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mommyslittlebird · 4 months ago

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Everything You Need

Stepmom!Wanda x Reader

Summary: Wanda takes great responsibility with being your mama. Maybe even too much responsibility at times. She’s determined to be everything you could ever need.

CW: Breastfeeding, Somnophilia (so noncon), loss of virginity, first kiss, fingering, arousal tasting, Wanda is a little freak

Word Count: ~3.5k (I didn’t check)

A/N: The final chapter. It’s very bittersweet. I have loved this story quite possibly more than anything I’ve written before. However, I’m very proud to wrap it up and put a little bow on this series as a finish project at last.

Part 6 of Her Special Girl

———————————————————

Infuriatingly enough, Wanda’s milk came late one morning when you weren’t home. In fact, you weren’t going to be home at all until later that evening, after all your classes were over. It took every bit of her willpower not to text you as soon as it happened. She wanted it to be a surprise.

But all it would take is one text. You could be home in ten minutes. The two of you would have all afternoon to yourselves. She could have Vision pick the boys up from school. Email Natasha and take the rest of the day off. Your father wouldn’t be home until tonight.

No. No, your schoolwork was important. She would let you finish up your classes, and you would be home in six hours, and then she could slip into your room after the boys and your father went to bed. After pumping this morning, she probably wouldn’t have much more milk until then anyway.

It was a noble goal, truly.

She made it 45 minutes. She sat in front of her desk, trying to work through an excel sheet. But she couldn’t focus. All the cells twisted and melted together as her brain swam with daydreams. You were going to be so excited. She imagined your smile when she told you: your eyes would crinkle at the corners, squinting into crescents so tight it looked like they were nearly closed. Your cheeks would form your perfect dimples, 2 on your left cheek, 1 on the right. The one on your right cheek only made an appearance when you were really happy.

Finally, she caved. She shot Natasha a short, nondescript email, Vision a short text, and you an equally brief text, asking if you could come home early because she had a surprise. She paced around your bedroom, obsessively folding and unfolding the throw blanket at the foot of your bed.

She fluffed the pillows, made up the sheets, flattened out the comforter and tucked it in at the sides of the mattress, only to then strip the bed completely and put on new, clean sheets, even though she just changed them three days ago.

She truly hadn’t been this excited in ages. She hadn’t even been this neurotic when she learned you were coming home for the first time in three years. Of course she cleaned in the weeks leading up to it, a lot. But she hadn’t necessarily had time to prepare for the immediate event of your arrival, given that you had arrived a bit unexpectedly a week early.

She felt like a pregnant dog obsessively digging through her whelping box, or a mother bird perfecting every twig of her nest in preparation for her hatching eggs.

Her baby was coming. Everything had to be perfect.

—————

Wanda laid awake, staring at the vaulted ceiling until it appeared to be stretching, tightening the walls around her that threatened to swallow her up. It was well past midnight, probably around 2am, but she hadn’t been able to sleep a wink. She couldn’t stop thinking about today: the twin’s kindergarten orientation.

She held it off for as long as she could, just like she had with every other aspect of their growing up. Every milestone they’d ever reached had been a blade through her heart. They all felt like the world’s cold hands were ripping her babies from her arms.

If it weren’t for Vision, they might not even be potty trained despite having shown signs of readiness very early.

She hated how fast they were growing up. How all the other adults in their life fawned over how “independent they were for their age”. She loved her boys more than anything in the world, but god she wished they were more clingy and needy. They never even wanted to sleep in the bed with her. She had tried to force the habit, but they always managed to wriggle their tiny bodies out of her loving arms.

It didn’t help that they were twins so they could rely on each other for some things instead of just her.

And then there was kindergarten orientation. She watched as all the other children cried and clung to their mothers with desperation. She knew it bordered on sadism, but she felt a slight tinge of hope that her beautiful boys might feel the same desperation at the thought of being separated from her.

But they didn’t.

They pranced into the classroom together, elated by the prospect of new toys and friends to play with. They hardly even gave her a second glance. They were no longer her tiny, helpless babies that relied on her for everything. She tried to tell herself that independence was good. Natural. But her heart felt like it was being ripped apart. Her babies weren’t babies anymore. They didn’t need her like they had before.

She couldn’t have any more children. She had a stepdaughter, but you hated her as far as she knew. Not to mention you were old enough to move out on your own. You didn’t need her at all.

And soon her boys wouldn’t either. She would be left all alone: the empty husk of a woman rotting away with no purpose. No one to care for. No one to love her unconditionally. No one to love her at all.

Alright. She was spiraling. She needed to take a walk.

She threw her robe over her thin pajama shirt and headed for the kitchen. Maybe some tea would clear her mind.

But before she could head down the stairs, she heard something odd. Was that the shower? No one should be in the shower at this time of night. You had gotten in the shower before she went to bed, but that had been hours ago.

She cracked open your bedroom door, finding your room empty. She knocked on the bathroom door. “Honey? Are you okay in there?”

No answer. Her stomach churned. Something wasn’t right. She stood on her tiptoes, reaching for the key they kept above the doorway in case of emergency and unlocked the door.

“Honey?” She called, stepping quietly into the bathroom. She didn’t want to invade your privacy, but she could feel in her gut that something was wrong.

That’s when she saw you, limp and freezing on the bathroom tile. She flung open the glass door in a frenzy, braving shutting off the freezing water and pulling your wet, naked body into her arms. “Oh! My sweet girl. How long have you been in here? I just woke up to use the restroom and I heard the water still running. You poor thing, have you been in here all night? You’re freezing. Your poor lips are purple! Come on, let's get you warmed up.”

She picked you up cradling you against her chest like a baby. Her baby. She looked down, taking in your face. Your lips were purple, but slightly parted. Your little noises mimicked a baby’s coos, chirps and whines made in place of words. She laid you down on top of a blanket, carefully folding the ends over your freezing body into a comforting swaddle.

When your small, shaking body inched closer to her, wrapping around her waist like a scarf, her heart melted. She pushed the wet hair from your eyes, gently caressing your head. And as she looked into your eyes, something in the universe clicked. She had spent all night feeling so empty, like her very purpose was fading away, but it was all restored by the look you gave her. It was the same look she wished to see on her boys’ face this morning: clingy, needy, and completely reliant on her.

You needed her, and she needed you to need her. “Aww my sweet girl. You’ll be alright. I’m not going anywhere. Mama’s here.”

When you tugged weakly at her nightshirt, pulling her towards you with tiny, desperate hands, she did not hesitate to crawl under the blankets and pull you into her arms. “You poor thing, you're still freezing. It’s okay, mama will keep warm.”

She thought nothing of it when you started to pull the nightshirt over her head, exposing her bare skin to your own. You were still ice cold to the touch, but she pressed your entire body to hers, cradling you to her chest. She held you like she would have if you had just come into the world, laying you bare against the skin of her chest. She cradled the back of your head with her hand, inhaling your smell. The smell of her baby. “Mmm, you’re right this will get you all nice and warmed up. You're a very smart girl.”

“I love you, mama.”

“I love you too, sweet girl.”

She kissed your head, enveloping you with her warmth. She held you tight, even as she finally felt your body go limp on top of her. She sang you sovokian lullabies as you slept, rubbing up and down your back, circling the swell of your ass. You were so soft. You were so little. She pressed her fingers into your palm, watching as your infantile reflexes caused you to wrap your hand around them.

She felt as you unconsciously shifted, nuzzling your face into her neck. She giggled as your warm breath tickled her skin. She held your face, placing her thumb just in between your parted lips. “My beautiful girl,” she whispered, lifting your face to press a gentle kiss to your lips. Your first kiss, completely forgotten by your unconscious mind.

There were other things you didn’t remember. Many nights when she had crept in after you had fallen asleep to explore your soft body. You only ever wore slips to bed, when you wore anything at all. You loved the feeling of soft blankets on your skin. In some ways, she imagined you did it just for her: leaving yourself as a little present to unwrap at the end of the day.

She always treated you so delicately, with the utmost love and respect. She did love you, after all. She would take care of you just as any mother would. So when your body started to yearn for more, responding to her gentle caresses with an arched back and whiny breaths, she couldn’t bring herself to deny you.

“Shhh,” she soothed, positioning her body over yours, “Mama’s got you. Just relax. Let mama take care of you.” She eased her hand down your body, slowly pushing up the hem of your slip and rubbing her fingers over your panties. She could feel a damp spot growing over the thin, silky material under her fingertips.

You whined and bucked your hips against her hand.

“Oh angel,” she breathed, kissing your temple. “You poor thing. So needy for mama. It’s okay baby. I’m gonna take of Every. Little. Thing.” She slipped her hand under the fabric and circled your clit slowly before sliding a single finger inside of you.

“God you’re so tight. I bet no one’s ever touched you here before, have they, sweet girl?” She whispered. You stirred, whining and rubbing your eyes. “Shshsh, go back to sleep baby. Let mama take care of your needy body.”

She slowed down, stilling completely until she was sure you were asleep. Only then did she start to move, slow and gentle. She kissed your temple, soothing your writhing, sleeping body. She cooed praises into your ear as she pumped a single finger in and out of you. Her palm massaged your clit in perfect, gentle circles. It was enough to make your untouched body cum in minutes.

“That's my good girl,” she whispered. “Letting mama take care of you like this.”

She slowly pulled her finger from you, drinking down the remnants of your first ever orgasm. One you would never remember, but she would, forever.

She was gentler with you than anyone else would be, she told herself. You were too good for anyone. She would have to protect you from them. She had to make sure you never wanted for anything. She would be your sole source of happiness and safety, more than your own mother, or anyone else for that matter, ever had been. She would feel your entire life with so much laughter and love you would forget there was even a world outside of her. She was determined to be your mother, your lover, your best and closest friend. She would be everything you could ever need.

—————

When she heard the sound of your keys in the front door, she practically jumped down the stairs. She was in the foyer before you could even unlace your shoes, holding something conspicuously behind her back.

You smiled at her with giddy excitement, bouncing on the balls of your feet. She licked her lip, slowly pulling a small plastic container from behind her back. At the bottom of the container was a small amount of a yellowish white liquid. You looked at the liquid, then back up at her beaming face. “Is that…” you asked knowingly.

She eagerly nodded. You ran into her arms excitedly, beaming from ear to ear. She pulled you into a deep kiss, practically bending you backwards with the ferocity of it. You reached up to grab the back of her neck, holding her face in your other hand. By the time you pulled back, you were both breathless, but you could hardly keep away, following the kiss with several more pecks punctuated by smiles and bits of laughter. You nuzzled your nose against her, rubbing your excitement all over her.

She moved away only far enough to set the plastic container down on the nearest surface available before pulling you back into her arms.

“Can I drink it?” you asked, cradling her cheek once more.

“Not that one,” she responded. She had read it was best to pour the first milk out. As much as she loathed to throw any of the precious liquid away, your health was too precious to risk. “But every other drop I ever make is for you.” She kissed you again, resting her forehead against yours. “All for you.”

You smiled, wrapping your arms around her neck and jumping up to wrap your legs around her waist. She caught you with practiced ease, looping her arms under your butt and making her way up the stairs.

You tried to kiss her more, but she chuckled. “Careful, sweet girl. You’re gonna make mama fall.”

It wasn’t until she made it into your room that she gently laid you down on your back and bent over to press her lip to yours.

Your hands slid up under her shirt, pulling it up over her head as she crawled on top of you. Her bra came shortly after, sliding down over her shoulders revealing her perfect chest. She had grown nearly an entire cup size since she had started pumping two months ago. Luckily she was a small C to begin with, so most of her bras still fit, if not a little snugly.

You impatiently moved down to her swollen nipples, trying to secure one between your lips in the awkward position. She buried her hand in your hair, pulling you back firmly. “Be patient, sweet girl. Let me sit down first.”

You nodded, mouth still eagerly open and eyes blown wide with hunger and desire. “Yes, mama.”

She sat at the headboard, adjusting the pillows around her lap. She beckoned you up. You crawled into her lap, laying down with your head cradled in the crook of her elbow. “There you go,” she cooed, easing you into her chest.

Your lips gently closed around her nipple. Despite your prior impatience, your position in her arms eased your eager mind. Your suckling was slow and methodical, keeping a gentle and consistent rhythm. Wanda ran her hand through your hair, cooing gently. “That’s my sweet girl. Just like that.”

There was a tense thirty seconds where she worried the milk would not come. She had just pumped hardly an hour ago. But, in time, she felt the smooth start to flow from her breast. She inhaled sharply. The hand that combed through your hair started to shake as she brought it to her own mouth. She had waited so long for this moment: she was feeding her baby from her own body. Nothing had ever felt so magical.

“Oh,” she sighed, bringing her hand back down to caress your soft cheek. The thin peach fuzz on your face felt so unbelievably soft under her knuckles as she felt the rhythmic pulse of suckling from the outside. “My baby.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, gently rolling down her cheeks and neck onto her bare chest. She was so happy. She could sit here just like this forever, listening to the peaceful sound of your suckling. Your eyelids fluttered blissfully, as if you were drinking some magical elixir that calmed every muscle in your body. You were completely limp in her arms, maybe even more so than you would be if you were sleeping. Your head was emptied of every thought. There was just Wanda and her sweet, warm essence pouring down your throat.

Wanda chuckled softly as a small drop of milk formed at the corner of your mouth. She wiped it away. “Messy girl,” she whispered playfully. Her hand worked its way down to your stomach, lifting your shirt and circling the soft skin there. She imagined it filling, swelling with her milk until you were completely sated. Until you didn’t need anything else but her.

There wasn’t very much milk, at the moment. Between both of her breasts, you were probably only able to get about an ounce. But there would be more. There would always be more for you. She would make sure of it. There would always be as much as you needed.

You moved to pull away, but she held you close. “Not yet, little love,” she requested quietly. Her hand moved lower, trailing down your bare stomach until it slipped its way under the waistband of your pants. “Let me take care of you.”

Her hand slid between your legs, edging them apart slightly. Her middle finger gently traced your slit, stopping to circle your clit. You moaned into her chest causing a small moan to escape her lips as well. She pushed your underwear aside, pushing two fingers past your entrance. The rhythm of your suckling faltered as she pumped her fingers.

The angle was slightly awkward, but it was heavenly. It was the same angle she had used to give you your first ever orgasm, with an extra finger. You didn’t know, as you had no recollection of it, but she surely did.

The base of her palm rubbed perfectly against your clit with every stroke. The pads of her fingers curled so perfectly inside of you. Your eyes, already heavy with relaxation, rolled back. Your body, already limp in her arms, molded perfectly with hers. Your mind, already void of all stress and thoughts, was overtaken with pleasure.

She could feel every whimper and moan amplified with her nipple still tucked securely between your lips. Your pleasure became her pleasure in a perfect combination of two bodies.

When you came on her fingers, the moans and vibrations that rang through her chest sent her into her own orgasm, one she didn’t expect and, quite frankly, didn’t know was possible.

After coaxing every drop of your excitement your body would allow, She brought her fingers to her mouth, swallowing down your essence as you had swallowed hers.

She finally allowed you to pull away, adjusting your body to lay on top of hers. You kicked your pants and shirt off, removing any clothes she had from her body as well. There would be nothing in between. You couldn’t bear to feel anything but her skin against hers. Your legs tangled in with hers as you rested your head in her neck.

“Mmm, I love you mama.” You hummed pleasantly, craning your neck you to kiss her jaw.

“I love you too, sweet girl,” she said, pressing a long kiss to your forehead. “More than all the stars in the sky.” She rubbed soothing circles into your back. She rocked you quietly singing you the same Sovokian lullaby she had all those years ago, coaxing you to sleep.

There was no greater place of peace anywhere in the world. You were sure of it. She was everything you needed. Everything you would ever need.

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #mommy wanda #wanda maximoff x reader #mommy!wanda #her special girl #wanda maximoff x y/n #stepmom!wanda x reader #stepmom!wanda #stepmom wanda #mama wanda #wanda maximoff fanfiction

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alchemistc · 25 days ago

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Robbie slaps a glossy looking flyer on the table. Palm down, eyes narrowed, pretending like hell the slap of her hand against the wood grain didn't sting as she squares up, all four-feet-three-inches of her, like she's preparing for battle.

Tommy's slumped in his chair and still half a head taller than her.

He doesn't quite cower, at her glare, but at thirteen she's just about ready to explode at any given moment.

They don't talk about the time he sat on the floor with the bathroom door at his back and read the instructions for inserting a tampon in the calm, cool tones of a man so far out of his depth he might as well have turned into pressurized meat juice mist while Robbie had a panic attack just inside.

They don't talk about the massive argument they'd had in the middle of TJ's the first time Robbie back talked Evan with all the angst of a girl about to experience the pimpliest, testosterone fueled ragiest few years of her life. (Evan had gotten a kick out of it and Tommy had spent a week listening to his deep dives into the Beauty Of Puberty with the skepticism of an only child who never shared a bathroom).

Robbie rolls her jaw. Grabs the flyer and shakes it in Tommy's face. It's a riot of color, and Tommy has to squint to make out the words. Fuck, he does need those reading glasses.

"Why is the paper making you look homicidal?"

"We never go to Pride, dad!"

Ah.

Well.

That.

Tommy slumps further in his seat, which puts Robbie at eye level, and boy howdy is she gonna make his life a living hell until the hormones settle in...a decade or so. The glare is all Evan, emotions unchecked and just out there for the world to see. He's so fucking grateful neither of his kids took to his 'repress until you pancake yourself' way of handling a single emotion.

Tommy never bought into the rainbow crap, couldn't ever push himself into participating in a world he'd denied himself so long. Nothing against it, himself, just - a line he kept somewhere off behind and to the left where he couldn't look it in the eye.

And Evan...

Well. Being an 'ally' switched to throwing up the Bi Flag in his Instagram profile and he never really shifted any further than that.

"Are you trying to tell me something?" Tommy asks, because last week she'd spent an hour in the yard yanking weeds with the ferociousness of a terrier with a nest of rats over some kid in her class named Michael and to this point hasn't shown that her interests stray farther than that. Fuck. Has he missed something?

"Uh, yeah, that my gay dads are quiet homophobes who won't take their kids to a fuckin' parade."

Oh well that's a lot of different things to put in check, right there.

It's his own damn fault for laughing hysterically every time their toddler dropped an F bomb.

It's his own damn fault for blowing off the drag queens with petitions outside the library a month ago.

"Your father is a Kinsey two-and-a-half on a good day, and don't say fuck."

"Internalized homophobia is still homophobia, dad." She rolls her tongue over her teeth. Sends him a challenging look. "Fuck." She pronounces it like it has seven syllables.

"If you're gonna challenge me you better be able to use it in a sentence properly."

"I want to fucking go to fucking Pride with my fucked up not straight dads but they're both fucking repressed fucking losers."

"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" Tommy jokes, and the flyer crumples in his daughters fist. And - yep, there's the shriek.

Evan's gonna be pissed that he isn't curbing the language a little more.

Which he absolutely will do. Later. Once Robbie isn't a good leap away from the knife block.

His kids aren't violent people, by nature. Robbie has a mean left hook and an eye for taking people out at the ankles he encouraged far too much before she hit ten. Danny cradles spiders in the cup of his hands on the way out the door while giving Tommy a wide-eyed and judgemental berth.

Robbie crumples up the flyer a little more. Stares at him like she's wishing there was enough weight to it to cause damage to his thick fucking skull if she were to throw it.

She blinks, and those are - yep, those are tears.

"Sweetheart," Tommy starts, and Robbie launches herself forward, embraces Tommy just in time for some sobs to really kick in, nonsensical phrases leaking out of her as she cries, and cries, and cries.

He's good at this part. The part where they can't see his face, where he can cradle them to him and rub their back and murmur nonsense back while they do a better job feeling, and then regulating their emotions than he had until his late thirties.

"Ms. Frankie said she'd take me but I don't wanna go with Ms. Frankie," he gets, as another wave breaks, and he has to shift his weight against the onslaught of two sharp ass knees heading straight for his belly. "Ms. Frankie has a crush on Dad and I hate her."

Ms. Frankie absolutely has the hots for Evan. Ms. Frankie's son is a bully who thinks he's better than everyone else by virtue of accepting and picking on everyone equal-opportunity style.

Ms. Frankie is definitely not taking his kid to her first Pride.

Shit.

God damnit.

The tears dry up, eventually.

Tommy tries not to think about the fact that he's not gonna be allowed to comfort his pre-teen like this for much longer. Tries not to think about the fact that she's gonna stop asking for it, soon enough, and he'll have to make do with words from the other side of a slammed door.

"I'm not wearing rainbow anything," he says, like he's surrendering a crucial air base, and Robbie leans back with narrowed eyes.

"I have that face paint Jee gave me for Christmas."

"You get one cheek to work with," he negotiates, even though he's well aware he's gonna leave the house with more color than he's worn in twenty-five years.

"Dad let me do his whole face for New Years," she wheedles.

"Dad has better coloring than I do. Those jewel tones make his eyes pop. And Dad doesn't have to know how many times you dropped an F-bomb on me ten minutes ago."

He's fucking up his kids. Teaching an almost teenager how to properly blackmail someone is just one of many ways he's doing it while he digs his own grave.

At least they're not fucking scared of him.

"Two cheeks, and we post a picture on Dad's Insta because Ms. Frankie stalks him there and she'll be so jealous."

"You're diabolical," Tommy tells her, and her wet, snotty, lopsided grin makes something in his heart swoop. She's all Evan, and he loves her so fucking much he stopped trying to figure out where to put it the first time she latched a tiny little hand around his pointer finger and burst into the exhausted tears of something new to this world. "If you ever teach Danny how to manipulate someone like this I'm gonna start reporting you for war crimes."

"Danny's too nice, it would hurt his feelings to even think about it."

Yeah. Not sure where the fuck he got that from.

"You watch out for him, don't you?"

He's aware there's a dynamic at play here that he shouldn't overly encourage. Doesn't want her feeling like she's gotta parent her younger brother, it's just -

"He doesn't need it. Sometimes when he says nice things to people I think he destroys their whole world for a few days."

Tommy takes her out for ice cream and broaches the subject of the parade before Evan realizes Tommy's spoiled her dinner.

Danny's eyes go bright and gleaming and he sends a look at his sister that Tommy is absolutely certain he should be worried about, because they've clearly been plotting and scheming for days.

When June sixth rolls around Danny wakes up early, pounces on the bed, and hands Tommy the ugliest fucking shirt Tommy's ever seen, bright and lurid and awful, and Robbie doesn't even have the decency to hide her smug look when she stumbles blearily into the kitchen, following the smell of scrambled eggs Tommy spends an extra ten minutes dyeing with the organic shit Evan brought home last week.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #i have a bunch of kidfic drafts sitting around rn that are all in this 'verse #just know ms frankie is on bucks shitlist all the gd time #happy pride 🌈

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heartavenue · 21 days ago

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ㅤㅤThings To Script: Pregnancy Edition (Part 2) 🍼

The second installment to this particular things to script! This can be for you/your partner or just a societal norm in your Dr! Will update as I think of more things :)

General Things To Script

Maternity clothes are cute and how you like them, more on this. They are CUNTY, hell REVEALING pregnant people shouldn’t have to feel shamed because of their bodies!

People give you stuff off your registry

Breastfeeding in public is destigmatized, the baby has to eat…

People do not touch your baby without your consent, especially kiss them.

Or touch your belly without consent…

Classes that teach pregnant people/parents about babies are available to you.

You can have as many babies as you want (like if you want twins you get pregnant with them)

People are always offering to do things for you, you get the “pregnancy treatment”

If you want you could script a midwife.

You have access to all of the prenatal vitamins you need.

Your water can only break in a non embarrassing place.

Your partner(s) obviously waits on your hand and foot.

You are able to find everything for your baby’s nursery at a reasonable price, and everything is durable without any issues.

You can’t miscarry.

No complications with the pregnancy.

People don’t stare at you for being pregnant.

Push presents are COMMON and your partner(s)/family/friends gets you one.

Breastmilk is always packed with nutrients for your baby (if you choose to breastfeed)

If you don’t want to breastfeed, formula is inexpensive and can never run out.

Babies don’t bite nipples.

If you choose to have a baby shower, gender reveal, pregnancy shoot it all comes out just how you envision it.

People don’t judge you for the choices you make during your pregnancy

Pregnancy makeup for your belly bump, like stickers and gemstones so people can decorate their bellies (I hope this makes sense)

You come up with yummy food combos for your cravings that you still eat postpartum

Postpartum depression is acknowledged and well treated (or you can script this out)

People don’t refer to your baby (babies in general) as those really weird degrading terms

The hospital gives every new parent a basket full of diapers, wipes, bottles, etc for the new parents.

You don’t lactate when you hear a baby crying (you can only lactate on command)

People help you during your nesting period (a burst of energy where you get the house ready in preparation for the baby) they put together the nursery, set up changing station, etc.

There is a period (range from a month to three months) where you don’t do anything but recover from birth. Your parents/in laws come over and pamper you.

#things to script #pregnancy....#reality shifting #shiftblr #desired reality #shifting realities

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bobbertskeetz · 1 year ago

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Derek Morgan x Female!Reader

maybe something where reader goes into labor while Derek is away on a case or reader surprises Derek with a visit to the office and brings their new born along with her ( kinds how Haley did with Jack in the earlier seasons )

AHHHH!! love this one, thank you very much for the request. Actually thinking of combining both of these into a two part imagine?? For now though, enjoy panicked Derek <3

𝙪𝙣𝙥𝙡𝙪𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙙 𝙙.𝙢 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

Summary: Despite his desperate attempts to be by your side 24/7, Derek is convinced the universe is out to get him during the final days of your pregnancy

Themes/Warnings: pregnant!reader, fiance!derek, general themes of the show e.g unsubs, graphic cases (not in depth detail) fem!reader, fluff fluff Fluff!!! angst if you squint...

"Don't-"

"Derek please."

"Sit! Ah ah, stay... good girl, you get a treat."

A quick sloppy kiss is planted on your left cheek while Derek holds you down by the shoulders, trapping you in place in the nest of pillows and blankets he created to accomodate your swollen stomach and achy back. Your fiance stands behind you, knees kneeling on the arm rest, while he massages the knot growing at the base of your neck, while you lightly scoff.

"Speak to me like that again and I will knife you."

"Easy Mama, you shouldn't model such a hostile attitude for the little man!"

Reaching up behind you, you grasp at his neck gently, bringing him back down to your level for a kiss. The kiss goodbye which you had previously attempted to get up and give him, before he left for God knows how long.

A cheeky grin grew on his lips as you moved to his ear with a whisper;

"She, will be the most well-mannered child ever born, taking after her mother..."

"Bet?"

"Shut up," another kiss lands on his lips, "Hotch is waiting."

Derek lets a low groan, one saturated in frustration, slowly spill into your shared kisses. Eyebrows furrowed together, accompanied by a small frown, he allows his head to lull to one side, rubbing the pad of his thumb tenderly along your jawline.

"Don't dare move from this couch, Sweetheart. Not without Garcia or your mother here to help you out."

"Der-"

"Humour me gorgeous?"

A final kiss, and a huff;

"Fine."

You can't find it in yourself to feel any sort of remorse for agreeing to his terms as his blinding toothy grin leaves a fuzzy warmth budding in the pit of your stomach. What harm will a few days on the sofa do you anyhow?

Hotch was growing impatient, although, trying his best to remain understanding. He knew how hard it was, how the guilt of leaving your pregnant partner at home eats you alive. However, these were the demands of the job. One last nagging phone call from Hotch, and Derek was half way out the door, reminding you of the meals in the fridge (kindly prepared that morning by Penelope) and of the vitamin supplements you have to take before you go to bed.

With a swift, yet endearing exchange of I love you's, Derek was finally on his way to Florida. He knew it was silly, hating an arsonist more for taking him away from his growing family, than the actual crimes committed. Yet, these were the demands of matrimony and fatherhood.

Three days of couch-rotting down, and you were verging on insanity. Every slight movement left a series of uncomfortable spasms in your joints, the braxon hicks were something serious, and you constantly felt as though you had a gaping hole in your stomach, almost as if you were riding a never ending rollercoaster. Baby Morgan needed to make an appearence soon, or she would have to be evicted.

With twenty minutes left on the clock before your mother was scheduled to come and help you to the bath, you awoke from your half-sleep with a start. Why were your sweatpants sticking to your thighs?

Yes, Derek forbid you from moving unless absolutely necessary, however, peeing yourself was definitely classed as an emergancy. Except, you hadn't. There, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, sat a weird bloody substance on the line of your underwear.

Fuck. Me.

Immediately you called your fiance. Should you be calling him first? What's he going to do from Florida? This was a bad idea, he's busy after all... But, before your anxiety could hang up the phone, the one voice you so desperately needed sang down the line like a prayer.

"Hey gorgeous girl, how's my little famil-"

"Baby! Now- baby is- Help."

"What?! Sweetheart hold on, are you sure?"

"Honey, my mucus plug is very much unplugged and my abdomen is being ripped apart."

A sharp wail escaped you as a dull ache made itself known in the pits of your cervix, and then the anger came.

"Derek. I need you. Now."

"Everything is going to be just fine sweetheart, let me call-"

"No! Don't leave me, please don't leave me."

"Okay angel, I'm right here." His assurance soothed you for the time being, both of you awaiting your mother's arrival. And it was safe to say, Derek was sick to his stomach.

Every damn day. Every day he tried his hardest to be there, especially nearing the end of your third trimester. His biggest fear was accidentally leaving you alone when that one awaited moment came; and his greatest nightmare had just come true.

"I should've been there Reid!"

Spencer nodded, sympathetically, "You couldn't have predicted this."

"Well, I should've. Fuck. It's just exactly what I should've predicted" He felt as though he could cry, and stifling a sniffle he continued, "Of course the second I leave that's when the little guy decides to make an appearance."

"Murphy's law! Essentially everything that could go wrong will go wrong. Named after Edward A. Murphy Jr, for centuries this belief has plagued several societies-"

"Spence." JJ shook her head gently, nudging it towards Derek's defeated countenance.

Grimacing, Spencer blushed and tried again, "Morgan, honestly you couldn't have done any more than you already have."

JJ then chimed in, "She's not holding this against you, shit happens, and you are getting ready to go home right now! I mean - you got the call a half hour ago, and already the jet's almost ready"

Opening his mouth the respond, Derek was cut off by Hotch swinging the precint's office door open, informing him that he could go home.

"Jesus, that fast?"

He was already rushing out of the room when he heard the discussion between JJ and Hotch,

"Special treatment for the family man."

Family man. He was a family man now. Non-commital SSA Derek Morgan had a bride-to-be waiting for him, and a baby on the way. And he could never be happier.

Within hours, Derek was bulldozing his way through the ward, stopping every nurse who was unfortunate enough to get in his way, to ask for your room. When he finally found you, he all but fell through the door with panic.

"Is everyone okay?" Kiss. "Hi baby!" Kiss. "Are you okay?! Is baby?"

The tenderness with which he held your face immediately soothed every anxiety within your body, even only momentarily. He was here, he made it. After an elongated silence, you shook yourself into action, reminding yourself that Derek was not a mind reader, despite what his job would lead you to believe.

"Everyone's okay honey, little rascal is still inside me," you replied softly, almost inaudibly, the fear felt previously when you had first called him suddenly returning, "You made it?"

His heart lurched and eyes softened at the vulnerability in your voice, and Derek finally took in the sheet white anxious expression settled on your face. Gently, he clasped his warm hand around your own, careful to avoid tugging at your drip, and dropped a sweet kiss to the cracks of your knuckles.

"I made it sweet girl." Another kiss, then travelling to your trembling lips, "I'll always make it doll. That, I can promise you forever."

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #derek morgan x reader #derek morgan fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #bau team #spencer reid fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfic #derek morgan fluff #derek morgan x you #derek morgan fanfic

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roboticchibitan · 5 months ago

Note

Please tell me about the bees

Oh no you have activated my trap card

Honeybee facts:

Honeybees are native to Eurasia and are not naturally found in North America. There are stingless bees in south America and Mexico that produce honey but they are a different taxonomic class than honeybees

The way you check for varroa mites (a parasite common with honeybees) is absolutely hilarious to me. You take a half a cup of bees (scooped with a measuring cup, which is hilarious) and put them in a jar. Then dump a bunch of powdered sugar in the jar. Then you cover the jar with a screen. And then. You just. Shake the jar a bunch until the bees are covered in powdered sugar. Then you turn the jar upside down and shake out the powdered sugar and look for mites in it. If you have more than 5 you have and infestation. Bees. Shaken, not stirred. It doesn't hurt the bees and you just put them back in the hive and the other bees eat the sugar on them. They're fine. But the mental image of shaking a jar full of bees and powdered sugar is just so funny.

Importing honeybees into the US is illegal so a while back researchers at WSUs bee lab went overseas to collect bee semen so they can breed calmer more disease resistant honeybees. I desperately wish I could find the article I read about it because the photo in it of a tiny vial of bee semen was also hilarious

Honeybees can get jet lag. They ran an experiment where they flew European bees to north America and the bees woke up for the day on European time

Cursed honeybee facts

Bees have hair growing out of their eyes

When a male bee mates his testicles explode and he dies. He came and went

In preparation for winter the worker bees kick all the drones out of the hive and then seal up the hive with propolis and leave the drones to die in the cold

Bumblebee facts

You can teach bumblebees to do tricks. They did a study in the UK where they rewarded bees for pushing a ball into a hole and then tested to see if the bees could teach other bees and they could! (You can download videos of bees doing tricks from that link btw. You're welcome)

There are no bumblebees south of the Sahara or in Australia because it's too hot for them. The only bumblebees native to the southern hemisphere are in south America.

They think bumblebees evolved in the mountains of central Asia and that's where the biggest diversity of bumblebee species is

There was a bumblebee native to where I was born called Franklin's Bumblebee that is thought to be extinct, but people still go up into the mountains looking for them and they are my favorite bee and I have a tattoo of one because I think that says a lot about humanity's capacity for hope. And they COULD still be out there. We've found "extinct" bees out there living their best little bee lived before!! (Here's the tattoo)

Random other bee facts

There's a bee native to the southwestern US and northern Mexico called the sunflower chimney bee and they're called that because they feed off composite flowers like sunflowers and build little mud tunnels as entrances to their nests in the ground. No one knows why they do that! But I think they're neat!!!

There's bees native to the southwestern US desert that have evolved to have body temps of 103°F/39°C

Most bees do not live in social colonies like honeybees do. Most bees are solitary, meaning each female makes her own nest and lays her own eggs. Tho some solitary bees will nest very near each other

We are learning that bees native to north America like blue orchard bees and blueberry Mason bees are more effective crop pollinators than honeybees, especially for early spring crops when it's still too cold for honeybees to be out and about.

This has been bee info dump time with V. Tune in next time and I'll talk about blue bees!

#bees #beeeeees

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amaranthine-enihtnarama · 22 days ago

Text

This Must Be The Place | skins

two | roller girl

warning for mentions of disordered eating <3 take care of yourself.

part one

Imani tapped her fingers impatiently on the back of her hands. She sank into the oversized leather chair, listening to it groan. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked, droning in the back of her mind as she waited for the hour to pass. Slowly, she met the eyes of the blonde woman across the table--her hair was tightly pulled back into a slick bun, pale pink lips curved into a semi-friendly smile as her green eyes sparked with anticipation. Her pen rose to attention as Imani sighed, clearing her throat and furrowing her eyebrows.

“What was the question again?”

A hint of frustration passed over the woman’s spotless face. She tapped the end of her pen on her writing pad, then rested her elbows on the desk, studying the young woman in front of her.

“How has your diet and sleep been, Ms. Washington?”

Imani’s eyes wandered around the office again, taking in the green Victorian wallpaper and floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookcases, and gazing at the family photos on the large desk of the same wood that dwarfed her, then at the golden nameplate: Dr. Elaine Forrester.

“It’s been good,” Imani affirmed, eyes distant, “I’ve been good.”

Dr. Forrester stared at her, making her tense reflexively. Slowly, Imani met her gaze again, offering a small smile. Dr. Forrester flipped through a manila folder with a sigh of her own, thumbing through pages: hospital records, prescriptions, past psychological assessments.

“No…restrictions, no over-exercising?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Imani assented, preparing for the cross-examination.

Dr. Forrester paused and rose a brow, green eyes scanning the young woman’s doll-like face.

“And what is the ordinary, Ms. Washington?”

“I jog in the mornings, do yoga, eat healthy. Just to stay in shape until I’m dancing again. No lengthening out.”

“Lengthening out?”

Imani glanced away, then smiled.

“That’s what your ballet teacher tells you when you’re too fat. That you need to lengthen out. I’m sure it’s in there,” she explained, gesturing to the file.

“Ah.”

Dr. Forrester scribbled the term on her writing pad, then looked at Imani closely. She hesitated. She wasn't sure how to ask politely. Might as well just say it.

“And you’re sure you want to?”

Imani frowned. “Want to what?”

“Dance again.”

The question seemed inane to her, and she laughed. “Of course I want to dance again, what else am I going to do?”

“You could…join clubs, study new subjects, find hobbies—“

“I’m dancing."

Dr. Forrester paused after being cut off, tapping her pen with a tight-lipped smile. She parted her lips, then sighed. No way around it.

“Your father is concerned about you training again. About your risk to--"

Imani smiled something akin to baring teeth. “--Backslide."

"Harm yourself," Forrester corrected.

The girl chuckled. “I know what my father is worried about, Doctor. There’s no need to worry. I’ll have it under control.”

“Right. Control.”

Dr. Forrester bobbed her pen at Imani, eyes softened with knowing. Imani shifted uncomfortably in her seat, gazing out the large double windows at the rolling green hills of the countryside. A bird was nesting in the corner of the window, gathering twigs from nearby trees and bringing them back. She smiled at the sight, then turned her attention back to the doctor at the sound of pills rattling.

“I’d like you to start taking these,” Forrester said, pushing an orange bottle across the desk, “For your panic attacks.”

Imani stared at them in silence, eyes unreadable. Her voice was leveled when she finally answered.

“I haven’t had a panic attack in eight months.”

“That’s without any triggers,” Forrester pointed out, “And since you intend to return to dancing—“

“It’s not like I’m going back to the Royal Academy or something,” Imani interjected, “It’s just classes at school—college.”

Dr. Forrester smiled, tapping the bottle cap with a red lacquered index finger.

“This is the agreement your father and I came to. They're just for when symptoms come up.”

Imani fell quiet, staring impassively at the little orange bottle. She quickly took them and dropped them in her black purse, crossing her legs and staring up at the vaulted ceiling.

“You’ll find I am quite empathetic to your cause, Ms. Washington,” Forrester said kindly, “I understand what it is like to be young. Ambitious.”

She leaned back in her chair and studied the file again, noticing a photo of young girls in leotards and tights, smiling and posing for a class photo en pointe—the one dark-skinned girl stood out in the front. She smiled.

“Royal Academy…that’s impressive. Especially with your record there.”

Imani looked down at her hands again. She was tired of hearing that word. Impressive. It only brought her back to the past. Four years of hard work for nothing. Impressive had been reduced to a past life.

“I highly doubt you’ll just be doing ballet classes at college for long. I also doubt that you intend to, either.”

Imani glanced up to meet Forrester’s eyes briefly before going back to listening to the grandfather clock tick. It was true, she wasn’t. She’d already been researching ballet studios in London to build her case after a year of good behavior had passed. Her father wasn’t an easy man to convince of anything, but she had inherited his stubbornness. Just because she landed in a hospital bed once didn’t mean it would happen again. Besides, excellence had a cost. He knew that. He knew what kind of child he had raised. The kind you could leave alone in a house for months on end without a hint of worry on your mind. The kind that made sure you had plenty to brag about to your douchey coworkers to make them and their snobby daughters swallow their pride. The kind who stood with their back straight and their eyes steady, who didn’t cry after scraping their knee. Someone solid. Someone like him.

“We just want to make sure that when the pressure comes, you don’t crack.”

Crack. Another word she despised. Imani produced a smile for the doctor, signaling she was ready for the end of the appointment.

“Of course, Doctor Forrester.”

The woman prepared to speak again when Imani's purse vibrated, and Imani quickly fished out her phone—thank god, it was buzzing. She pursed her lips and looked at the contact, eyes flitting apologetically over to Doctor Forrester.

“It’s my dad, do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

Imani nodded, gathering her things and slipping out of the room. She smiled at a pair of nurses as she found a side door and went outside. The birds sang to each other as she sat down on the steps. She answered the phone.

“Hey, Eff,” she greeted, “What’s up?”

“I need your help with something. Are you free?”

“I’m out of town right now, but I can head back. What’s going on?”

“Panda and I met this guy from the Congo, Thomas. He needs to make money selling spliff. We’re all going to a party Cook found to help him out.”

Imani chuckled to herself, shaking her head. Of course Effy and Panda would end up doing that. For the few weeks she’d known them, they were always getting into some kind of trouble or fun—fucking Cook the first day of college, downing a mouthful of drugs like powdered sugar (you could guess who), and so on, and so forth. Imani was always left wondering when they had time to do actual schoolwork.

“Sure, sounds like fun. I just gotta get out of here.”

“Where are you?”

“Nowhere important. I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay, later.”

Imani hung up, going back inside. She quickly made her way back to Dr. Forrester’s office, composing herself so as not to look too amused or excited. She opened the door, putting on a concerned face. Forrester raised her eyebrows in question, her pen tipping over onto her pad.

“I need to head home, Dad says it’s an emergency. Burst pipe. He wants me to come back to help clean it up.”

Dr. Forrester nodded. “Of course, of course. We can finish our intake next session.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you then.”

Imani shut the door gently, smiling to herself as she turned the corner. Dr. Forrester scribbled in her notepad again.

Good liar.

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

Imani held Mustard in her arms as she perused her closet to decide what to wear. She had forgotten to ask so many details: what kind of party, for a start. The crowd she was going into was important if she was going to sell something effectively. Weed sells itself, depending on who was buying it. She could safely bet the customer base would be people around her age, and considering Cook located it, the party was bound to be a rager. She would need to stand out, draw attention.

She sifted through hangers until she found what she was looking for and smiled at Mustard, raising her eyebrows.

"I think we're in business, sweetie," she said, kissing the kitten on the forehead.

Another tight fit, but effective for her intentions. There would just be one problem.

"Fuck me!"

Cook grinned as Imani walked up, her heels clicking on the ground as her hips swayed. His reaction pulled everyone's eyes towards her, and the boys gawked helplessly at the sight. Effy smirked in amusement at her outfit. She wore a pair of skin-tight leather pants that laced up along the sides of her legs, a velvet tube top, and a pair of rather impressively high stiletto boots. She rolled her eyes as Cook gleefully bounded up to her, hands eager to touch.

"Where’ve you been hidin', huh," he asked, eyes raking her up and down.

She stepped out and dug a sharp heel into the toe of his sneaker, twisting the proverbial knife to elicit a cry from him. She gave him a smile, wagging a finger at him.

"Do not even think about touching me."

She released his foot and smiled brightly at Effy and Pandora, going in for a hug that doused them in her sweet, rosy perfume. Cook hissed, hopping on one foot as he clutched the other. Freddie laughed at the sight.

"It's so good to see you two," she said, cheeks glowing.

Effy and Pandora hugged her back before letting her go, their heads slightly dizzy. That was the thing about Imani, wasn't it? You were never quite ready to take her in--it just hit you all at once, and you had to recover afterwards. Freddie and JJ stared at the straps of the thong that peeked out from her pants as Thomas smiled, walking up to her. Imani turned around, looking up at him warmly.

"I'm Thomas," he greeted, "So good to meet you."

She smiled, shaking his hand. "Ça va, Thomas?" (How are you, Thomas?)

His face brightened. "Tu parles français?" (You speak french?)

"Ouai, ouai, ma mère est française!" (Yeah, yeah, my mom is french!)

The gang stared in bewilderment as the two conversed excitedly, laughing and nodding. Cook frowned as he walked up next to Freddie and JJ, eyeing the two suspiciously.

"Got any idea what they're sayin'?"

JJ shook his head. "Not a clue."

Freddie just stared, a slight smile on his face as he watched Imani, not noticing Effy's eyes on him. Cook shoved him roughly, snapping him out of it.

"Mate, I'm not fuckin' joking," he warned.

Freddie laughed again. "She stabbed your foot!"

Effy watched the two argue in silence, glancing back towards Imani. Suddenly, she wasn't feeling too keen on having invited her. Thomas and Imani finished their cryptic conversation, and Effy moved towards her, putting a hand on her shoulder to turn her away from Cook and Freddie and usher her gently towards the girls.

" 'Mani, this is Katie, Emily, and Naomi."

Imani eyes sparked with recognition of the red-haired twins and their drastically different outfits. Emily smiled politely, reaching out to shake Imani's outstretched hand as Katie stared, unsure how she wanted to deal with her. Naomi shook her hand as well, eyeing her with suspicion.

"Interesting outfit," she remarked.

Imani chuckled. "What can I say, I'm a good saleswoman."

Naomi smiled, seeming to approve of her response. Katie suddenly jumped in recollection.

"You're the American girl from the first day of school," she exclaimed, "The rich one!"

Imani's eyes widened in shock at her words, and she smiled in embarrassment. Naomi eyed her closer, her suspicion renewed. Imani cleared her throat awkwardly, glancing over to Emily, who was looking between her sister and the ground. She chuckled uneasily.

"Yeah, that's me."

Katie shifted onto one hip with a smirk. "I guess we could hang out, too."

Imani blinked in obvious confusion, unsure when she had been evaluated.

"I--Sure. Sounds great."

Emily glanced over at Naomi discreetly, letting out a breath of relief at her expression. The boys came over to join them--Cook's hands immediately found their way to Imani's hips as he moved her aside, quickly letting her go to avoid another stabbing. She glared at him in annoyance, then let out a sigh. No use in being angry at this point.

"Right, let's get to it, then," he said.

He knelt down and lifted the manhole cover beneath their feet, shining light on all of the group's faces as they peered down excitedly, listening to the blaring music as it trailed up from underground.

"Ladies first," Cook teased, offering his hand to Imani.

She shot him an unimpressed look before taking his hand and climbing down, careful of her boots. She landed on the soil with some dismay, already feeling her heels sinking into the dirt, but stepped back to let Katie climb down after her, placing her weight on her toes. Katie huffed, turning around to stand next to Imani despite their current height difference. She glanced over at Imani out of the corner of her eye, but quickly looked away as Emily followed her down, then Naomi, Effy, Pandora, and the boys. Thomas handed out baggies of weed to the group, three or four each, but Imani took one extra, giving him a wink.

"You'll want my price," she assured.

Cook stared at her as she grinned, walking off and disappearing around the curve of the tunnel. He smirked, grabbing one extra as well--"You don't mind, do ya mate?"--and quickly following after her. Effy watched, then turned her attention to Pandora.

"Stay close to me."

Pandora nodded, and the group dispersed into the tunnels.

Imani had headed straight for the action, putting the weed into her purse and easing her way through the crowd, Cook following close on her heels. She stopped abruptly, eyes scanning the crowd for prey. She caught the eye of a tall man with dark hair that curled lusciously around his temples with a cigarette in his mouth. It quirked up at the sight of her. She cocked her head, smiling at him long enough to intrigue, then turned on the ball of her foot and headed for the next tunnel. The bodies thinned out enough for Cook to catch up, bumping into her as they weaved past a pair of girls drinking beer and stumbled into the tunnel. Imani frowned, looking up to God for patience, ignoring Cook and walking inside before turning around to face him.

"Don't you have something to do," she reprimanded, gesturing to his pockets full of Thomas's weed.

"Yeah, yeah, but I wanna see the technique first," he said with a grin, "Get some pointers."

She held up her pinky and wiggled it. "As long as that little prick is sitting between your legs, you're out of luck. Now go, he's coming."

"Who's coming?"

She shoved him away and moved towards the silhouette of the man she'd successfully lured. He was dressed in all black, with a leather jacket and patent leather oxfords that didn't match his outfit and revealed striped socks. He walked up to her slowly, eyes trailing up and down her figure, a smile forming on his lips as smoke ghosted out of his mouth. Cook leaned against the wall, acting inconspicuous, lighting a cigarette of his own, and turning away. She smiled back at the man sweetly.

"Hey."

Cook glanced back at the sudden sultry timbre of her voice, but looked away once he locked eyes with her new companion. He chuckled to himself, inhaling deeply from his cigarette as he strained his ears over the blaring music to listen to her.

"Hey, there," the man greeted, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She laughed like a purr, then slipped her purse off her shoulder and opened it, taking out some weed.

"Got a treat for you. Want some?"

He laughed as she came closer, holding the baggie up between them.

"I know, I know," she anticipated, "Not nice."

He eyed her, then looked at the bag, reaching for it only for her to move it away and raise a brow, shaking her head.

"How much," he asked, already reaching for his wallet.

"Forty."

Cook raised his eyebrows in disbelief. No way he'd go for it, no matter how sexy she looked. The man chuckled, taking the drugs out of her hand and considering them. He eyed her with some wariness, taking his cigarette and tossing it onto the ground. She pouted playfully.

"Pretty please, sir."

"Forty five for your number," he offered, stepping closer.

She pretended to think it over, dreaming up a fake number as he smiled flirtatiously.

"Pretty please?"

Imani rolled her eyes with a chuckle, holding out her hand for his phone, which he happily placed in her palm. She typed in a random number, biting her lip and looking at him as if he'd won something.

"You better call me later," she warned, placing his phone in the pocket of his t-shirt.

He tucked forty-five pounds into the string of her thong by her hip. She wanted to vomit all over his face and scream, but just grinned, stepping back.

"Seeya soon," he said, tucking the weed into the pocket of his jacket.

"Seeya."

She kept her smile as long as she could see him, then dropped it and stuck her tongue out in disgust. Cook trailed up behind her, eyeing the bills strapped to her hip. He couldn't believe it.

"Men are so gross," she said to him, shaking her head, "But relatively useful."

She flashed the money at him with a triumphant grin, cocking her head.

"Power of the pussy," she remarked, poking him playfully in the chest, "Beat that."

"You just gave a stranger your number, but won't give it to me?"

She knocked on his forehead. "What are you, thick? I didn't even give him my name. He won't call until later, if he even remembers to."

"How do you know he won't come back pissed the fuck off you gave him a fake number?"

She put a hand on her hip, offended. "I've done that move hundreds of times. Never fails. Unless you think you can do better?"

He eyed her as she raised a playful eyebrow, smirking. She rose the bills again, tucking them into her shirt.

"Whoever makes the most wins."

Cook grinned dangerously. "Wins what?"

Imani hummed, tapping a finger against her lips, then shrugged, gaze suggestive.

"Whatever they want."

Cook's blue eyes lit up, then sharpened. Imani tilted her head in interest, questioning him with her eyes. He stepped back cautiously, wagging a finger at her with a smile.

"You're doing it again."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"You're teasin' me."

Imani chuckled, glancing down and tapping the foot she stabbed with hers. She let out a sigh, shaking her head disapprovingly.

"You're no fun, Cookie."

He perked up at the challenge. It was honestly too easy with him.

He looked at her squarely. "And you're fuckin' on."

Her face lit up into a smile. “Oh, I am gonna ruin your life when I win.”

He leaned closer, that dangerous smile curving his lips, making Imani lose her focus on keeping her heels from sinking into the ground. She maintained her confident posture, placing a hand on her hip as if to prove she was still playing.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, sweetheart,” he said, voice lowering to where only they could hear, “I’m gonna get your number.”

Imani laughed, her left heel sinking sharply into the dirt. She yelped and flailed her arms as she tilted backward and braced for a fall, but Cook caught her before she could. Her eyes widened as she looked up at him, her hand gripping his shoulder, and that cocky little grin that set her face on fire in embarrassment. He helped her up, holding her steady as she yanked her heel out of the dirt. His hands lingered on the sides of her arms, but to her surprise he actually let her go without any shenanigans.

“Stuipid shoes,” she said, offering a small smile.

“Nah,” he dismissed, “I like ‘em.”

She watched him as he walked away, lips parted as if she was going to answer, but nothing came to mind. He whirled around, pointing at her with a grin.

“You’re on, Hollywood,” he called, startling the other people around him.

Imani chuckled, following him, swinging her purse airily.

The two zipped around the underground party like someone had set them on fire, Imani flirting guys’ wallets open and Cook dealing as if he was a professional. They’d pass by each other, flashing each others’ wads of cash with cocky grins and bright smiles, tallying up the amount each of them had made in competitive shouts. Once everyone had made it aboveground, Imani and Cook counted their money separate from the group, earning strange looks, but they were too engrossed to notice.

“One-hundred and fifteen,” Cook finished, flicking his stack of cash proudly.

Imani sighed, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms as if to admit defeat. Cook grinned at her, holding his hand out expectantly. A devious smile formed on her face, and she gently placed her cash in his palm, patting it comfortingly.

“Two hundred.”

“Oh come on!”

Imani laughed loudly, earning a stare from Freddie behind him.

“You’re so done,” she teased, her voice carrying a musical lilt.

She clapped him on the arm, then walked over to the group with her arms open wide, soaking in her victory.

“I win, I’m the best!”

She curtseyed gracefully, smiling brightly until she met the unimpressed faces of the group and quickly composed herself.

“Cook and I made a bet,” she said awkwardly, clearing her throat.

Cook came up behind her, counting the money and handing it to Thomas.

"Four-hundred and ninety five, thanks to 'Mani over here."

Imani smiled as Thomas stared down at the money, then looked around at everyone gratefully. Imani's eyes softened; he must've been in a real pinch.

"You are good people, thank you," he said, "And now, you're my friends as well."

Imani sucked on her teeth, rummaging through her purse. The group watched curiously as she pulled out a money clip, eyes widening as she casually plucked out two hundred-dollar bills and handed it to him.

"Sorry, I haven't converted it yet."

Thomas slowly accepted the money, looking at her in astonishment. Imani glanced around, feeling itchy under everyone's stares. She sighed.

"Yes, I'm rich," she said, tossing her hands in the air, "Ta-da."

JJ squinted. "If you're rich, what are you doing at our college?"

Before Imani could answer, two minivans pulled up and surrounded them. Imani looked around in confusion as Effy grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her close to her and Pandora, stumbling over. Imani started to rummage around in her purse for her pepper spray, but soon abandoned the thought once she watched several men with bats hop out of the (rather amusing) cars. One man emerged from the driver's seat and opened the back door, revealing a scrawny blond man in a jumpsuit with piercings and a scowl. He exited the car and walked up to them, eyes zeroing in on Thomas coldly. Imani lowered Thomas's hand full of money and gently took it out of his hand, tucking it inside her bag before the man noticed.

"Dealing on my turf, then?"

He stopped, and his eyes shifted over to Cook, who, for the first time since Imani had known him, looked afraid. He avoided the man's gaze as he closed in on him, hands retreating to his pockets.

"You," the man said, "Didn't I say I'd kill you if I saw you again, boy?"

Imani's hand closed around her taser instead as she surveyed the strange men behind him. They looked a bit silly, sure, but threatening enough to give her a scare. The blond curled his fingers around the golden necklace Cook was wearing and snatched it off, making the young man wince. Knowing Cook, Imani thought, he probably stole it--it was times like this she regretted turning down those judo classes as a kid. The blond took a bat from one of the men as he stared Cook down, making Imani's stomach drop. Her hand tightened around the taser in her purse--she couldn't fight, but she could take down that skinny fucker if she tried.

"I think you are some kind of English pussy cunt," Thomas suddenly said, making her jaw drop.

The blond's dark stare shifted over to Thomas, who remained undaunted. Imani and Effy looked at each other, then between the two as they stared each other down. Thomas wasn't done, though.

"And, possibly, your father was a homosexual donkey."

Imani giggled, making the man glare at her and shut her up, resorting to turning the taser over in her hand. Thomas looked down at him, shoulders set.

"I will fight you myself," he said, "You can choose any weapon."

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

Imani never thought she would watch a man shit himself, but then again, it seems anything could happen in England.

Instead of actual weapons, the man--Johnny White, Freddie told her later--chose to challenge Thomas to a pepper-eating competition. Why a white man chose this, Imani would never know, but he not only lost to a teenager, he shat himself in the process.

Now, the gang was back at Thomas's apartment (or flat, as they called it), laughing and smoking copious amounts of spliff. Imani had taken off her shoes and was nestled between Katie and Emily, finally enjoying a proper conversation with the cushioning of drugs. Cook and Effy were back to sucking each other's faces off, and Freddie was too high and busy staring at Imani to notice.

All was right with the world.

Until, that is, a shocked Thomas said the dreaded word Imani knew all too well.

"Maman!" (Mom!)

Quickly, Imani stood, putting out her spliff and grabbing her purse like a caught burglar.

"What's wrong," Katie asked, eyeing her strangely.

"Parents," Imani whispered sharply, quickly going into Thomas's bedroom.

Pandora gasped as she barged in, covering her chest and smoking her spliff, staring in shock. Imani grabbed her shirt and tugged it over her head, taking the spliff from her. Thomas's mother's voice resonated throughout the room outside the door, making Imani wince and hurry up, but Pandora's head was caught in on of the arm holes and Imani was too busy trying to force it down to notice.

"Get dressed, Thomas's mom--"

The door creaked open, and Imani and Pandora froze, met with a horrified woman staring at them. She gasped, eyes darting between the two like she'd found a dead body.

"Lesbiennes!"

Imani smiled awkwardly, giving a wave. "Bonjour, madame!" (Hello, miss!)

Needless to say, Thomas was going home.

🩰𓈒⋆⑅˚₊୨୧

Imani consoled Pandora as everyone lay out on the grass in Imani's backyard, smoking spliff. Effy sat next to them, smoking quietly as Imani soothed their friend.

"It'll be just fine, Panda," she reassured her, "Just fine. He'll come back."

"But what if he doesn't?!"

Pandora cried into Imani's shoulder, hugging her tightly while everyone else stared. Imani placed her chin on the crown of Pandora's head, catching Effy's eye and widening hers as a signal. Effy raised a questioning brow, putting out her spliff on the concrete lip of the pool.

Your turn, Imani mouthed. I have guests.

Effy sighed, scooting over to put her arm around Pandora, who turned and clung to her desperately, sobbing.

"Let's go to my room," Imani offered, flaring her eyes at Effy.

Effy rolled her eyes at Imani's compulsory need to organize, but stood and helped Pandora to her feet. Cook watched as the three dried their feet on a towel Imani had left by the patio door before ushering Pandora inside and upstairs. The silence had been unbearable, but he could finally do it.

"Right, fuck it," he announced, starting to undress.

Freddie and JJ looked at him in confusion as she stripped down to his underwear and walked past the other girls.

"Fuck are you doing, Cook," Kate demanded in annoyance, "You're at a nice place, have some fucking manners!"

Cook laughed, tugging at his underwear, giving everyone else little to no warning to prepare themselves as he took them off. Naomi groaned in displeasure, looking away. Cook turned around, spread his arms, and fell backwards into the pool. The water was warm--he expected it to be cold, but it embraced him readily as he sank lower, falling still for a moment, watching bubbles trickle up from his stinging nose. Rippling shadows lined the edge of the pool and he grinned--of course, they'd come and watch. He finally moved, swimming to the surface, gasping for air once he made it. Everyone stared at him owlishly.

"It's fucking paradise in here," he said, gesturing to the girls, "Any one of you want to join?"

Katie had had enough of James Cook to stomach for one day. Her face twisted in disgust, and she stood.

"You're a pig," she spat, turning away, "C'mon, Emily."

Cook only laughed, doing a backstroke, gleeful at the group's distress as they complained and turned away. Emily glanced back at Katie as she grabbed her heels and headed for the backyard door. Katie checked for her sister and huffed in exasperation when she didn't find her.

"Emily!"

Emily scrambled to her feet and lightly jogged after her, picking up her flats. Naomi watched her, looked at Cook, then rolled her eyes and went inside. JJ and Freddie lingered, hesitant to leave Cook unsupervised. They averted their eyes as Cook floated on his back, watching them with anticipation.

" 'Mani's going to kill you," JJ warned.

Cook grinned. "Water's warm, J."

"Mate, we're not getting naked with you," Freddie exclaimed.

He glanced at the upper windows anxiously, then shook his head, backing away from the pool.

"Sorry, I'm out of here."

"Aw, mate," Cook groaned, calling after Freddie as he jogged away and scaled the back gate, "Don't be like that!"

JJ watched Freddie leave, frozen helplessly in place. Cook swam up to him, tugging at his wrist to pull him in, but JJ managed to wrench himself away and retreat to the grass.

"I'm--I'm going inside."

Cook watched him go as he shook his head, laughing.

They really were no fun.

Effy’s cool blue eyes scanned Imani’s bedroom, taking in all the details she’d missed from being spliffed, drunk, and too full of pad thai to think. The stacked boxes had nearly cleared out, giving floor space for Imani to put down yet another persian rug, one whose fibers yielded to the force of her toes as she sat on the dark leather chest that faced Imani’s dresser at the end of her bed. Her bed had changed too. It had a sheer white canopy hanging from a copper frame, a white duvet that didn’t match its fuzzy cheetah print blanket, which couldn’t encompass the size of her queen bed, and pink satin pillows and sheets that Pandora was carefully nestled under like Sleeping Beauty.

Effy stood, strolling around the room. She had a dark wooden vanity with a large mirror that had polaroids and postcards tucked into the oval-shaped frame. Effy leaned over the mess of bottles of Poison Girl--one half empty, one fresh--various shades of red lipstick and pink and clear lip gloss, and makeup tools to peer at them. The postcards came from Paris, London, New York, Los Angeles, Morocco even, all spilling over with messages of love and longing: Miss the taste of your mouth; Love you lots ; Come back bitch!; Remember when we did shrooms here? XO. The polaroids varied between works of art and scenes of chaos on sidewalks, encapsulated in flash. One caught Effy’s eye, though; Imani dressed in a halo and a white silk nightgown that brushed her upper thighs and had a border of lace on the end, grinning brightly in a pair of angel wings.

Effy smiled at it, then turned around to look at her desk on the opposite side of the room, brushing past the open dresser full of lace bralettes and underwear. The black desk was smaller than the vanity, and looked older, too. It was one of those ones with lids you could close. It was scraped at the edges with a pink ottoman tucked nearly underneath, and there were large stacks of books on top of it with the spines facing outwards. Effy traced them with her finger, finding biographies about Jane Birkin and a much thicker one in french about Albert Camus. There were several books by someone named Angela Davis that had titles Effy found rather cryptic—Women, Race and Class—and of course, a worn-down stack of more Camus, all in french.

The sound of footsteps climbing the stairs distracted her from the rest of the books as she checked the door, but there was no one there, so she kept investigating. There were more photos, these ones tucked under the built-in cubbies under the lid. They were small but had circular golden frames. A beautiful woman was in one of them, her smile dazzling, nearly blinding Effy through the glass. Her skin was dark and radiant; her hair fell down her shoulders in tiny braids. Her eyes were slender and almond shaped and dusted with bronze eyeshadow, her mouth a blooming rose of red that accentuated her perfect teeth. The beginnings of a man’s face were visible, but it was cut out. Effy picked it up, lingered on it, then set it back down where it belonged.

The centerpiece of the desk was a white typewriter with no paper—just a small ticket for the New York City Ballet dated for June 10th, 2008, at 7:30 PM.

“That’s the last time I saw her.”

Effy turned to face the door sharply, startled by Imani’s gentle voice. She was smiling, dressed in a faded and oversized Pet Sematary shirt and sweatpants, her leather attire draped over her forearm. Effy shifted on her feet uncomfortably, holding her gaze.

“Sorry.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Imani dismissed, coming inside and going to the closet, “After all, I’m quite interesting.”

Effy smiled again at the ironic twinge in her words. She picked up the photo of the beautiful woman again, tracing the frame.

“This your mum?”

Imani glanced back, her face falling slightly at the sight of the photo. She quickly went back to hanging up her clothes, brushing a few curled ends out of her face.

“Yeah.”

Effy turned at the tone of her voice, but she was facing away, kneeled down and organizing her shoes. Effy looked up at the wide array of fine fabrics she had hung up: animal print, silk, denim, leather, vinyl, polka dots and knitted wear—it was like she was a spy who had collected several disguises to blend in wherever she went.

Cool.

“Are you close?”

Her voice lightened. “Yeah. We talk all the time. She always wants to know what I’m doing, how I’m feeling.”

“But you live with your dad?”

She paused, turning her head towards Effy slightly, then shrugged, standing up. “Well, he got custody.”

Effy blinked, then set the photo down. Imani went over to her dresser and closed the drawer of underwear with some embarrassment, then looked over to Pandora. She smiled affectionately.

“God, she’s precious, isn’t she?”

Effy didn’t answer. She’d finally noticed all the trophies lined up neatly atop the dresser. They glimmered with their own pride, shining like Olympian gold even though Effy knew they were plastic. 1998, 1999, 2000, 2001, 2002…there was one for each year up to 2005. Her eyes settled on a rhinestone tiara that sat next to them, and she reached up for it, taking it carefully in her hands and studying it. It wasn’t plastic. Probably some kind of metal. The gems glittered like diamonds.

“Where’s this from,” she asked.

Imani looked over, watching Effy examine the crown with interest. She'd forgotten it was even up there.

“The nutcracker. My first performance from when I was in the Academy.”

Effy turned it over, her face unreadable. She set it back on the dresser, then gave Imani a small smile.

“You didn’t tell me you were a ballerina.”

Imani laughed. “Didn’t come up.”

Pandora stirred in Imani’s bed, eyes slowly opening and adjusting to the soft light of the pink-shaded lamp on her nightstand. Imani quickly went over to her as she sat up and rubbed her tear-streaked face. She sat down on the edge of the bed, wrapping an arm around Panda’s shoulders.

“Hey, you alright?”

Effy almost wanted to laugh—she looked like her mother. Pandora nodded and gave Imani a smile.

“Thanks, ‘Mani.”

“Do you want some tea? You hungry?”

“Do you have more of those cookies?”

“Yes, yes, of course!”

Pandora hopped out of bed and gladly allowed Imani to lead her downstairs to the kitchen. Effy glanced back up at the crown, then followed with a smirk.

The television blared with some inane reality show as JJ and Naomi sat on either ends of the leather couch, both perking up at Imani coming down the stairs. She looked out of the window, saw the signs of dusk, and her cheeks burned in embarrassment.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry! You guys want something to eat? I completely forgot myself…”

She gestured for everyone to follow her, flicking on the kitchen and dining room lights as she set Pandora at the kitchen island and opened the pantry to hunt for the Belgian waffle cookies she asked for.

“Anything to drink,” she called out, “Soda, wine?”

“I’ll take a glass,” Naomi accepted, watching her smile at Pandora as she handed her the tin.

“Lovely. JJ?”

“Water’s fine,” he answered quickly, stealing a glance at Effy as she took the seat at the end of the table next to him.

Imani pouted her lips as she grabbed a wine glass and opened the fridge, looking at JJ earnestly.

“Oh, you sure?”

He nodded, eyes darting between Naomi and Effy uncertainly. Imani shrugged as she popped the cork on a red.

“Suit yourself. Eff?”

“Wine.”

Smiling, Imani grabbed another glass. Naomi watched as she gracefully poured two glasses, passed Pandora a soda, then got JJ a crisp bottle of water. She set them all down in front of each, then sat down at the other end of the table with a sigh, placing her hands on the table and crossing her legs.

“So! Dinner. Any preferences?”

Pandora was the first to speak. "Can we have thai food again? I liked that spicy stuff. Mum doesn't let me eat spicy food."

Imani was intrigued by such an odd rule, but kept it to herself. She looked to everyone else.

"I haven't eaten thai food before," JJ admitted, "Sounds...interesting."

"Don't worry, it's not all spicy," Imani assured him with a smile. "Naomi? Eff?"

Effy nodded, and Naomi shrugged. Imani got up from the table and grabbed the house phone, punching in the number of the only thai restaurant in town worth spending money on, and ordered for everyone.

It was a pleasant dinner. Imani knew how to ply a room into jovial conversation--it only took a little alcohol and a full belly. Pandora added chili paste to her spicy eggplant and burned her tongue, gorging on ice cream while everyone laughed and tasted it as a challenge. Only Imani and Naomi could take it. JJ ended up a wounded member of the Ice Cream Club with Panda. The dinner wasn't long, though--parents called, especially Pandora's, and people went home.

Imani was once again sitting alone at a table full of leftovers she couldn't eat.

She tapped her fingers on the dining table, staring down at her untouched plate of pad see ew, and glanced thoughtfully at the greasy fork she'd poked at it with. As far as she knew, no one noticed she'd left her dinner alone, save for the eggplant challenge. Maybe Effy, she was observant like that, but the only person she'd think would notice had disappeared in the late afternoon. Where did everyone go, anyway?

With a sigh, she rose from the table, packing up the food, stacking it in the refrigerator, and grabbing an apple. Her tongue burned vengefully against its cold skin as she bit into it; relief made her jaw soften as she filled her mouth with juicy, cold, apple flesh. That damn chili paste nearly burned her tongue off. She shut the fridge and rested her head against it. The house was quiet again. She hated the quiet.

Suddenly, she remembered.

"Muzzie!"

Imani quickly ran upstairs and looked for her kitten on the bed and in the closet, where she liked to snuggle in her sneakers, but Mustard wasn't there. Not on the dining table, and obviously not in Dad's room. Worry started to knot in her stomach--the house was big, but not that big. Had she lost her cat already? She went downstairs, checking and feeling the couch to make sure she didn't miss her in the inconsistent lighting from the television. Agitated, she bit into her apple again and slid open the patio door.

"Mustard," she called, flicking the backyard lights on. "Mus--"

Cook was lounging on a pool chair, smoking as he scratched behind the black kitten's ear. His focused expression shifted as he looked up at the sound of her voice. He smiled.

He wasn't wearing any clothes.

Imani hesitated to get near him, but relented, going to retrieve her cat. He placed Mustard in her outstretched hands and eyed her up and down as she turned away, kissing her tiny head and nuzzling it.

"You scared me, little girl," she said softly, "How'd you get out here?"

"She's cute," Cook said. "Found her under the chair."

He knocked on it casually, then sighed, swiveling to put his feet on the grass. Imani tentatively glanced back at him as he stood and was relieved to see he was wearing his underwear. She fully turned to face him after noticing his discarded clothes on the ground. Incredulous, she chuckled.

"Took a swim?"

Cook shrugged, hooking his thumbs into the band of his underwear.

"Water was warm."

She looked at him with an amused smile. "Was it, now?"

Crickets chirped loudly as she went back to the patio doors to set Mustard down on the dining room table to sleep, then grabbed a box of cigarettes from the counter and pulled one out, lighting it on the stove and rejoining Cook outside where he was waiting for her. She shut the sliding door behind her softly, exhaling smoke through her nose. They regarded each other warmly, Imani bursting into a smile and Cook laughing.

"You really have no manners, do you?"

Cook grinned and shook his head, playful as a child. Imani laughed softly, smoke framing her dark pink lips and shining, perfect teeth. Cook stared at them, then met her eyes again. She held his gaze, then looked away, biting her lower lip as her eyes skimmed the grass. She glanced back at the sliding door as she took a drag of her cigarette again before she dared to look at him. She didn't meet his eyes, but looked at the large cross tattoo on his rib and gestured toward it lightly.

"Nice ink," she complimented.

He grinned as her eyes lingered, tracing his torso, then flitted up to his. He raised his eyebrows, looking down at it as he'd just remembered it was there.

"You like? I got more."

"Really?"

She lifted her hand with a coy smile, twirling her finger as it pointed downward.

"Give me a spin, let me see."

Spreading his arms with a chuckle, he obliged, turning slowly, leaning heavily on either foot like he was drunk. He could feel her gaze raking against his skin, and it made his blood rush with anticipation. Imani teased her lower lip with her thumb while her cigarette burned between her fingers, neglected. Her eyes spanned the width of his slender shoulders, the slim muscles of his back. He glanced at her over his shoulder as he finished his turn and she smiled, applauding with a nod.

"Nice, very nice. Good work."

He cocked his head slightly, eyes lasering through her pajamas. "Your turn, then."

"You've already seen it, remember?"

He frowned. She sighed, flicking her cigarette as she reminded him.

"The one on my leg. The snake."

"Oh. Didn't notice."

He went over to his clothes and started tugging on his jeans. Imani stayed put, eyes lingering on the pool. Cook came up next to her as he pulled his shirt on over his head, watching her intently. She tapped her lips with her thumb, then smoked, exhaling slowly.

"You know, I haven't been in that pool yet," she remarked thoughtfully.

Cook’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, smile playing on his lips. She sighed, tossing her cigarette butt in the glass, starting to take off her sweats. Cook’s smile widened; God was truly answering all of his prayers.

“Been here a whole month with my dad paying for a warmed pool,” she said, kicking them off, “And I haven’t been in once.”

Cooked eyes drank in her dancer’s legs, and he finally recognized the tattoo on her right one. It coiled the entire length of her leg, the snake’s head nestled beneath her hip, its tail stretched over her foot. Her underwear were white and lace, and he would’ve moved to touch it if she hadn’t taken off her shirt, turned and grinned at him, and threw it onto his face.

He struggled to get it off his head fast enough to get a glimpse of her before she was in the pool. He only saw her cannonball in with a laugh, and threw the shirt to the ground in frustration, listening to the splash.

Fishing another cigarette out of his pocket as he walked over to the pool, he twirled his lighter between his fingers as she came to the surface and rested her arms on the ledge, propping her chin up on her forearms and smiling sweetly. He kneeled down and placed the cigarette he found between her lips, the tips of his fingers brushing against their soft skin, creating electricity that buzzed through his entire hand. He sat down cross-legged and lit it for her, plucking it from her mouth as she exhaled and pushed off the pool wall, going back to swimming underwater. The cigarette tasted of chlorine and strawberry chapstick. Cook swallowed.

She came back up on the ledge, sucking in air and letting out a heavy exhale, wiping the water from her eyes before they fixed onto Cook, glinting playfully. He admired the way the pool lighting accentuated her cheekbones, wanting to reach out and touch one, but fiddled with the cigarette instead. She’d slip through his fingers if he tried to grab hold of her—it took him a while to understand it, but he did now, and he could only accept it if he wanted her attention to stay on him.

Her eyes, he thought to himself. Something about them. They were so innocent and sweet-looking, yet they leered up at him with the cruelty of a torturer.

“Turn around,” she said.

“Again?”

She smiled, the water lapping at her slight shoulders.

“It’s lace. It’s see-through.”

Immediately, Cook leaned forward and tried to peek through the water, making Imani laugh and splash water in his face.

“Fuck off, you pervert!”

She laughs. Imani laughs. Cook is, well, Cook, and Imani laughs. He doesn’t know what that means, if she’s into it or not, if he’s ever going to shag her like he desperately needs to, but it’s enough to make him feel at ease. Rest. He places the cigarette in her mouth and turns around, playfully peeking over his shoulder in the hopes she’ll laugh again—she does.

“I should drown you,” she teases.

“Use your thighs,” he shoots back.

Silence, then movement. He feels her chest against his back, his shirt soaking up the water on her skin, the pungent scent of smoke filling his nose. Then, it happens again: electric. Her lips brush against his ear as she whispers.

“Close your eyes.”

He obeys.

Imani pushed herself out of the pool and looked down at him leaning on his hand, eyes shut but eyebrows raised expectantly. She chuckles and walks onto the grass, peeling off her underwear and putting her pajamas back on, squeezing out the lace and bunching it into her pocket. She takes a puff of her cigarette then squeezes out her hair.

“You hungry?”

He doesn’t answer, still as a rock. Imani rolled her eyes.

“You can look now.”

Cook opened his eyes and stood, grinning as he moved towards her. She looked up at him, eyes as dangerous as ever.

“Hungry or no?”

“I could eat.”

She nudged her head towards the sliding door. “C’mon. Hope you like thai."

Cook laughed. "Fuckin' thai, of course."

They padded inside quietly. Cook looked around with an edge of caution at the sound of the television in the living room.

"Your parents in," he asked, scratching Mustard's belly as he tried to get a look at the couch.

"No."

Imani grabbed the pad see ew from the refrigerator and put it in the microwave, setting it on a few minutes to warm it back up. Cook eyed the clock skeptically.

"It's nearly twelve, and your parents aren't back in?"

Imani raised her eyebrows in agreement, but simply sighed, rubbing her eyes and watching the microwave dish spin slowly.

"My dad works late."

"Pretty fuckin' late," he remarked.

She didn't have a charming answer, so she just kept quiet. Cook watched her curiously as the light glowed against her face until it stopped. Imani opened the door before it could beep, stirring the noodles and plating them before placing them on the kitchen island. She gave a mild smile, which threw Cook off because it was the first one that hadn't reached her eyes.

"I'll be right back," she said, grabbing the half empty wine bottle from the fridge and placing it in his hands, "Don't stain the carpet."

She went upstairs and closed the door to her room. Cook stood in a daze, then opened the bottle of wine and dug into his food without giving what had happened much thought. At least, he tried not to give it much thought. Had he said something wrong? Was he supposed to make a move?

He’d moved to the living room with the wine bottle on the glass coffee table by the time she came back in the same shirt, pajama shorts, and a towel on her head. Cook focused on the television—it was some rerun of a play he hadn’t been paying attention to—but discreetly stole a glance at her as she flicked on the light and took a seat on the other end of the couch. The leather creaked under her from disuse as she sighed, propping her feet up on the coffee table and flipping open a book. Dismayed, Cook looked at her slowly.

She felt his eyes on her as a trickle of water rolled down her forehead. She wiped it before it could fall on the page, clearing her throat and settling deeper into the couch.

“What’s that,” Cook asked.

“Hamlet.”

Hamlet, of course. He smiled at the absurdity of it.

“What’re you reading that for?”

A small, amused smile formed on her lips as she read the page.

“It’s for our class, Cook. We have homework, you know.”

He waved his hand in dismissal, scooting over towards her.

“Nah, fuck that. Have some of this, watch the—er—movie.”

He held the wine bottle toward her. She finally looked up at him, giving him a goodnatured smile. He lit up in anticipation, moving the bottle closer, eager for more fun. She was getting bored of him, he could feel it.

She rolled her eyes with a sigh, taking the bottle by the neck. Their hands touched, and Cook sweared hers lingered before she took a long swig and set it on the table with a sense of finality.

“There.”

She went back to reading, and Cook frowned, trying to figure out what her angle was now.

“Right, so, I’m confused.”

She raised a brow, not looking up from the page. “Confused?”

“You’ve been coming onto me all day, pressing your tits against me and everything, and now you’re reading?”

She chuckled, turning the page without answering. Taken aback, Cook leaned back against the couch, staring at the play with a furrowed brow. It was a hideous sight, two old actors were doing a sex scene. He looked back to Imani impatiently.

“Are you fuckin’ with me or something?”

Her smirk did nothing to ease his suspicions. Frustrated, he grabbed the wine bottle and gulped it down, wiping his mouth with a sigh. He forced himself between the hard leather cushions with a huff, taking out his lighter and twirling between his fingers. What was he still doing here if she wasn’t going to shag him? She already had a pet, she didn’t need him. He sighed, looking around the room, looking at the strange director’s chair made of animal hide perched on shiny wooden legs, then decided he was done.

“Fuck this,” he muttered, sitting up sharply.

Imani’s smirk grew as he grabbed his shoes by the door, then peeked back into the living room to see if she’d moved. She only turned the page.

“Right, I’m going.”

She answered smooth as silk, nodding. “Okay.”

Her calm tugged on the yoke of his frustration. He pulled on his sneakers and opened the door.

“Hang on.”

She was behind him. He jumped, looking back at her from the doorway. The cold night air made goosebumps rise on her legs as he looked at her expectantly, fingers drumming on the doorframe with impatience. Slowly, she lifted her hand and held it out to him. He stared in confusion and turned around.

“Well?”

He squinted at her. “Well what?”

“Your phone.”

His blue eyes widened, and he quickly pulled his phone out of his back pocket, placing it in her palm. She smiled, then made a new contact and punched in her number. Cook watched, a grin forming on his face as she handed it back to him.

"Cheers," he said, then hesitated, giving her a look. "This is your real number, right?"

She laughed softly at his question, shaking her head.

"Night, Cookie."

She shut the door lightly. Cook watched her silhouette linger, then disappear behind the frosted glass. He stayed on the porch, smiling, then checked his phone. He checked I, no one there. He checked M, and laughed at her contact name: Ms. Washington. He dialed the number, sniffing and holding the phone up to his ear. It rang a few times, and Cook could see hints of her figure passing from the living room and disappearing up the stairs. A playful grin formed as she answered.

"Night, Princess," he said.

She opened her window and peered down at him. He glanced up, grin brightening as she shook her head, her chuckle buzzing in his ear. She hung up without a word but left the window open. He lingered, staring at the dresser, seeing the tiara glisten from the streetlight's glow.

Of course, he thought to himself as he walked down the dark, damp street. Of course, she has a crown.

#amaranthine_enihtnarama #divider credit: @/enchanthings #james cook x reader #skins gen 2 #cook x reader #cook skins #black!oc #black!fem!reader #black!writer #skins fanfic #jack o'connell #skins uk

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thatnonameuser · 8 months ago

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Hey you recently did a post about what Yanderes all the boys are I was wondering if you'd do something similar for the teachers and Grim (Grim specifically because I love him) please don't feel pressured, I adore your writing and hope you have a wonderful day!

Absolutely!

I don't have a lot of experience with platonic yanderes, so this might suck.

Grim, is like an overbearing sibling, he constantly vies for your attention. And enjoys it whenever your attention is on him and him only. Grim as a yandere is quite clingy. And as long as you stay, he won't try to trick or manipulate you. He'll be the furry shoulder you cry on, that bears the weight of your fear, anger and sorrow because you're here and you want him near you.

But what happens when you decide that you aren't staying, that you'll be leaving him behind. Then he'll be manipulative, he'll go behind your back and talk to the yanderes you fear. He'll bargain, that he'll help them in anyway if that means he gets to stay with you, and you have to stay here with him. Forever.

Crowley is a deadbeat through and through, even as a yandere he's still a complete waste of space as a father.

You, the little fledgling to small and weak to spread your own wings....are going to have to fend for yourself for a while. Crowley as a yandere is a manipulative one. He holds the cards that keep you here and you won't be leaving the nest unless he decides it for you.

And by that, Crowley is actively trying to find you a yandere, to keep you here while he plays the 'gracious' role of the helpful headmaster. Why? Because while it will be a messy thing to organise, you will be here, unable to ever leave. But since he is gracious, he's giving you plenty of options! Sure, he needs to hold your living needs hostage but you've met so many potential suitors. You should be thankful really.

Crewel, the antithesis to Crowley, he's an controlling and overprotective platonic yandere.

You, his helpless pup have been thrown into a wolves den......will be protected by him. As your teacher father, he'll break the law to protect you if need be. From antidotes to poisons, he'll make sure you can protect yourself from yanderes. Whatever you can't do to protect yourself, he'll do for you.

Any of your classmates, Ace and Deuce specifically will get detention for even speaking to you in class. Outside of class, he'll keep them away from you under the guise of tutoring sessions. All so that he can keep you as far, far away from all those unsnipped mutts.

And that's where the controlling parts come in. He'll start controlling what you wear, from him doting on you in multiple shopping trips, to who you spend time with, he won't allow you to spend time with those mutts eager to lock their jaws round your neck and rut against you.

But what about when you need to go home? Then and only then, will he conspire with your romantic yanderes. You are his pup, his precious child. He'll choke down having to deal with your lovesick mutts, if it means you stay.

Trein, in his eyes you're young enough to be his grandchild, and that means that you need to be protected from the dangerous world, so he's an overprotective one. Like Crewel, he'll conspire to keep you far, far away from the students that plan on capturing you and locking you away till the end of time. Tutoring to keep you far from the students, Detentions for the students to keep them far from you.

He'll introduce you to his daughter's, the members of your new family, and prepare to bring you home with him at the end of the school year. And then, he'll protect you for the rest of your life. He's a little more willing to allow you to marry another yandere, but he'll be very hard for them to win over. As your guardian, he needs to be sure that you're safe, loved and cherished.

Vargas, to him you're like his beloved niece and he's the uncle with a shotgun prepared to kill someone if you get a boyfriend. Once again, he's very protective. To start he'll teach you how to protect yourself. As the Phys Ed. teacher, expect that he'll train you to protect yourself, teaching you to fight and run like the wind to get away from them.

But if you can't protect yourself, he'll do it for you. If Vargas' Training Camp is any indicator, he'll send all the boys chasing you like animals to hell and back. And is prepared to beat them half to death if they try to make a move on you.

Sam, out of all of them, allows you the most freedom. He's still very protective, but with his friends on the other side keeping an eye on you and tripping up the routines of your romantic yanderes.

Sam's not above breaking the law for your sake. His shop has everything after all. On your many shopping trips to his shop, you'll start to find the things you really need placed into the bags free of cost. Special locks, that keep the doors and windows shut no matter how much magic of force is used. An iron dagger, made specifically to use against the fae. A device that can kill whatever tech is hidden in your room. Sam will give you anything and everything you need to protect yourself, before you even ask.

Unlike romantic yanderes, platonic yanderes will work together much, much easier. Their job is to protect you from the world that wants nothing more than to destroy you.

#ask #i love asks #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere #yandereverse au #platonic yandere

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animeomegas · 12 days ago

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rook is the type of character that i want to be mean to. ooh he a freak i bet if he finds an alpha he fancies he observes them very meticulously. ace would mention u off handedly, wondering where u were so that he can pass grim off to you and rook (who they didnt notice was there) would go "As we speak, they are approximately five meters east of Sam’s shop, holding a chilled banana milk. In three minutes, they will enter the nearest restroom. After which, they will walk to alchemy class—ten minutes early, as always.”

Ace would startle and would be like, "Dude?? How do you know that-"

Rook would sigh and look out the window, “C’est naturel, when one is enamored. To observe is to appreciate… and to prepare.”

hes such a freak, i say w all the irritation and love in the world

fdgjhdfgjdfg yes!

Honestly Rook needs an alpha who is also unhinged. He needs the kind of alpha that reads yandere stories sighing about how romantic it is lol.

I'm imagining an alpha who carries around a bunch of cardboard hearts, and at various intervals they hold one up for Rook to shoot an arrow through. It's their way of knowing which direction he's hiding in, which they find super cute! Everyone else is super concerned!

Or them messaging him that they're lonely late at night, and literally ten seconds after they sent the message they hear him tapping on their window.

He is another level of freak, I swear. And if MC falls for him, people will start speculating about how weird their original world must be for them to fall for Rook of all people. They don't know that their original world was even more normal than Twisted Wonderland, which is why they fit in better here! 😊

Also though, imagine omega Rook never nesting because he literally doesn't have the urge unless he's got an alpha to obsess over. And when he does then get the urge, the nest has to be built in his new amour's bed :) Nothing else will suffice.

#rook #a/b/o #omegaverse #headcanons #twst #twisted wonderland #omega rook

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placeinthemiddleofnowhere · 1 year ago

Text

Reign down on me - Part 7

Pairing: Ghost x Hybrid!reader (eventual poly!141)

No use of y/n or mention of gender/race

Summary: Reader is a wolf hybrid in a world that treats them like second class citizens, given a horrible start in life after being thrown into the military with no preparation. After years of struggle, they're finally taken away from their base by Ghost, now a permanent member of taskforce 141 reader struggles to come to terms with the fact that perhaps there's a life there for them - if only they reach out and accept it.

Warnings: hurt/comfort, Angst, abuse mentions, self doubt, violent scenes

Masterlist here

-🐺-

When you opened your eyes the world was drowned in darkness and you were in an unfamiliar room, sapping warmth from an oversized lump in the sheets. At first you froze like a statue, flicking your eyes around to see if you could make anything out. It was clear enough that you weren’t in your own bed, but even your advanced eyes couldn’t make a single thing out for the lack of any light.

The lump groaned and shifted, sprawling out like a tiger skin rug before retracting again. A heavy weight draped itself round your mid section, an arm you realised, that caused you to curse and pant for inside it’s unyielding hold. Ghost. Who else had arms the size of iron girders?

It should’ve been obvious to you, but your mind had been too foggy in the aftermath of your unexpected sleep. Had you taken a second to scent the air, you would’ve been greeted with his relaxing scent, but instead you’d fumbled around like a bear coming out of hibernation. At that realisation you scrunched your eyes closed and then opened them again, still feebly trying to see through the oppressive black of the room. It had to be Ghost’s room that you were in, the place was practically painted with his citrusy scent, with undertones of sage ever present and invading.

“Y’alright, Pup?” a groggy voice called out.

It sounded as if a pile of rocks had shifted from right next to you. Your ears twitched back at the sound and all at once you relaxed in his loosened grip, turning around to face him. Your noses were inches from touching. Not that you could see his, but you could feel the steady streams of his breaths trickling out from his sleepwear body.

“Um…yeah” you whispered, unsure of how to answer. “Why’d you take me to your bed?”

He yawned and uncurled his arm from your body, instead using his hand to trace little patterns up your arms.

“You seemed upset when I left you in yours. Only calmed down and stopped whinin’ when I let you curl up here,” he explained, sounding as if he was moments from drifting off again.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said hastily.

You couldn’t believe it! Why would you have whined at being left to sleep alone? Why would you stop when you got to sleep in Ghost’s bed? The revelations had you frowning and feeling markedly warmer than you already were. Your mind whirred at the idea that Ghost had witnessed you mewling like a little puppy at having to sleep in your own bed.

“I know. I didn’t want you having bad dreams after what happened yesterday, so I thought it was for the best,” he said simply, as if what he’d done was completely normal.

“I can handle those,” you said weakly.

“You don’t have to.”

You gulped down a thick lump in your throat and let the silence settle over you both. Though the room wasn’t completely quiet of course. Ghost’s steady breathing and the sound of your own pounding heart rattled around in your ears. Though your chest calmed its frenzy when Ghost drew you close again, urging you to burrow your head under his chin and into the soft cotton of his worn shirt.

The two of you stayed silent for a time after though neither of you fell asleep. Instead the time was spent mulling through your sluggish thoughts, wondering distantly if you should be trying to leave.

“I think you should reconsider your nesting situation,” Ghost said suddenly, breaking the silence.

“What?”

“You have a lot of bad dreams most nights. You were peaceful last night though,” he explained softly.

“Do they wake you up?” you asked, brows knitting together in worry.

You’d woken plenty of times before in your old barracks from others' bad dreams and in turn woken the others with your own. It wasn’t lost on you how annoying it was to try to get to sleep after being jolted awake and kicked into an adrenaline rush, lying there in the grey light of almost dawn with a pounding heart and the knowledge that you’d have to get to work again soon.

“Nah, told you before - I’m not a good sleeper. If I knew there was something that helped though I’d make sure I got to sleep properly every night.”

You huffed out an embarrassed laugh and shook your head, feeling his stubbly chin scratch the top of your head. It was only then that it occurred to you that he was maskless again. You wondered if that meant he was getting more comfortable around you, just as you were him.

“It was probably just a fluke,” you murmured, trying to hide your interest. “I’m not gonna hoard your clothes like some feral squirrel, Ghost.”

He laughed at that, the bassy tones reverberating through his wide chest and against your warming skin.

“It’s not hoarding and it doesn’t have to be my clothes. I can give you my duvet or I could get you a new blanket and sleep with it for a bit if you like, if that would make it feel more natural.”

“It’s not natural, its weird,” you huffed.

“You’re a hybrid, S’not weird,” he affirmed, stroking circled down your back. “It’s normal for you to need comforting scents and materials. My old partner used to keep a nest, we had an arrangement and it was fine.”

At that your ears flicked in curiosity. He’d never mentioned this ‘old partner’ before. All at once your mind flooded with questions and as it worked hard to process them all, you could barely hold onto one tightly enough to ask it.

“You had a hybrid before me?” you eventually said, voice small and unsteady.

Ghost paused. It was if he’d only just realised what he’d just said.

“Another wolf,” he confirmed, throat swelling and tense. “We were paired up after I passed my handler qualification. It was a long time ago - feels like a lifetime really. Spent four years together, he used to cuddle up with me just like this in my stupid little barracks bunk when he had rough nights.”

The elephant in the room stared down at you from on high. There was no avoiding it’s almost tangible bulk. So you asked the question that wanted to leap off the tip of your tongue.

��What happened to him?”

Ghost was ready for that, answering quickly. Though it didn’t sound like it hurt him any less to say it when it was spoken through gritted teeth.

“Killed in action.”

“Oh…I’m- I’m sorry.”

Was that the right thing to say? When other hybrids you’d worked with had died, there usually weren’t many mourners if any, though that was because you were under the care of Branhaven. You’d only met a few hybrids before that were in the care of handlers and it had been obvious that you’d always been intrinsically different from them, that they had far more value to their teams than you ever did as an unclaimed hybrid.

“Roach was a good lad,” Ghost said eventually. “He taught me alot in our time together, made me sharper with all his…’quirks’. Used to steal anything of mine that he could get his grubby little mitts on and drag it off to his bed, so to be honest it was a bit of a shock when I realised you weren’t going to be the same.”

Ghost laughed a little despite the sadness that tinged his careful words.

“With a name like Roach, I can only imagine what other quirks he had,” you smiled.

“Oh that one loved to get himself into trouble. I still remember the first time we went out with Price - very long time ago. Roach thought it’d be funny to steal his hat, this is before he started wearing the boonie mind you, at that point it was this old beanie that absolutely reeked of cigars. Found that out because while Price was ranting about having cold ears, I was asleep on top of it, before I got woken up by his bitching anyway. I took it out from under me when I woke up, confused as fuck as to why it was there, and then Price saw it and was going on and on about how childish it was to take it, and then I started arguing back and saying I wouldn’t do something so bloody stupid. All the while Roach was giggling to himself in the corner, the little shit.”

“He wasn’t scared of what Price would do?” You asked incredulously, trying to put yourself in the shoes of a hybrid that didn’t know the intimidating Captain half as well as you did.

“Roach wasn’t scared of a damn thing, beyond whatever shit he used to dream about anyway. It’s the reason he got called Roach in the first place, his real name was Gary. He used to run headfirst into danger and come out fine almost every time, that’s what they told me when they handed him off to me- ‘that wolf’s like a bug you can’t squash’...Course his luck ran out eventually. We got captured by an enemy group in Mexico and the bastards didn’t see the worth in keeping a hybrid around. Said they only needed me.”

“That’s awful.”

Another silence ensued. It made sense that Ghost had had a hybrid before you, he’d had a long career and he was so knowledgeable when it came to training with you that it made sense that he’d had plenty of first hand experience. Though it made your heart ache to think that he mourned for someone that was ripped away from him so long ago. The way he told those stories, you could hear the emotion etched in every word.

“Didn’t think I’d take on another hybrid on after him,” Ghost sighed, making you tilt your head in question, “but Price told me about you and kept badgering on about me being the only one in the team that was qualified to take you, kept saying that you didn’t deserve to rot away back at your home base and that you deserved a place here. I figured I owed it to him to at least go and check you out and well, I knew you had to be mine the minute I saw ya.”

“You saw a soggy mutt that was getting punished in an outdoor kennel and instantly had that epiphany?” You snorted.

“A soggy mutt that didn’t deserve to be there,” he corrected. “There was no way for me to have saved Roach while I was tied up and concussed to all hell, I made peace with that a long time ago. I knew that I was able to save you though; doing anything other than untying you and walking out of that base with the angry ball of fur in my arms felt like sacrilege.”

“Angry ball of fur,” you repeated with a tut, rolling your eyes so far back they crept into your inflection.

“You tried to bite me at least twice and you called me Mr.Bonejangles in the car. Angry ball of fur was about right, you little sod! Sitting there all wrapped up in your towel with your grumpy face and hair poking out every which way,” Ghost laughed. “I’m just lucky you calmed down after a good rest. Thought I was gonna have to take to permanently being in handling gloves after that first night.”

“I didn’t try to bite you that much.”

“You did. You were like a hungry crocodile. You had my life flashing before my eyes that day, was praying I’d get to keep all my fingers and toes.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic!”

Ghost’s laugh echoed around the room, hitting off of unseen walls somewhere inside the shadows. As much as you hated to think about a time before you knew Ghost, and actively tried to fight him, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you began to see that day through his eyes. You could only imagine what it must’ve been like to have met you then, knowing about your sketchy disciplinary file and admittedly bad track record for biting and scratching, Ghost couldn’t have had any clue what he was in for. In that moment you couldn’t have felt luckier, pressed into Ghost’s chest and getting to relax against him in his nice warm bed, when you could’ve been left to rot in those kennels.

Moments later, just as you were both settling back into the furrow of the mattress and had adjusted sheets to your liking, a high pitched alarm tone blared out and sent you both groaning. Ghost’s phone lit up from his side, finally shedding a little light into the room. From there you could see his bed was pressed up into the wall, as usual you’d assumed you’d made sure to be closest to the exit - even in your drowsy state. You still couldn’t make out much of the structure of the place.

“Suppose we better get up then,” Ghost groaned. “C’mon then.”

“I can’t see a thing in here, you’re gonna have to turn a light on or something,” you yawned, stretching out and readying yourself to start the day.

It was then that he saw fit to snatch the corner of his black out curtains and yank them back, sending you flying under the covers just to save your eyes. The duvet provided you shelter from the cold blue light and from under their safety you actively felt your pupils slowly unshrink from the tiny pinpoints they’d been forced to become.

“Why would you do that?” You groaned.

“Reckoned you needed a bit of a wake up,” Ghost shrugged, lifting the cover up so he could meet your eyes.

As annoyed as you were you were distracted from your grumpiness momentarily by his face. His smug smile was in full view, lips slanting to one side and pulling his scars taught. In the full light of the morning he looked like a weathered statue, bright highlights and harsh shadow carving out his sharp jaw like chiselled stone. You tilted your head at him and in turn he tilted his back in the opposite direction.

“See somethin’ on my face?” He joked, teeth flashing into view.

You shook your head and pursed your lips. A little heat rose to your cheeks.

“Just planning out the perfect place to bite you,” you lied.

“That so?” He asked, a sandy blonde eyebrow raising. “Sounds like I’m just gonna have to get you first then.”

At that he pinched your side and sent you yipping and scrabbling off the bed. Though that wasn’t enough to escape him. He gave chase, leaping off of the mattress, the bed groaning at the change in weight and thumped on the floor. The air blew through the fur in your ears, you ran that fast. Unthinkingly running to your own room before considering anywhere else.

With that you dove under your bed, dragging your sheets down to cover the space and yanking Simon in just as he’d fallen off the top. Ghost yanked your door open straight after, his bare feet slapping into the wood and taking careful steps forward. He sighed loudly when he reached the edge of your bed and stopped, feet stopping at your chest.

“I’d like to think you’ve been trained to evade enemies better than this, Pup,” he drawled.

You rolled your eyes, full well knowing you wouldn’t go running and hiding like that against someone you had full authority to kill.

Rather than let him crouch down and drag you out, you threw Simon up at him as a distraction and skittered out around him. In a matter of seconds you managed to gather yourself into a crouch and sprang up at his back, wrapping your arms round his shoulders and legs round his middle. From there you gently grazed your teeth against his neck in a fake bite and growled, announcing your victory to the otherwise empty room.

“Soap’s right, you’re a menace,” he laughed, untangling you from around him and bending backwards so he could set you gently back down on the floor.

“You brought work into it,” you huffed, folding your arms indignantly.

“Yeah yeah, cheap shot throwing your teammate at the hostile. Poor little fella getting sacrificed like that,” he said, holding out the puppy stuffed toy with a fake grimace.

“Simon woulda shaken it off, I had every faith in him,” you shrugged, setting him down on the bed carefully so that he rested against the pillows.

“Simon?” Ghost repeated, choking out a strangled sound that sounded somewhere between a laugh and a guffaw. “You named it Simon?”

“Yeah, after the hybrid from my books,” you said, nodding toward the graphic novels that were stacked by your bedside. “Why's that so funny?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, watching as a few different emotions crossed Ghost’s eyes. He chewed on his lip a second, eyes going wide and zeroing in on your sleeping buddy until he shook himself out of it.

“Nothing,” he smiled, clearing the awkward edge in his throat. “Good name that. Strong choice. Little Simon.”

“I think it suits him.”

“Yeah…Anyway, we need to get ready and get in for work. I’ve got a bit of a stacked day today, so we need to get you sorted. Gaz and Soap offered to take you through your exercises this afternoon and Price is gonna let you sit in his office till I can come get you in the evenin’. Pack your books so you’ve got something to occupy yourself with tonight, Cap’s not very chatty right now. Oh and remember, if you want anything for your bed just let me know, ok?”

-🐺-

Stacked day indeed. Ghost made you run laps through the assault course he’d had set up for you and just before he left, he’d made you practise some bite work with him. The irony wasn’t lost on you after your conversation that morning. He’d donned his leather gloves and neck protector and brought out a fake gun, making you attack him over and over so that you could practise non lethal takedowns.

As good as you were at the exercise, that didn’t stop Ghost from firing a couple foam bullets at you from time to time when you got too out of control, reminding you teresley that you weren’t supposed to be ripping detainees to pieces. As your wilder side took over during your work, you’d bark out raspy growls at him for the cheap shots, knowing full well he shouldn't be able to fire after you’d just decimated his fake arm. However the sensible part of your mind would echo out that it was far better than getting smacked with the plastic batons that your old trainers would carry to discourage your savagery.

“Well well well, what kinda training do you call this?”

Your head turned just as you’d brought Ghost down to the floor and you ceased your growling, tilting your head when your gaze landed on Soap. Gaz joined him at the side of the field moments later, just coming off of a phone call to see you still on top of Ghost.

“Oh yeah, we’re just having a bit of fun, Johnny. You know how much I love being mauled” Ghost grunted, tapping your thigh in short order. “You can get up now, Pup. Reckon you got me.”

You looked back down at Ghost and let out an embarrassed huff of air before rolling off him and standing up, dusting your dirty fatigues off. Some of the soft dirt smeared down them, leaving what would surely become a rough crust in its wake.

“Can’t believe you get to play with nerf guns and call it work,” Soap laughed, “That or the fact that you took the time to paint that thing black just so that it’d match your gear.”

“Well you’re welcome to take over if you think its so fun,” Ghost grinned, eyes cresting below his mask.

He unbuckled his thick leather gloves and threw them onto the grass at Soap’s feet, then tore the velcro off of his neck protector with a loud scratchy rip. Soap then looked back at you and visibility stiffened up, considering Ghost’s offer like it might be his death sentence. Gaz shoved him and laughed, going instead to approach Ghost and reach out for his gun.

“Look at this,” he whistled, turning it over and opening up the ammo compartment. “What is this? A ten round? You even got the grey bullets with the red tips. Very nice hardware, Sir.”

“Well it is the Elite Ranger PD-5 Blaster, Garrick. Fine piece of kit, so it is,” Ghost quipped. “Maybe one day you’ll earn your own one.”

“Well now I know what I’m asking Santa for,” Gaz smirked. “So, we taking over here?”

You looked back at Soap again who was eagerly looking at Ghost to find out the answer to that question. Ghost looked back at him and winked, a gesture you only caught because you knew to look out for their antics now.

“Nah,” Ghost finally answered, roughly raking his hands over your ears. “We made good progress today, I reckon we set Pup on anyone we need back alive, we’ve got a great chance of bringing at least seventy percent of the enemy still intact now.”

“Hey!” you growled. “I can bring people in just fine.”

“Oh sure, you can bring em’ in - in separate pieces of course - but you’ll get the job done,” he drawled, soon producing strangled notes as if he was choking. “‘Sorry sir, I would’ve given you the information but that damn wolf got my tongue.’”

Ghost laughed the way he always did when he was being cheeky, the rasping cackle crooning from his throat like a bear scratching up a tree. You had half a mind to do some scratching yourself, but instead you snatched the nerf gun from Gaz and shot Ghost in the chest a couple times. All of you silently watched as the foam bullets arced into his torso only to bounce off pathetically into the well trodden grass.

You knew then that you should’ve aimed for his forehead like he’d done to you.

“Friendly fire, is it?” Ghost questioned.

“Got you back,” you replied, tilting your chin in the air in defiance.

He tutted at you and mussed up your hair once again, rubbing his hands over your head with enough force to almost knock you back.

“I’ll remember that next time we train together,” he said menacingly, jabbing your side just as he’d done that morning.

You yelped and rubbed the tender spot, trying not to give into the laughter of the ticklish spot.

“For now though, you two have the absolute pleasure of learning hybrid hand signals,” Ghost said, directing his attentions toward Gaz and Soap. “Sad that I have to miss such a fun exercise, but I’m sure you’ll have plenty of giggles without me. I booked out building three and left you a handler’s manual open on the page there. I had some corporals set up a basic simulation for you, so you should be good to go once you get in. Anything you’re confused on, Pup should be able to explain.”

At that you groaned, shoulders slumping with the anticipation of the boring afternoon ahead. Back at Branhaven when they were training up new batches of handlers, you all had to take turns helping them through their coursework and modules - one of which being the hand signal module. That often meant long boring days being slowly and dramatically led around short courses and wildly gestured at until the new recruits were able to get the motions correct.

“You couldn’t have just let me do more biting?” you sighed.

Ghost chuckled and picked up the rucksack of things he’d set off to the side.

“What? And terrify this one half to death in the process? I don’t think so,” Ghost said, pinching Soap’s cheek playfully. “You’ll survive one slow afternoon. I’ll even sweeten the deal, you keep the nerf gun and if they get something wrong you have my permission to shoot them.”

Soap rubbed at his cheek with a glare and slapped Ghost’s arm away soon after. His blue eyes were all storms and indignation and his jaw was clenched tight as a vice. Meanwhile you were doing everything you could not to yip with obvious delight, settling instead for a slow tail wag.

“You don’t get to authorise that,” Soap said, rolling his eyes.

“What rank am I again?”

“That doesn-”

“It does actually. Have a good day, Sergeant,” Ghost interrupted, softly pretending to punch Soap’s shoulder. “Do me proud!”

Gaz laughed from next to you and waved Ghost off as he made his escape, narrowly avoiding getting hit by one of the leather mitts he’d set down earlier. Soap didn’t give chase after the failed throw though, instead he just stood grumbling to himself and eventually gathered the gear together and slung it into the holdall that Ghost had neglected to take with him. Once the bag dangled from his shoulder, he turned to you and Gaz and flung his head in the direction of the training buildings.

“So what’s this about hand signals? We gonna have to make you sit and fetch?” Soap asked.

“You tell me to go fetch and we’re gonna have problems,” you said, pumping the nerf gun’s ammo chamber for emphasis.

“Christ in heaven,” Soap muttered, heaving himself off across the field. “The things I put up with.”

-🐺-

The room was heavy with thick silence as you traversed your way around it. You might as well have been glued to Gaz’s side, one of the few sounds that were allowed to permeate the quiet was Gaz’s breathing and the metallic ting of the ancient filament lights. Every second that you walked, you obsessively watched Gaz’s hands, fixing your eyes on them as if they might hold untold treasures.

This was it, the last run through. Gaz paused at the same doorway you’d had to wait outside at least a dozen times already, and quickly held up his fist for ‘halt’. It helped that it was just the same as the standard hand signals that he’d been taught already. From there he pointed two fingers to his side and signalled for halt again. You nodded and moved next to him, looking from his hands to his eyes in quick succession while you waited for further instruction.

From there he cupped his hands by his ear and pointed at you. You twitched your ears, adjusting yourself so that you could listen out for any tell tale sounds of Soap skulking around from inside. Though there was nothing beyond the annoying skittering of the old ticking clock inside the fake office, so to confirm the silence you shook your head. Gaz then held his finger to the side of his nose and pointed at you, but you held your palm up and waved your other hand around it. Unclear. Smell was little use when you’d all run the training course together so many times, everything stank of the two men at that point.

Gaz nodded and thought for a second. Time might as well have been a sound, the continuous buzz of the lights or the shaking hands of the clock behind the door, your senses felt like they were blending into a big mush. You were glad when Gaz finally patted his back and held out his palm and then a single finger, signalling to walk back to back with him and watch his six.

You nodded again and did as asked, making quick work of slinking through the door as quietly as possible and advancing down the corridor beyond. Gaz looked right and left, checking through the first office room on the right quickly and efficiently and kept things moving down the hallway, readying to advance to the next room at the end of the hallway. This was it, there was only one place Soap could be now, you thought.

However, just as Gaz was heading down the corridor, you could’ve sworn you heard a noise. A faint almost wooden gasp, but it was something nonetheless. You grabbed Gaz’s arm and forced him to a stop, holding your hand to your ear so that he knew you heard something. He narrowed his eyes, honey irises appearing chestnut from under his shadowy gaze. After another few seconds you heard the sound of something making contact with the floor, hell you could've sworn you felt the vibrations of it at that point.

You looked up at Gaz with wild eyes and motioned your head down the hallway from the office that Gaz had assumed was safe. It wasn’t like there was much to sweep that you hadn’t already looked through on all your other runs, so he hadn’t been sloppy to dismiss the empty space. There was just a single desk with an exposed underside, the wall clock and a fake sink set up. The sink had a cupboard but it also had a slew of fake piping that made it impossible to squeeze inside. Or rather it should’ve.

As soon as you crept back down the hallway, you both stumbled onto Soap emerging from the cupboard like a spider creeping from a crack. He was all arms and legs as he tried to slyly remove himself from the tiny space and before he was able to see you and Gaz, Gaz blasted him with the nerf gun and you ran toward him, ensuring you were out of firing range and jumped up in front of him. Pieces of loose plastic piping scattered from all around the bottom cupboard, and he just about exploded from his skin when you got your face up close to his.

“Steamin Jesus! How’d you know I was in here?”

“We didn’t, I heard the cupboard opening though,” you explained, wagging your tail all the while.

Soap sighed and leaned back into the cupboard clutching his hand over his heart for a moment before sitting back up.

“I suppose I should be happy you’re on our team with those big satellites, fuzzy lugs,” Soap sighed.

“Hey!” You whined, flattening your ears. “They’re not big satellites.”

“Well not when you put them back like that,” Soap said, a sly smile piercing through his eyes before it reached his lips.

“Better big fluffy ears than big fluffy hair,” you huffed.

“Oooh,” Gaz smirked, “Get ‘im.”

“You canny insult the hawk,” Soap sniffed, running a hand through his messy locks. “Nothing you say will convince me this isn’t stunnin’.”

You rolled your eyes and sat back from Soap, about to let him get up when Gaz stopped you both. He held out his hand and demanded you wait a minute, causing you and Soap to turn to one another and frown until all became clear.

“Gotta get a good photo of our quarry, Pup. All the best hunters get their trophy photo,” Gaz explained, while holding his phone up and adjusting the angle.

Gaz adjusted his pose, tilting his nerf gun so that it crossed his chin and partially obscured his faux serious expression, meanwhile Soap sat back amongst the loose piping and accepted his fate, holding his fingers to his forehead in a fake gun gesture as if he were shooting himself. You weren’t sure what to do. No one ever asked you to be in pictures that weren’t mandated for the government website, so you didn’t know how to pose.

At the last minute you tilted your head and pulled out a cheeky grin just before Gaz took the photos, the screen flickering black a couple times before he started tapping at his screen and laughing. He walked over to you both and lowered his screen, letting you see the resulting photo that oozed chaos with the silly toy gun and you and Soap sitting atop the mess of piping.

“Ooft, sexy,” Soap whistled. “Get that up on tinder. You’ll get all sorts of tail with that.”

“Oh yeah, caption writes itself - ‘anyone wanna hold my blaster?’” Gaz sniggered, tapping away again. “That’s going on insta.”

You huffed out a surprise breath at that.

“You’re actually putting that up on your socials?” you asked, frowning.

Gaz ceased his tapping and tilted his chin up at you.

“Was gonna, why? do you not want it up?” he asked, showing you the photo again.

The screen tilted round to reveal a confirmation page with the photo sporting a slightly more dramatic filter. He’d been about to post it with a slightly less ridiculous caption at least ‘Mission success: blockage identified - Soap too big for the sink.’

That didn’t stop you from snorting at it of course.

“I don’t mind - just figured you’ll get people being strange about you showing off that you hang about with the little hybrid weirdo,” you shrugged.

“Aw, furball. You don’t have to worry about people finding you weird. Your ears aren’t that big and strange you know,” Soap said, rubbing your arm in mock sympathy. “They might not even qualify as full sized satellites, maybe just small radio towers or- Hey!”

You smiled smugly to yourself after flicking Soap on the nose, but quickly dropped the grin when Soap yanked you back by the shoulders and blew a big gust of air into one of your ears.

“No! Disgusting!” You squealed, wrestling him off and slapping him away while he laughed.

You rubbed at your ear, screwing up your entire face while you tried to work the feeling of Soap’s breath out of your fur and inner canal. The uncomfortable pressure ceased after a few seconds and finally you were able to stop cringing away from Soap enough to see Gaz shaking his head at you both.

“Aaand its posted. C’mon, we better start clearing out of here. You can fix that mess with the Pipes, Soap.”

“Fuck sake,” Soap cursed, looking around at his mess. “Thought this was gonna be worth it as well.”

His grumbling didn’t stop as he got through his work either. As he put the sink back together you sat on top of the desk by Gaz while he sat on the chair and scrolled through his phone. You didn’t really have anything to do, so you twisted the manual round that you’d been teaching the guys from and started flicking through the old yellowing pages. The corners felt like they might melt away from even just fingering through them, it was so ancient, but that wasn’t the only sign that the book wasn’t from your lifetime. After skipping to a random page, your eyes widened into saucers and your mouth almost dropped to the cold concrete below.

“What the fuck,” you breathed out loud, reading over the page contents with a dry mouth.

Gaz’s interest peaked at that. Out of the corner of your peripherals you saw his eyes drift from his phone to look over the page you’d pulled.

“Yo! What the hell is that about,” Gaz cackled, pulling his chair up and scraping it over the concrete to get a closer look. “Proper Maintenance of your Hybrid’s Hygiene? That’s nasty.”

Soap looked over from his work and frowned.

“What’s so nasty about that?”

“Nah, I can’t tell you. You gotta come over here and see this, mate.”

You frowned down at the book, casting your eyes over the frankly awful illustrations therein with a sickening mix of horror and gratitude for not having to have experienced anything depicted in them for yourself. Below the section title, In the two little boxes with smaller boxes off shooting from them were mirror images of a man standing over a bathtub with a hybrid in it, however in one box there was a female hybrid and the other a male. In the smaller boxes were close up pictures of the illustrated hybrids' tails, ears and genitals with captions that explained the proper way to keep them clean and healthy.

“As you will well know, being experienced handlers in training,” Gaz read aloud, using a posh old timey voice, “Hybrids do not have the mental capacity that humans possess. As such, they are simply not capable of keeping themselves adequately clean, which means this is a care requirement you must oversee yourself at least once a week. Following the diagrams above you must draw a bath for your hybrid and have them clean their bodies under your guidance and ensure their tails, ears and extremities are maintained to regulation. You must make sure to prevent water flooding their ear canals, as this can cause infection, you must clean and detangle/deshed their tails using a long tooth or a short tooth brush depending on their fur texture, and you must ensure their genitals/nethers are kept cleaned of any discharge, excrement, c-crust build up or- fuckin hell I can’t. This is actual slander. How did they get away with writing this?”

“This is some absolute specist nonsense,” you scoffed, taking the manual from Gaz, who was slowly losing it to soundless laughter, and turning it so that it faced you.

“So in this section it’s basically hammering it into you that I’m apparently too dumb to wash my own shit covered ass, and then in thiiiis page…” you trailed, flicking back a few pages to a title that had almost caught your interest before, “yeah here. In this section it details ‘training techniques and guides for making your hybrid competent in use of blades and blunt weapons.’ So essentially I have to be watched to make sure I get my fuckin ‘crust’ or whatever cleaned off because I’m an incompetent beast, but I can also be reasonably expected to wield a fucking machete! What kind of bullshit is this?!”

Soap and Gaz were dead silent for a few seconds, lips sealed firmly shut and eyes wide as you waved the page around that had the giant sword diagram. That is, until the moment they both looked at each other. After that they burst out into floods of laughter, clutching their chests and howling like animals themselves until tears started falling down their cheeks.

“It’s not funny!” you growled, taking another look through the ‘guide’ for anymore terrible tidbits.

“It’s not, it’s really not,” Gaz affirmed, trying to hold in his giggles. “It’s really fucked up, but c’mon, mate. Crust!”

“They didn’t even have to go into that crust shite, but the fact they went on and actually specified the parts in the diagram that had to be cleaned and all that,” Soap wheezed, “I don’t know who the experience is worse for! Where did Ghost even pull this crap from? Did he time travel back to 1945?”

You groaned and turned to the front page, ears drooping back when you found the publishing date.

“Man, this is from the fucking seventies,” you frowned, realising what torments could’ve befallen you had you been born just a bit earlier. “Wait…you guys don’t think this is Ghost’s personal copy…”

You cut yourself off. All of you were silent.

“Well its possible they could’ve just issued Ghost with an old copy rather than print new ones,” Gaz shrugged, voice weak from laughing so much already. “You know what budgeting’s like.”

“Hold the bus, I’m gonna google something,” Soap announced, pulling his own phone out his trousers and quietly muttering to himself. “Hybrid hygiene, British army regulations…here we go…from the 1960’s hybrids were able to voluntarily join the army or be transferred in from institutes for displaced hybrids and… hygiene was taught in handler training courses and monitored by…then up until 20- steamin’ jesus.”

“What?” you and Gaz sounded off in unison.

“Essentially says here that the practice of teaching hybrid hygiene and monitoring it didn’t completely end in all British bases until well after Ghost joined up which means…-”

“Ghost is probably a certified crust inspector,” you said gravely.

At that you all burst out laughing. The room practically shook, none of you could contain yourselves, the sounds ricocheted off the walls and exploded in your ears. Though you couldn’t muster the wherewithal to care. For a few moments you all laughed in a joint heap until slowly you all came back to yourselves and closed the manual, doing all you could to stop yourself from launching it out the skylight above.

“That’s fuckin awful stuff,” Soap said, finally getting back to finishing up with the sink. “Glad I never signed up for any o’ that pish. I’ll gladly take apart a bomb before I have to supervise you in the tub, furball.”

“Me too,” Gaz sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Least you’ll never have to get bathed and de-crusted. Almost puts a silver lining on Branhaven if you never had to deal with that, huh?”

“God, I never thought I’d say it, but thank you Maddox for being a neglectful dick,” you muttered, giggling after Gaz snorted from next to you.

-🐺-

Later on that day, after Soap and Gaz had dropped you off with Price, the full schedule that you’d been handed weighed heavily on you. You drooped over Price’s sofa and were barely able to read more than a few pages of your new book until you gave up and slumped fully into the cushions.

You happily dozed off with the sound of Price’s accompanying pen scratches and mutterings, your lips curving into a soft smile against the saggy old cushions. Cigar smoke and musk cradled your prone form and with just the gentlest hint of spiced citrus, you were letting it carry you off to sleep.

However, before unconsciousness could fully take you, a loud unfamiliar knock sounded at Price’s door and shattered you from any notion of rest. Your heart beat rapidly, chest thumping heavily and you sat up fully and at attention.

You looked over at Price, watching as he put down his pen and shuffled his papers. He made a brief second of eye contact and shrugged as if to tell you that he didn’t know who it was until he looked back toward the darkened door. He’d yet to turn his main light on, instead he sat commanding the room from his lamplit desk.

“Yes. Who is it?” he barked, rubbing his weary eyes.

“Captain, it’s Major Kelly, I need to speak with you about an incident involving your team’s hybrid. Can I come in?” Called a lilting Irish voice.

Your ears perked up and again you looked at Price, but he didn’t look back at you this time. He set his jaw in a tight line and folded his hands up across the top of his desk, thumping them heavily into the wood.

“Door’s open, Major,” he called, voice booming in a way you hadn’t heard it before. “Let’s hear it.”

#simon ghost riley #Simon Riley #Ghost #mw2 #ghost x reader #Hybrid!reader #reign down on me

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chuckeroo777 · 11 months ago

Text

Laios got Eaten AU Chapters 1-52

So, I was pondering a lot (as I do), and was thinking about this AU. Here's my take on it. Sorry if my grasp on characterization isn't the best. Expect lots of Farcille.

This is mostly a plot point based summary, going chapter by chapter. If something isn't elaborated on, assume it's the same as canon.

Note: This first installment ends at the same point as the anime, but as a manga reader, there are spoilers for later in the canon story.

Edit: Wowzers, that ended up being over 4,000 words! Guess I had more to say than I thought.

This is pretty long, so I'll begin under the cut.

Chapter 1:

Unlike Laios' self deprecating take on this scenario, the rest of the team doesn't immediately give up on him. Marcille and Chilchuck are his friends, and if Falin thinks it's possible, then they're in.

Namari leaves of course, but Toshiro is more complex. He argues with Falin, trying to convince her not to embark on such a risky mission, and may accidentally frame it as Falin choosing between him and Laios. Falin, of course, picks Laios. Toshiro leaves, dejected. After feeling sorry for himself for a while, he gets his retainers and heads after her, hoping to offer backup.

Falin proposes the dungeon eating plan, having casually discussed the possibility with Laios in the past. Without the gourmet guide, she isn't as knowledgeable about monsters, but she is pretty good at identifying stuff from her days of eating weird stuff in the woods, so she can tell the walking mushroom isn't poisonous. She also manages to grab the scorpion, having messed with crayfish as a kid.

Unlike Laios, she doesn't try to eat the venom, but they still struggle, and Senshi comes in to help. Falin is very excited to have such an expert helping them out, and is happy to have him join the team.

In general, Marcille is just as squicked out by monster cuisine, but she tries to put on a brave face for Falin. In fact, her attempts to be more accepting results in her not yelling at Senshi, so the slime doesn't attack her.

Chapter 2:

They go after the man-eating plants, and things mostly go down the same. Without Laios, it takes a little longer for Falin and Senshi to figure out how to save Marcille, going for the root. Marcille gets seeds planted in her skin, but Falin is able to heal her and get them out.

Chapter 3:

Senshi takes them Basilisk hunting, and Marcille is dismayed to see Falin knows the trick for intimidating Basilisks, a sight she will not soon forget. While Senshi slices the snake, Falin caves the chicken's head in.

While Senshi prepares the Basilisk, Falin is able to use a detox spell on Doni. The two still stay to eat though.

Chapter 4:

Events mostly play out the same, though Falin is a bit more gentle in rejecting Marcille's help. Falin admits to having skipped class the day they learned about mandrake harvesting.

Chapter 5:

Chilchuck uses Falin's metal staff instead of the sword to find the passage. When they go to get the oil, Falin casts a fire-ward spell on Chilchuck, just in case. Senshi declines to take one too.

Chapter 6-7:

Without Laios' insights, they deem the living armor too dangerous after the first attempt, and take a slightly different route to the third level.

Much to Marcille's chagrin, they run into a nest of giant rats, and they end up having giant rat stir-fry instead.

Chapter 8:

Falin thinks Senshi's utilization of the golems is absolutely delightful.

Chapter 9:

Falin is rather uncomfortable with Chilchuck's suggestion to trade at the seedy bar, but doesn't argue.

Events with the orcs go more or less the same. Falin thinks Bahay is very cute.

Chapter 10:

No Kensuke, so they get ambushed by the bugs. Chilchuck gets bitten, but Falin is able to heal him.

Falin applies much better ghost wards than Marcille. In fact, she quickly realizes they are just paralyzed, and is able to heal them. Yeah, no. That would have way too big of a butterfly effect on the story. Maybe she's too distracted by the pretty bugs to notice.

Unlike Marcille, Falin thinks the centipedes are adorable. In fact, she secretly takes one and hides it in her pack to keep as a pet.

Chapter 11:

As one would expect, the ghosts are a complete non-issue. No ice cream for them.

Chapter 12-13:

No one in this party is crazy enough to bother with the living paintings. Without the delay, they are able to make camp at the level 4 entrance, bypassing the mimic.

Senshi catches some fish, and they have a very nice dinner.

Chapter 14:

Mostly the same, except instead of Laios, Senshi is saved by Falin. She has experience in such manners.

Chapter 15:

Sadly, Falin does not know the song, so they have to resort to earplugs. This leads to a silent but amusing argument where Chilchuck has to talk down Falin from eating fish-men without words. Falin does not pull the waterweed stunt.

Chapter 16:

The kraken battle is pretty much identical.

Unlike Laios, Falin has eaten calamari before, having gone to that restaurant with Marcille several times. She is very disappointed the kraken tastes bad.

Senshi cooks up the parasite, and Falin doesn't eat any raw.

Chapter 17:

No one is sick, so this chapter doesn't happen.

Chapter 18:

Marcille has a sponge bath and insists Falin take one too. Chilchuck is annoyed by their flirting, but Senshi thinks it's cute.

When the Undine attacks, Falin is able to waterwalk and help Marcille, but neither of them has particularly good magic for fighting an undine. Both are badly injured, but they manage to escape.

Falin is able to heal both of them, but they are both left very hungry, and relatively low on mana. They have a barbecue to help them recover.

Chapter 19-20:

The Tansu party arrives. Tensions aren't quite as high between Marcille and Namari, but it's still there.

After Tansu fails to pacify the Undine. the two parties agree to help each other out. First, they help get down to the tower. A well placed fireball saves Kiki from the tentacles. Sadly, without Laios' knowledge, they can't eat them, at least not as easily.

When coming up with a plan to stop the undine, the idea to trap it is brought up, and they basically use the same plan, except Namari is in on it from the start.

After killing it, Falin suggests eating it, and the two groups enjoy some kelpie stew before departing opposite ways.

Chapter 21:

More or less plays out the same. Chilchuck suggests making the suits, to which Falin enthusiastically agrees. Senshi makes froggy hash instead of pasta, since he doesn't know how to neutralize the stinging.

Marcille puts on the frog suit without complaint since Falin puts one on first.

She attempts to take it off to much complaint still.

Chapter 22:

Most identical chapter yet. Namari asks about Laios instead of Falin. That's it.

Chapter 23:

Plans are made to take down the red dragon. With Falin here, their warding spells are much better, but no Laios means Senshi is the only proper warrior. Falin is a decent fighter, and plans to join Senshi and Chilchuck on the frontline. They search the orc's storehouse and find some spears, which will hopefully be enough for the inverse scale.

They mostly come up with the same plan. Crush the dragon, then kill it.

Chapter 24-25:

The pot defenses fail, and they go ahead and crush the dragon. When the dragon emerges, Falin is able to execute the plan, stabbing the dragon as they play dead. However, she isn't able to stab deeply enough before the dragon recoils, the spear getting pulled away from her, landing some distance away.

Senshi tries to stab the dragon in the foot, but the spear breaks. Things go as they do in canon, with Senshi and Chilchuck managing to toss Falin the spear and blind the dragon in one eye.

Falin meets up with Marcille, and ends up pulling the same self-sacrificing gambit Laios did, stabbing the dragon in the throat while dangling from its mouth.

Chapter 26:

Falin falls unconscious, and has a dream about when Laios first left home, leaving her behind. And how he later promised to never leave her behind again.

Marcille still has to heal Chilchuck and Senshi herself, since Falin is in no state to do it herself. They retrieve her leg, and Falin is able to finish healing all four of them.

They begin carving into the dragon, with Senshi taking the lead. Laios' intrusive thought fun facts end up saving the day, reminding Falin about the flame sac.

Chapter 27:

Falin doesn't even bother mentioning the resurrection office, already knowing what must be done. Marcille doesn't hesitate to offer her ancient magic as the solution.

Falin is able to assuage Chilchuck's concerns a little better than Marcille did, clarifying that the ancient magic is just used to perform magic of a magnitude impossible with just natural mana. He still doesn't quite buy it, but doesn't protest further.

Putting Laios' skeleton together takes longer, since no one here is super knowledgeable about dog skeletons. They get it eventually though.

Marcille does the ritual. Falin thinks Marcille is hot when she lets her hair down like that.

Laios is revived successfully, and everyone is incredibly happy.

Chapter 28:

No bath scene. :(

Laios is incredibly curious about their journey, and is running his mouth asking questions. He is extremely excited that his monster eating idea worked, and is practically glued to Senshi for a while asking questions. Due to his presence, Senshi doesn't explode the dragon.

Marcille isn't surprised in the least by Laios' enthusiasm, and is just glad to have her friend back. They enjoy their little dragon feast, regaling Laios with their tales of monster eating.

Unlike Falin, Laios does not realize that forbidden magic was used to revive him, and apologizes profusely for abandoning Falin, even though she insists it wasn't his fault.

Chapter 29:

When Thistle summons Laios, a ghost wakes Falin up. She wakes the others, and they go looking for him.

Unlike Falin, Laios doesn't gain magical power from the dragon, instead getting an even bigger boost to his strength. Falin isn't just knocked unconscious, but is badly injured by his punch.

Not even being dominated by the mad mage can stop Laios from yapping. As he is transformed, he gives Thistle tips, causing his chimera form to be significantly more dangerous, featuring a bigger but more slender build and bigger wings, allowing him to actually fly. As well as a few other embellishments, such as tail spikes and small horns.

The ghosts save the party, and things proceed as normal.

Chapter 30:

Chilchuck's arc is mostly the same, except that it is easier to convince Falin once she wakes up. Healing the internal bleeding Laios caused took a lot out of her, and both her and Marcille are tapped of magic. They agree to return to the surface.

Chapter 31:

Literally Identical.

Chapter 32:

Kabru's deductions are mostly the same, only altered slightly due to being warded by Falin instead of Marcille.

Shuro isn't quite as haggard. Falin isn't actively dead, so he doesn't feel the need to run himself ragged. Funny enough, taking better care of himself ends up canceling things out, and he arrives at Kabru's group at about the same time.

Chapter 33:

Senshi and Chilchuck have to fight the Dryads by themselves. They use the axe instead of Kensuke. Not that Laios helped much, but the first dryad manages to attack Senshi, leaving him in much rougher shape by the end of the fight.

Thankfully, he makes a full recovery once Falin recovers some mana from the yummy pottage.

Once Falin is recovering, she suggests teleporting out of the dungeon, but Marcille flat out refuses to let Falin do that again. It's way too risky. Now that they have a source of food, mapping out the area should be simple.

Chilchuck does not escape the sex ed.

Chapter 34:

A dramatic reenactment of chapter 34:

They still need to spend several days making the map, but at least petrification isn't an issue.

Chapter 35:

The ghost warns Falin about the wyvern, and they hide in the wall, so business as usual.

When Marcille accidentally puts on the frog suit, Falin decides to put hers on too. This somehow makes Marcille more mortified, not less.

Recognizing Falin, the ninjas don't attack. Marcille is annoyed how happy Falin is to see Toshiro, considering the bad terms he split off on.

Chapter 36:

Since Falin has been enthusiastic, but not overbearing about monster food, Chilchuck chooses to go with Senshi even more easily.

Falin explains what happened to Toshiro, leaving out the ancient magic. Toshiro has no reason to think Falin wouldn't be able to revive Laios. He is happy to learn that she intends to return to the surface, and he plans to try and talk her out of returning once safe on the surface.

Kabru can tell Falin is lying about something, but remains quiet.

Chapter 37:

Even though harpies show up, everything seems to be going well, until Hien splatters on the ground. The Laigon quickly proves to be a ferocious foe, with razor sharp claws, a vicious thagomizer, and the ability to easily fly out of reach, or drop opponents from deadly heights.

Marcille didn't know that sufficient brute force could splatter an Undine to death, but apparently so.

Falin watches in horror as she can see an almost joyous look in his eyes. He would never do this of his own volition... but he clearly doesn't hate it.

When Rin grounds the Laigon with lightning, Falin steels her resolve and charges in to pummel his weak point, but he smiles and says her name.

Chapter 38:

After Kabru fails to kill him, the Laigon is too powerful, and kills Kabru before Falin can do anything. Seeing the Laigon about to attack Falin, Marcille hits it with an explosion.

Snarling, the Laigon looks like it's about to pounce at Marcille and company, causing Falin to fully freak out and unleash her strongest offensive spell, causing several massive rocky spires to erupt and impale the Laigon from below, and accidentally hitting Rin in the process.

Screaming and convulsing in pain, the Laigon takes for the sky, fleeing as fast as it can, leaving behind a thick trail of blood.

With both Falin and Holm alive, as well as Marcille not being barred from helping, the revivals go smoothly.

Toshiro ends up getting into a shouting match with Falin regarding her goal of saving Laios. Falin insists that if they defeat the mad mage, they can save him. He insists that trying to do so at this point is suicidal.

In the heat of the moment, Toshiro declares that Laios isn't even worth saving, and Falin slaps him. The conversation comes to an abrupt end, with both severely regretting their actions. Toshiro walks off to think, while Marcille comforts Falin, who seems on the verge of tears.

Toshiro ends up apologizing, saying he can't understand her decision, but he will respect it. He has Maizuru give them supplies so they can head down immediately, and gives Falin the bell.

Asebi overhears Marcille speculating with Chilchuck about the Laigon, and the possibility of the dragon's soul getting mixed in due to her revival magic.

Kabru leaves with a higher opinion of Falin than he did of Laios, because while she seemed fascinated by monsters, she wasn't as crazed about it as him. Plus she didn't offer him a harpy omelette, so that helps.

Chapter 39:

Without the living paintings, they aren't able to quite grasp the mad mage's motives, but are still hopeful that they can talk to him.

And then the shapeshifters happen.

Chilchuck's Falin is an airhead, reflecting her calm demeanor and lack of commanding presence, even though she is ostensibly the leader without Laios around.

Senshi's Falin looks just like his Laios, but with longer hair. They look identical to Senshi.

Falin's Chilchuck is colder and more even-tempered than the real Chilchuck. She appreciates his levelheadedness and maturity.

Falin's Senshi is always spouting fun facts about food and food prep, and is always smiling. Senshi reminds her a lot of her brother's passions.

At first, the group is confused. They seem to be short two fakes. But then they find Falin's Marcille and Marcille's Falin making out in one of the cells. Both are too shy to admit their feelings, but apparently their mental images aren't so shy about it.

Once obvious stuff is out of the way, and equipment has been checked, Marcille and Falin have been found, but Chilchuck's Senshi, Marcille's Chilchuck, and Falin's Chilchuck are still around.

Chapter 40:

Marcille and Falin manage to eliminate Chilchuck's Senshi, since they both get a weird feeling from it, and all three Chilchucks agree it's the right Senshi, practically confirming it to be Chilchuck's.

The Chilchucks prove much trickier, until Falin comes up with an idea. We skipped chapter 13, so Falin suggests the Chilchucks provide their age. Marcille's says 20. Falin's says 45. Chilchuck is able to explain those guesses are way off the mark, and as the only one able to give a proper explanation of half-foot age ranges, he is clearly the correct one.

With all the copies locked up, the shapeshifter gives up and goes to find other prey.

Asebi ambushes the party as normal afterwards.

Chapter 41:

There is a bit of confusion at Asebi's accusations, since Marcille never confessed to using ancient magic, but Asebi overheard her talking about how she may have blended Laios' soul with the dragon, and that is not something someone does on accident. Clearly she must have been using black magic to do something like that.

Nonetheless, Marcille agrees to break the collar's magic, and things proceed the same. Falin attacks the hag with her mace-staff, creating a messier cut, but functionally the same.

The explanation of their goals goes about the same, including Falin being rather happy to meet Izutsumi, though she's a little less weird about it, talking about how Laios was fine before the mage kidnapped him, and that hopefully he'll go back to that state of mind when saved.

Chapter 42:

In Falin's nightmare, the Laigon appears and tries to kill her, but Falin becomes lucid before it can strike.

Falin goes into Marcille's nightmare to help her. Being more experienced with this sort of thing, she is able to calm Marcille down, and cause her to become lucid, dispelling the nightmare without violating Marcille's private traumas.

They then spend the rest of the lucid dream having fun together. I'll let you decide how much those shapeshifter clones inspired their behavior.

Senshi cooks the nightmares, and much to the girls' dismay, the dream is shown for all to see. Everyone agrees not to bring it up again.

Chapter 43:

While searching the recovered packs, Falin is delighted to find the Dungeon Gourmet Guide. She was afraid it had been digested with Laios.

Note: Falin should be seeing the ghost by now, but I don't want to break up the chapter flow, so just assume the ghost got caught in ghost traffic.

Without Laios to block them, Marcille gets impaled by a few stalactites, and Falin has to tend to her. The fight goes as normal.

Izutsumi is able to undress without anyone being weird about it.

When doing the sauna thing, Chilchuck can't help but notice how closely Marcille and Falin are sitting. He tried to block the dream out of his mind, but it's clear that now that the feelings are out in the open, that's just how they're going to act from now on. He just hopes this doesn't cause any issues.

Chapter 44:

Falin finds the boiled mandrake quite tasty, and so doesn't question it when Izutsumi gives her a second.

When arguing over dinner, Falin is just as baffled as Izutsumi regarding the Barometz. As they run over, she flips through the guide, discovering the potential danger a few seconds too late.

Izutsumi and Marcille run off to do their thing. Falin panics and does something dumb. She starts barking. She isn't as good as Laios, but it's enough to scare off the wolves. Chilchuck isn't even surprised at this point.

Chapter 45:

Pretty much goes the same. Toshiro plans to report the Chimera, at least so people know to be wary, and Falin is just as careless with the bell as Laios.

As they eat their eggs, the ghost finally catches up and Falin is happy to chat.

Chapter 46:

Our party arrives in the golden country. Falin wants to check out the monster corrals, just like Laios, but while he was ecstatic about minotaur milking, Falin is much more charmed by the opportunity to pet the basilisk chicks.

Falin becomes extremely flustered at the sight of Marcille in a pretty dress. Unlike Laios, Izutsumi lets her pet her.

Since minotaur was not requested, they are served basilisk cordon bleu.

Sadly, the running joke of turning ghosts into ice cream is dead.

"One shall come who bears a staff of living wood." With Laios out of the picture, Marcille is the lion's next choice of champion.

Marcille really isn't sure what to think about this. Her? Become new queen of the land?

She ultimately gives no conclusive answer, but the possibility of gaining dominion over this land where no one ever dies is tempting.

Marcille and Falin share the double bed, while Chilchuck gets the single bed to himself. At least until Izutsumi curls up on him.

Chapter 47:

Breakfast goes smoothly, and they head back into the dungeon.

Things in the cistern go mostly the same, though Falin also thinks the griffon is Laios. Senshi doesn't panic until the griffon actually appears.

Chapter 48:

Marcille puts her plan into action, and Falin carries her.

With the second familiar, Falin suggests shaping it like a dragonfly, since they are very fast and agile. It isn't as fast as the wyvern, but it dodges a lot easier. The third familiar is still sky fish.

Once the griffon is defeated, Falin suggests eating the sky fish. Marcille objects, but she can't say no to Falin's smile.

And Senshi shares his story.

Chapter 49:

Unlike Laios, Falin doesn't push Senshi to try the griffon. She suggests cooking it, since they don't want to waste good food, but Senshi doesn't have to try it if he doesn't want to.

Senshi decides to go for it. You can decide if he's traumatized further, or if changelings follow logic, and meat without any spores on it (since it was cut from inside the griffon), and was then "washed" by turning it into soup turns back into hippogriff. Senshi tastes the "griffon" soup, and is immeasurably relieved.

Changlings are a lot of fun, but they sure open some plot holes. By all accounts, it should have reverted to hippogriff soup.

Look, this is my silly what-if AU, things don't have to be perfect.

Chapter 50:

Falin is a dwarf now. She sucks at magic, but now she can really smash some heads in.

Falin thinks half-foot Marcille is adorable. Marcille isn't sure what to think of dwarf Falin.

When they reach the door, Falin is surprised when her pet pearlipede crawls out unbidden and unlocks the door.

Despite the disadvantages, Falin's mace proves super-effective against the gargoyles, managing to defeat one, but tiring out while one is still left. They flee through the door.

Now that the party knows she has it (and that it's oddly useful), Falin starts wearing her pet as a bracelet.

While preparing dumplings, Falin ponders if maybe the griffon wasn't actually a griffon, but Chilchuck shuts her down before she can accidentally re-traumatize Senshi.

Chapter 51:

Falin notices Marcille's strong adverse reaction to the news that half-foots only live fifty years, but doesn't say anything.

Falin suggests the possibility of using the changelings on Laios, though unlike him, she doesn't consider that the two halves might change separately. She just imagines them turning the whole Laigon into a gnome or something.

When the last gargoyle arrives, Falin's staff gets knocked out of her grasp, and thrown by the gargoyle.

They use the knowledge from the transformed staff to defeat the last gargoyle. Sadly, Marcille does not get to fly.

Falin washes her staff.

Chapter 52:

Senshi grows curious and asks about Laios. Falin talks about how Laios always had trouble fitting in, and it wasn't until he started dungeon diving that he finally seemed able to make friends and be happy. Falin had dropped out of magic school because she didn't want Laios to be alone.

Marcille starts crying and clinging to Falin. She talks about how she used to hate Laios. But as they adventured together, he became like a brother to her. Falin starts crying too. Izutsumi sits by Chilchuck to avoid all the tears.

Senshi proposes his bacon and eggs plan. Falin can't find any issue with his reasoning, and thinks its a great idea, but Chilchuck points out how long it will take to eat that much meat. They start making plans for the foreseeable future.

Thistle tries to stop the Laigon from eating a walking mushroom, but is unsuccessful.

Chapters 53-85

Chapter 86-Finale

#delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi #manga spoilers #anime spoilers #spoilers #falin touden #laios touden #marcille donato #farcille #alternate universe #role swap au #Laios got Eaten #dungeon meshi fanfic #fanfic #chimera laios

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lilahlovesjjk · 3 months ago

Text

🇼🇭🇪🇳 🇮 🇬🇷🇴🇼 🇺🇵

Chapter 2

synopsis: You and Satoru Gojo used to be inseparable—the kind of childhood best friends that promised to get married, rule the world, and never leave each other’s side.

Then life happened.

Now, years later, you’re both enrolled in the same elite psychology graduate program—only this time, you’re rivals. Gojo’s loud, flirty, obnoxiously charming, and infuriatingly good at everything. You're focused, sharp, constantly proving yourself—and desperate not to let the past (or him) throw you off course.

warnings: angst, slowburn (kinda), swearing, eventual nsfw, (i'll add to the list if I think of any more as the story progresses)

The classroom smells faintly of floor polish and anxiety.

It’s too early for the heating system to have kicked in properly, so a draft snakes in from under the windows, biting at your ankles and raising goosebumps along your arms. The room itself is clean but impersonal, with rows of sterile gray tables and plastic-backed chairs bolted to the floor in that “we value discomfort” kind of way. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, flickering just enough to be noticeable, and the projector screen at the front flashes through the rotating screensaver of a university-issued desktop—blue, black, blue, black.

You’re early today.

You claim your spot in the second row, middle seat, as you did yesterday. Close enough to see the board, far enough not to be a target for Dr. Yuki’s laser-focused questions. It's a sweet spot—the psychological equivalent of a security blanket.

There are maybe twenty-five students enrolled in this seminar. Psychology of Development and Attachment—a first-year graduate course notorious for being both rigorous and emotionally taxing. Most of your classmates drift in slowly, coffee cups clutched like lifelines, still shaking off the remnants of sleep or the residue of all-night reading marathons. You clock a few familiar faces: the girl with bubblegum-pink headphones and a massive laptop, the guy with the vintage band tees who never takes notes, and the duo in the back row who already whisper like they’re conspiring against the entire department.

You crack open your laptop, its screen casting a soft glow over your lined notebook and highlighter collection—color-coded, of course. The soft click of keys fills the space as you pull up your readings, double-check your notes, and reread your outline from the night before. You like being prepared. It’s your thing.

Still, your fingers twitch at the edges of the desk.

Your mind hums with leftover thoughts from yesterday’s lecture—your debate with Gojo still playing in a loop you didn’t ask for. You shake it off. Focus.

The second day of class is the real first day, anyway. Yesterday was syllabus skimming and awkward icebreakers. Today is where the work starts. You're ready for that.

At least, you thought you were.

The door swings open at exactly 10:04 a.m., and the temperature in the room seems to shift.

“Morning, my adoring fans,” comes the sing-song voice, smooth and self-assured.

You don’t even have to look. You already know.

Gojo Satoru strolls in like he owns the building, not just the classroom. Aviator sunglasses. Hair that looks styled by divine intervention—or a leaf blower. A single dangling earring glints against his pale neck. He’s holding two coffees from the café downstairs, one of them obnoxiously labeled with a heart drawn in marker.

You look down at your notes and pretend to read.

“Wow,” he says, sliding into the empty seat beside you—the only one left open, of course. “You really do keep choosing the same seat. Is it like a nesting thing? You imprint on desks?”

You don’t respond. Maybe if you pretend he doesn’t exist, he’ll disappear.

“Good morning to you too,” he adds, placing one of the coffee cups in front of you with a little flourish. “Black, two sugars. Still your thing?”

Your eyes flick up despite yourself.

“…How do you even know that?”

Gojo shrugs, pleased with himself. “Some things never change.”

You arch a brow. “And some things really should.”

He laughs, the sound bright and infuriating. “You wound me, really.”

The room fills a little more with students arriving late, chairs scraping against the floor and bags thudding against desk legs. Dr. Yuki still hasn’t arrived yet, which only gives Gojo more time to lean into your space, legs stretching out too far and arms braced too casually behind his head.

“You're early,” you mutter, lifting the coffee despite your instincts.

“I had to come early,” he says dramatically, “to emotionally prepare myself for being in your presence.”

You sip. It’s perfect. Of course it is.

You scowl into the cup. “Stop trying to bribe me.”

“Too late. I’m winning you over. You just don’t know it yet.”

He turns fully toward you, propping his chin in one hand as he studies you. “So, how was the rest of your day after our little intellectual showdown yesterday? Get mobbed by classmates asking for your autograph? Fan letters? Marriage proposals?”

“I don’t have to answer you.”

“Oh, but you want to.”

You roll your eyes, already regretting acknowledging his existence. “Why are you even here this early? You hate mornings.”

“I don’t hate mornings. I hate mornings without you.”

You nearly choke on your coffee.

“Jesus—stop saying things like that.”

He grins. “What? I’m being sweet.”

“You’re being annoying.”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Before you can threaten to throw the coffee in his face, Dr. Yuki walks in, her stack of neatly organized papers in one hand and her tablet in the other. Conversation dips instantly into a hush as she sets everything down at the front.

Gojo leans in once more, just as she opens her laptop.

“You know,” he whispers, voice low enough that only you hear, “I missed this. You. Getting all worked up. It’s almost nostalgic.”

You glance at him.

But his gaze is on the front of the classroom, expression unreadable now—calm, casual, but distant in a way you recognize too well.

Your heart stutters, then steadies.

You turn back to your notes.

Let him play his little games. You’re here to work.

Dr. Yuki begins class the way she always does—by opening the floor to discussion.

“I want to start today by revisiting one of the core principles we touched on yesterday,” she says, walking to the whiteboard and uncapping a black marker. “Developmental psychology isn’t just about childhood—it’s about the impact of those early stages on the lifespan. So, let’s focus today on attachment theory.”

You straighten a little in your seat.

This was your jam.

“Can anyone tell me the main types of attachment outlined by Ainsworth?”

A few hands go up. Gojo, of course, is not one of them. He’s reclined like this is a brunch reservation and not a graduate seminar.

Dr. Yuki points to a girl near the windows, who lists off: “Secure, avoidant, ambivalent… and disorganized.”

“Correct,” Dr. Yuki nods, writing them out on the board. “And what kind of caregiving styles are associated with each?”

This time, your hand goes up.

“Secure attachment tends to come from consistent and responsive caregiving,” you say. “Avoidant is usually associated with emotionally distant caregivers. Ambivalent attachment is from inconsistent caregiving—like, when the child doesn’t know what to expect. And disorganized attachment often correlates with trauma, abuse, or extreme neglect.”

“Excellent,” Dr. Yuki says. “Now, let’s connect this to adult behavior. What kinds of patterns might we see in securely versus insecurely attached adults?”

Gojo raises his hand—slowly, dramatically—like it physically pains him to contribute.

“Securely attached adults usually have fewer trust issues, communicate well, don’t implode if their partner takes twenty minutes to reply to a text,” he says. “Whereas the rest of us,” he waves vaguely around the room, “are either emotionally avoidant, painfully anxious, or both.”

A few people chuckle. Dr. Yuki doesn’t.

“And do we think these patterns are fixed?” she asks, eyes scanning the room.

You shake your head. “No. They can change—therapy, healthy relationships, self-awareness… people can unlearn old patterns.”

“Right,” she says. “Attachment styles aren’t destinies. They’re roadmaps. And if we understand where someone started, we can better understand how they navigate relationships and life choices.”

She pauses, then gestures toward the projector.

“And that brings us to your semester project.”

You feel a low hum of tension run through the room.

“You’ll each be paired with a classmate to develop a case study that analyzes the developmental arc of a fictional subject—from early childhood experiences to adult psychological patterns. I’ll be looking for theoretical integration, relevant research, and creative application.”

Groans echo softly around the room.

“You’ll be assigned your partners. Randomly,” Dr. Yuki adds, like she knows everyone’s about to start bartering.

Gojo leans over. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“If you’re thinking you’re getting anyone but that guy in the back who keeps humming to himself, then no.”

Gojo grins. “Aren’t you fun before noon.”

You hush him as Dr. Yuki pulls up the list.

“...Gojo Satoru and,” she pauses just a second too long, “You.”

Your stomach drops.

You actually gasp—like a cartoon princess betrayed by her woodland creatures. Around you, the room buzzes with suppressed laughter and whispered commiseration.

You slowly turn your head toward him.

Gojo looks delighted.

“This,” he says, tapping your desk with mock gravity, “is fate.”

“This,” you hiss, “is my villain origin story.”

Dr. Yuki continues reading off names while you debate whether it’s legally permissible to launch a mechanical pencil into Gojo’s stupidly symmetrical face.

When the list ends, she claps her hands together.

“You’ll have the semester to build your case study, incorporating class material as it’s introduced. Use your time wisely. First drafts are due by midterms, presentations in November.”

The minute she shifts into lecture mode, Gojo turns to you fully, practically vibrating with smugness.

“So, partner,” he says, and oh god, he draws out the word like it means something filthy, “ground rules?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Fine. Rule one: you show up. On time.”

“I always show up. Eventually.”

“On time, Gojo.”

“Fine, but then I get a rule. Rule two: all meetings must be caffeinated. Preferably with scones.”

You type it into a shared doc, already plotting your revenge. “Rule three: no flirting during brainstorming.”

His brows shoot up. “You flatter me. You think I flirt?”

“You flirt like it’s a personality trait.”

He grins. “It is a personality trait. And it works on you.”

You type Rule Four: Delusional behavior will not be tolerated.

Gojo reads it over your shoulder and makes an offended noise. “You’re so mean to me.”

You look at him flatly. “You're not the victim here.”

“Yet.”

He taps the table once, then leans back. “So how are we splitting the workload? Because I’m very good at coming up with names, titles, and being handsome while you do the actual research.”

“Rule Five,” you mutter. “Equal contribution or I smother you in your sleep.”

“Sexy.”

You slam your laptop shut.

Dr. Yuki finishes her lecture around ten minutes later and assigns some optional reading before dismissing the class. Students start filtering out. You stand and gather your things, acutely aware of Gojo still hovering nearby like a very smug cloud.

He’s unusually quiet, though.

You glance over. His eyes are on you—not teasing, not mocking. Just watching.

“What?”

He blinks, then offers a crooked smile. “Nothing. Just… you’ve changed.”

You pause.

You’re not sure what to do with that. The weight of it. The flicker of something old behind his eyes.

“I grew up,” you say, not quite meeting his gaze.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Guess we both did.”

The moment stretches awkward and thin.

And then, because he’s incapable of not being him, Gojo ruins it.

“But you still get that same wrinkle between your eyebrows when you’re concentrating. Very cute.”

You push past him. “I’m going to my next class. Don’t follow me.”

He salutes. “No promises, partner.”

You slide into your seat in criminology with seconds to spare, breath still catching from the uphill trek across campus. The classroom is smaller than your psych lecture—maybe twenty students total, arranged in a semi-circle with wide, cushioned chairs that squeak every time someone shifts. You love it here already. It feels like the kind of room where real conversations happen.

Shoko’s already lounging beside you, wearing a faded hoodie that reads “Trust Me, I’m Almost a Doctor” and sipping from an aggressively large thermos of tea. She raises a brow as you drop into the chair beside her with a dramatic sigh.

“You okay?” she asks, blinking at you over the rim of her drink.

“Fine,” you say quickly, digging out your notebook. “Just… psych was a lot this morning.”

“You’re always saying that. Was it more Freud or more breakdown?”

You pause. “Gojo.”

“Who?”

You glance at her, surprised. “Tall. White hair. Looks like he was genetically engineered to model sunglasses. The guy I was trauma dumping about last night”

Shoko frowns, thoughtful. “Oh, right. You know I think he sits near Geto in seminar sometimes?”

“Yeah, they’re roommates,” you say, a little sour. “Gojo’s basically made it his life mission to turn every conversation into a sparring match.”

Shoko snorts. “Sounds exhausting.”

“Infuriating, actually.”

Before she can ask more, Suguru Geto strolls in like he’s not even two minutes late. Calm, composed, mildly amused as always. He drops into the seat on Shoko’s other side and gives you both a polite nod.

“Morning.”

“Hey,” Shoko replies easily.

“Hi,” you say, a little stiffer.

Geto gives you a small look—reading you, as always. “Rough start?”

“Just sparring with your roommate.”

“Ah,” he says, smiling faintly. “He does have a talent for bringing chaos into a room.”

“Does he come with an off-switch or…?”

Geto chuckles softly. “Not that I’ve discovered.”

Before any of you can continue, Professor Ibaragi strides into the room, her usual commanding presence immediately quieting the class. She’s tall, in her late forties maybe, with sleek silver hair pinned back and sharp eyes that miss nothing.

“Let’s begin,” she says, setting a thick folder on the front desk. “Today we’re looking at the contrasts between retributive and restorative justice. Page 104 in your readers.”

The rustle of pages follows.

You flip yours open, your pen already poised.

Professor Ibaragi continues, her tone firm and even. “Retributive justice is what most of the western world operates on. Punishment for a crime—often prison. But what if we shifted the focus from punishment to healing? Restorative justice aims to mend the harm caused by crime, rather than simply punish the offender.”

A few hands go up. The class starts to come alive—soft murmurs turning into more confident voices.

One student mentions a case study from New Zealand.

Another references the Rwandan Gacaca courts.

Geto chimes in with a thoughtful observation: “It’s hard to implement restorative practices in a society still emotionally invested in the idea of punishment equaling justice. There’s a psychological satisfaction in seeing someone 'pay' for wrongdoing.”

You nod in agreement, then raise your hand. “But studies have shown that restorative approaches can reduce recidivism more effectively than prison in some populations. Especially for juvenile offenders or non-violent crimes. The emotional impact of accountability is different when you have to face the person you hurt.”

Professor Ibaragi gives a small nod. “Excellent point. It forces reflection, which isn’t always a priority in traditional systems.”

Shoko, to your surprise, pipes up with a casual, “Plus, it doesn’t hurt to spend less on overcrowded prisons and more on mental health programs. Just saying.”

That earns a few approving hums around the room.

After about thirty more minutes of discussion, Professor Ibaragi closes the book with a decisive snap. “You’ll be working on a presentation later this term, applying one of these theories to a real-world case. We’ll talk about partner assignments next class.”

Your stomach sinks. Partners. Again.

As students begin to gather their things, Shoko leans in. “So, I was thinking we do something after classes tonight. Hot pot night or something?”

“I’m in,” you say instantly. “I need something to cancel out Gojo’s existence.”

“You really don’t like this guy, huh?” she asks, amused.

“He wasn’t always like this,” you say before you can stop yourself.

Shoko tilts her head, waiting.

You shake it off. “Never mind.”

Geto stands, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “He’s not that bad, you know.”

You give him a look. “You would say that. You live with him.”

“I also know he talks about you more than he talks about his skincare routine. And that’s saying something.”

Your jaw drops slightly. “Excuse me?”

Geto just smiles. “See you both tonight.”

And with that, he’s gone—leaving you to process whatever the hell that meant while Shoko whistles low under her breath.

“Alright,” she says, amused. “I’m officially intrigued.”

You’re halfway through applying lip gloss when Shoko pops into your doorway wearing a full-on Pikachu onesie, a green tea face mask smeared across her cheeks.

“Should I wear this tonight?” she asks, holding up a red crop top and leather mini skirt with the deadpan seriousness of a war general.

You glance at her outfit-in-hand, then back at the yellow fuzz monstrosity she’s currently in. “That’s… better than what you’re wearing now.”

She grins, pleased, and flops backward onto your bed like she owns it. “I’m not even gonna lie—tonight better be fun. I’ve had ‘student loans and caffeine addiction’ energy all week.”

“You are a med student,” you say as you turn back to your mirror. “That kind of comes with the territory.”

Shoko groans dramatically. “I didn’t come here to be roasted while my pores are open.”

You snort, making a final swipe of your gloss and giving yourself a critical once-over in the mirror. Okay. Not bad.

Not bad at all.

Black heeled boots, jeans that fit just right, and a strappy little top that shows just enough skin to look effortless without trying too hard. Hair curled, makeup sharp. You look like someone who has her life together—even if internally, you’re bracing for the potential chaos that always seems to follow you around lately.

“Damn,” Shoko whistles from your bed. “You’re giving main character energy tonight.”

You turn, striking a mock pose. “As I should.”

She finally peels off the onesie and grabs her real outfit, hopping into her room to change while you touch up your highlighter. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Geto: on our way. ETA 10 🖤

You smile slightly. Of course Geto texts like that.

There’s something soothing about Geto. He’s calm, thoughtful, never oversteps. He’s the type of guy who listens when you talk—and not the performative kind of listening, either. He’s actually… normal. Which, in your world lately, is the highest compliment a man can get.

You move into the living room just as Shoko reappears, now dressed and glowing—smoky eye, winged liner, black boots to match yours, and a wicked little smile.

“Ready to break hearts and maybe get free appetizers?”

You grin. “Born ready.”

You both are still doing last-minute primping when there’s a knock at the door. Three short taps.

“That’s probably Geto,” Shoko says, already moving toward the entrance. “I’ll get it.”

“Wait—” you start, but she’s already flinging the door open.

There’s a pause. An eerie silence.

Then Shoko’s voice, dry as sandpaper: “Oh. Hi. You’re not Geto.”

That voice—his voice—floats in next. “Technically, I’m with Geto. I just drove.”

You freeze in place.

No. No way.

You step forward just enough to peek past Shoko’s shoulder—and sure enough, there he is.

Gojo Satoru, in all his smug glory.

Wearing a fitted black long-sleeve shirt that clings to his frame a little too perfectly, sleeves pushed up just enough to show off his forearms, and those damn sunglasses propped lazily on top of his head. His snowy white hair is slightly tousled from the wind, like he just stepped out of a cologne ad. And he's holding car keys, spinning them on his finger like a menace.

Behind him, Geto stands calmly with his hands in his pockets, giving you a soft smile and an apologetic shrug. “He offered to drive.”

You blink at him. “He?”

Gojo winks. “Miss me?”

Shoko looks between the two of you like she’s slowly realizing she’s walked into a romantic subplot she didn’t sign up for.

You inhale deeply. “This was supposed to be a chill night.”

Gojo beams. “It still can be. I only bite if asked nicely.”

Shoko makes a face. “Okay. Ew.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and step back. “Let’s just… go before I change my mind.”

You grab your jacket and clutch, pulling the door closed behind you as the four of you head out into the cool evening air. The street is quiet, the kind of stillness that only comes before something definitely chaotic.

Sitting at the curb is a sleek black car that you now realize is Gojo’s. Of course it is. It’s obnoxiously expensive-looking, just like him.

He clicks the fob and the lights flash.

“Shotgun,” you say quickly, if only to avoid being crammed between the two of them in the backseat.

“Damn,” Shoko mutters. “I wanted front seat DJ privileges.”

“Next time,” you promise, stepping up to the passenger side.

Gojo opens your door for you with a dramatic bow, like he’s your chauffeur. “Milady.”

You glare. “If I trip in these heels, I’m taking you down with me.”

“Noted,” he says, but his grin only widens.

As you slide into the seat, you’re painfully aware of how close you’ll be for the next however-many minutes. His cologne is warm and spicy, something expensive you can’t place but absolutely hate that you like. He rounds the front and hops into the driver’s seat like he owns the road.

Geto and Shoko pile into the backseat, immediately starting a quiet conversation about some upcoming criminology project you vaguely remember from class.

Meanwhile, you buckle in, arms folded, refusing to acknowledge the man beside you.

Gojo glances over. “So…”

You don’t look at him. “Don’t.”

“You look very… coordinated tonight,” he says, trying not to smirk. “Let me guess. Took you three hours to put that outfit together?”

You turn slowly. “Five minutes.”

“Liar.”

You narrow your eyes. “I could say the same about your hair. What happened, did a tornado style it?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he purrs, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gearshift. “You wish you looked this good after a tornado.”

You scoff, staring out the window. “Unbelievable.”

“Also,” he says, flicking on the headlights, “you’re wearing my favorite color tonight.”

You blink. Slowly.

“It’s literally black,” you deadpan.

He grins. “Exactly.”

You clench your jaw, pretending your face isn’t heating up.

The car eases onto the road, the low hum of the engine a welcome distraction. You steal a glance at Gojo from the corner of your eye—he’s focused on driving, one hand casually gripping the wheel, the streetlights casting sharp shadows across his sharp jawline.

You hate how good he looks like this. Relaxed. Confident. Just enough of a mess to look effortless.

“Hey,” Shoko says from the backseat, leaning forward between the seats. “Can we get dumplings on the way? I’m starving.”

“Ugh, yes,” Geto agrees. “There’s a spot on 5th. Open late.”

Gojo nods. “You got it.”

Shoko settles back. “Okay. Gojo, you’re tolerable only if you drive well.”

“I’m an amazing driver,” he says confidently.

Geto scoffs. “You ran a red light last time we went anywhere.”

“Okay, but did we die?”

“You almost hit a trash truck.”

“But did we die?”

Geto coughs. “Barely.”

Gojo hums. “Tough crowd.”

As the car speeds down the street, your hand accidentally brushes against the console near Gojo’s. You pull it away like it burned, which—honestly—might be the most accurate metaphor for him in general.

He notices, of course. “Aw. I don’t bite, you know.”

You shoot him a side-eye. “You do. Constantly. Verbally.”

“Only because you’re cute when you’re mad.”

You pause. The air seems to thicken.

From the backseat, Geto quietly chuckles. Shoko mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like, oh my god just kiss already, and you immediately whip around.

“I heard that.”

She shrugs, all innocent. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Anyway,” you say quickly, shifting in your seat and focusing very intently out the windshield, “let’s just get food.”

“Music to my ears,” Gojo says, reaching for the stereo. “What’s the vibe tonight? Flirty sad girl? Raging confidence? Chaotic neutral?”

Shoko answers before you can. “Anything but loverboy nonsense.”

He grins. “Too late.”

The opening notes of some slow, sultry R&B song filter through the speakers.

You bury your face in your hands. This is going to be a long night.

But maybe… not entirely in a bad way.

(taglist: comment if you want to be added )

@linaaeatsfamilies

@eolivy

#jjk #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen shoko #geto #gojo #jjk shoko #jjk geto

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yparkwrites · 1 year ago

Text

SON OF THE MOB SUNGHOON FF

Pairing: Mafia Sunghoon x Female reader (Y/N)

Content warnings: explicit content (smut), mentions of abuse, bruises, blood, etc.

Word count: 18k+

Synopsis: When Sunghoon, the son of Mr. Park meets a fearless girl everything will change around him as he tries to fight for his freedom from his father's nest.

Note: this is my first ever Enhypen ff, it is published on Wattpad as a complete story.

NO MINORS ALLOWED 18+ ONLY

Part 1 - 4

CHAPTER 5: Moving Forward

Three years had passed since the night Sunghoon had left Y/n, the night since he left a void in her heart. During those past years their circle of friends became bigger. Jay and Jungwon are additions to their circle.

“How many years left before we graduate?” Yura asked, completely worn out due to their projects and exams coming up.

“2 more years,” Y/n replied, chuckling at Yura’s presence, bags under her eyes and messy hair.

“Did you guys hear the rumor?” Jungwon asked as he sat beside a sleepy Yura.

“Jungwon, everyday you come with new rumors, new gossip, please give us a break,” Jake said, taking a seat as he placed his tray of food on the cafeteria table.

“The new gossip is for Y/n,” Jungwon said smiling, raising both his eyebrows.

“Just spill it,” Jay said uninterested, worn out too, as he failed to get enough sleep the other night.

“Sunghoon is back in town, a student said he saw him beating up a drunkard in the alleyway near the convenience store.” Jungwon said, catching Y/n’s attention.

“What?” Jake asked.

“You weren’t interested awhile ago,” Jungwon retorted at Jake.

“Well now you have my attention spill everything,” Jake argued back at him, widening his eyes a little.

“That’s the only information I know for now, but I heard that he’s gonna go back here anytime soon, and everyone should be prepared as he’s not the same Sunghoon from three years ago.” Jungwon said.

Before Jungwon could add more details on what he had said the bell rang indicating that lunch was over.

“Damn I’m not even done eating.” Jake said.

Y/n sat in the library to study, she decided not to pursue business and study literacy instead, she doesn’t have many classes compared to when she was in business class.

As she tried working on her reviewers, her mind kept drifting off to Sunghoon, especially to what Jungwon had said during lunch. “Is he really back?” Y/n asked herself, looking at the necklace around her neck, the necklace Sunghoon told her to keep.

“Are you really back?” She asked herself again, touching the necklace.

“You good?” Someone said from behind her, and it was their group leader, Heeseung.

“Yeah, just thinking about something,” Y/n responded, looking down at her books.

“If you’re thinking about what I told you yesterday, it’s fine if you don’t feel the same way,” Heeseung said, taking the empty seat beside her.

“No, it’s not that. It’s about the rumor.” Y/n replied.

“Oh Sunghoon? Yeah, it’s not a rumor, I saw him a while ago, he enrolled in our class, I don’t know why our class but what can we do about it.” Heeseung said, clearly frustrated that Sunghoon will be in the same class as them.

“Do you hate him?” Y/n asked.

“It’s not that I hate him, but he’s gonna put everyone in danger,” Heeseung said.

“He won’t.” Y/n replied looking at him.

“You don’t know him Y/n,” Heeseung replied back.

“Neither do you, he protected me from getting hurt three years ago.” Y/n stated slightly raising her voice. Y/n started grabbing her books to leave.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to offend you, but still.” Heeseung argued, holding her arm to stop her from leaving.

“You asked me, where I got the necklace, Sunghoon gave it to me three years ago before he left so that his father won’t try hurting me,” Y/n said, pulling her arm from Heeseung’s grip and leaving him alone in the library.

“So you’re telling me, Heeseung told you he saw Sunghoon at the university?” Jake asked while driving Y/n home.

“Yeah,” Y/n responded.

“And Heeseung pissed you off when he talked bad about him?” Jake asked.

“Yeah, he’s talking like he knows him very well.” Y/n said, crossing her arms.

“Y/n we might know the old Sunghoon, but not the new one, the student that saw him the other night said he had changed completely, he’s like a different person,” Yura said, opening her eyes to look at Y/n.

“Well that’s just the gossip.” Y/n stated.

“It was on the news this morning that my mom watched, he killed the drunkard Y/n.” Yura replied, looking at her. “You don’t have to believe it, if you don’t want to, but I wouldn’t approach him first, if he approached you first talk to him, but if not, don’t.” Yura added.

At night, Y/n can’t fall asleep again. She grabbed the bottle of her sleeping pills, “It’s empty, great,”

Y/n stood up from her bed and went downstairs. It was dark and quiet. She reached the kitchen, flipping on the light to search for something that can help her sleep. She sighed before opening the refrigerator, hoping a glass of milk might help her.

She stood there, her thoughts consumed by what Yura had said, Sunghoon, a killer? That 's impossible.

Y/n took her glass of milk and went upstairs to her room, she went out of the balcony as she stared into the night. She remembered the ball night, the first he held her in his arms, he kissed her and left her.

Tears streamed down her face remembering that night. “What if they’re right?” Y/n asked herself. “What if he really changed?” She asked herself again.

Y/n sobbed imagining the worst case scenario possible.

The next morning, she texted Jake to let him know she was walking to the university to clear her mind.

Lost in her thoughts, she heard someone call her name and saw Heeseung approaching.

“Y/n, hey, you’re walking today?” Heeseung said.

“Yeah, just to clear my mind a bit,” Y/n replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

Heeseung sighed. “Y/n, look, I’m sorry about yesterday. I know I might have come off harsh. I don’t know your history with him, and I’m not really into gossip. I was just worried.”

“It’s fine, no worries. I just hate it when someone badmouths him. But I understand, it’s been three years, and he might have really changed,” Y/n said, her voice softening.

“You don’t mind if I walk with you, right?” Heeseung asked.

“No, it’s fine,” Y/n responded.

Due to their upcoming exams, Y/n decided to stay late at the university library, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Sunghoon.

“I should just go home,” Y/n mumbled to herself. She gathered her things and decided to call it a night.

She walked home to clear her mind. As she passed by her mom’s convenience store, she saw a familiar figure.

“Sunghoon,” she whispered. She watched him grab some snacks and pay for them. Their eyes locked for a brief moment. He looked at her, emotionless.

After a few seconds, he walked away without saying anything.

CHAPTER 6: He changed

Y/n stood there, her heart pounding as she watched Sunghoon walk away. She couldn’t let him leave without trying to talk to him. Mustering all her courage, she called out to him.

“Sunghoon!” she shouted, her voice trembling.

He stopped but didn’t turn around. Slowly, he looked over his shoulder, his expression unchanged, cold and distant.

Y/n walked closer, her steps hesitant. “Is it really you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Sunghoon turned to face her fully, his eyes cold and filled with confusion. “Excuse me?” he asked.

Y/n looked at him, her eyes welling up with tears. “Where have you been?” she asked.

“Do I know you?” Sunghoon asked. Y/n’s heart sank upon hearing those words. He didn’t remember her. She let her tears stream down her cheeks. Sunghoon sighed before turning to leave.

“You gave me your necklace before you left,” Y/n mustered all her courage to say. He looked back at her.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you, nor that necklace,” he replied, leaving her heartbroken. Just then, it started raining heavily, as if the clouds were crying with her.

“Y/n!” Someone yelled from behind her. She didn’t turn around, watching Sunghoon’s shadow disappear.

“Are you crazy!?” The same person said before dragging her into his car.

“Jake, what happened?” Yura asked as she brought Y/n a towel.

“I don’t know. She won’t say anything,” Jake replied to his sister.

“He doesn’t remember me,” Y/n mumbled as they both turned to look at her.

“Who?” Yura asked, sitting beside her.

“I saw Sunghoon. I saw him, and he doesn’t remember me,” Y/n replied, tears streaming down her face.

Yura hugged her, letting her cry on her shoulder while Jake watched, feeling helpless as her sobs grew louder.

The next morning, Y/n woke up with swollen eyes and a heavy heart. She couldn’t shake the image of Sunghoon’s cold, unfamiliar gaze. The weight of his forgotten memories pressed down on her, making it hard to breathe.

“Morning,” Yura greeted softly, bringing a cup of tea into Y/n’s room. “How are you feeling?”

Y/n took the cup, her hands trembling slightly. “I don’t know,” Y/n responded.

Yura sat down beside her, gently squeezing her hand. “Everything will be fine. By the way, we called your mom to tell her you had a sleepover here,” Yura said.

“Thank you,” Y/n said, taking a sip of tea.

The three of them went to the university together.

As soon as they walked inside the university, everyone was gossiping about something. Just then, Jay and Jungwon came running toward them.

“Slow down,” Y/n told them as they almost slipped.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” Jungwon said, panting.

“Sunghoon is here,” Jay said, smiling at Y/n, unaware of what happened last night.

“You’re not happy?” Jungwon asked as he noticed the lack of excitement in her eyes.

“I’m going to class,” Y/n muttered before leaving them at the entrance of the university.

“What?” Jay asked Jake.

“Sunghoon doesn’t remember anything,” Jake responded.

“Who told you?” Jungwon asked.

“Y/n saw him last night. He didn’t recognize her, so don’t talk about him for a while,” Jake said, following Y/n.

Y/n entered the classroom and saw him there, sitting beside her assigned seat. He looked up when he heard the door opening, and their eyes met. His gaze fell on her neck, where the necklace was now visible due to the sunlight shining into the classroom. He stood up from the seat. As he slowly approached Y/n, his eyes remained fixed on the necklace.

When Y/n noticed where his gaze was, she held the necklace and tried to hide it under her shirt, but before she could do so, Sunghoon grabbed it, pulling her toward him, making her wince in pain.

“It hurts,” Y/n mumbled, trying not to cry.

“Where did you get it?” Sunghoon asked coldly, pulling her closer by the necklace.

“You gave it to me. Please, it hurts,” Y/n said, but he didn’t let go. He pulled her even closer, making her wince in pain.

“Let her go,” Jake said as he approached them, trying to pull Sunghoon’s grip away from the necklace.

“It’s mine,” Sunghoon said, tightening his grip on the necklace, making Y/n wince again.

“You’re hurting her!” Jake yelled. By now, they had attracted the attention of other students.

“I’ll remove it. Please, it hurts,” Y/n mumbled as Sunghoon released his grip on the necklace.

Y/n removed it, and Sunghoon took it harshly from her hand.

The next day, rumors of Sunghoon losing his memories spread throughout the entire university.

Sunghoon arrived at the university, wearing the necklace. Students started whispering about how harshly he had taken it from Y/n.

“Sunghoon,” someone called him, and he turned around.

“What do you want?” Sunghoon asked Jake, clearly frustrated.

“Can we talk?” Jake asked him.

“We already are,” Sunghoon replied sarcastically.

“In private,” Jake said, glancing at the students whispering among themselves.

Sunghoon and Jake went to the parking lot.

“What happened to you?” Jake asked him.

“Nothing happened to me,” Sunghoon replied.

“You gave that to Y/n before you left her, left us,” Jake said, slightly raising his voice.

“Listen, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’ve never seen you or that girl in my life,” Sunghoon replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be late,” he added and turned to leave, but Jake held his arm.

Sunghoon grabbed Jake’s collar and punched him.

“What, are you going to kill me too?” Jake asked as he held Sunghoon’s collar.

Sunghoon was about to land another punch, but someone pushed him off Jake. “What the fuck is wrong with you!?” Y/n yelled at him.

“Stay out of my business. Next time, I’ll put a bullet right in your skull,” Sunghoon said before walking away.

During lunch, they all sat in front of Y/n’s mom’s convenience store.

“What has gotten into you?” Yura asked Jake.

“He really changed,” Jake said.

“Why would you even approach him after what happened yesterday?” Jay asked him.

“I wanted to clear things up, to see if he really lost his memory or if he’s just pretending,” Jake responded, eating his sandwich.

“Well, that was a dumb idea,” Y/n said.

“Is your neck okay?” Jungwon asked.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Y/n responded, smiling a bit at them.

“So, did you think about what Heeseung told you?” Yura asked, raising her eyebrows to tease her.

“I don’t like him,” Y/n responded.

“Oh, then I’ll take him,” Yura said.

“Yeah, do that,” Y/n said, chuckling.

#amreading #enhypen #wattpad #books #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen smut #enhypen jake #jay enhypen #sunghoonff #park sunghoon #lee heeseung #yang jungwon #heeseung #jungwon #sim jaeyun #enhypen jaeyun

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