake in the food and drink provided.” Seonggi gave the brightest smile Bear had ever seen, like he was talking to a customer and not a friend. 

She sized the three of them up, quirking one eyebrow at the excuse, and both arms coming up to cross over her front. “Hotel business? The hotel is closed.” 

A vein in Seonggi’s neck twitched, but he withheld his smile, shifting the bell into his pocket to wave at her dismissively. “That you are right it is. However, some things still need to be taken care of even when no guests are around to enjoy it.” Youngho and Bear shared a nervous glance when a thud sounded from within the restaurant, but Margaret was too far to hear it. 

“If you are to sin enough to tell a lie, at least make it a worthwhile reason to repent.” Margaret started down the hall and stopped just beside them much to their chagrin, and gave them each an individual once over. “So I shall ask again: what are you all doing here? 

Spunk. She had spunk that made the corners of Bear’s lips quiver upwards even on a day as terrible as the one he was having. He quite liked her, he decided, and an idea so absurd it made his heart thrum in his chest came to his mind. 

Seonggi’s eyelid twitched involuntarily, and he tried to give her another sweet smile that had begun to look a bit too forced. “Miss, it would be best–” 

“Are you going to marry him?” Bear interrupted Seonggi, addressing Margaret directly with all the seriousness he could muster. “Johan–do you intend to marry him?” 

The young woman looked quite taken aback, a hand coming up to fidget with the string of pearls around her neck with squinted eyes. “Perhaps.” 

Bear let his military persona take hold of him, his eyes lasering in on her features and his demeanor shifting from friendly to one that meant business–a demeanor he barely ever used at home. “I asked you a question. Do you intend to marry my-” my son. Bear cut himself off, his tongue nearly slipping with a word he knew he shouldn’t say. Though he knew if anyone deserve to, it would be him. “-my nephew.”  He corrected himself swiftly, barely a beat passing between it. 

Margaret met his stare with one of her own that was just as powerful. “I do so hope to, sir.” 

Bear examined her closely for any sign of dishonesty, his well trained eyes finding none. He chewed on the tip of his tongue, the gnaw of the muscle instinctual as he  weighed his choices and the gravity of what he was about to ask of her. If what she said was true, then she would be the next lady of the Estate, thus taking on the role Patti had held for many years prior–but she would have no one to teach her of the role she was to take–the parts that had remained invisible to most until the more recent years would have to be learned on the job. Pieces of it would remain forgotten, as parts of it were even forbidden for Patti to share with him–lost to time and sickness. He prayed they would do without, and even as the prayers made their rounds within his mind he knew they were weightless. 

“Take this,” Bear tossed her his bell which she caught effortlessly, peering down at the metal dubiously. 

“Bear!” Seonggi hissed through his teeth, trying to garner his attention but failing to do so.

Margaret looked back up at Bear quizzically, one eyebrow raised in question. “A bell?” 

“Yep,” Bear nodded, turning back to the door and readying himself to enter. “Welcome to the Wörner’s. Usually the lady of the house would teach you this, but as you are well aware she is dead, so you will have to hit the ground running. Hope you don’t mind the head start–but desperate times call for desperate measures.” 

Seonggi looked at Bear with wide, scandalized eyes. “Barrett Wörner!” 

There was an ear splitting crash from the other side of the door as though a shower of glass had rained down from within, and she let out a small gasp through parted lips, clutching the bell tightly in her fist. Bear stared at her expectantly, awaiting a proper answer. Finally she turned to him,  giving the bell a gentle shake in her fist and eyes aglow with determination. 

“What do you need me to do?” 

Bear managed a half-hearted grin. She really was growing on him already. 

_________________________________________

“Twenty seven!” A man’s voice bellowed out in astonishment. “Why–that’s practically all of them!” 

Four little girls huddled in a half circle in front of a plush red armchair, their hands all outstretched in offering to the man seated within it, his mouth agape and his eyes wide. In their tiny palms was an assortment of chocolate candies, all of them beginning to melt and smear onto their skin. 

“It is what you asked for!” One of the girls cried out, giggles pouring from her chest and her feet unable to hold themselves still. 

“What you asked for!” the girl next to her repeated her phrase–albeit in a bit clunkier manner than the first–and held her own fist of sweets closer to the man's face. 

Y/n blinked slowly, watching the scene unfold in front of her the same way as one watches trash television, like she was watching but not really seeing. 

She had watched this scene roughly eight times now from her spot against the living room wall. It would start with Ernst sitting hunched in the arm chair, a newspaper in his fist with the back door propped open to let in the warm early spring air; a cigar would be pinched between his lips as he hummed along to the headlines he skimmed. 

After approximately thirty seconds or so (Y/n started counting by her third viewing), a gaggle of four young girls all dressed in vintage dresses speckled with dirt would come thumping into the living room with fists held high in triumphant victory with their stolen delicacies. Two of them Y/n vaguely recognized as Louise and Madeline from her late night family tree studies–Candida’s two daughters. The other girls Y/n recognized immediately as one of the first Kim daughters, and next to her was someone Y/n had almost forgotten about: Ani. But Y/n felt like she had forgotten about everything anyways–was she supposed to care about Ani? Something pinging in her mind told her she should. 

They would offer him the chocolates, he would guffaw and wink at them before splitting them up for them all to share by the time Philomena would come barreling around the corner like a steam train with smoke billowing out from both ears, calling for Ernst in a tone Y/n recognized all too well–as she had been on the receiving end of it from the countless women in her life as a child. Then the scene would end as the children left him in the dust with chocolate smeared on his chin to be scolded by his wife for the thievery. Sometimes it would immediately restart, and other times she got to see something else. 

This was one of those times it seemed that they were giving her a break. 

Ah yes. 

The grassy field. 

Now this one Y/n had only gotten to see twice so far, and it was quite short and boring in her eyes. 

Dogs, a pack of four of them–maybe five–would bounce through the tall grassy fields with their tails pointed and noses twitching with the thrill of the hunt. Behind them trailed a small group of men with hunting rifles strapped onto their backs as they chased after the canines with sweat beaded brows. Y/n counted the men: there were three of them. 

By the time one of the dogs bounded past Y/n, the scene would vanish and she’d be back in the living room, listening to Ernst hum pensively and thumb the corner of the newspaper he held in his fingers. 

She waited for the girls to come in, straining her ears for the tell tale sign of their small feet running down the hall from the kitchen. 

And they came just as expected–this time she counted twenty seven seconds. 

Y/n let her head loll to the side, and enjoyed the view of the backyard from the open door, admiring both how little and how much had changed. She couldn’t remember what she had done to get here. She couldn’t remember much at all–but had she said that already? Her brain felt muddied, like a river that a group of hikers had waded through, kicking clouds of dirt and substrate into the waters as they went–except the water was her mind, and for once it wasn’t racing fast enough to clear the waters up. 

She listened to the girls' excited breaths as they waited for Ernst to count out the chocolates, her eyes trained on the sway of a tree on the horizon and a small bird that chittered from branch to branch. The smell of trees, spring blooms and fresh forest air billowed in from outside, inviting her out into the sun–though Y/n knew she only had seconds before the scene would restart and any distance she walked would be mute.

Well, she guessed she hadn’t tried to walk anywhere. But why try? The scenes were enough entertainment for the time being. Something sharp and aromatic carried over the wind, and she blinked, searching for the little wisp that she had gotten. It was so familiar…

“No, I don't know what a spell bag is. The fuck is this–Halloween Town?” 

Y/n jerked off the wall, her head whipping about in all directions for the familiar voice that had broken through the sounds of the girls devouring the treats with excited squeals. 

Another voice, equally as familiar responded to the other. “Don’t be a smartass. Give it to me–here just grab the-” there was a pause followed by a heavy sigh and an intense scent of roses choked Y/n’s senses. “Great. Now you’ve done it.” 

Y/n knew those voices, they stirred something in her chest that made her eyes water unwillingly. She spun in circles to find the source–the old red living room and her ghostly companions oblivious to the intrusion. 

A sneeze stopped her in her tracks–for Ernst had been the one whose head jerked forward with the outburst. Y/n watched as he did something he hadn’t done in all of the nine times she had watched it play out: he took a handkerchief from his pockets and held it to his nose as a second sneeze overcame him. 

Ernst turned his head to the side to discard it onto the end table, his eyes passing over where Y/n stood bouncing right back to her in astonishment. They maintained eye contact, both of them equally as shocked to see one another. He opened his mouth to say something but the scene disintegrated before he could get a single word out. 

Y/n was dropped onto the front lawn beneath a bright hot sun in a new scene that she had yet to watch as of yet. One of her hands came up to block the light from blinding her vision, making the surroundings sharper, the details familiar as though looking at one of her own memories. 

She had seen this before–but it wasn’t necessarily her memory. 

It was as though she had been dropped into one of the photos that was hung up at the historical society–the lines of children with their stick weapons drawn at the ready in battle. Everyone was in place: Leon was reclined on the front steps, lower legs gone and in the hands of his children. The women sitting off to the side with babies on their laps looked with a stern press of their brow as though waiting with a scold already perched on their lips. 

Bear was–wait. Bear was gone. 

The place where young Bear should have stood was empty, but the leg in Duane’s hand was still gesturing at the empty spot with squinted eyes. Leon quipped out a sharp whistle and the children’s fighting commenced without care for Bear’s absence.

They moved as though Bear was still there–dodging from invisible attacks and lunging at something unseen. 

Children screamed with laughter and over dramatic battle cries that felt comforting and familiar, and the sun was warm on her skin. Y/n sat herself on the stairs and peered up at the clouds distractedly–had she been looking for something? Why was her heart racing? It surely wouldn’t hurt to sit and watch the children play…

“He’s literally the opposite of a goblin if he has a vacuum cleaner in his room.” 

“I’d say he would be a brownie if he was any sort of household creature.” 

“What even is that? Is that some DnD thing?” 

There was a sputtering noise from someone’s mouth before one of the voices cried out in defense. 

“You’re acting like you’ve never read a fantasy book. We literally all read Spiderwick and Lord of the Rings together!” 

“Focus please, all of you! We can discuss Jungkook’s creature status later!” Y/n felt something soft on the skin of her palm and a comforting weight settled between her fingers. “We all know Jungkook would be a barbarian anyways…” 

Y/n shot to her feet–Yes! The voices! She knew them! 

She turned abruptly, her memory trying to squeeze up into her consciousness as she ran up the front steps and pushed through the front doors. While her memory was still hazy, she was able to pull up the urge to run back to her room which was–Her feet came to a slow stop in the entranceway, the red drapes and carpet surrounding her felt wrong. 

Where was her room again? 

Music floated from the study, the chirping of a flute, the singing of a violin and the low timbre of a cello all swirling with one another in a uniformed swell. Y/n stole a peek through the study doors, but the room was empty–only sound emanated from the space from phantom musicians. 

A stronger floral smell engulfed her, planting stakes into the folds of her brain and making them pulse with the start of a headache. 

“Lavender is usually used for sleep, but it can also be an effective cleansing herb. I don’t care if I have to use up my entire greenhouse stash–we will keep trying.”

Y/n was standing still one second, and the next she was running. Up the stairs and following the scent of lavender to the right hand side of the landing and straight down the hall. As the doors sped past her, the hall grew darker as though the sun had fallen from the sky and the moon had shot up to take its place. 

She was almost there–her friends–she needed to get to them to tell them…something. The smell led to the second to last door, and she grabbed the handle to give it a strong twist, shoving it open and out of the way. 

Yoongi’s bed was scattered with dried rose petals and a pot of dried lavender was smoldering on his bedside table. Her friends were spaced about the room on whatever surface they could fit–hands all busy rooting through glass jars of plant matter and seeds Y/n recognized from the greenhouse as some of Namjoon’s collection. 

Y/n made a move to run straight to them, to her body that lay lifeless on his comforter next to Jimin’s head that he rested on folded arms next to her with his fingers playing with the stiff digits on her own hand. The only indicator that he was stressed was the steady bounce of his knee and the can of soda next to the lavender pot.  

“I’m right here!” Y/n cried out to him, and she watched as Jimin’s head snapped to face her with wide eyes unseeing–searching for her. 

Then she was back in the living room with Ernst humming at the headlines on the daily paper, smoke snaking from the tip of his cigar and drifting out the open back door. She had twenty seven seconds until the girls would come in and share their hoards. 

Twenty seven seconds is all she had to run back up the stairs. 

She ran full speed down the halls, passing the children as they made their escape with their stolen treats from the kitchen and taking the stairs two at a time as they appeared. The hall was darker than before, nearly black with shadow this time as she ran wildly back towards Yoongi’s room with just the scent of lavender, roses and sage to guide her.

“No!” Someone howled out from behind her, startling her to trip over the threshold and sprawl onto the carpet. The floor fell out from beneath her like a trap door and her stomach lurched into her throat with a scream as she plummeted through the main floor straight into the basement; the piles of old furniture and children’s toys breaking her fall. A cloud of dust had her waving her hand in front of her face to relieve her airways of the particles that choked out her breath. 

“One more lap mother! Just one more lap please!” 

Y/n sat up straight on the soft blue blanket that was sprawled out beneath her upon the grass, a few blades that escaped from the fabric tickling the skin of her ankles and making them itch. 

“Alright then–just one more! Then we have to return home for supper!” The woman to her right waved back to the girls that splashed about the lake with glee, sending them off on another sprint across the water. A towel was draped over her own lap and her hair was shoved up into a swim cap to keep it dry, one hand lined up on her brow  as she carefully watched the young children paddle the width of the lake. 

Y/n got to her knees and waved a hand in front of the woman’s face, but she had no reaction to the movement or proximity. Y/n was invisible–at least for the time being–for she was invisible to Ernst too until the unexplainable few seconds when she wasn’t.

“Can you help me? I need to get back home–to the Estate. I need to find my friends…” Y/n tried speaking to the woman, who had about the same amount of notice as she had prior: none.  She brought her fingers up to tap at her shoulder, and the woman was solid and warm, the flesh dimpling beneath her touch and bouncing back into place as a real person’s would. 

Y/n furrowed her brows, and pressed her palm to the skin of the woman’s upper arm–for the skin was hot like she was developing a maddening fever. “Are you alright?” 

“I don’t know if you can hear me but…I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I should have come back the first day we talked on the phone. I should have hung up and jumped on the first flight back. Just keep fighting to get back here. We can figure this out together….you know…stick together and all that crap.”

A featherlight sensation traced across Y/n’s forehead and down the skin of her cheek, moving down to tickle at the skin of the back of her hand, and her heartbeat hammered in her ribs as something soft and hot pressed to the back of her knuckles. 

“I’m right here. I’m not going to let you stay in there–I will find a way to fix this.” 

The woman turned robotically to Y/n, her eyes raking over her face and a scowl forming on her features and hissing through her teeth. “You are going to get us all in trouble if you keep doing that!” 

Dogs bounded in front of her. Three men carried the rear of the pack, trudging through the tall grass under the unforgiving sun. The woman and the lake were gone. Y/n clutched at her head, squeezing her skull between it like if she pressed hard enough she would be able to squish her sanity back in place. 

“I’m not mad at you.” This voice was quieter than the last, merely a whisper that was broken and molded around a carefully constructed air of composure that was crumbling. “I know you think I am, but I’m not. I just…I need you here.” 

Her entire left side was warm, but not uncomfortably so. It felt safe, and brought forth the scent of clean linens and fresh smelling body wash–the weight shifted but the warmth stayed, her cheek feeling hotter than before like it was pressed to a furnace. 

“‘ In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.’

Elizabeth’s astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, colored, doubted, and was silent. This he considered sufficient encouragement, and the avowal of all that he felt and had long felt for her followed…’” 

“I can’t understand who in their right mind would think their lover’s silence is anything but awful.” She heard a tsk, and a soft chuckle before something warm pressed to her temple. “I think silence from you is the worst thing imaginable.” Pages fluttered, and the gentle voice continued to read forth more from the pages of what she recognized as Pride and Prejudice that she could no longer hear.

Y/n’s head spun as she was thrust back into the living room, Ernst mumbling to himself absentmindedly around his cigar that burned bright orange at the tip. The voice was gone but she knew where to find it. 

Twenty seven seconds. 

Y/n pumped her arms and legs, kicking up the red rug beneath her feet and tearing up the stairs down the hall. 

“I can feel you. Can you feel me?” Long fingers squeezed down around her own. “I will come find you. There’s no place they could hide you from me where I wouldn’t reach you.” 

Sage. Y/n smelt sage and Frankincense, and she clung to it blindly even as the hall shrouded into darkness that threatened to drop her down into the basement or throw her into whatever scene they wanted next. She willed herself forwards until she was practically flying through the door, ignoring the way the shadows extended outwards to catch her from the walls, floors and ceilings; curling up her ankles and grappling for her arms as they passed. 

Y/n leapt blindly onto the bed, sailing over the threshold and bouncing onto the mattress, the smell nauseatingly strong but oh so inviting. 

_________________________________________

“Can someone pass me the Rosemary?” Namjoon’s voice blotted in from a distance, bleeding through what felt like mounds of cotton blocking Y/n’s ear drums. 

Her entire body felt as though encased in cement, each muscle and tendon weighed down and immobile, like they weren’t connected to her brain. Y/n attempted a single twitch of her finger and found the motion impossible. She could not even open her eyes. 

There was a barely audible rustle of leaves, and an overwhelming aroma wafted over her face that would make even the most repleted metaphysical shop jealous, pulling whatever moisture was left from her skin until a slight stinging sensation buzzed on its surface.. Each inhale scratched at the insides of her airways, and her lungs struggled to expand like the movement was foreign to her–and perhaps it was. Someone squeezed her hand again, stopping just at the point where the pressure might start to hurt. 

Jungkook breathed, and relief wasn’t even a strong enough word to describe how he spoke. “It’s working…”

The smoke grew thicker, and her throat dryer with each passing second. She swallowed, the saliva thick and sharp as knives scraping done her esophagus, forcing her to repeat the motion in rapid succession. 

Hands brought forth the lingering smell of antibacterial hand soap and lemon scented cleaner splayed across both sides of her face and held it still. Thin wisps of hair tickled her cheeks, and a forehead pressed against hers. 

“Come back.” Jungkook commanded softly, sparks pulsing from the tips of his fingers and tickling her skin, melting the cement on her limbs and bringing a wave of goosebumps over the expanse of her body. 

Y/n moved her pinky finger, then her pointer finger even more so. It was no grand movement, or even considered much of a movement at all–but it was enough to elicit a response from nearly everyone in the room–the energy around them all charging and buzzing around them even though all outbursts were silenced by Namjoon’s authoritative command and willing them to remain quiet. 

Jungkook gasped quietly and his hands started to shake, his breath quickening as nearly silent curses fell from his lips–he was pulling her forwards and willing her awake, willing her to open her eyes. 

He was the first thing she saw simply because of his nearness alone, though she would’ve imagined she wouldn’t have seen much else anyway as his eyes demanded her attention, her own drawn to them like magnets. How grateful she was to see his eyes glistening and full of life in front of her.

In an instant she froze, bristling at the sight of their reflective surface and bracing herself for the worst–for Candida to be there waiting for her to let her back in. But there was nothing but herself, tired and worn looking back at her. 

Y/n tossed the blanket off in a hurry, startling Jungkook away from her face and sending him leaping back and out of her reach as her feet touched the floor. She didn’t even think to look at the worried faces that surrounded her or their layered voices telling her to do something–sit down? She wasn’t sure. All she could think about was the mirror in the corner of Yoongi’s room and how it faced her. 

She stumbled like a newborn giraffe using its legs for the first time as blood began to flow back into them, they still felt heavy but she couldn’t let it stop her–she needed to check. 

It was only a moment that she had in front of the mirror. A split second of uninterrupted time where she was able to breathe with just her own reflection staring back at her in the mirror–and as disheveled and unkempt as she looked, she had never been happier to see herself as such. 

Hot tears pooled in her eyes that she couldn’t stop from dripping down her cheeks. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been able to look at something and not be scared of what she would see–the nearly two weeks of Candida haunting her every move feeling like an eternity. 

The second of peace ended when Namjoon appeared looking equally fatigued behind her, the bundle of rosemary still smoking in his hand. “Y/n, you should really lay back down. You were out for a long time and you need to take things slow.” 

Right as the words left his mouth she felt the stiffness in her joints make itself known, and the fogginess of her brain that left her dizzy and teetering from one side to the other. But one thing that wasn’t present was the homicidal urges she had felt before she had–

Y/n gasped, feeling herself fall backwards towards the mirror with her hands bracing themselves for the impact that never came. 

Yoongi who was leant up against his desk closest to her was at her side in an instant, tucking an arm around her waist and throwing hers around his shoulder to keep her from falling into the mirror, Jimin following closely behind to do the same on her other side. 

“You have a really bad habit of not listening when someone tells you to slow down, don’t you?” Yoongi chided teasingly, though the light of his jest did not reach his eyes as they shuffled back to his bed. Namjoon followed closely behind them, constantly waving his hand in circular motions to guide puffs of smoke towards Y/n. 

Jimin bumped his hip against hers with a small curve of his lips. “You could just stop at ‘bad habit of not listening’.”

Y/n sniffled, both hands clasping down on either man’s shoulder like if she let go this dream of normalcy would shatter. They helped her fall back down onto the comforter next to Jungkook with a light bounce, and after a few beats of tense silence, she managed to rasp out her first words. “How long?” 

They shared a look of uncertainty that said all that she needed to know. 

“How long?” Y/n tried again, her voice still rough with underuse. 

Namjoon chewed on the inside of his cheek and looked down at her with a weary expression. “Two weeks. It’s almost June.” 

“W-what?!” Y/n blanched and wilted like the dried up rose petals below her. The time spent locked in those loops felt no longer than a couple hours at most. “That’s not possible. How am I not dead? I would’ve had to eat and drink.” Heat rushed into her face as embarrassment made her short circuit. “To pee–” 

“You weren’t completely out the whole time. Sometimes things would…come through.” Jimin offered, taking up the spot on her other side. 

As if reading her mind, Yoongi responded from back at his desk. “You were possessed. This isn’t the first time your body has come to with someone else taking the reigns. We’ve been mostly able to remove one of them–but the other is a bit more…complex.” 

“Candida is gone?” Y/n let hope color her expression as she glanced up at him. 

“No.” Jungkook answered this time, shaking his head once. “The ‘other’ one is gone. Candida is refusing to let go. She’s hiding.” 

Y/n brought her hands up to shield her face with her hands as more tears stung at the back of her eyes. The freedom she had thought she had felt was a false hope, and her breath threatened to quicken in her chest against her will. Jimin’s delicate fingers encircled her wrist and brought them down, intertwining their fingers in one and offering the other to Jungkook, who hesitantly took it, holding it loosely on his lap. 

“We still don’t know who the other one is,” Namjoon started with a sigh, plopping himself down on a folding chair they had propped next to the mattress. “They left as soon as Jungkook started pushing them. We were hoping that you could give us some answers on that front.” He looked up at her expectantly, the bowl of embers and leaves cradled on his lap. 

“I don’t…” Y/n pushed the boundaries of her memory, poking and prodding at whatever her brain could muster with little reward. “I can’t really remember it’s all fuzzy. I remember coming back from the greenhouse…” Y/n shuddered at the memory, her chest tightening at the flashbacks of the vision she had seen, but she couldn’t let herself dwell on it–not when Yoongi was watching her so closely. “ And I remember sitting with my plants but that’s about–” Y/n gasped louder than she had when she had woken up, a new wave of grief settling over her. “My plants! Are they okay? I don’t remember putting them back, and two weeks is a long time without water…” 

The longer she spoke, the more her voice grew in strength, but the more unnerved Namjoon grew. He shifted in his seat as redness crept up his neck. “Well you see…your…you…” 

“We can check on your plants later,” Yoongi offered with a pointed look at Namjoon. “If you really can’t remember anything then there is something else we can do…you just might not like it.” 

“What is it?” Y/n shrunk in on herself. “The last time we tried one of your exercises it didn’t go very well.” 

“Exercises?” Jungkook repeated, glowering up at Yoongi with lips pressed together tightly. “What exercises?” 

“Not important right now,” Yoongi waved his hand dismissively at the younger one, fixing Y/n with an unreadable expression. “While you were out, someone else decided to lend a helping hand. I don’t know if you remember seeing them–or if you remember coming to at all.” 

“I don’t think it wise to stress her out too much right away.” Jimin cut in, one of his eyes twitching. 

“Agreed,” Namjoon dragged a large hand down his face. 

“Well that isn’t really a decision when it comes to this. If you think he’s going to stay away you all really are dense.” Yoongi scoffed with a disbelieving shake of his head. “We can approach some things carefully, but not everything can be handled with tweezers and CareBear bandaids.” 

Y/n thought back to the voices she had heard clipping into her time loops, checking them each off of her list one by one. 

Jungkook and Yoongi had spoken to her multiple times–Namjoon too. Jimin had been the one reading to her, it was easy to recognize his melodic voice anywhere. But there had been five. 

“What even is that? Is that some DnD thing?” 

Just as the thought struck her, the same voice  pushed Yoongi’s door open, supported by the sound of groaning wood and jingling metal. “Alright, I picked up that stuff you wanted from the–” 

Hoseok’s words withered down to a croak in his throat as he closed the door behind him, a pair of leather driving gloves still pulled over his hands that carried a set of keys and a decently sized brown paper bag. Time stopped.  

“Get out!” Y/n shrieked, climbing over Jungkook’s lap towards the end table and grabbing the first thing she could–an empty soda can that had fallen onto its side on the end table–and chucked it at him. “Get out!” 

“H-hey, wait–oof!” Hoseok brought the bag up to shield his face from the projectile, dropping it just in time to catch a pillow straight to the face. 

Y/n leveled her next pillow at him before it was yanked from her grasp by a disgruntled Namjoon. “Give him a second!” He tossed the pillow across the room and pointed a finger at her when her eyes flickered to the last remaining cushion. “Don’t even think about it.” 

He snatched that one up too for good measure, and glared at the three other men that had made no move to get in her way. “Thanks for your help,” he gestured to Yoongi, Jimin and Jungkook with his chin, “not like you weren’t within arms reach or anything.” 

Yoongi shrugged and a teensy smirk made its way onto his lips and he pathetically attempted to raise his arm. “Eh. It was a long reach.” 

Jungkook almost smiled, and averted his eyes from Namjoon. “I was surprised. Sorry.” 

“Whatever.” Namjoon rolled his eyes and returned to his seat. 

Y/n couldn’t believe what she was seeing. None of them were responding appropriately to the situation–especially after what had happened at the guest house and the spring pop up. Fine, Y/n grit her teeth, she didn’t need a pillow to do her dirty work. 

Y/n clambered down from the bed and started at Hoseok with a clumsy charge that was stopped by Yoongi’s hands fisting in the back of her shirt. “As much as I would personally love to see you land a good hit on him, I think you should hear him out.” 

_________________________________________

Y/n’s back was pressed against the wall with her knees bent to keep a level of space between her and where Hoseok sat on the desk chair he had rolled a few feet away from the bed to hopefully ease her discomfort. (It didn’t by the way).  She was freshly showered and donned the fresh change of clothes Jimin and Jungkook had swiped from her room, with a spare comforter hugged to her chest that replaced Yoongi’s while it was sent down to be washed. 

Memories were beginning to come back to her, as was her mind and body connection. She hadn’t stopped shaking since her shower, the hot water had probably started to help her process her adrenaline and release pent up stress from her last days consciousness. While her last moments were still fuzzy she could feel the emotions of it returning to her all at once, and one thing was clear was that she was still angry with the sheepish man in front of her–no matter how guilty he looked. 

Hoseok had yet to speak. Each time his mouth opened to find his words, it snapped closed like they had escaped him, leaving them in a suffocating silence that was teeming with palpable tension. It was almost unbearable. 

Thankfully the two of them weren’t entirely alone in this silence; while the others had left to give her and Hoseok privacy, Yoongi had stayed back with the excuse that it was his room, and he could stay if he liked. Thus he sat on the fold out chair with a pair of over the ear headphones pulled over his head and a sketchbook open on his desk, his pencil gliding over the paper in quick handed sketches of trees and clouds from his window.  

Y/n was grateful for his presence–not only because she technically hadn’t gotten to greet him properly since his return, but also because it meant someone else was there to keep her from doing something rash if she felt cornered. 

“So…” Hoseok started weakly, clearing his throat behind a gloved fist. “The last time you spoke you said–” 

“I said not to talk to me ever again.” Y/n finished for him sharply, picking at the thread of the comforter and refusing to look at him. “I thought I made that pretty clear.” Y/n could’ve sworn she saw the corner of Yoongi’s mouth quirk up from the corner of her eye but she must have been imagining it.

Hoseok visibly paled, and hurriedly spoke again. “Yes–but you said I could talk to you again if I was willing to come clean.” The chair released repeated squeaks as his leg bounced uncontrollably, and he shifted his weight from one hip to the other. “And I want to do that.”

“Then do it? Who is stopping you?” Y/n smoothed the blanket over her knees again. 

Silence overtook them, even the bouncing of his leg stopped. “Can I show you instead?”  

Y/n finally looked up at him, taken off guard by his request. She feigned disinterest though her curiosity had been piqued, and gave him a brief once over before turning back to the blanket. “And how do you intend to do that?” 

Hoseok pinched the tip of his middle finger and slid the driving gloves off his hands and dropped them on his lap. He held his hands out between them with the unspoken expectation that she would take them, and from their vulnerable and suspended state she could see them shaking. He was nervous. 

“I’m going to try and control it, Yoongi and Jungkook have been letting me practice with them but…” He trailed off, eyes imploring her to believe him. “But sending is a lot harder than receiving.” 

“He was already vetted by the kid,” Yoongi offered from his seat without so much as a second glance. “Do with that what you will.” He flicked the one side of his headphones back on and disengaged from the discussion once more. 

Y/n flitted her gaze between Yoongi and Hoseok, and with Yoongi’s words in mind, she crawled forward across the bed and parked herself at the edge so her hands could reach across the gap and grab his. 

She felt an internal tug towards him similar to how it felt when Yoongi would swirl about her, but the sensations he brought were nothing like Yoongi. Hoseok was hot, his pull burning at her insides like a scalding cup of tea–bordering between painful and satisfying.Scenes like small movies crashed in and out of her vision one my one, pristine doctors offices, pill bottles, dark wooden cabin rooms with her mothers face towering over her, a little boy–

No. She was pulled away from the image of the little boy and thrust back into the doctor's office to look at a collection of x-rays and MRI’s, her eyes skimming the charts for key words. 

Fall. Injury. Surgery. Permanent. 

The boy was back, crawling through the dark in a room Y/n couldn’t make out–was that metal? Hoseok exhaled sharply and the scene changed. 

Her mother stood looming with a pill bottle snatched in her hands, and emotions raced through her chest that weren’t her own–desperation, helplessness, self-hatred–trapped. She watched a collection of scenes come forth of Hoseok’s hands grasping whatever her mother tossed at him, and then her giving him a pill as a reward. She felt the relief. She felt the frustration. 

Then she saw something else that had her mouth running dry. 

She saw a view of herself walking out of the woods with Jin at her side, the two of them trailing up the front steps and disappearing into the front doors. After a few minutes she saw Jin leave alone, as though he had dropped her off inside. He was wearing the same outfit he had worn that night at the guest house. 

He let go of her hands once they began to sweat, and pressed them down on his thighs with a shaky sigh. Y/n’s hands lingered in the air for a moment, soaking in what she had seen and running it back through her mind like she was replaying a tape. 

“I don’t expect you to just forgive me. They all caught me up to date with…” He waved one hand in lazily circles. “Everything.” He cleared his throat and dropped his hand back to hang at his side, looking up at her through timid glances. “But I just want to say that I didn’t know what she was–If I had any kinda idea what she was doing with what I was seeing, I wouldn’t’ve done it. Please believe me. I know I shouldn’t have just blindly accepted but I just–” 

“You were hurting.” Y/n cut him off, her eyes trained on her lap. 

Hoseok turned his head down with a nervous twitch, leg shaking faster and his words falling out in a whisper. “Yeah.” 

“Why didn’t you just tell me, Hoseok? Tell any of us? Do you think we would have made fun of you?” Y/n finally looked at him–really looked at him. How could she not have put the pieces together? His constant shifting, his tired looking eyes and his body that seemed to sag when he thought no one was looking. 

Hoseok took a second to line up his thoughts in a concise sentiment, clearing his throat again to cover up the slight grit in his tone as it closed. “No….I dunno…maybe.” He smiled at his lap with a humorless chuckle. “Maybe somethin’ in me thought if I kept it a secret then I wouldn’t have to face it. I could keep pretending.” 

“Pretending what?” Y/n scooched to the edge, hesitantly lowering one of her hands down onto his clothed knee. “Hoseok, you have always been one of the most important people in my life. I don’t care if you can’t dance, or if you can’t run–or if the way we spend time together changes entirely. Everyone changes. Look at all of us? We lost one of us entirely, gained someone new, went to school, got jobs, some of us traveled–we grew up. I don’t care how you change, I just wish you would’ve told me. Think about where we could’ve been–the shit we could’ve avoided if you had just been honest.” Y/n took in a deep breath and leveled him with a somber expression. “I’m not…I’m not mad at you for hurting. I’m mad at you for not telling me, and I’m mad at myself for making it feel like you couldn’t and that you had to turn to my mother of all people.” 

Something in Hoseok’s expression snapped, his upper lip curling with heat. “Y/n–let’s be serious here. Would me telling you have really changed that much? Even if you knew–your mom still would’ve been in charge of my insurance, my housing–my fucking job and my parent’s job.” Hoseok blinked aggressively to keep any wetness out of her sight. “I had nothing after you left–my future is fucking wiped, dude. Anything I wanted to do? Trashed. I can’t travel the same way everyone else can, I can’t work the same way they can, I can’t dance the way I used to…my life isn’t over technically sure, but my life as I knew it is. And I’m sorry I wasn’t ready to just embrace that with smiles and jokes yet. The only thing that was made certain to me was that I’m going to get left behind, and I just wanted to delay that as much as I could.” 

Y/n shook her head with a trembling lip and furrowed brows. “We wouldn’t leave you behind–” 

“But you did!” Hoseok cut back, voice cracking ever so slightly. “You literally fuckin’ left and didn’t look back once. I left you messages–so many messages that you never returned. Joon went to California and got to experience life on his own. Jimin just got his masters degree. Jin is set to take his dad’s job by next year and then he can do whatever he wants. Yoongi went off to New York and none of us expected him to come back. The only person who would've stayed with me would be Jungkook, but at least he can choose what job he wants. I’m just…here. Watching everyone else do whatever the fuck they want. 

“So yeah. I’m sorry. I’m sorry your parents made us lie to you. Trust me, I’ve beat myself up for it since the day you left. I’m sorry that your mom held power over me and that I couldn’t stand up for either of us. But we were all raised on the same foundation: ‘No one gets left behind’, and you were the first one to do just the opposite of that–to everyone over something that would’ve also threatened our livelihoods if we had pushed back. I could’ve talked to you? You could’ve talked to us about it first. Jungkook was in therapy for two years after you left with not even as much as a goodbye. Jimin pretty much became an empty shell until he started school. Everyone else dipped.  So what else was I supposed to do Y/n? What was I gonna do, say ‘Hey Mariah, I know you pay for all of my medications and treatments so I can exist barely below baseline function, my parent’s salaries, and all my friends are gone so I have no one else but you to support my care needs if I suddenly woke up bed ridden–but fuck you!’ with no back up plan?” 

Y/n’s mouth fell open in shock, he had never spoken to her like this before, and she couldn’t quell the self-defensive rage that pooled in her belly. 

“I’m gonna ask you something and I want you to be one-hundred percent honest with me,” Hoseok leaned forward to challenge her stare. “If I had showed up on your doorstep in D.C with an apology and suitcase, would you have let me in? If I told you about this, would you have forgiven me and helped take care of me, or slammed the door in my face?” 

Y/n snapped her mouth closed, her gut immediately rushing to answer with a resounding ‘Yes I would have let you in!’, but she paused. Would she have? When she was still nursing the wound their betrayal had left, and her remaining pride was stinging and raw? 

Y/n’s hackles lowered, and she slumped back against the wall again in defeat. “I don’t know.” 

“Exactly. And we all know who my mom’s favorite is…” Hoseok visibly deflated, and ran his fingers through his unruly hair that desperately needed a haircut. “Look, I don’t want to fight about it and compare who was hurt the most. What I’m just trying to get you to understand is that we both made the best choices we could for ourselves at the time we made them. We can’t just pretend the aftermath didn’t happen and that we didn’t hurt each other–but I wouldn’t expect you to apologize for how you handled your shit with the cards you were dealt, so why should I apologize for how I handled mine?”

The question hung in the air between them heavily and Y/n knew she didn’t need to answer. While his words stung–he did have a point. She had no idea what his situation was like, and might not ever understand what he was going through. They might not ever be able to understand where they were each coming from–but could they live with that? 

“So what now?” Y/n asked with a sniff, wiping at her eyes that had become wet. “How do we move past all this?” 

Hoseok shrugged, and chewed on his cheek as he stared at his fingers that twiddled in his lap. “We just do. We can’t fix it, so we just try and do better. I want to try and do better.” 

“Okay.” Y/n breathed, pointing at him with her index finger. “I don’t forgive you just yet, but I understand why you did what you did. From here on out, no more secrets. No more lying and no running away from each other.” 

“I think I can handle that,” Hoseok managed a small lopsided curve of his mouth, and his shoulders visibly sagged with relief. “Fuck–I hated you being mad at me.” 

“I still am.” Y/n gave the most threatening look she could muster, but couldn’t help the smile that tried to break through it. “You still worked with someone that was trying to kill me, and you made me angry. I need to work through all of that still.” 

“I’m booked through the week,” Yoongi suddenly butt in, turning in the chair to face the two of them, “so I think you’re going to have to find a new quack.” 

“Booked? By whom?” The smile did worm its way on her face.

Yoongi removed his headphones entirely and tucked them away in his drawer. Y/n had a sneaking suspicion that there hadn’t been any music playing on them throughout their entire discussion. “M’not sure. They signed their name as the annoying one on my schedule… ” 

Y/n snapped a finger in mock disappointment and clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Damn–couldn’t be me. You won’t even have ten minutes for little ‘ol me?” 

Yoongi slid his tongue across his lower lip before sinking his teeth into it with a playful smile and a wink. “Hmm…maybe if you ask nicely I’ll think about it.” With that he stood with an exaggerated stretch, earning a few pops from undisclosed locations. “Now that that is out of the way…” He picked up the chair and turned it to face them, plopping down next to Hoseok. “Let’s call the other guys back in to talk ghosts.” 

_________________________________________

Y/n felt stupid. So utterly stupid and used.

The six of them sat in a circle on Yoongi’s floor with intertwined hands, their first time as a full group doing a seance. This time they had Hoseok take the lead, using his powers to prod her mind (with consent of course) for her final memories on Thursday–forcing herself to watch her make terrible mistake after terrible mistake. 

Her memories were beamed into their skulls, and they all watched as Y/n glowed in humiliation as she tossed her incense out the window on the call with Yoongi, how she isolated herself–how she let in some random fucking ghost from the hallway like an amatuer. And to make that worse, they hadn’t been able to gather any useful information from the interaction whatsoever. 

They moved on to trying to pull Candida out of hiding to expel her entirely, but that remained a futile effort as she eluded them, disappearing into the deepest crevices of her mind and staying there. They sleuthed out her memories of seeing her–her bathroom, the ceiling lights, doorknobs, glass, the greenhouse…

Hoseok had almost replayed the mirages of violence and death from the greenhouse when she had begged them to take a break–she didn’t think she had the energy left in her to watch it again. She barely had the energy to hold her own head up despite having been in and out of consciousness for two weeks. 

It was so hard to describe–it was like she was looking back at those memories and the choices she had made from outside of her body. She couldn’t even fathom not telling them if she saw something now, or making the choices she did. 

She guessed that’s what possession was like. 

Nothing would have prepared her for the devastation she felt when they let her run back to her room with Jungkook and Jimin by her side for her phone charger, only to find a few of her plants smaller and more sickly than she remembered, their colorful pots nowhere in sight. Jimin tried to soothe her with warm embraces and comfortnig words of how Namjoon had been nursing them back to health with what snippets he had been able to salvage–but her Aloe and her African violet hadn’t made it. That felt like almost her final straw. 

She might need a few business days just to recover from…recovering. 

Hell, she still hadn’t even gotten to properly greet Yoongi. 

They ate dinner in Yoongi’s room much to his mild annoyance. With Y/n being informed that Seokjin had taken time off to go on a vacation with his parents, and her mother and father had mysteriously left for a work trip with little explanation, there was no need to eat in the dining room. They suspected it had to do with Hoseok joining their side and thus losing one of her accomplices. This made it easy for Namjoon to lie about Y/n’s attendance at work, which he shyly admitted he had been clocking in for her so she wouldn’t lose her paycheck or get terminated while she was out–something that had her gratitude growing exponentially.

Y/n wished she had the energy to revel in the fact that they were all eating dinner together again, messing around and tossing jests from tired mouths and weary eyes like soldiers that had returned from battle. Her head had slumped onto Jimin’s shoulder before she knew it, letting it rest there with her plate practically licked clean next to her. She hadn’t realized how hungry she had been until Jungkook and Jimin had brought up their makeshift pasta creation still steaming and fresh. It had only lasted a few minutes before her hungry eyes were set on it.

When the conversation had slowed, she remembered what the spirits had used as leverage to build resentment and distrust: her friend's shady behavior that she had yet to get any answer for. 

“What were you guys even doing the whole time I was going insane?” Y/n suddenly asked, her sleepiness making her straightforward, her thoughts uncensored. “I know I was stupid for letting myself get that fucked up, but you guys sneaking around and hiding things from me definitely added fuel to the fire.” 

Hoseok held his hands up in surrender, pushing the desk chair back to roll a foot away from the rest of them. “Don’t look at me–that’s something I wasn’t a part of yet.” 

Namjoon gave him a mild glare that melted into a sheepish smile towards Y/n. “We were trying to figure out a way to help you, but you were…inhabited Y/n. Compromised. If we had gone to you with our plan, Candida might have been able to prepare herself or fight back–make you lash out even or hurt yourself to protect her. We couldn’t risk it.” 

“Oh…” Y/n looked down with warm cheeks at her own idiocy. Of course that made sense. It made perfect sense–Christ why hadn’t she just trusted them??

“Don’t beat yourself up.” Yoongi chastised her with a knowing glint. “Trust me, we are all well aware that you were not yourself.” 

“What did you find?” She inquired, trying to shift the conversation into a one with a silver lining, before backtracking when they shared an apprehensive look. “Wait–never mind. If she’s still in here then–” 

“Bear has a few ideas. Some of which helped us make you cognizant–he says he’s sorry by the way. But he can’t risk his safety just yet.” Jimin offered with a kind smile, one arm lifting up and over her shoulders to hold her in place against his side casually. “He says he dealt with something similar before.” 

“Is there anything I can offer to help? I know her pretty well now unfortunately…” Y/n looked to each of them, hoping they could find something for her to do.  She couldn’t stand sitting around and doing nothing. 

Yoongi dropped his mostly cleared plate down onto his desk on top of  Hoseok’s, pushing the stack towards the edge so Jimin could add the both of theirs to the pile. “Well actually maybe there is. Bear said we need something to get her attention. Between you and Hoseok I’m sure we can make a good bet as to what that could be.” 

“She liked music and the theater. Ballet.” Hoseok twitched in his seat uncomfortably, one hand coming to scratch at the spot behind his ear. “But she’s…she’s messy. Never a straight train of thought–her brain is scattered like a squashed bug. I’m lucky if she gives me a coherent thought  that lasts longer than a few seconds.” 

Y/n pondered his antidote, and thought over her own experience with the woman. She had never felt anything positive about anything–only negativity. “I honestly have no clue. She is only ever pissed when I see her.” 

“Well pissed attention is still attention.” Yoongi shrugged with a sigh. “Let us keep brainstorming. You can offer ideas as they come to you but we can’t have you getting too riled up. We don’t want it triggering anything.” Though his dark eyes narrowed at her with one final warning. “But if something starts bothering you, you need to tell us this time. You can’t let it push everyone out.”

Y/n stifled a yawn and resigned to her fate of taking the backseat for the time being, knowing she full well deserved the light scolding. She couldn’t deny how appealing it sounded to just focus on relaxing and giving all of this a rest after her previous week. Her parents being gone lowered the stakes for the moment as well. She’d be a fool not to take some time to recoup so they could come back swinging harder than ever with their new and returned allies.

“You should sleep.” Jungkook remarked, a challenging quirk of his brow ticking upwards. 

“I’m not going to fight you on that this time.” Y/n slumped back down on Jimin’s shoulder with a sigh. “Are the wards back up in my room so I can try and fix it up?” 

“Not quite. We came to the unanimous decision that you should probably camp with someone in the evenings, in case Candida or that other nasty bastard tries to try anything when you’re alone.” Yoongi stretched back over his chair, grabbing the remaining plates and ambling towards his door to return them to the kitchen. “You can choose where you want to go.” 

Y/n didn’t know what had possessed her that evening to choose the roommate she did. Her first instinct had been to choose to remain in Yoongi’s room as it had grown familiar to her, and she already had her basic necessities tucked in a bag in the corner of his room and waiting (courtesy of Jimin).  But the guilt of taking up his space for another night after supposedly crashing there for two weeks was too strong, and thus she moved onto her next choice.

Jimin would be the obvious answer–except he was currently housing Bear on his desk, and it might put Bear’s safety in jeopardy for her to invade his safe space like that until they knew for sure that Candida wasn’t an active threat. 

Something in her gut pulled her answer from deep within, guiding her with dragging feet and her toiletry and clothes bag tossed over one shoulder and a pillow cradled against her side kept in place with her elbow, trailing after Namjoon across the landing into the left hall. He bid his farewell to her once he dropped her off at her destination, shutting the door softly behind her and wishing her a goodnight. 

Y/n waited, frozen in place near Jungkook’s door in his dark bedroom for him to make his way through the attic and onto the terrace to join them. She hovered in front of his shelf by the door, too nervous to touch anything or to make herself comfortable until he gave her the direction to. Butterflies erupted in her stomach like this was a sleepover at a friends house she had never been to–nerves tickling at her and making her wonder if she had made the wrong choice. They were still on strange terms as well. To distract herself from her discomfort, she let her eyes take in his room that had grown and changed often over the years. But one thing remained the same. 

His room was spotless as always, dusted and vacuumed with his bedding freshly washed and tucked neatly around the edges. A little R2D2 wax warmer emitted a cerulean blue light from its base, illuminating the dark space enough to map out his furniture–she was too preoccupied with anxiety to finger through his belongings and turn on one of the many small lamps littered about his space in fear of messing up his meticulous organization. He never really cared for the overhead lights even when he was a kid. 

Y/n jumped as the terrace door clicked open and Jungkook slipped in, closing and locking the bolt behind him. His eyes quickly found her in the dimly lit room, his confusion clearly outlined in the blue light. 

The expression never left his face as he stepped by her, close enough for her to feel the heat from his side as he reached an arm over her shoulder to flick on a small warm toned mood lamp, one eyebrow poised in a silent question at her hesitancy as he did so. 

“Where should I…?” Y/n gestured to the bag on her shoulder and the pillow tucked under her arm.  

Jungkook grunted, and gave her the tiniest of shrugs. “Wherever.” 

Y/n took slow steps to his desk, plopping her bag onto the chair and unzipping it to fish for her toothbrush and a pair of sleep shorts, taking both in hand and disappearing into his bathroom wordlessly, shutting the door behind her just enough to offer them both a bit of privacy but not latched. She didn’t want to be completely alone. 

She avoided any eye contact with the mirror–even if Candida was laying low, it didn’t mean that the risk was none. Slipping on the shorts she opened the door a few more inches to hopefully let Jungkook know that he could come in if he needed to, and started the task of brushing her teeth. 

Jungkook peeked his head in first, making sure she was decent before sidling in the tiny bathroom to join her. They stood side by side in a heavy silence, the chorus of toothbrush scraping against teeth accompanied by the occasional spit was the only sound heard. Y/n almost found herself enjoying the silence and domesticity of the interaction, save for the two of them sharing awkward stolen glances through the mirror until she padded back into the main room and lingered by his desk for further instruction.

Y/n watched him through the open door,  wiping his mouth off and cleaning the sink of water droplets with a fresh cloth. His hair had gotten longer since she had arrived, and was almost due for a trim if the way he kept pushing it back behind his ears with a sharp exhale through his nose was anything to go by. As if his senses could feel her eyes on him (actually a probable conclusion she realized with a start), he found hers through the doorway and hurried his motions, tossing the towel in his laundry basket and reentering his room. 

“Are we blowing up one of the air mattresses for me to sleep on? Or am I just crashing on the floor like old times?” Y/n shuffled from one foot to the other, hugging her pillow to her chest, observing his head disappearing into his closet. 

Jungkook recoiled from the shelves and looked at her like she had just said something outlandish, blinking at her with blank eyes as he registered what she had said. “Neither.” He disappeared into his closet, retrieving an air mattress bag and turning to the space she was standing, crouching beside her to plug the pump in. “You can take my bed.” 

“I’d feel better if I didn’t.” Y/n shook her head with a nervous chuckle, stepping aside as he shooed her to make room for the mattress. “I’ll just take the airbed.” 

Jungkook sat back on his heels to give her an unyielding glare. “No.”

Y/n returned it, taking a step closer to the terrace door to give him more space. “Yes. I won’t let you give me your bed. Especially when you wake up earlier than me for work.” 

“Too bad.” Jungkook shrugged plainly, flipping the pump on with a small smirk to drown out her protests with its deafening whirring. When she tried to complain over the noise, he brought one tattooed finger up to his ear and shook his head, before pointing down to the pump with a shrug. 

Y/n gave him a deadpan stare to cover up the fact that her mind was already hatching a plan of her own while she monitored the expanding fabric of the air mattress rising until it reached just below her knees. When he finally flipped the switch off, the silence that enveloped them felt deafening in comparison to the grating pump that still left her ears ringing. She kept her composure while helping him tuck the edges of the fitted sheet over the rounded corners, and even when her turned away from her to poke through his closet for a spare blanket. 

Jungkook fluffed the fabric out to rid it of any dust, then tossed it up to fall onto the mattress. However while the blanket was still suspended in the air, Y/n dove head first onto the airbed, snuggling up to her pillow and spreading herself over it with a satisfactory sigh, pulling the comforter up to her chin to stifle a laugh as it fell onto her. She could practically feel his irritation ebbing from where he stood and made the conscious effort to push his buttons a little further. 

“Ahh yes. Perfect. Thank you for making my bed for me, Kook.” She snuggled down into the blanket and looked up at him with a mischievous smile that rounded out her cheeks. 

Jungkook’s stare was blank as he cast it down to her, his lips pressed into a thin line that threatened to give way into the smallest of smiles. 

“No.” 

Without warning, he wrenched the blanket from her grasp, both of her hands coming up to make a grab for it which he snatched up in his hold, using the tight grip to hoist her up to her feet with enough force to send her careening forward onto his bed with an audible ‘oof’. She rolled over just in time to see him smirking at her while reclined victoriously on the airbed, looking as proud as ever.

“Ugh. You’re such a pain in my ass sometimes.” Y/n groaned, flopping back onto his mattress in defeat. 

Jungkook licked his lips, his eyes glinting in the low light at her. “Same goes for you.” 

Y/n grumbled to herself, knowing full well the moment his physical strength was added into the equation, she was surely to lose. She crawled under his covers and settled herself down–not before tossing his pillow at his face with full intent for it to collide with it, but his hands were too quick, catching it just before it landed its blow. 

He fluffed the cushion placing it neatly where hers had been, then he leaned forwards with hers held out in what seemed like a peace offering. She took it from his grasp and shoved her head down into its comfortable embrace, sinking into his mattress and tugging the comforter up and over herself. 

She would never admit to him that it was actually more comfortable than the airbed. 

Jungkook turned off the lamp, blanketing them into darkness that was only broken up by the wax warmer, which he promptly powered down as well. The air mattress let out a few final groans while he made himself comfortable, stopping only when he had situated himself and his breathing had started to even out. 

She listened to his breath, counting along to each inhale and exhale in her head, seconds turning to minutes until she couldn’t be sure how much time had passed. For someone that had been so unbelievably exhausted before, she sure couldn’t find where that feeling had gone now that she had her head resting against a pillow and her eyes squeezed shut. 

Perhaps it had been chased out by the unease that crawled up her throat and settled itself in her chest, making her heart pound and her eyes dart along each shadow's edge at any sudden sound from outside on the terrace. The day was catching up to her–as were the days before she had lost consciousness. Everything was swirling about and sending her nervous system into overdrive; relief, fear, guilt, shame, uncertainty for what was to come. 

Y/n cast a cursory glance down to the mirror above his dresser, and barely caught what could have maybe been a flash of gold that moved too quick for her to truly tell. Her heart hammered in her throat, and for half a second she entertained the idea of trying to ignore it–of forcing her eyes closed and counting down from a hundred until she succumbed. Though thoughts of today resurfaced, reminding her of how the isolation had only fed into her power, the more fear Candida could elicit, the more power she held over Y/n. To keep anything like what had happened before from happening again, she needed to do the exact opposite of what her fear wanted her to do.

“Jungkook?” Y/n whispered softly into the dark. 

There was a soft creak of the airbed, then his response came shortly after. “Hmm?” 

Y/n swallowed through the tightness in her throat that told her to just leave it–to handle it on her own. “I think I saw…I might’ve…She…” God she sounded pathetic. Why couldn’t she just spit it out?

Jungkook didn’t seem to mind that though, appearing to understand what she was trying to force out of her mouth without any further need for explanation. The air bed gave a much louder groan and she heard his feet moving swiftly around the end of the bed before the R2D2 wax warmer clicked back on, the soft blue glow dim enough not to hurt their eyes but light enough to make her feel comforted by it. 

“Where?” 

“The mirror.” Y/n pointed a shaky finger at it. 

Jungkook peered at his own reflection, examining every inch of the room through its reflective picture. Once satisfied with his examination, he pivoted back to her with a shake of his head. “She’s not there.” 

Y/n wanted to cry again. It wasn’t his fault–but it didn’t make her feel any less crazy. She almost wished he could see her–because then it meant he would be able to punch her in the face if he did. 

“O-okay.” Y/n kicked herself for how weak she sounded. It was obvious with just a single word that she was crying. 

Jungkook stood still, undecided on what he should do before deciding on his new favorite offer he seemed to always have at the ready. “Do you want me to get Jimin?” 

Y/n sat up, observing the way he stood uncomfortably by the mirror with a vaguely worried expression. She genuinely pondered his question, only finding one answer. She should. She should want him to get Jimin. And on one hand she kind of did–Jimin always managed to make her feel even the slightest bit better by just his presence alone. But it dawned on her that it wasn’t Jimin’s presence that she necessarily craved at the moment. It was Jungkook’s. 

“No,” Y/n shook her head, sitting up and pulling back the covers enough to swing her legs out to dangle over the edge. All of her shame seemed to leave her body in the face of fear. She plucked her pillow up and held it on her lap, sliding down off the mattress and onto the floor.

“What are you doing?” Jungkook moved to step in front of her, blocking the path towards the air mattress to keep her from swapping their pillows. 

Y/n looked up at him and took in a steadying deep breath, holding their eye contact even when her face burned with heat. “I want to lay with you for a bit. If that’s okay…” 

Jungkook made no motion to move, not for what Y/n could’ve easily believed to be a few minutes. When he did, it was in the form of his hands guiding her shoulders to walk back to his bed until the backs of her knees hit the edge, forcing her to sit on it. 

“Wait here.” 

He left to the other side of the room, returning not seconds later with his pillow under his arm which he placed next to hers. Y/n let herself be guided into a reclined position and listened accordingly when Jungkook directed her to scooch to the other end to make room for him. 

Jungkook joined her not long after, laying next to her with his body stiff as a board, leaving as much distance between them as possible on the wide mattress. With bravery only the dark could give her, she reached for his arm, sliding her fingertips down the skin until she found his hand to interlace their fingers and brought them both up to rest against the skin of her cheek that was still damp. 

“Thank you.” Y/n whispered to him, letting her eyelids slip shut. 

He didn’t answer, but he did shift closer–if only marginally so–their hands now able to lay more comfortably between them without his elbow being bent at an awkward angle. Candida’s golden eyes felt more like a memory now, not a reality. Not when his skin was warm against hers, and his breathing lulled her into the early edges of sleep. 

She could’ve sworn that she had heard his heartbeat too during the last few moments of consciousness–but that would have meant he would’ve had to have moved closer–and that the soft fabric against her face wasn’t her pillow. Because she couldn’t remember her pillow having the ability to breathe. 

_________________________________________

The days went by in a much similar manner to how they had when she first arrived–only in some strange turn of events–almost better than when she had first arrived; even with Candida lurking in the corners of her mind, only showing her face occasionally in mirrors and window panes. Her image held little power over her at the current moment when she was surrounded by more of her friends than ever before. This new phase felt…freeing–even with it hanging on a delicate balance of whether or not it could escalate at any moment. This was the closest to normal she had felt. 

With her parents gone and Jin on vacation, there was no hiding. Bear was in charge of the cameras, blipping them out on command so they could scurry from dining room to landing, or bedroom to bedroom without having to make Jungkook trump through the attic. She wasn’t ready to go back to the greenhouse just yet, so her mornings were spent passing the time in Jimin’s office with Tree and Arrow when he was called off to give a tour. 

It was nice to get to know a ghost that didn’t want to kill her–she would even go as far as to call it fascinating. She grew a habit of grabbing snickers bars from the hotel lobby and sneaking them to Tree when Jimin wasn’t looking (Jimin believed he was becoming too spoiled, and disapproved of the excess in treats she was supplying). If she had the time, she would read books from Jimin’s shelf aloud to Sergeant–and as pages turned to chapters she would swear one some occasions that a faint fuzzy outline of his shoulders would appear on one of the armchairs, paired with the soft puffs of breath that escaped his mouth while he listened intently. And when she wasn’t doing that, she was expanding Arrow’s music taste with a few records she was able to swipe from her room.

Speaking of her room, it was still a force to be reckoned with. Yoongi and Namjoon proposed that they leave her room in disarray as a means to look for more clues into Candida’s behavior, but they could not tell her exactly what they were looking for in case it triggered another ‘episode’. Thus she was on a need to know basis when it came to their plans, their group chat alive and well again (and increasing in size) as their main form of communication. It was usually used as casual communication, or to ask Y/n vague and inconspicuous questions (read: suspicious, especially if they were from Namjoon) about her day to day experience. 

In the afternoons, she would eat lunch with Hoseok in his car in the historical society parking lot before trading off with Jungkook when he got off of work to reestablish their daily walks along the trails. Dinner was the most nostalgic event in her opinion; a race against time as they slipped from room to room at just the right time to miss the camera signals. Her and Jungkook had somehow gotten into the habit of seeing who could make it from one room to the next in the sneakiest manner while Jimin manned the walkie, reliving their childhood adventures as secret agents. Yoongi did not participate, but insisted on offering pointers on how to ‘increase their stealth level’ from his curled up spot on a dining room chair. It was in those moments when his gummy smile would make a guest appearance and Y/n was reminded of just how long he had been deprived of a relaxed family meal where he wasn’t preoccupied with carefully piecing together a guise of nonchalance and innocence. 

She would finish off the night on an air mattress in someone else's room, usually Jungkook’s or Namjoon’s. Though Namjoon’s was a shot in the dark if the two of them were to actually get any sleep–they were both incapable of keeping their mouths shut and their brains quiet, thus when one would ask a seemingly innocuous question that was swirling about their minds, the other would most certainly respond like a pair of twittering birds until one of them passed out first in the middle of a mumbled sentence. 

The only thing that was left unexplained was Taehyung, who had continued to keep a strong distance from the rest of the house–Y/n wasn’t even sure if he was still around anymore. When her and Jimin had gone to check on him with an invite to join them at the Adelaide for lunch, he was not in his room, and he didn’t answer any of his messages. Y/n was beginning to worry about him…

Thursday morning went about the same as the first half of the week, lazily reclining on Jimin’s loveseat with whatever book her and Sergeant had been working on with her head on Jimin’s lap when he wasn’t busy. That was until her phone buzzed with an incoming message. 

[New Message in The Most Annoying and Toxic Coworkers]

[Zoltar 🔮]: Who’s babysitting the invasive species? Is she still with Jimin?

[Midass✋🃏]: I’m omw to pick her up for 🍗. What’s up?

[Morning Glory 🌼]: EXCUSE ME????? The WHAT??

[Zoltar 🔮]: Cool. Can you bring her up to the hotel? I’m on floor 11, south side. 

[Morning Glory 🌼]: HELLO?? I’m literally right here 

[Morning Glory 🌼]: What’s the field trip for?

[Midass✋🃏]: ✔️🚙💨

[Morning Glory 🌼]:Are you just going to pretend I’m not here or….

[Zoltar 🔮]: You guys hear something? 

[Zoltar 🔮]: I swear it’s like I hear something…

[Morning Glory 🌼]: ME. IT’S ME sending a curse your way. 

[Morning Glory 🌼]: If you yawn it means it’s working. 

 [Zoltar 🔮]: Fuck. 

[Zoltar 🔮]: Guys I think I’m cursed. 

[Morning Glory 🌼]: 😈😈😈😈

[Zoltar 🔮]: Oh wait

[Zoltar 🔮]: Nvm. Just tired from carrying this team on my back. 

[Morning Glory 🌼]: fuck you dude. 

[Zoltar 🔮]: That’s bold of you to say considering you tried to  s t a b  me

[Morning Glory 🌼]: You said you weren’t mad at me for that😢

[Jimin: 👂👻]: Look what you did, now you made her cry 🙁

[Jimin: 👂👻]: <sent a photo> 

[Zoltar 🔮]: I’ve never seen something so fake. This is blackmail. 

[Morning Glory 🌼]: No it’s real see

[Morning Glory 🌼]: <sent a photo>

[Zoltar 🔮]: That’s just a close up picture of your eyeball. 

[Zoltar 🔮]: Try harder 🥱

[Jimin: 👂👻]: Do my eyes deceive me, or is he cursed?

 [Midass✋🃏]:🫵😯 CURSED

[Midass✋🃏]: Im outside btw. 

[Morning Glory 🌼]: I am becoming too powerful, you must all bow before me. It’s the law I’m afraid 😌. 

[Morning Glory 🌼]: I'll be out in a sec!

[Zoltar 🔮]:  Sorry, I actually forgot how to read so laws don’t apply. Brb. 

Her and Jimin were still giggling by the time they made it out to Hoseok’s car, he was barely able to contain them when he planted a chaste kiss on her cheek with a reminder to text him later when she had the time. 

She waved to Jimin as they pulled out of the lot, flushing hot when he blew her a kiss which she hid from Hoseok by keeping her face out of the open windows in hopes the wind would cool it down. She hoped once this Candida shit was all settled and down, that her and Jimin could sit down and actually discuss what exactly they were–and where The two of them were still relearning how to be natural around each other, but their daily lunches had certainly helped push them in the right direction. They were now able to hold adjacent to normal conversations. 

“So what’s this field trip for? Or am I not allowed to know?” Y/n turned her head towards him, eyeing his profile. 

Hoseok used two fingers to turn the volume of the radio down, shooting her a quick sideways glance when he turned the wheel back onto the private driveway. “I have no clue. Believe it or not, they may trust me to an extent but they aren’t wagging their tails in excitement to tell me what they are up to.” 

Y/n hummed distractedly in acknowledgement, watching the guests putter about the grounds and making the best of their stay, even offering a small tour group that was huddled around a stone plaque near the tree line a shy wave as they passed. 

He left his car in front of the estate, the two of them walking alongside each other towards the back entrance of the hotel, a bag of takeout swinging off Hoseok’s arm and keeping a good amount of space between them. Strange–the distance now suddenly taking on a new meaning to Y/n with the understanding of his...abilities. This dance was becoming cumbersome. How many new secrets and secret abilities was she going to have to adjust to? At this point someone could tell her they could fly and she’d believe it. 

Y/n shook her head at the absurdity of the thought, though it did lead her to a new more interesting one. 

Had Hoseok had his since birth too? They had all been pretty elusive to the specifics of his powers for the time being. And quite frankly after their argument (their second argument to be more specific), she was treading their discussions carefully. But she supposed in order to return to normal, she had to act like it. Fake it till you make it. 

After making it across the lobby, she took the time it took to wait for the elevator as an opportunity to ask a few of her questions. “Hoseok?” 

“Yea?” He whipped his head to her instantaneously, like he had just been waiting for permission to look her way. 

“Have you always been able to do your…” She wiggled her fingers towards his hands. “Thing.” 

Hoseok laughed, the force of it jostling him forward slightly while he fidgeted with his keys in his free hand. “No. They uh…they just showed up after my injury. I think they are related.” 

The golden elevator doors slid open, followed by the inner layer of antique golden lattice peeling back to make room for their entrance. Hoseok followed behind her, using his index finger to hit the button for the eleventh floor. 

“How so?” Y/n felt like she was interrogating him and the bright lights certainly added to that atmosphere.

“Well….I think you're smart enough to figure out I didn’t break my leg by playing tag.” Hoseok’s eyes shook, darting about the small metal box to the beat of the floor numbers dinging passed overhead. 

“Gathered as such.” Y/n nodded. 

Hoseok clicked his tongue a few times, his head twitching to the side as he thought up his next answer. “I can’t tell you too much because I’m not allowed to just yet. But Mr. Brains upstairs thinks that because of how severe my incident was, I could have gotten stuck between worlds, and because I was so close to the other side I took a piece of it with me.” 

A sinking feeling weighed down Y/n’s stomach, and she felt herself subconsciously take a step closer. “How…How close were you?” 

Hoseok gave her a half smile that didn’t entirely reach his eyes, blinking his eyes a few times in quick succession. “Let’s just say that I’m lucky to have celebrated as many birthdays as I have.”

There was a ding overhead as the box came to a smooth stop, the doors opening not long after to welcome them into the hall, Hoseok stepping through the second the gap was wide enough. Y/n didn’t need any superpowers to tell he had little interest discussing the topic any further. 

The walls were a spotless cream, accented with wooden panels that came up to roughly hip height. Antique photos and art pieces aged by time hung every few feet to break apart the paint, each piece either made by someone that had lived on the property, or brought over from overseas from the family that existed before them. 

The carpet was red, freshly vacuumed and deodorized as was customary for the cleaning department. There was a cleaning cart parked beside an open room, and Y/n could hear the billowing of linens and the running of water as the worker stormed through it with practiced precision like a well-oiled machine. She found herself humoring the fantasy that it could be Jungkook that was busy turning up the room, but she knew the chances of that were slim when the entire hotel was a possibility.

Though her stomach still flopped dramatically back down in disappointment when it was a much shorter man she saw stuffing the pillows into new cases and not Jungkook’s mop of unruly dark waves. 

They came to a crossroads where the hall split into two opposite directions: one to a completely vacant hall, and the other to a much shorter hall that ended abruptly–signaling that the two rooms on either side were their massive family suites that took up the space that would otherwise be more hallway and rooms. Taking up the entire walkway between the walls lined with numbered doors was a silver ladder parked and balanced against the back wall so the person on it would have easy access to the air conditioning unit up near the ceiling. 

Yoongi had one leg propped on the top and the other a few steps down, the sleeves of his red workman’s overalls rolled up to his elbows and a screwdriver wedged between his teeth as nimble fingers fiddled with the internal pieces of the unit he had taken the front off of. On cue, he twisted his head to greet her, nodding at their arrival. 

He plucked the tool from his mouth and gave her a lopsided grin that showed his teeth. “Well, well, well–Looks like the garden’s been overgrown. Anyone got any weed killer?” 

“Nope. I’m too strong for the chemical shit.” Y/n chuckled, approaching the bottom of the ladder to get a closer look at his movements looking up at him with a playful smile. “Try harder.” 

Yoongi shook his head with a breathy laugh, reaching into his belt for a rag that he splayed over his hand to wipe at the accumulated dust within the machine. “Oh that’s right I forgot–you are all powerful or whatever bullshit you typed out with those meddling fingers of yours.” 

“So what’s the news?” Hoseok interrupted them by leaning his weight on the other end of the ladder and used his thumb to pop open his lunch container. 

Yoongi’s eyes zeroed in on the carton. “You didn’t bring me any?” 

“Did you ask?” Hoseok quipped back up with a raise of his brows, stabbing a fork from the bag into his food and shoveling it into his mouth. 

“You can have some of mine, Yoongs.” Y/n added dismissively and put one hand on the leg of the ladder to peer up into the open machine. “What are you up to?” 

“You don’t have to do that.” Yoongi’s cheeks flushed the faintest of pink, and he followed her eyes up to the machine. “Just cleaning it. Someone reported that this one was rattling a lot, so some kid probably threw something in it. Just got to find whatever it was. ”

Y/n hummed while grabbing for her own meal, cracking open the lid and revealing her meal to the both of them. She took a bite while he fished his hand through the cracks in the machine for anything out of the ordinary.

“I asked you two to come up here because I wanted to talk to you about tonight.” 

Y/n swallowed her bite quickly so she could respond, wracking her brain for whatever it was he was referring to. “What about tonight?” 

“Exactly that.” Yoongi brought his hands out from the machine with a crease forming between his brow as he raked his eyes over it one more time, then he dropped the rag in defeat and lowered himself down two rungs so he could crouch to her height. He looked at her expectantly, one eyebrow higher than the other and a cheeky smile ghosting his face. When she stared blankly at him, he licked his lips and gestured towards her food. “You said you’d share, Miss Glory.” 

Y/n’s cheeks glowed with heat, and she fumbled with the bag for a spare fork but found none. Not wanting to leave him hanging, she skewered through a piece of roasted broccoli with her own fork and held it up to his lips to take. His cheeky persona faltered momentarily, his eyes flickering down from her eyes to the fork and back to her eyes like he was asking for permission. 

“Go on then, don’t take all day.” Y/n moved the bite closer and he parted his lips to take it, his ears twinged pink and his eyes never once leaving hers.

He coughed into the side of his fist while he chewed, breaking their eye contact to flit his eyes around the hall before regaining his composure. “Tonight we are meeting up in your room for seven. Try to get there early and wear something comfortable.”

“You couldn’t text that?” Hoseok whined from beside her around his meal. 

“Nope.” Yoongi paused, eyes tracking her next bite that she put into her own mouth. “Because I need to take her phone.” 

Y/n made a noise of surprise around her food, eyes widening at him. “My phone?” 

“Yeah. It’s just a precaution.” He shrugged, wetting his lips again as with his eyes trained on a piece of chicken in her container. 

Y/n took the hint, and prepared another bite with both chicken and vegetable on it, holding it up for him to take. He did so without hesitation this time, his tongue peeking out briefly to catch it. Y/n didn’t understand why the interaction had her short circuiting and her heart fluttering in her chest encouraging the spread of heat–but it sure did. 

“How will I know what time it is then?” She kept her tone in check, not wanting to expose herself anymore than she already could be to his perceptive eyes. 

“Don’t be silly,” He tsked. “ You’ll have the kid.” 

Y/n handed him her meal to continue eating from as he talked softly with Hoseok about his day, while she was much more interested in the sweet treat Hoseok undoubtedly grabbed as per usual. She found the smaller carton and her mouth watered at the sight of chocolate and raspberry cake–and of course, tucked in the lip of the dessert container was the extra fork. Well, it was too late now. 

Hoseok’s fork immediately dove in from beside her, swiping a large forkful of cake with a giggle. 

“Rude! Not my first bite!” Y/n glared at him, the action nearly costing her the entire slice when Yoongi attacked from the right with his own fork, taking one of the raspberries from the top with it. “Oh–my god!” Y/n took a defensive step back to dodge any further swipes with a shake of her head. She gave them the most offended look she could muster. “It’s like you guys don’t even care about me!” 

The two of them snickered at their own mischief, and Y/n finally gathered the perfect bite on her fork. “Assholes” She was sure to grab the prettiest looking raspberry and pop it into her mouth, keeping her eyes locked on Yoongi’s as she did so. His eyes took on a look that was indecipherable, and he wet his lower lip almost subconsciously, eyes lingering on what she could almost believe was he mouth long after the berry disappeared. 

They finished their meal with Yoongi, and as instructed she left her phone with him in one of his dozen pockets when she and Hoseok started back towards the lobby. Hoseok was trailing behind her for most of it, and when he thought she wasn’t looking he would grimace–something she didn’t miss from the corner of her eye. 

“Do you need me to slow down?” Y/n’s question startled him, his mouth partially open in an unfinished response. “You look like you might be having a bad day. I can slow down if I’m walking too fast.” 

Hoseok chewed on his cheek in contemplation, but nodded nonetheless, letting his pace slow. She matched it all the way to the elevator, and this time he got in first and rushed to stand at the opposite end, waiting until she was nestled inside to tap the lobby button. 

“You don’t have to do that.” Hoseok coughed, adjusting his jacket over his short sleeve button down. 

“What?” Y/n tilted her head in confusion. 

Hoseok turned his face to look at her. “Slow down.” 

Y/n scoffed and made a face at him. “Whatever. I’ll do it if I want to. I don’t mind.” She took a half step closer to him, the gap having gone from a full foot to only a few inches. “If something hurts for you, we can find a way to do it differently so it doesn’t.” 

Hoseok didn’t respond, but she could feel the weight her words held in the air between them. She inched closer once more, their arms only a breath away from touching, and there was no way he couldn’t feel her hovering presence.

“Can you control it?” She asked softly.

“Sometimes.” He choked out. 

“Sometimes?” Y/n looked down at his hand that hung between them. “How about right now?” 

He tipped his head to her, swallowing thickly. “I could try.” 

Y/n took that as permission, testing the waters with her middle finger first, letting it brush against his knuckles. He took in a deep breath through his nose but didn’t pull away. Her index and ring finger followed after, weaving between his and holding them gingerly in her own. “Just because we are in a bit of a funk right now doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. We can navigate your pain together, yeah?” 

“You say that now. But when it becomes inconvenient I don’t think you’ll be saying the same thing.” Hoseok ran his thumb over hers, just barely so. 

“I think I will be.” Y/n shrugged, taking the plunge and resting her head in his shoulder for the last few seconds before the doors opened. “There’s plenty of trouble we can get into together that doesn’t involve a lot of walking.” 

“Like?” Hoseok snorted. 

The elevator started to slow, pushing Y/n to spit out whatever word vomit she could before the doors opened, ticking each one off on her fingers as she went. “Quilting? Sewing? Get a fish tank and watch the fish swim around. We could have Yoongi give us painting lessons. I could teach you to crochet–or we could learn a smaller instrument together–both sound fun! We could get you a wheelchair that I can push around and decorate so it looks cool. Develop the biggest board game collection imaginable and be those people that host game nights every other week. The possibilities are endless, we just have to be creative.” 

During her spiel, the doors had opened but neither of them made any moves to leave yet. Hoseok stared at her with glistening eyes that threatened to spill. The doors shut again, and they stood like that for a few beats while Hoseok tried to control his breathing. Y/n had begun to wonder if she had pushed the topic too far and too quickly after a few breaths. Should she apologize?

After what felt like an eternity he cleared his throat and tapped the button to open the doors with a quick wipe of his sleeve across the tip of his nose. “That sounds…fun.”

“Yeah?” Y/n followed him out into the lobby, their hands still loosely connected. 

“Yeah,” Hoseok kept his eyes forward and out of her sight. “Fun.” 

_________________________________________

Y/n had no idea what time it was. 

With no phone she was relying solely on Jungkook to make sure they got back to his room in time to change before heading over to her room. Jungkook was nothing if not punctual, and had them back in his room by five to give her time to change and prepare for whatever it was they were planning. His demeanor was quiet and reserved, like he was compartmentalizing himself for the evening, thus only furthering her unease about whatever was to come.

It didn’t help that for the past ten minutes, Jungkook’s were darting from his phone and back to her like he was waiting for something. Waiting for a sign that she had no clue on. 

Something stirred within her with the rising anticipation of the mysterious endeavor. Something that felt all too familiar and suffocating, like a cold hand danced its dainty fingers on the strings of her mind and had begun to pluck and pull on them–moving them this way and that against her will. 

Candida. 

Y/n didn’t wait around once the first wave of goosebumps cascaded down her limbs, ripping open the bathroom door that separated her from where Jungkook sat on his bed waiting. She came on hard and fast, bringing a torrential wave of anxiety and panic with her that Jungkook must’ve been able to feel from across the room, as he had leapt from the bed the second the door opened. 

“She’s–she’s here. I can feel her–” Y/n went to close the distance between them, but the tightness in chest had her stopping against her will. 

Jungkook’s expression firmed to stone and he discarded his phone onto his mattress to let it bounce down to the floor before he lunged at her, hoisting her up over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and out his door. 

“What the fuck are you–wait–aren’t we supposed to be going to my room?!” Y/n grasped for the fabric of his shirt, her stomach churning as she swung to the side when he turned left to go further down the hall instead of right. 

He didn’t answer, and she couldn’t see his face to get any sort of information from either. 

“Jungkook!” Y/n tried again, feeling herself grow more frantic. “What’s happening?” 

They stopped in front of Jimin’s door that opened almost immediately, welcoming the two of them into his pitch black room and shutting the door and the remaining light from it. 

Her feet touched the ground, and then Jungkook was gone. His dark attire made it easy for him to disappear into the darkness of the room that her eyes could not see through. 

“Guys? What’s going on…You’re freaking me out…” 

She could hear someone breathing–or maybe it was the sound her own breath, she couldn’t be sure. The darkness was beginning to warp her mind and feed into Candida’s power, her pulse skyrocketing and her head beginning to throb. 

Match struck box, and a small flame lit up Yoongi’s face close to the floor–then four more strikes; all of her friends' faces lit up by the matches they pinched between their fingers to light a ring of candles around her feet as fast as they could. In seconds she was surrounded, and the matches were snuffed out to leave the burning candles in their place. 

In front of her was a wooden desk chair with an oblong shape propped in the seat, shrouded by a black cloth and placed within the circle of flame. Her friends stayed outside the line, crouched close to the floor where Y/n could barely make out a collection of salt, crystals, and sigils she didn’t recognize. 

“Candida Wörner,” Yoongi spoke first, eyes cold and narrowed on her. “I call you forwards into the circle to show yourself.” 

Y/n’s stomach lurched with the overpowering urge to vomit as the invisible sensation of ice-cold water pouring over her skin and seeping into her skin pulled a yelp from her mouth. The water moved with lithe, calculated movements through her system, striking and prodding in places that felt tender to touch. In an immediate response, her lungs stopped expanding mid breath–staying frozen in place. Her hands clawed at her throat as she struggled to breathe in, her own body not listening to the commands, her skin cold to the touch beneath her fingertips. 

“If you cause a scene, we will not hesitate to use force.” Yoongi continued stalking each movement her body made and every breath she missed. 

Her hold did not lessen even when Y/n’s lungs started to burn from lack of air and her chest twitched with uncontrollable coughs. Namjoon’s voice started droning on from the darkness of the room in swirly prose that Y/n’s thundering heartbeat snuffed out entirely. Rage that felt like it was from outside her own body brewed deep in her belly and came ripping out of her throat with a high pitched shriek. 

Y/n still choked, gasping around nothing for air that would not come–like her lungs had been turned to stone or removed from her insides entirely. She fell to her knees as her legs grew weak, her limbs quaking from lack of oxygen. 

“She can’t breathe!” Jungkook hissed from outside the circle somewhere to her right. Y/n spun in search of him–to hold or to hit she wasn’t sure. Her mind was not her own. However her vision grew too fuzzy for her to see anything clearly in the low light, and Jungkook did not step forwards when she tried to call for him. 

Namjoon’s voice grew louder and Y/n’s felt as though her skull might splinter open, and her eyes might explode from the built up pressure behind them. Yoongi  barked commands to the others that stood just out of sight. “Here she comes! Start the second phase–now!” 

 Jungkook leapt into the circle with Hoseok hot on his tail, the latter disappearing behind the oblong object with his fingers buried in the cloth, waiting for further command to remove it. Jungkook stood over her, and she watched as his brown eyes melted to black and his hands came up to press on either side of her face. 

“Candida Wörner, I command you to come to the surface. Show yourself to me.” 

Y/n gargled, one of her hands trembling in a desperate grab for his wrists–she needed to breathe or else she wasn’t going to last very long. Voices swirled about her mind, hissing and snapping their jaws at her with accusations aimed at Jungkook, their wild grovels for attention trying to blame the pain on the hands that pressed into her cheeks. Jungkook slid one of his hands down to her throat and gripped the side of it, his touch bringing oxygen rushing into her lungs for a few short breaths before the sensation was ripped from her again. 

“No!”  Words scratched from Y/n’s mouth, but they weren’t her own. The voice didn’t belong to her. “He is hurting me!” 

He’s going to kill us! 

Stop him! 

Jungkook’s nostrils flared and his chest heaved, his other hand joining at the base of her throat to let another burst of air into it. If he was hurting her, why did it feel like he was the one letting her breathe? Her skin burned where he touched, and she tried to push him away–no–Candida tried to push him away. Y/n wanted him to stay right where he was. 

Sweat started to surface from every pore of her skin, forming droplets and drying out her lips. She could feel the skin cracking as her mouth stretched in screams of protest as more pain bloomed in her middle like Candida was running her internal organs through a shredder. Her brain was throwing forth the images of Jungkook’s dying face to the forefront of her mind, forcing her to watch the scene over and over again until she started to cry out, begging it to stop. 

“She’s fighting it,” Jungkook spat out through gritted teeth. “She’s hurting her–I can’t-” She could feel his hands starting to slip away. 

Get him off of us! Look what he does to you! Liar! Liar! 

Her mind was screaming at her to hurt him–but she knew not to listen this time. Her eyes flickered over his shoulder to see Yoongi’s that had gone dark like a stormy sea, his hands shaking and his chest heaving, his mouth moving but no words sounded from them. Trust me. 

Y/n took one hand and slid it into Jungkook’s hair, pulling on the strands to keep his attention on her face croaking out her words through battered vocal cords. “Don’t. Don’t let go.” Y/n gave a firm shake of her head–locking their eyes onto one another. “You get her out of me, you understand?” 

Jungkook looked torn, his expression struck with horror. 

“Get her out–I’ll only be okay if you get her out.” Y/n gave one last good tug on his hair, and let her hand drop to the ground as it gave out. 

Jungkook scooped her back up to a standing position from beneath her arms, another set of arms joining in to help him hold her upright. Jimin. 

“Do it now, Hoseok.” Jungkook growled, and in the next second the black cloth was tossed aside, an old looking mirror with a dusted ornate frame sitting proudly out of its covering–looking more terrifying than even the worst creatures hell could birth to her at the moment. 

Jungkook forced her to stand in front of it, to take in the reflection of herself how Candida had made her: like she was on the brink of death. 

A radio sputtered to life, and Yoongi held it up behind the mirror, just outside of the circle. 

“Tantchen, bist du da?” 

Y/n’s body gave a shudder, and she would have fallen forwards if it wasn’t for Jimin and Jungkook holding her upright. 

“Warum hast du deine Kinder getötet, Tantchen?” 

Y/n’s body charged forwards blindly towards the voice, the reflection of her body nearly splitting in half as Candida’s face overlaid her own. 

“Namjoon!” Hoseok tossed something across the room to the man in question, and Y/n heard pages frantically flipping from her left. Namjoon started reciting something in a language she didn’t know, and without warning, Jungkook grabbed for Y/n and pushed her towards the mirror–only it wasn’t her body in his hands. 

With a blood curdling scream, Y/n and Candida were ripped apart from one another–every muscle in her body contracted and spasmed like he had torn her tendons out with her, and she collapsed to the floor in a writhing heap, Jimin softening the blow. Jungkook slammed Candida into the mirror, her body vanishing into its surface almost instantaneously. 

Hoseok and Namjoon ran at the mirror with hands outstretched, Namjoon’s fingers dragging shapes onto the glass with oiled fingers, and Hoseok planted both hands on either side of the frame, squeezing inwards like he was the one keeping her in. 

Namjoon was almost yelling now, but to Y/n it sounded so far away. Candida was thrashing from within the mirror, throwing herself at the glass to escape its confines with her eyes latched on Y/n’s–almost desperate. 

Y/n whined at the residual throbbing sensation in her head, and closed her eyes to block out the candles that now looked too bright. The yelling and banging vanished, as did the smells and the pain. The rushing river from within slowed down to a gentle sway, soothing the stinging wounds Candida’s separation had made. 

All had gone quiet. 

They all waited on baited breath, too hesitant to assume victory already. But when Hoseok covered the mirror with the black cloth once more, the entire room took a shared breath of relief, and Y/n let her head fall back onto the floor. 

Candida was gone. 

_________________________________________

Bear pushed open the Adelaide doors, directing his companions to spread out on all sides–Margaret was assigned to Youngho’s side and took towards the stage. They were to stay out of the situation unless absolutely necessary. 

It was no feat to find Duane, his massive form slumped over the bar counter with empty glasses either smashed or lying on their side from the abuse he had put them through. A mess. His brother was an absolute mess. 

Bear kept his steps light and controlled as he approached his brother, placing a hand onto the countertop a yard or so away. 

“Duane…” The man in question made no move to signify he was cognizant, but Bear tried anyways. “Today is undoubtedly one of the hardest days you will ever have to face,” Bear slid into a stool a few away from his brother, keeping his eyes on him at all time. “But it is also the hardest day for your children. They need you out there–” 

“Do not,” Duane’s voice was muffled by the counter his cheek was squished against. “Do not lecture me on my own children, Bär.” His words were spoken with venom as they peeled from his lips. 

“I am not lecturing. I am advising.” Bear gripped the counter’s edge with his fingers. 

Duane shifted, and his shoulders began to shake. For a moment Bear thought Duane was crying and started forward to comfort him–until the sounds grew faster and louder; he was laughing. Cruel and cold. 

“Advising? You, advising me, Bruder?” Duane raised his nearly empty glass to his lips with a condescending shake of his head. “I would rather die than take advice from you.” 

Bear could feel his blood pressure rising, and grit his teeth to keep from snapping. “You don’t mean that.” 

“Oh but I do,” Duane exhaled as he brought the glass back down to the counter top, twisting the empty glass this way and that as he thought. “You know,” he started with a tone that made Bear’s heart pound, “I always thought that out of anyone else in the world–you would be the one person I could trust more than myself.” 

“Why can’t you?” Bear slid from the barstool in preparation for the blow he knew was building. 

Duane looked at him–eyes drooped and merciless. “Why can’t I?” He took one thick hand and fumbled with his breast pocket, sliding out a folded sheet of paper and sliding it to Bear. 

It was the note Patti had left him that he was sure he had tucked into his pocket after they had left the ballroom. Bear couldn’t move–Couldn’t breathe. 

“Yeah.” Duane stood, stretching up to his full towering height. “I thought so.” 

Bear had a split second to dodge the glass that sailed through the air at deadly speed. He made it just in time for it to whiz by the skin of his ear and explode into thousands of little pieces against the counter where he had just been. 

Duane charged him, all muscle and height with a strength that could tip a bull if they faced head on. But Bear was smaller–faster–and well trained. He ducked under his arms and danced around his figure, dropping to the floor as Duane gripped a stool and both hands and swung it in a circle with the aim to do as much damage as possible. 

Bear had no doubt in his mind that at this moment if given the chance, Duane would kill him. 

Duane may be strong, but the amount of alcohol burrowing through his system slowed him down, giving Bear the upper hand. 

“I’m not going to fight you, Bruder!” Bear leapt back as Duane made another grab for his head and missed, falling sideways onto the bar counter to catch his breath. 

Duane growled under his breath. “You should.” 

“I won’t.” Bear repeated, standing firm. “You are one person I won’t.” 

“You have the nerve to fuckin’ come in here and tell me how to take care of my kids like you know them better than me after stealing my wife’ Duane shook his head, wiping away a spot of drool that had started to fall from the corner of his mouth. “And now you won’t even fight me like a man?” 

“A man is not made by his ability to fight.” Bear shouted back, his temper rising. “And I didn’t steal your wife.” 

“You didn’t? So you just happened to be screwing her while she was married to me?” Duane laughed louder than before. “Who cares about that bitch anyways. She’s dead to me now.” 

Bear’s blood ran cold, and his hands shook with restraint, his voice low and biting. “You don’t mean that. You are just angry with me–call me whatever names you want and throw whatever shit you can get your hands on–but do not talk about her that way.” 

“Then you don’t get to talk about my kids–they are none of your business.” Duane leveled him with an accusatory finger. 

“Your kids?” Bear inquired. “Are you sure about that?” 

Bear let his fists clench and his tongue loosen beyond his control. He couldn’t even give Patti the dignity and respect she deserved on the day of her own funeral. Couldn’t step up as a father for one singular day. All he saw was red. 

Duane cocked his head to the side, a twisted grin taking shape on his face. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

Bear couldn’t stop himself. He wanted to watch him burn. 

“Obviously Johan and Dorothea are yours–the timelines wouldn’t make sense for I was off overseas. But Henry…” Bear gave Duane a second to soak in what he was saying. “Henry is where things get convoluted.” 

The room went still. Even the chandeliers that hung far above them seemed to stop their swaying dances. 

Duane was immobile as his eyes glossed over with a dismissive chuckle. But when Bear didn’t back down, his smile slowly wiped from his mouth, and the gears in his head turned over one another in realization. 

“His birthday is November 6th in case you forgot.” Bear huffed, and turned to make his way back to the front door. If he stayed any longer one of them would surely kill the other–two trained killers blinded by rage would surely never end well. 

The breath was forcibly pulled from his lungs as Bear tackled him to the floor, rolling him onto his back to land  a harsh blow to Bear’s face with a curled fist, barely letting it collide with his cheek before charging his next hit. 

Bear let him get a few in, taking them one after the other for the punishment he deserved–but then it was his turn. 

He grabbed for Duane’s neck and used his size against him, careening his already unsteady upper half back so Bear was the one on top. There was a loud crack as Bear’s elbow made contact with Duane’s nose, spurting blood down his chin and seeping down his neck to the floor. Commotion resounded from near the stage, and in a surge of power Duane’s eyes burst open, bulging with rage and nearly golden with wrath in the dimly lit bar. 

In a feat of inhuman strength, Duane sprang forwards and knocked Bear onto his back, both brutish hands coming down on Bear’s throat and squeezing his airways down to slits. Bear looked up at him, defeated and broken–his brother who he had loved more than anything in this world–was killing him. 

One of Bear’s hands came up to grip onto the skin of Duane’s arm as his windpipe started to bend under the force, tears welling in his eyes as he gave one final croak. “Duane…Please…” 

Something in Duane’s expression twitched, but he did not yield. 

A small silver bell clanged violently as it was pummeled into the side of Duane’s skull, Margaret’s fist guiding it into sharp precise hits and creating the perfect distraction for Seonggi and Youngho to rip Duane’s hulking body off of Bear so he could breathe.

“I told you to ring it near his ears, not to bash his head in!” Seonggi hissed as he shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around Duane’s face like a mask, blocking out his vision of Bear. 

Margaret caught her breath and wiped the metal instrument on the side of her black dress, bending over to offer Bear her other hand. “It worked, didn’t it?” 

“Unbelievable, the lot of you are…” Seonggi grunted out, struggling to hold Duane back. 

“Don’t be such a stick in the mud,” Youngho had both arms locked around Duane’s middle to aid in his restraint, “She did great!” 

Duane snarled from beneath the jacket, his brute strength jerking all three men forwards, nearly escaping with one swift tug. Seonggi’s eyes flashed with worry, bringing his elbow around Duane’s throat to hold him steady. “Bear–Run!” 

Margaret acted first, yanking Bear to his feet and guiding his unsteady gait to the double red doors and out into the lobby. He could hear the jingles start to ring out like a church bell choir from behind them with Duane’s voice calling out over the sounds, louder than Bear thought humanly possible.

“Don’t come back!” Duane tore the suit jacket to shreds, launching the two men off of his arms and back while he blubbered after him. “Go off and fight in ‘nam like a good little soldier–die there for all I care!” Duane’s voice echoed after him even as he sprinted across the lobby. With one final bellow from his brother that vibrated the walls, all of the lights in the lobby flickered, some of them even dying entirely as if to prove his point. “DIE THERE!” 

Bear tore down the front steps after Margaret, kicking up dust and grass as they went. She herded him to a blue rectangular-shaped car in the parking lot, fumbling through her pockets until her fist closed around a set of keys which she promptly tossed his way. “Take my car. Just go–I’ll tell Johan what–”

“No!” Bear cut her off with a gasp. “You can’t tell him what happened–any of them. They mustn't know! It would ruin them…” He was holding back sobs at this point, beggin the young woman in front of him to heed his words. He could feel his throat swelling with bruises already.  

“O-okay! Okay! I won’t,” She grabbed for his other hand and held them both in hers–a promise with shaking hands. “I won’t.” 

“Thank you,” Bear sighed in relief and tore away from her hold, wrenching the car door open and slamming it shut behind him so hard the car shook. He looked up at her from the open window, leaning out with a salute. “You’re going to make one hell of a Wörner.” 

“You come back now,” Margaret squinted down at him with the ghost of a smile. “Johan talks about you too much for you to leave for good–and I do think he should be getting married soon.” 

“Do you now?” Bear turned the engine over with a strained chuckle, feeling it rumble beneath his seat and the yellow headlights lighting up the shrubbery of the woods around them. “I’ll see what I can do then. You’ll tell them I love them for me, won’t you?” 

“I will, but I’m sure they already know.” 

_________________________________________

_________________________________________

“Tantchen, bist du da?”: Aunty, are you there?

“Warum hast du deine Kinder getötet, Tantchen?”: Why did you kill your children, Aunty?

Next chapter

Taglist: @kokoandkookie @rkive-joonie @singdancedreampray @erescheesemelted

[marzipaneavocado]

🎵 OC tag game 🎵

Tagged by @m0n0lithical!!! Thank you~

Normally I would have chosen Avo or Vesper for this game, but apparently and to my surprise, everyone really liked Lenox. Well, good news, he is not one of those Sims that I create “just because”, but he is (was?) actually an OC that I developed a bit. Unfortunately, I abandoned his character because I didn't see any use for him... but that may change now. 👀

NAME: Lenox Antunes

NICKNAME: Ox, although sometimes his friends call him "Sponge" to annoy him (Yes, "Sponge" because he loves watching Spongebob).

GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cis male, he/him.

AGE: 28

SPOKEN LANGUAGE(S): British English, British Sign Language.

OCCUPATION: Music producer.

🎵favourite

🎵have they...?

COLOUR: Blue.

ENTERTAINMENT: Listening to music, watching various movies/series, going to concerts.

DRINK: He doesn't drink alcoholic drinks, as for non-alcoholic, it's bubble tea.

PAST-TIME: Wandering around the city or other areas to gain inspiration.

🎵are they...?

PASSED UNIVERSITY: Yes, although let's just say… he was quite rebellious at the time because his parents wanted him to be a lawyer and… well, let's just say Lenox can now work as a lawyer too lol. (He still doesn't want to)

HAD SEX: No.

HAD SEX IN PUBLIC: No and he doesn't like the idea of it.

GOT TATTOOS: Yeah, one can be seen on his face (No it's not a third eye, winkwink 💚).

GOT SCARRED: Yeah, in a stupid accident in which he fell off his skateboard and hit his face on the ground. Damn knows what exactly caused the long scar on his face, but there you go.

HAD A BROKEN HEART: He didn't have a chance because he doesn't like dating. He thinks that love will come on its own, and if it doesn't… well, maybe his destiny is loneliness.

🎵family

A CUDDLER: Oh hell yesss, he loves to cuddle with something while watching TV. That's why he has lots of plushies, because he has no one else to cuddle.

EASILY JEALOUS: Rather not, he always tries to see inspiration in the work of others and not be jealous of it. As for jealousy in relationships… well, it's hard to say when you haven't had any partner.

TRUSTWORTHY: He definitely keeps his promises! He doesn't give away secrets either.

Woah, that was a lot. I won't lie, I had to think a little longer on some of the information because Lenox wasn't developed THAT much… (for example, I didn't plan the part where he was forced to be a lawyer lol). Anyway, I had a good time there and I hope you had a good time reading all the rambling too, so… now it's time to tag~

SIBLINGS: None. He sometimes jokes that his parents were fed up with his annoying ass, so they didn't want a Lenox 2.0 just in case.

PARENTS: Overprotective, expecting their child to be the best, mother and father. He no longer keeps in touch with them, calling only on their birthdays.

CHILDREN: Hell no, he thinks he would be a terrible parent.

PETS: Four rats! And a damn big aquarium. With fish inside, of course.

@1-800-cuupid @queenofthedork @orionisms @salemssimblr @sadraccoon061 Sorry if you have already been tagged D:<

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Hey there! It's time to announce the third annual potluck! We're going for two weeks again to give everyone time to participate, attack, and lurk!

What is it?

It's an open event that's low stakes, low effort, and lets everyone bring something to the table. Instead of doing a gift exchange or limiting the topic to one fandom, we've decided to throw a potluck!

Make something new, bring something old back, or comment and reblog. It's about having fun and uplifting each other!

Post using the tag #potluck2025 to bring something to the potluck! Show off something new or old, attack others, or lurk in the tag and like/reblog!

Who can participate?

It's open to everyone: Artists, Gif Makers, Editors, Writers, and Lurkers.

What do I bring?

Whatever you want! Make something for yourself, bring something to attack others with, comment on that art/fic you love revisiting, make recs, gifs, art, words, edits, you name it! WIPs welcome!

Check out previous years' tags #potluck2023 and #potluck2024 for examples!

[cintipede]

NOT missing mermay this time. first meeting between martin and siren jon 🐟

[agentlove]

they would get divorced in one universe just to find eachother in another one

alternatively titled: sometimes you're the level-headed token flesh-head impulse-control-and-polycule-member of a stubborn, eccentric, and hearty telephone-headed drug addict, and there's cruelty in the world you deem fit to suicidally fight, and that either goes about as well as you'd expect it to, or you learn about love and the value of your life and junk along the way

[gachapains]

Infold put their whole pussy into making Caleb I swear to God!!!! As a Zayne and Sylus girlie, initially I was like... Oh Caleb is back cool, he's not really for me. NOW HE'S MY MAIN LI??? WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN???

[suegodvester]

One drink and straight to bed, he vowed to himself.

“A water?” The barman scoffed. “The poor man’s choice, I see.”

Wally chuckled. “The choice of a man who just got here from a trip longer than you can imagine. D’ya got any rooms free up in this place or?”

The barman’s face softened, and he laughed as he went to grab a glass of water. Returning, he leaned in as he handed Wally his drinks. “We do, but tell me, have you ever been here before?”

A blush rose up his cheeks as Wally shook his head. “To be perfectly honest, I’m not even sure where ‘here’ is,” he laughed awkwardly. He suddenly felt very looked at.

“Curious.” The man pulled back, then nodded to himself. “Gotham usually doesn’t show herself to people who haven’t been here before, well, unless she has plans for you. Or so they say.”

“Gotham?” Wally blurted out, eyes widened in shock. “I can’t believe I’m actually here.” He laughed, not because he was happy, but he couldn’t help himself from laughing at his own stupidity. Of course, with all the weirdness going on around here, how didn’t he realize this sooner?

He did it. He found the no-man’s-land that was particularly starting to look like an any-man’s-land to him. The place he had been looking for all along.

“You know, there’s some rumors about-” The bartender started, then stopped dead in his sentence and looked up behind Wally. Right then, Wally felt two, strong hands clasp onto his shoulders.

“You’re in my seat.” A deep, bouldering voice said, the two goons behind him snickering loudly.

Wally looked around him and noticed the two chairs besides him had indeed come up empty. Still, he shrugged and tipped his drink back. “And I was having a really good conversation.” He shot back, not getting off the chair. “Please, do continue.”

He heard a couple “Ooh”’s and “Shit”’s and snickers behind him as the saloon fell silent. All eyes fell on him, or well, them, as Wally shrugged the hands off his shoulders and leaned forward.

“Funny, kid.” The man all but growled. The bottle in his hand -some dirt cheap brand of beer, Wally guessed- came into his view as Wally skillfully -although accidentally- dodged the bottle when he turned the bar chair around. The glass made a painful shattering noise as it came into contact with the edge of the bar, sending shards everywhere.

His attacker staggered back, the intoxication visible in how he tripped rather gracefully against one of his back-up buddies. Immediately, everyone at the bar shot up from their seats and started screaming. Some people saw this as the perfect time to throw some punches around, and Wally winced as he heard the rough sound of a cracking bone right next to him.

It all happened in the blink of an eye, the way this bar fight came to be, but now everyone was in on it. Everyone, except for Wally. Shit, had he really just started this? He frantically looked around, hoping to spot a way out of this mess he had so swiftly created. Hells, he hadn’t even been here for over ten minutes and he already-

A hand slipped around his wrist, and the strong grip pulled him out of his thoughts as fast as he was pulled out of the saloon. When the cold night’s air pushed his hair out of his eyes, his mind cleared. Loud screams and thuds against the walls and floors, although a bit more muted now, made him look at one of the windows.

What just happened?

“You’re really quite something, y’know?” An amused, cocky voice startled him fully away from whatever was happening inside the saloon now, and he traced his eyes to the figure in front of him.

[sforzesco]

revisiting crassus, clodius, and the bona dea scandal! but this time with a new composition and a limited color palette

originally when I drew the first version of this idea, it was back when I thought that crassus would be a week long fixation at most (lmao), and instead he just. took up permanent residence in my mind. it seemed like a fun thing to go back to an earlier idea and see what changed now that I've spent a lot more time with everyone involved in this era!

also the way these two interlocked politically. I am. biting into it.

The Defeat of Rome: Crassus, Carrhae and the Invasion of the East, Gareth C. Sampson

Crassus: the First Tycoon, Peter Stothard

Crassus: A Political Biography, B. A. Marshall

Crassus, Clodius, and Curio in the Year 59 B.C., Robert J Rowland, Jr.

bsky ⭐ pixiv ⭐ pillowfort ⭐ cohost

[makeriia]

I may be swamped with projects but god damnnit I WILL test out my new markers so have a Mydei