#That's also why she heard ... everything ... THAT night

[passionxwrites]

Summer Romance 5

Pairings: ModernAU! Elias "Stack" Moore x BlaclOC! (Cymone) x Elijah "Smoke" Moore

Warnings: MDNI, cursing, use of the N word, violence, mentions of guns, fighting, Mary slander, a lil smooching, cliff hanger (don’t kill me!)

Word Count: 5.1K

Masterlist

Cymone

<1 week later>

Why the fuck do you keep getting drunk

And come tearing my shit up

You know that liquor turn you up

You done drove into my truck

I got a hole up in my truck

You a hoe but cold as fuck

And look at me still tryna fuck

Cymone hummed to the lyrics of Don Who Leo as she focused on applying her last lash cluster to her right eye. Tonight was finally the opening night of Club Juke and she was so excited for the twins. They had been working hard to make this dream come true for as long as she could remember and to see everything come to fruition was amazing. Smoke and Stack had already set up a section for her and her girls so she knew tonight was going to be lit. It was also going to be the first night she would spend at their place as well. Her stomach contained butterflies because although she had spent the night with a man before this was different of course. Smoke and Stack weren’t regular and she also wondered how it would work as well.

Whose room am I gone stay in?

Are we gone sleep together?

Are they gone wanna have sex?

Her mind was racing with possibilities and to be on the safe side she made sure to straighten up down below just in case action was to be had.

“What you thinking bout over there,” Reana asked as she emerged from Cymone’s bathroom.

“Just thinking bout tonight. That’s all,” Cymone answered with faux indifference although her stomach was twisting and turning.

“Awwww my baby’s nervous about her first sleepover with Zack and Cody.”

“Do you have a list of people in your head to call them,” Cymone asked with a snort as she turned her body away from her mirror to face her friend.

“Yes but that’s besides the point. Look, I know you a lil nervous cause you in this lil polyamorous situation but you know Smoke and Stack. They some gentlemen when they wanna be so I’m sure they ain’t gone do nothing you don’t wanna do,” Reana reassured Cymone as she gripped her shoulders.

“I know but the butterflies just keep floating around in my stomach just at the thought of something happening. I’m more so excited than nervous.”

“That’s great! Long as you not nervous. Now which one of these outfits are you wearing? I’m more partial to this halter jumpsuit,” Reana asked as she surveyed the three outfits laid onto Cymone’s bed. Cymone turned to the bed as placed a hand under her chin in thought.

“Hmmm I think imma do the leather shorts with the gold chain belt and the yellow crop top.”

“Okay leather shorts!! I think you need to wear them thigh high leather boots with em. Also I know what you doing with that yellow crop cause you always got underboob with that shirt. You giving it to em tonight!”

“Yeah it’s been a minute since I stepped out so I must remind these folks who I am. Good idea with them black boots though,” Cymone said she gave Reana a quick round of applause.

“Mhm! Now let’s hurry cause Tricia just texted saying her and Val gone be here in 20.”

Cymone immediately rushed to get ready. Thankfully she didn’t have to do her hair because she had recently gotten faux locs the day before and she was doing light makeup because she had a habit of sweating really bad and she knew the club was going to be packed. It had been the talk of the town and everybody and they mama planned on being there tonight.

Once she had her clothes on she packed a spend the night bag. She made sure to pack some pajamas, her hygiene stuff, an outfit for the next day and the lingerie Reana forced her to purchase and pack. In her words ‘you don’t need to be caught lacking.’ It was a simple red lace bra with matching panties but just looking at it had her nerves going haywire yet again. She shoved it in her bag and slung it over her shoulder just as she heard Tricia obnoxiously honking the horn from outside.

“Come on Re,” Cymone yelled behind her as she trotted down the stairs to see Ganny sitting on the couch with a glass of wine, her eyes trained on the television in front of her.

“We headed out Ganny. I’ll let you know when I get to Reana’s house.”

Now although Cymone was grown she didn’t have it in her to tell Ganny she was spending the night with a man let alone two so she decided to settle on a little white lie.

“Okay baby. Y’all be safe, have fun, and please keep an eye on Duke. You know how that boy can get,” Ganny spoke with a shake of her head.

Cymone only giggled knowing exactly what she meant. She was about to respond before the sound of Tricia honking that damn horn again cut her off.

“Y’all gone on before I have to cuss that lil girl out,” Ganny said as she put her eyes back on the tv. Cymone and Reana made their way out of the door and to Tricia’s gray Kia.

“Took y’all bitches long enough! What was y’all was doing sewing the clothes?”

“Tricia shut up damn! You was out here for a few measly ass minutes. Acting like you been sitting out here for an hour,” Cymone fussed with a roll of her eyes. She hated when Tricia volunteered to drive the group because she always wanted to rush everybody. Val’s quiet snicker could be heard from the front seat causing Tricia to snap her head her way while scoffing.

“Val I know you ain’t laughing!”

Valencia Yarbrough was the most recent addition to the group. While Cymone, Reana, and Patricia practically grew up together, they hadn’t met Valencia until their freshman year of college. Valencia was from Memphis, Tennessee and had came to attend Jackson State on a full ride scholarship. She was brought into the group due to her being Tricia’s roommate and she was a really sweet girl. She was smart as a whip so her head was always in her books but sometimes the girls were able to pull her away and get her out to a party every blue moon. This summer she opted to get a job in Jackson and rent an apartment with Tricia instead of going back home so that she could hang out with her girls without any academic responsibilities holding her back.

“Don’t yell at Val. You know you be needing somebody to check you Tricia. That mouth big as the Mississippi and you always running it,” Reana added as she applied her lip gloss while looking into her compact mirror. Tricia continued to sit there with a scowl on her face which brought Cymone amusement. Tricia was honestly a drama queen so the girls—besides Val—typically had to bring her back down to Earth. She would always pout about it for a few minutes and then be back laughing and playing around like she wasn’t mad. It was just how she operated. Val noticed the look on her face and opted to turn the radio back up until they made it to the club. Once they got there they all immediately groaned at how packed the parking lot was.

“Damn, we shoulda spent the night at this bitch,” Tricia cursed as she drove through aisle after aisle trying to find a spot.

“Smoke said we can park in the back next to him and Stack,” Cymone informed the group as she clicked her phone closed. Tricia made eye contact with her through the rear view with a small smirk on her face.

“Big Daddy Smoke making sure his lady don’t gotta park all the way in Egypt. I know that’s right,” she yelled out playfully while sticking out her tongue.

Cymone simply rolled her eyes with a smile on her face. She had finally broke the news about her new situation with the twins to Tricia and Val a couple days ago and Tricia was more excited than she was.

Once the girls parked the car they walked around to the front entrance so they could really make their entrance. Since they were VIP guests they didn’t have to wait in the line and pay the cover charge like everyone else which of course garnered a lot of ugly looks from people who had been waiting for God knows how long. They were escorted inside and to their section by one of Duke’s boys and not long after the bottle girls were making their way over with bottles, sparklers, and a sign that said If he look he took.

Cymone could only smirk knowing this was Stacks idea. He had been stalking her instagram page one day and called her trying to bicker about her using that same saying from the sign as her caption.

“The fuck you mean if he look he took?”

“Ain’t nobody else getting took round this bitch Cymone.”

“Keep playing you gone get a nigga shot.”

Two bottles of 1942 were placed in an ice bucket along with pineapple juice and Cymone immediately snatched up the shot glasses and passed them around. After each girl had a shot Cymone dramatically cleared her throat.

“Cheers to a summer we will never forget ladies!”

The girls cheered and shouted “I know that’s right” and threw the liquor back. Cymone grimaced for a short second before she soon fixed her face. Just as she grabbed some juice to chase it she felt a hand grab her ankle. Cymone quickly snatched her foot away in urgency and turned around to see none other than Rashad smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

“Here this fuck nigga go,” she could hear Tricia declare loudly causing Cymone to nod her head in agreement. Rashad had become insufferable over the last week with the constant calling and texting. After a while she had to block his number cause it had gotten that out of hand. She had also purposefully refrained from reporting his behavior to Smoke and Stack because she knew they would shoot first and ask questions later and she didn’t want Rashad to get hurt but at this point the nigga was asking for it.

“What you want Rashad,” Cymone asked and she folded her arms noting he was flanked on both sides by two of his homeboys.

“I want you but you actin like you don’t understand that. Blocking my number was uncalled for babygirl.”

“I’m not yo babygirl and yo number is blocked because you getting on my damn nerves. Ain’t gone ever be no us. Get that through yo thick ass skull!”

Cymone could see Rashad’s face begin to contort in anger but she truly didn’t care. Wasn’t no nigga gone harass her and make her feel uncomfortable because he didn’t understand the word no. She ain’t even play like that.

“Bitch who you the hell you think you talking to,” Rashad yelled as if he had lost his mind.

Why would he do that?

Before Cymone could even blink Smoke was behind Rashad with his pistol pointed at his head. A quick survey of the area and she noticed Stack at his side with a grin a mile wide and Duke standing behind one of the friends. She knew it wasn’t just them waiting on shit to pop off either. The whole club was full of niggas they ran with just waiting on the nod to really set shit off if Rashad or his boys wanted to get stupid and that’s the last thing Cymone wanted. Tonight was supposed to be drama free and about the twins.

“Who you calling a bitch nigga,” Smoke spoke menacingly as he nudged the gun further into Rashad’s skull.

“Sound like he was calling our woman a bitch to me Smoke but you know I can be a lil hard of hearing sometimes. Is that what you said Ricky,” Stack asked as he thumped Rashad continuously against the head.

“My name ain-“

Before Rashad could get his sentence completely out Stacks fist connected with his jaw. Cymone jumped at how fast he moved and from the corner of her eye she could see Val shaking a little. She quickly grabbed her hand and lightly squeezed. Stack squatted down over Rashad’s body as he lay on the ground clutching his mouth while glaring at the men standing around him.

“The next time I see you around her or see you even thinking of saying some shit to her I’m gone be yo worst nightmare,” he said as he punctuated the end of his sentence by tapping his forehead with his pointer finger. That same smile on his face but Cymone knew there was no amusement behind it. Stack slowly stood and took a spot next to Smoke who was now standing by Duke.

“Now get the fuck out our establishment. Before we put yo ass out,” Smoke gruffly as he tucked his pistol into the back of his pants.

One of Rashad’s friends immediately pulled him from the floor and they made their exit without a fuss. Cymone finally felt like could breathe knowing he was gone. She also didn’t realize she had been squeezing the hell out of Val’s hand until the girl began to tug away.

“Sorry stink,” Cymone said apologetically as she rubbed Val’s hand before dropping it.

“Sugar.”

Cymone turned her attention to Smoke who beckoned her with a nod. She stepped down from the section while telling the girls she would be back before following the twins to what she guessed was their office on the second floor of the building. Once they were all inside Stack closed the door and locked it.

“You okay,” Smoke asked as she grabbed her face and began looking her over as if a bruise would pop up out of nowhere.

“I’m fine Jesus. He ain’t do nothing but say some words. I’m good,” she mumbled as she removed Smoke's hands only to be turned and pulled into the embrace of Stack who was standing behind her.

“You know he worry bout you. You ain’t no fragile lil thang but you ain’t made of teflon either,” Stack spoke into the top of her head before he leaned back and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. Cymone took a moment to relax into his arms and take a deep breath before she pulled away and turned to Smoke.

“I know you worry bout me Jah but I’m fine I promise,” she said as she flashed him an honest smile while throwing her arms around his neck.

She had been working on being more affectionate with them since she stepped into her new role as their woman. Some things still took some getting used to like the stares and the whispers from other people. Luckily anytime she felt herself getting worked up they were there to calm her down. Just as she began to lean in to give her man a kiss there was a knock on the door that broke her out of her romantic mood. Stack raised his voice telling em to come in and they were faced with none other than Cornbread.

“We got a lil problem downstairs. The nigga over the door let Mary in and Sammie went to go tell her she shouldn’t be there and she told him to get the fuck out her face. Now his lady and her friends down there bout to beat her ass.”

Cymone immediately dropped her arms and straightened her back the second she heard that name.

Mary

That bitch had been pissing her off lately too. Word got round to her in the suburbs that Cymone was with Smoke and Stack and she had been talking cash shit. Talking about how Cymone was a man stealing hussy and a tramp for being with two men. She was also spreading word that she was gone take Stack back as if she wasn’t married. Cymone had been itching for the day she finally ran into that hoe so she could stomp a Mississippi Mud Hole in her ass and tonight was her lucky night. All thoughts of Rashad has flew out the window.

“Angel-“

“Shut up Stack,” Cymone interrupted with her hand raised as she pushed past Cornbread and made quick work of getting down the stairs two at a time. Once she made it to the bottom she soon spotted her girls who were being held back by Duke and Sammie. This was perfect because they were so wrapped up in keeping Re and them away nobody was paying attention to her.

“No let em go Duke! I can whoop all of them bitches. You know Stack taught me how to fight,” Mary spewed out confidently as she eyed the women with a smirk.

“Well well well. Look what the trailer park drug in,” Cymone threw out as she took in her opponent. Brown hair straightened, black halter top, jeans, and flip flops.

Basic ass white bitch

Mary slowly turned to Cymone and let out a little chuckle.

“Oh I’m supposed to be scared of you too?”

“Heavens no! I would never want you to be afraid of lil ole me. Nah I want you to be so deluded into thinking I can’t whoop yo ass that you never see me coming,” Cymone stated as she slowly circled Mary just to raise the hair on her arms.

“Well I ain’t and I never will be. I mean it was your so called man that taught me how to fight,” Mary spoke with a smug smirk in her face as if that was supposed to rile Cymone up.

Cymone observed Mary quietly and from the corner of her eye she could see Stack making his way through the crowd. A slight turn of her head she could see Smoke watching intently from upstairs.

“See the difference between me and you is, I ain’t never needed a nigga to teach me a bitch ass thang. You run around this town tryna make yourself blend in cause of that lil drop of black you got so you fuck every nigga you can lay a hand on. However, the reason that nigga can’t get enough of me is cause he know I don’t need him. You really built yo whole life around a nigga that wouldn’t piss on yo ass if you was on fire,” Cymone spat as she could see the anger forming onto Mary’s face.

A hit dog bout to start hollering.

Cymone anticipated it before it could happen and just as Mary tried to lunge she was on her first. She grabbed the girl by the back of her head and threw her down. With her on the ground she sent a kick to her side that probably bruised a couple ribs if not broke em.

“Bitch you’ll never have the upper hand on me! I whoop hoes like you for fun,” Cymone yelled as she felt a hand go around her waist and snatch her backwards. She collided into a body but a sniff of their cologne told her it was Stack. She slowly turned to look at him. Her entire body was full of energy and her eyebrows were furrowed and here he was smiling down at her as if she was the next coming of Jesus.

Through the haze of her focus on Stack she could hear Duke yelling at somebody to get Mary out of the club. Sammie had found his way back behind the DJ booth and the sounds of BigXThaPlug crooned throughout the building shifting the mood back to a party. A hand on the back of her neck brought her back completely. She didn’t have to look away from Stack to know who it was.

“Go back with yo friends. Have some fun. I’ll come get ya in a hour,” Smoke spoke low. Cymone only nodded and trotted off back to her girls.

Smoke

Smoke continued to watch over the club from the balcony of the second floor. He had been behind the scenes all night making sure things were running smoothly. He was also making sure the money had been adding up and thankfully they were making a good profit for the first night. He knew every night wouldn’t be like this but as long as they had these days a few times a month then they had nothing to worry bout.

His eyes trailed from the door back to her. After Cymone’s run in with that punk ass nigga Ray and her scuffle with Mary he was worried her mood for the night would be ruined. Thankfully her friends were able to lift her back up in no time. He watched as she hopped up to dance to some Megan Thee Stallion song that had begun playing. She moved her body as if she wanted everybody in the building to watch and she had done her job because he couldn’t tear his eyes away. A couple seconds into his stalking she made eye contact with him and that smirk that covered her face let him know she knew he was watching all along. She bent over and grabbed her ankles before she began to throw her ass back onto Tricia who was screaming excitedly.

Dangerous.

He held her gaze for a few more seconds before Stack appeared taking Tricia’s place. Smoke put his toothpick in his mouth and decided to go in the office to get away from all of the rowdiness for a spell.

He sat behind his desk and let out a slow breath in content. After years of doing any and everything to make some money they were finally able to get here. Smoke couldn’t say he was entirely proud of the journey it took. They had to rob, kill, and steal but it was a necessary evil to cross the bridge to success in his eyes. He didn’t regret nothing and he just prayed when his time came that the good Lord would understand him. He was soon broken out of his thoughts by a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

Annie, the chef they had hired, peaked her head around the door.

“Evening Mr. Moore. Just wanted to let you know we closing down the kitchen for the night.”

“Thank ya Annie and remember call me Smoke. Mr. Moore was my daddy.”

“Okay Smoke,” she ended with a chuckle before closing the door.

Smoke glanced down at his watch and realized Cymone’s hour had been ran over. He shut down the computer and picked up his work bag. The club was gone be open for another hour but he was honestly ready to call it a night. Stack was gone be closing down the club tonight since he was the more personable twin and had been waiting on an excuse to party all night. As if she could feel him thinking bout her Cymone was standing right on the other side of the door soon as he opened it.

“Hey there boss man. You ready to go,” her voice ran over him like molasses and he closed his eyes for a second just to savor it. He then looked down at her with a lil smirk before wrapping his arm around her waist.

It didn’t take long for them to exit the club and get round to the twins house. Smoke might have been speeding just a lil more since he was eager to finally lay with her and wrap his arms around her.

Him nor Stack had any plans for how the night was to go because they wanted her to be comfortable at all times. The last thing they wanted was for her to run away because they pushed too fast. What Smoke didn’t know was that Cymone, although cool as a fan, was a bundle of nerves waiting to explode in the passenger seat next to him.

Cymone

Cymone looked completely fine on the outside but deep inside of her there was a woman screaming to get out. Maybe it was the never ending shots of tequila that were raging her hormones but she had soon came to the conclusion that something had to give tonight.

As her and Smoke made their goodbyes, Stack informed them that Duke would be closing tonight instead of him so he could come home a lil earlier. Soon as he got done counting the money he would be on his way home and that was great for Cymone. Her plan was to wash up and put on her lingerie under her black silk pajama set she packed. Her brain still didn’t know if sex was on the menu but her body knew something was getting done tonight. It honestly had been long enough. Cymone hadn’t gotten any in about a year since she broke up with her ex right before Sophomore year started.

Inside their home Smoke gave her a brief tour so she could become familiar with the place. Everything about it screamed their personalities and she knew Stack put a lot of thought into the decorations from the album covers of their favorite rappers hanging on the walls to the dark hues of red and blue accents and the black furniture.

“This here is the guest room. You can put yo stuff in here and the bathroom is right across the hall. I’m about to go shower, if you need something let me know,” Smoke spoke before retreating down the hall to his room.

Him in the shower.

Cymone lightly clenched her thighs together at the thought of him naked, water running down the hard planes of his chest, his eyes closed in relaxation.

Breathe bitch.

Snapping out of it Cymone quickly grabbed her things and walked the short distance to the bathroom across the hall. Once inside she turned on the shower to the hottest temperature and put her locs into a bun before getting inside.

She let the hot water rain down on her skin as she closed her eyes. After a few more minutes she grabbed her washcloth and soap and began to lather up. As she washed her body she couldn’t help but to imagine what her shower would have been like with the twins. Would they be fighting over the water? Would they complain about it being so hot like most men do? How would they look at her?

The girl was wayyy past hot and bothered and somebody needed to put some water on the flames quickly. Cymone was jolted from her thoughts by a rough knock on the bathroom.

“Uh yeah?”

“Just wanted to let you know Stack was back. We gone be in the living room cause this nigga wanna watch a movie,” Smoke bellowed through the thick wood of the bathroom door.

“Okay. I’ll be out in a lil minute,” Cymone spoke shakily, almost feeling like Smoke could see straight through the door at her flustered figure.

Pull it together!

After 10 more minutes Cymone was out of the shower and dressed in her pajamas. She walked back into the guest room to put her clothes in her bag before making her way down the hallway back into the living room. The sight before her would have made a nun go against her celibacy. Smoke sat in the arm chair with one foot lazily draped over the ottoman as he looked down at his phone. He was clad in a black wife beater and some gray sweatpants. On the other hand Stack sat on their sectional with the remote in his hand. He wore a pair of black basketball shorts…..no shirt. If Cymone didn’t have any common decency to herself the girl would probably start drooling.

She slowly padded her feet into the living room before sitting on the right side of Stack. She took notice of him scrolling through movies on Hulu as she leaned her head against his shoulder.

“You find anything yet,” she muttered softly, almost too scared that if she talked normally they would hear the desperation in her voice.

“Yeah. Y’all good with the Blackening?”

Smoke could be heard saying yes from across the room and Cymone quickly whispered a yes as well as she looked up at Stack from the corner of her eye. Stack pressed play on the movie and she felt the couch dip as Smoke took a place on the other side of her sandwiching her in. Cymone lightly clenched her thighs as the presence of them began to suffocate her. There was no way she was going to make it through this movie without melting into the couch.

She opted to lean back into the plush cushions just to get her mind off of the two temptations flanking her sides but that honestly didn’t help because they seemed to follow her every move. Stack leaned back with her and draped his arm across her shoulder and Smoke leaned over to his right as his hand mindlessly began drawing circles on her right thigh.

They got 20 minutes into the movie before she felt Smoke's hand slip to the inside of her thigh causing her to suck in a breath. Cymone didn’t know if it was an accident or not because his hand went back to its previous spot but she wanted it to happen again. She decided to focus her attention back on the movie but just as she got back into it Stacks lips were next to her ear.

“Why you so jumpy? The movie scaring you?”

Cymone let out a small gasp at the close proximity.

“No I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine. Look like you struggling with something,” Smoke said low although the whole time his eyes never left the tv screen.

“Struggling with something like what,” she asked breathlessly.

She felt Stack turn her head as he brought her in for a searing kiss that sent a jolt throughout her whole body. Cymone let out a moan at finally having physical contact with him and her mind went back to the last time they had actually kissed her.

Tonight she wouldn’t be stopping them.

She was so lost in the kiss she didn’t feel Smoke get up from the couch but she was brought back to him once he grabbed her hand to lift her from the couch.

“Come on Sugar,” he said in a tone she had never heard before. He gently led her down the hallway with Stack right on their heels. She felt her heart beating out of her chest almost like it was going into overdrive. The minute they crossed the threshold into Smoke’s room he stopped and turned to her. His face was ever so serious as it usually was.

“Are you sure you ready for this,” he asked as he searched her eyes for any hesitation.

Without a second thought she answered.

“Yes.”

Note: Hey guysssss!! Did you miss me?? I missed y’all too omg. Writer’s block had a bitch down bad!! So glad I’m over that hump. Well here is part 5 and I know I know fuck cliff hangers fr! But it was necessary 🤭. Anyways let me know what y’all and see y’all next time!!

Tag List: @angryflowerwitch @cleo92bitch-i-am-old @reci1996 @hoodpr1ncessdiana @cerya @rose-bliss @thickemadame @katezy2x @roughridah0 @5starsirl @woahthatshitfat @sassymemoryelixir @iiiheartfayee @melinatedlifeline @stankface @flaps200 @thefutureemmywinner @junkie05

[just-aake]

Everlasting Devotion - Part XV

Pairing: princess!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Sequel of Boundless Devotion Series. MedievalAU. With her coronation over, Natasha is now the queen of the Romanov Kingdom. However, the position comes with challenges from both old and new enemies as Natasha tries to maintain the peace while also navigating her relationship with you.

Masterlist Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16

Warnings: light fluff, angst

Words: 4009

The surface of the lake stretches out in front of you, still and glasslike, almost too perfect in its quiet. A soft, silvery mist rolls across the water, catching the pale light of the sky. It gives the illusion of peace—of something untouched and whole.

But you know better.

You pick up a small stone from the ground and toss it into the water. It breaks the surface with a soft plunk, shattering the mirror-like illusion as ripples fan outward. 

The truth returns to the world in waves: not everything can stay calm. Not everything deserves to.

You draw your knees up to your chest and rest your chin on them, eyes locked on the ripples until they fade. The numb ache in your chest hasn’t left since the morning, but out here, at least, the world feels a little quieter. 

Like you can travel back to the ease of the past when everything wasn’t so complicated.

The soft crunch of grass and fallen leaves behind you pulls your attention. You quickly swipe at the corners of your eyes, brushing away the lingering sting of unshed tears before glancing back.

“Bucky?” Your voice comes out more confused than surprised. “What are you doing here?”

He stops a few paces behind you, glancing at the lake before slowly stepping closer. 

“You’ve talked about this place before,” he says quietly. “Figured you’d be here.”

There’s no explanation beyond that. He doesn’t mention how dangerous it is for him to be out in the open or how someone could recognize him. He doesn’t have to. You understand the risk without needing it spelled out—and you also know why he came anyway.

He settles beside you, close but not crowding, eyes trained on the lake’s quiet surface. He doesn’t press. Doesn’t ask. He just sits in that silence with you, offering the quiet kind of supportive presence without needing to say anything at all.

A breeze stirs through the trees, sending a flutter of scarlet petals to the forest floor. 

You tilt your head up, following their descent, and spot a small bloom—bright red, fragile—clinging to the tree’s highest branch. 

Despite the heaviness in your chest, your lips twitch into a faint smile.

“Do you think I could reach those flowers?” you ask softly, breaking the silence.

Bucky follows your gaze. 

“Why would you risk falling out of a tree for that?”

Your smile falters. 

“It’s just...something Natasha used to do,” you murmur, voice thinning around the edges of her name. You pause, swallowing around the lump that threatens to rise again. 

“The first time I met her was here, and every year after, she always used to try.”

You keep your eyes forward, hoping your voice doesn’t tremble too obviously. But when you glance sideways, Bucky’s jaw is tight, his expression shaded with quiet concern. He noticed.

You shift, trying to deflect, even though it’s futile now.

“You heard the announcement,” you say, tone flat. 

Bucky exhales heavily. 

“It’s all anyone’s talking about in the kingdom.”

You nod once. The words had reached you this morning—rushed in on Pietro’s breathless voice, his expression tight with confusion.

Queen Natasha Romanoff is engaged to Princess Sharon Carter.

It echoed in your head like a curse.

You remember Wanda’s eyes flicking to you across the room, her lips parting with disbelief. Pietro had asked if you knew. 

You had shaken your head once—slowly—and walked away before anyone could ask more.

Now you’re here. Wondering. Replaying the moments from that night together days ago. Wondering if Natasha knew then, if she had kept it from you because…

There���s nothing she can do about it.

The devastation of that thought makes your shoulders sag as you curl into yourself further. 

If it’s already done—already decided—then where does that leave you? 

The one who loved her in the open for only a brief moment, and then in secret, content with sharing stolen moments if it meant being together with her.

And now you may lose the chance for even that.

The helplessness of the situation presses in again, slow and suffocating.

Bucky breaks the silence gently. 

“Where are the twins?”

You don’t answer right away. You know what he’s really asking.

Why are you out here alone?

A soft huff escapes your chest, not quite a laugh, more like the ghost of one. It’s too hollow to carry any real humor. Do you really appear that dependent on others for comfort?

Your hands clench against the fabric of your clothes before uncurling with a sigh. 

“I told them I just needed a little air. To clear my head.”

You don’t tell him how Wanda had looked at you, eyes wide and cautious, as if she was bracing for something breaking. How Pietro had hovered in the doorway, tense, like he was waiting to catch you before you crumbled again. 

Like last year. Like before. 

So you left before they could see it happen.

“I apologize for intruding, then,” Bucky says quietly. He keeps his eyes on the lake, respectful of your privacy even now.

You shake your head, brushing the remnants of tears from your cheek with your sleeve.

“I’m fine,” you murmur.

Bucky doesn’t look at you, but his response is firm and quiet.

“It’s okay not to be.”

The words settle over you like a weight, not crushing but grounding. Something shifts in your chest, loosening the tension there just slightly, and you stare out at the lake again—still, reflective, like it’s holding your emotions for you.

A moment passes.

“What should I do, Bucky?” 

He turns to glance at you, expression unreadable at first. Then there’s a furrow between his brows as he exhales and rubs the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable but still trying.

“I’m not really someone people go to for relationship advice,” he admits, with a half-grimace.

A soft laugh escapes you, genuine this time. His discomfort with the topic, the slight twitch of awkwardness, is oddly comforting. It breaks through the ache enough to let a breath of warmth in.

“Well, what would you do then?” you ask gently, tilting your head toward him.

Bucky considers for a moment, nodding slowly.

“Tactically?” he says, slipping into the language of battles like it’s second nature. “When things get too chaotic to control, the best move is usually to step back. Re-evaluate the field. Decide if it’s a fight you can win...or survive.”

You blink at him, then give a soft, incredulous laugh. 

“You’re treating this like a battlefield?”

He shrugs, faintly amused. 

“Sometimes matters of the heart are.”

You smile despite yourself. 

“There may be a soft romantic under that grumpy exterior after all.”

“Not likely,” Bucky mutters, scoffing with a shake of his head.

You hum thoughtfully, eyes drifting back toward the trees. The weight in your chest hasn’t left, but it feels...lighter somehow. Less like it’s crushing you and more like something you can carry, at least for a little while longer.

You take a breath, grounding yourself again. 

“Thank you, Bucky.”

You rise to your feet, brushing the dirt off your hands. With as much composure as you can gather, you turn toward the small path that leads back to your horse.

But Bucky’s arm swings out in front of you, halting your steps.

You freeze, startled. 

“What is it?” you ask.

His gaze is sharp, focused on the shadows just beyond the trees. Then, without further explanation, he stoops down, grabs a stone, and hurls it into the dense brush with startling precision.

“Ow!” 

You blink in surprise at the yelp before a blur of feathers bursts from the trees with a screech, a familiar shape twisting in the air before hurtling directly at Bucky.

“What the—?!” Bucky ducks, arms up, fending off the sudden aerial assault. 

“Redwing?” you blurt, eyes widening.

“What the hell is a Redwing?!” Bucky growls, swatting at the persistent bird. “And why is it attacking me?!”

“Hey! Easy!” a voice calls out, cutting through the chaos.

A sharp whistle follows, and Redwing circles back, letting out one last indignant chirp before retreating to perch on a shoulder. Sam steps out from the woods, hands raised in caution.

“Sam?” you ask, brows lifting, suspicion blooming behind your eyes. “What were you doing hiding in the trees?”

He grins, only slightly sheepish. 

“I wasn’t spying, if that’s what you’re thinking. I was sent to bring you to the castle, but when you weren’t at your manor, I had Redwing do a quick search.”

Redwing lets out a proud little trill and flutters from Sam’s shoulder to yours, circling before settling gently in place.

You let out a slow breath, reaching up to stroke the bird’s feathers with practiced ease. His familiar weight is oddly reassuring.

“Natasha sent you?” you ask, your voice quieter this time.

Sam hesitates. 

“Actually...her mother.” 

You lift a brow curiously.

He nods in confirmation before continuing. 

“Said something about needing your assistance with...something.”

You huff softly, dry amusement flickering in your expression. 

“Is that how she phrased it?”

Sam shrugs. 

“Look, I’m just here to bring you to the castle.”

Bucky steps forward, expression guarded. 

“If she wants to go.”

Sam’s brows furrow. 

“Buddy—”

“It’s Bucky.” 

“Sure. Anyway, no one’s forcing her,” Sam says, shifting his attention to you. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. This wasn’t an order or anything.”

You glance between them at Sam’s practiced ease and Bucky’s protective stance. Then at Redwing, still perched calmly, like this is all just routine.

You sigh and offer a small smile. 

“It’s okay. Maybe this ‘something’ is just what I need to clear my head.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches, but he nods once. 

“Just remember what I said, alright?”

You meet his gaze with a slight tilt of your head.

“You don’t owe anyone anything.”

You hesitate before giving him a single nod.

“I know.”

Bucky doesn’t look convinced, but he lets you go.

And with one last glance at the lake, at the scarlet bloom still clinging high in the trees, you follow Sam to the castle.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The quiet rhythm of your steps echoes lightly against the stone floor of the castle corridor as you make your way toward the lab wing. The deeper you move into the private quarters of the royal halls, the more the hum of palace life fades behind you. You welcome the silence.

That is, until you turn the corner and nearly falter mid-step.

Councilor Ross is approaching from the other direction, his gaze fixed on the stack of parchment in his hands, brows furrowed in thought. 

For a moment, you hope he’d pass you by unnoticed. You adjust your posture, force your pace steady, and offer a polite nod and bow as you move to pass him.

But just before the feeling of relief could settle—

“Lady Y/n.”

You stop. Your back stiffens as your name cuts clean through the corridor.

Closing your eyes briefly, you breathe out through your nose to keep the tension at bay, then turn to face him. 

“Yes, Councilor? Was there something you needed?”

You silently curse the faint defensive edge in your voice, revealing your true feelings.

Ross lowers the papers in his hand, his expression unreadable save for the thin line of his mouth.

“As I’m sure you know,” he begins slowly, “the Carter Kingdom has long maintained neutrality in matters beyond their borders.”

You nod once, warily. “I’m aware.”

Your jaw tenses. You already see the path he’s trying to take, diplomacy dressed in a veil of condescension. His tone is measured, but you hear the weight behind every word. His implication.

“And I assume,” Ross continues, “you understand the strategic significance of gaining them as an ally, especially at a time like this.”

The polite curve of your lips disappears, replaced by something flat and pointed. You meet his gaze evenly.

“Let’s not pretend we’re here to discuss international policy. If you have something to say to me, Councilor, say it plainly.”

Ross’s eyes narrow just a fraction. There’s a glint of approval at your directness, or perhaps irritation that you’ve denied him the pleasure of dancing around the point.

“I simply hope,” he says with the tone of someone delivering a thinly veiled message, “that you are a woman of your word. That you won’t let personal attachments cloud what is clearly best for the kingdom. I’d imagine Princess Sharon did not come here expecting to engage in anything as…frivolous as a competition for affection. Especially not when there are more pressing matters at hand.”

Your hands curl subtly into fists at your sides, the weight of his words digging deeper than you’d like to admit.

Ross’s gaze dips briefly, noting the motion, before flicking back up to your face with that same infuriating calm. He’s waiting—for you to react, to falter, to confirm whatever he’s already believed about you in his mind.

But before you can speak, another voice cuts through the standoff, crisp and clear.

“That’s funny,” the voice says, cool and self-assured. “I don’t remember expressing my expectations to you, Councilor.”

You turn toward the sound.

A woman steps forward from around the corner with effortless grace, her expression neutral yet edged with quiet command. The golden light from the window plays off her blonde hair, framing her like a regal portrait—composed, confident, and resolute.

Ross straightens slightly. “Princess Sharon.”

Your eyes widen slightly at the identity of the woman. She stops beside you, her gaze still focused on Ross.

“I understand your concern for diplomacy,” Sharon says, her tone polite but unmistakably sharp, “but perhaps it would be more productive to discuss my expectations with me rather than assuming them for the sake of your point.”

Ross offers her a shallow nod, recovering quickly. 

“Of course. My intent was not to presume—only to advocate for what is in our mutual interest.”

“Then you’ll understand if I prefer to be the one to speak for myself.”

There’s a long beat. Ross doesn’t apologize, at least not sincerely. But he inclines his head in acknowledgment and adjusts his papers, his tone cooling further.

“Then I’ll leave you to it. If you’ll excuse me, I have some kingdom matters to attend to.”

With that, he turns and walks off, the sharp click of his boots echoing down the corridor until they fade.

You exhale slowly, the tension lingering in your chest even after he’s gone.

Sharon glances over at you. 

“You okay?”

You meet her eyes—light blue and calm. No trace of smugness, only composed regard. 

“Yes,” you answer stiffly. “Thank you...for that.”

She waves it off gently. “It’s nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing. Not to you.

Because this woman who chose to step in and help you is the same one who’s now engaged to Natasha. 

You study her—her posture, poised and elegant, but not performative. There’s an ease to how she carries herself, confidence that isn’t boastful, just...sure.

Certain in who she is and the role she’s stepped into.

You can’t stop the tight pull of something bitter in your chest.

Sharon seems to observe you in turn. She studies your face with faint recognition before tilting her head, her smile curling just slightly.

“I knew your voice sounded familiar.”

You blink. “I’m sorry?”

Sharon’s smile widens, a touch of amusement softening her features. 

“At the masquerade. Not a fan of the crowds, right?”

Your lips part in surprise. The stranger. The one who’d spoken with you briefly that night under masked anonymity, trading friendly wit and unexpected candor in a stolen moment of reprieve.

“That was you?”

Sharon chuckles. 

“Guilty. It was...a strange night. But in any case, I hoped it turned out better for you than me.”

You don’t know what to say to that, ducking your head as you remember special moments of that night.

“It did,” you whisper.

For a brief moment, everything was perfect in the world.

Only for reality to force its way back in as you face the one who has unintentionally managed to take it all away.

“You know, I haven’t exactly had time to make friends since arriving,” Sharon continues with a soft shrug. “Everyone treats me so carefully. It’s...exhausting. But that moment with you was the only one that actually felt normal.”

There’s an honesty in her tone that catches you off guard. Something sincere.

“So, I’m glad I got the chance to meet you again. Officially, Lady Y/n,” she says with a soft smile. 

You swallow. Hard.

That bitter feeling claws at your chest again.

Because she’s kind. Because she’s not the villain you had quietly painted her to be in the back of your mind. And because it would be so much easier if she was.

You push the feeling down.

“Likewise,” you murmur.

Your words are true, even if they feel like they’re scraping something raw on the way out.

Sharon smiles again, and for the briefest moment, it feels like the start of something complicated.

Maybe friendship.

Or maybe just another weight you’ll carry quietly.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

The doors to Melina’s lab swing open with a forceful creak as Natasha strides inside, already mid-rant, her tone clipped with frustration.

“Councilor Ross may have been knowledgeable during your reign, but I’m this close to sending him into early retirement. I know it was him who leaked the news about the—”

Her words stop dead in their tracks the moment her eyes find you standing quietly at one of the work tables.

For a beat, neither of you says anything.

Then your lips twitch into the faintest smile. 

“I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.”

Natasha breathes out your name like a prayer. 

“Y/n…”

It comes soft, stunned—almost disbelieving. Her frustration melts away at the sight of you, replaced by something far more vulnerable. She closes the door behind her without looking, her steps quick and sure as she crosses the room.

By the time she reaches you, her hands are already finding their place at your waist, instinctive and grounding. She draws you in close until your foreheads touch, her breath stuttering slightly as she exhales against you, her eyes fluttering shut as if just being near you is enough to calm the storm in her chest.

You hesitate at first, but then your hands slowly rise to rest on her arms. Familiar. Warm. Safe.

Your eyes close too—for a moment, you let yourself feel it. The pull. The peace. The illusion that nothing has changed.

But it has.

You sigh quietly and shake your head, pulling back just enough to look into her face. 

Natasha opens her eyes to meet yours, and when you raise your hand to her cheek, she turns into the touch, kissing your palm so gently that it makes your heart ache.

A soft smile begins to form on your lips—until reality rises again like a tide.

Your expression falls. 

“You’re engaged.”

The words come out as barely a whisper, but they hit like a hammer between you.

Natasha’s eyes widen in quiet devastation. She reaches up to cover your hand on her cheek, holding it there like she can will your doubt away. 

“You weren’t supposed to find out like this.”

You don’t respond. Instead, you slowly slip your hand from her grasp, your arms folding tightly across your chest like a shield.

“Were you going to tell me?” you ask, voice quieter now.

Natasha’s fingers twitch, aching to reach for you, but she forces them to stay still. She sees the way you’re pulling inward, how your shoulders round and your eyes lower like the weight is suddenly too much. And it shouldn’t have come to this. She was supposed to protect you from this.

“I was,” Natasha says quickly. “I was going to tell you. Once I had a plan.”

You glance at her, your brows lifting in a mix of disbelief and hurt.

She scrambles to explain. 

“It’s not real,” she says, like the words alone will undo the damage. “I mean—the arrangement is real, but I’m not—I didn’t—” She exhales in frustration, jaw clenching. “I never intended for this to get out before I fixed it. I already sent a messenger to Queen Peggy about dissolving the engagement, but somehow, the entire kingdom heard about it first.”

You look away, your gaze falling to the stone floor.

“Does Sharon know what you’re trying to do?”

The casual use of the other woman’s name makes Natasha blink.

“You know her?”

You nod and turn to the lab table, still not facing her directly. 

“I met her on my way in. Well…technically, I met her at your birthday party. She was the masked stranger I was talking with before you found me.”

Natasha’s eyes widen slightly at the realization, but you continue before she can process it.

“She seems…” you murmur, hands fidgeting with glass vials on the lab table, “...nice.”

And just like that, Natasha’s arms are around you again—tighter this time, wrapping you up from behind like she can anchor you both in place. Her head dips close, her breath brushing the shell of your ear.

“Don’t,” she murmurs, already sensing where your thoughts are heading. “Please. Don’t do that. It’s not going to happen. I can fix this.”

You lean into her briefly, eyes closing at the way she holds you like she’s afraid you’ll disappear. But then your shoulders slump. 

Not in comfort—in despair.

“But what if you can’t?” you whisper.

The moment the words leave your lips, you feel her whole body stiffen behind you, breath catching.

Natasha’s heart begins to race.

You—the person who’s believed in her since childhood, who’s never wavered in your faith in her, even when she couldn’t believe in herself. You were the one constant, the one voice that always said she could.

And now, you doubt.

Panic begins to claw its way up her spine.

She turns you around in her arms, holding your face between her palms, her voice raw.

“Hey, look at me,” she pleads. “Y/n, I love you. I’ve only ever loved you. Please—tell me you still believe in me. Tell me you’re still with me.”

You reach up, resting your hands over hers as you hold her gaze. 

“Of course I am,” you say softly. “I always will be.”

Relief floods her expression for the briefest moment. But then you add, just as gently:

“But Natasha…this might be too much. For you.”

She frowns, confused and wary.

“You’re rebuilding an entire kingdom. You have Stark’s diplomatic visit coming. You’re trying to keep the council in line, and now this engagement. You’re juggling everything at once—don’t you think it’s too much?”

“I can handle it,” Natasha says quickly, almost desperately. “I have to handle it.”

You step back, just slightly—enough to look at her with a knowing expression, one only someone who’s known her since childhood could wear.

“But that’s not what you’ve been focusing on these past few days, is it?”

She says nothing. Doesn’t need to.

You both know the answer to what—to who—has been her top priority these days. More than her duties. More than the kingdom.

Her silence speaks volumes. Her breath hitches as a growing fear crosses her face.

You watch her carefully, then ask, your own heart aching, “What are you so afraid I’m going to say?”

Natasha’s voice is a whisper now. 

“What are you saying?”

You take a breath.

“I think…” You swallow, forcing the words through the tightness in your chest. “I think we need to step back. Just for now. Just so that you can focus on the more important matters of the kingdom rather than…me.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Natasha pulls you into her again, her grip desperate, almost shaking.

“You’re breaking up with me,” she whispers.

Her voice cracks.

You close your eyes, forehead pressing against hers, and nod.

“I don’t want to,” you whisper back, the sorrow in your voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. “But I think we need to.”

Natasha doesn’t answer.

She just holds you tighter, like maybe if she never lets go, she won’t have to accept that you’re slipping away.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16

a/n: ...sorry for the angst 😅 but thank you for reading!

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it, please let me know again.

Taglist : @midastouch013, @2silverchain, @dvrkhcld, @observeowl, @x-drowned-x, @fireandblood-3, @natsxwife, @leequifey, @blacklightsposts, @srt-sah, @scar-letwidow, @likefirenrain, @autorasexy, @natsbiggestfan1, @lex13cm, @iheartjohansson, @tofu9162, @unexpected-character, @natashasilverfox, @acciowriting, @qtreesfanstuff, @mrsrushman, @inarayofmoonlight, @viosblog112, @inarayofmoonlight, @maximoff-jp, @natashasilverfox, @hellenheaven, @hotcocoandonuts, @alwaysgoodnight, @cactuslover2600, @nebthetautora, @mousetheorist, @dyslexic-dreamer, @canvascoloredin, @l1kepeps1cvla

[bewitched-hours]

Hi again, its me your one of ur fans of writing from you, sorry for being inactive this week bc of school, but i am here once again to request another polyship bc on matching skins, so can i please request a...

Yandere! Paycheck! Nyan and Tac Nayn x Depressed! Reader

Fluff abd some Angst for the reader's depression, Oneshot.

Plot: Where the reader is living a normal life while being sad and dull as if their colors were drained away by the reality. But as they went on about their life, Elliot and Chance both finds them interesting and stalk them as they felt bad that they did not felt happy or joy.

one day, they both decided to kidnap them and hanging out with them in space and even becoming a cat too (idk if thats how it works)

Anyways Ty and thats it

You don't need to apologize for anything, dw <3 /platonic But also- cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat- (You always have the loveliest ideas for these two I swear) Content warning though(for once); I'm projecting my own experiences with depression in this and also mixing in what I've seen and heard of from friends so this might hit a little deeper than I intended to...

Reader get's She/They~

Life is just... Ugh...

You felt like everything became so... Dull...

You used to be such a cheerful and bright kid but reality just seemed to not tolerate that...

Now you were stuck dealing with a life you didn't even feel was worth living. Although you at least had some meds to help you start your days somewhat more colourful.

It wasn't much and you usually felt drained again pretty fast but you also didn't want to go back to therapy. Your insurance was already difficult to deal with the first time around.

You were alone. And by god did it feel awful.

No matter what you did, you were cold and felt yourself spiralling.

Even in the rare moments where you actually got yourself to cook for a night were usually spent telling yourself not to be self-destructive and focus at the task at hand while you had insults swirling in the back of your mind at every step.

You just couldn't do it right, you always make mistakes, why can't you just do it correctly?

You just wanted to escape...

And you almost would've gone for the easiest solution if you hadn't had your own otherworldly stalkers to swoop in to be your saviours.

You were oblivious to it but they've been watching your every move for a while, studying you and making secret visits to comfort you in your sleep.

Sure, it was strange when you stopped shivering in your sleep and sometimes would be half-awake when you suddenly felt warmth against your body but their appearances were so strange and illogical that you couldn't fathom it being real so you'd just go back to sleep mere seconds later.

They loved you.

They loved those rare moments when you smiled because a cat on the street was affectionate with you.

They loved when you came across their presents in your day-to-day life and couldn't figure out who they were from.

They loved watching you dance as you listen to music to drown out the voices in the back of your mind.

They loved how peaceful you looked when you slept.

They loved hearing those cute little noises you'd make when you spotted them but convinced yourself to just go back to sleep.

You were loved... And they'd be damned if they had to hide it any longer.

Waking up in the dark wasn't unusual so your groggy mind decided to ignore it until... You realized that you weren't in bed.

Actually, it wasn't even that dark. You just had a blindfold on for some reason and the surface beneath you was too comfortable to belong to your cold and dusty mattress.

You quickly sat up in confusion, pulling off the blindfold to reveal you were in a giant room. Once your eyes had adjusted to the darkness that was present, you realized it looked like it came from some sort of sci-fi movie but it was decorates with colours and objects that all spoke to your interests and brought you happiness.

It was a little creepy but you couldn't get yourself to scream. You had a strange mask over your mouth and nose that was surprisingly plush and even allowed you to breath better. You never thought you'd smell such clean air in your life.

Although, you couldn't take it off... No matter how hard you pulled...

Looking down to see what you were laying on, you found that it was a giant heart-shaped bed with pink silk sheets and half-transparent red curtains around it. More points to the creepy meter but you weren't chained up or anything so whoever kidnapped you clearly didn't think this through.

... But they did...

You shortly got up and decided to try the door, noticing it didn't have a handle and matched the sci-fi aesthetic. It honestly looked like it could be a sliding door or something but no matter which way you tried to pull, it didn't budge.

All it did was make a buzzing sound emit from a small keypad next to it. It didn't have any buttons though. Only a screen that said 'Voice recognition required'.

Great... You were still trapped but at least you could explore for a bit.

Let's see... No windows, lots of pictures and paintings, a LOT of plushies that looked like cats- How did they even know you liked cats so much??? You thought you hid it pretty well...

But not even a clock was in sight. You wondered if anyone even noticed you were gone... Maybe they did but they didn't care-

"Awake already~?" A smug voice ripped you from your thoughts as you turned towards the door. You didn't even hear it open...

Surprisingly, those sights of when you woke up and saw those cat faces were real after all... Because now one of them was walking towards you.

A strange cat-like being with a waffle body and a fedora, followed by another with a poptart body and a colourful visor... Were you going insane?

Your shock must've shown as the latter let out a gentle giggle. "You must be pretty confused but it'll all make sense soon! So please don't struggle and be good for us." He had such genuine adoration in his eyes that momentarily distracted you from your situation as you wondered if there was actual love being offered to you.

"You're so cute~ But we know not to rush things, don't worry. We'll take good care of you while you adjust and let those pesky memories fade. Then we can start making new, happier ones so you don't need to worry anymore~" The darker one was almost cooing, cupping your face when he got close enough and seeming a little surprised when all you do is flinch before allowing the gesture.

The more colourful of the two seemed happy at your lack of resistance. "You're so adorable already! I wonder how long you've been starved for attention but don't worry, you'll be spoiled plenty as long as you're good and listen to us!"

Why weren't you resisting? Were you that tired of your old life? Were you so starved for affection? Were you catching feelings for these creatures already even though all they had done so far is be gentle and praise you?

Whatever the reason, they allowed you to roam outside right away because you were behaving already.

And you saw why they weren't worried about you running...

You were in space. Literally.

You could see the stars and even Saturn in the distance as you approached the giant windows with fascination.

"We made sure the ship accommodated your body by sticking with earth's gravitational force for a start and slowly decreasing while your body changes and adjusts." The colourful one, who you learned was called Elliot, spoke in joy.

You didn't have the energy to question him but what did he mean by that? And how come your mouth felt so stretched out? was your tongue always this rough?

Your memories were already hazy, you must've been here for a while...

And it only got worse as time went on. Your bones would shift and melt in your body at a painful rate and you were often forced to take some strange pain killers that seemed to make it feel only uncomfortable but no longer painful.

Then, your skin would melt into itself and start growing fur. But at that point the pain was unbearable enough that Chance and Elliot allowed you to be put into an artificial coma until the procedure was done.

Once you awoke again, you could feel your brain struggling to remember much. All that was clear was your room and the guys who were taking care of you. Elliot and Chance, wasn't it?

When you had asked them, they mentioned your transformation was apparently a success and you were their mate.

Although confused, they explained the concept and you were oddly happy to agree. You even purred and pressed yourself up against them in a big hug, trying to leave your scent on them. That had them both flustered beyond belief.

Although... Leaving a brownie scent on a poptart and a waffle cat might have consequences if there's more of your kind...

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[devinescribe]

Why Don’t You Like Me?

Snotlout Jorgenson x Reader

So im gonna go through the whole first movie (the live action bc it gives him more depth.)

This is a

Snotlout x Plus size! Ethnic! Reader story!

I personally headcanon that he prefers them and y'know what??? It's self indulgent for years of not having fics for him and any that did were for a skinny white and petite Y/N 😭 ummm Y/N is from a distant island, you get to pick where, got dropped off at Gobber's doorstep and is his daughter now, he would kill a man for her

Warnings: Cussing, slight angst, feelings, mention of colonizers (just once sigh my island was colonized by the Spanish 🙄), canon typical violence, disappointed father(his not yours. You fucking love your dad) also… live action spoilers obvi

9.6 K words.

Berk.

It was home. Even if you weren't originally from here.

When you were little your dad used to say that it must have been one of Freya's cats leaving you at his doorstep, the goddess knowing how much the world needed someone with light like you.

However as you got older, he told you how you really came to be his daughter, blood related or not. Or at least the part where you showed up at his doorstep. What happened before that was a mystery to both of you. And you couldn't care less about the two who abandoned you.

——

It was a clear, calm night. One that Berk had not had in a while. No dragon raids, nothing.

It had been a long time sailing for the pair... especially his wife, being pregnant. She had given birth to a beautiful baby girl... she was a few months old now...

But where they were going, and what they were doing was dangerous... too dangerous for a baby. And neither was really ready for one either. Mistakes happen when in love and lust...

Together, they made the decision to give up the child.

Quietly docking, pulling their cloaks up obscuring their faces, they kept the baby in a wicker basket with blankets, a note, and some other items to keep her in contact with her culture and who she was... his shield... her necklace... her name, how old she was. Everything.

They placed her at the doorstep of what looked like a forge. Whoever lived here could protect her, at least. If not, find someone who would take her.

Placing her on the step and knocking, before running back to their ship.

Gobber woke up when he heard the knock. His first thought was that there was an emergency. But after not hearing anything else, he slowly got up, walking blindly through the hut to the front door.

When he got there, he was shocked. A baby swaddled in a woven basket. There was a shield and a note, and a few other things.

He picked up the note, and read it carefully.

To whom lives here,

This is Y/N. She's our daughter. We are on a perilous journey, escaping from the men who have taken our island home, (Island name) and turned it into their playground. The rough seas and danger are no place for a baby. We come from an island far south from here. Before we had the evil men come to our island, we had heard from others that made the journey of Berk. She was born 6 months ago, out on the open ocean. Please, take care of her, and if you are unable, find someone who will.

Thank you.

Suddenly the little girl started crying softly and whimpering, the wind biting at her cheeks, turning them rosy in color. Gobber picked her up out of the woven basket, and she sneezed, before cooing with a bright gummy smile up at him.

That's the moment he decided that... maybe he was ready to be a father. Just a little. Plus, Stoick had a little boy too! Sure, he was a year older, but at least you'd have kids your age around. He wouldn't really want Spitelout around you... but his kid was okay...

——

Gobber was an excellent father, even if many might not think so at first glance. He was caring, patient, stern and although he didn't know much about your culture, he'd tried to keep you educated on what he could.

When merchants from your isle came to Berk, he went with you to buy clothing with you! Although to him and other Vikings thought it was showy and a bit... well... scandalous, no one said anything about it because at least you tried to connect with your roots while still being a Viking.

Being a little girl around the forge was scary, especially when there was dragon raids.

——

You squealed and hid with Astrid and Ruffnut under your father's bed as Gobber chased.

"Cmon ya lot, ya gotta get back to your parents," he laughed. "Where are the boys?"

You giggled and ran away to find them, finding Hiccup first, he was hiding behind a post. You tapped his shoulder, and he laughed, going to Gobber.

Tuffnut and Fishlegs were hiding together and giggling, so they were the second easiest.

Finally, you found Snotlout, in your room, in your closet.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"My dad says you guys all gotta go."

He groaned but nodded, and you all went to the living room.

Everyone was leaving and Snotlout sort of shoved Hiccup.

"Be nice he's your c... cou... coo... how's that word go?" You stammered over your words, before Hiccup helped you out.

"Cousin?"

"Yeah! You're cousins gotta be nice!" You chided Snotlout.

He scoffed but gave you a small smile and nodded leaving your house.

It was hours later dark, when the bell that signaled the dragon trap had been triggered rang across the village. You woke up immediately, and looked out the window as your father got up heading to the forge connected to your house.

However, it wasn't long before your house was on fire. You hadn't noticed, too busy staring out the window to be paying attention.

Suddenly you heard your name being called and went to your bedroom door to run outside, but the second you touched the metal your hand burned. You jumped back with a scream, holding you hand, heat searing through it. You went to the window, and looked down, seeing your dad looking up.

You started to cry, getting scared, suddenly feeling the heat and smoke filling your room.

You look down, seeing them all telling you to slide down the roof. You saw the other kids, your friends, down there, except for Hiccup who was definitely locked up in his house.

Snotlout shouted something up at you, and you had to focus to hear him.

"I'll catch you! Promise!"

You took a deep breath, coughing from the smoke, and climbed out your window, sliding down the slanted roof till you were hanging off the side.

You felt the house creak under you, the roof falling to one side. You screamed, holding the siding tightly.

The flames licked at your fingers and you looked down. Oh what a drop it was for little 6 year old you. Below you was your dad and your friends telling you to let go. So you do, falling.

Gobber catches you, with his one arm, and you cry as he sets you down, making sure you're okay, before running back to help others. Your friends help you stand straight, but Snotlout is the one who checks your hands, and winces when he sees the burns.

——

So, tonight, when the bell rang, you bolted out of bed and to the forge. After that first raid when you got trapped, the house had been rebuilt to be one singular floor.

While Gobber never let you make weapons(because you were rubbish at it), you helped hand out new ones and take theirs to the back for him, and you got to sharpen them!

But that was occasionally, because you did help out with the fire brigade a lot. But tonight, you had no chance to even get over there before a nadder spat fire in front of you, blocking your way. If you couldn't help with dousing of fires, then you could help with defending. You ran to the forge and began to help, handing out weapons and taking weapons to Gobber to sharpen.

Suddenly someone bolted in behind you, trying to wheel something out.

"What in the blazes are ya'- yer supposed to be home!" Gobber scolded, and you immediately knew he was talking to Hiccup.

You tuned out the conversation until you heard a swooshing sound and ducked. The weighted ropes used to trap dragons. You turned with a glare.

"That almost hit me you- ugh!" You groan, before turning to the literal mob of Vikings yelling and shoving at your window. "Would ya lot shut up! We'll get to you when we get to you there's only two... three of us and it takes time!"

You turned to Hiccup, and sighed, "Cmon. If you can't be out there, help in here."

You knew he just wanted to prove himself, not just to the village but to his dad. However, the middle of a dragon raid was not the time.

“Y’know, that invention is actually pretty cool… once you fix the calibration-“ you started, bringing back another sword for him to sharpen.

“The calibration issue I know… I-i just… I need to kill a dragon… I could help…” he mumbles.

You gave a soft smile and nudge his shoulder, “I’m sure that… Astrid could appreciate the ingenuity!”

He laughed and scoffed, “Yeah right…”

Finally the fire brigade showed up and you gave your dad a nod before rushing to help them, sliding over the counter and running to your friends who greeted you.

"Where have you been?" Ruff asked, handing you a bucket.

"Oh you know, dealing with that," you muttered nodding to the forge and mess of Vikings in front of it.

Astrid let out a laugh, rolling her eyes, "Even when he's good at something..."

You quickly and efficiently poured water on unburned houses, hoping to stop the spread at least. Ruff and Tuff helped you do this as the other three helped douse houses. Astrid was a quick thinker, and you cheered her on when she maneuvered the water carrying system so it would pour over a house.

"Yeah! Go Astrid!"

You watched Hiccup look at her with lovesick eyes and rolled your own.

You cheered, before climbing up onto the roof of a house, just as a a Nadder started to fly over shooting fire.

“Shit!”

You cursed and ran to the front of the house, jumping and holding to the decorative piece at the front of the house. The dragon flew off and you built momentum to throw yourself back up.

“Buckets! Water! Now!” You yelled down.

Snotlout was staring up, with the same lovesick look Hiccup had, but you didn’t catch it. You started to slide down the now extinguished roof top.

“Snotlout move-!”

He snapped out of it, and caught you before you fell. You sighed, but were thankful he had caught you instead of making you survive another… compromising position like last time.

“Thanks. Now put me down.”

Hiccup stayed behind, and your father ran out to help fight them off as well, telling Hiccup to stay put.

Yeah, he ALWAYS does that... not.

"Night fury!"

"Get down!"

You heard the whistle and ducked, hoping it wouldn't hit where you guys were. It didn't. You all continued to help put out fires and watched Hiccup's eyes light up.

You sighed, ignoring him and continuing to help.

It was only when you heard screaming and a monstrous nightmare came blazing that you knew you should have watched the shop when your dad ran out of it, you should've watched it damnit.

It would have been fine. His dad beat the literal hell out of it, it ran away, and that was the end of the raid...

Until the tower Hiccup was hiding behind fell over, causing them to loose the deadly nadder they had trapped. And houses to be destroyed.

You all gathered in the middle and you sighed as the lecture began. You felt bad for Hiccup, but at the same time, you knew this wouldn't have happened if he had just stayed put.

"Winter is coming and I have a whole village to feed," Stoick hissed.

"Between you and me, the village could use with a little less feeding if you know what I mean..." Hiccup sassed, giving the crowd, and you, a side eye.

You steamed with anger, going to step forward, until Ruff and Astrid gripped your arms.

"Leave him be... not worth it..."

"At least we're fed?" Ruff asked sarcastically. "We're literally so hot? In what world-"

You grumbled under your breath. There was a reason the group didn't like him that much. You did like him, he was one of your best friends, he was always around the forge, but sometimes he made comments without thinking.

As he passed everyone, with your dad leading him to his house, each one made some comment at him, and when he tried to apologize to you, you just, "Ah ah ah... I don't wanna hear it right now, you said what you said. Go home."

It was obvious Stoick was royally pissed.

Snotlout put his arms behind his head and said, "Well... my dad is super proud of me so..."

Just as Spitelout came up behind him, following after Stoick.

"O-oh hey dad-"

"Don't talk to me in public."

Snotlout tried to laugh it off, but you notice the small glint of sadness in his eyes. You sighed, walking over to him.

"We should start rebuilding I guess," you whispered, kicking a rock.

You knew that would at least take his mind off of it. He always loved to do things especially for you.

He nodded, excited to get to do something, to help. To be useful.

"And later maybe you'll finally-"

"Don't even dream about it."

——

The Trial of Flame.

Every young Viking's dream. To be top slayer, to be able to prove they had what it takes to be a Viking, a dragon slayer.

The morning of, the warriors, including the chief, had left. Meaning your dad got to train you all. Which meant waking up earlier than the rest of the island, to watch him silently make plans and chuckle darkly.

"Don't think 'cus yer my daughter I'll go easy on ya lass," he had said.

You laughed and looked up at him, "I wouldn't have it any other way old man..."

He chuckled, placing his hand on your shoulder, "No matter what happens... I'm... I'm proud of ya... yer a good kid... Go join the others… and keep that Jorgenson boy from staring too much yeah?"

You beamed up at him, now even more excited to prove yourself. The group of your peers was ahead and you ran off to them, scaring Snotlout. He retaliated by picking you up and holding you in the air, smirking up at you.

"Air jail."

"Snotlout Jorgenson put me down this instant."

"...y-yes ma'am..."

——

You walked in, breathing in deeply as everyone marveled being in the arena. Snotlout stood next to you, and bumped his shoulder into yours as he said, “I can’t wait to get get some legendary war wounds!”

You giggled and shoved him back, “Oh but then you’ll tying your pretty face!”

“Y-you think I’m pretty? I-I… I mean… I’m not pretty! Only girls are pretty…”

Ruffnut stood on your other side, and talked about getting a scar across her face and you giggled, “Oh my gosh, Ruffnut Thorston, super sexy war goddess!”

"Call me boring but-"

"Boring!"

You shoved Snotlout's shoulder and glared, but not before sticking your tongue out at him.

"Easy there Island Princess," he teased, poking at your outfit.

It was one of the traditional outfits you'd gotten from a vendor. A long dark orange skirt that was two strips of fabric, one in front, one in back, with slits up the sides to your hips, where they were held together by strong metal chains. Your dad had reinforced them himself. The top was a simple piece of fabric that covered your breasts, the same color as the skirt. You knew that everyone said you couldn't fight dragons in it, where was the coverage?

Well if your lineage did it for years you could do it too. Plus, to keep from freezing you added some things. Such as wearing pants under the skirt that were a dark yellow in color, adding your fur lined boots. But the top remained un-altered, you soft stomach exposed, which again... danger???

Your responses were

1. This is just for training, it gets hot

2. Sheilds

3. This is just for training. In actual battle you would get armor.

4. You felt comfortable in this damnit.

5. If you were good enough, you wouldn't get hurt.

Snotlout was staring. Hard. At every single detail of your outfit, and how your skin glimmered in the sun, how your chest rose and fell with every breath, how your stretch marks looked like lightning bolts that painted the dark sky at night... Yes he was very distracted by you. But when was he not? He had been asking you out everyday for the past two years. You always rejected him, but he never gave up.

You had to hand it to him, he was very stubborn. It wasn't... that you didn't like him... it was quite the opposite.

But you had gotten used to other boys on Berk using you as a point of their bets and cruel jokes. And while you weren't that insecure little girl anymore, you would always have her in your mind.

When you heard Hiccup behind you, you turned in shock. As far as you had known, Stoick refused to let him do the training, thinking he wasn’t ready…

Astrid made a comment about his dad pulling strings, which made you look confused because... everyone just... signed their kid up for this. It's not like... it was exclusive. But anyway, you digress.

"No way... there's no way your dad let you do this!" You shouted, shock written all over your features. You were a bit excited to see what he could do though.

"Well, he did... now. Listen up," Gobber said.

You had watched so many of these trials before that you kind of blocked out what your father was saying, kind of listening when Fishlegs was giving information and he yelled at him, that was funny.

Blah blah blah... killing your first dragon...

Snotlout puts a finger up, and points at the other teen behind him, "Well uh... Hiccup already killed a night fury so does that disqualify him or...?"

You dad sighed about to reprimand him, when you grabbed his collar and pulled him close.

"For Thor's sake-"

"Okay okay okay! My bad..."

Ignoring everything your dad said, which side note, if you’re learning how to fight dragons, it might be a good idea to listen. Because after that you saw him head to one of the paddocks.

"Uh... hey big guy, aren't you gonna teach us something first?" Snotlout asked as the door was cranked open.

"I believe in learning on the job."

——

You made a flower crown quietly in one of the clearings on Berk. You often found yourself outside, wanting some quiet. The forge was always loud, the village even louder.

“Y/N?”

You turned at the small voice. It was Snotlout.

“Hi! You wanna sit with me?” You offered. The boy nodded and ran over, sitting right next to you.

You finished the flower crown and put it in his head. He blushed and looked down before mumbling, “Flowers are for girls…”

You pouted, “Nuh uh…”

He just shrugged. He was quiet. Too quiet. He wasn’t that much of a talker at 6, but you knew when something was wrong.

“… Is your dad…?” You mumbled.

He nodded, biting his lip, an obvious ploy to not cry. You knew it very well.

“You can cry it’s okay-“

“No it’s not! I can’t cry it makes me weak! H-he said real men don’t cry! A-and they don’t hang out with girls! Especially not you… t-that’s what he said! Yo-you’re my friend! I-I don’t like when he talks like that about you! He said I was stupid, a-and soft because I-I let you play with me…”

You bit your lip. Of course his father had said that, when did he not say something negative to his son? However, instead of comforting him with your words, you just leaned against him, holding his hand.

“You’re my best friend…”

“You’re mine too… d’you… wanna come play later?… He’s nice when you’re around… even if he doesn’t like you.”

———

After your father almost killed you all, you were panting and sweating. Of course Hiccup had messed up. Of course.

You couldn't blame him. He definitely was not a dragon killer. Hiccup was good at a lot of stuff. He was a genius, and came up with so many new plans for more efficient ways to use weapons… but a dragon killer? Not his strong suit.

You look down, disappointed you were fourth out, right after Snotlout. You should've known better. Studying dragons was not the same as being in active combat. You knew that, yet you failed to apply it.

Later, you were all eating dinner together. You sat next to Astrid, across from Snotlout as you ate. Hiccup joined you all late, just as you were saying what you did wrong. You waved him over, but he ignored you, sitting alone at another table.

"...I tripped..."

"That's not it."

You looked up at your dad confused. Yes it was? You watched Snotlout get blasted at, got worried because of course you were worried about that idiot, stopped watching where you were going, and tripped over the shield the twins had been fighting for and... oh.

"...I got distracted. "

He nodded and moved on, suddenly going over and unlocking the book. Your eyes widened and sparkled. You had obsessed over this book as a kid, and now it was something you could read with permission! You didn't have to wait for the older kids to leave the book out and read it!

"Why would I read words when I could just kill the things the words tell me about?" Snotlout asked.

"Maybe you should read a book about feelings. Cuz it seems like you're killing those without reading," Astrid joked.

He pouted and crossed his arms.

You giggled, rolling your eyes. For such a fierce viking warrior... he was cute. But you yawned, the day suddenly hitting you at once. The near death experience… air jail….

"Alright, I've already read it, I'm tired I'm gonna go to bed to be well rested for whatever the helheim my dad throws at us. He's not going easy just because I'm in the class... if anything he's going harder..." you excused yourself, walking out of the great hall.

Snotlout called out, and ran towards you, offering to walk you home. You nodded. Why not?

"I like you... you know that right? Like you're hot...and smart... and strong..." he said, the rain sprinkling around you both, the crunching of the dirt under your boots.

"Sure... not really interested," you said quietly.

He did this every day. Asked you in one way or another.

There was a silence as you kept walking, before noticing you were walking alone. You turned to see where Snotlout was, and he was just about two feet behind you.

"What are you-"

"Why don't you like me?"

The words were soft, but loud. And here's the thing: You did like him. But years of boys using you as a bet because of your size and because of where you were from made and how you were raised by Gobber of all people, you feel like you could never receive genuine affection from someone.

He's looking down and fidgeting.

"Snotlout... would you cry in front of me?" You ask, staring him down.

He stands up straighter, looks up with wide eyes. Part of him was screaming yes!! He would bleed himself dry for you!!

The other part was his father. Telling him that real men don't cry. Crying was a sign of weakness. Crying in front of anyone was not allowed. And crying for a girl, of all things, was stupid. And that he was stupid if he did that.

...

"No."

He answered finally, the simple one word answer was followed by thunder rumbling in the distance.

"...Well there's your answer. You're... just forget it... try again tomorrow," you whispered, continuing to walk away.

——

Second day of training. You walked into the arena to see wooden walls put all over the arena and groan.

No way, seriously??? A nadder? You guys just started why did he make you suffer?!

You hid behind a wall as the dragon was released. Hiccup was asking questions about a night fury, but you were trying to not get killed. Suddenly you heard someone hide besides you.

"Hey, so you want me to cry for you, is that it?" He asked, and you looked over with a face that he could read perfectly.

The "are you fucking serious??" Face.

"Snotlout! Not the time!" You yelled, going to another wall.

He followed, muttering an apology that made you sigh. You muttered all the facts you knew about the Deadly Nadder, everything you could remember. The twins were shouting about 'get your own blind spot'.

And then...

"I am hurt I am very much hurt!"

And that's when the dragon started to knock over walls. You ran, holding up your shield. You watched Snotlout push Astrid out of the way, saying "I'll take care of this!" As he swung his weapon.

That didn't last.

——

"You godsdamned idiot..." you huffed, cleaning up his wounds after.

He hissed, but only gripped the table, not complaining. One of the gashes was pretty big and you sighed.

"Gonna have to do stitches..." you whispered.

He just nodded. Accepting it. This was his punishment he was sure. Well, actually his punishment was your training outfits being your traditional wear... but that was neither here nor there.

"You can tell me if you need to stop..."

"Only babies wimp out... just do it."

You tried your hardest to stitch him up quickly... he grimaced, bracing himself by holding the table so hard his knuckles turned white. He bit his lip and you thought he'd draw blood.

When you finished, you tied off the string quickly, and rinsed it off with clean water and a solution Gothi had given you to clean wounds. He hissed, pulling his arm away with a quick jolt.

"Sorry... sorry," you apologized... then began to giggle.

"What's so funny? Huh?" He asked, a bit defensively.

"You... I mean you... barely even so much as flinched when I'm giving you stitches... but the ointment Gothi gave me is where your pain tolerance dips?" You smile, trying not to laugh at how flustered he looked.

"W-well... it's just.. I-i... ugh-"

——

You sat on one of the cliff sides, staring out to the open ocean before dark. Dragons, for the most part, just came out at night. Your dad had a curfew for 6 year old you, before the last third of the sun set into the ocean.

You heard footsteps behind you and turned to see Snotlout standing there. His hair was in his face, and his too-big for him helmet covered his eyes a little.

You smiled brightly, motioning for him to sit next to you. So he did.

"I'm gonna be one of the best dragon slayers ever... just you watch..." he whispered, his helmet now in his lap.

You nodded, not doubting your friend.

"...y'know if I ever had to get married... I'd want it to be you," he said suddenly, looking at you.

You squealed with laughter, laying back, your head on his lap. It was silly how he at seven years old was saying things like that....

"You're silly... but that would be nice..."

——

Day three.

The arena was empty. Except for buckets filled with water. Your father told you all to take a bucket... and pair up.

"Um... there's an odd number of us?" Astrid said, already picking Ruff and grabbing your arm as well.

"Eh why not you three can all be together," he shrugged, getting up into the viewing area. Gas hissed as the door opened and all of a sudden the spark, flame... and smoke... oh the smoke.

You three stood back to back together, and you heard Fishlegs rambling about what the zippleback did before Hiccup hissed at him.

Suddenly you heard a loud, "There!"

And water got splashed on you,

You three went forward and scolded Tuff and Snotlout. Ruff splashed her water on her brother, Astrid doing the same out of anger.

"Maybe your butt's getting bigger," Tuff snorted, teasing his sister.

"N-not that there's anything wrong with-"

Astrid threw a punch, sending Snotlout to the ground, his water bucket spilling, and knocking into Tuffnut, whose bucket flew up and hit him in the face. Suddenly Tuff was dragged into the fog. You gasped, until he came running back screaming, "I'm hurt I'm hurt I am very much hurt!"

It made you giggle a little. But then that made you remember what was in the fog. The other girls left since their buckets were empty. And for the first time in a long time... you were terrified.

You thought you were alone until you heard Snotlout groan from the floor. He quickly got up, looking at you. Almost immediately he stood in front of you, looking around.

"Snotlout... go..." you whisper, your back to his.

"N-no! I... I'm not leaving you alone!" He hissed, looking around you through the smoke.

"You have no water bucket what are you gonna do genius?!"

Suddenly its tail swiped you, making you drop the bucket on yourself. It fell on your face and your nose made a sickening crack, making you yelp in pain.

"Alrighty, up you go," he said before picking you up, throwing you over his shoulder like you were nothing more than a test dummy.

"Snotlout Jorgenson put me down you evil son of a-"

But as you were talking he let you out of the smoke where everyone else was. You kicked and struggled in his grip, attempting to get out. You could see more clearly and saw the dragon over Hiccup and Fishlegs, who threw water at the wrong head.

"Hiccup!!"

You heard your father yell as the scrawny brunette threw the water up... and it fell right back down. The dragon's heads grew closer until... they immediately backed up snarling. You watched slack-jawed as he was able to push the dragon back. Snotlout's arm that was holding up on his shoulder fell off you in shock, and you yelped as you fell off his shoulder and onto the hard rock floor of the arena.

"Ow!"

"Oh gods! I-i- um I-... totally meant to do that," he said, looking around, nervously.

You glared at him and stood up, looking at Hiccup before asking, "How did you do that?"

He shrugged and gave a lame excuse before running off.

The group followed.

——

The next few days, he dominated at dragon fighting, knocking them down barely even trying.

The group followed him into the woods, and Fishlegs asked how he downed a gronkle like that.

“I mean I do it all the time but how did you do it?” Snotlout interjected, pointing his mace at Hiccup.

“Probably cuz he’s not watching to see if Y/N’s hip chains break,” Tuffnut snorted.

He turned and glared at the blonde.

Later, Hiccup had come into the forge.

"You're doing great! Why'd you hide this from everyone?" You asked one day, sitting up on one of the wooden counters, watching as he tinkered at the forge.

He shrugged, giving you a grin, "I...I guess I just... didn't want to come off boastful?"

"Well... it great to see you happy and excited about something for once... seriously."

"Thanks... you know I was-"

"Y/N! There you are, come come come!" A voice yelled.

You looked over and watched Snotlout come over with a big goofy grin on his face before scrunching up his nose that Hiccup was here. You flicked his forehead.

"Be. Nice."

"...sorry... um... um the boats-!... boat? Is back! You going down to the docks?" He asked, looking extremely excited.

You shrugged, it's not like you had anyone waiting for you, and you had nothing else to do.

"I don't see why not..." you responded.

He smiled, and grabbed you hand, and you watched as his arms reached out again.

"Don't. Uh uh. No no no sir, you are not gonna pick me up again," you scolded.

He groaned, but you laughed and started running to the docks.

"Hey! No fair!" He called after you, laughing to himself.

"And uh... Hiccup?"

The scrawnier boy looked up at his brash cousin.

"Mind not trying to take my girl?"

Hiccup stifled a laugh as he looked up, "Your girl? Far as I'm aware... she's not anyone's. She's rejected you for like... two years."

Snotlout rolled his eyes and ran after you, catching up quickly.

At the docks you watched as the badly damaged ship started getting loaded off. Stoick walked off disappointed, but stopped to talk to your dad. You assumed about how well Hiccup was doing.

You watched as Snotlout went up to his dad, and said, "Hey dad! I missed you... in like... a super manly way y'know?"

Spitelout handed off a heavy bag of gods know what onto his shoulders. He carried it with a smile, nervously saying, "I have so much to tell you about the trial of flame..."

Spitelout, the devil he was, walked away without a word, disappearing into the crowd. Snotlout was confused for a bit, calling for him, but finally yelled, "I'll see you at home!"

Your heart broke. He looked so dejected, and you couldn't help it. You wondered if that’s how he looked secretly after every time you rejected him. You walked over and took a deep breath, swallowing your pride for him. Gods damnit, you were in too deep.

He looked nervous, but with that fake confidence you had grown to see. He was scared you had seen what happened, that you were going to ask him... but instead, you just gave a soft smile.

"D'you wanna spar with me? I-I mean... after my utter failure the other day... like who gets their sword knocked out of their hands by Tuff?" You giggled. "I mean... since you're so strong and talented I just thought-"

He beamed and laughed, "Y/N, Y/N, Y/N... no need to flatter me... I knew you'd ask for help eventually. No one can resist-"

The things you did for love...

——

"Hey so-"

He dodges a swipe you made with your wooden sword (not wanting to hurt each other too badly), then parries it with his shield.

"About the other night-"

Another swipe, and he counter attacks. He was holding back and it was pissing you off. You knew he was a very talented fighter, and this? Was not his best.

"You want me to cry for you you said?"

You stopped and looked up panting. He took this opportunity, and tripped you, pinning you down the second you fell to the ground.

You groaned and shook your head as he held the wooden blade to your neck and told you to surrender. The second you got a bearing for your surroundings, you tried to flip him onto his back, but he held you down, pinning your wrists with one hand.

"Ah ah... surrender."

You groan and pout, "Fine fine... I surrender."

He smirked and got off you, helping you up.

"Atta girl..."

You blushed, looking away, trying to catch your breath. But your eyes were drawn back. He was panting, sweat drenched his face, his hair sticking to his forehead as he wiped it with his forearm, chest rising and falling, and then you remembered the way he looked when he had you pinned down-

Okay, so he was hot.

Really hot.

Damnit.

"You still gotta answer me... cry for you? Like... tears and... the water works and... I-I'm not good at this... just tell me what to do and I'll do it..." he started, sitting on the ground.

You sigh and sit in front of him, shaking your head.

"I don't mean it literally... I mean it... in... like would you let me see your true feelings? I don't want Snotlout, the loud, brash, arrogant, foolish Viking he pretends to be in front of everyone... I want the Snotlout behind all of that..." you explain. "The one who looks at me like he's drowning and doesn't know how to swim to shore... Not the one that flexes and runs away... but the one that stays even when he's scared."

He gulped, looking over with wide eyes, "Y-you... you really think... that of me?"

"Of course I do... try again tomorrow.”

He didn't confess again that night. Didn't even flirt at dinner. Just smiled and talked big game like always. You were scared you’d pushed him away…

——

Today was the day. The final day and a crowd was watching. To be honest, you knew it was between Hiccup and Astrid, but just to be there and prove you could keep up was enough.

The fight ended when Hiccup did... whatever he did, you couldn't quite see, and the gronkle fell over. Astrid was pissed.

Oh boy... she shoved him and cussed at him, you looked shocked at her words, as if you had never heard Astrid cuss like that before...

But Gobber pulled them apart as Stoick said Gothi had made a decision. You sigh happily, knowing damn well it wasn't you, and leaned onto Snotlout. He pushed you off. You were about to whisper menacingly at him, until you saw he wasn't looking at you. He was looking up... At his father. Snotlout gulped, looking nervously. He hid his hands behind his back and began to fidget. You noticed, and carefully, to avoid being seen, you grab one of his hands.

"The top slayer..."

Gothi points into the ring. Gobber points to Astrid with a smile, but Gothi shakes her head. You gasp. He then uses his hook to point at Hiccup. Gothi nods. The crowd erupts into cheers and you smile. You cheer and run over, ruffling his hair, as if he wasn’t older than you.

Even Snotlout was excited, but you could see him continuing to glance up at his dad.

——

Later that night you watched as your dad moved around the shop, sharpening weapons and all things of that sort.

"So... you and Spitelout's boy?" He asked suddenly.

"W-what? No... we're just... friends," you answered. And it was true. You were just friends...

"Ah, friends... y'know, I was a lad once and let me tell ya... he looks at ya like ya hung the moon in the sky... like you were sent by Freya herself... He's a good lad... even if he doesn't show it all the time..."

You blush and look away. This was too much to deal with, so you just yawned exaggerating it.

"Well... I-i better get to sleep... that was a lot... um... yeah and tomorrow is such... a-a big day..." you muttered, getting up.

"Yeah... of course. Rest up. I'll see ya in the mornin' lass."

"Goodnight, dad..."

——

When you say the whole village was buzzing with excitement, you mean it.

You picked out your finest clothes, deciding to go for your traditional wear... with a bit of a Norse twist.

It was still the same, a long skirt that was two strips of fabric, one in front, one in back, with slits up the sides to your hips, where they were held together by strong metal chains. The top was a simple piece of fabric that covered your breasts. You had sewn fur onto the sides of the skirt, along all the edges, and the top had Norse engravings you hand stitched into it. The chains were golden, created by your father. You added two black leather arm bands that were lined with fur. These you had also made yourself. This time, the set was a dark red, the fur hemming black. If you remembered correctly, it was the fur of an animal the trader had called a black bear? Whatever it was, it was soft. You add your boots and spin, giggling and happy.

You head to the forge and show off your outfit to your dad. Your hair was in its natural state, you merely styled it a little.

He smiles, surprised by the Norse twist to your clothing.

"Thats... new... you look nice... like your mother might've..."

"Thanks... I-... I'm not just from (Island of choice)... I'm from here. From Berk... my birth giver may have been from there... but you raised me... you're my dad... I'm as much Viking as I am island girl... I-i wanted to show that..." you explained, fidgeting with your rings.

He sniffled.

"Are you crying-"

"No th-the dust got in my eyes!"

You smile, and shake your head, going over and hugging him.

"Yeah... the dust."

——

You were heading to the arena when the others caught up with you.

"Woah! You look... so hot!" Ruff said, literally grabbing your shoulders and shaking you around.

You laughed and spun a little, showing off.

"Did you add that yourself? It looks great!" Fishlegs complimented, pointing at the stitches in Norse.

You nodded. They were so distracted they kept walking, and you giggled, turning, bumping into Snotlout.

"O-oh! Sorry!" You apologize, then see who you bumped into. "Nevermind not sorry."

You giggle, poking his shoulders.

He's just... staring. You looked like a goddess... a beautiful war goddess.

'Gods... snap out of it! You're staring!! A little more and you'll start drooling!'

"You look... wow... wow... just... I-... you look amazing," he whispers, out of breath.

You smile.

"You look good too... c'mon let's go! We don't wanna be late."

You quickly caught up with the others, and you all stood together. The whole village filled in, excited to see the chief's son, the screw up, now top slayer, kill his first dragon.

A monstrous nightmare. Stoker class. Attack 15. Speed 16. Armor 12. Firepower 15. Shot limit 10. Jaw strength 6. Stealth 9. Double clawed wings, snake like neck and tail... and a nasty habit of setting itself on fire.

The most feared dragon in the Viking world.

You shivered. Not from fear. You were actually cold, you had forgotten your furs in your room.

"You cold?" You heard Snotlout ask next to you.

You shook your head stubbornly, unwilling to admit your clothing choices were definitely style over functionality today. Functionality being stay warm.

He scoffed and unbuttoned the furs he had around him, and slipped them over your shoulders, buttoning it carefully, before muttering...

"Idiot..."

Oh that's how he wanted to play?? You whispered back...

"Muttonhead."

"Shorty."

"Prick."

"Okay, calm it princess. You're warm now."

He could feel his father's glare on him but he didn't turn to look.

The crowd cheered as Hiccup walked in. He picked a short dagger and shield. He gave a nod, and the door was opened.

Out came the dragon, lighting on flame. You watched as Hiccup dropped the weapon and shield and gasped. He walked closer, saying he needed to show us... the dragon calmed down for a bit...

"Stop the fight..."

You looked over at Stoick. The man was red in the face, angry. He slammed his hammer down, yelling again, "Stop the fight now!"

All of a sudden, the once calm dragon, grew enraged.

It lit on fire, crawling on the chain roof. You all tried to get Hiccup up and to safety, but the dragon had other ideas, snapping its jaws at him.

The dragon suddenly blew fire at the crowd, and you were quickly shielded by Snotlout. You heard a scream and couldn't tell it was yours until you stopped. You stood back up, looking to see what was happening. There was too much yelling for you to focus and then....

That whistle.

"Night fury!!"

"Get down!!"

You hid your face in Snotlout's chest, trying to keep an eye for what was happening in the arena, but too scared to see one of your friends laying dead down there.

The monstrous nightmare is locked back up, and the Vikings trap the night fury as Hiccup begs them not to. To leave him alone, that he won't hurt anyone. You watch closely, and your heart suddenly hurts... the dragon looks scared... so scared.

——

"Hey, you okay?" You rush forward, checking on Astrid. It's later that same night, and she just came back with Hiccup. You had been so worried you hadn't even changed, only giving Snotlout his furs back.

All the adults had left Berk. Leaving only you guys on the island. They had a dragon to lead them to the nest. They said this ended now.

"I'm okay... gather everyone. Hiccup is going to show us something."

You nodded with a smirk, running off to round up your friends.

——

Hiccup leads you all into the arena, and Snotlout is yelling, what else is new?

"You just disgraced yourself in front of the whole village... why would we listen to you?!" He asks.

"Valid point, valid point... but you're gonna listen to him because I said so got it?" you glare, a hand on your hip, pointing at him.

'Ohhhkay... hot...'

"He's so gone..." Tuffnut whispers.

"So gone..." Ruff answers back.

"Y-yeah! Yeah exactly-... u-uh pay attention gang..."

You giggle, and follow Hiccup, watching as he takes Astrid's hand, going to open the deadly nadder paddock.

"W-what in Odin's missing eye do you think you're doing?! I said we would listen but this-" you start, backing up, your back pressing into Snotlout's chest.

"Y/N please... trust me," Hiccup begs, looking at you with those pleading eyes and you groan. He's been doing that since you were kids.

He just also knows that without you, Snotlout would be the next to leave... the twins were closer to both of you than to him or Astrid... which would leave Fishlegs. He needed you to stay.

"...fine. Just promise we won't get hurt?" You ask. He nods.

——

You watched with joy as Snotlout, while nervous, still lay his hand on the monstrous nightmare's snout. The dragon immediately made a low grumbling noise, and you smile.

He laughs softly, petting its snout. Then he notices. That was all the pens. There was only four dragons. The twins rode together... Hiccup was going to ride with Astrid...

"Hey uh... what about Y/N?" He asked, turning to face you.

You fidgeted with your skirt, looking at Hiccup, who spoke without thinking.

"What about her?"

You sighed, face palming.

"You needed her because you knew I would've left if she wasn't here. So yeah. What about her?" He defended.

You walked closer to Snotlout and his new dragon. You had never looked at a dragon up close like this before... not one that was alive... you carefully reached your hand out and placed it on its snout... it made a purring noise. You began to giggle, gently petting the dragon.

"Oh you're so handsome... so cute... oh... you're... so... wow," you giggled, giddy to see the creature up close.

Dragons had always scared you... until now... he was amazing...

"Well uh, she can ride with you Snotlout."

——

Trusting Snotlout to guide a dragon was... a chore for sure. It was scary at first... but you all got the hang of it.

You held onto Snotlout tightly, until you grew to trust that the dragon would not drop you. Even though where you were going was so incredibly dangerous... you felt peace as you flew.

You put your arms out to your sides, touching the clouds. Smiling, you gently pet the side of the dragon, and he grumbled softly. Snotlout was nervous, but he looked genuinely happy, holding the reins. You loved that he looked happy. Truly happy.

When you got to the island, you saw the biggest dragon you had ever seen in your life.

"Hiccup?! What the fuck is that?!" You called out.

The dragon pulled back a bit, making you squeak, holding onto Snotlout.

"That is their queen! You gotta help them not listen to her!" Hiccup called.

You nodded as Astrid told the twins to make it mad, and told you, Snotlout, and Fishlegs to find its blind spot and distract it.

"Alright let's see..." you muttered, as Snotlout steered the dragon, going in close.

"God this thing smells like death..." Snotlout complained.

Suddenly eyes opened... multiple eyes.

"Guys... this thing doesn't have a blind spot!" Fishlegs called out in a panic.

"Noise!"

You grabbed the reins as Snotlout banged his hammer onto his shield.

"This is just confusing our own dragons!" Fishlegs yelled.

The queen roared and your dragon took off, Snotlout falling off onto the Red Death. You had the luck of holding onto the reins, and yelled when he fell.

"Snotlout!"

You watched as he landed with a thud, almost falling off.

You soothed his dragon and guided him back around, just in time to see Snotlout driving a hammer into the dragon queen's eye and taunting her.

You let out a high pitched war cry, not a Viking one, that drew attention to you from bellow, before shouting encouraging Snotlout.

"That's my Viking warrior! Hell yeah! Woo!"

——

"Is that my kid...?"

The parents looked up noticing that their kids were riding dragons.

"Did your lass just-"

"Claim yer boy? Yeah. This has been a thing where have you been?"

"He doesn't get claimed he-"

"Oh give it up..."

——

You laughed, petting the dragon before you leaned down and whispered, "I'm so sorry... for everything..."

You heard him give an affectionate growl back, and slowly stood up on the dragon's back, still holding the reins. Oh yeah, this would work.

"Get Snotlout out of there! Hiccup's got Toothless!" Astrid called out to the twins.

"But I-" you started to protest.

"No, you distract her while they do that. Trust me," Astrid said.

You sighed and nodded, leading the dragon into her eyesight.

"Alright, ready boy?" You said, petting him.

You called out the queen, getting her attention. She opened her mouth and you smirked, falling off the dragon. You watched the ground come closer and closer, but took a deep breath, trusting him.

Sure enough, you watched him dive beside you with a curious coo. You laughed, grabbing the reins and pulling yourself onto him again, sitting, holding on. You pulled up, and led him, the queen shooting fire after you.

Suddenly, you saw Hiccup fly by, and knew your job was done. You landed, and laughed, pressing your forehead to Snotlout's dragon's muzzle.

"Thank you..."

Your father came up hobbling up to you.

"Y/N (M/N) (L/N)!"

Oh shit. You were in trouble. Your full name? You looked up and bit your lip, looking ashamed.

"Never in all my years..."

"Have I seen something so stupid... so reckless... so totally irresponsible... and so brave. Ye may not be from Berk... but ya got a Viking spirit in ya lass. I'm glad you're safe," he said, pulling yourself onto into a hug.

You hug him back. Out of the corner of your eye you see Snotlout and his dad. Spitelout has a hand on his shoulder. He nods.

On one hand, you were happy for Snotlout... but... why was he only proud of him when it was too late? He could've died... and he wouldn't have gotten that validation.

You turned to watch as blue shots and fire were seen up in the clouds. You were scared. There was no noise except the flutter of wings and the charging up of the shots...

Until finally... the Red Death fell from the sky. She was going straight down. And you watched as Hiccup and Toothless followed in suit.

——

When the dust... sort of settled, ash filling the air, you all went in to find Hiccup. You all watched him fall, so he had to be in here. Somewhere.

You were walking with Snotlout and the others when you found Toothless curled up on himself. You started to tear up, and looked up at Snotlout, who was trying to look brave, despite the glossy tears building up, but... even through all their petty fighting... Hiccup was his cousin.

You sniffled and shook your head, and saw Spitelout try and put a hand on his shoulder, when Snotlout was nudged by a dragon's snout... his dragon.

He put his arm over him, and you sniffled, leaning against him. He wrapped his arm around your waist.

Toothless opened up his wing to reveal Hiccup's body and you gasped, tears streaming freely down your face this time...

Until Stoick yelled that he was alive. You cheered and hugged Snotlout, drying your tears. You ran up, and hugged your dad, who laughed and ruffled your hair.

——

It was a busy few days while Hiccup rested, rebuilding Berk and helping people train their dragons. So busy you hadn't had time to really talk to Snotlout outside of helping and occasionally riding with him.

You were standing with your father outside the Chief's house when the door opened. You saw Snotlout rise on his dragon, just to scare Hiccup. When he actually walked out and saw that there was nothing to fear, he smiled. He was beaming.

You watched as Astrid punched him in the shoulder, then kissed him. Then you ran over, and punched his other shoulder.

"Ow! Why is it always violence with you two?!"

"You idiot I thought you died!" You yelled, crossing your arms.

Before you dropped the act and hugged him. He was one of your best friends, he scared you.

"I'm glad you're okay...."

——

"So... um did you name him yet?" You asked.

It was late afternoon, and you were sitting on one of the cliffs with Snotlout, his dragon laying behind you two.

"Yeah... Hookfang. I think it suits him," he mumbled, petting his snout. "My dad doesn't really... like him that much... won't let him inside... or let me build somewhere for him to stay... but I'm gonna anyway..."

"Oh who gives a damn what your father thinks... he's not the brave Viking who got all up in the Red Death's eye, or the one who trained a monstrous nightmare... so I think his opinion is mute," you scoffed, softly petting Hookfang.

Snotlout stared, lovesick. You thought so highly of him even through his cocky and brash attitude... how could anyone not just fall for you?

"Oh you're so cute... I love you s'much you know that? Oh who's a good boy?" You cooed, scratching under the dragon's chin, making him growl lovingly.

Your hand accidentally brushed against Snotlout's and you pulled away, blushing.

Then you remembered what Astrid did today. And damnit, you were brave too! You swallowed the nerves you had growing, and tried to soothe the butterflies in your stomach. You took a deep breath. You had to do this.

"Hey um... remember when I told you you should try again tomorrow?" You asked.

He looked up with a soft blush, nodding. Of course he remembered it. He hadn't stopped thinking about it. The way you described him... it played over and over in his head.

"Well now is tomorrow... if you still-"

"Yes! I-I... yes... I want... that... all of that... you... I like you, Y/N. Will you please-" he started.

You smirked and shoved his shoulder playfully, repeating what you heard Astrid say.

"That... is for scaring me when you fell off..."

"H-hey that's not my- mmmph-"

You pressed your lips to his in a gentle kiss. One of his hands went to your waist where he pulled you in closer, and the other went up to cup your face. You smiled into the kiss, one hand on his shoulder, the other knocking his helmet off as your fingers threaded into his hair.

He pulled away and laughed, cheeks red. You didn't look any better, with kiss bitten lips.

"... and that's for making me love you."

"Y-you know you're gonna have to kiss me more often now... r-right?"

"Wanna start right now?"

Hookfang blew a ring of smoke around both of you, making you giggle.

"Hey cmon man... I finally got the girl Hookie! And you love Y/N! ... not more than me but-"

A small flame was sent his way.

"Ow! Hookfang!"

You laugh loudly, giving Snotlout a quick peck on the cheek, and Hookfang soft pets.

"There there my big babies... I have enough attention to go around...."

"But I get more cuz I'm your boyfriend, right?"

Flame.

"Ow! Hookfang! For Thor's sake-"

You smiled. Even wider than before as Snotlout started to play wrestle with his dragon. It was chaos... it was stupid... but it was him. And it was home.

[chrxsprettygirl]

𝑻𝒐𝒙𝒊𝒄!𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏!𝑪𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒙 𝑺𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝑼𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒔𝒐𝒏

AN: THIS IS FICTIONAL. i dont think Chris or Marylou would ever act like this this just for entertainment purpose only!! Also I love this song so much u should listen to it :)

You should’ve known better.

From the beginning, Chris Sturniolo was the kind of boy your mom warned you about — charming in that cold, I-don’t-care way. The kind who says just enough to keep you hooked, but never enough to keep you safe.

And still, you let him in.

⸻

It started casual.

Talking every night. FaceTimes that turned into sleepy 3AM silences. “I don’t really do relationships,” he said once, and you just hummed, pretending it didn’t sting.

Then one night, sitting in your dorm with your legs over his lap and a movie playing on mute, he looked at you like he was actually seeing you for the first time.

“You’re mine now, yeah?”

It wasn’t a question. But you nodded anyway.

⸻

Bringing him home to meet your family was your idea.

It felt right. You’d been talking for months. You knew the shape of every scar on his hand, the way he slept with his jaw clenched, like he never fully relaxed. He never said I love you, but you felt it. Or you thought you did.

He sat stiff on your parents’ couch while your mom served dinner and your dad tried to get him to talk.

He barely made eye contact. Didn’t touch his plate. Kept checking his phone like he couldn’t wait to leave.

You brushed it off. “He’s just nervous,” you told yourself.

But when he left that night, he didn’t say goodbye. No hug. No kiss. Just a quick nod and he was gone.

⸻

Then came the silence.

Two weeks. Nothing.

No texts. No calls. You watched his story once — a picture of his hand around a red cup, middle finger up. Caption: “Don’t catch feelings, catch flights.”

Cute.

When he finally texted you again, it was like nothing had happened.

Chris: Wyd.

Not an apology. Not even an explanation. Just wyd.

⸻

You met up with him anyway.

And the second he walked into your dorm, you knew something was off. He didn’t kiss you. Didn’t touch you. Just sat on your bed like he didn’t even wanna be there.

You crossed your arms. “You good?”

He shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You sat beside him, careful not to get too close. “I haven’t heard from you in two weeks, Chris.”

“So?”

“So?” you echoed. “You ghosted me. After meeting my family.”

He rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t that deep.”

Your stomach twisted. “Maybe not to you.”

He looked at you then — finally — like he was trying to decide if this conversation was worth it. “Why are you always making shit complicated?”

“I’m asking you a simple question,” you said. “What are we doing? What am I to you?”

His jaw clenched. “Don’t start.”

“No,” you cut in, voice firmer. “You met my parents. You slept in my bed. I’ve told you everything about me. And I still don’t know a damn thing about you.”

Silence.

You swallowed. “Can I meet your mom?”

He flinched.

You knew instantly — wrong question.

He stood up. “Jesus Christ.”

“What?”

“Why do you always need more? Why isn’t it enough just being with me?”

Your heart thudded. “You can’t be serious.”

He turned to you, voice sharp. “She’s not gonna like you. You’re not her type.”

“What does that mean?”

He hesitated. Just long enough.

“It means… you’re not good enough.”

It hit like a slap. Not loud. Not violent. Just… cold.

You stared at him, blinking. “Say that again.”

He didn’t.

You nodded slowly. “Cool. Get out.”

“Come on—”

“No,” you said, voice hard now. “Get out of my room, Chris.”

He stared at you like he didn’t think you’d actually say it. But you did.

So he left.

⸻

You didn’t cry.

Didn’t chase. Didn’t reply when he texted three days later. Or four. Or five.

Then, out of nowhere:

Chris: Be ready at 7. Wear something nice.

You stared at the screen.

And for some reason — God knows why — you got dressed.

⸻

He didn’t speak on the drive.

Didn’t hold your hand. Didn’t even look at you.

He pulled up to a cold-looking house in the suburbs. Big, clean, empty-feeling. You followed him up the path like a ghost.

Inside, it was quiet.

His mom stood at the island in the kitchen, stirring something in a pot. She looked up. Stared at you.

“This her?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Chris muttered.

She raised an eyebrow. “Thought you said you weren’t serious about her.”

Your breath caught.

Chris didn’t say anything.

She looked you up and down. “Huh.”

No smile. No warmth. No hello.

You stood there, clutching your purse, heat crawling up your neck.

This was not a “meet the family” moment.

This was a punishment.

“I’m gonna go,” you said, quietly.

Chris turned to you, confused. “What?”

“I should’ve believed you when you said I wasn’t good enough,” you said, and walked out the door.

AN:….hey…….how y’all doing

Random tags n taglist: @trevorsgodmother @tezzzzzzzz @weirdothatwrites @dykes4chris @chrepsi @chrissfavhoe @natesfavoritehoe @bamsblooming @chrissleftshoe @chrisslluut @cams-cult @chrissturnioloslvt @starrii-sturns @chriscumslut @chrisshands @chriss-prettyygirll @chrissturnioloswife88 @mattztrip @mattsleftballsack @mattsslvtzx x @mattswrinkleton n @mattsturnswife @mattsturnioloismylordandsaviour @mattsturnioloarchive @matthewsturnsgf @matthewswifeyx @matthewsturniolosactualgf f @nickssidewitch @jayaluvsyu @nicksbestie @adoreechxmpion @sturnshood @sturnswiftie e @sturniolotripletlover2 @chrissturnfavlilslut @abbystromboli @megameatymatt @zenithsturniolo @chrissweetheart

[satanzayoru25341]

Stormy Night, Shattered Lives

Featuring: Bucky Barnes x Friend!Reader

Summary: In the night, the stormy night, our lives have been destroyed as we discuss frustration and disappointment related to the Oscars, including criticism of the Thunderbolts* industry, mentions of box office failures, and emotional distress. It also touches on Marvel and MCU history, speculative predictions, and calls for change in entertainment.

Warning: Oscars-related disappointment and frustration, mentions of box office failure, discussion of film industry criticism, expressions of emotional distress, calls for change and action in the entertainment industry, mentions of Marvel and MCU history, and speculative predictions and demands for recognition

NOTE: The following is inspired by a scene from the Squid Game Season 2 episode "One More Game"

The tension in the room was palpable. The Oscars had come and gone, leaving behind a trail of disappointment for some, and triumph for others. But for you, for the Thunderbolts, and for the complainants who had gathered here, there was still unfinished business.

A female Oscars complainant sat in the corner, tears streaming down her face. The weight of the moment pressed down on her, the sting of rejection and lost hope evident in her expression.

Oscars Complainant #2, a man with furrowed brows and clenched fists, turned to you. "Mate, you're still part of Bucky's meeting. You could wait for the announcement someday. I don't have that choice."

You watched as the scene shifted to Oscars Complainant #1, her face a mask of sorrow.

"I don't want to watch the Oscars nor Marvel anymore, please," she whispered. "I can't risk myself not getting what I want. Because of this, Scarlett Johansson was forced to ask to be removed after Thunderbolts flopped at the box office."

Oscars Complainant #2 sighed, shaking his head. "Everything else, they have not been revealed, and I want to know one person that did this to the film, but I only know it's the critics and the reviews that caused a sweet success to become a bittersweet disappointment. I owed more than the nominations when the Spanish musical film Emilia Pérez won the awards. For us to have a chance, I need to join the assembly with the decision I made. I want everything to have a shot at a fresh start and to make Scarlett feel better."

Oscars Complainant #3 scoffed. "And what if it's not real? Everything won't even surprise everyone else, and nothing can make Scarlett feel happy. You think they'd really want that? If they are fake, that's it. It's over, you're done! And they get nothing! Can't you see that?"

You stepped forward, your voice firm. "Oh, forget that, don't let him scare you! Wicked. Anora. I'm Still Here. And don't forget the best animated feature, Flow. These are the only things that won awards at the Oscars. None of this is happening there." You pointed to the projector screen, your heart pounding. "Plus, look. There's still time to make a decision. And that means, over many people are getting this far! We've waited so many months, days, and all these times already, right? So let's just make MCU history with something we've come for!"

A familiar presence entered the room. The weight of his footsteps, the quiet confidence in his stance—it was Bucky Barnes.

"Well said, mate," Bucky murmured, his steel-blue eyes locking onto yours. "There's no point in standing here, doing nothing." He turned to the Thunderbolts and the Oscars complainants. "You all heard her. You know these predictions inside out. It's why you're all here!"

A chorus of agreement rippled through the crowd.

"Yeah!" Oscars Complainant #4 shouted.

Bucky nodded, determination settling in his features. "Right? So let's encourage the Oscars to make a decision! Until we all get what we came for. Just—" He raised his fist. "Make them announce that Chris Pratt, Bradley Cooper, Dave Bautista, Vin Diesel, and Zoë Saldaña will sing The Song of Voltes V for their very own reunion at our event. No more, no less!"

Your heart swelled with excitement. You raised both fists. "Yeah! Make this happen, we can do it!"

Bucky grinned, his energy infectious. He struck a cheering pose. "Make this happen!"

You joined him, your voice strong. "Make this happen!"

The room erupted in chants. The Thunderbolts—Yelena Belova, Alexei Shostakov, John Walker, Ava Starr, Antonia Dreykov, and Bob Reynolds—joined in, their voices blending with the Oscars complainants and the audience.

"Make this happen! Make this happen! Make this happen!"

The chant looped, growing louder, stronger.

And in that moment, standing beside Bucky Barnes, you knew—this was more than just a plea for recognition. This was a movement. A fight for something greater.

And together, you would make it happen.

Yes, this is my first Bucky Barnes x Reader post! But this time, the reader will be an ally in this one!

[kimmiessimmies]

Extra: In the Other Room (1/13)

[chuluoyi]

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐄, 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄

- zayne x reader

husband and wife, at the pinnacle of their love. on a night filled with wonders, you will know that he sees only you and everything that you are

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—fluff, explicit smut: slightly rough & drunken sex, fingering, missionary. you and zayne have a daughter (her name is meirin!)

note: god what have i written... the anniversary banner pv made me do it T^T anyhow, this is also a direct prequel to the upcoming angst fic in the name of love :))

“Whoa, so that’s Dr. Zayne and his wife...”

Soft whispers rippled through the crowd the moment you and your husband stepped into the pristine ballroom, all eyes subtly drawn to your arrival.

Tonight, you were accompanying Zayne to Akso Hospital’s anniversary dinner party. His sharp gaze and immaculate three-piece suit made a striking impression. Naturally, you matched his sophistication in every way—your flowing black dress accentuated your figure, while your hair styled into an elegant updo.

A sight for sore eyes, that was what the two of you were.

“Mind your step,” he murmured softly, his voice reassuring as the two of you gracefully ascended the stairs. His left arm wrapped around your shoulder, and you couldn’t help but notice the envious gazes of the ladies fixed on you.

“How does such a perfect couple even exist?”

“She’s so pretty… Of course, Dr. Zayne only wants the best.”

“Oh! And I’ve heard they already have a daughter too!”

A smile curled on your lips, a subtle boost of confidence washing over you as their murmurs reached your ears. You felt giddy too—on most days, you were a hunter in a life-and-death situations, rough and rugged. But tonight, draped in elegance and arm-in-arm with Zayne, you felt like a princess.

“Don’t smile that wide...” he suddenly whispered to your ears, a twinkle in his hazel eyes. “You’ll look like Meirin when she’s munching on her cookies.”

You shot him a frown. “Wha?”

“All those praises are going straight to your head.” Even in a prestigious event like this, Zayne couldn’t resist teasing you. “Sooner or later, it’ll get too big for me to handle.”

Fixing him with an unimpressed glare, you deadpanned, “Shush, you!”

When you reached the main hall, the buzz of conversation and clinking glasses filled the air, blending with the elegant music playing in the background. The hospital director, an elderly man with a warm smile, greeted you both along with his wife.

"Zayne, thank you for coming," he said, shaking your husband's hand and giving him a light pat on the shoulder. His gaze then turned to you. "Ah, this must be the stellar hunter wife of Dr. Zayne. You look absolutely radiant, madam."

"Ah, please don't call me that..." You mustered your most polished facade, supplying a soft, graceful laugh.

The director's wife grinned and added, "Why didn’t you bring your daughter here? Everyone’s looking forward to finally meet her already."

"She's a handful," Zayne immediately replied with a smile, his tone warm and affectionate. "And she gets fussy when her bedtime nears, so we decided to leave her with my in-laws tonight."

The director let out a hearty guffaw. "No matter how fussy she is, she must be really adorable with a mother this beautiful, eh?"

Throughout the night, it was a compliment you frequently heard. While you were flattered, a thought lingered in the back of your mind—what were your husband's true thoughts about all this attention to you?

Zayne was keenly aware of how captivating you were.

There was a surge of pride whenever he had you on his arm. Just like any man out there, he too wanted to show his hot wife off and flaunt her so everyone could see, as if saying: This is my woman.

But he too knew that it was in a human's nature to covet what they didn't have. And it was rightly proven when he stepped away for just a moment, only to return and find you engaged in conversation with a man.

The hospital director's son, no less.

"Miss, I've heard you're part of the Hunter Association?" he asked you inquisitively. "What a noble profession it is! Keeping all of us here safe on daily basis."

You responded demurely, "And those in Akso do the same, don’t they?"

Your conversation was harmless, and Zayne was a rational man, so he didn’t feel the need to intervene. He just made sure his gaze was on you every so often.

But when the director’s son began persistently offering you drinks, filling your glass time after time, Zayne's patience began to wear thin. The sight of the man’s insistence grated on him, stirring a possessive unease he couldn’t entirely ignore.

. . .

You could’ve sworn your vision swam a little after the third glass of alcohol. The warm buzz coursing through you also made everything seem a little brighter, and left you feeling just slightly off-balance.

"Miss, the white wine here is the best—" the man standing before you declared with a convincing grin, swirling the bottle in front of you. "Don't you want to try some?"

"Ah, no, sir..." you replied with a polite laugh, raising a hand in subtle refusal. "I've already had whiskey and gin just now—"

"Just a little! You really have to try it!"

You hesitated, heat creeping up your neck as the alcohol already coursing through your system made your cheeks flush. You didn’t even like alcohol much and only drank socially, but this was the very son of your husband's boss. Refusing outright seemed rude—

“Can you kindly not make her drink too much?”

Or so you thought, until your knight in three-piece suit suddenly stepped in and saved you from your plight.

Zayne’s tone was gentle yet firm, his words striking an authoritative balance. He flashed a placating smile. “My wife doesn’t have a very high tolerance.” Swiftly, he grabbed the glass from your hand and, without missing a beat, downed its contents in one go.

“If you’re looking for a drinking partner, let it be me instead.”

You knew better than anyone that your husband didn’t have a particularly high tolerance for alcohol either. Yet, for the next 30 minutes, you watched, equal parts impressed and concerned, as he matched the man drink for drink, deflecting further offers directed your way with a subtle, protective grace. Though Zayne’s words remained measured, you could see the flush creeping up his neck.

And soon, you’d witness just how far his limits had been pushed.

“Zayne! Are you alright?”

Worry laced your voice as you placed both hands on Zayne's cheeks, your brow furrowing in concern. Somehow or another you managed to drag your husband away and led him to the hotel room.

The warmth of his skin was unmistakable, and his face contorted in discomfort as the vertigo hit him full force. “Oh no, what have you done? Why did you even drink that much!?”

“I’m fine,” Zayne grumbled, his voice thick.

“You’re drunk!” You couldn't help but scold him as you started pulling off his coat and unbuttoning his shirt, trying to help him breathe easier. “You can’t even handle alcohol properly, and yet you’re trying to keep up with him...”

To Zayne, your voice somehow felt comforting. His mind was hazed, but your touch—your hand against his neck—felt like a cool splash of clarity.

His pretty wife... The dizziness was making it hard to stay upright, but the sight of you grounded him, and he instinctively leaned into you—

“Zayne—!”

You barely managed to catch his weight, instinctively wrapping your arms around him. He was so warm against you, his breath uneven, not to mention the slight tremor in his body. "Are you alright?!" you asked in a flurry. "Oh, let me get you some water—"

"You talk too much..." Zayne murmured, his words slurred as everything around him swayed.

Gripping your shoulder to steady himself, his unfocused gaze lingered on you, drawn to the curve of your lips, the delicate line of your neck, and the outline of your cleavage.

How can he have a wife this ravishing and do nothing?

And suddenly, he was sober. Very sober.

Or maybe not. It was simply just him finally giving in to his desires.

In one go, he seized your wrist, yanking you against him with sudden force— and with a quick tilt of your startled, precious face, he devoured your lips in heat.

"—!" It was like a spark igniting, burning through every thought. His mouth was urgent, demanding, as if he couldn’t wait another second to feel the rush of your closeness. His kiss was intoxicating—almost overwhelming—as he tangled his fingers in your hair, tilting your head to gain better access.

Zayne's hands moved to your back, pulling you into him, so close that the heat of his body pressed against yours. Then those sinful hands wandered to your hips, guiding you toward the desk. With reckless urgency, he swept everything off the surface, sending objects crashing to the floor with a sharp clang and made you sit on it.

"Ah, Zayne, you—!" You accidentally pushed him back, and he growled the moment your lips parted.

"Are you trying... to escape?" His gaze turned dark with lust, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes. "Why? Isn't this exactly how you wanted me to be...?"

In that moment, you gulped as your heart thundered in your chest. What was even happening now? How did it escalate into this?

You stuttered, eyes widened, "Z-Zayne..."

But your husband had shed all traces of his usual composed self. In the haze of his muddled thoughts, he was driven purely by need. He swiftly removed his glasses, tossing them aside without a second thought, and this time—

His lips went straight for your neck, which, unbeknownst to you, had looked so enticing to him all evening.

"Hahh..." His breathy grunts were hot against your skin and his touch no longer gentle but firm and possessive. His mouth moved with a mix of hunger and desperation, and you struggled to contain the moans as his hands slipped inside your dress, and—

A shiver ran down your spine when he spread your legs, and you couldn’t help the titillating gasp that escaped when inserted his two of his fingers in you all at once, edging you.

"Ungh, ngh! Hah—" Your body jerked and you clung to him, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck. Zayne wasn't usually this brash, but tonight it was as if a screw had come loose.

"Louder," he commanded in your ear, and your heart pounded at his authoritative voice. He pushed his digits deeper as if punishing you, that you yelped. "Do not hold back."

He lifted you by your waist, effortlessly pressing you against the small table by the window. You were on the 20th floor, the world below far out of sight, but the thought that anyone might catch a glimpse was somehow... thrilling.

"I-I'm close—" you stammered, and the moment you did, your husband vigorously moved his fingers inside your squelching folds, "A-ah!"

The room felt smaller, the air thicker. The way your walls took his fingers alone made your thoughts scatter, and when you came undone on him, you latched onto him, your head resting against his chest as your breaths came in shaky, uneven gasps. "Z-Zayne... please..."

He pulled out his fingers, looked at your cum coating them, and brought them to your lips. You, still trembling, sucked the essence off with teary eyes.

Sweaty, disheveled, lips swollen and cheeks flushed... how he had reduced you into this state was gratifying.

Zayne’s gaze darkened, his breath heavy as he stared down at you. "Are you ready to take me now?"

You nodded.

He gave you a small smirk, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw gently. "Good girl."

He lifted you over to the bed, and you gasped in surprise as he tossed you onto the soft sheets, the motion quick but not unkind. You barely had time to react before his intense gaze locked onto yours, his presence domineering above you.

“Spread your legs.”

Was this man really your husband? Sometimes, you still struggled to reconcile the tender part of him and the man consumed by a unrestrained intensity before you now.

By now you had swallowed all shame and did so. You wanted to look away, but then unable to when the sight before you caught your breath—

All the while, he had his eyes on you. Zayne pulled at his tie with deliberate intent, then he shed his suit pieces, casting them to the floor with a casual abandon, before undoing the remaining buttons of his shirt, revealing his bare chest altogether.

Your husband looks so hot. The way he gazed at you throughout it all too...

He glanced at the space between your legs. “Wider.”

You complied, letting your face burn impossibly hotter, anticipating him.

He eased in slowly, starting with just the tip. You whimpered at the intrusion.

"Hurts?" he questioned with a frown.

"No," you refuted quickly, desire too burning in your gaze as you met his eyes. "I can take more."

You arched your back as Zayne sank deeper, his full length filling you. A moan tumbled from your lips as your walls clenched in response, and he pushed himself completely inside you.

"Hah..." You inhaled sharply, giving yourself a moment to adjust to his entire length, and seeing you like that, your husband cradled the side of your face with his palm.

"So beautiful..." Zayne whispered, his glazed gray-hazel eyes fixed on your spent face. His other hand clasped yours, pinning it beside your head. "My wife... is so incredibly beautiful."

It was heart-fluttering to know that your husband found you pretty. Everyone might compliment you the same way, but his were the only one that truly mattered. After seven years of marriage, your heart still skipped a beat every time he held your gaze like this.

Without warning, Zayne started to move his hips. Your moans got louder and unabashed as his movements were slow at first, before he picked up the pace and thrusted in and out of you with fervor.

"Ahhh!" You threw your head back as his thick cock messily dragged itself against your walls. In, out, in out— Stars began to blur your vision, your nails digging into his shoulder as you reached for him.

You could see that excited glint in his eyes, the lust exploding at the sight of you. He watched you intently, savoring the way unbound desire twisted your face, each mewl you made filling the air. Your thoughts turned into puzzle pieces—

Thrust. So full, you are.

Thrust. What if... this time— you become pregnant again?

Thrust. That would be... nice. You can call it “New Years’ baby.”

Everything was incoherent. Teetering on the edge of consciousness, each hit to that one spot sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, pushing you to the brink of tears and screams.

Then, unexpectedly, he reached his climax first. His cum shot through, filling your womb to the brim in spurts after spurts, and you cried, trembling beneath him. Your release followed suit though, and you went limp in the aftermath.

Zayne collapsed on top of you and you wrapped your arms around him, burying your head in the crook of his neck, his name still falling off your lips as a whisper in his ear, a gentle song laced within moans. He kissed your neck, your shoulder, panting heavily against you.

“I love you.”

The world outside seemed to fade, leaving only the two of you in a tangled web of desire.

The first thing he heard was your whimper.

With a groan, Zayne cracked his eyes open the morning after, instantly recognizing the dull ache in his head—it was a hangover. But before he could press his hands to his temples, his gaze fell on you, curled up in a blanket next to him.

And the whimper came again, and it tugged at something deep inside him.

“What’s... wrong?” he asked in a groggy voice, turning toward you, his hand instinctively reaching for you despite the pounding headache. “Are you alright...?”

You blinked up at him, a flicker of resentment in your gaze, and Zayne gathered you into his arms. The events of last night came back to him in fragments, and realization dawned on him.

“Are you... sore?” he murmured, concern edging his tone.

“I hate you,” you retorted in a scratchy voice, mushing your head in his shoulder. Zayne widened in slight surprise, pulling you closer into his embrace.

“Is that it...? I’m sorry...”

He gently patted your head and back, trying to soothe you. The sight of you—vulnerable and distressed—made his heart tighten with a pang of guilt. Just how rough had he been with you last night?

“There, there, it’ll pass...” he said quietly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “It’s normal... because we went longer and more vigorous than usual... Probably just mild irritation in your—”

“Don’t pull medical facts on me,” you muttered sullenly, weakly punching his chest. A smile made its way to his face at your mini attack.

“But it’s true though?”

How endearing. He couldn’t help but feel a warmth in his chest, his heart softening at the sight of you, even in your grumpy state.

And in that moment, Zayne thought, nothing could've possibly ever shatter his world ever again.

[iniquitousyearning]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 1st. theodore — size kink, big dick.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST | 2024.

summary: there’s a rumour going around that theodore nott has a big dick…..why not see it for yourself?

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, hogwarts uni (obviously), big dick!theo, size difference, size kink ofc, fingering, PIV, dirty talk, slowish sex, put on your fantasy cap for this one bc it’s a little wild, also, anyone know any wheelchair providers?

How the hell did you end up here? How had a night meant for celebration, for laughter and drinks and the triumph of a Quidditch victory, lead to this—

Fevered kisses, teeth clashing—your breath catching in the dim, muted glow of Theodore Nott's dorm—spine pressed against his door as his lips attacked yours, moving to your neck with a hunger that had your knees weak. There was a party, still alive somewhere down the hall, warmth spilling into the corridors, the echo of cheers and laughter floating past—but it was all a distant memory now. All of it blurred, lost in the way Theo's hands roamed over your hips, tugging you closer like he was starved.

Oh, right—the rumours.

Rumours have always had a way of creeping into places they don't belong. A whisper here, a careless word there. Stupid little fires, barely a spark until someone fans the flames. You've seen it before—how a single rumour can grow, how it can warp a simple night into something bigger. Something chaotic.

And now, well, you're living it.

Curiosity was what pulled you into his orbit tonight, what sparked the embers that had been burning between you two for far too long. Because Pansy Parkinson—loud, exaggerative, and far-too-tipsy—couldn't resist spilling some gossip mid-party, something about Daphne, something about Theodore and nine goddamn inches.

You know, the usual Quidditch post-match talk.

And it should have been nothing. It should have got lost in all the other Slytherin boy ramblings but instead, it stuck. Gods, it fucking stuck. Pansy's little comment sparked the fire in you, a fire that led to a conversation over drinks, your hand grazing his, and before you knew it, you were leaning into Theodore Nott at the punch bowl, asking questions you had no blasted right asking, yet went ahead and did anyways.

Something about...well—

"You've heard, then," he'd replied, voice low as those blue eyes watched you over the rim of his glass.

It wasn't a question. It was a challenge. For all the audacity you had—Theodore had just as much.

"I have," you leaned closer, your voice almost teasing as you whispered against the curve of his ear. "Big rumours, Teddy...huge, even."

He tensed, just slightly, the kind of reaction you noticed only because you were watching him so closely. You're pretty sure he wasn't expecting something like that to come out of your mouth—and you couldn't blame him, because truthfully, you weren't expecting it either.

That was, what you'd like to call, the point of no return.

There was a response from him. Something cocky enough—something like; "and do you make a habit of believing everything you hear?"

"Not everything," you said with a shrug, though your heart was in your fucking throat. "But I'm open to proof."

There weren't very many words exchanged after that—maybe some slight teasing—maybe another brush of his hand—but Theo was never a man to waste time, and it was clear that whatever curiosity you held for him had bubbled up now—heady and bold—and created a mess between you that couldn’t be contained.

The party, the victory, the cheers—it all became static as his hand slipped around your waist, his lips at your ear in a whisper. "Then let's put these rumours to rest."

You barely had the chance to nod before Theodore moved—grabbing your wrist and moving you through the crowd like you were something to be expedited, the sea of students parting before him. Pansy spotted you leaving, her eyes gleaming as she threw you a wicked smile and a drunken thumbs-up. You rolled your eyes, smirking back, but everything else blurred into the background as Theodore led you out of the common room, and before you knew it, you were inside his dorm.

The door slammed shut behind you, the cold surface meeting your back before his lips found yours—urgent, consuming. His hands moved with purpose, sliding under your shirt, lifting it over your head before you even realized what was happening. His own shirt followed, discarded carelessly onto the floor as he pressed his body against yours.

The memory blurred as the urgency of the present took over. You gasped at the feel of him, his entirety—hard, aching, massive. The outline of him was impossible to ignore, the mere suggestion of what was to come already making your heart pound wildly in your chest.

The rumours had seemed absurd at first, but now...now, they felt terrifyingly real. He was huge.

"Tell me," he breathed, his voice a low rumble against your lips as his fingers worked deftly at removing your skirt. "About those rumours..."

Your head fell back against the door, exposing the line of your throat as his mouth moved lower, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Whimpering, you caressed his shoulders, up his neck, finding his hair, fingers teasing the warm, hidden shell of his ears. At this, his back crested, and he moaned, pitching forward, hips working to fuse you with the door.

"I—I heard..." you tried to speak, but his mouth was on your neck, and the words tangled in your throat. "Gods—something about...nine inches..."

Theo hummed against your skin, the sound vibrating through you, sending blood pooling low. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his lips hovering over yours, his breath hot and heavy as he wrapped his hands around your thighs and lifted you up—carrying you toward his bed.

"What else." He muttered against your mouth.

"Daphne..." you panted, barely able to think straight with the way he was touching you, the way he was looking at you. "She...she said she couldn't take it all..."

"And if I say that's true?" He rasped, laying you down onto his comforter. "What then?"

A shiver shook you from the base of your spine, and you curled your legs around him, core clenching hard—he sprawled over you, his body massive—engulfing yours, roving his hands up and down your bare thighs as his lips left wet, warm kisses across your breasts, teeth digging into the sheer fabric of your bra—you were gasping, whimpering under him, your chest rising and falling so rapidly you'd think you'd ran a marathon.

"Gods—that's...an odd question, Teddy..." your hips bucked, seeking his touch, and he grazed your pussy over your underwear, thumb ghosting your clit through the fabric. You squeaked, and he silenced you with his mouth, tugging at the fabric until he'd fit his thick fingers under the hem. "Are you...mm..asking if I can handle it?"

"Fucking soaked already," Theo peeled away, gasping, watching you as he slid a digit through your hot slit, his breath hitching. "Yes—I'm asking if you can handle it."

"Fuck—I don't—I don't know..." he dragged a slickened finger over your clit—you quivered, biting your lip until you found your words. "Only one way to find out."

"You're right," he breathed, swirling his finger, your body pulsing underneath him—every nerve within you roaring to life. "I'll be easy on you...I'll go slow..." his thumb took over, his middle and fourth finger teasing your entrance, lips hovering over your ear. "Let's stretch you out first."

"I—" you began, and he plunged into you. "—fuck."

Theo crooked his fingers in your cunt, eyes focused on your flushing face, the flow of your moans, his breath shallow as you clenched and pulsed around him. His thumb traced rapid little lines around your swollen clit, two long fingers filling you full. He wet his lips, pressing his mouth to yours in a brief kiss as he snapped his wrist, curling and scissoring inside of you. His hips rocked with his rhythm, and you caught sight of his erection straining against his jeans—

"Tight little thing," he growled, head dipping low as he watched his fingers disappear inside your dripping cunt. "I might fucking break you."

He jutted his erection against your thigh and you moaned, clenching around him. "Mm—Theo—"

His eyes followed yours toward his crotch—you couldn't help yourself, your fingers burned to feel him—to stroke him—to feel the weight of him in your hand. He nodded, and amidst your gasps and moans you reached for him, grasping at his zipper and undoing the button, tugging his jeans and boxers down his thighs—

Theo groaned and your mouth watered. Those rumours—Gods, those fucking rumours—

"Fucking hell—" you breathed, wrapping your fingers around his thick, heavy cock—he choked, digits pumping you deep—your thighs shook, your pulse in your throat. You tightened your fist and stroked him, watching him from half-lidded eyes. "Theo—holy fuck.."

His lungs sputtered. "That enough proof for you, Bella?"

You nodded and he throbbed—twitched under your grip, blood biting his cheeks when you coated his head with the bead of his pre-cum, his breath uneven, tattered from the weight of lust—but so was yours.

You moaned. "Oh—Gods—I'm—"

Theo circled your stiff nub, pumping his fingers into your pussy, and pleasure wracked you, pouring into your pulse, your orgasm charging toward you at light speed—his lips found yours, softly, muffling your moans.

"You're close, I can feel it..." he muttered against your mouth, fingers dragging at your walls, groaning as you clenched—as your free hand gripped his hair harder. "Cum on my fingers, Bella, go on..."

You shuddered and snapped—pleasure pulsating from your core and through your limbs, your orgasm lighting up your spine. In its intensity, you bit at his bottom lip while your cunt clamped down around his fingers, a feral energy coursing—the need for more—the need for every goddamn thing he was willing to give you eating away at your sanity—all coherent thought gone, only dissipating further as Theo pulled his fingers from your soaked cunt and sucked them clean with a growl.

"As fucking delicious as I'd imagined," he cooed, drifting his other hand up your thigh, fingers kneading the trembling flesh. You swallowed, lungs still working to find their rhythm. "I don't think you have any idea how long l've wanted this...any idea what you do to me..."

Gods—you almost wanted to laugh—this felt like a fever dream. You'd been friends for years, the fact it took this to get you both here was astonishing. His blue eyes peered down at you—wide and waiting.

"Look at you," you muttered, eyes dipping down to his throbbing dick, still twitching insistently in your hand. "I think I know exactly what I do to you."

Theo snuffed a groan in his throat, but his cock twitched again, despite himself—there was no preventing that.

"Cocky as ever," he whispered, lips curling in a teasing grin. "But now's not the time, principessa..."

"I can handle you," you breathed out, though a tremor in your voice hinted at the uncertainty you felt.

"We'll see." He said. "Lay on your side."

With a flush creeping up your neck, you complied, turning to face the window. The moonlight filtered through the glass, casting a silver sheen over the rippling surface of the Black Lake. Theo moved behind you, his body flush against yours, the slickness of sweat making your skin cling together—one arm slipped beneath your head, cradling it, while the other slid under your thigh, lifting it with a deliberate, practiced motion.

His dick slid against you, the girth daunting enough if not for the sheer fucking length of it—his body was massive behind yours, dwarfing you, a solid wall of heat at your back. You'd never felt so small, so fragile in a way that screamed breakable.

Theo teased your slit, covering himself in your juices—

"Just the tip, yeah?" He whispered, and fuck—you almost moaned. His voice was ruined. "For now."

"Theo—I—I think I can handle it..." you were trying to convince yourself as much as him. You wanted him to enjoy himself, too. "Just…fuck me, please.."

"Merlin help you..." Theo groaned and it almost sounded pitying—dragging the swollen head of his cock against your clit before dipping lower, pressing against the folds of your greedy cunt— "you don't know what you're saying..."

His arm under your head curled inward, wrapping around your neck and holding you in place against him—his other hand guiding his length to your entrance and pressing in—shushing you softly as the first inch breached you and you cried out—as your mind blanked.

"Theo—" you gasped through the chokehold he had you in, his free hand holding your thigh up as it trembled. "That's—you're—fuck—"

He pulled out and rocked along you again, testing you, offering you centimeters of his length at time. Gooseflesh flooded you.

His lips pressed against your ear. "Shhh, you said you could handle me, yeah?"

His hand on your thigh shifted lower, resting on the crease. He rutted against you a few more times, dragging this out for everything it was worth until he brought the tip back to your entrance and pushed in—slowly, inexorably—spearing you open, splitting your cunt and prying you wide in a way that rid your breath.

You whimpered, hand scrambling for purchase on his hip behind you. "Ohhh—h-holy fuck.."

"Fucking hell...you're tight..." his arm around your neck tightened, holding you against him and he pressed in deeper. "That's barely half..."

You fought for air and found absolutely none, every muscle in your body tensing, your limbs trembling, your mind fizzing with staticky pleasure. You felt as though you could break in two.

"Fuck," he drew out again, and pressed back in. "You can barely take it."

He was right. You could barely fucking take it. A revelation that you weren’t surprised by—but that made all the blood in your body pool low, walls fluttering around him in protest.

"Gods, Theo—T-theo—" you grasped his wrist, nails digging into his skin, eyes squeezed shut. "Wait—"

"Little more...you're doing so good, Bella..." he was cooing now, pressing kisses to your cheek. "I'll make it fit...we'll make it fit, won't we?"

You couldn't find a fucking modicum of sense to articulate a response. All you could do was feel—take and feel—the way he slid out, only to drive into you again, slowly, with a hiss of air through his teeth—drawing out loud, shameless groans from your chest.

"Mmm—breathe, Bella..." it was soft, soothing, like he was trying to coax you open with words. "Relax for me, yeah? Let me in...let me in..."

You obeyed without even thinking, pulling in shaky breaths, forcing your body to comply, even as your muscles screamed to stay tense—to fight the overwhelming fullness of him. You felt as though he couldn't possibly get deeper, but then he did, and he continued to until he bottomed out—his cockhead kissing your cervix, forcing a sound out of your chest that was more a sob than a moan.

Your eyes were shut so tight. "That's—"

"All of me," he interrupted, satisfaction dripping from every syllable. He rolled his hips, grinding against you, barely pulling out before pushing back in, and your whole body clenched in response. "Does it hurt?"

Every movement proved indefinitely that he was as long as he was thick—your core stretching to accommodate him. You felt him in places you'd never felt before—moulding and carving you out just for him, digging out new space inside you that only he could occupy.

"A little—“ the words were a whimper, and your walls tightened around him instinctively, fighting to adjust, to accommodate the impossible size of him. “Gods—“

"Then why are you making it worse?" He hissed through his teeth, strain bleeding into his tone. You could hear the shift—wrecked, ruined, like he was barely holding onto himself. "Fuck, you're squeezing me...too tight...relax.."

He pulled out and thrust back in, harder this time, sucking in air through his teeth as he worked you wider with each plunge into your soaked cunt. Your body rebelled, clenching down around him again, and he groaned, the sound vibrating through you, his hips snapping against yours in response.

"That's not going to make it easier, you know." His voice was a tight growl, but there was a grin in it, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. "Keep that up and I'm going to leave you sore all day."

The thought made you clench again, your body betraying you as a broken apology fell from your lips—pain giving way to pleasure. "I'm—ohh—sorry-"

"Oh, you're going to be sorry." His pace quickened and you were seeing stars—bright and flashing and blurring your vision. "When you're spending all day in bed tomorrow...recovering..."

It only took seconds before he was grunting behind you—lost in your tight heat as he held you against him, hooking your thigh up toward your chest as his arm tightened around your neck, cock ramming your cunt—colliding with your cervix, pushing screams from your lungs. You couldn't think—couldn't catch your breath as he drove into you over and over.

"Fuck—so good…so fucking wet..." Theo moaned, the sound of his cock slippery and lewd, broadcasting evidence of your arousal. Face on fire, you tossed your head back against his shoulder and closed your eyes, chewing your lip, rocking with the force of his strokes. “You like that—being filled like this...greedy little thing..."

You whinged; he was boring into your stomach, delight gushing through your veins. You had never been with a man this endowed, and this fucking ruthless. It made you throb, set you aflame, whirled your brain with desire. Words eluded you.

"Ohh—yes,” you choked out between moans. "Gods—you're huge—"

"I am," he groaned in your ear, the hand on your thigh shifting to your belly, palm pressing against your pelvis—he eased his pace, offering you deep, slow strokes, letting you spasm around every goddamn inch. "That's how deep I'm in you."

At that, you moaned, shamelessly. Cocky bastard he was. You knew now that he was more than entitled to it.

"Can...fuck—can I cum in you?" His fingers slipped to your clit, slowly swirling over it—you didn't even have a second to process that question before the pleasure wracked you so hard you cried out, and he growled. "Fuck—let me cum in you...in this pretty little cunt.."

Somewhere in the blur, you registered his words—low, rough, pulling at the frayed edges of your sanity. Contraceptives. You were on them. It was the last rational thought you had left, buried deep under layers of heat and want. You knew you were fine, but the way he asked, in that voice—Gods—

His fingers increased their pace and you wailed. "Theo—holy f-fuck—yes—yes please!"

Lightning euphoria ripped up your spine with a shameless shriek, your climax shattering you. Your cunt throbbed and milked his dick, your thighs twitching, and your back reached for the wall but his arm around you kept you in place, pleasure possessing your nerves. It seemed an eternity—he was still fucking you through it, breaking you deep, and then he shattered too—breath washing over the back of your neck, chest heaving and lungs sputtering as he spilled his release into you, deep and sticky and hot.

You were still floating between realms of sensation and reality—your mind struggling to tether itself back to consciousness when Theo finally pulled out, releasing you. Both of you were heaving, chests rising and falling in tandem, your bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction.

A moment passed, your breaths slowly steadying, when you felt his arm snake around your waist, pulling you effortlessly against his chest. You shot him a weak, lopsided smile over your shoulder, still catching your breath.

"You okay?" He murmured, his voice a quiet hum in the afterglow.

"More than," you nodded, though your body still hummed with the remnants of pleasure. A hollow ache replaced where he'd been, leaving you startlingly aware of how empty you felt without him. "That was...you are...

"I know," he purred, lips grazing the sensitive spot behind your ear, the smirk practically carved into his breath. You could feel his smugness radiating off him, a tangible thing. "Hope your curiosity was sated."

You let out a breathy laugh, the warmth of his body seeping into your skin. "That, among other things."

"Good," he whispered, "I went easy on you."

You huffed, a slow smile creeping across your face. "Is that so?"

"Extremely so," he murmured, fingers tracing lazy circles over your hip. "Took all the willpower I had."

"Sure," you teased. "You're just saying that because I took you so well."

He chuckled, low and sinful, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your spine.

"Oh, she's cocky," he drawled, lips brushing your shoulder. "We'll see about that after I put you in ten different positions."

Your heart stuttered, your muscles tensing at the sheer boldness of the statement. Heat pooled in your belly once more, that insatiable curiosity sparking again. You knew this night was far from over.

Perhaps a little more proof wouldn’t hurt...

You turned your head just slightly, voice breathy but wanting. "Please do."

[heartmix]

Surprise Stream - LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x gamer!reader

Word Count: 1.6k+

Summary: She's a popular gamer who's been on hiatus for 2 years until she appears on her boyfriend's stream with his bestfriend  

Warning: reader is implied not to be British, kissing, swearing, playful bullying

A/N: holy shit the year has been so crazy I haven't had anytime to sit and write. I also haven't written for Lando in so long.

F1 Masterlist / Masterlist

You have been on camera publicly for years. After growing up in front of it since high school and building your own gaming empire, you forgot what it's like away from the media and enjoying something that wasn't pixelated. Two years ago, you decided to take a step away from it all. 

A few years away from the spotlight did you some good. Trying new things, having more time for other hobbies, and overall just living for yourself and not others. It's not like you didn't enjoy the spotlight - you loved interacting with fans, playing video games for a living, and meeting other gamers. All of it was great, but the pressure to put out videos multiple times a week made you lose love for gaming. It turned into a job instead of a passion. 

After meeting Lando, who had a passion for gaming, you fell in love with gaming all over again. To him, it was not only a passion but his escape from the real world. He taught you that it can be fun and that there is no pressure. Gaming shouldn't have to feel like work, it should be something you enjoy. It's entertainment, not an obligation. 

Many late nights, you'd both stay up playing Mario Kart, Tarkov, beating him as Oscar on his racing simulator, and even some indie scary games you got him to play. Sometimes you'd even play with Max if he weren't streaming. 

It was the Monday after a Grand Prix, usually a day when Lando reserved for playing with Max to unwind from the thrill of a race. You saw him setting up his camera, which surprised you. He only brought out the camera once, maybe twice a year. He must still be on a high after winning yesterday. 

"A lando stream and with his camera? You're just feeding your fans." You walked in, placing his water bottle by him, knowing he'll forget to drink it while playing. 

"Yeah, just one of those days." He smiled appreciative of the small gesture. 

"What game are you guys playing today?" You looked at his monitor, seeing nothing but Twitch being ready to launch. 

"Max wanted to play COD for a bit and probably move onto Tarkov." 

"Can I play?" You asked off-handed, but you were met with wide eyes and his jaw hanging open. 

"On stream?" He clarified, like he wasn't sure if he heard you correctly. Being on a stream was something you both talked about, but not sure how soon it could come into fruition. This was a big deal to do it, and to catch you at the moment when you were finally ready, he wanted you to be comfortable with your decision. 

"Yeah, why not?" Shrugging like it was nothing. 

"I'd love that." He smiled, pulling you in for a kiss. 

Soon enough, Lando started to set up your station next to his. He offered you his setup as the view from your station has the view for both of you, and so you would just be in the background as opposed to front and center. Once everything was ready, he turned to look at you, set up comfy on the chair like you were back in your natural habitat. A smile spread onto his face, knowing that you fell in love with gaming again. Enough to show the world you loved it again.

"What?" You said, looking over to him with a raised eyebrow, seeing the goofy, lovestruck look on his face.

"Just proud of you is all."

"I hope you know this is because of you. Without you, I don't think I would ever be in love with this again." 

"I was just there, you overcame it yourself." He brushed it off because he didn't do anything but play with you. But with the way you were looking at him right now, he might be convinced that he did do something. 

"I love you." You smiled, pulling him in for another kiss.

He pulled away just a bit to mumble, "Hmmh, I love you more," before pulling you in again. 

Soon enough, both of you were set up, and he texted Max about the new situation so he wouldn't be caught off guard on camera. When he pressed the live button, you held your breath for a bit. You were ready to be on camera again, but you just didn't want it to take away from Lando and Max. 

"There you guys are. I've been waiting forever." Max's voice pulled you out of your trance, making you chuckle. 

"Oh hush you knob, you're so dramatic." Lando fired back without missing a beat. 

You looked over to Lando's monitor, so you were in more of a better view. When you peeked at his Twitch chat, you weren't surprised to see the views climbing rapidly; however, you were surprised to see the comments. 

IS THAT THE QUEEN??

SHE CAME OUT OF RETIREMENT 

MY TWO WORLDS COLLIDING 

HOW DID LANDO EVEN GET HER ON STREAM?????

THE COLLAB OF THE CENTURY 

Looking over, he wasn't bothered by the chat, instead grumbling with Max. When you nudged him to look at the chat, he was initially confused. He expected everyone to be talking about you, but when he noticed the collab comments, he started chuckling. Both of you forgot that the public didn't know you were together. There was speculation about when you would attend races, but garage hopping didn't strengthen the theory. 

QUEEN, PLEASE NOTICE US!

HOW ARE LANDO AND MAX NOT FREAKING OUT WITH ROYALTY IN THE HOUSE?!

no but seriously how did lando bring her out of retirement 

"Hi guys!" you decided to acknowledge the chat. When that happened, comments were rolling in so fast that you couldn't even read or make out a single word. 

"I think you broke my chat," Lando smirked, looking over to you, making you back away to your setup in shyness. 

"So are you going to introduce her?" Max's voice came through since his chat was also talking about you on the stream. 

"I don't think she needs any introduction, I'm pretty sure we don't even exist to chat."

"So are we going to play or just bicker with each other?" You grabbed the attention of both men in hopes of getting them to stop shining the light on you. 

Soon enough, all three of you were loaded into a lobby. Once the match started, it wasn't like you missed a beat. Calling out to Max and Lando like you guys were in an actual battlezone and getting the most kills for the team. Max and Lando were used to playing with you, so they knew your style, as they might have known you from your videos. 

What you didn't see was the chat going crazy. Commenting on how you seem like your old self, how you're owning both Max and Lando, and how easily you fit in with both of them. 

"Max, 9 o'clock!!" You shouted, seeing someone creep up on him while you were busy getting a kill.

"Whose 9?!" he shouted before being killed. 

"Your 9 you knob!" 

"Why can't you say left like a normal person?" He grumbled.

Without missing a beat, you fired back, "Why can't you survive more than one round?"

"This is bullying."

"BABE YOUR 12!!" You suddenly heard Lando say, but when you looked up, you saw no one. Not even a second later, the kill screen popped up, showing it was from behind, making you whip your head to him. 

"That was 6 o'clock not 12 you muppet!!"

"I got confused!!!"

"I hope you get killed." You mumbled before turning back to your screen.

"Let's retire the military talk." You grumbled, earning a laugh from Lando, and you had no doubt Max was shaking his head. 

 Did she just say knob?

how long has she been hanging around them shes picking up British slang

ahhh bullying max is second nature

DID LANDO JUST CALL HER BABE

BABE HELLO??

NO WAY LANDO JUST SLIPPED

OH SHES GOING TO FREAK ONCE SHE RELAIZEZ 

HE CALLED HER BABE WHILE SHE CALLED HIM A MUPPET

HONOR THEY LOVE EACH OTHER 

"Lando you fucked up." Max's voice came through in a slight panic once the round was over.

"Yeah, I know, I'm not going to try and experiment again."

"Not that, check the chat." You couldn't help but look over, also. Any chance to make fun of Lando, you were going to hop on, but jokes on you this time.

"Oops?" He slowly looked over in your direction, afraid of what he was going to be on the receiving end of. It was one thing to have you on stream, your first stream back at that, but to accidentally announce your relationship live? Oh, he messed up big time.

"Let's just say you are so glad we're live right now. Secrets out, I guess." 

"Someone sleeping on the couch tonight." Max snickered, enjoying what he was hearing. He couldn't wait to watch clips of it later on Twitter and TikTok. 

"I'm sorry. I love you?" 

"Now you're questioning it?" You asked with a raised eyebrow as Max was dying laughing through both of your ears. 

"No, no, no. I love you, I'm in love with you, and I would do anything for you. I'm sorry," he panicked, pulling you closer so he could squeeze you for reassurance. 

"You're so lucky you're cute."

"And that you love me." The goofy look was back on his face, one he knew you couldn't resist. 

"And that I love you." You sighed, trying to hide the smile at how cute the interaction was. 

"You guys make me sick. Can we get back to the game now?"

"Both of you better last a full round with me." 

[mostly-imagines]

The Alchemy vol. II

jason todd x fem!reader

aka the progression of your relationship with the red hood

part one

warnings: depictions of blood and injury, standard gotham violence, jason doesn't know how to have feelings, reader is angry, threats against readers life, implied concern of sexual assault

It might be a matter of deficiency in self-preservation skills, how the sound of your window sliding open does nothing to phase you. You don’t know if that’s your fault or his.

“How’s it goin’ down there?” You mumble, not sitting up from your position on the couch.

He pushes the window shut in his wake, huffing. “I am up here for a reason,” he says factually.

You crane your head back just in time to see him tug the red helmet off his head, setting it down on your side table. He has on his under-mask that covers the lower half of his face. You don’t like that one.

He glances around your apartment as he approaches with slow steps. “Why are all the lights off?”

“Forgot to turn ‘em on,” you tell him simply.

He frowns at you, confusion evident.

You pay him no mind though, taking an exaggerated breath and pushing yourself up off the couch before trotting over to the kitchen. You open the fridge and scrummage for a water bottle. Jason thinks it’s odd how long it takes you to find one in your own fridge. 

Once it's (eventually) in your hands, you chug down several gulps and toss the half empty bottle towards the counter where it lands with a sloppy thump and rolls.

When you return, he’s leant against the armrest of your chair, watching you. You stop in the middle of the room, a contemplating stare on the floor. He tilts his head at you, wondering what you could possibly be thinking so hard about.

You take a deep breath before plopping down to lay on the carpet all in one go. 

He peers down at you, barely trying to hide his amusement. “You’re drunk.”

You shake your head, “I’m not sober.”

“That’s—yeah.” He stands all the way, coming to lay down on the floor next to you, using significantly more coordination than you had.

He lays in between you and the couch, though it doesn’t seem you’d left him much room. If he minds, it doesn’t show. “What’d you do?”

“I jus’ went out with my friend,” you tell him, closing your eyes. “She moves pretty fast..”

It occurs to him that you might be laying on the ground because you got nauseous. He turns to look at you, scanning you over. “You good?”

“I feel great,” you keen. “I feel…swooshy.”

He gives you a bemused look. “Dizzy?”

You shake your head with a great deal of consideration on your face, “No, not even dizzy, just…swoosh.” You throw out a hand with a theatrical flick.

“Mhm.”

You pucker your lips to the side. “You come here a lot,” you comment, clearly working up to some greater observation.

“You’re in my neighborhood,” he shrugs. 

Your head tilts, “You live here?”

He pauses before correcting himself, “My territory.”

You hum, “Still. There has to be other people around here you know. ‘Specially if you’re passing out on balconies on the reg.”

He frowns, “I try not to make a habit out of it.”

You continue on, “Why do you always go to my apartment? There’s—”

“I don’t always come to your apartment—”

You deadpan, “You’re here like three nights a week. And I don’t even help you that much anymore, you’ve used up my whole first aid kit.”

You can literally feel the eyeroll like you have a sixth sense for it. “That thing wasn’t exactly impressive to start with..”

“Did enough for you, didn’t it? Anyways, my point is: I think you like me,” you say with a nod.

That has him going absolutely rigid, “What?”

“I’ve heard you’re an asshole.”

“What?”

You nod, “Like, people that run into you. They say you’re kind of a dick. You help ‘em ‘n everything, but also while being a dick. Sometimes.”

“Okay...”

“But you’re nice to me. Sort of,” you squint. “I think you like me.”

He hasn’t felt this straggled in a conversation in a while. “I—well I’m not here because you’re a world-class medic.”

You scoff, “There’s no world-class medics..” But then your tone switches up, into something lighter. “We’re friends aren’t we? I think we’re friends.” 

He shakes his head, staring up blankly. “Sure, we’re friends.”

“We’re friends and you like me,” you reiterate.

He really wishes you’d stop saying that. “Okay.”

“I like you too. Even though you’re kinda sketchy.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that.

You hum into the silence, looking up at the ceiling. “J…James, Jack, John…”

He smiles, gaze dancing across the egg-whitened popcorn texture of the ceiling. “I’m not going to tell you.”

You ignore him, “Jake, Jaden, Jason, Josh, Joe, Jesse…”

You’re about three shots too drunk to notice the way he briefly stiffens. 

“Juuhhh…” you lull your head to the side, the letter fading out slowly as you look into his eyes. If you focus, you think you can make out a few of those little specks of green again.

He seems to already be running his own study on your irises, his eyes now softer than you can remember seeing them before. 

His next words are whispered, the sounds barely escaping. “You’re pretty.”

What?

“What?”

“What?” He seems taken aback by his own words, like he also wasn’t expecting them to climb out of his mouth.

You can literally feel sobriety seeping back into your blood. “I’m…pretty?”

He blinks a few times, apparently trying hard to decide on what position he’s going to take here. “I—well…yeah.”

You blink once, relaxing. “I think…I think you’re pretty too.”

“What?”

“We can’t do this again.”

He breaks eye contact, looking almost dejected.

You turn your head down to where his hand thrums against the carpet. “I mean, I know I haven’t seen your whole face in one go, but I see the top half now and the bottom before, so I…maybe I shouldn’t be saying this.” You reset with a shallow breath, “I don’t know what your whole face looks like.”

“That was,” he blinks, eyebrows raised. “Fascinating.”

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You close your eyes again, though this time you remain facing him.

He feels a slight pang of guilt for the way he continues to ogle at you, eyes tracing over every detail of your face. But that ounce of guilt does nothing to outweigh the reward of gazing upon you. He didn’t mean to say it but he definitely meant it: you’re really fucking pretty.

Your eyelashes flutter for a moment before stilling, a display of peace washing over your features. It’s when your breathing steadies over and your face relaxes completely is when he starts to feel like a creep. It takes a lot of strength for him to force his eyes shut, depriving himself of the view.

And he doesn’t do it on purpose, but after a few moments his inhales and exhales take to the same rhythm of yours. The thin layer of the rug isn’t doing much to protect his back from the hardwood below and he’s pretty confident later he’ll curse himself for lying like this for so long. 

But as he lays, he doesn’t find himself focused on the dark red-gray of his eyelids like usual, so much as the warmth from the proximity of your bodies. He’s usually so concentrated on whatever the hell is going on in his head and it prevents him from really truly resting, but now, the only thing taking up his attention is physical sensations.

He feels this warmth in his heart that if he didn’t know any better, he’d call burning. His hands feel numb and he can distinctly feel the beat of his own heart in his chest, thrumming away.

He presses his lips to your forehead with a feather light touch, slow to pull away. He doesn’t make it all the way back to his original position before his movement lulls and his body relaxes again, joining you gladly in unconsciousness.

Gotham City has a particular gift for inconveniencing you at the worst possible moment and doing it multiple times a week.

Tonight's round of problems resulted in an entire city district getting shut down, the district which is regrettably right between your job and your apartment.

So on top of having to hole up into your work for two hours longer than you were supposed to, it took you an extra 45 minutes getting home while trying to maneuver around every other person in the same situation. And just to cement the quality of this night, the door to your apartment building slams nice and hard against your side and the light in the hallway is out.

You groan when you fail to get your key the lock the right way for the third time, lodging it in a final time and shoving the door open. You flick on the kitchen light and dump your bag onto the counter, kicking the door shut behind you.

You take a deep breath, eyes closed, as you lean your head back against the wall. The second you crack your eyes open again, a pile of red mass on the floor behind your couch catches your attention and startles some energy right back into your chest.

“Oh, shit,” you scurry over towards the window, crumbling down onto your knees in front of him. Your eyes dart across the red helmet, trying to makeout any signs of consciousness. “Hood?” 

There’s no response from him, no movement. You tug his helmet off, finding him eyes-closed with blood running down the side of his head. You push a hand down on his chest armor, shaking him. “J? J!”

His eyes flutter open slowly under his domino mask, adjusting to the light. With the disorientation on his face he looks younger, more his age. His hair is tousled up and you can make out some distinct curls in it when it's undone like this. 

He grimaces, gloved hand coming up to his head. He looks wearily at the blood on his fingers, before plopping his hand back down and blinking up at you. “Hey..”

You sit back on your heels with a sigh, “What the fuck?”

He makes a strained effort to sit up on his own so you try to heave him up by his forearm. As he comes up all the way you glance behind his back at a bag crumpled discarded on the floor. You can barely see some sort of fabric poking out the top. “What is that?”

“Huh?” He throws back a tired glance, “Oh. They're..curtains.”

“Explain.”

He looks at you blankly, “You don’t have any curtains.”

You blink. “Explain.”

“It’s dangerous for people to just be able to look in and see you. So. Curtains.” For a guy who reads Dostoevsky, he’s not much of a wordsmith. Though that could be the concussion. 

You reach around him and pull some of the fabric out of the bag, inspecting the linen. They match the theme of your living room.

You set it back down, blinking. “Thanks.”

He only gives a half-hearted shrug.

You look back at him, “How bad is the…?” You gesture to the side of your head.

He feels at the blood again, “It’s mostly just a cut. Shoulda stopped bleeding by now.”

You nod, “I’ll, uh—I’ll clean it up.”

He looks at you, shaking his head. “You don’t need to. Your kit’s almost empty anyways.”

“I restocked it,” you tell him, rising to stand. He lets you go retrieve your aid box without protest, listening blankly to the faucet run in the bathroom while you’re gone.

You return momentarily, damp rag in one hand, kit in the other. “Here, sit on the couch,” you tell him, nodding him up. 

He lugs himself up off the hardwood and onto the cushion with a groan. You position yourself on the cushion next to him, leaning over to inspect the cut. You brush through his hair as gently as you can, though you have to suspect he wouldn’t have minded either way—if only based on the pain threshold you know him to have.

As much as you are completely in his space, you’re having trouble getting all the access you need to fix him up right. You turn and adjust your angle this way and that but none of it works. 

You huff, sitting back. “I can’t..”

He nods his permission at you without delay, and you shift yourself over to sit fully on his lap, straddling him on the sofa. You put your focus into cleaning his wound, but you have to notice how deep he’s breathing and how he’s seemingly trying very hard to avoid eye contact. You’re sure your own breath is uneven and telling, and frankly you’re kind of hoping he has a concussion just so he might not notice it.

An unexpected sting has him flinching and grabbing your hips on instinct, a certain heaviness lingering in the air after contact. His hand tenses and he’s about to remove them from you completely when you manage to catch his gaze, and the few moments of silent eye contact are enough to convince him to stay. He forces his hands to relax against your waist, his fix on your face wavering before fizzling away completely.

You go back to dabbing at the blood and it’s clear that his thoughts get the better of him quickly. “You should move.”

“But then where would you go?”

He makes a rumbling noise from the back of his throat at that, saying nothing more.

You continue to wipe away at the blood until you can’t see it anymore, beyond the slice of the cut. You misjudge your own spatial awareness as you pull back from him, and the tips of your noses graze. Though the contact surprises you, you don’t move away from it. You become very acutely aware of his touch on your waist, how warm it feels atop your shirt. 

His head leans forward just barely before stopping. He retreats slightly and his body ultimately decides to come closer. He doesn’t stop until his lips, slightly parted, skim across yours.

Your breath catches as he looms nearer, lips touching against yours softly. He tests that pressure out for a moment, before moving to kissing you with more intent. You kiss him back, and though there’s an increasing resolve on both of your parts, the connection itself remains gentle, reposeful.

The last slight movement of his lips gradually slips away as he rests his forehead against yours.

A long beat passes before he’s tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you up to stand. You aren’t given the time to process the shift as he’s moving straight past you, head down. He pauses only when he gets to the window, back turned to you.

“Sorry—I’m…” his shoulders drop, “Sorry.” 

He climbs out and scales the fire escape in total silence until he’s gone completely.

You stand frozen in position, staring at the window with incredulity burning across your face.

What the fuck?

Two weeks pass of voided midnight visits. 

You’re not sure what to make of that. He kissed you, not the other way around. You couldn’t possibly have done something to upset him or throw him off since he’s the only one who did anything. All in all, it’s a little disappointing.

There had been tension there and it wasn’t shocking for you to learn that he wanted to kiss you. It was a bit of a surprise for him to actually do it, though not a bad one. But you were thrown for a grand fucking loop when he immediately bailed out.

Maybe you can’t read him as well as you think because you’d expected him to at least say something about it. It was a borderline given that he would come back and there would be a bonus surplus of tension but then there would be a resolution. Because he wouldn’t kiss you and then never come back. Nobody would do that, it doesn’t make sense.

It’s a little more than embarrassing to admit that you’ve been purposefully staying home in the hope that he’ll drop in. After fifteen nights of disappointment, you decided to put your focus elsewhere.

You’d asked a friend of yours to go out with you tonight, and never one to decline a night out, she agreed happily. 

The bell above the door jingles as you crack it open, peaking your head in. You find Chloe quickly, stood behind the bar with bottles in hand.

“Hey gorgeous,” she smiles at you, waving you in.

You step in, air conditioning hitting you hard. The sparkles on her cocktail dress catch your eye as she turns this way and that, trying to find the right spot for the whiskey. 

Chloe hums to herself as she searches, honestly taking a bit longer than she should. “You been cool?”

You nod, “Yeah, just—you know…” She doesn’t. Your affiliation with the Red Hood is something you’ve kept to yourself, though you don’t know why. It would be safer, more responsible to let someone else know about these drop-ins, but something about it feels personal. A strange feeling to tack onto it, you think. A regrettable one, at least. 

You take a deep breath, “You’ve been busy. Jessie call out again?”

She laughs dryly, “Oh yeah, of course. But it's fine, I love staying over an hour after close.” She sighs, “I’m almost done anyway.”

You circle around the bar, looking over the several yet-to-be-sorted bottles. “You need help?”

“No, there’s—” she cuts herself off as she looks over at the front door, face dropping. “Oh, shit. Duck.”

“Wha—” she yanks you down to the floor to crouch awkwardly behind the counter.

You hear the bell ring as the door swings open, followed by several pairs of footsteps and low voices.

“—Christ, if she forgets to lock the door one more fucking time I’m gonna kill her.”

You look at Chloe through furrowed eyebrows, her grip on you still tight. She shakes her head and puts a finger to her lips.

A second man mutters something you can’t make out.

The first voice continues, “Go around back and lug the crates in, we gotta start packing that shit.” 

Another voice, “The crates? They’re not here..”

There’s a heavy beat before the first voice speaks, “What the fuck do you mean they’re not here? She needs them now.”

“Well…the first shipments will be in later this week. The next batch’ll take until the end of the month, probably.”

A sigh, “Dumbass…”

The first voice huffs, “The end of the month? Are you fucking kidding me? I told you to get that shit ready weeks ago and you’ve got it coming in at the end of the month?” 

“I’ll…I’ll see what I can do to get it sooner.”

“Yeah, you do that,” he grumbles. “Motherfucker. I need a drink. Get a bottle of something.”

One of the men rounds the counter, tracks falling short at the sight of you and Chloe huddled against the counter.

“What the fuck?”

You and Chloe are wide-eyed and frozen as he sneers down at you. Still, he looks like he’s trying to be tougher than he is, compensating for size that he does not have, with an attitude that doesn’t match up with the way he sped around the counter to get the other man a drink.

Another guy comes around and you quickly recognize him as the man in charge. He frowns at Chloe, sighing, “You’re not supposed to be here still, Chloe.”

She shifts her weight, “I was just…finishing inventory…”

The bossman’s eyes move to you, laced with nothing but inconvenience. “Oh and you brought a friend. Great.” 

“Mr. Murray, we were just ab—”

He’s quick to cut her off with a hand, “Chloe. Stop talking.”

Her face falls flat and her words die off without hesitation.

“Get up.”

She’s pushing herself off the ground instantly while you’re still on the floor catching up with what the hell’s going on. As she moves out from behind the bar, you scurry to follow her. Your arm bumps against hers as you fiddle with the seams at the bottom of your outfit.

You dressed to go out with your friend on a Friday night, not to meet three mobsters in a closed bar with no witnesses. That’s to say, you’re feeling a little exposed.

You stand in the center of the bar, the three men looking various degrees of annoyed looks across their faces. Though the oldest looking of the bunch has something else in his eyes as he looks you up and down, in no rush to hide his engrossment in your bare legs.

“How old are you, honey?” Even without the blatant ogling, that’s never a good question to hear from a fifty year old man.

Your eyes avert to the floor, lips pursing. 

“Hey, don’t be rude. I asked you a question.” He nudges your chin up a bit rougher than necessary, forcing you to look him in the eyes. 

Somehow, you feel like there’s no answer here that would help you. 

The man at the bar serves as an unexpected saving grace of sorts, muttering, “We don’t have time for this.”

Your pursuer shakes his head, looking you over in a way that makes you feel very small. “I think we got plenty of time.”

“I disagree.”

All heads whip to the doorway where the Red Hood leans against the frame, checking his phone. A never invited but always welcome addition to the party. At least for you.

The man in front of you instantly steps back, putting some distance between the two of you. Hands across the room instinctively fly to holsters only to begrudgingly relax at their sides, probably figuring drawing on Red Hood isn’t in their best interest. Though your focus lies on the bell above his head that didn’t make a peep whenever he came in.

Hood shuts his phone off and puts it away with a quiet sigh before glancing up at the tension-filled room. He literally double takes when his helmet scans past you. You somehow feel more in trouble now than you did two minutes ago. 

“Hood..” the bossman says measuredly. “What are you doing here?”

He stares at you for a second longer before tearing his gaze away. “Just thought I’d check up on you, Murray. Make sure you’re not causing trouble in light of our agreement.” He makes a point of looking back at you and Chloe at that last part before looking to Murray expectantly.

He waves that off easily, “This is nothing. Just two late-shift employees.”

Hood takes a piqued breath. “You picked a bad time to lie to me,” he says flatly.

Murray shakes his head, “Look, we’re just cleaning up a mess. No harm.”

“Really?”

“This clean up benefits you too, they heard too much. The one girl—Chloe, get out. She’s fine, she’s not talking.”

Chloe wastes no time exiting hastily. Bye Chloe.

He continues, “We only need to kill one of them.” He says it like this is an ideal compromise. You’re feeling differently.

Hood huffs, pulling out a gun from his holster. “I’m thinking it’s implied that killing innocent people is a form of causing trouble. Which is in direct violation of our agreement.” He cocks the gun, pointing it at Murray’s head.

Murray steps back dramatically, throwing his hands up. “Hey, an alliance is an alliance!”

Hood wavers his head to the side, “Alliance is a strong word. Temporary tolerance maybe…”

The short man pipes up, “Okay, calm down, calm down. Nobody needs to get killed. We can cooperate.”

“That’s the spirit,” Hood quips, lowering his gun.

The older one shakes his head, “We don’t have anything on her, she’ll talk.”

The short man demurs, “We don’t know that—”

“She saw too much, we can’t have her walking around with that information,” Murray says, moving towards you. 

Hood puts his hands up like some kind of mediator, “Nobody’s killing anybody.”

Murray scoffs, “You were gonna kill me!”

Hood's hands drop as he stands in full, “And I still might!”

Boldly, Murray steps up to him.

But Hood looks down at him, easily a full head taller than him and at least twice his muscle mass. “Let's weigh out your odds here, Murray. Is that a fight you’re winning?”

The look on Murray’s face tells you it’s not and he struggles to maintain this chest to chest confrontation.

It only takes him a moment of wavering to decide to back off, though he sure as hell doesn’t look happy about it. 

Hood pushes past him, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you towards him. 

Murray splutters, watching you go. “You can’t—I-I know people.”

“I am people,” Hood grumbles, steering you towards the door.

Though you can be sure they have them, no one voices any objections aa he pulls you outside.

His stride doesn’t even falter as he marches you down the sidewalk in the direction of your apartment. Aside from the sound of the breeze wisping past your ears, it’s silent between you.

After two blocks you get the strong impression that this muted exchange of energy is just going to keep on, so you force yourself to find something to rattle off about. “That uh, that seems like something he’s gonna be mad about.”

He huffs, “Yeah, well he can get over it or die so I guess it’s a personal choice.”

You frown at his tone, “What’s your problem?”

That was, apparently, the wrong thing to say as his head snaps in your direction. “Why the hell are you out here?”

His sharp attitude has you stumbling a bit. “Why are you out here? You have a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion,” he grumbles. “And I just saved your life so maybe complaining about it isn’t your best move right now.”

You try to stop and face him but he doesn’t let you, keeping you moving along with him. “That’s what we’re doing? Really?” 

Are these about the social skills that you had expected from him based on your first meeting? Yeah. But that first meeting was months ago. He’s proven again and again that he has half a brain and the ability to read a room so you’re really not fucking sure what the hell his problem is. He won’t acknowledge that he kissed you and all but jumped out your living room window, but he will snap at you for asking about his concussion that there’s no way he doesn’t have. Especially if he’s acting like this. 

He ignores your comment, blatantly at that. “Did they say anything about a drug shipment?”

This is what we’re talking about? Sure. Fine. At least you’re talking. 

You open your mouth briefly before closing it again, eyes narrowed. “I don’t know.”

He tries again, “What about Nocturna? Did you hear that name?”

“I…I don’t know.” You weren’t exactly taking notes behind the bar counter. 

His head drops down heavily, “Okay, I think I’m seeing a trend for how this conversation’s gonna go...”

You gawk at him, astonished that he thinks it’s you who’s handling this discussion poorly. “You cannot be serious right now.”

He sighs, slowing as you approach the steps to your building, “Just—why’d they let Chloe go?”

You blink a few times, “I mean, she has a drug problem…” You guess that might be where she’s getting them from…

He nods solemnly, “Okay.”

You huff, turning to walk up the steps, shoulders heavy. You hope he’ll come up with you and maybe, just maybe, address the elephant in the room. 

“Are you—” you turn around to face him again, met with nothing but vacant air. 

A deep, tense, breath from you before calling out, “Really?”

One month. One month. And he decides to show up tonight like it’s no time lost. But there was some fucking time lost.

Count ‘em up, that’s one period, two paychecks, three grocery trips, four laundry days, and thirteen showers. And that stupid fucking vigilante ransacked your head during every single one.

You went through the five stages of grief for this bizarre, undefinable relationship and then discovered about six more while you were at it. 

So when you walk out from the bathroom, you’re a little pissed to see him sitting there on your living room floor, helping himself to a glass of water. 

Maybe it’s his domino mask that gives his expression the illusion of neutrality. Or maybe he really has no idea how insane it is that he would occupy your apartment like this after skipping out on you for an entire lunar cycle.

He leans against your armchair, inspecting a scratch on his lower arm. You enter silently, watching him the whole time as you make your way over to the far end of the couch.

He doesn’t look up at you though, not until after a minute or two of silence. 

“You got any bandages left?” he asks, throwing a glance over his shoulder. 

You stare at him incredulously. 

After ten seconds with no response from you, he turns around fully, frowning. “What?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I—” he squints, eyes flickering across your face. “No?”

You continue to gawk at him, not trying for any words.

He stares back, eyes wide. “I don’t know what you want me to say...”

You tear your gaze from him, preferring to stare at the wall. “You know what, I think I know what your problem is.”

He gives a laugh with little life to it. “I only have one?”

You bite down on your lip, “You only have one I’m ready to kill you over.”

He sits with that for a minute. A long minute, before asking softly, “What is it?”

You shake your head, glaring at an unoccupied nail in the wall. “That you’re an idiot,” you mutter. You start to walk away before turning around again after a few steps. “Where the hell have you been?”

He blinks, “Uh, there’s just been a lot of—”

“Bullshit.”

He’s about to argue his point, but quickly decides to concede, “Yeah.” He takes a deep breath, sitting back. “I…wasn’t prepared for this conversation,” he says carefully.

You scoff with a nod, “Yeah, neither was I, but it’s happening. I m—what did you think was going to happen here? I—you kissed me, you kissed me!”

“No I—” he huffs, “I shouldn’t have done that, okay?”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

He sighs, throwing his hands up at his sides. “What do you want me to say?”

You shrug without genuinity, “Anything that could possibly rationalize that sequence of decisions. You kiss me, run away, ghost me for a fucking month, and then show up again like nothing happened.”

He shuts his eyes, shaking his head. “I know, I know, I’m sorry!”

“I’m not asking you to be sorry, I’m asking you to pick a fucking lane and stick to it!”

He falls silent at that, eyes on the floor. It’s quiet for long enough that you start to think he’ll accept the silence as his cue to leave. You’re not sure if you want him to or not.

You take a deep breath, eyes closed. “I need you to start being straight with me. Now.”

He doesn’t look up, taking his time to find his words. “I am sorry,” he tells you. “I…I’m not good at this. I’m not good with words so I shouldn’t have fucking done it.”

Honestly you weren’t expecting him to actually come up with a reason, so you’re not prepared to weigh out whether or not it’s a good one.

“I like you...a lot. And I didn’t know—I don’t know—what to do about it so I kissed you and I didn’t think it through, and…I guess I panicked.”

That’s more than enough for you to warrant looking back over at him. It doesn’t take long for your gaze to start shifting around awkwardly while you scratch at your neck. “I would’ve taken you for more of a fight over flight kinda guy.”

He nods to himself. “Jus’ depends..” he says quietly.

And then it seems neither of you have anything else to say. You’ve run out of angry words to spit and he’s run out of apologies and excuses. But neither of you feel like you’re done.

The quiet lingers on for a painful amount of time. Your annoyance dissipates into something else, something more uncomfortable, but you couldn’t find a name for it. It’s got your thoughts going faster though and your chest feeling more hollow. Maybe not hollow…maybe just softer. 

He cuts through your thoughts before you can, “Are you mad that I kissed you?”

You shake your head, “No. I’m mad about what happened after.” You’re just mad about what happened after. Should’ve said just.

He thinks about that for a moment. 

“I can be honest with you,” he tells you. The way he says it, it’s somewhere between a peace offering and an assurance to himself.

You look at him again. He reads oddly vulnerable for a man his size with his reputation. You believe him. 

He goes on, “I trust you, you know? I want you to trust me too, if you can.”

You blink a few times, processing. “I…I don’t know anything about you.”

He nods, an anxious aura radiating around him. He leaves you hanging for longer than a few moments, getting you convinced that the conversation is just going to end there.

It doesn’t though, and after a few minutes, he sits up and reaches up to his mask.

It has you sitting up too, like he just pulled out a gun. Your hands fly up instinctually, as though this is completely uncalled for, as if he’s crazy for doing it.

He pauses his movements for a moment, making eye contact with you. His eyes reaffirm his words. He trusts you and he wants you to trust him.

You allow your hands to relax onto your lap and he continues on, taking his mask off.

You’re not revealed to much more of his face than you’d already seen before, but entirely in view like this, he’s a sight. You try not to stare but there’s little reward to removing him from your sight whereas the alternative…

All together like this you can see how his features balance his face out so nicely and make for a warm countenance, if not rough.

He takes a deep breath, setting his mask to the side. “My name is J…” he says with assurance. “Todd,” he tacks on.

You don’t mean to, really, but you’re sure the frown on your face is evident as puzzle pieces start forming and connecting in your mind. 

J…Todd…J…Jay…Todd…Jason…Todd…

Your mouth hangs open, “You’re Jason Todd. You’re de—” Well a couple things are starting to add up. “How are you…how are you not—”

He waves that away, tiredly. “It's a long story. Not particularly happy, either.”

Autopsy scar. Fuck. 

“I mean, I’ll…” he hesitates, “I’ll tell you if you want me to.”

He says it, but discomfort is painted across his face. You’re quick to shake your head, “It’s okay.”

He nods, likely relieved.

You stand up from your seat, crossing the room to sit down next to him. You’d half-expected him to tense up, but his body relaxes when you lean back against the chair.

You close your eyes before asking, “Who’s Nocturna?”

“She’s just this woman that’s been causing trouble for us.”

You don’t say anything and he continues on, shaking his head. “She’s more annoying than anything.”

You open your eyes, looking over. “Yeah?”

He shrugs, “Just trying to take over the underworld, the usual stuff. Nothing you need to worry about.”

You give a laugh that’s barely more than an exhale, relaxing your body completely..

There’s the slightest lull in activity before he sets his hand down on the floor, right on top of yours. The sounds of your breathing are the only thing that fill the room for a few minutes, save for the occasional car horn.

He glances at the clock on the wall, nearing midnight. “I have to go...” He says reluctantly.

You try not to let the disappointment show through your body language. “Go where?”

He pauses before telling you,  “A cemetery.”

You nod vacantly, “Oh. Just for fun, or…?”

He gives a dry laugh, “Just meeting an associate. They’re a bit dramatic, so.”

“Yeah, I’d say.”

“I’ll come back—I’m going to come back,” he mutters against your hairline.

You don’t respond, but you both know he’s good for his promise.

He looks around your apartment for a second before seemingly getting an idea. He pushes himself up off the ground and heads for your kitchen. You watch as he rips a sticky note off the deck on your fridge and scribbles something down on it. 

He returns to you, kneeling down and pushing the square of paper into your hand. “Here,” he says, looking you in the eye. “If you need anything. Anything.”

You engulf the note in your palm, nodding sincerely. His eyes flicker across your face, like he’s thinking about something. He hesitates for a moment, turning towards you, away from you, then towards you again. He holds the back of your head tenderly before pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead.

You look at each other up close for a second with nothing short of starry eyes before he turns away and ducks out the window.

You open up your palm and look down at the paper, at the ten digits scrawled across it.

Huh.

Must be official. 

🧨 reblog or die (this is a threat) 🧨

[letsbangts]

paint me, play me: moonlight || jjk

⤷ summary: you are the day; he is the night. you are the sun; he is the moon. not meant to collide—one must set for the other to rise. but what happens during that rare moment when an eclipse occurs? can you both coexist peacefully together?

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ word count: 46k+

18+ // mdni

⟶ genre: e2l, college au, fluff, angst

⟶ content: grumpy!jk (+ rocker!jk, fuckboy!jk) x sunshine!reader (+ cheerleader!reader, artisit!reader, bimbo!reader), rockband!bangtan

⟶ warnings: explicit language, mean comments, jk being a jerk, jess is a b*tch, bullying?, insults, bickering, insecurities, self-doubt, past trauma, ptsd?, mentions of death, mentions of car accident, mentions of verbal abuse, mentions of smoking, mentions of alcohol, flirting, teasing, (idt there's anything else, but if there is pls lmk!!)

⟶ part: 1/4

↬ a/n: this took forever but I hope the wc justifies why lol but I’m so excited to finally have pt. 1 of pmpm out. the response I got from my initial post about this series was way more than I expected so I hope you all enjoy. and to my little freaks there’s no smut in this chapter but just you wait my loveys ;) happy reading! angel xoxo

↬ a/n2: AND LET IT BE KNOWN I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT UNIVERSITY, ROCK, ART, OR CHEERLEADING. I have no knowledge about anything I’m writing about sooo readers discretion is advised. *also this is edited to the best of my ability but she is a beast so feel free to let me know of any mistakes*

˖⁺. ༶ NOW PLAYING ༶ .⁺˖ moonlight ariana grande 01:43 ─✮───── 03:07 ⇆ ⊲ II ⊳ ↺ ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮

series masterlist ˚.⋆˚.⋆˚.⋆ main masterlist ˚.⋆˚.⋆˚.⋆ join my taglist

i never knew, i never knew you could hold moonlight in your hands 'til the night i held you you are my moonlight, moonlight

New beginnings and change are hard for people, but you have grown accustomed to them. You have come to embrace them. There aren’t many things that could bring you down, and a new town and school aren’t among them. This move might be good for you; a shift in your surroundings may be what you need.

At first, you felt a bit nervous when your mom accepted a new job out here, but once you saw the new house, it sold you on the move. Then, when you looked up the university located here and discovered it is known for its Visual Arts major, all your worries faded. So, when you applied for a transfer from your previous university to Borahae and not only got accepted but also received a scholarship for all your achievements, you felt as if everything was falling into place. You felt as if it was all destined to be.

You walked around to familiarize yourself with the area; it was a pleasant town. It has a small-town vibe but is still a bustling city, and the people are very nice. When the adorable elderly lady who works at the convenience store you stopped by heard you were new to the town, she gave you your lollipop for free. You would never pass up free sweets, even though you were ready to pay.

With a skip in your step and a treat in your mouth that tastes even sweeter because free food is always more delicious, you head home with a newfound high – not from the sugar, but from the feeling that things are looking up.

You practically bounce up the stairs and through the front door, where you find your mom doing some of the last bits of the unpacking. It was overwhelming when the two of you first moved in, but you expected to be stressed out when relocating your entire life from one place to another. But as always, you both had each other to lean on.

You could not ask for a better mom, even without a biased opinion, because she is the woman who gave you life; she is the strongest and kindest woman you know. She has always been in your corner, cheering you on, and had your back when things got shaky. As you have gotten older, she has also started to come to you for support, and you have always been there to give it to her. The past year and a half have been tough on both of you after your dad’s passing, but you noticed she seemed to carry the weight of everything much heavier on her shoulders.

You have seen how this move has brought back that spark in her. Everything about your old home was like a constant reminder of his absence, making it difficult to move on from grieving. Although you both will never forget him or all the memories shared with him, a new space for building a new chapter in both of your lives has boosted her drive for life.

Your mom looks up from the box she was unpacking when she hears you come through the door, and a smile forms on her face as you walk into the living room.

“Oh, sweetie, you’re back already! How was everything?”

“It was nice! Everything is so pretty and old-timey, and the shop lady gave me a free lolly!” You wave the dwindling candy in the air to show her.

She laughs lightly and continues unpacking, placing books on the half-full bookshelf.

“Well, that was nice of her. I will have to stop by myself and greet her. The town seems full of kind people; you just missed one of our neighbours. This sweet young man helped me bring in this box,” she gestures to the heavy box of books. “He mentioned how he and a few other boys live together next door. They’re actually around your age and even attend Borahae as well.”

“Oh, what a coinkydink!” you giggle.

“I know, right? And get this: he said they all play in a rock band! Talk about coincidence! They rehearse in their garage, so he wanted to be sure the noise wouldn’t bother us, but I told him not to worry.”

You nod with wide eyes and your mouth in the shape of an ‘O’.

“I wish I was here to say hi to him.”

Your mom waves her hand, “Oh, it’s okay, sweetie. You’ll meet him soon. I mentioned that I have a daughter his age and that you will be attending the same university as him. I’m sure you’ll meet all of them eventually.”

You nod again, with your lollipop perched between your pursed lips.

“Well, I guess I’ll finish the last few boxes in my room.”

You walk over and kiss your mom on the cheek.

She smiles and continues with her box. As you walk up the steps, she calls out,

“Keep an eye out for him; he was a nice boy. His name is Namjoon!”

☾☀︎

You walk down the sidewalk as fast as possible in your wedge heels. Being late on your first day isn’t ideal, but you had to be sure you looked cute. As you hurry towards the enormous building, your pink mini-dress flows in the light breeze. As you step onto the school grounds, you hear the roar of an engine. When you turn your head towards the sound, you see a motorcycle zoom past you at top speed.

“Ooh, shiny,” you gasp, coming to a halt as you stare at it, mesmerized until it banks the corner and disappears. You shake your head, pulling yourself from your trance and refocus, resuming the trek to the main entrance.

The large building makes you nervous; butterflies form in your stomach as you get closer. You see two guys at the bottom of the stairs leading to the main doors. The guy standing with the broadest shoulders is talking to the other guy sitting on the large stone bannister. The shoulder guy is laughing at something he said, but the other guy sits there with a neutral look as he takes a drag from his cigarette.

You approach them with a big smile, their conversation pausing as they both turn to you. The shoulder guy raises his eyebrows in question while the other looks you up and down before turning back and continuing to smoke.

“Hi! Do you know where the office is?”

The shoulder guy smiles and nods his head.

“Uh, yeah. When you enter the building, turn right, and you’ll see a big ass wooden door, that’s it.” He says, gesturing up the stairs to the building as he talks.

“Big ass wooden door,” you mumble to yourself, nodding. “Got it, thanks, Shoulders!”

You turn and walk away, following his directions before he can reply, causing you to miss his reaction to your name for him and the grin that spreads across the other guy’s face as he chuckles.

“Did she—Did she just call me Shoulders?”

“Well, that is like 75% of you.”

You also miss the guy holding a motorcycle helmet who walks up and joins the other two.

☾☀︎

In the office, you are filling out some forms, making sure all your ‘i’s are dotted with a heart, when you see a middle-aged woman walk out of the back office with a red-haired girl, immediately catching your attention.

She looks the complete opposite of you in her black denim dress, black fishnet tights, thick-winged black eyeliner, and a hoop nose ring.

The secretary assisting you interrupts the two’s conversation, notifying her of your arrival.

“Mrs Baek, this is Y/N L/N.”

Once the woman sees you, she grins and extends her hand for you to shake.

“Ah, Y/N! It is lovely to meet you. I’m Mrs Baek, the dean here. We are so honoured to have someone of your merit attend Borahae. I was very impressed by your work. You are such a gifted artist with a great eye for fine detail. I am sure you will make our school proud.”

You don’t notice how the red-haired girl’s eyes light up.

“Thank you, Mrs Baek! I am so excited to be here!” you bounce in place while giving her hand a little squeeze.

Mrs Baek chuckles, giving your hand in hers a pat with her free hand.

“If you have any questions, my door is always open, dear.”

You nod eagerly, and with that, she turns to leave. She gives the red-haired girl a tiny nod, which she returns with a smile.

You and the girl are now left standing at the counter alone. She steps closer to you, her hand gliding across the wooden surface.

“So you’re new here, huh?”

“Yup! My mom and I just moved here—not to the school, to the town; we don’t live here.”

“I hope not; we’re here enough as it is,” she laughs, and you join in.

“Y/N, right? I’m Chaerin.”

“Nice to meet you! I love your hair, it’s so pretty, it reminds me of a–”

“A cherry?”

“Yes!” you gasp.

“My nickname is Cherry; all my friends call me that. You can, too.”

“Oh, yay! Are we friends?”

Cherry nods with a smile.

“Wow, I haven’t even gone to a class yet, and I’ve already made a friend. This place is great!”

“I heard Mrs Baek say you’re an artist. I’m guessing you’re an art major?”

“Yeah, Visual Arts. Are you studying art, too?”

“Oh no,” Cherry shakes her head fervently, “I can’t even draw stick figures properly. I’m a music major, Music Technology.”

Your mouth hangs agape because your new friend keeps getting cooler and cooler.

“What kind of art do you do?” Cherry asks.

“The one with pictures...” you furrow your brows.

“No, no,” she laughs at your confusion, finding it adorable, “Like, what do you specialize in? Drawing, painting, sculpting?”

“Oh! I’m good at everything, but painting is my favourite!” you beam.

“So you draw too?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

“Oh my gosh, this is perfect,” Cherry mutters, thinking aloud.

Before you can ask what she means, she grabs both of your hands, bringing them up to her chin with pleading eyes. You look at her in surprise.

“I know we just met, and I’m not usually this forward... that’s a lie, I am, but I don’t want to seem rude. But what are the chances that I would run into the new artist getting the dean’s praise? It’s like fate crossed our paths,” she rushes out her words in one breath, “So as your new friend, I need a favour from you. You see, my boyfriend is in this rock band with his friends, and they have been looking for someone to design a logo for them.”

“A rock band?” your look of surprise only grows.

First, you move in next door to a rock band, and now your new friend is dating someone in a rock band. What crazy odds.

“Yeah, Army of Bombs is what they go by. I help them with their songs sometimes. I know I’m a little biased, but they are amazing!”

“And you want me to design a logo for them?” you say slowly, taking her request in.

She nods desperately, squeezing your hands tighter. “Please, pretty please, with a cherry on top. No pun intended.”

You giggle at her remark and even more at her puppy dog eyes and pout.

“I would love to help you, but—”

Cherry, thinking you’re about to say no, interrupts.

“Look, I know rock music is probably not your thing,” she gestures up and down at you, “But I mean, you don’t have to like it,” she says, trying to reason.

You chuckle at the irony.

“No, that’s not it. I just—I don’t know the band well enough to design a logo for them,” you shrug with a small smile, not wanting to disappoint her.

“You can come and sit in on their rehearsals! You can get a feel of the band’s vibe. The guys won’t mind. They’re cool; you’ll like them.”

She stares at you nervously as you tilt your head in thought, considering her offer.

“Hmm, okay! I’ll do it!” you exclaim.

“Oh my gosh, seriously! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She pulls you into a tight hug, swaying side to side. “You’re the best, Y/N! If you ever need anything, say the word, I’m your girl.”

You hug her back just as tightly.

“I can’t help this week though. I have a lot going on since it’s my first week here,” you tell her as you pull apart.

“That’s cool, I get it. Whenever you’re free, let me know. You can text me. I’m usually always at the rehearsals anyway. They rehearse at their house. Oh yeah, here, let’s exchange numbers.”

She pulls out her phone, encased in a piano phone case and hands it to you to put in your number. You pull out your pink rhinestone-covered phone and give it to her to do the same.

She enters her number and flips your phone in her hand. She looks at the sparkly case before glancing at you and chuckling as she hands the device back.

You look at her with wide, curious eyes.

“You really are like a little Barbie, huh?”

You light up at her comment, “Thanks!”

“They will be so pumped; I can’t wait to tell the guys about this! My boyfriend is waiting for me outside. He’s probably wondering what’s taking me so long.”

“I’m excited to meet everyone,” you smile.

“Barbs, I believe this is the start of a beautiful friendship,” she smiles back.

You think the same thing.

☾☀︎

You are nearing the end of your first week; it has been great so far. You like all your classes, and your professors have been very welcoming; they have all heard of you and your scholarship. You’ve made connections with a few classmates and gained more friends, but Cherry still sits at the top of the list.

You and she have been texting all week, and it’s not just about the band logo; she has been making sure you are doing okay with adjusting to everything. However, she did mention that she told her friends that you agreed to design their band’s logo and that they were excited.

Speaking of bands, you have yet to meet any of your neighbours that your mom told you about. You would think no one even lives there if it weren’t for the music you hear coming from the garage almost every night. That Namjoon guy must be nice if he warned your mom about the noise because it is loud. But they are talented; you��ve caught yourself bobbing your head to the music numerous times. You’ll tell them you’re a fan when you finally meet them.

You are headed to the gym to try out for the cheerleading team. Art is a relatively sedentary and solitary activity, so you enjoy cheerleading because it gets you moving and allows you to socialize with others. Also, the uniform is super cute, and you love cheering people on.

You push open the gym door and walk over to the girls gathered on the bench, waiting for the tryouts to begin. You sit down next to a strawberry-blonde girl who is texting away on her phone. You notice a pink gummy bear charm dangling from her cell.

“I like your charm; it’s so adorable!”

She looks up upon hearing your compliment, and her eyes dart from you to her phone and back to you before she smiles.

“Thanks, I like your set,” she gestures to your hot pink sports bra and matching pants, “I see we both have great taste in colours.”

“I love pink and candy, so this is like they had a baby,” you say, taking the charm between your fingers and examining it more closely.

“You’re funny. I’m Rina, by the way,” she lifts her hand in a small wave as she introduces herself.

“I’m Y/N,” you wave back gleefully.

The doors open before you two can talk anymore, and the room fills with the echo of laughter. Three girls walk in, wearing purple and white cheerleading uniforms, and stand in front of the waiting students. The tallest girl among the three stands between the others and plasters a wide, fake smile on her face before she speaks.

“Hello, everyone. Welcome to the cheer tryouts for the Borahae Belles. I’m Jess, the cheer captain. And this is Mei,” she points to the girl on her right, “And this is Kat,” she points to the girl on her left.

“This is our second year cheering for the school; we had a stellar year last year, winning nationals,” Jess flips her ponytail over her shoulder, placing a hand over her chest, “And like I did last year, I plan on leading us to victory this year, so I hope you brought your ‘A’ game.”

Everyone’s faces fill with fear, but you aren’t worried. You are excited to be cheering again; you missed it.

“We would usually have tryouts out on the field, but the football team has practice today, so we had to settle for in here. As you can see, we only have a few roll-out mats, so try not to get injured because we really can’t deal with that right now,” Jess rolls her eyes, and the other two girls snicker.

“Okay, enough talk. Let’s get started!” Jess claps twice, and Mei hands her a clipboard with the signup sheet.

One by one, people start going to the centre of the room and performing their routines. The three cheerleaders give little to no response, simply calling out the next name after each performance.

“I’m so nervous, are you?” Rina whispers to you.

“No, not at all,” you shake your head.

“You must be confident.”

You are. You were cheer captain throughout high school and even at your old university. You don’t have a big head, but you know you’re good, so you’re confident you’ll make the team.

“I am; you should be, too. I bet you’ll do great,” you say, squeezing Rina’s shoulder in encouragement.

Just then, Rina’s name gets called out. She gives you a weak smile, gets up and makes her way to the mat. She performs her routine flawlessly, finishing with a back handspring, jumping into a herkie, and landing in a torch position.

“Yay, Rina,” you applaud enthusiastically for her, thinking she had no reason to be nervous.

You don’t see the dirty look Jess gives you.

Rina mouths a silent “thank you” and “good luck” and gives you a thumbs-up before she leaves the gym.

Four more people’s names get called out before you finally hear yours; you spring up and skip over to the mat.

“Hi, I’m Y/N L/N! I’m very excited to cheer for you.”

“Yeah, we know your name’s on the signup sheet,” Kat says as she and Mei snicker.

Jess tilts her head, eyes scanning you, “Why don’t you start your routine?” she smirks.

While you perform your routine, Jess sits up straighter than she has since tryouts began. Both Mei and Kat’s eyes are wide in shock. You’re good–excellent. You’re better than they thought you’d be, better than the others who have tried out. The two girls don’t say anything for fear of upsetting the captain, but you’re even better than Jess.

Mei and Kat glance warily at Jess, her eyes are narrow, and her lips are pursed from her sucking her teeth.

You finish with a toe touch and land in a liberty pose. Once you face the three girls with an anticipatory expression, Jess immediately breaks into a smile, which you return, unaware of her disapproving look throughout your routine you were too absorbed into to notice.

“You’re good. Y/N, was it?” Jess asks, raising an eyebrow.

You nod, clasping your hands behind your back.

She hums, glancing down briefly before continuing, “I shouldn’t say anything before the official list goes up, but I think you can consider yourself a Borahae Belle.”

You hop up and down in place, hands balled up, nearly bursting with joy.

You’re clueless about how the other two cheerleaders whip their heads towards the captain in surprise, taken aback by her complimentary words and acceptance of you.

You thank the three girls before practically bouncing out of the room.

As soon as you’re out of sight, Jess’s smile disappears.

☾☀︎

Cherry is sitting on the sofa in the guys’ garage as they get ready to rehearse, tune their instruments, and set up the equipment. Seokjin, who is rolling out the amplifier and plugging it in, calls her name.

“Hey Cher, when are we going to get to meet this art girl? I’m dying to discuss logo ideas with her.”

Hoseok, who was tuning his guitar, chimes in at the mention, “Yeah, it’s about time we finally got one. Every iconic band has a logo; branding Army of Bombs if we want to make our mark is a must.”

“She’s super busy this week; I told you she just moved here. Once she settles in, she will start working on the design. She’s going to sit in on rehearsals to help her get ideas,” Cherry replies.

“If she is as good of an artist as you said, shouldn’t she be able to draw something up at the snap of her fingers?” Jimin comments.

“The logo has to fit the band, and she knows nothing about you guys or your music. Also, rock and roll music doesn’t seem like her style, so she has to get familiar with it.”

“Did you get to see any of her work? You know, to see how good she is?” Namjoon asks.

“No, I never got a chance to,” Cherry shrugs.

The band exchanges pessimistic looks with one another.

“So let me get this straight, you asked a girl who doesn’t like rock and who might be a shit artist to design our logo? Well, that sounds promising.” Taehyung smirks, his tone laced with sarcasm.

“She is talented; I heard the dean praise her myself.”

“The dean would kiss anyone’s ass. You know how much people pay to go there,” Taehyung rebuts.

“She said she was honoured to have her attend the school. I don’t remember ever hearing that she complimented any of you.”

“She once told me I was, and I quote, “unbelievable” actually,” Jimin says.

“She wasn’t saying that as a compliment, you idiot. She said it in disdain,” Seokjin clarifies.

“Semantics,” Jimin waves off. “The point is that Cherry has probably roped us in with some new girl and opened our rehearsals to her without checking her credibility.”

“What are you blaming my girlfriend for?” Yoongi inquires as he walks in with Jungkook a few steps behind him. He sits on the sofa beside Cherry and wraps an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into his side.

“We just found out that she doesn’t know if the girl she got to do the logo has any real talent,” Hoseok updates while pointing at Cherry.

Yoongi turns his head to look at her, his brows furrowed, “I thought you said she was good?”

“She is!” Cherry exclaims, throwing her hands in the air. All the guys jump in shock at her outburst.

“I can’t believe you guys are giving me such a hard time. You were eager to find someone, and now that I have found someone willing to do it, you are complaining.”

“We aren’t complaining, Cher; we are sceptical. She might be willing, but that doesn’t mean her work will meet our standards,” Taehyung states.

“Didn’t you see any of her drawings or something?” Jungkook asks while grabbing his guitar and putting the strap over his head. When he looks up, he sees the rest of the band staring at Cherry, whose eyes are rolling in exasperation.

Jungkook smirks and snickers, “You didn’t. Way to put in the work, Cherry.”

“Okay now, step off. We gotta give this girl a chance at least; I’m sure Cher is vouching for her for a reason.” Yoongi comes to his girlfriend’s defence, calming everyone down. He kisses her on the temple before making his way to his keyboard.

“Yeah, who knows? She might be like a little Picasso,” Namjoon says, intervening to lighten the mood. He pats Cherry’s shoulder as he walks by her and sits behind the drum set.

The guys take their positions, and Cherry leans back onto the sofa with a huff.

“I’m telling you, she’s good and doing us a big favour by agreeing to help us. Once you guys meet her, you’ll be eating your words.”

Namjoon does the count-off, his drumsticks hitting together with each number, “One, two, three, four.”

☾☀︎

Rehearsal ended a little while ago, and the band was scattered around different spots in the garage resting.

“Kook, what happened to that chick you were seeing? I haven’t seen you with her since Junho’s party,” Hoseok asks from his seat in the beanbag chair in the corner.

Jungkook, sitting on top of an amp, looks up from his phone, tilting his head in thought.

“Which girl?” Jungkook questions in return.

“Wow, seriously, man? You’re an animal,” Jimin laughs, shaking his head.

“The one who always showed up at the venue an hour before our shows and sat on stage the entire rehearsal,” Hoseok describes the girl.

“Oh her, I got rid of her a while ago.”

“Why? What was wrong with that one now?” Seokjin asks from the sofa, accustomed to the youngest one’s pattern.

“I just ended it,” Jungkook shrugs.

The older guys shake their heads, some chuckling at Jungkook’s nonchalance.

“Ugh, you are such a stereotypical rocker,” Cherry scoffs.

“Don’t hate the player, babe, hate the game,” Jungkook smirks, sending her a wink.

“Getting with girls shouldn’t be a game, Kook.”

“Hey, it’s all good fun, and we’re all consenting adults. It’s not like I hunt for these girls; they come to me.”

“More like they cum for you,” Taehyung jokes and daps Jungkook.

“Disgusting,” Cherry turns to Yoongi sitting beside her, “I sometimes question your choice of friends.”

“How come in moments like this, they’re not your friends, too?” Yoongi laughs.

“Speaking of girls, Joon, didn’t you say the lady who moved in next door has a daughter our age?” Jimin diverts, sitting on the armrest of the recliner Namjoon is sitting on.

Namjoon nods, “Yeah, she said she goes to Borahae too, but I haven’t run into her yet.”

“She must be one of those students who live their lives studying–home to school to the library and back,” Jimin says, waving his hand, tilting his beer bottle back and forth.

“Wait a minute, did you say a girl our age? Why am I only hearing about this now? I would have gone over to introduce myself, like a good neighbour should,” Taehyung perks up on the stool he’s perched on.

“That is what we don’t want,” Seokjin points to the three youngest, “You three are prohibited from going next door.”

“Hold up! Why are we being singled out?” Jimin exclaims.

“Because you guys wreak havoc wherever you go, and her mom is nice and was cool about us rehearsing out here. We don’t need you ruining that by messing around with her daughter,” Seokjin explains.

“Excuse me, I am a perfect gentleman. These two are the ones you need to worry about,” Jimin says, pointing two fingers at Taehyung and Jungkook.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about me; I don’t shit where I eat,” Jungkook raises both hands in surrender.

“And I resent being classed the same as Kook; I am nowhere near as big of a hoe as he is,” Taehyung defends himself.

“We’re not taking chances; don’t go anywhere near the kid, all three of you,” Yoongi declares.

“Yeah, the poor girl just moved here. Don’t corrupt her with your sleaziness; give her a break,” Cherry smirks.

“I can keep my hands to myself, but if she approaches me and she’s cute, I make no promises where my hands will be on campus,” Taehyung shrugs before sipping his beer.

The conversation shifts after that, and various topics are discussed, from upcoming shows to party invites they have received. The current topic is their female escapades despite prior denials.

Seokjin is in the middle of a story when he gets interrupted by a low whistle from Taehyung.

“Hottie headed this way,” he announces, his eyes focused on the street where a girl is walking down the sidewalk.

All heads, excluding Yoongi’s and Cherry’s, turn to follow his line of sight.

“Those are our school colours,” Namjoon notes.

“Damn, since when did cheerleaders roam this street,” Hoseok says.

That causes Cherry to glance in reluctance briefly before doing a double take. She suddenly stands up from Yoongi’s side, “Y/N?”

The guys all redirect their eyes to her in question.

“Y/N? Didn’t you say the art girl was named Y/N?” Yoongi asks.

She stands up, walks out of the garage, and yells, “Hey, Y/N!”

☾☀︎

As you expected, you made the cheerleading team, but you were still excited when you saw your name on the list of those who made it onto the team. Rina also made the team, so you were extra happy.

You changed into your new uniform right after you picked it up and made your routine stop by the convenience store on your way home. You told Mrs Lee, the adorable elderly lady who works there, that you made the team and twirled around to show off your new outfit. She was just as excited as you were and told you how pretty you looked. When you went to pay for your lollipop, she refused to let you pay, saying it was a reward for the special occasion.

So now you are walking home in your cute uniform and with a celebratory lollipop in your favourite flavour: bubble gum.

You think you’ve reached peak happiness at this moment. You can’t wait to get home to tell your mom the news and have her happiness added to it all. You turn the corner to your street and walk down the sidewalk to your house. As you get closer, you notice your neighbour’s garage open, this being your first time seeing any sign of life from the residence.

You pick up your pace, wondering if this is when you’ll finally meet the elusive rock band from next door that you’ve been hearing through the walls all week.

As soon as the garage comes into full view, you hear your name called.

“Hey, Y/N!”

You look up your neighbour’s driveway to see Cherry waving at you. With a big smile, you run up to her and hug her, making sure not to get the sticky candy caught in her hair. The thought of finally meeting the rocker’s neighbours gets instantly forgotten.

“Cherry!”

“What are you doing here?” she laughs as you pull away from the hug.

“I’m on my way home,” you point towards the direction of your house.

“You live close by?”

“Yup!” you giggle.

“And what’s this,” Cherry gestures to your uniform, “You didn’t tell me you were trying out for the cheer team.”

“I guess I forgot to mention it,” you knit your brows and pout briefly before lighting back up, “But isn’t it great! Don’t I look so cute?” You give her a twirl with your arms stretched out at your sides.

The guys watch in amusement while Jungkook slides off the amp, rolling his eyes as he heads over to the mini fridge in the back.

“You look cuter than anything my eyes have ever seen,” Taehyung interjects from his seat.

You glance over Cherry’s shoulder and smile at the boy. She lets out a huff and grabs your hand.

“I guess this is a time as good as any to introduce you to the band,” she tugs you into the garage with her.

“How do you know them?” you ask as you walk behind her.

Cherry turns and looks at you with a confused yet amused expression, letting go of your hand, “Huh? What do you mean? Remember when I asked you for help? I said my boyfriend was in a band with some friends.”

You nod slowly, still not caught up.

She smiles at you and flails her hand at the guys dispersed around the garage, “This is the band. Y/N, meet Army of Bombs.”

Your mouth hangs agape at the news. Your rocker neighbours are the same band Cherry asked you to design for. Wow, another coinkydink!

She pulls Yoongi from the sofa by his arm, “This is my boyfriend, Yoongi. He is the keyboardist of the band.”

He gives you a nod in greeting before a look of realization crosses his face.

“Wait, haven’t we seen you before?” he asks, pointing to you but turning to Seokjin.

You follow his gaze and gasp, “Shoulders!”

“I usually go by Seokjin, but I’ll take the nickname as a compliment,” Seokjin says with a laugh as he gets up to shake your hand.

You laugh as you shake hands while Cherry’s eyes dart between the three of you, puzzled.

“You met her already?” she asks the boys.

“She asked us, well, me, Yoongi — as usual, gave no help, for directions to the office,” Seokjin tells her.

“That was the day I met you,” you add, lifting your lollipop back to your mouth.

“Wow, that’s so crazy. Fate seriously crossed our paths!” Cherry exclaims.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you formally, Y/N. I’m the band’s manager,” Seokjin explains.

“Or, as we like to call him, our roadie,” a voice adds, stepping forward to join the introductions.

“I’m Taehyung, the visual relief of the band, but my official role is bassist,” the boy says, bared with a suave smile. He takes your hand and is about to bring it to his lips when Cherry rips his hold of you and pushes past him.

“He is also the official buffoon; ignore him,” Cherry glances back, glaring at Taehyung, who sticks his tongue out playfully at her before smirking.

“This is Hoseok. He’s the rhythm guitarist. Jimin, he’s the lead singer.” The boys give you a friendly wave and a smile, greeting you.

“Namjoon’s the drummer,” the boy flashes you a dimpled smile.

The name catches your attention, and your perplexed expression has Namjoon and Cherry looking at you bewildered.

“What’s wrong?” Cherry asks.

“Namjoon,” you mutter, tapping your lollipop against your lips in thought.

Namjoon sends Cherry a worried look, and she shrugs.

“Ah!” you exclaim, and they both raise their brows at your sudden outburst.

“You’re the sweet young man,” you smile and point your candy at him.

He gives you an amused chuckle, tilting his head slightly, “Am I?”

You nod, “Yeah, my mom said you were a nice boy.”

“Okay, Joon, going after MILFs now,” Jimin hollers but receives a quick nudge in the ribs from Yoongi and a dirty look from Namjoon.

“Your mom met Namjoon? Where?” Cherry questions.

“Outside,” you point out of the garage, answering Cherry.

The boys let out a small chuckle; Cherry ignores them and gives you a stare, urging you to explain further.

“He helped my mom bring in a heavy box.”

When everyone comes to the same realization, their faces turn to shock. You glance around and giggle at their expressions.

Cherry grabs you by your shoulders and turns you to face her body.

“Y/N, you moved in next door? Like into the house beside this one?” Cherry simplifies, trying to get a clear answer.

“Mhm,” you nod up at her, sucking on your lollipop.

“So you’re the daughter she mentioned,” Namjoon sends you a gentle smile.

“Well, now we know she for sure isn’t one of those students who live their life studying,” Jimin whispers to Hoseok, causing both of them to stifle a laugh.

A clink is heard from the back of the garage, catching your attention. You gaze in that direction, catching a glimpse of a broad back closing the mini-fridge door. As the person turns around, you encounter the most beautiful human you have ever seen.

His dark hair is black like the night sky, his skin is golden like a radiant star, and his eyes are big and intense like a black hole. He is like a galaxy walking on two legs, his gravitational pull too strong to escape; you feel the need to move towards it.

“Oh, right. Y/N, this is Jungkook; he’s the lead guitarist,” Cherry says, though her voice is almost like white noise to you, yet you still hear her.

“Jungkook,” you repeat.

For a brief moment, Jungkook, wearing a blank expression, his eyes unreadable, holds your gaze before breaking it, opening his beer, and walking over to sit on the stool in the corner. But you can’t ignore how your heartbeat quickens, the tingling sensation, how you somehow feel warmer.

“We never got to thank you for agreeing to design our logo,” Namjoon says, pulling you out of your trance and resting a hand on your shoulder.

“O-oh,” you blink, collecting yourself, “It’s no biggie!” you smile brightly.

“You’re doing us a solid; we’ve been searching for someone for months to do it,” Hoseok says.

“I’m so excited to do it and to sit in on your rehearsals. I’ve wanted to meet my neighbours. I can hear when you guys play through the walls, and I’m already a fan. You guys are super duper,” you say, giving them a thumbs-up.

Jungkook scoffs to himself quietly while the rest of the band smiles at you in gratitude.

“We’re excited to see what you come up with. Do you have any drawings so we can see your style?” Jimin asks.

“I don’t have my sketchbook with me; it’s at home,” you shake your head.

The boys give Cherry a doubtful look, which she ignores.

“Oh yeah! I have to go; I told my mom I would be back in time for dinner,” you say.

“Of course. We’ll see your stuff when you come to rehearsal. You’re still coming tomorrow, right?” Cherry asks as she walks you out.

You nod eagerly, “Yup, I’ll be here!”

She smiles, and you hug each other goodbye.

Before you take the few steps to your house, you turn and wave to the band.

“Bye-bye, see you tomorrow! It was nice seeing you again, Shoulders and Shoulders’ friend! And it was nice meeting the rest of you,” you call out, saying the last part while looking at the beautiful boy on the stool.

He doesn’t even acknowledge your words, occupied with his phone. The band bids you farewell, and you head to your house.

As you walk up the steps to your home, you smile with a blush, “Jungkook,” you muse, “What a pretty, pretty boy.”

☾☀︎

After your departure, Cherry turns to the boys with a raised brow.

“She’s nice,” Seokjin nods in approval with a smile.

“I can’t believe the person who asked for directions, the one Cher got to help us, and our new neighbour are all the same girl. What are the chances of all that?” Yoongi raises a finger with each point.

“I can’t believe you failed to mention how hot she was,” Taehyung says in disbelief to Cherry.

“Maybe because that has no relevance to anything,” Cherry deadpans.

“To you, but a hot cheerleader who is a talented artist and lives next door is like the female trifecta,” Jimin says.

“Oh, so now that you guys see she’s cute, you’re suddenly backtracking and agreeing with me that she’s got talent,” Cherry notes.

“I’m more hopeful about it,” Taehyung shamelessly declares with a nod, receiving an unimpressed look from Cherry in return.

“You guys can’t be serious,” Jungkook pipes up.

“What?” Cherry asks.

“You couldn’t find someone whose head isn’t in the fucking clouds.”

“Come on, don’t be so judgemental, Jungkook,” Cherry scolds.

“I have to admit, Cher, I’m still wary that she’s got any real art skills; she does seem a bit... ditzy,” Hoseok says gently, trying not to offend.

“She’s an airhead. I’d be surprised if she can even spell art,” Jungkook comments, his tone harsh.

“All of you should be the last to judge someone so quickly. Do you think when people hear you say you’re in a rock band, they don’t immediately assume you’re a bunch of wannabe rockstar losers before hearing how talented you are?” Cherry rebukes.

“You’re talking as if you’ve seen how “talented” she is,” Jungkook counters, his fingers making air quotes around the word.

“You know just as much about her supposed talent as we do. You’re just being defensive because she’s your new little friend,” Jungkook continues.

“And you’re being rude because she isn’t all doom and gloom like you,” Cherry argues.

“More like I’m calling it as I see it; she’s living in a world of her own,” he ripostes.

“And what does that have to do with her capabilities?”

Namjoon steps in to de-escalate the conversation: “She has a point: We can’t evaluate her abilities based on her personality. I say we wait to see what she shows us before jumping to conclusions,” he says, throwing Jungkook a look of reassurance; he adds, “We may be pleasantly surprised.”

“Whatever,” Jungkook mumbles, backing off. But he remains very doubtful that you can bring anything of substance, not believing that there is anything under your surface of lip gloss, bows, and lollipops that will surprise him.

☾☀︎

The next day couldn’t come fast enough for you; it was a bit after lunchtime when Cherry texted you that she had arrived at the garage and that the band was setting up for rehearsal.

As you skip next door with your sketchbook held to your chest, it feels like you are floating on a cloud. You thought about the pretty boy with the pretty big eyes all night, and you couldn’t wait to lay your eyes on him once again.

The garage door is wide open. You turn to enter and nearly bump into the very man you’ve been eager to see. You look him up and down shamelessly; he is wearing baggy jeans, black chunky combat boots and a white shirt with a black bomber jacket. With a chance to look closer at him, you notice his plump pink lips adorned with two piercings, his right eyebrow pierced, his ears decorated with several earrings, and a small scar on his left cheek.

“Oh, um, hi!” you smile at Jungkook with a tiny wave.

Jungkook gives you a once-over, his face emotionless, and walks away without a greeting.

You pout slightly, glancing down at your pink frilly crop top and white jean skirt, but don’t stay hung up on it for too long as Cherry notices your arrival.

“Barbs, you’re here. Come in,” Cherry waves you over.

She gives you a quick hug, and the rest of the band greets you warmly with head nods and waves.

“Hey, Shortstack,” Taehyung says with a gentle pat on your head.

You giggle at the nickname the tall boy has given you. Cherry sees the book cradled in your arms and smiles at you, excited for the guys to finally see how talented you are and, quite frankly, to see herself.

“Is that your sketchbook? Can we take a look?” she asks.

“Mhm,” you nod and hand her the baby pink sketchbook, a picture of two swans with their beaks touching on the cover.

The guys abandon their instruments as they overhear and huddle around the red-haired girl. You sit on the worn-out black leather sofa, glancing around the grungy place decorated with posters of different rock bands and filled with musical equipment. Your eyes land on Jungkook tuning his guitar in the back, not concerned with seeing your sketches like the rest of the band.

You watch as Cherry opens the sketchbook, and her eyes light up. Her mouth drops open as she flips through the pages, and her eyes widen with the guys’.

“Y-You drew these?” Hoseok asks dumbfounded, pointing at the book.

You nod brightly.

“Holy shit, Y/N! These are amazing!” Jimin exclaims.

“I knew you were talented, Y/N, but I didn’t think you were this good,” Cherry chuckles at the pages, shaking her head.

“They’re okay; I’m better at painting,” you blush at the compliments.

“No need to be humble, kid. These are way better than okay,” Yoongi says.

At Yoongi’s comment, you watch Jungkook walk over to the group, look over their shoulders at your drawings, glance at you, and then walk back over to continue tuning his guitar, all while his face remains impassive.

“Huh, you are like a little Picasso,” Namjoon says with a kind smile.

“Thank you,” you mutter shyly.

“I get why the dean was kissing your feet,” Hoseok says in awe, nodding.

“She didn’t kiss my feet,” you correct, shaking your head with knitted brows.

“He means why she praised your work,” Cherry explains.

“Oh... yeah. Mrs Baek is very nice,” you nod.

The guys all snicker, “Nice? Now that’s the first time I’ve heard that said about her,” Jimin tilts his head to the side with a slight shake.

“Well, the scholarship was nice of her,” you shrug.

They all look at you with faces of astonishment, and you give them the same look in return.

“What?” you ask, eyes wide.

“You got the dean’s scholarship?” Cherry asks, amazed.

“Yeah… is that bad?” you ask, worried at everyone’s shocked expressions.

“Man, we hit the jackpot!” Seokjin laughs with a clap of his hands.

“Getting a scholarship at Borahae, especially in Visual Arts, is very impressive, Barbs,” Cherry says as she comes and sits beside you, handing you back your sketchbook.

“You are very talented, Shortstack. Army of Bombs is honoured to have you design our logo; I’m sure you’ll make us proud,” Taehyung winks.

“I’ll do my bestest!” you declare with a determined nod but then pause before continuing, “On one condition, though,” you say, holding up your index finger.

Their eyes fill with apprehension, “What is it?” Yoongi asks.

“Remember to thank Y/N with $1 million when you become rich and famous,” you smile brightly.

They all chuckle at your cuteness when an irritated voice interrupts.

“Are we rehearsing today or not; because I have other places I could be,” Jungkook says in exasperation.

The boys roll their eyes and then move to take their positions. Seokjin sits beside you and nudges your shoulder with his; you turn to look at him.

“Thank you for helping us; we seriously appreciate it,” he says, shifting his eyes to the band. You follow his gaze to Jungkook. “All of us,” he finishes.

You look back at Seokjin, “I’m happy to do it,” you reply with a soft smile.

Cherry puts an arm around you, pulls you into her side, and gives you a little squeeze. You rest your head on her shoulder as the band begins to play. The loud music you previously had only heard through the walls shakes the room. Your body vibrates, and your ears ring as a sentimental smile forms on your lips at the nostalgia.

☾☀︎

It has been two weeks since you started attending the band’s rehearsals, and Jungkook still has not said a single word to you. He barely even looks at you, but when he does, it is brief, as if he is looking right through you.

The rest of the band seems to have accepted you into their circle quite warmly, even Yoongi, who isn’t very expressive; however, Jungkook remains cold and distant. You refuse to believe someone so beautiful could be so closed off. You have never been a girl who gives up quickly, so you have become determined to get the boy to embrace you just as the rest have — maybe even more. You can’t ignore the attraction you feel for him, not just physically, but it seems something deeper is compelling you to him.

Sitting in your newly designated spot on the sofa, Jungkook approaches you, and you perk up at the hope that this is the breakthrough you have been waiting for. But to your disappointment, as usual, your presence is dismissed as though you don’t exist; he reaches to the side table next to the sofa and picks up a water bottle. You stare at him as he chugs the liquid, watching his Adam’s apple bob and the sweat trickle down his neck.

He is captivating and handsome no matter what he does, even with the moody, intimidating aura around him.

Your eyes flicker down his body, and his arm catches your eye. As this is the first time you have seen him without a jacket on, you have never gotten to admire how his right arm, from his fingers going all the way up, is fully decorated with intricate ink designs.

This time, your gawking must be too much for Jungkook because only a second later, he sets his gaze on you.

“What?” he snaps.

You lift your eyes to his own, “What?” you blink.

The roll of his eyes is something you’re familiar with now, so you don’t take it to heart.

He sighs, closes his eyes, and exhales slowly through his nose as if calming himself, “You’re staring.”

You nod, “I am. I always do. You’re so pretty,” you say as if it’s obvious, gazing into his eyes.

You smile when his eyes meet yours. He turns his head to the side, looking away from you and clears his throat.

“You’re staring more than usual,” he states.

You seize the opportunity and jump off the sofa to his side; he flinches slightly at your suddenness.

“I was looking at your tattoos; I never noticed them. I like them! They are almost as pretty as you,” you take hold of his arm to examine the designs.

Jungkook rips his arm out of your grasp like your touch burns his skin. You don’t let his movement stop you, carrying on.

“They must have been painful. You are so brave to have done that,” you point at Jungkook’s arm, smiling in awe.

“They’re tattoos, not battle scars,” he grumbles, his tone grim.

“You’re so funny, Jungkookie,” you giggle.

His head whips, his jaw clenched, and he steps forward, towering over you.

“Don’t call me that,” his teeth gritted, his voice low, almost a growl.

Jungkook’s eyes flash dangerously, throwing a look meant to be a warning, but it completely unfazed you.

“Why don’t you like it? I think it fits you perfectly; your eyes are like big chocolate chips,” you tiptoe to peer into his eyes, not paying attention to how close your faces are to each other.

Jungkook stares back silently, then he leans back, looks to the side, blinks, clears his throat again, and pushes you back by your shoulders.

You turn your head to his big hand on your shoulder and blush; his touch is warm and not too forceful, just enough to create a suitable distance between you.

Then he tilts his head, “Are you always so annoying?” he sighs.

“I don’t think I’m annoying,” you say nonchalantly with a shrug yet pouting.

Jungkook only shakes his head, blinking once again before he walks away with a quiet curse escaping his lips.

☾☀︎

You waltz into the garage, no longer hesitant; it has become a place of comfort for you.

“Hi!” you announce your arrival and are greeted with hellos from those present. Your eyes shift, and you notice that a few members are missing, most notably the man of your dreams.

“Where’s Jungkookie?” you ask, not bothering to name the others absent.

Namjoon picks up on this but doesn’t mention it. He chuckles as he replies, “JK, Tae, and Jimin are on their way; they should be here soon.”

You nod, relaxing slightly; your eyebrows unfurrow, and your shoulders ease.

You settle beside Cherry on the sofa in your spot, pull out your sketchbook from your tote bag and open it to see the rough drawings you have made for the Army of Bombs logo. The book now has several pages of draft illustrations that you hope will lead you to the final design. You also pull out a new lollipop, unwrap it, and pop it into your mouth, humming in satisfaction.

“What flavour is it today?” she grins and nods towards your candy.

You pull out the red sweet and point it towards her with a wink, “Cherry,” you giggle.

“Ah! The superior flavour, as expected, great taste, Barbs,” she says, shooting a finger gun at you.

“Bubble gum is the greatest flavour, actually, but cherry is a very close second,” you correct jokingly.

You hear gravel crunching, and then Jungkook and the other boys enter the garage. His figure almost glowing as you watch him walk in.

“Sup,” Jungkook says, greeting the guys and doing that dap-hug guys do.

“Hi, Jungkookie!” you wave enthusiastically.

You don’t see how Cherry raises a brow at him, knowing his habit of ignoring you. He sighs and turns to you reluctantly.

“Hi,” his voice curt. The second the word is out of his mouth, he turns away, but you beam at the attention.

“Hey, Shortstack.”

Taehyung walks over and hugs you, patting your head.

“Hi, Taetae, where were you guys?”

“We were at the venue for our upcoming gig, just checking some last-minute stuff. Why did you miss us?” Taehyung pinches your cheek.

You nod, although you missed one of them more than the rest. Taehyung chortles, patting your head again with fond eyes.

“Sorry, Shorty. We had to take care of business,” Jimin taps your chin.

“Bold of you to call her Shorty,” Cherry quips, eyes darting up and down Jimin’s body.

“Haha. Funny,” Jimin laughs mockingly, “Why don’t you tell that joke to your boyfriend?”

“Touche, Park,” Cherry narrows her eyes at the mention of her equally short boyfriend.

Although, the whole band still towers over you.

“Why am I getting caught in the crossfire? I’ve been silent,” Yoongi comments.

Cherry waves him off, “Barbs, you should come to the show,” she taps your knee lightly.

Jungkook, whose back is facing you, winces at the invitation. The idea of you coming to their show already agitating him.

“Yeah, Y/N! You have to see us at our full effect!” Hoseok agrees.

“Really? That would be so cool!” you smile, bouncing in your seat.

“She has already been sitting in on all our rehearsals; is it necessary for her to come to our gigs?” Jungkook counters.

“Rehearsals and live shows are completely different,” Namjoon replies, “You have to come and see us to get the total Army of Bombs experience,” he adds, speaking to you.

“It’s not real rock and roll if you don’t have a crowd cheering you on, it’d be great to have you there,” Taehyung says.

“And it’d be great to have someone else to keep me company; Seokjin doesn’t cut it,” Cherry pouts to you.

“Now I’m catching strays,” Seokjin whispers to Yoongi.

“So you’ll come?” Cherry’s eyes are hopeful.

“I’ll come!”

And Jungkook grits his teeth at your answer.

☾☀︎

You���re in your bedroom with Cherry, and the both of you are getting ready to go to the guys’ show. They are playing at a bar known for having live performances—The Golden Bottle. It usually attracts a large crowd, but an even larger turnout tonight is expected since Army of Bombs is well-known in town.

Cherry had picked out your outfit: a hot pink latex strapless mini-dress paired with silver chunky platform heels. It’s still you—as Cherry had put it— “with just a little edge”. Since she picked your outfit, you’re doing her makeup in trade.

“When you told your parents you’re going to see a rock show, did they freak out?” Cherry asks as you apply her eyeshadow.

“No, my mom thought it sounded like fun! Plus, she knows you’re my friend, so she trusts me to go with you,” you tell her.

”What about your dad? You seem like you’d be a daddy’s girl?”

Your hand freezes as you move to pick up the blush brush, but you gather yourself quickly, hoping Cherry doesn’t see your falter.

“Um, my dad isn’t around,” you say, phrasing your words carefully.

“Hey, I understand. My parents are divorced too,” Cherry waves her hand at you, “My dad lives in a different city; I barely talk to him, let alone see him.”

“Oh, no, that’s not... I-I mean, that’s sad too... but,” you stammer over your words, “My dad, he, um, he passed away,” you finally get out.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Y/N—” she begins, her eyes widening with a face of guilt.

“You don’t have to apologize; you didn’t know,” you cut her off, offering her a reassuring smile.

“How long ago? W-wait, oh god, I’m being insensitive, aren’t I? That’s insensitive. I didn’t mean to—” she starts nervously babbling.

“You’re not, Cher,” you let out an airy laugh, “It’s been a little over a year and a half. It was a car accident,” you tell her, knowing she probably wanted to ask but was already feeling remorseful.

”So it’s just me and my mom now,” you say, dabbing the blush brush into the powder.    

Cherry’s sad eyes look down as she fiddles with her fingers in her lap, not knowing what to say. You begin applying the peach powder on the apples of her cheeks.

“But you were right,” you break the silence. “I am a daddy’s girl, but he also would have thought it was super cool that I was going to a rock show.” You smile fondly at the thought.

Cherry smiles, and her body is no longer tense. She gets a view of her reflection in your vanity mirror and gasps.

“Oh my gosh, look at me! If they made a punk rock Barbie, it’d look like me,” Cherry laughs.

”Hey, no fair. You weren’t supposed to see yet,” you fake pout, “I still have to do my finishing touches.”

You twist open a tube of lip gloss and apply it to Cherry’s lips. Your tongue sticks out slightly as you focus, and Cherry pokes at it with her finger, causing you both to giggle.

“Okay! All done,” you back up, admiring your work, “I have finished my new masterpiece. You were pretty before, but now you’re pretty with sparkly eyelids,” you smile proudly.

Cherry gets up and hooks your arms together, dragging you to the full-length mirror to check out your final looks. She is wearing a black leather mini-dress that fits her like a second skin; she looks phenomenal.

“Damn, we look hot!” she exclaims, “Wait till the crowd gets a look at us. I bet the whole audience won’t even be watching the band play; they’ll be too focused on us,” she jokes.

“I hope Jungkookie thinks I look good,” you giggle as you fix some strands of your hair.

“Barbs,” Cherry’s voice now a bit cautious, “You don’t like Jungkook for real, right? Like, have feelings for him?”

“I do,” you nod, your eyes brightening, “Why is something wrong? Does he have a girlfriend already?” you question, worried.

“No, he doesn’t,” she shakes her head.

Your shoulders relax at her answer.

“But,” she continues, “I don’t think Jungkook is the best fit for you,” she rushes to explain when she sees you frown.

“He’s my friend, don’t get me wrong. I get it if you have a crush on him; he’s a good-looking guy. I just don’t think,” she pauses to think over her words, “You’re such a sweet girl, but Jungkook isn’t the type of guy to commit. And when it comes to girls, he isn’t the nicest, and I don’t want you to take him not liking you back personally.”

“He doesn’t have to like me back; me liking him is enough for me,” you shrug and give her a grin. “I think he’s the most handsome guy ever, and I want to get close to him.”

“He doesn’t open up that easily, so don’t take him not being the most caring to heart. He doesn’t consider others where feelings are concerned. You’re my friend, too, and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

You pull Cherry into a hug, and she rubs your back. When you pull away, you smile.

“Don’t worry about me, Cherry. I like being around him; there’s no harm in that. I won’t get hurt.”

She nods, “Okay, but still, just be careful, alright?”

You nod, and she sighs, “Then, with that, let’s get going, Barbs. Yoongi will have my head if we’re late.”

☾☀︎

You and Cherry enter the bar arm-in-arm, and the smell of sweat, alcohol, and smoke hits you. The aged dark wood reveals how old this dingy bar is. It maintains its historical familiarity, but a few newer elements show the renovations made to keep the place relevant for younger patrons.

The venue is full of people, bustling with life when you arrive. The two of you push through the packed crowd to the front of the stage, with Cherry leading. You navigate through the crowd with relative ease, thanks to her aggressive elbowing, while your eyes wander all over, scanning the mass of people, all about to see Army of Bombs perform.

“There are so many people, it’s like they’re celebrities,” you lean over, speaking directly into Cherry’s ear due to the noise of the patrons, the soft clinking of glasses, loud drunken chatter, others laughing boisterously in their groups.

“In this town, they are. Almost everyone knows of them or at least has seen them play before,” Cherry tells you, leaning in as well.

The lights overhead dim, and then the crowd erupts out into cheers. You can feel the energy pulsing through the air. You and Cherry stand pressed close together, shoulders touching as she keeps a secure arm around you to keep together amongst the upcoming chaos. You can see the silhouettes of the band as they take their positions. You find Jungkook’s figure right away. The stage lights turn on as Jimin takes the mic, and the feedback rings through the speakers.

“What’s up, everyone? We are Army of Bombs! Hope you’re ready to rock out!” he yells before turning and nodding to Namjoon.

Namjoon does the count-off, and the set begins with the last hit of his sticks. Jungkook plays the opening note to the first song, followed by Jimin’s voice as the rest of the band joins in.

The bar’s atmosphere becomes electric with the music, the audience’s screams, the many devil’s horns raised in the air, and the headbanging. The guys are performing their all, but your eyes remain on Jungkook: how fast his fingers move on his guitar strings during his solos, how his melodic voice resounds as he sings backup, and how his body glides around on stage in tune with the melody so effortlessly. The lights shine down, glistening as sweat accumulates on him, and you’ve never seen someone look so angelic and sinful all at once.

You and Cherry get lost in the music, jumping up and down while you sing along to songs that you have now memorized. All too soon, the last notes of the final song of the set fade, and the crowd roars, chanting the band’s name.

The guys all come to the edge of the stage out of breath, bowing and sending out waves and winks to the audience, basking in the glory. Jungkook pushes back his sweat-dampened hair, chest heaving as his eyes sweep the crowd; they find you.

His gaze lingers on you longer than usual, and you swear everything else fades; you two are the only people in the room as your eyes lock. The world moves in slow motion. You get tunnel vision; he is all you can see, and all the screams become white noise. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears and feel your blood rushing through your veins. But then the spell breaks, and he’s walking off the stage with the rest of the band.

You feel a tap on your shoulder and spin around, spotting Seokjin standing behind you and Cherry.

“Hey, Shoulders,” you wave.

“Hey, I had to make sure the VIPs of our fan club attended the after-party. I’m heading backstage to meet the guys; I gotta talk to the bar manager, but we’ll be at the lounge afterwards, so meet us there,” Seokjin points his thumb over his shoulder behind him.

“Okay, see you guys there,” Cherry nods.

Seokjin walks through the mass of people and disappears, heading backstage. Once he’s gone, Cherry grabs your hand and leans in to speak to you.

“Let’s go touch up our makeup first,” she says, and you nod. You let her lead the way to the restrooms, holding your hand.

☾☀︎

With the time it takes the two of you to wait in line for the restroom, freshen up your makeup, and elbow your way to the lounge, the guys are already there.

When you approach the entrance to the lounge, a security guard is blocking it. Cherry yells over his shoulder to get Yoongi’s attention. When he sees you two, he walks over and pats the security on the back, telling him to let you two in.

Cherry wraps her arms around Yoongi’s neck, kissing him on the lips and complimenting him on how much of a good show it was, and you think you see a blush form on his cheeks. You smile at their interaction and decide to give them a moment alone.

You look around, hoping to spot Jungkook, but there are too many people in the lounge to get a view of everybody. You spot Namjoon standing in a corner talking to some people, so you go to him.

He shifts his head while in conversation, and once he notices you approaching, he smiles and hugs you.

“Great show, Joonbug!” you speak loudly over the music playing.

“Thanks, I’m glad you made it. I told you it was way different than rehearsals, didn’t I,” Namjoon nudges your elbow with his.

”It was insane; it was like you guys were different people. I felt like I didn’t know you at all,” you laugh, and he does as well.

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. Invitation is always open to our shows; you’re more than welcome to them.”

“I will! I got told I am a VIP of your fan club, so I can’t disappoint,” you wink, “By the way, where’s everyone else? I want to congratulate them on the show,” you swivel your head around; finally asking the question that you have been itching to ask.

You follow the direction he points to with the neck of his beer bottle and see the rest of the band sitting on the couches surrounded by people, primarily women. You try to mask the frown that threatens to take over your face when you notice Jungkook sitting between two girls, his arm resting on the back of the couch as the girl on his right leans into his side.

Ignoring the twist of your stomach, you saunter over to the couches with your head held high. When you are close enough, Jungkook’s eyes flicker in your direction absentmindedly, and just as he glances away, he does a subtle double take once he registers it’s you approaching. He gives you a discreet up and down as you walk closer.  

Hoseok notices you, already seeming to be a bit tipsy; his arms shoot up like he just shot a goal.

“You made it!” he smiles, his voice booming.

You wave nervously as everyone’s attention lands on you, but your face flushes from having Jungkook in front of you. Jimin and Taehyung give you a much more blatant scan of your body up and down with approving smirks on their face.

Taehyung rests his drink on the glass table in front of the couch and gets up to give you a tight hug. When he lets go, his hands run down your arm, squeezing your hand as he steps back to glance over your outfit again.

“My, my. Shortstack, don’t you look extra lovely tonight,” he says.

“Lovely? She looks fucking hot!” Cherry appears beside you, wrapping an arm around you in a side hug, causing Taehyung’s hand to let go.

“I was going to be gentlemanly with my words, but yeah, you look fucking incredible, Shorty,” Jimin shoots you a wink, raising his bottle.  

“Thank you,” you smile bashfully.

“Speaking of incredible, the performance was fantastic! You all looked so so so cool, you sounded so so so good, and—and everything was just amazing!” you beam, bouncing in place.

“You know how to boost a man’s ego, Y/N,” Hoseok chuckles.

You continue brightly, speaking to Jungkook, “Your guitar playing was really, really awesome, Jungkookie!”

Jungkook raises his brows and stretches his mouth in a tight line, his dimples emerging even though he does not smile.

“Wow, Y/N, I’m sad. You’re just going to ignore your cheer captain without even saying hi?” a voice makes you turn your head.

You failed to catch that the girl sitting to the right of Jungkook was none other than Jess, and with a quick scan, you soon see Mei sitting on his left and Kat sitting next to Jimin. A frown threatens to break out on your face for the second time when you see Jungkook’s arm resting on the backrest behind her. Somehow, it bugs you more now that you know the girl.

You compose yourself, keeping your voice bright, “Oh, Jess, I’m sorry I didn’t know it was you. Hi!”

“I didn’t think I would run into you here. I didn’t know this was your kind of scene,” Jess says, eyes raking over you in a judgemental manner you don’t pick up on.

But Cherry instantly does, and alarm bells go off as she carefully observes Jess’s behaviour. Jungkook sits silently and watches your interaction.

“They invited me to the show; they’re my friends,” you smile as you gesture to the guys.

“Friends, huh?” Jess turns to Jungkook, tilting her head with a fake pout and laying a hand on his chest, “Where was my invite? I thought we were friends?”

Jungkook shrugs in response, taking a sip of his drink. Your breath hitches at their contact, but you keep calm.

Cherry pulls you to sit down with her, and you find yourself sitting directly in front of Jungkook.

“Y/N is designing our band logo for us since she is an art genius,” Jimin says to Jess and motions to you.

“Ah! So you’re working for them,” Jess nods to herself as if she finally understands the situation.

Cherry narrows her eyes but grins as she speaks, “More like she’s a friend helping out; she’s doing the band a huge favour.”

“Well, AoB is the hottest band in town,” Jess rubs a hand along Jungkook’s thigh with her eyes fixed on him.

Your heart clenches. For one, because Jungkook accepts Jess’s touch and welcomes it—something he doesn’t do with you. Also, because she’s pretty, and a pretty boy like Jungkook belongs with a pretty girl like her.

She continues looking at you with a smile.“So I hope you’re able to design something worthy.”

“I hope so too!” you answer warm and cheerfully, oblivious.

“She will,” Cherry says curtly to Jess before switching her attention to Seokjin, “So what did you talk to the manager about?”

“Oh, right!” he claps, remembering his previous conversation. “He was so impressed with the response we received from the crowd that he offered us a full weekend gig! Friday to Sunday, baby!” he hollers.

The band also celebrates, with high fives going all around. You even catch a hint of a smile on Jungkook’s face.

“Fuck yeah!” Jimin fist pumps.

“What are we celebrating?” Namjoon asks as he and Yoongi join the group. He sits beside you, and Yoongi sits beside Cherry.

“We got offered a full weekend gig here,” Hoseok informs them.

“Man, that’s great! Y/N must have brought us good luck,” Namjoon punches your knee lightly.

“Or the manager must have finally caught up with the rest of town and realized how talented you guys are,” Mei says, fluttering her eyelashes.

Seokjin bypasses her comment, “It’s not for another month, and I’m not trying to rush anyone,” he glances at you, “But it would be a perfect time for us to unveil our logo.”

“That would be sick! Do you think you could finish it by then, Shortstack?”

Feeling put on the spot with everyone’s hopeful eyes on you, you stutter, “U-um, I—”

“Don’t pressure her, you nimrod. Art takes time; she’s not a machine,” Cherry chides him.

“It was just a question,” Taehyung defends with his hands raised.

“A stupid question,” Cherry disputes.

Namjoon leans over to you as they bicker, “There’s no pressure, seriously,” his voice soft. He nudges your knee gently with his.

You look at him and nod with a grateful smile.

“Have you designed a logo before, Y/N?” Jess asks.

“No, this is my first one. I’m so excited to do it.”

“Are you sure you can do it? I’m sure you’re good, but a rock band logo isn’t the same style as painting flowers and trees, right?”

This time, her words sting. It’s a common occurrence—people doubting your art. You don’t let it get to you; you know what you’ve done and what you can do. You don’t have to prove your talents to anyone; your work speaks for itself.

“It is, but I am good. I can do it,” you shrug with an assured tone.

“Enough about the logo. You guys are playing a full weekend; I’ve never heard of a band booking three nights in a row here,” Cherry enthusiastically changes topics.

“I know. The manager said he couldn’t remember the last time he booked the same act for an entire weekend, but the crowd’s reaction blew him away,” Seokjin matches Cherry’s enthusiasm.

“We should write a new song and debut it on our first night, create some extra buzz. What do you say, JK? Up to working on one?” Yoongi says, asking the member who has been silent so far.

Jungkook nods, “I have a few different scores I’ve been working on; I recorded some of them already. I’ll send them to you.”  

Yoongi nods in reply. You’re awestruck by this revelation; it shows on your face and tone of voice.

“You can write scores?”

His eyes shift to you, and he nods as his hands fiddle with the rings on his fingers. Your eyes stay locked on each other until Jess’s voice cuts in.

“He’s a musician; obviously, he can write,” she sneers, with Mei and Kat snickering.

Cherry, fed up, is about to clap back, and her mouth opens, but you speak before she can.

“A lot of musicians don’t know how to write or read music,” You lift your fingers and count, “Jimi Hendrix, Slash, Eddie Van Halen, all of The Beatles, some of the greatest guitarists in rock and none of them could write or read scores. So it’s impressive that he can do both.”

Cherry looks at you with proud eyes, and the guys look at you taken aback. Even Jungkook looks at you with raised brows and wide eyes, although his face is still emotionless.

You fail to see how Jungkook hides his smirk when he raises his beer to take a sip and how his arm no longer rests behind Jess.

You bat your eyelashes, chuckle, and add, “But what am I saying? I’m sure you already know playing an instrument isn’t the same as writing scores, right? Since this is more your scene than mine.”

“Exactly, I meant he’s a trained musician, so of course he knows how to do both,” Jess tries to save face, her eyes shifting in embarrassment, “No need to get all defensive, Y/N.”

“Y-Yeah, Jess knows all about rock,” Kat says. Mei nods in agreement.

Cherry scoffs audibly and grabs your wrist, “Let’s go get drinks before I say something I won’t regret and hurt some feelings,” she glares at the three cheerleaders.

She gets up and pulls you with her. When you both reach the bar, she huffs, rolling her eyes, “Can you believe them? What bitches! The nerve! I’m usually a girl’s girl, but—ugh! I hate girls like them, acting all high and mighty when all they are are a bunch of desperate groupies. I was so fucking close to giving her a piece of my mind.”

She glances at you and smirks, “But I didn’t have to, huh? I didn’t know you had it in you. You sure are full of surprises, Barbs. Where did all of that come from?”

“Me? What did I do?”

“Oh, don’t give me that! I know you were giving her a taste of her own medicine. You kept your innocent demeanour but were quick with your comeback about guitarists. How do you even know all that anyway?”

“It’s just something I know,” you say casually with a shrug, hoping to bypass the topic.

Luckily, the bartender comes over before Cherry can say anything else. She tells him her drink order and looks over at you, to which you shake your head, not wanting to drink tonight. When the bartender walks away to make her mojito, she leans in to speak to you.

“I have to pee,” Cherry says as she looks towards the restrooms. “Can you grab my drink and wait for me here?”

You nod and give her a thumbs up, not bothering to give a vocal response over the music. She returns the gesture and manoeuvres through the sea of people.

You puff out your cheeks as you wait, tapping your fingers on the glass bar while staring at the shelves of alcohol bottles on the wall behind the counter illuminated by red and blue lights.

When you feel a hand on your lower back, you turn with a small smile, stunned at how quickly Cherry peed, but instead of your vibrant-haired friend, you face a sweaty, tipsy, dishevelled man.

The man is drenched in sweat but not in a soft glow from dancing. His face is dripping, several beads streaming down. The dark stains on his shirt sticking to his skin are apparent even in the low lighting.

His presence instantly fills you with worry. You step away, sure not to be within arm’s reach of him. He stands in front of you with a greasy smirk; although he is standing in place, his body sways due to intoxication.  

“Hey,” he says over the music, voice a bit louder than necessary.

“Hi,” you reply, leaning over the counter to get a glimpse of the bartender.

The tipsy stranger ducks his head into your view, blocking your line of sight of the bartender. You try to suppress a cringe when the stench of perspiration and booze hits you, burying your nostrils.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing at a place like this? Get lost on your way to an Ariana Grande concert,” he laughs at his lame joke.

“I’m here with friends,” you say, hoping he will leave you alone if you mention you are with people.

It does nothing of the sort, and his smirk widens, “Hmm, with friends, so not with a boyfriend?” he asks, his speech slurred.

“Um—”

He interrupts, stepping towards you, invading your space again, “If I were your boyfriend, I would never let you out of my sight. A sexy woman like you should never be left alone.”

His bloodshot, predatory eyes and creepy attempt at flirting were making you extra uncomfortable; drunk guys and rejection often led to anger, and you did not want this guy to become aggressive with you.

“I-I’m not alone; my friend will be back soon,” you glance over your shoulder, pointing to the restrooms. “Uh, so—”

“I’ll keep you company then. It’s not safe for a gorgeous girl like you here,” he licks his lips and coats them sloppily with his saliva, taking a step closer to you. He leans in, his wet lips disgustingly brushing the shell of your ear, “There are plenty of bad men just waiting to get their hands on a sweet thing like you.”

With the crowd surrounding you, you cannot back away from him. As a sense of panic begins to form in the pit of your stomach, you internally scold yourself for not walking away from this guy the second he approached you.

You try to muster your refusal, but the lump in your throat makes it hard to speak, “I don’t—No, I don’t want—”

You feel physically ill. Your breathing starts to pick up, and your palms turn clammy as they raise to push at the creep’s chest to create even the smallest distance between you two.

Suddenly, the drunk creep is yanked back by the back of his shirt, sending him stumbling back into the people behind him. He barely manages to catch himself with a hand on the bar.

A gasp leaves you, but despite the slight chaos, so does your panic. The man’s red, glassy eyes widen and match yours in shock. Your body stiffens. Slowly, you both turn your heads towards the source, your heartbeat pounding. Your eyes remain the same while his eyes narrow into slits filled with irritation as your sights land on your saviour. And as much as it adds to your shock, instant relief takes over your body, and you visibly relax as you release a breath.

“Everything okay here?”

Jungkook stands beside you, his stance intimidating. Towering with his hands in his front pockets, he shows no sign of agitation, but his stern calmness and his strong physique show he is not to be messed with.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? What’s your problem?” the drunkard spits out, too intoxicated to recognize this is one of the guys he just watched perform.

“You good?” he asks, focused on you, completely ignoring the man.

“We were just having some friendly conversation, right, doll?” the persistent creep slurs his interjections, sending you a wink.

“I didn’t ask you,” Jungkook retorts sharply.

“We were just talking, bro. Ease up,” the man tries to defuse the tense encounter he has got himself in.

“Were you guys talking?” Jungkook looks down at you, waiting for your answer.

You look at him with big, uneasy eyes and shake your head.

Jungkook steps in front of you, blocking your view of your harasser. His firm body acts as a shield. You feel so small standing behind him but have never felt more protected, more safe.

Jungkook narrows his eyes in a glare with his chest puffed out, “Looks like now you’re done talking; conversation over. Bro.”

With way too much pride and ignorance, in an attempt to get in Jungkook’s face, the drunk takes a step forward, but instead of standing nose to nose, the men stand nose to chin.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” the creep sneers.

But Jungkook doesn’t move. He doesn’t budge.

Jungkook tilts his head, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. He almost looks amused, but there is nothing funny about the way he lets out a snicker through his nose and bends slightly, burning gaze staring the man dead in the eye to say,

“The guy telling you to fuck off.”

There are about three seconds of them having a stare-down. Jungkook is unrelenting, his confident yet harsh stance unmoving.

The drunkard cracks under the unnerving pressure, and his alcohol-induced cockiness falters. Accepting the evident disparity between the two and becoming reconciled to the physical disadvantage he is at, the drunk finally gives up. With a parting huff, he mutters one last expletive and stumbles away.

You are still left with some remaining shock, partly from that whole interaction and also partly from Jungkook coming to your rescue. Relief could barely settle in your chest before it’s ripped away.

“Thank you, Jungk—”

Jungkook turns around, runs his tatted fingers through his hair, and his eyes settle on you, annoyed.

Your breath hitches, your entire body frozen in place. Jungkook had just jumped in and rescued you from a drunken creep. Yet, there isn’t a single ounce of sympathy in his expression—only irritation. It feels as though you have caused him an inconvenience. Gone is the protective man who was an impenetrable defender. Now stands an uncaring, vexed man.

He clicks his tongue.

“If you can’t hold your own, you shouldn’t come to places like this,” he gestures around vaguely, unimpressed.

“I-I’m sorry, I—”

“Everything’s not all sunshine and rainbows all the time. There isn’t always gonna be someone around to babysit you and come to your defence.”

You are stunned in silence, not expecting to be reprimanded for being cornered by some intoxicated jerk and saddened that this is the most Jungkook has ever spoken to you.

“What? You’re constantly running your mouth and suddenly have nothing to say. Where did all that insufferable boldness go?” he scoffs, continuing, “I mean, you’re a chick at a bar; you didn’t expect some tipsy guy to make a pass at you? You seriously can’t be that naive, Y/N.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself not to cry. Not here. Not in front of Jungkook.

For the first time since meeting him, Jungkook’s gaze is unwanted. You wish his attention were on someone else as you hang your head in shame and embarrassment.

It stings that this is the most you’ve ever heard him speak and the most emotion you’ve ever seen him express, but it’s nothing like what you’ve dreamt of; it’s all negative. It’s hurtful.

That familiar feeling surges back within you: being berated, talked down to, made to feel small.

Overwhelmed by everything that has happened—Jess, the drunk creep, and now Jungkook—all these confrontations are beginning to take a toll on you. You feel your throat tighten, and your breathing picks up once again.

“I d-didn’t—”

“I’m back! Sorry, that line was killer. I swear I was about to piss myself,” Cherry returns. Surprise on her face at seeing Jungkook with you, she quickly looks between you two, sensing the tension and scanning your face; she gently touches your upper arm, “Hey, you okay?”

Still avoiding looking at Jungkook, you sheepishly give Cherry a nod and a tight smile. Jungkook’s gaze drags a quick once-over, a slow run of his tongue over his lip rings, and a sniff before he lets out a frustrated sigh.

“If you insist on bringing her here, watch after your friend.”

Jungkook walks away, and from your peripheral vision, you see the same broad back that was protecting you minutes ago disappear into the crowd.

“What the hell is his problem?” Cherry says as she watches him walk away. “Did something happen? Was he mean to you? I’ll kick his ass if he was an ass to you.”

With a hand still on your upper arm, she uses her other to point in the direction Jungkook walked off to and is already taking a step forward to go after him.

You frantically shake your head, pulling her back by her wrist.

“No, no, he helped me. There, um, there was this creepy guy who was drunk and was bothering me. Jungkookie made him leave me alone.”

Cherry doesn’t hide the astonishment on her face; her eyebrows shoot up so high that if they go any higher, they will touch her hairline.

“Jungkook? He helped you?” she asks in disbelief.

You find her reaction interesting; Jungkook is standoffish, but was it so shocking that he would help someone in need? Even someone as aloof as him would swoop in when they see a damsel in distress and save them, so it shouldn’t be such a shock to his good friend. Right?

Or was this really out of the norm for Jungkook? And if so, why did he save you?

You nod.

“Oh…” Cherry glances in the direction Jungkook went, and after coming out of whatever thoughts were running through her mind, she turns back to you in worry, “Well, what about you? Are you sure you’re alright? He didn’t do anything to you, did he?”

“No, I’m okay. The guy got a bit too close, but Jungkookie showed up before he could do anything,” you reassure her, putting on the best smile you can muster right now.

Her eyes flicker over your face, assessing your expression to be sure you’re telling the truth, and she takes your word with a worried nod. She pulls you into a hug as she sighs in relief.

“Okay, good. I’m glad someone was here to help you. I would have hated myself if my bladder had created the opening for some drunk creep to get to you,” Cherry shudders at the thought, “That fucker, though! What’s with tonight? I’m so sorry, Barbs. I did not want your first AoB show to turn out like this.”

“Don’t feel bad about it, Cher. I’m honestly okay,” you squeeze her hand and gesture around at the bar, “And no offence, but I didn’t expect this place to be crawling with prince charmings,” you giggle, attempting to lighten the mood regarding how the night went.

Cherry also glances around and giggles, “Fair, and hey, I mean, I did say we look hot. I should have been on high alert for creeps. Hotties like us always have to be on the radar for hopeless losers,” she rolls her eyes, smirking.

“I think Yoongs was keeping the losers at bay for you, you know, with his… face,” you wave a hand over your face and laugh.

“Yeah, gotta love my Yoongi the Grouch,” Cherry smiles fondly, her eyes twinkling at the topic of her boyfriend, “He’s like my own personal creep deflector. We should get back to him before we start attracting them,” Cherry grabs her mojito, the glass now covered in condensation.

“Do you mind if I go home? There has been a lot of excitement for me for one night. I’m still getting used to this rock and roll lifestyle.”

“Sure, let me finish this drink and tell Yoongi; then we can head out.”

“You don’t have to leave because of me. I can go on my own; I don’t want to ruin your night,” your words trail off as Cherry sends you a look.

“Barbs, I invited you. We came together, and we’re leaving together. I have been to enough shows; I know I’m not missing anything. Plus, I would never let you go alone at this time. Are you crazy? What kind of friend would I be?”

You smile, this one reaching your eyes. You have to blink back tears. Cherry’s friendship is unwavering; she is one of a kind.

With that, Cherry lifts her drink to her lips and chugs it down like it’s water, and you two are off to tell Yoongi that you’re heading out.

When you return to the lounge, subconsciously, your eyes find Jungkook. He’s back to sitting on the couch with Jess tucked into his side as if he never left that spot. You catch his eyes flicker over to you so briefly that you almost doubt it even happened.

Yoongi notices Cherry return without a drink and gives her a questioning look. She leans down slightly to speak to him.

“We’re going to go home now; tonight’s been a lot for Y/N,” Cherry tells him. Without Cherry even asking, Yoongi nods, downs the rest of his beer, and gets up to leave with the two of you.

“No way! You guys are going? You can’t leave yet!” Hoseok calls out.

Namjoon smirks at you, “Party too hard, Little Picasso?”

“I was right; this isn’t your scene after all, huh?” Jess remarks with that antagonizing smile you are becoming familiar with. Mei and Kat snickered at her remark.

“No, some drunk bastard was harassing her,” Cherry speaks for you.

That shuts Jess up quickly and catches the band’s attention. Jungkook sits up straighter as his body tenses. The rest of the guys focus on you, their faces now serious.

Jimin and Taehyung stand up, “Are you okay, Shortstack? Did he touch you?”

“I’m okay,” you smile, shaking your head lightly.

“Who was the son of a bitch? We’ll find him and take care of him,” Jimin says.

You wave your hands to stop them.

“It’s fine now. You guys don’t have to. It—He’s been taken care of,” you tell the guys to calm them down, your eyes going to Jungkook for a fraction of a second.

Jungkook, who is still avoiding looking your way, is biting on his lip rings—but otherwise seemingly totally removed from the conversation.

“I don’t want to cause trouble,” your voice is smaller than usual, but your eyes are as big as a scared puppy, and you can feel your face heat up again from all the unwanted attention you’re causing.

“We can’t let him get off scot-free, especially doing something like that on our night here and to one of our crew,” Namjoon remarks.

Being called part of their crew doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you are too worried about them causing a ruckus because of you, especially after the whole Jungkook thing, his words still lingering in your head.

“There isn’t always gonna be someone around to babysit you and come to your defence.”

“She’s right; he’s been dealt with already,” Cherry says, her eyes locking on Jungkook, who meets her gaze, holding it for a moment, then continues, “I don’t think he’ll be a problem again. Y/N wants to get out of here, and I can’t blame her. I would want to call it a night, too.”

Reluctantly, the guys settle down, and Taehyung pulls you into a hug and cranes his neck to look at your face, “This didn’t scare you off from coming to our shows, right?”

“Y/N? Are you kidding? Nah, she just joined the fan club; I even made her a VIP. Of course not,” Seokjin says, winking and playfully ruffling your hair.

The drastic change of now being flooded with words and touches of comfort warms you and melts away the anxiousness.

“Yeah, I can’t give up my spot that quickly,” you laugh.

“Well, just to be sure, I’m promoting you to fan club president, so it’s mandatory to attend live shows,” Taehyung narrows his eyes and points at you.

“Yes, sir!” you bring your hand to your brow in a salute.

“Get some rest, Prez. We’ll see you at rehearsal,” Jimin bids you farewell, hugging you tight and kissing the top of your head.

Hoseok and Namjoon also hug you goodbye. While hugging Namjoon perched on your tiptoes, you glance at Jungkook over Namjoon’s shoulder.

Jungkook, with his typical impassive expression, has his arm back to resting on the backrest behind Jess. He faces her as she leans into him, whispering in his ear, her nails running up and down his thigh, her hand getting close to his crotch; you’re sure her fingers have grazed over it.

You tear your eyes away once you feel a hand pat your back, “Let’s get you home, kid,” Yoongi says gently.

You give him a soft nod and smile, turning to leave. With your back turned, you’re unaware of how Jungkook’s eyes trail after you. Jess, however, is very aware; she follows his gaze when she sees how uninterested he is in her flirty words and wandering hands.

You hear a voice call out.

“I’ll see you at practice Monday morning, Y/N,” Jess says with her phoney smile, her hand still inappropriately gripping Jungkook’s thigh.

You plaster on a smile that matches hers and seal it with a friendly wave.

“See you bright and early Monday, Captain!” you hesitate but decide to continue, “Bye, Jungkookie.”

Jungkook appears surprised by how his eyes widen slightly, his brows twitching, but you get no other kind of acknowledgement of your goodbye. Not a word, a wave, not even a nod.

You and Cherry tell the guys one last goodbye, and Yoongi gives them a nod before you three make your way to the exit and bring an end to this eventful night.

“I should’ve asked her what the guy looked like. I could’ve told the manager to keep an eye out for him,” Seokjin mentions after your departure.

“The girls made it sound like he won’t show his face around here anymore, but we can tell them to let us know if he does,” Namjoon says.

What you don’t know, what the guys don’t know, is that Jungkook did talk to the manager. He had him check the cameras and pointed out the guy. The drunkard is banned from the bar now.

☾☀︎

You are at cheerleading practice, doing some warmup stretches with Rina by your side. Today, the team is supposed to be running through a routine for an upcoming game; this will be your first performance since joining the team, and you are so excited to experience that rush again.  

You are helping Rina stretch, holding her leg down, when you see Jess and her minions walking across the field towards the team.

Jess jumps into business without greeting the team; she claps her hands twice and yells, “Okay, into your starting positions! You should all have this down by now; if not, don’t bother. I expect perfection.”

Practice ensues, and it’s not the smoothest. Some people make minor mistakes: a little stumble, timing a bit off, pose slightly mispositioned. But Jess watches them like a hawk, scrutinizing everyone’s performance or sending Mei or Kat to chastise them immediately if she doesn’t do it herself.

As the end of practice nears, the field erupts into mild chaos as the football team arrives, gathering for their practice. Their booming voices and boyish roughhousing practically take over the area. The quarterback, Mingyu, walks away from his team; the players are huddled at the side of the field by the bleachers while waiting their turn.

He approaches Jess, Mei, and Kat. He is still far from them when he calls, “Hey, Jess. Are you guys coming to the party tonight?”

You are performing the routine flawlessly, as you always do when Jess stops when she reaches you as she makes her rounds around the team.

There hasn’t been any mention of seeing each other that night at AoB’s show, so you thought Jess had moved past it. The little back and forth you two had was probably so minuscule in her whirlwind of a life that she must have forgotten about it already.

“Hey, Gyu, hmm, I don’t know. Jungkook and I were supposed to hang out tonight. Unless he’s going, too,” Jess turns to you, “Y/N, you’re friends with Jungkook and his band, right? Do you know if they’re going to the party?”

“I don’t know, they haven’t mentioned anything,” you shrug, “But if you already have plans with him, why would he go to a party? ” you ask, slightly out of breath.

Rina’s eyes widen beside you, and Mingyu laughs lightly with his head down. You are unaware and lost in your genuine curiosity when Mei interjects.

“Well, obviously, if he didn’t mention it, then he’s not going because he has plans with Jess,” she narrows her eyes at you.

“You can hang out at the party; it’s gonna be wild! You know how we Borahae Bears get down! You should still pull up. All of you,” Mingyu says loud enough for everyone to hear, motioning to the cheer team.

Mingyu speaks directly to you when he adds, “Tell Jungkook and the guys to come, you as well,” he smiles.

“Thanks! I’m going to their rehearsal later, so I’ll let them know,” you smile back at him.

“And if I talk to him first, I’ll tell him,” Jess adds.

“R-Right,” Mingyu nods stiffly, his eyes shifting between you and Jess.

“Well, I should go start getting ready for practice,” Mingyu points a thumb over his shoulder, “But I’ll hopefully see you all tonight,” he flashes a wink before turning around and jogging back to his team.

“A party sounds like a lot of fun!” you say to Rina with a big grin, softly clapping your hands.

With you not facing her, Jess narrows her eyes at you while clenching her hands into fists, yelling, “Practice is over!”

You flinch at the sound and see her spinning around and storming off the field with Mei and Kat running after her.

☾☀︎

Since the night at the bar, things haven’t changed regarding your interactions with Jungkook—or lack of interaction, you should say. You’ve been attending the band’s rehearsals as usual, and just as he was before, Jungkook ignores your entire existence. But of course, just as you were before, you don’t let that stop you.

Despite his harsh words, you can’t forget how he was like your knight in shining armour that night. After spending a month in his presence, he may not treat you like a friend or be as cordial as you would like, but he was there for you when you needed help. He stepped up without being asked and protected you. To you, that means something, so even if he continues to ignore you, you won’t ignore him.

Jungkook can keep up his cold, grumpy attitude, but you know, within him, there is a kind man. What he said to you may have been hurtful at the moment, but when you reflected on it in bed that night, his words sounded more like a lecture for your safety than an insult. And although he may disregard you, he has never really been rude to you despite your persistent efforts to get close to him.

So tonight, like every other time you’ve entered the garage, you say hello to all the guys present—including Jungkook.

“I’m here!” you sing, dragging out the words as you skip in, still in your cheer uniform and, of course, with a lollipop in your mouth. It’s watermelon flavour today. And once again, Mrs Lee didn’t let you pay; something about that being the last one of that flavour, so there was no point in charging you for it.

“Hey, Prez,” Jimin smiles as he looks you over, “Had practice today?”

“Mhm,” you nod, “Hey, Jungkookie!”

Jungkook keeps tuning his guitar without raising his head to spare you a glance. Taehyung, standing beside him, gives him a serious look, “Dude.”

Jungkook raises his head, “Hi,” lowers it and resumes tuning his guitar.

Taehyung rolls his eyes, swinging his bass around to hang behind him, “Hey, Shortstack, how was practice? Were you getting thrown around in the air today?”

“No, not today, Taetae,” you giggle, “But I did tumble a lot today; look how red my hands are!”

You pop your lollipop into your mouth and hold your palms up in his face, “I’m going to end up with ugly, rough hands like you guys,” your words mumble due to the candy as you pout with a slight grimace.

Taehyung grabs your wrists with a fond smile, then furrows his brows as he pretends to examine your hands, “Well, aren’t you one tough cookie.”

You smile—wait, cookie, cookie. Hmm, why does that remind you of something? Cookie? Cook? Jungkoo—Jungkookie! Right!

You gasp, startling the members; even Jungkook’s head shoots up. He watches you sceptically as you approach him.

“I almost forgot! Jungkookie, I’m supposed to tell you about the party.”

“What party?” Cherry jumps in, asking as she and the rest of the members walk through the door, entering the garage from inside.

She walks over and throws an arm around your shoulder as you answer, “The football leader told me to tell Jungkookie and the guys to come to his party. What did he say… teddy bear party?” You tap your chin, thinking.

“Football leader? Do you mean the captain, Mingyu? The Bears are having a party?” Namjoon asks with an amused grin.

“Mingyu! That’s his name!”

“Sometimes I forget you hang around those frat douches,” Cherry says.

“You know, I think I remember Jaehyun telling me about the Bears having a party at the frat house,” Jimin comments.

“Why would Mingyu tell you to tell JK about the party?” Hoseok asks.

“During practice, Jess asked me if you all were going, even though she has plans with Jungkookie tonight,” you point to Jungkook with your candy. He looks confused by what you’re saying, but you continue, “But I told her I didn’t know, so Mingyu said you all should go. He invited the cheer team, too!”

“You have plans with that bitch?” Cherry asks Jungkook.

“No,” Jungkook shakes his head, then juts it to you, “I don’t know what she’s going on about.”

“Jess said you’re hanging out with her tonight. You’re not?” you ask Jungkook, looking up with big, hopeful eyes.

He looks down at you, surprisingly meeting your gaze, “No, I’m not,” he sighs.

You release a breath and can’t hold back the smile on your face, “Oh... okay,” you break eye contact, looking down at your feet as you blush. His stare and words take over you; you honestly didn’t expect a direct response from him.

Cherry squeezes your shoulder, “You seriously wanna go to this party?”

“Yeah, I have to! My friend on the team is going, and I told her I would go,” you see the look of reluctance on Cherry’s face.

“Pretty, pretty please! The muscle bear said it would be fun,” you add, attempting to convince her.

“Wait, did I hear you say the cheer team is going? Like the whole team? As in multiple cheerleaders at one party?” Jimin asks you.

You nod.

And Jimin turns to the band with a firm nod and says,

“We are going to this party.“

☾☀︎

The frat house comes into view, music already pumping through the walls. You can hear the music as you walk up the porch steps, the bass thumping through the floorboards under your feet. People pack the house from the inside to the backyard; even the front lawn has a few partygoers scattered. You’re arm in arm with Cherry as you step into the house, with Yoongi and Namjoon behind you, having chosen to come here with you two instead of leaving with the others. A decision they later regretted if their groans about how long you two took to get ready are any indication.

“Okay, first objective: find the alcohol. If I’m going to be mingling among jocks, I need to be intoxicated,” Cherry announces.

The three of you chuckle at her, but the guys lead the way to the kitchen anyway. You glance around, bodies swaying to the beat on the makeshift dancefloor in the living room, pairs locking lips against the walls, a rowdy game of beer pong in the corner. Your eyes fail to find any familiar faces; although you don’t catch sight of a certain doe-eyed boy, you are scanning the place in search of Rina.

You refocus when a red solo cup gets shoved into your hands. You sniff it, scrunching your nose at the strong smell; nevertheless, you cheers with Cherry and down the drink—tequila, oh God, it’s tequila— in one go. Once the shot burns its way down your throat, you ask Namjoon to mix you a drink, asking for something much sweeter this time.

With your drink in hand, you pull Cherry in, “I have to try and find Rina.”

She nods and turns to say something in Yoongi’s ear; he nods at her in reply, and then you are off to search for your teammate. Luckily, you don’t have to search for too long; you’re passing the beer pong table when you notice a head of strawberry blonde hair sitting on the sofa nearby. You grab a hold of Cherry’s wrist as you guide her over with you.

“Rina!” you call out.

Only when you get closer do you see that she is sitting with none other than the guy who invited the team himself: Mingyu. Rina pauses midcoversation, turning away from him.

“Y/N!” she jumps up and smiles as she swoops you into a hug. You chuckle at your seemingly already intoxicated friend.

“This is Rina, my closest friend on the cheer team,” you say to Cherry, then switch to Rina, “And this is my bestie for the resties, Cherry.”

The girls give their greetings after your little introduction, and just as you expected, the three of you get along seamlessly. After a few minutes, Rina seems to remember the football player she was conversing with earlier; she sits back down beside him, bringing him into the conversation, “I was just telling Gyu, I can’t recall the last time I’ve seen so many people enjoying themselves like this. It’s nice.”

The nickname doesn’t go unnoticed by you, nor does the way Mingyu flushes it; you make a note to tease Rina about it another time.

“It is! Thanks again for the invite,” you say to Mingyu.

“Don’t mention it,” he flicks his hand, “The football and cheer team have always had a good bond. Oh, and thanks for extending my invite.”

Mingyu tilts his head to the side, and you turn to see Jimin and Taehyung playing against Hoseok and Seokjin in a game of beer pong. Your eyes wander behind Jimin, landing on Jungkook braced against the wall, drink in hand.

When you set your sights on him, your knees almost give out. He looks hot—somehow hotter than usual. He is wearing his signature baggy jeans and black chunky combat boots; his black leather jacket, unzipped to display how his fitted white shirt hugs his firm body that sets you off, and his fingers, clad with several silver rings, send you right over the edge.

Beside him stands Jess, who is without her two sidekicks for the first time. She is leaning into him, whispering in his ear, and you get a sense of Deja Vu; images of them from that night at the bar flash through your mind, but you shake them out.

Jungkook said he didn’t have plans with her. She’s here because Mingyu invited her to the party. Jungkook wouldn’t lie to you—or at least he has no reason to. If they had plans to hang out together, he would have just said so.

Last time, your disappointment held you back from interfering, but this time, you have the warmth and courage of alcohol coursing through your veins. So, with a confident stride, you head in their direction.

“Prez!” a very tipsy Jimin stops you, tackling you into an embrace.

“Hey, Chimchim,” you pat his back.

He pulls back, but his hands remain on your shoulders, clutching them, “Thank you for reminding me about this party, Prez. This is amazing! You are the best! Forget president! You are officially the queen of the fan club,” he slurs.

“Man, how are you already this far gone?” Cherry walks over.

“Cher!”

He tackles her next, swaying their bodies back and forth. Now free from the shackles that are Jimin, you spin around and find your target with his eyes already on you. You don’t let it sway you.

You exhale sharply, then force yourself to meet his gaze. And then, with zero hesitation,

“Hi, Jess,” you give her the briefest of glances, then settle on Jungkook, “Hi, Jungkookie, you look handsome!” you run your hand down one side of his jacket along the zipper.

His eyes widen in shock, and his lips part, but no words come out due to Jess’s interruption.

“Y/N, I see you made it. Jungkook and I were talking about you and your little mix-up earlier. We cleared it up, though; no need to worry.”

She takes a small, almost inconspicuous step forward, her body between you and Jungkook’s. She squeezes your elbow in faux cordiality, and you’re left puzzled.

“Mix-up? What do you mean?”

“At practice today, you misunderstood when I said I wanted to message Jungkook about hanging out at AoB’s next show, for me saying he and I had plans for tonight.”

Now, as much as you may be a bit forgetful, there is no way you mistook how she went on about having plans with Jungkook tonight. She made it clear right when Mingyu mentioned the party.

“No, I didn’t, you said—”

“It’s okay; I understand how you could get confused.”

Jungkook is still looking at you from behind Jess with an expression you can’t determine. Being blamed for something untrue this blatantly with your crush watching would typically embarrass you, but being portrayed as a liar bothers you.

“That’s not what happened, you said—”

“Little Picasso, it looks like you need a refill. Let’s get you one, come on,” Namjoon suddenly comes behind you.

He takes you by the shoulders and guides you to the kitchen; you don’t have time to grasp what’s happening.

Once at the array of bottles, Namjoon begins mixing you a drink. While pouring the liquid into a new red plastic cup, he speaks.

“You shouldn’t let her get to you.”

“Hmm?” you watch him.

“Jess. She’s trying to get a rise out of you, don’t let her.”

“But what she said wasn’t true. I heard her. I would never lie to Jungkookie,” you fret.

There’s a pause as he finishes mixing your drink and hands it to you. He sighs, “People like you are better off staying clear of people like Jess, who provoke others to make themselves feel superior. She’s the kind who will always take the opportunity to walk all over you if you let her.”

“We’re on the same team; I can’t avoid being around her. And she’s the cheer captain, so I can’t be rude to her.”

“I can respect that,” he nods with a sympathetic smile, “But that doesn’t mean you should let yourself get belittled.”

You lower your head, swishing around the drink in your cup.

“She’s patronizing because she feels threatened by you.”

“I never did anything to her,” you pout.

“No, I’m sure you didn’t,” he mulls his words, “Evny comes out without you having to incite it. From what I heard from Cherry, you are an equally talented cheerleader as she is, dare I say more. Among your other great qualities, you also seem to be gaining attention in other areas where she seems to fall short,” he smirks after his statement.

Namjoon looks over at Jungkook and Jess, the latter failing to capture the interest of the man beside her despite her forceful attempts. With your cup covering your view from taking a sip of your drink, Namjoon averts his eyes before you notice.

“Huh?” you wonder what other areas you’re exceeding Jess in.

He shakes his head, bypassing you, and continues.

“There aren’t many people like you, Y/N. You’re a very positive person, and the world needs that. Plenty of things and people will try to test how brightly your light shines but never dim it.”

His words wrap around you like a hug, a much-needed hug. A comfort you didn’t realize you needed till now.

“Thanks, Joonbug,” you smile, but a frown soon takes place, “I don’t like this, though. I don’t care if she doesn’t like me, but I don’t want her to make Jungkookie not like me too.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Jungkook isn’t someone easily deceived; I wouldn’t worry about that,” Namjoon pats your shoulder reassuringly.

☾☀︎

After your talk with Namjoon, Cherry came looking for you with Yoongi in tow, and Cherry, ever the encourager, kept the drinks flowing. One shot became two, and two became seven. You stopped counting drinks during several rounds of beer pong against Hoseok and Taehyung.

How Jimin got cut off by Seokjin but not you two is beyond you.

Now you and she have some concoction of a cocktail in hand as you dance—or try to dance in your heels to the EDM music blasting through the speakers.

After the current song ends, you and Cherry crash down onto the sofa, out of breath and plastered. The party is still in full swing around you. You two chat and giggle about insignificant topics for a while; your sense of time has long gone. There’s a peaceful lull in between when you are both sitting there with your head resting on her shoulder, no talking, just being. Your lingering thoughts break through the pause.

“Cher, do you think I’m naive?”

“Hmm? Where did that come from?”

“Just—” you shrug, “Do you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

The words pierce through the noise of the party; you wince, deflating emotionally and physically. You slouch deeper into the sofa. Cherry doesn’t seem to catch on to the effect of her words, yet she doesn’t stop there.

“You have this… innocence about you. A pureness as if you have been untainted by the world. It makes me want to shield you from it.”

“You don’t think I’m… useless?”

Cherry cranes her neck to look down at you so fast you’re surprised she doesn’t get whiplash. Her eyes widen.

“No! Why would you ask that? Did someone call you useless?” she sits up straight.

You pull her back to sit comfortably and place your head back on her shoulder.

“No. Not recently, anyway; I have been called that before. I was just curious what you think.”

Cherry rests her head against yours.

“Do you think you’re useless?” she asks gently.

You shake your head, “There was a time I did; someone I thought loved me made me doubt myself. I know other people’s opinions don’t matter. But I still care about how the people that matter to me think of me, and you matter to me.”

“I think you are naive, but not in the typical sense. You are one of the wisest people I’ve ever met. And that’s saying something when you know someone like Namjoon,” you both chuckle at that.

Cherry reaches for your hand and holds it.

“It takes a certain kind of person to walk through life so optimistic and unaffected by—well, by life.”

You inflate; your self-esteem is experiencing a huge boost tonight.

“You matter to me too,” she squeezes your hand, “I have always been a protective person, but the guys have always been around to look out for me. Since I’m an only child, I’ve always considered them family, so it’s nice that I have a sister to look out for now.”

The sentimental bubble bursts when Yoongi emerges, smirking down at your bodies on the couch as if dumped there.

“There’s my little boozer,” Yoongi pinches Cherry’s cheek with a grin on his face like a Cheshire cat.

She swats away his hand, and he laughs.

“You ready to head out? I should get you home before your mom sends the cops after me,” he tilts his head towards the front door.

Cherry groans, tossing her head back against the couch.

“Going home means moving. I don’t know if I can manage that,” her eyes are shut while she speaks.

“Again, with the dramatics,” Yoongi grabs her hands and pulls her up with a soft grunt.

“You too, kid. Let’s go,” he reaches out and pulls you up.

The three of you walk to the door, you and Cherry stumbling, Yoongi trying to make sure neither of you falls on your face. When you see Yoongi’s shielding hand on Cherry’s lower back, you remember Jungkook. You were having so much fun in your tipsy state you didn’t realize you hadn’t seen him since you tried talking to him earlier when Jess tried embarrassing you.

The cool night air washes over you; the contrast to the inside instant. The crisp breeze kisses your hot skin, and a shiver runs down your spine as you step onto the porch. The muffled music and laughter echoed from inside; you shut your eyes and inhale deeply to try and sober up with fresh air, but instead, breathe in the scent of cigarette smoke.

You have no time to relax when Yoongi’s low voice cuts through the quiet night air.

“Oh, sick, you’re here. I need to take Cher home, so make sure Y/N gets home,” Yoongi tells someone.

“Why me? Get one of the guys to take her.”

You open your eyes, and there on the porch is Jungkook, smoking a cigarette. The smoke curls up into the air as he holds it near his face, halting his movements at Yoongi’s order.

“Jimin and Tae are even more wasted than these two, believe it or not,” he refers to his girlfriend and you, “So Seokjin has his hands full with them. And I have no idea where Hoseok and Namjoon are.”

“Throw up,” you mumble.

Jungkook and Yoongi both quickly look at you with startled expressions.

“Hobi went to throw up. Joonbug is with him,” you drawl, clarifying.

“There you go, that’s why you,” Yoongi claps Jungkook on the shoulder.

“If anything happens to her, I’ll rip one of those piercings out of your face, Jeon,” Cherry rounds Yoongi and stands chest to chest with Jungkook poking at his chest threateningly.

Cherry hugs you goodbye, and the couple are off before Jungkook can make any more protests.

Just like that, you are left alone with the guy you have been enthralled with since you met him. The thumping bass and the joyful murmurs are the only sounds between you and Jungkook as you both stand there in painful silence.

You keep your gaze locked on the street, trying to focus on anything but the suffocating presence beside you.

Jungkook leans against the railing like he has nothing better to do, smoking the remainder of his cigarette, his gaze fixed in the distance on the night sky. You sigh, side-eyeing him as you shift, restless with your arms crossed. You try to remain calm, but inside, you are as excited as ever, pondering how to use this chance to your advantage.

He doesn’t attempt small talk or any other interaction, so you leave him immersed in his thoughts.

What makes this situation a little more nerve-wracking is that you know you are not really in his good books. Yet, you can’t miss out on this moment with him because being alone like this won’t happen again so smoothly. He dismisses you whenever he gets the chance or keeps his engagement short and curt when he does pay you attention.

A beat of silence later, you ask cautiously, “Did you have fun?”

“I did,” for the first time in minutes, he looks at you. “Until I got stuck chaperoning,” he snarks.

“There isn’t always gonna be someone around to babysit you and come to your defence.”

His sharp response had felt like a slap. Your drunken pride steps in, “You don’t have to. I can take care of myself,” you meekly contest.

Jungkook doesn’t answer this time.

Instead, he merely shifts his gaze from you to the empty, streetlight-lit road ahead before he begins to move. He drops the butt of his cigarette, putting it out with the toe of his boot, then stomps down the steps as he takes out his phone from his back pocket.

You follow immediately, walking by his side until he says, “I’m ordering an Uber.”

Your chest tightens, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

It all flashes before you in a millisecond.

Tires screeching. Glass shattering. Metal crunching. Blood. Pain. Fear.

“No!” you react instinctively and grab his arm, stopping him.

When you meet his eyes, Jungkook eyebrows furrow. Surprised and annoyed, he sends you an intense, fiery glare.

“I can’t take an Uber,” you shake your head frantically.

“Do you expect me to fly us there?” he huffs, pulling his arm out of your hold.

Your mouth opens and closes, but your throat seals shut. What possible defence could you offer?

Your nails carved crescents into your palms as you clenched your fists, your eyes tightly shut, “I-I just can’t ride in an Uber,” you force out quietly, ashamed; your voice is barely audible. A single tear slips down your cheek before you hurriedly wipe it away

Jungkook hears your voice crack and your sniffle. His scowl falters for a split second as he takes in your appearance—your teary eyes, chest rising and falling far too quickly, hands trembling at your sides. You are practically hyperventilating.

“Jesus…” he wavers, staring at your face, scratching the back of his neck, his eyes flicking around awkwardly, “You don’t have to cry about it.”

He shifts uncomfortably; abruptly, he walks away, his back now to you. You are left standing there like an abandoned kitten. He calls over his shoulder without even looking at you,

“You gonna stand there and sulk all night? Are you coming or not?”

His voice is cold and detached—as if he’s doing this out of obligation rather than concern.

Your eyes narrow, and your lips press into a thin line.

“Not,” you frown.

Jungkook freezes, leans his head back, looks up at the stars and groans, dragging his hands down his face in frustration. He lets out a slow breath before turning to you to speak again,

“What?”

You shake your head, cross your arms in protest, and pout, “I don’t want to go with you if you’re going to be a grumpy pants.”

He looks genuinely perplexed. As if you have just spoken in tongues.

“Grumpy pan—Are you a child?“

You remain silent, fixed in your spot. Feet planted on the sidewalk, arms crossed, as you and Jungkook engage in a staring contest.

Jungkook rolls his tongue along the inside of his cheek, cocks his pierced eyebrow. He squints his eyes at you, slipping his hands into his front pockets, “And how exactly do you plan on getting home then?“

“By myself,“ your chin lifts defiantly.

“By walking there. The same route I have to walk. Because we’re neighbours,” he deadpans.

Oh. Right. Damn, you didn’t think that through. You try to conjure up your next comeback to counter.

“Do you always have to be this difficult?” he exasperates.

“Hmph!” you stomp your foot, turning away from him to face the road.

Jungkook, for a brief moment, can’t tell if he wants to laugh or cry.

“For fuck’s sake,” Jungkook mutters his curse to himself between gritted teeth, exhaling a long aggravated breath before returning to your side.

“Alright.”

You ignore him.

Jungkook places a hand on your upper arm, using it to have you face him. The warmth of his touch vanishes just as quickly as it came.

“Look, let’s just walk home. I won’t say anything,” Jungkook holds his hands up in surrender.

You peek at him through your lashes, “You won’t be a meany? You’ll be nice?”

“I won’t be mean,” Jungkook replies, disregarding the second part of what you said.

“And…” You bite your lip, trying not to smile. Your eyes are innocent, but your tone is playful when you tiptoe, lean in a little, hesitantly, and say, “We can stop to buy a lollipop on the way?”

Jungkook, holding onto his last bit of strength, doesn’t say anything. He breathes through his nose, pressing his lips together and responding with a stiff nod.  

Like a flip of a switch, your mood brightens so fast that Jungkook flinches slightly.

“Yay! Okay, let’s go,” you cheer and brush past him.

Jungkook is stunned as he watches you head off, swaying your hips.

“Come on, Jungkookie!” you yell back to him.

Jungkook rolls his eyes.

That damn name.

Jungkook walks after you, wanting to hurry and get you home as fast as possible so he can get away from you just as fast.

He is left thinking about how he has a feeling that wasn’t his last hurdle of the night.

☾☀︎

Jungkook, true to his word, is on his best behaviour. But that is because he doesn’t utter a word on the walk to the convenience store. Even when your heel snags on the sidewalk and you lose footing, he catches you by the elbow with a displeased grunt and proceeds on.

“Are you seriously going to stay silent the whole way?” you wonder.

Silence.

Your shoulders brush his as you walk, your steps in sync with his, although yours are more clumsy.

“I know you said you won’t say anything, but it feels like I’m walking with a ghost,” you mope.

Silence.

You gasp, covering your mouth with both hands, “Maybe you are a ghost,” you raise a hand to poke at his bicep.

Is he made out of stone or something? His arm is rock solid, like a statue. Having the perfect view of Jungkook’s profile, he does look like an ancient Greek sculpture, with chiselled features and sharp, distinct edges that Adonis would envy. With the moonlight breaking through his hair, you marvel at his beauty.

Jungkook tuts and throws you a disapproving glare.

“Didn’t you want me not to be mean?“ he gruffs.

You gasp again dramatically, “Oh my gosh! I can’t believe it, he speaks,” you joke.

The thought flashes through Jungkook’s mind. With your wide, happy smile, your hands cupping your cheeks. How you look up at him with big eyes, sparkling under the glow of the night—it’s almost… cute.

He shakes his head, this time not at you but to force the thought out of his mind before it accidentally spirals into something worse.

“We agreed on just walking home—”

“And to stop and get a lolly,” you add, correcting him.

“Yeah. Whatever. My point is I didn’t agree on any conversation.”

“But it’s boring walking in silence. Plus, you said you’d be nice,” you whine.

“I said I wouldn’t be mean.”

“Well, isn’t ignoring me pretty mean?”

But he won’t answer. He only makes a disapproving sound.

“I’m so nice to you. I don’t know why you ignore me all the time. I wish you liked me as much as I like you. Jess also doesn’t like me, so you aren’t the only one. What she said wasn’t true, by the way,” you turn to face him while walking, “I know what I heard. I would never lie to you, Jungkookie. Joonbug said you wouldn’t believe her, but I still wanted to tell you myself,” you ramble on, filling the silence.

“Jeez. How drunk are you?”

“Only a little,” you singsong, pinching your index finger and thumb together, leaving a tiny gap in between.

“But I got you to talk to me,” you smile, bumping your shoulder into his arm.

He stares at you and tilts his head slightly, studying you. Then, he lets out this half-laugh, half-disbelieving breath.

You don’t look away. Jungkook’s warm stare seeps into your skin, grounding you in a way that feels too easy.

The pure gaze you give him throws Jungkook off guard for a moment — it’s somewhat endearing.

Jungkook’s stomach lurches. He snaps his head forward and coughs awkwardly into his fist.

Woah. Stop. What is with him tonight? How drunk is he?

You give in to Jungkook’s silence this time, sighing and letting him sink into his thoughts.

The convenience store’s sign comes into view, flashing in the short distance.

“Jess’s words hold no merit to me. Whether what she says is true or not doesn’t matter. I don’t care. Because I don’t care about her,” Jungkook’s tone is flat, emotionless, as if he’s simply stating a fact.

The convenience store’s sign comes into view, glowing in the near distance.

“The same goes for you,” Jungkook says casually before turning to enter the shop, his response so abrupt that it catches you off guard.

↬ THE CHAPTER ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ boo 1k block limit!! you can read the second half of the chapter in this reblog!! it continues where this leaves off and begins with a new scene <3

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

back pain. l Joel Miller

Summary: Joel had back problems, someone had to help him

Warnings: smut (+18), unprotected sex (don't do that), breeding kink, oral sex (f!receiving), Joel has back problems, Ann shows up, Hazel is mentioned, a bit of jealousy

A/N: like many of us i also saw ep 2 tlou2. i had this chapter already written, i thought it might cheer you up. joel deserves everything and i'm trying my best.

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

It had been going on for a while. It started with discomfort after returning from patrols, but Joel put it down to the time spent in the saddle. Then the pain came after a nap on the couch or a long day at the stables.

You couldn’t ignore it when Joel groaned loudly one morning as he got out of bed. You tried to help him. You massaged the aching muscles on his back and shoulders, applied warm compresses to ease the tension. It all helped, but only for a moment.

“Ann told me there was a woman next door who did professional massages,” you said one night. You were straddling Joel, naked from the waist up, lying on his stomach, accepting the touch of your hands. “She’s helped a lot of people in Jackson.”

"I don't need help." he groaned when you pressed a particularly painful spot. "You're doing great."

"I have no idea what I'm doing." You mumbled. "What if I only hurt you more?"

"Don't care. I'm not going there." He replied, and you rolled your eyes.

"You're so..."

"Old?"

“Stubborn!” He patted him on the shoulder. “Your back has been bothering you for a long time. You should do something about it. You want a baby, so how are you going to get up for it at night?”

You shouldn't have used that argument, but it was the only thing that came to mind. You had been trying to conceive for months, but you weren't panicking. Whatever was coming, you were just willing to accept it. Joel's aching back was worrying you, so you tried to do everything you could to help him. Even Tommy and Ellie had pitched in to convince him to rest, but Joel was... Yes, stubborn.

You hadn't brought it up since that night. Joel had been busy renovating more buildings in Jackson, and you had your hands full as well. It wasn't until you met Ann, who was with Elijah at the store, that you found out something was wrong.

“I’ve been seeing Joel lately,” she said, stroking the boy’s head as he slept snuggled up to her chest, a scarf wrapped securely around him. “I asked him what he was doing, but he was acting strange.”

"Strange? What does that mean?" you wondered.

"I don't know." Ann shrugged. "Do you think Hazel asked him for help again? She lives a few houses down from us."

You saw Hazel occasionally, sometimes at the Tipsy Bison or on the street in Jackson, but you didn’t talk. You knew she always felt more comfortable around Joel, but he hadn’t mentioned her in a while. A hint of jealousy rose in your heart, though you knew that if Joel hadn’t told you about Hazel, it was just so you wouldn’t feel bad. “I don’t know. He’s been pretty busy lately.” You replied. “Maybe he has a job in your neighborhood.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” She smiled softly and picked up the basket. “Are you coming over later? Shane’s going on patrol with two new guys, I don’t want to be alone. You know how it is.”

"Sure. I'll come."

You couldn't pretend that what Ann had told you didn't interest you, and where Joel was headed was starting to worry you a little. Every morning he'd say he was going to the construction site or on patrol, but you didn't really know if he was actually there. You didn't feel the need to check on him, because why would you?

Hazel entered your thoughts again. Maybe she'd asked him for help, and Joel just didn't want to worry you? No, you weren't angry. Just worried.

You were halfway through washing the dishes when you heard the door slam and the familiar heavy footsteps.

"Baby?" Joel's voice echoed through the house.

“Here.” You replied, dipping your hands into the suds and washing another plate. “Are you hungry? I have some more stew, Ellie and Dina didn’t eat all of it. We’ll have to start hiding food from them.”

You heard footsteps but no voice. When suddenly a solid body pressed against your back, almost pushing you into the sink.

“Jesus! Joel!” you squealed in surprise, pulling your hands out of the water and grabbing his arms that were wrapped tightly around you. “What happened?”

His low, deep voice resonated against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "I want you. Now."

He wasn't lying. The hard bulge pressed against your ass, you swallowed hard.

"Now?" you repeated, bewildered.

There was no response. A low groan tore from Joel’s chest as he released you, crouching down and throwing you over his shoulder in an instant. You were so surprised that you fisted your hands in his shirt dramatically.

"Joel! Your back!" you chuckled as he headed towards the stairs. "Joel! That's not safe!"

“Then stop squirming, for God’s sake!” he muttered as he climbed the stairs. Luckily, you listened, because the idea of ​​falling on your face wasn’t interesting. He kicked open the bedroom door, and a moment later it slammed shut behind you, and you landed with a thud on the bed.

“Joel!” you were too confused. It all happened so fast, and Joel looked like he was going crazy. His fingers deftly unbuttoned your pants and in a quick movement slid them down your back along with your underwear. “What the fuck?!”

"I already told you, I want you. Now." he replied, as if it was obvious. He came for what was his, for you.

You didn’t say anything else as he spread your thighs, his head disappearing between them. You took a breath, gripping the sheets in your hands as you felt him start to eat you out like this was his last meal, like he’d been starving for years. Your brain couldn’t process anything but the violent pleasure that was taking over your body. But it didn’t last.

Joel rose, his beard glistening with your juices, looking at you with nearly black eyes. The belt made a familiar sound and he pulled down his pants, freeing his hard cock. Maybe he had lost his mind, maybe something had possessed him, but you couldn’t lie—you wanted him more than ever.

Without taking his eyes off you, he took off his shirt, revealing his broad chest and strong arms. Despite his age, he still had it. And you still only wanted him.

When his hands grabbed your hips and turned you on the bed almost like a rag doll, you just squealed softly. He lifted your hips, his hand sliding down your back, pressing you to the bed. You knew what was coming, but when with a quiet, “So fucking sexy…” he slid inside you in one hard movement, you squeezed your eyes shut, unable to stop yourself from moaning. His cock was deep, all the way to the base. At that moment, Joel could do anything to you, because your brain and body had stopped working properly.

Every thrust, every movement, every sigh drove you crazy. The orgasm built in your body at a dizzying speed. You had made love many times before, in different ways and at different speeds, but this was different. Almost primal, animalistic, passionate. But at the same time, with Joel, you knew you were safe, even as his fingers dug into your hips as he pounded into you with all his might.

Suddenly he leaned down, his arm sliding under your body and lifting you up so he was pressing you against his chest. Joel’s hand slid under your shirt and bra, squeezing your breast tightly.

“Take it all... I can feel you close...” His voice was heavy as he whispered in your ear, “You’re squeezing me so tight, baby. Fuck, take it.”

You reached back, gripping his hair as he nearly bit your neck. A hard shudder wracked your body as you came, your throat aching. Joel was right behind you. His movements became frantic as he pounded into you. “I’m gonna fill you up… Until it fucking takes hold.”

He squeezed you so hard he could break you, and then he came deep, with a deep groan. You stayed like that, until the last twitch, breathing deeply, slowly regaining your senses. Finally, you managed to find your voice, despite your sore throat.

"What was that?"

He turned his head, kissing your neck, inhaling your scent. “That’s how babies are made, darling.”

You giggled, and after a moment, Joel did the same. His arms slowly released you, and you fell back onto the bed, feeling your limbs go limp. Joel collapsed next to you, breathing deeply and feeling completely at peace and comfort. Silence filled the room, and you steadied your breathing, trying to get back to reality.

“I’ve been going to that woman you were talking about for a week now.” You turned your head and looked at Joel’s profile. His eyes were closed, a few curls stuck to his sweaty forehead. “The massage lady.”

"That's good. Did she help with your back?"

He turned around and looked at you with a sly smile. "Didn't you notice?"

“Jesus!” you covered your face with your hand. “And I thought you…”

"What?" Joel rolled over and rested his head on his hand. "What did you think I was doing?"

With a heavy heart, you told him what Ann had told you, that she had done it in good faith, about your concerns about Hazel. Joel listened patiently, never once suggesting that what you were saying was stupid or irrational. Finally, he smiled and leaned down, lightly kissing the corner of your mouth.

"You're amazing, you know that?" he said and seeing your surprised look he added "The fact that you're a little jealous of me is really flattering. But you also know that I'm completely devoted to you. I'm yours, baby, no one will ever change that."

She stroked his cheek, smiling. “And you really think that kind of sex can produce children?”

"We could always do it again." He shrugged, "Just to be sure."

You pulled him closer and kissed him tenderly. He was yours, body and soul. And you were his.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @somedayheaven @underneath-the-sky-again @callmebyyournick-name @hiroikegawa @mandaloriankait

[cameronsbabydoll]

I AM SO OBSESSED W SCC RAFE YOU HAVE NO IDEA!!! could you write something about scc reader overheard someone saying that rafe is cheating? maybe they said rafe was checking someone else out. and scc just assumed it was right and swallowed it because she never questions rafe but he noticed she’s putting up distance between them and the kids also noticed then how would he react? I LOVE ME SOME GOOD ANGST

cw: mentions of cheating but it’s not true also use of the word “bitch” by rafe

you weren’t even supposed to hear it.

just passing by — holding your baby’s bottle in one hand, laundry basket tucked against your hip — when you heard it. rafe’s name. a hushed laugh. something like, “he was totally looking at her ass.”

you froze.

you didn’t ask. you didn’t say anything. you just swallowed it down. like everything else.

because you never ask rafe questions like that. you never pry. never accuse. and if he was? what would you even do?

so you just… started pulling back. gently. subtly.

you didn’t sit close on the couch that night. didn’t text him during the day like you usually do. didn’t even say anything when he came home late again. just smiled a little. nodded. said “okay.”

but he noticed. immediately.

“what’s with you?”

you shook your head. “nothing.”

“you’re actin’ different.”

you waved him off. “i’m fine, rafe. really.”

and the kids noticed too. especially your daughter — perched on the arm of the couch while you fed her baby brother, frowning as she whispered, “mommy, why didn’t you wait for daddy to come home tonight?”

rafe hears her. his jaw sets.

he doesn’t say anything right away. but his eyes don’t leave you.

and eventually—when you’re folding towels in the bedroom, trying to keep it together—he steps in, shuts the door behind him, and says, low and sharp,

“what the fuck did you hear?”

you blink. flinch. try to shake your head again, but he’s already walking toward you.

“you’ve been off all week. won’t even look at me. won’t touch me. won’t let me near you. so tell me what the fuck happened.”

“…someone said you were looking at another woman.”

you say it so quietly. like it hurts to admit. like you already convinced yourself it was true.

and that pisses him off.

“you think i’d cheat on you?”

“…i don’t know.”

“you think i’d throw away all of this for some random bitch at the bar?”

you look down. your throat feels tight.

and his voice drops—less angry now, more sharp and hurt.

“so that’s all it takes? some nobody says somethin’ and now you don’t trust me?”

you whisper, “i didn’t want it to be true.”

and that’s what stops him.

because your voice cracks on want, and your hands are shaking as you fold the last towel, and he can see it now—how scared you are to even ask him if it was true.

he exhales through his nose. jaw clenched.

and then he’s pulling the towel out of your hands, tossing it on the bed, dragging you into his arms. wrapping you up even when you go stiff.

“if i wanted someone else, i wouldn’t have married you.”

he grips your chin, makes you look up.

“don’t you ever let someone get in your head like that again. you hear me?”

you nod. still a little unsure. still holding back.

but when he kisses you — slow and firm and low against your lips — you feel your knees go soft again.

[fairiily]

|| why you keep waking up in your cr

i saw a girl make a tiktok about this and i thought it was a really interesting idea so i wanted to share it with you!

i think we can all agree that one of the biggest ideas on shiftblr is that all you need is intention

but i also think a lot of people can agree with me when i say: “if intention is all you need, why do i keep waking up in my cr?”

ill relate it to lucid dreaming.

most people who want to lucid dream use reality checks as a method to do so

you reality check throughout the day so your subconscious remembers while youre dreaming

maybe it doesnt work the first night you go to sleep, but you keep reality checking as part of your routine until your subconscious remembers too.

another girl related it to birth control

she used to have an alarm set everyday for 1pm to take the pill

eventually, she didnt need the alarm anymore, because her subconscious remembered that around that time of day, she needed to take her birth control pill

its the exact same way with shifting

you set intention to shift before you go to sleep, and you wake up in your cr again

“but i set intention! why am i still here?”

you begin to doubt yourself, in your abilities to shift, that maybe intention doesn’t actually work.

but it does.

sometimes it just takes a little longer for your subconscious to remember the intention you set, for the intention to stick.

many people’s shifting success stories happen when they go to sleep like any other night

they don’t intentionally do a method or set the intention of shifting, but they wake up in their dr.

how does that work?

after going to sleep and setting your intention night after night after night, your subconscious starts to do it on its own.

like reality checking during dreams, or setting an alarm to take a pill

your subconscious doesn’t have eyes, it is something that has to be trained, all it knows is what you tell it.

not everything can be mastered on the first try, you just have to keep trying.

moral of the story is:

intention is real. and its important. dont give up on yourself. keep setting intention. keep going to sleep knowing you will wake up in your dr.

one day you will.

i hope this helped or resonated with some of you, because when i heard about this idea, it gave me a lot of hope that im not doing anything wrong, my subconscious is just taking a little while to catch up.

happy shifting!

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 13: February 2024 - Part 2

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, Me trying to write therapy sessions.

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

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Daniel Ricciardo, Carlos Sainz, Lewis Hamilton)

Lando: ok wait, are we sending flowers??

Oscar: flowers seem good

Daniel: FLOWERS YES but like what KIND of flowers

Lando: nothing too funeral Lando: nothing too romantic Lando: nothing too "you almost died but like in a chill way"

Lewis: you guys are the worst crisis team I’ve ever seen

Oscar: YOU’RE IN THIS TOO LEWIS

Lewis: i’m saying it with love.

Daniel: ok no roses…roses feel wrong

Carlos: no lilies either, too funeral

Lando: sunflowers??

Oscar: too happy Oscar: feels like "yay you survived!" party energy

Daniel: small soft bouquet?

Lewis: yeah Lewis: something like daisies Lewis: baby’s breath Lewis: stuff that feels gentle

Oscar: Lewis Hamilton out here secretly a florist

Lando: I KNEW IT

Lewis: I just have better taste than you idiots.

Carlos: confirmed.

Daniel: ok so like gentle happy survival flowers

Oscar: can we also send cookies?

Lando: yesssssssss

Lewis: i’m ordering them now Lewis: no glitter. Lewis: no weird colors. Lewis: keep it simple.

Daniel: who’s writing the card???

Lando: "Dear Belle: Sorry the world is trash. Love, some idiots who are rooting for you."

Oscar: perfect.

Carlos: send it.

***

Text Messages: Daniel Ricciardo & Max Verstappen

Daniel: Hey mate. Daniel:  Just heard from Lewis what happened last night. Daniel:  Wanted to check — is Belle okay?

Max: Yeah. Mild concussion. Some bruises. They kept her overnight for observation. She’s home now. Resting.

Daniel: Fuck, man. Daniel:  I’m glad she’s alright. Daniel:  That must’ve been scary as hell.

Max: It was.

Daniel: If you need anything. Daniel:  Or if she needs anything. Daniel:  You know — groceries, errands, new car — whatever. Daniel:  We’re all around.

Max: Appreciate it. Thanks, mate.

Daniel: Seriously, anything. Daniel:  Give her a hug from all of us, yeah? We’ll send flowers. Oscar insisted on Cookies too. 

Max: I’ll tell her. She’ll appreciate it.

Daniel: Good. Tell her we’re all thinking about her. ***

Leclerc Family Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Lorenzo and Pascale)

Arthur: Hey, can you grab croissants on your way over?

Charles: And coffee. Please.

Lorenzo: Maman needs flowers for her lunch today.

Pascale: Isabelle, mon ange, if you have time, could you pick up some things from the market?

Isabelle: Yeah, no. Can’t. I was in a car accident last night.

Arthur: ???

Charles: WHAT.

Lorenzo: What do you mean you were in a car accident???

Arthur: This better not be a joke.

Isabelle: I’m fine. A drunk driver ran a red light and hit me. I spent the night in the hospital for observation, but I’m okay.

Pascale: WHY AM I ONLY HEARING ABOUT THIS NOW?

Arthur: Yeah, kinda rude to just drop that on us.

Isabelle: EXCUSE ME???

Charles: Were you driving too fast?

Isabelle: NO.

Arthur: Were you on your phone?

Isabelle: IT WASN’T MY FAULT.

Lorenzo: But are you sure you weren’t distracted?

Isabelle: I swear to God.

Charles: Okay, okay. Do you need anything?

Isabelle: Just rest.

Arthur: Sooo… no croissants?

Isabelle: ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW.

Arthur: Just asking.

Pascale: Isabelle, you should have told me immediately.

Isabelle: It was the middle of the night!

Lorenzo: You still could have texted.

Charles: Next time, at least let us know sooner.

Isabelle: Next time??? Do you think I PLAN to get hit by a car???

Arthur: …so that’s a no on the croissants?

***

Isabelle was curled up on their couch, a blanket over her lap, her hair still a little messy from sleep and bruises peeking out from under the neckline of his hoodie. She was nursing a cup of tea when Max came in from the kitchen with her breakfast.

“Here,” he said softly, setting the tray in front of her. “Eat something.”

She smiled up at him, touched. “Thank you.”

He leaned down and kissed the top of her head, but as he sat next to her, she noticed his eyes drift toward her phone, still open to the Leclerc family group chat.

Max squinted.

“What’s that?” he asked, his tone already shifting.

Isabelle blinked. “Oh. Just my brothers being… them.”

Max, already suspicious, plucked the phone gently from her lap before she could stop him.

Scrolled. Read.

And then he went absolutely still.

When she finally looked at him, his entire body was tight with anger. Not explosive. Not loud.

Cold.  Sharp.  Deadly.

“They’re asking about croissants?” Max said, voice low and dangerous. “After you spent the night in the hospital?”

Isabelle opened her mouth. Closed it. Shrugged helplessly.

Max stood up abruptly, pacing a few steps across the living room like he needed to physically shake off the fury vibrating through him.

“They’re angry at you?” Max said incredulously. “For not calling them? After you got fucking hit by a drunk driver?”

Isabelle flinched. Not because he was yelling — he wasn’t.  Max’s voice had dropped into that awful, simmering tone he only used when he was one second from completely losing it.

“They’re blaming you?” he said, his voice rising just slightly, like he couldn't believe the words as they left his mouth. "Like you did something wrong?"

"It’s not that bad," Isabelle said automatically.

Max spun to face her. His expression was something brutal and raw.  "Don't," he snapped. "Don't defend them."

Isabelle curled tighter into herself, clutching the tea like it was a shield.

"They don’t mean it like that," she said weakly.

Max crossed the room in three strides, crouching in front of her again, his hands gentle even when his voice wasn’t.

"Belle," he said, fierce and low. "You could have died. You could have been killed. And their first reaction was to demand coffee and flowers and fucking croissants? To scold you like a child?"

Isabelle looked down, her throat burning.

Max caught her chin lightly, forcing her to meet his eyes.

"You are not their errand girl," he said, every word knife-edged. "You are not an afterthought. You are not disposable."

Tears slipped down her cheeks before she could stop them.

Max’s face softened instantly.

He pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe — but she didn't want to breathe anywhere else anyway.

Max let out a breath through his nose, still fuming. “Next time something happens, you tell me before you tell them. Actually—just always tell me first.”

“I did.”

That made him pause.

She looked up at him, soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “You were the first and only person I called.”

The fight in Max deflated just a little. His jaw relaxed, and his shoulders slumped as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’ll never make you explain why your pain is valid.”

Isabelle pressed a kiss to his jaw, and despite the aches and bruises, she felt lighter somehow. Safer. Seen.

Max kissed the top of her head again, his voice low against her hair.

***

Text Messages: Sebastian Vettel & Max Verstappen

Sebastian: Hey, Max. I heard about what happened in Monaco. Isabelle okay?

Max: ... How do you—

Sebastian: Lewis.

Max: Of course.

Sebastian: He didn’t say much. Just that it was bad. And that you were with her. I figured I should check in.

Max: She’s alright. Concussion. Bruises. Scared the hell out of me, but she’s recovering. Resting at home now.

Sebastian: Good. I’m glad she’s safe. And I’m glad she has you.

Max: Thanks. Really.

Sebastian: Brave of you, keeping it from Charles. Man’s got a temper.

Max: So do I.

Sebastian: 😅 Fair enough. Sebastian:  But seriously — that’s not an easy line to walk. Sebastian:  Keeping something that important private.

Max: It’s not about him. It’s about her. She’s not ready for them to know. I’ll wait until she is. Whatever it takes.

Sebastian: Good. You’re doing the right thing. Sebastian:  (And honestly... I don’t think Charles deserves to know until she’s ready to make him see her properly.)

Max: Agreed.

Sebastian: If you need anything — if she does — let me know. Tell her I’m thinking of her.

Max: I will. She’ll appreciate that. She always liked you, you know.

Sebastian: I like her, too. Always thought she was the strongest Leclerc. Even if no one noticed.

Max: I noticed.

Sebastian: I know. That’s why she’s with you.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Max: Hey. Wanted you to hear it from me. Belle was in a car accident last night. Drunk Driver T-boned her. 

Emilie: WHAT. Emilie: WHAT DO YOU MEAN. Emilie: IS SHE OKAY???

Max: She’s okay. Bruised, mild concussion. No serious injuries. She’s home now. Resting.

Emilie: Max. You can’t just DROP that on me. I nearly had a heart attack.

Max: Sorry. Didn’t want you finding out through someone else.

Emilie: Thank you for telling me. Is she... really okay? I mean, really?

Max: She’s shaken. But the Volvo did it’s job. It could be so much worse.  

Emilie: Good. Emilie:  Protect her, Max. Or I’ll break your kneecaps. (With love.)

Max: Would expect nothing less from you.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Emilie Abadie

Emilie: ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW.

Isabelle: Hi??

Emilie: DON'T "hi" me. Emilie: I just found out you were in a CAR CRASH??? Emilie: A drunk driver hit you?? Emilie: AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME???

Isabelle: I was going to... Isabelle: I just didn’t want to worry you. I’m okay. Isabelle: Bruises, concussion. That’s it. I promise.

Emilie: Isabelle. Emilie: You’re literally my favorite human being on this planet. Emilie: You do not get to almost die and then not tell me.

Isabelle: 🥺

Isabelle: I’m sorry. Isabelle: I really am. Isabelle: It was just a lot last night. And Max was already there and—

Emilie: WAIT. Emilie: Max was there?? Emilie: You called him first???

Isabelle: ... Yeah.

Emilie: 😭😭😭😭 Emilie: Okay. Fine. Emilie: At least SOMEONE was looking after you. Emilie: (Still a little bit furious tho.)

Isabelle: I deserve that. I’m sorry.

Emilie: You are not allowed to apologize for getting hit by a drunk driver you absolute gremlin. Emilie: I’m just glad you’re okay. Emilie: (And also kinda glad Max is apparently ready to physically fight Monaco if needed.)

Isabelle: He’s very serious about it 😅

Emilie: Good. Emilie: You deserve people who take your safety personally. Emilie: And you deserve better than people who think you should apologize for surviving.

Isabelle: 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 Love you.

Emilie: Love you more, Belle. Emilie: See you soon. Emilie: (Also, Max better share the couch or I will fight him.)

Isabelle: 😂 I’ll warn him.

***

Text Messages: Max Verstappen & Victoria Verstappen

Max: Hey. Need to tell you something.

Victoria: Everything okay??

Max: Yeah. Now it is. Max: Belle was in a car accident. Drunk driver hit her.

Victoria: WHAT. Is she okay????

Max: Yeah. Concussion. Some bruises. She’s home now. Safe.

Victoria: Oh my god. Max. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?

Max: Took a few years off my life. But yeah. Better now.

Victoria: I can’t even imagine. Seeing something like that happen to someone you love... Victoria: I remember when you crashed in Silverstone…For a moment it just…that feeling. That helplessness.  Like the world could just... rip the person you love away from you at any second. I know what that feels like.

Max: Yeah. Exactly that. One second everything’s normal. Max: Next second you’re standing in a hospital room wondering how you’re supposed to keep breathing if they don’t.

Max: Feels like everything inside me cracked open at once. Max: I’m never letting anything happen to her again. Max: I don’t care what I have to do.

Victoria: You can’t protect her from everything, Maxie. I wish we could. But you’re doing the most important thing already. You’re there. You love her. You make her feel safe. That’s more than enough.

Max: Sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough.

Victoria: It always feels like that when you really love someone. It’s the cost. But it’s worth it.

Victoria: She’s lucky to have you. And you’re lucky to have her.

Max: I know.

Victoria: Give her a hug from me. And Max?

Max: Yeah?

Victoria: Give yourself a little grace too. You’re allowed to be scared. You’re allowed to love her that much.

Max: Thanks, Vic.

Victoria: Always.

***

The apartment was dim and warm, the only light coming from the small lamp in the corner. One cat was sprawled across Max’s legs, purring softly; the other had wedged itself stubbornly against the arm of the couch.

It was quiet, comfortable — but Max barely noticed.

He was too busy keeping an eye on the hallway, listening for any sound of her.

Isabelle finally padded into the living room, wearing one of his hoodies and soft pajama shorts, her hair damp from a shower. She carried a mug of chamomile tea between her hands like it was a lifeline.

Max’s chest tightened when he saw the bruises — angry marks along her collarbone, a purple smear near her temple just so peeking out from underneath the bandage that covered her stitches — but she looked a little better.

Softer around the edges.

Steadier.

She settled in beside him without hesitation, leaning lightly into his side.

“Hey,” she said, voice gentle and tired but still teasing, still her. “What are we doing for Valentine’s Day tonight?”

Max blinked down at her like she had asked him if he wanted to fight a bull barehanded.

He set the remote down and turned fully toward her.

“Nothing,” he said firmly. “You’re resting.”

Belle blinked, surprised. “Nothing?”

“You got out of the hospital this morning, Schatje,” Max said, brushing his knuckles carefully along her jaw. “You’re bruised, concussed, exhausted. You’re not putting on a dress or pretending you have the energy for anything.”

She smiled sheepishly. “I wasn’t thinking restaurant. I was thinking… I don’t know. Candlelight? Dessert? A dumb rom-com?”

Max’s heart softened instantly.

“That’s different,” he murmured. “That I can work with.”

For a moment, there was a lull — the safe kind — until Belle sighed quietly and looked down at her tea.

“I’m sorry I ruined it,” she said.

Max froze.

“What?” he asked, sharper than he meant to.

“Valentine’s,” she said, voice even quieter now. “We were supposed to have a real night. You always say you don’t care about this stuff, but you still try. And instead, I ended up in a hospital bed, and you had to spend the night watching me sleep in an awful chair.”

Max blinked at her.

Once.

Twice.

Then, without a word, he took the mug gently from her hands and set it on the table.

“Belle,” he said, low and serious, “you are absolutely insane.”

She frowned. “That’s not—”

Max cupped her face in both hands, his touch achingly tender, like he thought she might break if he wasn’t careful.

He looked at her like she had just split the world open and made everything new again.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he said, voice rough with the force of it. “You scared the hell out of me. That’s all. The only thing — the only thing — I cared about yesterday was that you were still breathing.”

Belle blinked, stunned.

Max leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against hers.

“You’re here,” he whispered. “You’re breathing. You’re safe. That’s all I want.”

Belle closed her eyes tightly, a tear slipping free before she could stop it.

“I just wanted it to be special,” she mumbled.

Max pulled back just enough to see her face, his thumbs brushing lightly along her jaw.

“It is special,” he said, fierce and quiet. “You’re here. You’re with me. There’s nothing more special than that.”

He exhaled hard, trying to keep himself steady, but the fear — the pictures his mind supplied, of her bleeding and dazed in that broken car — hadn’t really left him.

“You could have died, Belle,” he said, voice shaking despite himself. “And if you think I give a fuck about Valentine’s Day after that—”

He broke off, swallowing hard.

“You’re sitting here apologizing because I didn’t get to give you overpriced flowers and a chocolate box?” Max shook his head, breathing out a shaky laugh that was half disbelief, half heartbreak.

Belle let out a breathy laugh too, her voice cracking.

“Well, when you say it like that, I sound ridiculous.”

“You are ridiculous,” Max said fondly, his voice dropping to something unbearably soft as he kissed her forehead.

“You’re my Valentine every goddamn day, Belle. You don’t have to do anything except be here.”

And as he tucked her into his side, wrapping an arm around her, Max made himself a quiet, blistering promise:

Whatever it takes — he would make sure she always had a safe place to land.

***

Alexandra Saint Mleux had always loved Valentine’s Day.

Not for the grand gestures, not for the over-the-top declarations, but for the little things.

 The small, specific ways Charles made her feel seen every year.

Last year, it had been a bracelet with a tiny charm that matched a doodle she'd made in a notebook once.

It was never about the price or the spectacle.

It was the way Charles remembered the quiet parts of her — the parts no one else seemed to notice.

Which was why she knew, before he even handed her the gift this year, that something was... off.

The box was beautiful — simple, elegant, wrapped in gold paper.  But when she opened it, it was a generic necklace. Pretty, but impersonal.

Something anyone could have picked out of a catalog.

Charles was smiling at her expectantly, the way he always did, waiting for her reaction.

And she smiled back — because she loved him, because she didn't want to ruin it — but a small, quiet ache bloomed in her chest.

It wasn't about the necklace.

It was about the feeling that something had slipped, unnoticed, between them.

They went out for dinner after — a cozy little restaurant tucked away from the paparazzi, candles flickering between them — but even there, Charles seemed... distracted.

 Tense in a way she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

It wasn’t until dessert, when she asked casually about his family, that she got a piece of the puzzle.

"Isabelle was in a car accident," Charles said offhandedly, swirling the last of his espresso.

Alexandra's heart stuttered. "Oh my God — is she okay?"

He shrugged, too casual. "It was just a little fender bender. Nothing serious. She’s fine."

Alexandra frowned slightly. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Charles said, waving it off. "She said she was fine."

He didn’t elaborate. Didn’t offer any more.

And Alexandra — who had seen the way Isabelle seemed to fold herself smaller whenever the family swirled too loudly around her — felt that same ache twist sharper.

Something told her Belle wouldn’t have made a fuss even if she wasn’t fine.

Something told her that Charles hadn’t really looked.

She said nothing, just smiled and let Charles change the subject back to racing, back to schedules, back to anything but the sister who maybe, just maybe, needed him to see her.

Alexandra tucked the necklace back into its box when she got home that night.

 It was beautiful.

 It just wasn’t quite hers.

***

The apartment smelled like coffee and something sweet.

Max had gotten up early — not because he was particularly good at mornings, or baking — but because Belle deserved something warm and comforting.

He’d managed toast, burnt only slightly, and found the last few frozen chocolate croissants buried at the back of the freezer.

Small things.

Safe things.

Belle was curled up on the couch in one of his old hoodies, knees tucked beneath her, Lilly on her lap, while Jimmy was laying on her legs and Sassy sat next to her like this was all beneath her, but was slowly inching closer, jealous to at she wasn’t getting any attention.

She looked small.

Tired.

Healing.

Max was wiping his hands on a dish towel when a knock came at the door.

He frowned, crossing the apartment in a few quick strides.

When he opened it, a delivery man stood there — arms full.

Two enormous bouquets, one a soft explosion of yellow and white, the other a careful arrangement of pink and cream roses, and a box tied up with a silky ribbon.

Max blinked.

Took the flowers and box with a muttered thanks.

Kicked the door shut behind him.

Belle looked up immediately, eyebrows lifting when she saw what he was carrying.

“What’s all that?” she asked, sitting up straighter.

Max set everything carefully down on the coffee table, tugging the little notes free from between the stems.

He read the first card — his mouth curving into a small, real smile, the kind he barely remembered how to make before her.

“This one’s from my family,” he said, tossing the card onto the table for her to see. “Flowers from my mom. Chocolate from Victoria.”

Belle’s mouth fell open slightly. “They didn’t have to—”

Max shrugged. “They wanted to.”

He kissed the top of her head before reaching for the second card, tucked between the wild, chaotic second bouquet and the neatly wrapped box underneath.

He read it, and let out a soft huff of laughter.

“And,” he added, setting the card down, “these are from the idiots.”

Belle blinked. “The idiots?”

Max leaned back against the couch, stretching his legs out lazily. “Lando, Oscar, Lewis, Carlos, Daniel. Group effort. They sent you flowers and a box of cookies.”

Belle stared at him, completely thrown.

“They said,” Max quoted dryly, “and I’m reading here, ‘Dear Belle: Sorry the world is trash. Love, some idiots who are rooting for you.’”

Belle let out a small, incredulous laugh — the first real one he’d heard from her since the hospital— and covered her face with her hands.

Max just watched her, something warm and achingly fond spreading through his chest.

When she lowered her hands, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes suspiciously bright.

“They’re ridiculous,” she whispered.

“They are,” Max agreed. “But they mean it.”

He shifted closer, resting his hand lightly against her thigh.

“Victoria sends her love, by the way,” he added. “Said next time you’re in the Netherlands, you’re not allowed to leave without a girls’ day.”

Belle laughed again — a softer, breathier sound this time — and toyed absently with the edge of her sleeve.

There was a pause.

A shift.

And then, almost too quietly to hear, she said:

“Your family’s starting to feel like mine too.”

Max stilled completely.

He turned, reaching for her hand instinctively, finding her fingers and curling his own around them.

Belle looked up at him, vulnerable in a way she almost never let herself be — open and a little raw, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to say it out loud.

Max melted.

Utterly.

He cupped her face gently in both hands and kissed her — slow, deliberate, reverent — like he had all the time in the world just to love her properly.

When he finally pulled back, his voice was rough with emotion.

“They already think of you that way,” he whispered against her forehead. “You’re one of us, Belle. You always will be.”

She blinked fast, trying and failing to fight the tears burning her eyes.

Max just pulled her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight.

Not too tight.

Just enough.

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Victoria Verstappen

Isabelle: Hi Victoria, Thank you so much for the flowers and chocolates. It really meant a lot to me. You didn’t have to do all that.

Victoria: First of all: YES I DID. Second: you’re welcome. Third: you’re stuck with us now. No returns. No exchanges. No refunds. Family policy. Love you.

Isabelle: 😭 I love you too.

Victoria: Tell Max if he doesn’t keep spoiling you, I’ll show up and do it myself. (And make it VERY public and VERY embarrassing.)

Isabelle: 😂 I’ll warn him.

Victoria: Good girl. Rest up. Heal. And when you’re ready, come visit — Lio made you a "Get Well" card and it’s mostly just glitter but the intention was pure.

Isabelle: I can’t wait to see it. Thank you, Vic. Really. For everything.

Victoria: Always, Belle. Always.

***

Text Messages: Sebastian Vettel & Kimi Räikkönen

Sebastian: You’re not going to believe this. (Or maybe you will. You’re hard to surprise.)

Kimi: Busy. Make it fast.

Sebastian: Max Verstappen is dating Isabelle Leclerc.

Kimi:  Huh. 

Sebastian: That’s it? Huh??? I just dropped a nuclear paddock secret on you!

Kimi: Not my business. If they’re happy, who cares.

Sebastian: I mean. True. But still.

Kimi: Good for them. Hope she can handle him. Not many can.

Sebastian: I think she’s the only one who can.

Kimi: Makes sense. Quiet ones are dangerous. Good match.

Sebastian: Also apparently no one in her family knows yet. Including Charles.

Kimi: Charles will cry about it. Not my problem.

Sebastian: 😂

Kimi: Tell Max if he breaks her heart I’ll run him over with a snowmobile.

Sebastian: Will pass along the message.

Kimi: Good. Busy now. Kids want ice cream. Tell Max congratulations.

Sebastian: Will do. (Enjoy the ice cream.)

Kimi: Always.

***

Max hated this.

He wasn’t even trying to pretend otherwise.

He stood by the door, suitcase packed, keys and phone in one hand, looking like someone had asked him to do the impossible instead of board a plane for pre-season testing.

Belle watched him from the couch, a blanket wrapped around her, her bruises faded now but still faintly visible under the soft lamplight.

"You have to go," she said gently, reading his mind like she always did.

Max grimaced, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I don’t like leaving you."

"You’re not leaving me," she corrected immediately, voice calm, steady.  "You’re going to work. You’re doing what you love."

Max ran a hand through his hair, visibly struggling.

"You just—" he started, then stopped.  "You just got hurt, Belle. I should be here. I should be with you."

"You are with me," she said, rising slowly from the couch and padding over to him.

She reached up and cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

"Every time you call, every time you text, every time you think about me — you’re here," she said softly. "I’m not alone."

Max closed his eyes, leaning into her touch like he physically couldn’t help it.

"And you’ll be home before you know it," she whispered, brushing her thumbs over his cheekbones. "Then you can hover and fuss and drive me crazy again."

A reluctant, broken laugh escaped him.

"I don’t want to leave you," he said again, more quietly now.

Belle smiled, tears prickling her own eyes — because even now, even with the whole world pulling him in a thousand directions, he was still here with her first.

"You’re not leaving me," she said again. "You’re just chasing your dreams. And I’ll be right here when you get back."

Max bent his head, resting his forehead against hers.

"You’re my dream too," he whispered.

Her breath hitched.

"And you’re mine," she whispered back.

They stayed there for a long moment — just breathing together — until finally, finally, Max exhaled.

He kissed her slowly, thoroughly, like he needed to memorize her, and she kissed him back just as fiercely.

When he finally pulled away, it was with visible effort.

"Promise me you’ll rest," he said, brushing his knuckles down her cheek.

"I promise," she said. "And you — promise me you’ll drive safe. Listen to GP. Don’t try to out-stubborn the car."

Max huffed a quiet laugh. "Bossy."

"Someone has to be," she teased, smiling.

He kissed her forehead one last time, squeezed her hand, and finally — reluctantly — turned to leave.

Belle watched him go, feeling the ache of missing him before he’d even stepped outside the door.

But it was okay.

Because he would always come home to her.

And she would always, always be waiting.

***

Text Messages: Lewis Hamilton & Max Verstappen

Lewis: Mate.

Lewis: Did you just drop off a bag of stuff at my motorhome?

Max: Yeah.

Max: Belle made something for Roscoe.

Lewis: I just opened it.

Lewis: A handwritten note. And homemade vegan dog treats???

Max: She insisted.

Max: Wanted to thank you properly.

Max: Even though she’s supposed to be resting.

Lewis: I don’t even know what to say. The note made me emotional and Roscoe is probably going to try and mug me for the biscuits.

Max: Good. He deserves them.

Lewis: Tell her thank you.

Lewis: Seriously.

Lewis: She didn’t have to do anything.

Lewis: I was just in the right place at the right time.

Max: You stayed.

Max: It matters to her.

Max: It matters to me too.

Lewis: You’ve got a good one there, Max.

Lewis: Also, if Roscoe explodes with happiness, I’m sending you the vet bill.

Max: He’ll be fine. Belle double-checked the recipe three times.

***

GP had known Max Verstappen for a long time.

Long enough to recognize when something wasn’t sitting right under the surface — even when Max didn’t say a word about it.

He noticed it that morning, before Max even climbed into the car.  The slight tightness around his mouth.  The way his hands flexed once, sharply, before putting on his gloves.  The way his answers in the pre-session briefing were short, mechanical. Efficient, but colder than usual.

GP filed it away. Max would tell him when he was ready.

And he did — just after the second run of the day, in the shade behind the Red Bull garage, water bottle in one hand, telemetry printout in the other.

“She was in a crash,” Max said, his voice flat enough that if GP hadn’t been paying attention, he might have missed it.

GP frowned, stepping closer. “Who?”

Max didn’t look up.  “Belle.”

The name hit harder than GP expected.

“What happened?” he asked, more sharply now.

Max’s jaw tightened. “Drunk driver ran a red. T-boned her car. Hit the passenger side, just behind the front wheel. Sent her spinning into a light post.”

 Quiet. Clipped.  Words that barely scratched the surface of the horror GP could hear pulsing beneath them.

GP stared. “Christ. Is she—?”

“She’s alright,” Max said. “Bruised. Concussion. Hospital kept her overnight.” He paused. “But it could’ve been a lot worse.”

GP’s stomach twisted sickly.  He couldn’t — wouldn’t — let himself imagine Max getting that phone call in the middle of the night. Wouldn’t let himself imagine what it must’ve felt like to walk into a hospital room and see Belle curled up in a stark white bed.

And then Max said, in that same low, steady voice that somehow carried more weight than shouting ever could:

“The Volvo you helped me pick out for her? It saved her life.”

GP went still.

The memory flickered: Max months ago, texting him…asking for his opinion. 

Just buy her a Volvo. Safe. Reliable. Built to last. Also one of the best crash-tested brands in the world. You did say you were thinking about kids, right?

And now — thank god — Belle was still breathing because of it.

GP swallowed thickly, feeling a knot loosen somewhere deep in his chest.

“Thank fuck,” he said hoarsely.

Max gave a short nod.  No dramatics. No sentimentality.

But GP could feel the magnitude of it radiating off him like heat off the tarmac.

This — this — was the side of Max Verstappen few people ever saw.  The side that loved without conditions.  That protected without compromise.

“Thank you,” Max said quietly. 

No dramatics. No fuss.  Just that heavy, quiet sincerity Max reserved for the rarest moments.

GP reached out and clapped a hand to his shoulder — a solid, grounding gesture — knowing Max didn’t need anything else from him right now.

"I’d do it again tomorrow," GP said.

Max nodded again, and GP watched him turn back toward the data screens, pulling his headset on, ready to work like nothing had happened.

But GP knew better.

Max had always raced like he had something to prove.  Now, this season, he was racing with something to protect.

And GP would make damn sure everything — the car, the strategy, the team — was ready for that fight.

Then there was no margin for error anymore.

Not even a sliver.

He pulled his headset back over his ears and keyed into the comms with a calmness he didn’t entirely feel.

“Let’s run another systems check before lunch,” he said smoothly.  “And someone triple-check the safety settings while you’re at it.”

The comm crackled to life with quick affirmatives.

***

Text Messages: Gianpiero Lambiase & Eloisa Lambiase

GP: We’re getting you a new car.

Eloisa: ???

Eloisa: Good morning to you too?

Eloisa: What’s wrong with my car?

GP: Not safe enough.

Eloisa: You’re the one who picked it out, love.

GP: Doesn’t matter.

GP: We’re upgrading.

Eloisa: Did something happen?

GP: Yeah.

GP: Belle — Max’s Belle — she was in a crash last week.

GP: Drunk driver ran a light.

Eloisa: Oh my god.

Eloisa: Is she okay???

GP: Shaken. Concussed. But alive.

GP: Because she was driving the Volvo Max bought her.

GP: The one I told him to get.

Eloisa: Oh.

GP: Yeah. That’s why we’re getting you a better car.

Eloisa: Gianni…

GP: No arguments.

GP: Please.

Eloisa: …okay.

Eloisa: But only if I get to pick the color this time.

GP: Deal.

GP: Something with five stars on every crash test rating.

GP: I’m sending you options this afternoon.

Eloisa:  (And coffee. You owe me coffee for giving me a heart attack.)

GP: Already on it.

GP: Triple order.

GP: Love you.

Eloisa: Love you too, you giant overprotective marshmallow

***

Text Messages: Isabelle Leclerc & Max Verstappen

Max: We need to get you a new car.

Isabelle: Max, I’m fine.

Isabelle: The Volvo did its job.

Max: Exactly. Which is why we’re getting another one.

Isabelle: You’re serious?

Max: Volvo customer for life now. I’m about to put their logo on my helmet at this point.

Isabelle: You’re ridiculous.

Max: Not taking chances, Schatje.

Max: Same model or you want to pick something else?

Isabelle: …I did love that car.

Max: Same brand, non-negotiable. Colour’s up to you. Same as before or something different?

Isabelle: Honestly? I liked the old one. That dark green felt like me.

Max: Then we’ll stick with it. Dark green it is.

Isabelle: You don’t have to do all this, Max.

Max: I do. I’m not letting you drive anything that isn’t built like a tank.

Isabelle: You’re going to spoil me until I forget how to function on my own.

Max: That’s the plan.

Isabelle: You’re impossible.

Max: You love me.

Isabelle: Very much.

Max: Fortunately, it’s mutual.

Isabelle: Fine. Dark green Volvo. But I’m picking the air freshener this time.

Max: Deal. As long as it’s not something that smells like cupcakes.

Isabelle: No promises. And it was strawberry. 

Isabelle: Consider it payback for forcing me into an indestructible Swedish fortress.

Max: Best decision I ever made. Second only to falling in love with you.

Isabelle: You’re dangerous when you’re sweet.

Max: Only for you.

***

Alexandra wandered the halls, pretending to admire a modern art installation while covertly people-watching — one of her favorite pastimes when the pace of life let her slip out of the Ferrari bubble for a few hours.

She was standing near a collection of minimalist sculptures when she caught snippets of a conversation between two women nearby, both well-dressed, deep in quiet, intense discussion.

"I still can't believe it," one woman murmured, her voice low but urgent. "She could have been killed. Did you see the photos? That car was destroyed."

Her friend nodded, wide-eyed.  "Near the tunnel, right? Total mess. And poor Isabelle  — I mean, she's so sweet. She did that whole project for our office last year."

Alexandra’s heart stopped.

She took a tiny step closer, pretending to examine the sculpture in front of her.

"Isabelle Leclerc," the first woman said again, confirming what Alexandra already knew. "Such a shame. She's so talented. And to walk away from something like that — it’s a miracle, really. They said the drunk driver didn’t even hit the brakes."

Alexandra felt her stomach churn.

Destroyed.  Miracle.  No brakes.

That didn’t sound like a fender bender.

That didn’t sound like "nothing."

Another man chimed in, sounding grim. "I heard the paramedics said it was a miracle she didn’t have internal injuries. They were worried about a collapsed lung at first."

Alexandra blinked hard, the art blurring in front of her.

Collapsed lung.

Not a fender bender.

Not nothing serious.

She pressed her lips together, hands curling slightly at her sides.

The women moved on, voices fading into the low hum of the gallery, but Alexandra stayed frozen in place for a long moment.

When Charles had told her about the accident, he’d been so casual. So dismissive.

Alexandra swallowed hard against the knot forming in her throat.

Isabelle hadn't been fine.

Isabelle had survived something horrific.

And Charles — either through ignorance or unwillingness — had looked the other way.

Again.

Alexandra didn’t know what bothered her more: the fact that Charles hadn't seen it, or the gnawing fear that maybe he did — and just didn’t know what to do with the parts of his sister that didn’t fit into the neat, tidy picture of the world he needed to believe in.

She glanced down at her phone, thumb hovering over Isabelle name in her contacts.

For a moment, she debated it — reaching out, saying something, offering something.

But what could she offer that wouldn't sound hollow?

Her family saw her as nothing more than background noise and Alexandra loathed to admit that she was guilty of the same on more than a few occasions. 

It was just…so easy not to think about Isabelle. Which sounded horrible, the longer she examined that thought. 

Isabelle was so happy in the background, so sweet and kind in a way that never seemed to want any kind of attention for it. 

 So easy to overlook. 

***

Text Messages: Alexandra Saint Mleux & Charlotte Di Pietro

Alexandra: Hey, random question. Did you know how bad Isabelle’s car accident actually was?

Charlotte: ?? I thought it was minor? That’s what Lorenzo said when I asked.

Alexandra: It wasn’t. I overheard people talking at the gallery tonight. Paramedics thought she might have had a collapsed lung. Car was totaled. Impact was bad — drunk driver didn’t even brake.

Charlotte: No one told me any of that. Lorenzo made it sound like a dented door and a headache.

Alexandra: Yeah. Charles too. He brushed it off like it was nothing.

Charlotte: …They’re acting like it’s an inconvenience.

Alexandra: Exactly. It’s been sitting wrong with me all night. Like there’s something broken there that no one’s talking about.

Charlotte: Maybe. But I do know they love her.

Alexandra: I don’t doubt that. But love isn’t the same as seeing someone. I’m not sure they know how to see her properly.

Alexandra: I am not sure we know how to see her properly. None of us thought to invite her to lunch…you know, when we ran into her. 

Charlotte: You are right…They aren’t the only ones guilty of forgetting her…

Charlotte: Speaking of forgetting. 

Charlotte: Guess who forgot about Valentine’s Day until the morning off. 

Alexandra: Oh? (Spill.)

Charlotte: Valentine’s Day. Lorenzo didn’t plan anything. Literally nothing.

He said, "Well, it didn’t feel like a big deal this year."

Charlotte: Later he grumbled that "normally Belle helps" and "everything feels off without her."

Alexandra: Wait, what?

Charlotte: Yeah. Apparently Belle used to remind them, plan ideas, even organize half the stuff so they wouldn’t forget.

Alexandra: …Oh my god. Alexandra: That tracks. Alexandra: You know, her friend once joked that Isabelle was the one who bought all my birthday presents from Charles.

Charlotte: Wait, seriously??

Alexandra: Apparently. Alexandra: I didn’t take it seriously at the time — Alexandra: Thought it was just teasing. Alexandra: But now… Maybe it was true.

Charlotte: She shouldn’t have to carry everyone. Charlotte: It’s not fair.

Alexandra: No, it’s not. Maybe it’s a good thing they’re feeling the consequences now.

Charlotte: Let them sit in it. They need to learn.

Alexandra: Agreed.

Charlotte: (Also. Are you ready for Arthur's dramatic downfall?)

Alexandra: LOL. The girlfriend disaster?

Charlotte: The girlfriend disaster. At this point, I’m tempted to bet how long until he posts a sad song on Instagram.

Alexandra: 100 euros says it’s before Thursday. Bonus points if he posts cryptic black-and-white stories too. With quotes he definitely doesn’t understand.

Charlotte: You’re on.

Alexandra: God help us all.

***

The Bahrain paddock buzzed under the heavy sun — mechanics shouting, tires rolling, the faint scent of burning rubber hanging in the air.

Charles leaned against the barrier separating the hospitality areas, sipping from a bottle of water as he chatted with Pierre, both of them still in their race suits, unzipped halfway down against the heat.

Pierre had just casually asked, somewhere between a joke and genuine concern, "Hey, by the way — your sister’s alright, yeah? Heard she had some kind of accident?"

Charles waved it off immediately, flashing a small, tight smile.  "Ah, yes. Isabelle is fine. Just a little fender bender."

Pierre nodded, a little relieved but still wary. "Good. Glad she’s okay. Monaco drivers, man."

Charles laughed lightly. "Exactly. Probably more dangerous in the city than on track."

But before he could say anything else, a voice cut through the air, calm and deliberate.

"It wasn’t a fender bender, Charles."

Charles blinked, turning instinctively toward the sound.

Lewis Hamilton stood a few feet away, gloves dangling loosely from his fingers, expression unreadable.

Charles frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

Lewis shifted his weight, crossing his arms over his chest. "I was there."

The words dropped like stones into Charles’ stomach.

"I saw the crash," Lewis continued, voice low and even. "Drunk driver ran a red light. Slammed into her side full speed. Spun her into a pole. The car was totaled."

Charles opened his mouth — but no words came out.

Lewis wasn’t finished. "Isabelle was trapped in the car. Shocky. Barely able to talk. I called the ambulance. Stayed with her until they got there."

Charles’ heart kicked hard against his ribs, cold and sickening.

He tried — for a second — to picture Isabelle in that moment.

 Tried to imagine her small body pinned in a wrecked car, blood trickling down her forehead, gasping for breath.

It made something twist inside him — sharp and ugly and guilty.

"She’s lucky she survived," Lewis said quietly. "Don’t call it a fender bender."

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Lewis gave him one last look — not angry, not cruel — just disappointed.  And then he turned, walking away toward the Mercedes garage without another word.

Charles stood frozen in place.

Pierre cleared his throat awkwardly after a beat. "Uh," he said lightly, "maybe you should... check on her properly. Yeah?"

Charles didn’t answer.

He just stood there, staring after Lewis, feeling — for the first time in a long time — the uncomfortable, foreign sensation of having missed something important.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Daniel Ricciardo, Carlos Sainz and Lewis Hamilton)

Lewis: Guys. GUYS.

Oscar: uh oh

Lando: what happened now

Lewis: Charles just called Isabelle’s crash a "fender bender." fender bender. LIKE. MINOR. INSIGNIFICANT.

Daniel: ...oh no.

Lewis: IT WAS BAD. Lewis: Bad enough that the car was crushed against a streetlamp. Lewis: Bad enough that she couldn’t even get the door open. Lewis: Bad enough that she was shivering and barely breathing and covered in cuts and glass.

Lando: Lewis is going full caps lock. This is bad.

Oscar: It’s worse than bad. He’s spiraling.

Lewis: I WATCHED HER BLEEDING IN A BROKEN CAR. Lewis: I HELD HER HAND UNTIL THE PARAMEDICS GOT THERE. Lewis: AND CHARLES IS OUT HERE LIKE "lol oopsie minor incident"????

Daniel: Breathe mate Breathe

Carlos: Yeah, deep breaths. We need you alive.

Lewis: HE CALLED IT A FENDER BENDER. I AM GOING TO LAUNCH HIM INTO THE SUN

Oscar: Not before Max does.

Lando: Max is gonna find out eventually and we will ALL need to evacuate Monaco

Lewis: I literally saw it. Lewis: I thought she was dead for a second. Lewis: And Charles didn’t even know how bad it was. Lewis: Didn’t even ask. Lewis: Didn’t even CARE.

Daniel: You okay mate?? Do you need snacks?? Or wine??

Carlos: Or a punching bag???

Oscar: Or a very large blunt object???

Lewis: I need Charles to grow a brain cell.

Carlos: Welcome to the nightmare brother.

Daniel: We have t-shirts.

Lando: and wine Lando: lots of wine

Oscar: and emergency stress snacks

Lewis: I’m bringing tequila next meeting. Lewis: We’re gonna need it.

***

Leclerc Siblings Group Chat

 (Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, and Lorenzo)

Charles: Isabelle. Why didn’t you tell me the accident was that serious??

Isabelle: Because you didn’t ask.

Arthur: Wait what? Serious?? I thought it was a little crash?

Charles: It wasn’t. Lewis told me today during testing. He was THERE. He said the car was totaled. You got spun into a post. You were trapped in the car, Isabelle.

Lorenzo: What do you mean, trapped?!

Isabelle: I didn’t want to worry anyone. I’m fine now.

Charles: You said you were fine. You made it sound like you got a scratch and drove home.

Lorenzo: That’s not the point.

Charles:  You lied to us.

Isabelle: I didn’t lie. I said I had a concussion and bruises. And spent the night in the hospital. Which was all true. I said I was okay. Because I am.

Lorenzo: Isabelle, why didn’t you say anything?

Isabelle: Because I knew this would happen.

Isabelle:  Exactly this.

Isabelle:  You’d all get angry or guilt-trip me or turn it into something about you.

Charles: Of course we’re angry!

Arthur:  You scared us, Isabelle.

Lorenzo:  Do you think Maman could handle hearing you almost died?

Lorenzo: We are not going to tell her.

Lorenzo:  I’m serious.

Lorenzo:  It would crush her.

Lorenzo:  Better she thinks it was nothing.

Isabelle: So let me get this straight.

Isabelle:  You’re mad at me for not telling you…

Isabelle:  And now you’re also deciding for me that Maman shouldn’t know?

Isabelle:  Because you think she can’t handle it?

Lorenzo: Exactly.

Isabelle: Okay. Noted.

***

Raymond Vermeulen prided himself on knowing everything about Max Verstappen’s career — both on and off the track.

It wasn’t arrogance. It was necessity.

You didn’t manage Max Verstappen successfully by being two steps behind. 

You stayed ahead. You anticipated. You knew.

Which was why, when Jos Verstappen of all people leaned over during a quiet moment at a post-testing dinner and casually said: "Max is serious about a girl,"

—Raymond almost dropped his fork.

He blinked, slowly, suspiciously.

Jos didn’t do casual. Jos didn’t mention Max’s girlfriends unless it was a complaint. Normally, the subject was treated like some embarrassing injury you didn’t talk about in polite company.

Raymond cleared his throat, playing it cool. "Oh? New?"

Jos grunted. "No. Been a while."

Raymond narrowed his eyes. "And you’re... okay with this?"

Jos shrugged. Shrugged.

Like Max Verstappen — his pride, his legacy, his entire life project — dating someone was just fine and normal.

Raymond was officially in uncharted waters.

"Who is she?" he asked carefully.

Jos reached for his beer, nonchalant. "Isabelle Leclerc."

Raymond froze mid-sip of his wine.

Isabelle. Leclerc.

As in Charles Leclerc’s little sister.

As in Ferrari’s golden boy’s little sister.

As in political nightmare fuel if the media ever got hold of it.

"You're telling me Max is dating Charles Leclerc’s sister," Raymond said slowly, like he was trying to defuse a bomb.

Jos grunted again. "Mmh."

"And you’re fine with this?" Raymond pressed.

Jos actually — God help him — almost smiled. "She's good for him."

Raymond sat back in his chair, stunned.

Not just because Max was apparently neck-deep in a secret, long-term relationship.

 Not just because it was Isabelle bloody Leclerc.

 But because Jos — notoriously impossible to please, allergic to softness — actually liked her.

Jos approved.

Raymond processed that for a long moment.

The earth hadn’t split open. The sky wasn’t falling.

Miracles did happen, apparently.

"Well," he said finally, recovering some professionalism. "That’s... good."

Jos nodded, unbothered. "She makes him happy."

Raymond exhaled slowly. If Jos was using words like happy, it was serious. Monumentally serious.

And suddenly, Raymond understood something deeper:

This wasn’t a passing thing.

This wasn’t a fling.

This was real.

Max had gone and fallen in love — quietly, stubbornly, like he did everything else — and somehow, without anyone noticing, built himself a life outside the machine of Formula One.

Raymond reached for his phone under the table.

Because if the media ever got a sniff of this, he was going to need a very detailed contingency plan.

And maybe a drink.

Or several.

***

The office was quiet.

Soft light filtered through gauzy curtains.

A pot of chamomile tea sat untouched on the side table.

Isabelle sat curled into the corner of the couch, sleeves of her sweater pulled over her hands, staring at the stitches in the rug instead of at Simone.

Simone waited.

She always waited.

Finally, Isabelle exhaled a shaky breath.

"It’s so stupid," she said quietly. "I shouldn’t be this upset. I didn’t even get badly hurt."

Simone didn’t flinch at the deflection.

She just tilted her head slightly.

"You’re allowed to be upset, Isabelle. Something frightening happened to you."

Isabelle bit her lip, fingers tightening in her sleeves.

"I didn’t even want to tell them," she said. "My family, I mean. I knew how it would go. And it did."

Simone’s voice stayed soft. "Tell me what happened."

Isabelle shrugged stiffly. "I mentioned it. Just… dropped it into the family group chat. Like ripping off a band-aid. Thought maybe they’d be a little worried, and then we’d move on… " she admitted softly. 

Simone waited again.

Isabelle’s mouth twisted bitterly.  "Arthur and Charles kept asking if I was distracted or speeding—like it was somehow my fault."

Simone’s brows furrowed slightly.

“And then a few days later, Charles found out that it wasn’t just a little fender bender. And suddenly they were angry with me. Because I didn’t tell them how bad it was. But I did. I told them that I was…I told them I had a concussion and bruises…And then Lorenzo," Isabelle continued, voice tightening, "he said—he said he wasn’t going to tell Maman. Because it would 'crush' her."

She laughed, a thin, broken sound.

"Apparently, I’m a bigger problem for them if I exist hurt than if I just… pretend everything’s fine."

Simone stayed silent, letting the words hang in the air between them.

Isabelle blinked hard, willing herself not to cry.

"It’s always been like that since Papa died," she said eventually, quieter now. "Maman either sticks her head into the sand—pretends bad things aren’t happening—or she panics. Makes everything about her fear."

Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, and she pulled her knees tighter to her chest.

"So I learned to make myself smaller. Easier. Less trouble."  She smiled bitterly. "Invisible, sometimes. That’s the safest way to survive it."

Simone leaned forward slightly, her voice still low, but firm now.

"Isabelle, what happened to you wasn't your fault. Not the accident. Not your family's reaction."

Isabelle closed her eyes.

"It feels like it is," she whispered.

"It isn’t," Simone said. "You are allowed to take up space. You are allowed to be hurt. You are allowed to need help, without carrying their feelings on your back."

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Daniel Ricciardo, Carlos Sainz Jr. and Lewis Hamilton)

Lando: okay Lando: hear me out

Oscar: this is already a bad start

Lewis: absolutely not

Daniel: proceed Daniel: i love bad ideas

Lando: what if Lando: instead of everyone panicking about charles finding out Lando: we just... Lando: tell him softly???

Carlos: what the fuck does "softly" mean

Lando: like, we ease him into it Lando: drop hints Lando: plant the idea Lando: subtle Lando: caring

Oscar: you're insane.

Lewis: he'll kill us all.

Daniel: ok but i kinda wanna see where he's going with this

Carlos: no Carlos: lando’s plans never end well

Lando: NO LISTEN Lando: like maybe Lando: i casually say Lando: "hey charles did you know belle’s been hanging out with max lately" Lando: and when he starts freaking out Lando: we just Lando: soothe him Lando: with like Lando: positive reinforcement.

Oscar: you think he's a puppy???

Lewis: lando. Lewis:  this is the worst plan anyone’s ever had.

Carlos: you’re going to get us murdered.

Daniel: actually i’m free next thursday if we wanna die then.

Oscar: i vote no. Oscar: hard no. Oscar: hardest no of my life.

Carlos: softly = we still die  Carlos: but maybe slower and more painful

Lando: NO NO Lando: like Lando: we sit him down Lando: give him snacks Lando: maybe a hug Lando: and then just... you know... gently mention that max is in love with his sister

Oscar: lando.  be serious.

Lando: I am serious

Lewis: this is the worst idea i've heard in a long time

Daniel: give him snacks???  what is he, a wild animal???

Oscar: you’re going to get us killed.

Lewis: softly telling charles is still telling charles.  he’s gonna go full Leclerc rage no matter what.

Daniel: AND THEN MAX IS GOING TO KILL US

Lando: ok but hear me out again Lando: what if we tell him Lando: and then IMMEDIATELY leave the country

Oscar: i'm already packing my bags

Carlos: dibs on Spain

Lewis: i'm going to pretend i don't know any of you

Daniel: same

Daniel: i’ll be in australia by the time charles processes step one.