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hoshifighting · 1 year ago

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Racer!Reader x Racer!Mingyu 一 Rivals to Lovers

Synospsis: Racer!Mingyu, the new kid, is determined to beat you in the college underground race. Does he have the guts to defeat you, his senior, the reigning queen of the racing scene? Before the race starts, a photo of your boyfriend cheating on you is spread to the students. When you look up from your phone, there's Mingyu with his piercing eyes. [...]

“Hmm, all upset, just the way I wanted,” Mingyu teased, leaning against the doorframe.

WC: 8k

Warnings: Cheating, illegal racing, rumors, smut, angst, penetrative sex, oral (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), squirt, clit stimulation, g'spot stimulation, body fluids (cum), kinda of rage make out?, chocking, spanking, dirty talk, sex pic and etc.

Mingyu. A name that had once been just a murmur in the shadows of the racing world is now on everyone's lips. This new kid, this prodigy, decided to go against the grain, to take on the best and make a name for himself.

And somehow, you're the one he's set his sights on. The competition is obvious, like the electricity in the air before a storm, and the entire college is buzzed with bets. It's impossible to ignore the excitement at the thought of the race tonight. It's been too long since you've felt this alive.

The smell of burnt rubber and gasoline is already in your nose, a scent that brings back a flood of memories. The first time you felt the wind rush past you on two wheels, the rush of adrenaline when you crossed the finish line ahead of the pack.

The races had been your escape, your way to prove to the world that you were more than just another face in the crowd.

And now, as you lace up your boots and slip into your worn-in leather jacket, you know that this race will be different. It's not just about the thrill anymore. It's about pride, about maintaining your title, about showing Mingyu that he's bitten off more than he can chew.

The stakes are higher than ever before. You can feel it in the way Mark's eyes darken every time he looks at you, in the way he clenches his fists when Mingyu's name is mentioned.

As you swing your leg over your bike and rev the engine, you push those thoughts aside. Tonight, there's only one thing that matters: the race, the roar of the engines, and the taste of victory.

Mingyu's eyes sparkle inside his helmet, the gleaming visor reflecting the neon lights of the college parking lot that's been transformed into a makeshift race track. He's young, fearless, and he's got something to prove.

You've watched him from afar, studied his technique, his daring moves that have earned him the title of 'the rookie to watch'. He's good, really good, but he's never raced against someone like you. You're the old war-horse in this game, a veteran who's seen it all and done it all.

And now, the moment has arrived.

The girl in the quadriculed flag raises it high, her arm muscles taut with excitement. You and Mingyu lock eyes for a brief second, a silent promise of a fierce battle to come. And then, with a nod from her, you both speed off into the night. Your bike responds to your touch like a well-trained steed, the engine purring as you lean into the first turn.

But this is your turf, and you're not about to let some newcomer take your crown without a fight.

As the race extends, the wind whips through your hair, and the roar of the engines fills your ears. The world around you is a blur of lights and shadows, the only thing clear being the track ahead and the figure of Mingyu on your tail.

You push harder, feeling the bike protest under your command, but she holds steady. You're the lead, with Mingyu playing the role of the eager suitor, eager to overtake. You can't help but smile beneath your helmet. It's been so long since someone's made you feel this alive. The thrill of the chase is intoxicating, and you're going to enjoy every second of it.

As you cross the finish line, you pull a dramatic wheelie, the tires screeching and smoking against the asphalt. You circle around, revving the engine, feeling the power beneath you, and as you come to a stop, Mingyu pulls up beside you.

You both remove your helmets, and the chilly night air kisses your sweat-drenched skin. His eyes are on you, focused and intense, drinking in the sight of you. Your hair is a wild mess around your face, the wind from the race playing with it like it's alive.

You swing your leg over the bike, the leather of your pants hugging your thighs tightly. You stand there, arms crossed over your chest, looking at him. He's tall, with a muscular build that's clear even through his bulky racing gear. His face is a mask of determination, and there's something about the way he carries himself that makes you want to knock him down a peg.

"So, what's your name, kid?" you ask, your voice carrying over the din of the engines.

Mingyu's face cracks into a smirk, and he extends his hand towards you. "Mingyu. Kim Mingyu," he says, his voice deep and sure. But you don't take the bait. You keep your arms crossed, your eyes locked on his.

His smirk falters a little when you ignore his outstretched hand, and he slowly lowers it.

The crowd around you goes quiet, watching this silent exchange like it's a scene from a movie. They know the history, the tension, and the unspoken challenge that's just been laid down.

"Well, you must know me," you say, the leather jacket creaks as you tighten your grip.

"I know of you," he says, his language tinged with a hint of an accent. "But I'm not here to bow down to reputations. I'm here to make my own." You can't help but respect that.

The crowd around you is hushed, waiting for the next move. Mark is there, his eyes on you, a silent question in his gaze. You give him a nod, reassuring him that you're okay, that you're in control.

The rivalry between you and Mingyu has only just started, and it's going to be one hell of a race.

Mark storms over, eyes flashing with anger. "What the hell are you two talking about for so long?" His voice cuts through the cheers of the crowd, drawing their attention. You feel the tension between him and Mingyu, like a string pulled taut, ready to snap.

Mingyu just watches him with that sly grin, clearly enjoying the show. His gaze flickers over you, lingering on your leather pants, and you feel a shiver of annoyance and something else you can't quite name.

"Hey, Mark," you say, trying to keep your tone light, but there's an edge to it. "Calm down. We were just talking."

"Talking? That's what you're calling it?" Mark's voice is loud, drawing even more eyes to your little drama. He turns to Mingyu, his face red. "And what are you looking at?"

You roll your eyes, the frustration bubbling up inside you. "Mark, walk."

He stares at you, eyes wide in disbelief. "What?"

"Yeah, walk," you repeat, your voice firm. "Just go cool off."

For a moment, it looks like he might argue, but then he glances at Mingyu, who’s still smirking, clearly enjoying the spectacle. With a huff, Mark turns on his heel and stalks off, the crowd parting to let him through.

Mingyu chuckles, a low sound that only you can hear. "What an obedient boyfriend you have."

You shoot him a look, half warning, half curiosity. "Don't push your luck, Mingyu."

He raises his hands in mock surrender, the grin never leaving his face. "Just calling it like I see it. But seriously," his tone shifts, becoming more sincere, "you were amazing out there."

"Thanks," you say, the word coming out more curt than you intended. You take a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering tension from Mark's outburst. "So, why did you want to race me, really?"

Mingyu’s expression becomes thoughtful, the cocky façade slipping just a little. "Because I wanted to see if the rumors were true. And now, I know they are."

You can't help but smile at that, feeling a rush of pride. "Well, you gave me a good run for my money."

"Next time," he says, his voice low and filled with promise, "I'll be the one crossing the finish line first."

"We'll see about that," you reply, walking out with your motorcycle by your side, glancing at him over your shoulder.

[...]

Mingyu, the new kid, had something different, something that pushed your limits in a way no other rival had before. It was exhilarating, but also stressful. And your boyfriend’s incessant comments about Mingyu didn’t help.

Every time he brought up how Mingyu looked at you, how rude he was, how he thought he was the most incredible thing, you rolled your eyes. Mark’s jealousy was nothing new, but you’d never seen him so uncomfortable around someone before.

For the past month, you’d heard from other students that Mingyu had been spreading rumors about how he was going to win this race, no matter what. It was irritating, but also a challenge you couldn’t ignore.

As you were heading to your P.E. class, you saw Mingyu and his friend walking down the hallway. He spotted you immediately, a grin spreading across his face.

"Look who's here, Y/N... without the leather jacket?" His eyes roved over your tight gymnastic clothing, clearly enjoying the sight.

You smiled around the scrunchie you held between your teeth as you tidied up your hair, then pulled it free to tie it up. "Look who’s here, Mingyu... still talking big?" you teased back, not missing a beat.

He laughed, a rich sound that echoed down the hall. "Only because I’ve got the skills to back it up."

"Oh, really?" you said, raising an eyebrow. "All I’ve seen so far is a lot of talk."

"Maybe you just haven’t been paying close enough attention," he replied, leaning casually against the lockers. "I’ll make sure to give you a front-row seat next time."

You finished tying your hair and gave him a mock look of concern. "I’d hate to see you disappoint all those fans you’ve been bragging to."

He smirked, undeterred. "Don’t worry, I’ve got this covered. You might want to start thinking about a new title because that crown is coming my way."

"Big words for someone who hasn't beaten me yet," you shot back, stepping closer, your confidence unwavering.

"We'll see about that," he said, his voice low and filled with promise. His eyes held yours for a moment longer, the air between you crackling with tension.

Mingyu doesn't look the least bit afraid of you, of your reputation, of what you can do on this track. He's bold, maybe even a little cocky, and you can't decide if you like it or if it just makes you want to wipe that smug look off his face.

You've always been the one everyone looks up to, the one they whisper about in the halls. But now, there's someone new, someone who doesn't seem to know his place. And that's what makes him so intriguing.

You know Mingyu will be back, and he'll be better next time. And you can tell your boyfriend, Mark, is not happy about this new rivalry一about the way Mingyu makes you feel alive again.

"You've got to get your head out of the clouds, Y/N," Mark says as you look to the ceiling, "This isn't just a game anymore."

You pull back, looking up at him. "What do you mean?"

"Mingyu," he says, his voice tight with anger, "he's different. He's not like the others."

You roll your eyes, trying to play it off. "He's just a freshman with a fast bike," you say.

"He's been watching you," Mark says, his eyes searching yours, "studying you. He's got a vendetta, and I don't like it."

You swallow hard, pushing the thought away. You can't let Mingyu get under your skin like this. "I've got this," you reply, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

But Mark's not convinced. He's noticed the way your mind has been elsewhere, the way you've been pushing him away. The way you've been turning down his advances, lost in thought about the new kid on the block. He's been frustrated for a few weeks, trying to get you to focus on anything other than the race.

As the days pass, the tension between you and Mark grows thicker. He tries to initiate sex, but your mind is always elsewhere, replaying the race, thinking about Mingyu's next move. You know you're hurting him, but you can't seem to stop.

The thought of Mingyu, of the way he looked at you, of the way he talked about winning, it's like a drug. And you're hooked.

The next day, you're in the garage, wrench in hand, making some final adjustments to your bike. You've always been meticulous, but with Mingyu on your mind, you're even more so. You can't have anything going wrong on your bike when you face him again.

The door to the garage opens, and you look up, expecting it to be Mark, but instead, it's Mingyu. He struts in, his leather jacket and bike helmet hanging casually from his hand.

"Hey, Y/N," he says, a smug smile playing on his lips. "I see you're still playing with your toy."

You roll your eyes, not bothering to hide your annoyance. "What do you want?" you ask, not looking up from your work.

"Just thought I'd come by and say congrats," he says, leaning against the workbench. "You put on a good show last night."

You raced a senior from your class last night. You won despite the slippery concrete caused by the rain. Again.

You slam the wrench down, the sound echoing in the empty garage. "Thanks, but I'm not looking for your approval," you reply, your voice icy.

Mingyu laughs, a sound that grates on your nerves. "You don't have to be so defensive," he says, his eyes scanning the garage, "I just wanted to talk shop, maybe pick up some tips from the queen herself."

You stand up, wiping your hands on your greasy rag. "What makes you think I'd share anything with you?"

He shrugs, his smile never wavering. "Call it a peace offering," he says, holding out his hand. "Truce?"

You stare at his hand for a moment, weighing your options. You know you need to keep your enemies closer, especially one as talented as Mingyu. You take his hand, giving it a firm shake. "Fine," you say, "but don't get any ideas."

"Oh, I have plenty of ideas," he says, his eyes glinting with mischief, "but I'll save them for the track."

You can't help but laugh, despite yourself. He's got nerve, you'll give him that. You spend the next hour talking bikes and racing strategies, and for the first time since the race, you feel like you're not just a competitor but a fellow enthusiast. It's strange.

As Mingyu leaves, you can't help but feel a blend of emotions. There's the excitement of the challenge he represents, the thrill of the rivalry that's been ignited. But there's also a nagging doubt, a fear that maybe Mark is right.

Maybe Mingyu isn't just a racer looking to make a name for himself. Maybe he's got something more planned, something that could threaten not just your title but your relationship.

You shake the thought off, telling yourself you're just being paranoid. After all, it's just a race, right?

[...]

The sun is setting, casting a warm orange glow over the makeshift circuit that’s been built for tonight's race. You take a long sip of your Gatorade, savoring the cool taste as you mentally prepare yourself for the competition. The grandstand is buzzing with energy, students excitedly chattering about the upcoming event.

As you sit there, focusing on your breathing, Mingyu appears and casually sits down next to you. You chuckle, unable to help yourself. "Are you following me, kid?"

He rolls his eyes, a familiar gesture by now. "I’m not a kid."

"But I’m your senior," you counter, grinning at the way his face sours. He’s always so easy to tease. "What did you plan?"

"Huh?" He seems genuinely confused, his attention now fully on you.

You smirk, leaning back a bit. "What do you have up your sleeve, Mingyu? Some oil on the floor, a pin in my tire...?"

He laughs, shaking his head. "I don’t need tricks to beat you."

"Good," you say, your voice dropping slightly, more serious now. "Because neither do I."

Before the conversation can go any further, your boyfriend, Mark, appears. "What’s he doing here?" he asks, his tone accusatory.

"Just talking," you reply, trying to keep your cool.

"Talking, huh?" Mark scoffs. "Seems like he’s always around, doesn’t it? You’d think he’s got nothing better to do."

"I think you’re overreacting." You breath tired.

Mark's eyes narrow. "Just remember who’s waiting for you at the finish line."

Mingyu’s jaw tightens at this, his posture stiffening. He looks like he’s holding back something, a secret or a truth he’s not ready to share.

You glance at Mingyu, noticing the shift in his conduct. "What’s that look for?" you ask him, curious despite yourself.

He shakes his head, the tension in his body evident. "Nothing. Just focus on the race."

You button your jacket, feeling the familiar weight of the leather settle around your shoulders. Checking your shoelaces, you make sure they’re tight, ready for the race ahead. The buzz of your phone breaks the moment, a single notification lighting up the screen. You glance around, noticing other students doing the same, pulling their phones from their pockets.

It’s odd, almost synchronized.

The feeling in your gut is like a rock, weighing you down, making it harder to breathe. You glance around, noticing the smirks and knowing looks from the other racers, the whispers that seem to carry on the wind.

You click on it, and your heart sinks like a stone. It's a picture of Mark, your Mark, kissing a girl. A girl with auburn hair and a laugh that's nothing like yours. And he's wearing the shirt you gave him just this week, the one with the funny racing pun on the back. The same shirt he wore to bed last night, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

You stand there, frozen, as the world carries on around you. The cheers of the crowd, the roar of the bikes—it’s all just background noise now. You look up and see everyone watching you, their expressions a combination of pity and shock. They all know now. They've all seen it.

And as your eyes meet Mingyu's, you realize that he knows too. There's something in his gaze, a glint of satisfaction that makes your blood boil. Did he do this? Did he send this to you? The thought is like a knife twisting in your gut, but you can’t be sure.

With trembling hands, you slip the phone back into your pocket, trying to compose yourself. You don’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing you fall apart. But as you button your jacket and tighten the laces of your boots, you can’t help but feel like you’re tying up the loose ends of your life.

Everything’s changed in the span of a single message. Your heart is racing, but it’s not from the thrill of the chase anymore. It stems from the agony of disloyalty and the rage at being played for a fool.

And as you turn to face Mark, who’s pushing his way through the crowd, his eyes searching for yours, you know that the real race has only just begun.

Your breath comes in shudders as you hop on your bike, putting on your helmet. You’ve give all the signs that you are going to race tonight. The crowd is abuzz with anticipation, their eyes locked on you.

You roll the bike's accelerator, the roar calling for attention so the race can start. The flag girl gulps, her nervousness evident, and you look over your shoulder to see Mingyu approaching.

The girl stretches the flag, and you brace yourself. The lights go out, and suddenly, you're off, the wind in your hair, the roar of the engines filling your ears. Mingyu is right beside you. You can feel the bike responding to your every move, the tires gripping the asphalt like a vice.

Inside your helmet, your breathing is loud and ragged, a stark reminder of the adrenaline and anger coursing through you.

As you race, your thoughts race too. Mingyu planned everything. He sat by your side to watch you unravel from Mark's jealous crisis, and then those messages minutes before the race start—meant to destabilize you. It’s like a puzzle clicking into place, each piece revealing the depth of his strategy.

The bike protests but holds steady as you apply more pressure. The track is a blur, but your focus is razor-sharp. Mingyu is still there, matching your speed, but you’re not going to let him win.

You replay the moment when you first saw the message, the image of Mark kissing another girl. It stings, but it also sets you aflame. How dare he think he can break you? How dare he underestimate you? You’re not just racing against Mingyu; you’re racing against the doubts and whispers.

Mingyu pulls ahead slightly, his bike edging past yours. You grit your teeth, leaning forward to reduce drag, pushing your bike to its limits. The sound of the engines is loud, the wind whipping past you.

You glance at Mingyu. He thinks he won, that his plan worked. But he doesn’t know you.

You see the final stretch approaching, the finish line within sight. You dig deep, finding that last reserve of strength. You and Mingyu are neck and neck, the crowd’s cheers blending into a single roar. The world narrows to just this moment, just this race.

As you cross the finish line, you throw all your weight into one last burst of speed. You cross the line a split second before Mingyu, the crowd exploding into cheers.

You slow down, the realization of your win sinking in. You did it. Despite everything, you did it. But still, there is no taste of victory in your mouth.

The cheers fade as you lean forward, gripping the handlebars, and ride your bike away from the circuit, leaving a cloud of dust behind you. The streets blur past you, seeking an escape from everything. Your dorm or campus are the last place you want to be tonight.

After what feels like hours, you spot a cheap motel by the roadside. Its flickering neon sign is a welcome sight, a promise of anonymity, and a place to rest. You pull in, park your bike and walk to the reception. The clerk barely looks up as you hand over cash for the night. Key in hand, you head to your room.

The room is small and poorly illuminated, but it’s a refuge from the chaos of the night. You lay on the bed, the springs creaking under you, and pull out your phone. The screen is still lit with notifications, but you don’t want to see any of them. Whether it was Mingyu or someone else who shared those photos, you don’t care. Not tonight.

[...]

The weekend drags by, each minute feeling like an eternity. You don’t go to class, don’t leave your dorm except to grab food from the vending machine, because, you can’t face the pity in your friends’ eyes.

You clean obsessively, organizing your bookshelf, scrubbing the floors, folding clothes into neat piles. It’s a futile attempt to regain some semblance of order in your life. It feels like you’re erasing him from your life, one item at a time.

The notifications on your phone keep popping up, your friends and classmates checking in, asking if you’re okay. You manage to reply with short, curt responses. "Yeah," you type, "Just need some space." The lie feels heavy on your fingertips, but it’s easier than explaining the tornado of emotions inside you.

As the day stretches on, you start to feel a little more in control. You’re not going to let this beat you. You’re not going to let Mark or Mingyu ruin what you’ve built.

So you sit there, in the quiet of your room, and you start to plan. You’re going to show up to class, to the next race, with your head held high. You’re going to leave the drama behind and focus on what you do best—race.

On Thursday, you walk into class, a box in your arms. The whispers start as soon as you enter the room, the eyes are on you like a spotlight. You find Mark’s usual seat and drop the box in front of it, the thud echoing in the stunned silence.

The box, with his things.

You don’t wait for his reaction. You don’t need to. You turn and walk out, leaving the whispers and the weight of his backstabbing behind.

At lunch, you sit with your friends, the same table you’ve shared since freshman year. They all look at you, their eyes filled with concern. "You okay?" one of them asks, tentatively.

You nod, trying to put on a brave face. "Yeah," you say, your voice stronger than you feel, "I just needed some time to sort things out."

They all nod, understanding without needing the details. They know the score, they know what happened at the race. They know about the picture, the rumors, the cheating.

"You've cried enough," your best friend says, her voice firm but gentle, "It's like that bruise on your knee from when you were seven. It hurt like hell, but it's healing now."

You manage a small smile at the memory. It’s true. You’ve shed enough tears over Mark to fill an ocean. But here you are, breathing, standing, moving forward.

"Let’s talk about something else," you say, changing the subject. "What's new with all of you?"

They exchange glances, clearly surprised by your sudden shift in tone, but they follow your lead. They talk about their classes, their weekends, their plans for spring break. You listen, really listen, letting their words wash over you like a balm to your soul.

"Oh, and apparently none of Mark’s friends want to talk to him," someone says, almost as an afterthought. "They had no idea."

"Good," you say. "He’s not worth their time either."

Your friends nod, respecting your wishes to not delve into the drama further. You don’t need their pity or their empathy. You just need them to be there, to be the rock that grounds you.

The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch, and you all stand up, collecting your trash. "Thanks, guys," you say, your voice genuine.

"For what?" one of them asks.

"For not treating me like I’m made of glass." you reply, smiling.

They laugh, you know they’re worried, but you also know they trust you to handle this. You’re the same person you were before the race. You’re strong.

The sadness has morphed into something else, anger simmers just under the surface, a slow burn that’s been building since that message. You’re not just mad at Mark, but at Mingyu too. You don’t know his role in this, but you can feel his influence, the way he’s been poking and prodding, trying to get under your skin.

And now, it’s like a game of chess, and you’re the pawn in the middle of the board. You can’t help but wonder if he’s been playing you from the start. If all those smirks and smug looks were just part of his plan to take you down.

The bell rings, and you grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. As you turn to leave, you feel a hand wrap around your arm. You turn, ready to snap, and find yourself face-to-face with Mingyu. You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“Come on, don’t be grumpy. Running away from me, princess?” he says, a sulky look on his face.

You remember avoiding both Mingyu and Mark all day, doing everything to keep your distance. You start to leave, but he holds onto your arm again, making you huff in frustration.

“You should thank me, don’t you think?” he says, his tone teasing.

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Mingyu smirks. “First, I let you win last Saturday,” he says, lying through his teeth. You remember how he was right on your tail during the race, clearly giving it his all.

“And I got you rid of that asshole,” he adds.

You cross your arms, glaring at him. “So, you’re admitting you orchestrated this whole thing, huh?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Well, I warned him it would happen.”

“He knew?” you ask, your voice rising in disbelief.

Mingyu tilts his head slightly, like he’s stating the obvious. “Of course he knew. Y/N, he was cheating on you for a whole semester. At the first freshman party I went to, I saw him with Sayla. She’s from my class.”

“What?” you nearly shout, drawing the attention of nearby students. Mingyu gives you an exasperated look, like it’s common knowledge.

You grab his arm and drag him around campus, heading for the grandstand where you can talk in private. Once there, you turn to him, your eyes blazing with anger.

“I saw the photo, and I know it’s real. But Mingyu, if you’re lying about this, I swear I will fucking kill you.”

He shakes his head, his expression serious. “Why would I lie to you? If I need to tell you something, I’ll say it to your face.”

“Tell me from the beginning,” you demand, crossing your arms.

He rolls his eyes but starts talking. “Well, it was my first party here, a freshman party. I needed to go to the bathroom, and there they were, making out.”

You make a disgusted face, which seems to amuse him. “But in the photo, they weren’t in a bathroom,” you point out.

“Yeah, it happened plenty of times. When I found out he was your boyfriend, I went to a frat party and took that photo,” Mingyu explains.

“That one?” you ask, referring to the incriminating photo.

Mingyu nods. “Yeah, that one. He saw the photo and came to have it out with me. I might have told him that if he didn’t tell you, I would, and that I would love to take care of his girlfriend.”

You scoff. “So that’s why he was so sick-jealous of me?”

Mingyu closes his eyes and nods like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You curse under your breath, feeling the weight of betrayal all over again. “This motherf—”

You stop, looking at Mingyu, who’s watching you with a confused expression. “What do you mean by ‘take care of his girlfriend’?”

Mingyu smirks. “I was interested in you. But when I found out you were dating, I backed off. When I saw your boyfriend slacking, I needed to make it clear to Mark that I was going to reach out to you somehow.”

You narrow your eyes at him, the audacity of it all making your blood boil. “So, you’ve been planning this from the start?”

“Not exactly,” Mingyu says, shrugging. “But I saw an opportunity and took it. Your boyfriend was a dick, and you deserve better.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “And you think you’re better?”

Mingyu’s is smug. “I know I am.”

“And what makes you think I’d be interested in you?” you challenge, crossing your arms.

Mingyu steps closer, his gaze intense. “You’re fierce, competitive, and you don’t take shit from anyone. You’re exactly the kind of challenge I like.”

You roll your eyes, though a small part of you is flattered? “You’re still an asshole.”

He grins. “Maybe, but at least I’m honest about it. Can’t say the same for Mark.”

You take a deep breath, trying to process everything. "Mingyu, just stay out of my way. I don’t need any more complications.”

“What can I say? I know what I want.” He shrugs before leaving, again, with that stupid smirk on his face.

[...]

You were dragged by your friends to every party on campus, parties you didn’t even know existed, every day a new one. According to them, you needed to enjoy your new ‘single’ life. And with all the guys on campus now aware that you were single, your DMs were flooded.

Tonight was one of those nights. Everyone saw you parking your motorcycle in front of the frat house, the rumble announcing your arrival. You danced with your friends, met new people, but your happiness didn’t last long.

You caught a glimpse of Mark and Sayla. Sayla was wearing one of his baseball jackets, his arm draped over her shoulder. Everyone stared at them, the ‘new’ couple making a fool of themselves.

You didn’t expect Mark to be so bald-faced about it. Your blood boiled, your head felt like it was on fire, and you wanted to leave the party. But if you did, you’d look weak. So you stayed, trying to enjoy the party with your friends, but it was impossible. When Mark kissed Sayla, one eye open in your direction to gauge your reaction, you couldn’t take it anymore.

You grabbed your helmet and stormed out of the party, your friends calling after you, warning you not to do anything stupid because you were hot-headed.

And you were, for real.

Arriving back on campus, you pulled out your phone, fingers fumbling as you dialed a number. Your steps echoed, the dress you’d chosen for the party riding up with each step, making you pull it down in frustration.

The phone rang, and rang, until finally, a voice answered, “You calling me? Y/N, what a—”

“Where are you?” you cut him off, voice trembling with rage.

“Damn, what happened to ‘hello, how are you?’” The voice was playful, but you weren’t in the mood.

“Where. Are. You.”

“Hell, I’m at my dorm, wassup?”

“Open the door,” you demanded.

“What?”

“Open the fucking door,” you said before hanging up.

Moments later, the dorm door opened, revealing Mingyu with the phone still in his hand, wearing only black shorts that showed a peek of his white underwear. He looked confused, but when he saw you—eyes almost black with rage, in your little dress—he swore it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

“Hmm, all upset, just the way I wanted,” he teased, leaning against the doorframe.

You pushed him inside, slamming the door shut behind you and tossing your cell phone on the table. You kissed him, rough and urgent, your fingers tangling in his hair. Mingyu moaned between kisses, the realization that you were kissing him sinking in. His hands found your waist, one hand sliding up to your neck, choking you slightly, making you gasp.

A smirk played on his lips, between breaths. “About time you admitted it.”

“Shut up,” you muttered before kissing him again, harder this time.

Mingyu's grip tightened on your waist, pulling you closer. “You’re so damn hot when you’re mad,” he murmured against your lips.

“Just shut up and kiss me,” you demanded, your fingers tugging at his hair.

He obliged, kissing you with a fervor that matched your own. His hand slid down your back, gripping your ass and pulling you against him. You could feel his bulge pressing against you, a reminder of how much he wanted you. You broke the kiss, breathlessly, your eyes locking onto his.

“What’s your plan, Y/N?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

You smirked, a glint of mischief in your eyes. “To make sure I don’t think about Mark ever again.”

Mingyu’s eyes darkened with craving. “I can help with that.”

“Good,” you said, pulling him back into a kiss, your hands exploring his body, feeling the heat radiating from his skin, fingers fumbling from his big chest, to the defined lines of his abs.

Your hand slides from his lower belly to his cock, squeezing his clothed erection slightly. You feel him twitch in your hand, a broken sob leaving his lips.

“Fuck, you got hard so fast,” you murmur against his mouth.

He moans, his breath hot and heavy. “Can’t help it when it’s you.”

You grin wickedly, turning around to show him the long zipper at the back of your dress. “Help me,” you say, your voice low and inviting.

Mingyu nods, his eyes dark with desire. He bites his lip, trying to stifle a moan as he catches the zipper and slides it down, his happiness akin to opening a Christmas gift. The dress falls away, and you hold your breasts in your hands, turning to face him, your fingers playing with your hardened nipples, watching his eyebrows furrow.

His hot hand covers yours, and you let him take over, feeling the heat of his touch. He pushes you toward the bed, his lips trailing kisses down your neck before biting gently, his notorious fangs grazing your sensitive skin.

You moan, the sound going straight to his cock. His hands move desperately to your panties, fingers fumbling with the lace until they’re off your legs. He opens your legs with his hands, giving your wet folds a not-so-discreet look.

Mingyu licks his fingers, meeting your eyes before sliding them inside you. You scream at the sudden stretch, feeling his big fingers filling you. He looks at you, to see if it hurts, but then he feels you getting wetter and wetter, your pants filling the room. His hand stills, and you roll your clit against his palm.

His fingers start to slide in and out, the wet noises are sinful as he finds your g'spot. You gasp, your body arching from his bedsheets, your both hands finding his forearm, stilling his fingers curled in this position.

Mingyu's eyes widen in surprise at your reaction, and he repeats the motion, pressing against your sweet spot again, making your eyes fill with tears.

''R-right here! Please!"

“Did your boyfriend never find this spot?” he asks, his voice serious.

You shake your head negatively, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

Mingyu's expression hardens, anger flashing in his eyes. “That asshole didn’t know how to please you,” he mutters, then his voice softens as he coos at you.

You sob, his fingers curling repeatedly on the spongy spot. “Aw… don’t worry, my love. I’m going to make you feel so good.”

He continues to stimulate you, watching your every reaction, your pleasure nourishing his own. His fingers work you expertly, and you start to get embarrassed by how wet you are getting.

But you can't stop your hips from rubbing against his hands, you can't stop yourself from constantly moaning his name, and you can't help but wonder how you survived without feeling the pleasure Mingyu was giving you.

Your body tenses so much, you're afraid of getting injured, and the pleasure builds, making your vision blurry, catching only Mingyu's silhouette. “Mingyu…,” you gasp, your voice shaking.

He's in love with your sensitive form. He slides his fingers out, brushing against your clit, making you moan, wanting the stimulation again, but then he munches on your pussy, making a throaty moan leave your mouth, tears wetting your cheeks. You don't even know if you're sobbing or moaning. You can only focus on his warm mouth sucking everything it can.

Mingyu moans against you, like he's getting stimulated too, and when you manage to squeak out, “Gonna' cum,” he moans even more, the vibrations going to your clit as you arch your back, squeezing your tits.

He opens your legs—quivering pathetically around his head—with the strength of his arms. He only stops when he feels your clit throbbing incessantly inside his mouth, all sensitive.

You don't know how long it took before you were in your mind again, but you can feel Mingyu kissing your whole body. For him, it was a maxim to calm you down, but mainly to appreciate every bit of your skin. When you open your eyes, he's kissing your hand, his thumb gently caressing it. You don't look much, or you will blush. For him, it could finish like this: you cummed, satisfied, and he gets satisfied. But then you mumble, eyes lidded, “Fuck me, please.”

His eyes almost fall from his skull. He watches your legs spread, and you slap weakly at your pussy, inviting him. Mingyu almost falls back with your tease. His hands, lowering his shorts and underwear in one go, desperate to go over you.

"Wait."

He stills, and you smile at his obedience. You turn around, on all fours, wiggling your ass at him, and you hear a suffered moan behind you, making you scoff.

He squeezes your ass between his hands tightly, then slaps your meat, making you hiss. Then another one, making you moan. Then another one, making you drip a line of your cum on the sheets.

Mingyu feels like a crazy creature. He pumps his veiny cock before sliding on your wet folds to spread your cum. And then slides inside. You were so tight, so tight that his blood pressure almost falls down.

“I need to thank your boyfriend for keeping it tight.” He groans after bottoming out.

You widen your eyes at the comment, he sounded so sincere. And you laugh, your hand covering your face, and he chuckles too, seeing that he can't hold his tongue around you.

He can feel you clenching around him every time you laugh, making him moan synchronized with you. He starts to move and your laughs turn into moans, laughed-moans.

“Shit, you’re so tight, you are squeezing me,” he cries, his thrusts slow and deep.

“Didn’t think you’d be this talkative,” you manage between gasps, your body responding to every move he makes.

“Can’t help it,” he breathes, leaning down to kiss your shoulder.

His pace quickens, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. You grip the sheets, your back arching as he hits just the right spot. “Right there, Mingyu. Fuck, right there.”

He obeys, his thrusts becoming more precise, each one sending thrills through your body. “You feel so good,” he murmurs, his hands gripping your hips. “So fucking good.”

"Seriously, Mingyu," continue betwee moans, "you have no filter."

He grins, thrusting harder. "You're too much."

"Too much for you?" you tease, pushing back against him.

"Never," he mooans, his hands gripping your hips tighter. "I could do this forever."

You moan at his words, that feeling on your stomach tightening. "God, Mingyu..."

He leans over, his breath hot against your ear. "You like it when I talk, hm? When I say, how good you feel?"

You nod frantically, your mind a blur, you were cock-drunk, moaning his name like it was the only word you ever knew.

He chuckles darkly, thrusting deeper. "Good, because I’m not stopping until you can’t even say his name."

He stops his hips inside you, balls deep, and you can feel his tip kissing your cervix as he rolls his hips to make you feel it deep. Your arms quiver, making you fall with your chest on the bed, face on the sheets. You've never felt someone this deep before. Your hand reaches the bulge Mingyu makes on your belly, and you writhe.

He dirty talks, "You like to feel me here?"

You answer with a throaty moan. He closes his eyes to your rough moan and says, "Fuck, I need to see your pretty face moaning my name."

He turns you to lay on the bed again, one of your legs on his shoulder, and the other stretched by his hand. Since when were you this flexible? you think. When he slams inside you again, your messy cunt clings to him for dear life.

You moan all sly, and Mingyu is inches from your face now, and he teases you, "Look who's all sensitive right now. Where's that grumpy girl from the race? Hm? You just needed a good cock fucking you right to get you relaxed? Right, babe?"

You want to clap a hand on his mouth to keep his cocky talk out of it, but your pussy betrays you, clenching around him the moment his dirty words start to fall from his lips. Instead, you give some wet kisses on his lips. He reciprocates every one of them.

You ask him to touch you, and he looks in your eyes, asking, "Where?"

You guide one of his hands to your clit. He collects some of the lubrication that formed a ring at the base of his cock and starts to massage the swollen bud, circling it. Your nails scratch his back, and he hisses, eyes closing. He ruts desperately into you, your pussy casting a spell on him, all wet and good for him.

You glance around the space, the warm illuminated lamp, the scent of his cologne everywhere, his tanned body sweating to give you pleasure, his muscles clenching as he holds you, his hand on your clit, his cock filling you, his eyes focused on every one of your expressions, his moans every time you clench.

You prepare for every detail when your eyes suddenly blur. You feel it coming... fuck. You're cumming, but something else is coming too.

The realization hits you, and you say, "No, no, no, shit!"

You hold his bicep, your head thrown back, the veins on your neck popping. You try to stop, but you can't. You squirt all over him and his bed.

Mingyu stops inside you, mouth open. Now he gets desperate, taking his cock from you and cumming on your belly, so far that it hits your tits too. He lets your legs rest on the bed, and you cover your mouth.

"M-Mingyu, your bed! I'm sorry, let me put this to wash and—" You start to get up, feeling a rush of embarrassment and responsibility for the mess.

Mingyu, still catching his breath, quickly moves to stop you, his hand firm but gentle on your shoulder. He gives you a little push, making you lay back on the bed again. "Hey, relax," he says, his voice low and soothing. "It's just a bed. We can clean it up later."

You look at him, your cheeks flushed. "But it's such a mess," you protest weakly.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. "I like it messy," he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead. "Besides, I think I like you better like this."

"But seriously, Mingyu, your bed—"

He cuts you off with a kiss, his lips capturing yours in a tender, lingering embrace. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with desire. "The bed can wait," he murmurs. "Right now, I want to focus on you."

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the sincerity in his voice making your pulse quicken. "Mingyu," you whisper, feeling the heat rise in your body again.

He tilts your chin up to meet his gaze, his thumb brushing gently over your lower lip. "You're beautiful, you know that?" he says softly. "Especially when you're all flustered and breathless like this."

Mingyu's eyes sparkle with mischief as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "Then why don't we make a little more mess before we clean up?" he suggests, his voice a seductive whisper.

[...]

Your ex's message lights up your cellphone on the table beside the bed: "Where are you?" Mark asks. You can't help but scoff at the audacity. The nerve of him to ask after everything he's done. A surge of defiance washes over you, fueled by the memory of him flaunting Sayla around like some trophy.

Mingyu's rhythm doesn't falter as he thrusts into you from behind, his hand gripping your hair, pulling just enough to make you feel the pain on your scalp, but loving the pleasure that comes with it too. You reach for your phone, you know exactly how to answer Mark's question.

With a quick swipe, you open the camera, positioning it just right. The screen captures the sinful scene—Mingyu's defined body behind you, your flushed shoulder peeking into view, and your hair being pulled by Mingyu.

You snap the photo and attach it to the message as a single view photo.

Letting the image speak for itself.

"Here's your answer," you mutter under your breath, hitting send.

Mingyu's grip tightens, his pace quickening as he senses the shift in your mood. "What did you just do?" he asks, laughing.

You turn your head slightly to meet his gaze, a wicked smile playing on your lips. "Just answered a question," you reply, your voice breathless.

Mingyu's eyes darken with approval. "Good girl," he murmurs, leaning down to kiss the back of your neck, his thrusts growing more forceful. "Let's give him something to really be jealous about."

The bed creaks beneath you, the sound mingling with the chorus of moans and gasps that fill the room. As Mingyu's hand slips down to tease your clit, your phone buzzes again, another message from Mark.

But you don't bother to check it.

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fastandcarlos · 1 year ago

Text

Padel Queen : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen

summary: when max suggests couples padel with george and carmen, he worries about how good you'll be, little does he know though what a master of padel you are

“Are you sure that this is a good idea?” Max asked you one final time as you took the racket that he offered out of his hands. “It’s not too late for us to say no,” he reminded you, anxious eyes watching as you stood yourself up.

You looked the part, but playing the part? You weren’t too sure. When Carmen and George invited you for a game of padel you were keen to find out more about the game that Max seemed to love so much, but now that you were there, your confidence had diminished.

The noise of rackets hitting the ball continually made you jump as you put your trainers on, the speed that some of the balls were struck made you flinch in fear, and the groans of effort that echoed left you questioning how athletic you really were.

“I’ve got this!” You cheered, nudging against Max’s side, refusing to let him see just how nervous you were.

The two of you walked onto the court, picking the side you’d serve from whilst George and Carmen finished getting themselves ready. Max walked across and picked up one of the balls, taking you to the baseline at the back of the court.

“I’m going to teach you how to serve so you’re an expert in the game,” he informed you, turning you so that you were facing the right way.

You allowed Max to guide you, listening closely to his instructions, copying his movements whenever he demonstrated, constantly reminding you that he was an expert of padel.

The first time you served, you just managed to get the ball over the net, watching it bounce dejectedly on the other side of the court.

“How was that?” You grinned, spinning to face Max, his expression not matching your own. “What? What did I do wrong?”

Max scratched nervously over the top of his head, feeling his heart break as he saw how excited you were before him. “Well…you got it over the net, that’s a start.”

You could tell Max was trying to be kind as he went to fetch the ball, handing it back to you again. You stood sideways, like he said, body facing where you wanted to aim, like he said, arm holding the ball out, like he said. But Max wasn’t happy yet. The feeling of a figure right behind you made your body tense up as Max held his hands over both of yours.

“Let’s do it together,” he whispered, getting you to throw the ball up, swinging the racket back. You let Max guide you as the racket hit the ball, watching it go over the net with plenty more power the second time around. “And make sure you follow through with your swing too.”

The two of you practised a few more times before George and Carmen stepped onto the court. Max jogged over to you as you got yourself ready, draping his arm across your shoulders.

“We can beat these two easily,” he joked, trying his best to lighten your mood and fill you with confidence, “serve like I taught you and we’ll be just fine.”

You nodded in reply as George shouted for you to hurry up, taking your positions on the court. Whilst you and Carmen both stood relaxed, George and Max both looked up for the battle, determined to beat each other and earn themselves bragging rights.

George passed the ball to Carmen to start your game off, with Max easily reaching the serve and returning the ball. You found yourself a little lost on the court as Max raced around, almost forgetting as if you were there most of the time. After a bit of back and forth, mostly between the boys, Max lobbed the ball just over Carmen’s head giving you the point.

“That was perfect,” Max cheered as he turned around to approach you, offering his fist for you to fist bump.

You couldn’t help but admire the sudden competitiveness that appeared in Max, it didn’t matter if he was in a car, on the court, or just getting into the car with you, he wanted to be first no matter what.

“It’s your turn to serve now,” Max told you, placing the ball on your racket, “just remember what I told you and you’ll be just fine.”

You took the ball as Max offered you a reassuring smile, turning your body so that you were facing George. You could be forgiven for thinking he was a professional with how he stood, leaving you intimidated opposite him.

You remembered Max’s words as you swung the racket back, throwing the ball up into the air. You took a deep breath before swinging the racket forwards, watching on as the ball flew across the net, leaving a dumfounded George swinging and missing to return your serve.

“What the-“

“Babe! Where did that come from?”

George was frozen to the spot, feeling Carmen’s eyes on him. Meanwhile, Max ran over to you, wrapping his arms around your frame and twirling you around in the air.

“Have you secretly been practising or something?” Max chuckled as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “that was one of the best serves that I’ve ever seen in a game of padel.”

You weren’t quite sure where it came from, and truthfully, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to hit a ball like that again, but feeling the excitement that radiated from Max made it all worth it. He couldn’t quite believe what he had seen, laughing away to himself in disbelief.

“Turns out I might be better at this than you,” you teased once Max put you down, “I guess you can just call me the padel queen.”

“You told me that she’d never played before,” George called out, letting the reality of what just happened sink in.

Max shrugged in reply, unable to help George. “I swear, I’ve never seen her play like that before. If you want to quit now, just say. I think we know who’s going to win this game now.”

George brushed his hand through his hair as Max took a hold of your hand, leading you back to your positions on court again. There was still a wave of surprise across the net from you as Max took the ball to serve this time.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to do it?” You joked, feeling Max’s eyes land on you, the corners of his smile turning up.

“Hey, you might be good, but you’ve got nothing on me yet.”

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

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keferon · 5 months ago

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Part 2 of Jazz and Prowl in space!

Gonna start calling it Odds of Survival.

Prowl loves entrusting his life to reckless strangers.

———————————————————————

Prowl pulled the release to the airlock and the music was swallowed by the vacuum of space.

Bursting forward, Jazz launched outwards riding the pop of escaping air. The first quintesson had its eye socket repurposed as an ankle bracelet before the second measure even began.

Ah.

Prowl probably should have specified he wanted to try speeding past rather than confront their opponents directly.

Jazz's improvised footwear writhed sluggishly before the mech twisted his ped inside its brain case, finishing it off and turning to face the next nearest opponent.

Odds of survival 26%

The white and blue mech launched himself upwards as the nearest quintesson went for a dive bomb. It's teeth breaking on impact with the sky bridge. Jazz twisted in midair.

They fell in slow motion, back arching against a starlit backdrop. An upside down visor met blue optics. Jazz nodded his head to the side, flicking one horn up and one horn down.

Did he just wink? (#^%)

The falling mech unsheathed a blade from his wrist, driving it through the sputtering quintesson.

Oh Primus has he been flirting the entire time?

Jazz spun, slicing into the next quint to close the distance.

I can not. I can not assume that was intentional. It has to be a cultural miscommunication.

The last two quintessons pounced. Swinging hard, Jazz caught one's jaws with a forearm while he kicked the downed another in the side of the head. The third was attempting to bite into his back but the teeth couldn't get a full purchase on the rounded compact plating.

Odds of survival 22%.

Prowl snapped out of his social etiquette downward spiral. Sprinting from the safety of the airlock door, he knelt behind a large section of external piping, lining up his shots.

Tacnet spun to work.

It was designed to calculate hundreds of possible variations of large scale engagements, including the number of soldiers, type of weaponry available and could even determine the approximate number of ammunitions that would be left over, provided Prowl had enough data at his disposal.

Calculating the marksmanship needed to dispatch three hostiles at medium range while distracted by a highly competent ally?

Odds of Survival 32%

Laughable.

Three shots burst through the thin atmosphere.

Quintesson wreckers were built thick skulled and stubborn. Luckily they came with easily identifiable gaps in their organic construction.

The Quints fell from Jazz, each with a smoking hole where and eye used to be. Jazz looked at Prowl, then the smoking quintessons and back up to Prowl before doing finger guns again.

Speaking of thick skulled and stubborn.

Prowl put on his best Commanders Scowl and pointed in the direction they needed to be currently running in.

Doorwing sensors hiked as he picked up on movement from behind. The incoming hostiles was palpable even in the moons thin atmosphere. Quintessons rarely favored stealth.

Prowl began running.

Jazz kept pace, half turned around to keep track of the incoming troop. Prowl kept his optics locked forward, not remotely willing to risk tripping on the torn apart path.

Tacnet locked on to a large silvery pillow that'd been exposed to the atmosphere.

Expanding LLX Lithium battery. Explosion on contact 90%

Prowl shouted a warning but the air was too thin to carry beyond his own audials.

Jazz will step on the lithium battery in 1.5 clicks (88%) and will be critically injured in at least one leg (76%).

Prowl grabbed Jazz's servo and yanked.

Music erupted in the moment of connection.

Vibrations ran up his arm and across his frame. Inside his audials, Prowl could make out the song Jazz had begun in the airlock. Looking at his visor, mouth agape, only one thought could form in Prowls mind.

How fragging loud is he playing that music?!?

Jazz perked up, and pulled Prowl around in an arc. Multiple sharp impacts thudded into the ground behind him. Prowl turned and almost wished he hadn’t.

Three heavily armored Quintesson bombers equipped with bio-mechanical ballista.

The javelin like spikes were as long as Prowls arm and designed to pin targets in place while the slow moving blimp-like body of the bomber got into position to blow them all to the Pit.

Prowl tugged Jazz in the direction of their objective, refusing to let go in case he tried to launch himself at the bombers. Prowl wasn't sure how Jazz would manage to do so, but Prowl felt an overwhelming nagging sensation in his tanks that he'd fragging try.

Jazz was evidently fine with this arrangement.

As the music pulsed between their palms, Jazz leapt at a diagonal, pulling Prowl along for the ride. The low gravity was so damn floaty. It continually forced Prowl to readjust his footing so he wasn't frantically treading air every time his peds left the ground.

Jazz was evidently fine with that too.

Another round of ammunitions impacted where the two of them had been running.

Their egress began to take on a pattern Prowl was quick to pick up on. It took the bombers 8 clicks to reload, launching at the same time, half a click after musical flair in Jazz's song. At the moment of the flair, the mech would launch them in a nearly unpredictable pattern. After the first two times of nearly getting his arm dislocated, Prowl began catching onto these moments and moved his momentum in sync with Jazz.

They'd started dancing.

The Tactician had an iron fisted focus on matching Jazz’s frankly eradicate lead. The longer the duet continued, the more data he had to work with. Prowl steadily progressed from Reacting to Anticipating. Feeling a core deep satisfaction that came from sinking into mastering a new skill.

By the time they’d escaped the bombers range, they’d made it too the base of the first hurdle.

Their reprieve would only be brief. The bombers would catch up in approximately 50 clicks (88%), giving the mechs a small window of precious semi-safety in which they needed to scale the wall before them.

Prowl craned his helm back at the barrier.

He would not be able to scale it on his own in time (95%).

Could Jazz? (65%)

While carrying him? (19%)

Jazz rapidly tapped his side.

The alien was crouched low, impossible legs bent with potential energy. He tapped his own back, gesturing for Prowl to grab on already.

Prowl threw himself over the mechs broad back. His digits frantically searched for a hand hold, flinching away from nearly digging into fragile vents.

I can’t-

Jazz leapt.

“You’re really grab-able - Isn’t that kinda stupid?”

Stupid stupid stupid.

Prowl skated off of Jazz’s rounded compact plating, that he specifically SAID was supposed to make him hard to hold on to.

He landed hard on his aft, denta clanking together painfully.

47 clicks remaining.

Jazz hit the ground beside him before Prowl had fully gotten back up. Now facing him, Jazz grabbed Prowl by both wrists and pulled him chassis to chassis. Jazz positioned his arms to link Prowls servos behind his helm, then set his own servos tightly onto Prowls waist.

Jazz nodded once, like he was satisfied with what he’d just done.

Prowl made a facial expression that a psychiatrist would find concerning.

42 Clicks.

Jazz nodded again, like expected Prowl to respond in any coherent manner, and lifted.

Prowls legs swung forward on instinct. Following the motion, Jazz wrapped them around his waist. Through the screaming haze of his processor, Prowl had the presence of mind to lock his ankles together as he realized Jazz’s true intentions, and manually aborted the logic cascade that had nearly crashed over him.

Package secured, Jazz let go and started their ascension.

Legs bent at an impossible angle to slam multi segmented peds flat against the metal walls. Despite Prowl’s body blocking most of his view, the alien mech was unfettered by the lack of vision. Jazz hardly bothered with proper hand holds, instead opting for incredibly strong magnetic grip built into his servos.

The magnetic backwash splashed over Prowls doors wings, forcing him to temporarily offline them or risk crippling vertigo. The structure they were scaling shook violently like something large had just irrevocably broken.

This is fine this is fine this is fine this is fine.

At 35 click’s remaining, Prowl centered himself enough to search for their pursuers.

Damn it!

The bombers were a fraction faster than he initially calculated. Six clicks before we’re in range (87%). Luckily, Jazz was more than a fraction faster than initially calculated as well. At this rate, they’d reach the top simultaneously.

No reason not to be proactive.

Prowl found that if he tightly cupped one servo around the back of Jazz’s helm, he had just enough leverage to bring out a side arm. After all, the bombers were already in range of him.

Steadying his elbow over the other mechs shoulder, Prowl took aim.

Five clicks.

The bombers flew in V formation.

Four clicks.

Too heavily armored for a standard sidearm to pierce.

Three clicks.

The lead bomber opened up its front in preparation for combat.

Got you.

Prowl threaded the gap, his shot skirting over the ballista in favor of impacting the bombers prodigious cargo. He watched something spark inside a split second before it succumbed to total annihilation.

The shockwave felt like a single soft papft of a breeze in the starlit air.

Jazz hefted them over the top of the wall, not dropping Prowl in favor of sprinting with him at full speed across the top of the hurdle.

One of his arms curled around to support Prowls back, allowing the Praxian to release his death grip on their helm. Prowl leaned back into the hold, allowing Jazz freedom to see again.

Jazz turned his helm around 180 degrees-

Did not know he could do that did not know he could do that.

- to look at the fire works behind them.

Jazz whistled appreciatively at the sight. He turned back to Prowl, visor locked onto his face as they carried him across the roof.

Reverberating music, nearly crashing, numbed doorwings, and a deeply satisfying kill all followed by a display of casual body horror was making Prowl just a little bit delirious. As a result, Prowl wasn’t entirely sure what expression he was making, just that Jazz was inordinately fascinated with it.

Without looking away, Jazz leapt off the end of the roof.

Prowl watched as Jazz glanced over his shoulder and back to him.

Do a double take.

And then crush Prowl to his chassis.

Jazz’s visor was over bright, both horns snapped completely forward and from somewhere inside his chassis, Prowl could feel some internal component spinning into overdrive, sounding for all the world like teeny tiny screaming.

Why are we still falling.

Prowl turned as far as possible in Jazz’s iron grip.

The sky bridge was collapsing.

Odds of Survival 4%

———————————————————————

Jazz, everytime Prowl one-shots an enemy: I need to get his number.

If you’re curious, the song Jazz is playing can be whatever you like. Personally I kept switching between listening to “I Was Made For Lovin’ You” by Kiss and “I Feel Love” 12” version by Donna Summer while writing.

- SSTP

OH GOD AHAHJFKFK THIS IS SO FUCKING GREAT HELP

And the concept of music playing between them??? I'm s o l d. "I was made for lovin' you baby" is basically JP OST for me at this point ehehhmgmgm

Jazz: Hookay I need to transport the machinery from the point A to point B. Focus! Let's go!

Prowl: One of those tiktok videos where you can see some Reddit post and hear AI narrating it while Minecraft parkour is playing on the background. Except it's gay panic instead of reddit post and internal screaming instead of narration and even more gay panic instead of minecraft. ......and everything is overheating probably lmao

Also can you really call it a JP fic if their odds of survival never dropped lower than 10% according to Prowls brain? Ahahjgkgk all amazing JP fics have to do this. It's inevitable and I love it so much~~

#You made me think of like....#Jazz is impossible to grab unless he wants you to grab him #so whenever Prowl wants to hold/grab/stop him he can do that because Jazz lets him. Like he feels a hand touching his shoulder and stops #or smth #while Prowl is very grabbable and Jazz could just yank him by literally any part of his body lol #Cybertronians made of metal plates with pretty wide gaps between them #also often placed in layers #so Jazz could just stick his fingers literally anywhere and ta daaah~ perfect holder #....well if we don't count the fact that sticking your hands under someone's plates is extremely intimate gesture for those you're close wit #or doctors #where do I lead with this thought #idk. I just think it's funny. Cultural miscommunication do be extremely gay flavored in mecha universe what can I say #mecha writing #mecha jp writing #mecha pilot jazz au #jazz #prowl #jazzprowl

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standfucker · 1 year ago

Text

Rotation

Characters: Kid, Killer, Heat, Wire

Reader: cis fem

Word Count: 24k

CW: explicit NSF.W content, recreation drug use, aphrodisiac, gangbang, oral (giving and receiving), double penetration, triple penetration, anal, voyeurism

Summary: After finally opening up to the crew, a recent personal victory has you all sailing to your home island to celebrate. However, you accidentally smoke the wrong strain, one thing leads to another, and you become the next object in the rotation.

Ao3 Link

Mesiba Island was famous far and wide for being a party island. Casinos, clubs, bars, brothels, even a natural hot spring–there was something for everyone. Liquor flowed like water, and drug laws were the laxest in all of the Grand Line. As your homeplace, you were used to the chaos and violence. Crimes of passion were commonplace, and death was regular news.

Still, somehow you never expected it to happen to you.

A visiting pirate killed a close friend of yours, and by the time you’d heard about it, he’d fled the island. You were able to find out two vital things: He was heading further into the Grand Line, and he had a crew.

You were going to kill him. Of that, you were certain. But you also knew you couldn’t do it on your own. So, only hours after you’d learned of your friend’s death, you’d looked over the pirate crews that had currently docked on the island and approached the strongest one there.

“I want to join your crew.” You spoke firmly, standing tall, trying to show how serious you were.

“Oh?” Eustass “Captain” Kid looked down his nose at you. “Why should I let you?”

You gritted your teeth. “I want to kill someone who’s traversing the Grand Line. He’s got a crew. So I need to travel with one, too. And it needs to be a crew who’s not afraid to get dirty. The meaner the better.”

Kid wasn’t impressed. “And what makes you think you can handle sailing with us, pipsqueak?”

“I’m strong.”

“You’re puny,” Kid scoffed. He did have over a foot of height on you, but it didn’t scare you. Size difference was rarely an issue for you in fights. “And you use knives,” he continued, gaze falling to the rows of short blades strapped to your hips, “meaning you have to get in close range to your opponent, where you’ll get torn apart.”

“If they can keep up,” you argued. What you lacked in brute force, you well made up for in speed. “I can fight, Kid.”

The man cast a shadow as he leaned over you, narrowed eyes taking in your determined expression, assessing something–you didn’t know what. Then he smirked and stood up straight.

“Tell you what,” Kid jerked his thumb over his shoulder, toward a man in blue who was almost as big as he was. A blue and white mask entirely concealed his face, thick blond hair spilling behind it that reached the back of his knees. Large hands curled around heavy metal gauntlets that were attached to wicked-looking scythes, currently folded back out of the way.

“If you can survive three minutes with Killer, I’ll let you join,” Kid said, looking smug. Like he thought you would be intimidated.

“Masquerade Rapunzel over there?” You glanced at the masked man. He was built a little leaner than Kid, but still impressive. Nothing you couldn’t handle, though. And if you couldn’t do this much, then how could you avenge your friend? You raised your chin confidently. “Bet.”

Killer ended up surprising you with his speed, but you were more agile. As a bigger target, he had to block your strikes while you needed to dodge his. The swings of those scythes packed a lot of force behind them, it was too risky to attempt to block. You were certain it would only take a single, direct hit to mortally injure you. But you were very good with your knives, and you were efficient above all else: your knowledge of anatomy taught you the best points to aim for on the human body.

Three minutes later, you’d stabbed Killer right below the chest. He almost decapitated you afterward, though, suddenly moving far more quickly than before. You jerked back at the last moment, and his blade tore you open to the bone, from your clavicle to your shoulder. Now second-guessing your chances of survival, you nonetheless prepared to strike back–and Kid called time. You and Killer were both hurting, but you were alive.

You expected them to be angry, but neither Kid nor Killer seemed bothered about either of the frankly concerning injuries. Moreover, Kid was impressed enough by the fight to honor his word. Their ship’s doctor patched you both up, and that night, you became the newest member of the Kid Pirates.

You didn’t open up for months.

You didn’t talk, much less hold conversations, and you mostly kept to yourself. Part of it was the fresh grief of losing your friend. Part of it was difficulty adjusting to the new lifestyle, having never sailed before. But mostly, you figured there was no point–after you got your revenge, you’d be parting ways with the Kid Pirates. It stayed in the back of your mind the entire time: This is temporary.

“Hey, Y/n, watcha doin’?” House paused by where you sat against the mast, your weapons laid out on your lap.

“Sharpening my knives,” you responded without looking at her.

“Didn’t you do that yesterday?”

“I like knowing they’re sharp.”

House glanced to the side, fiddling with her fingers. “...Oookay. I’ll leave you to it, I guess…”

And so it went. But months slipped by and turned to years, and living and fighting with the same people for that long had an effect that even your stubborn self couldn’t resist. It was in the way Wire dropped his coat onto you when you were shivering from an unexpected cold front, the garment gigantic and more like a blanket in comparison to you. It was in the way Killer found out your favorite food and served it for dinner after catching you crying one afternoon in the crow’s nest. It was in the way the girls in the crew drew you into their group (“us pirate girls gotta stick together!”) and let you jam with them on your off hours. Slowly, like a flower growing after the last winter, you opened up to the others’ warmth.

And heaven help them when you did, because once you got comfortable, you stopped censoring yourself. As you became friendly with the crew and got past your grief, your original personality started to shine through, and whatever thought came to mind was fair game. You started talking to the crew like you did to your friends back home–which, for Mesiba Island natives, typically meant being crass and lewd. You couldn’t help it, it was just in your nature. Maybe your original friend group took it too far, though.

Case in point: Heat looked over your shoulder at a letter you were writing one day, and commented on your (admittedly awful) handwriting.

“Can your friends back home even read what you send them, or do you all write like that?”

You replied without thinking. “Don’t bully me, Heat, I’ll cum.”

Heat’s entire body flinched like he was hit, and he blushed all the way down to his neck, contrasting brilliantly with his tattoos. Completely disarmed, he opened his mouth to reply, but couldn’t find the words.

Oops, that might have been a bit much for him. For all that his appearance might suggest, Heat was one of the most reserved members of the crew. You just returned to your letter, adding the exchange to the list of things you were writing about. You’d leave out how cute the blush looked on Heat, though, saving that thought for yourself to enjoy privately.

Then there was the time Kid was having drunken arm wrestling matches with some of the guys. You slid into the seat across from him and propped your elbow on the table, equally inebriated and mostly joking–his arm was three times as thick as yours, after all.

Kid shot you a lazy smirk. “Don’t even bother. You’ll just be a disappointment.”

“You sound like my father,” you joked. “Careful there, Captain. I might develop a complex.”

Brow raising, he grabbed your outstretched hand, dwarfing it in his. “Sounds like you already have one.”

“It is what it is.” Your gaze dropped to his arm, to the flexing of the thick muscle rippling underneath the skin, a little too intoxicated to catch yourself checking him out. Kid didn’t miss it, looking smug.

He squeezed your hand, the strength behind his grip setting butterflies free in your stomach. “Give it your best shot, then, pipsqueak.”

You pushed with all your might, straining and struggling, even leaning your body weight into his arm like you weren’t supposed to. You barely made any headway, Kid’s arm only moving back a little bit. He just watched you through half-lidded eyes, unbothered, a small smirk showing his amusement at your feeble attempt.

Maybe it was just the alcohol warming your blood, but the struggle seemed to affect you a little more than it should have. You could have chalked up the pounding of your heart to the physical exertion of the attempt, and not the stark power difference so obviously displayed between you and Kid, but it would have been a lie. The way your gaze kept ending up on his massive arms was proof enough of that.

“Hmph.” Kid waited another minute, then slowly and easily pushed your hand down until it pressed into the table. He did not let go. “Weak.”

“Bleh,” you stuck out your tongue, even though you had fully expected the result. “Well, you don’t need a lot of force behind your attacks if your knives are sharp.” You patted the knives at your hip and smirked. “Flesh parts easily for the sturdy blade.”

Kid’s grip on your hand tightened a little, and you went rigid at the way his voice dipped low. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Y/n?”

“Intimately so,” you shot back, feeling your cheeks getting warm, the sensation of his hand over yours suddenly overwhelming. Unused to feeling shy, you quickly covered it up with banter. “While I also enjoy holding your hand, Captain, I’ll be needing mine back.”

Kid’s eyes widened before he let go, drawing his arm back a bit too fast. Got him.

You stood, deciding tactfully not to point out his reaction, instead offering him a sheepish grin. “Thanks for indulging me, anyway. G’night, Captain.”

Maybe you had imagined the faint dusting of red on his cheeks, but as you walked away, you were determined not to think about it. Teasing was fine with you, so long as it stayed strictly verbal–you had no business getting close in that sort of way with anyone, no matter how drawn you felt to them. There were a few people in the crew that you liked being around a little more than you should have. It probably wasn’t a coincidence that they were the only ones who could kick your ass, your brain immediately going to unsavory places whenever they bested you while sparring.

Technically it made sense, given that they were the strongest four: Kid, Killer, Wire, and Heat. You ranked fifth in terms of combat ability (though other crewmates had seniority over you due to experience,) earned one day after a long, exhausting match with Gig. You had barely come out on top, literally, by perching on his back and strangling him with his own necklace. You were certain you could at least handle Heat after that, but when you later challenged the fire-breather, it only took a short while before he had you pinned to the floor with a hand wrapped around your neck, your knives knocked out of reach.

Heat opened his mouth, curls of smoke rising out in threat, and you tapped out, trying not to think about the feel of his fingers around your throat.

“Okay, okay, you win,” you sighed in defeat. “Hurry up and let go before you awaken something in me.”

Heat pulled away quickly, blushing, though it could have also been from exertion. It looked good on him either way, even combined with the annoyed look he gave you.

“You don’t even need to fight your opponents. You could just run that colorful mouth of yours, and they would run away,” he grumbled, offering you a hand.

You took it, and Heat pulled you easily to your feet. He must have still felt flustered, though, because he pulled a little too hard, making you stumble into him. He caught you, steadying you by the arms, and when your gazes met, you both froze, realizing how close you were.

Heat’s eyes flickered back and forth across your face, his blush deepening when he glanced at your lips. Suddenly the pounding of your heart had nothing to do with exercise. Caught off guard and anxious, you played it off the only way you knew how. “You gotta at least buy me dinner before talking about my mouth, sir.”

Really, you weren’t trying to make it worse. You just couldn’t help yourself, always talking too much whenever you got nervous. The words only served to thicken the tension, the feeling of his hands on your arms exceedingly hot all of a sudden. His entire body seemed to give off heat, more so than usual, and your stupid mouth kept going, revealing every stray thought in your brain. “Oh, wow, you’re really warm. You’d make an excellent bedmate on a cold night.”

“I…” Heat found himself at a loss for words. He let go of your arms but otherwise remained frozen, and you wondered if he was picturing the same thing you were–the two of you curled up together, bodies pressed close, lazily breathing in each other’s scent. Maybe your hands would start to wander…

“Sorry. Forget I said anything.” You looked away, unable to harbor the thought while also meeting his eye, nervously rubbing your arm where he had been touching you. “Um, good fight, yeah? Maybe I’ll pin you next time. That would be an exciting change.”

Again with unintentionally making things worse. The sight of Heat’s Adam's apple bobbing with his swallow finally spurred you to leave, not wanting to twist yourself up in unnecessary desire any further if you could help it.

You were, to be honest, caught off guard by your attraction. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise–you knew what you liked, and they all fit the bill in their own way–but you had joined the crew during a grieving period. At the time, and for a long while after, you had felt nothing toward the crew, much less interest. The feelings snuck up on you as you came out of your shell, and they were getting increasingly harder to ignore.

The Victoria Punk anchored in a secluded cove one hot day, and most of the crew opted to go for a swim. You kicked off your shoes carelessly in your eagerness to join, each one landing on a different spot on the pile the crew left behind. Killer went to retrieve them, going to line them up neatly with the rest–one of his odd, compulsive habits–and the rare sound of his huff of suppressed laughter made you pause, his deep voice speaking up a second later.

“What the hell is this?”

You turned around to see him holding up one of your shoes. Killer had bulked up significantly in the time since you’d set sail with the Kid Pirates, and the sight of the comparatively small item in the palm of his hand was, to be fair, a little ridiculous.

“My shoes?” You narrowed your eyes, having a feeling you knew where this was going and not caring for it at all.

“No way your feet are this small.” His head turned to you, mask tilting down, and you knew he was looking at your feet. You felt a strong urge to cover them, which was dumb–why should you feel shy about your feet, of all things? But Killer had inadvertently found something you were self-conscious about.

“Whatever! Stop looking, you weirdo.”

Killer was usually hard to read, even after knowing him that long. But right then, you couldn’t help but feel like he was enjoying getting a rise out of you, because he continued. “These are shoes for ants.”

“Shut up, Killer!!” You snapped, face flushing warm. “They are proportionate to my height, thank you very much! F–” You stopped yourself before a ‘fuck off’ slipped out, mindful of your rank. He wouldn’t appreciate the disrespect.

Killer noticed, though, as astute as ever. “What was that?”

From the tone of his voice, you could tell he was only messing with you, not actually upset. That only made it worse, though, your chest getting tight in response.

“Nothing! You didn’t hear anything.” You crossed your arms in a subconscious attempt to cover yourself, feeling exposed even though your swimsuit wasn’t revealing.

Another brief huff was audible from under his mask, and then Killer set down your shoe and approached you. He didn’t stop until he was fairly close, only a few inches separating your bodies, and you resisted the urge to step back, heart thumping in your chest as you looked up at him.

Killer rested a hand flat on top of your head, like he was measuring your height. You barely reached the top of his chest. In fact, you were at the perfect height to shove your face between his giant pecs, a thought that your brain took off with at an alarming speed before you could hope to suppress it.

You made a face at him, trying very hard to look annoyed rather than affected.

“I suppose it makes sense,” Killer hummed, “given you’re so tiny.”

“I am not! I’m not even the shortest one on the crew!” you protested. “Of course everything would seem small to you! You’re stupidly huge.”

“Stupidly huge?” Killer repeated, that edge of amusement never leaving his voice.

“Yes,” you grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand off your head, and paused at the sight of it. It was as big as Kid’s. Without thinking, you raised your other hand to press against his, comparing the size directly. “S-See? Look at these–these flippers of yours.”

Killer huffed again. You wondered why he never laughed outright, but it still made your heart pick up speed. Your hand looked like a child’s compared to his, each of his fingers an inch longer and far thicker–do NOT think about that right now, you thought sternly, desperate to keep your imagination under control. You could not ignore how the rough skin of his palm was pleasantly warm, though, nor how he curled his fingers over yours, calloused fingertips covering your nails.

There was a heat on your skin now that had nothing to do with the weather. You were quite literally in the process of losing your cool, which naturally meant running your mouth further. “I can’t believe the oven mitts in the galley even fit you,” you jabbed, drawing your hand away. “Were they custom-made?”

“You sound jealous,” Killer retorted, lowering his hand. “I think you just hate being short.”

You looked him up and down, and–heaven help you–before you could stop yourself, your gaze settled between his legs as you audibly stated, “Not always.”

Killer went quiet. You went quiet. The silence hung between you awkwardly, while you felt like your brain was coming to a rapid boil.

It was suddenly far too hot.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. And then turned, bolting straight for the port side of the ship and flinging yourself into the ocean, nearly taking out a crewmate because you didn’t look first.

Even with Killer’s face perpetually concealed, you couldn’t look at him for a week straight after that.

Your filter never really returned, which wasn’t usually a problem for you. The Kid Pirates were as crass a crew as any. You didn’t care about being suggestive, normally finding it funny more than anything else–but when it happened around those four, you would get uncharacteristically flustered, and attempting to hide it often led you to digging the hole deeper. Alcohol only made it worse, and there was enough of it going around each night to keep leading you to compromise your plans of keeping your distance.

When a party on the deck threatened to overstimulate you, you retreated to the crow’s nest, ascending carefully to minimize the loss of rum from your mug. Some still spilled out, but by the time you made it inside, you were pretty satisfied with your achievement, especially considering your current inebriation.

Unfortunately, the crow’s nest was already occupied. Fortunately, it was only Wire–one of the more preferable people to run into at the moment, considering his laid-back attitude and soft-spoken manner. He was bent over slightly where he sat in order to fit into the small room, his head grazing the ceiling, the horns of his hood folded down cutely.

“Ey, Wire,” you greeted. “How’s it going?”

“Good.” Wire looked at the mug in your hand and chuckled. “You know, climbing the mast drunk, while clinging to your booze, and not falling off–that, more than anything, really brands you as a pirate.”

“Who says I’m drunk?” You crossed the room, only swaying a little bit, and plopped onto the bench next to Wire.

Wire paused. “Actually, you always speak so freely that I can never tell. Most of the time, anyway.”

“Hm. Probably not a good thing,” you mused.

“Is it? I kind of envy the way you so openly speak your mind.”

“Don’t. It’s a curse.” You grinned despite yourself. “But, for the record, I’m good and sloshed right now.”

“As am I,” Wire said, lifting up his own mug from where it rested on his other side. It was proportionate to him, the size of your head, large enough to hold over a gallon of liquid. “What brings you up here?”

“I could ask the same, what with you drinking alone.” You nudged his leg with your foot. “Things were getting a bit loud, so I needed a break, that’s all.”

“But you jam with the girls all the time?” Wire asked.

“Music noise and crowd noise are different,” you explained. “I don’t really know how to describe it.”

“Fair enough.”

“I usually don’t mind a little overstimulation,” you said thoughtfully, completely oblivious both to what you implied and to the way Wire subtly leaned toward you in interest, “but it’s worse when I’m drunk or high, so.”

Wire peered into your mug to gauge its contents, an easy task from his vantage point. “Are you that drunk?”

“Triple basted, as my friends back home would say,” you swirled the rum in your mug idly, “but it’s nothing I can’t handle. I’m a Mesiban native, after all. Chaos is in our blood. We call ourselves ‘Messy’ for good reason.’”

Wire reflected your wry smile. “Do you miss them?”

“Of course! I think about them all the time.” You paused, smile fading as your fingers tapped on your mug. “When my friend was killed… I probably should have stayed home and grieved together with all of the rest. Have their support and support them in turn. And not, you know, impulsively join a pirate crew and wallow alone in misery for months.”

Wire watched you stare into your mug for a moment, and then your smile returned full force as you looked up at him.

“But that’s okay!” you said cheerfully, “I would have never met all of you otherwise, so things worked out just fine in the end. I really feel like–and don’t laugh–I really feel like every person on this crew’s my friend, too.”

Wire’s smile widened. You certainly had come a long way over the last few years. He held his mug out to you. “To good friends.”

“Old and new,” you added, knocking your mug against his.

“Aye.”

The thunk of the wooden mugs hitting each other was satisfying, and the deep drink you both took was even more so. You drained the rest of your drink in one go, then chucked the empty mug across the room.

“Ah, that’s good stuff. I feel fucking great,” you sighed, “now I just need a great fucking.”

Wire nearly choked on his drink, managing to get it down safely before he laughed. “Yeah?”

“Mm. Perfect way to wrap up the night. Drunk sex isn’t as good as high sex, but it’s better than no sex. Words of wisdom!” You waved a hand nonchalantly as your words slurred. “But I’m used to not getting any. Haven’t fucked anyone since I became a pirate. At this point, I’d be satisfied with the simple pleasures of a comfy blanket.”

Wire took in that information slowly, realizing that, for all your lewd dialogue, he had never actually seen you go hunting for flings when they were docked. He perked up at your last sentence. “Oh, are you cold?”

“Yeah.” Despite the alcohol in your system, you tended to run cold, and now that you had settled, you could feel the light chill in the air even from within the crow’s nest.

Wire wordlessly held open the side of his cloak, offering to share in his warmth.

Ordinarily, you would have hesitated, double-checking with him if it was okay. With your current blood-alcohol content level, however, there was no shame nor shyness to be had. You scooted over until you were sitting right up next to him, thighs touching, and he closed the cloak around you, enveloping you in the comfort of both his warmth and his scent.

“Better?” He asked.

“Much,” you leaned against him. “Thanks.”

His arm around your shoulders was solid and soothing, and you felt yourself melt into his body heat. He had a lot of it to go around, given his size. Your drunken thoughts began to charge away from you now that you were snuggled close to his body. As the tallest member of the Kid Pirates, he made even the biggest guys on the ship look tiny, much less yourself. Wire absolutely towered over you, easily twice your height. When you were both standing, you were at eye level with his crotch. You could have sucked him off while standing, a thought that occurred regularly, even after all this time. You never got used to it. But, god, would it even fit in your mouth? Was he proportionate? What if–

“You’re staring,” Wire noted, though he didn’t sound bothered.

You realized you had been staring at his crotch for a solid minute now. However, once again, all traces of shame had been replaced by booze.

“Women get objectified all the time. Now you know what it feels like,” you joked. “I’m evening the playing field.”

You could feel the rumble of Wire’s chuckle through his torso.

“Also, I bet it looks nice,” you continued. “I bet you got a job-hunting dick.”

Wire paused. “Job-hunting?”

You pulled your gaze away from his crotch to meet his eye, a mischievous spark in yours. “Yeah. You know… Because you fill someone out, like an application.”

Wire laughed, accidentally hitting his head against the ceiling with how he threw his head back. He winced, still giggling, rubbing the top of his head while you apologized.

“Don’t apologize. I like that. ‘Like an application…’ Is that something your friends back home say?”

“Actually, House said it,” you grinned at his look of surprise, “and it’s stowed away in my head ever since.”

As Wire finished his drink, he wondered if he knew less about his crewmates than he previously thought. Setting the mug down on his other side, he looked down to see that you were watching him, focused on his eyes this time.

“Have you really been celibate this whole time?” he asked.

“Yeah. I don’t like hooking up with strangers.” You shifted, settling further into him. “It was easier back on Mesiba. Had a small network of fuckbuddies, and people could vouch for their acquaintances. Mesibans have a reputation for promiscuity for good reason, but we took care of each other.”

“Sounds like a good time.”

“It wasn’t perfect, but I had my needs met,” you shrugged. “There are downsides to a culture like that, though. I lost my virginity earlier than I probably should have. And I might be a little too used to going out of my comfort zone in bed. But it’s fine, no big deal. Most of the memories are good ones.”

Wire hummed, but didn’t respond. His gaze shifted upwards in thought, and didn’t come back down until you nudged him again.

“What about you?” You asked. “I mean, a guy like you? Mr. Tall, dark and handsome? I bet you were rolling in bitches on your home island.”

“Rolling in ‘em?” Wire smirked to himself, and you wondered if he was also thinking about past dalliances. “I guess I’ve had my fair share of encounters. Enough so to consider myself experienced.”

This time, you went quiet in thought, and the silence that stretched between you was relaxed and cozy. Despite the myriad of unholy scenarios now running through your head, you still could have fallen asleep right there, wrapped in his coat and cuddled up close. A minute later, his deep voice broke through, something you could feel as much as hear with your head resting on his torso.

“You think I’m handsome?”

The question had an immediate effect on your body, your stomach doing a funny little flip while your heart picked up speed. It skipped a beat entirely when you peered up at him and saw the way he was looking at you now, eyes somehow both dark and burning.

Would you have lied if you were sober? You weren’t sure. You were never the shy type–until those damned four–but you were trying not to get too close. Alas, you were currently as drunk as a fish swimming in a lake of booze, and could be nothing but honest.

“Yeah, I do,” you admitted.

Wire glanced away for a moment, smiling. “What a coincidence.”

“Hm?” You relaxed somewhat when his eyes left you, only to tense up when they met yours again.

“I think you’re cute.”

The heat that flushed through your body could have been blamed on the alcohol, but the force with which your heart was suddenly hammering against your ribs could not. You were almost afraid that he’d be able to feel it. Not that it mattered–you were sure your face was an open book. His thigh, as big as your entire torso, pressed lightly against yours. For a second, you didn’t know what to say. Then you returned his smile, though yours wasn’t nearly as confident.

“That’s a relief. I get self-conscious sometimes.” You looked away, now shy even in spite of the alcohol–he just had that effect on you. “Hopefully I’ll remember that in the morning.”

With one massive finger under your chin, Wire gently turned your head to look back up at him.

Your breath caught in your throat. Wire leaned over you, filling your vision, probably not intending to block out the rest of the room, but unable to help it with his size. It meant you could see nothing but him now. Smell nothing but him, with his cloak wrapped around you. He bent further, getting closer, and you vaguely wondered if it hurt his back given the distance between the two of you, but if it did, he didn’t complain. He just kept getting closer.

“Really cute,” Wire murmured, his face now inches away.

You could barely hear him over the sound of blood roaring in your ears. Wire’s other arm was still slung around your shoulders, and he rubbed your arm slowly, leaving goosebumps. His finger never left your chin as he closed the distance.

Wire’s lips pressed against yours softly. Your entire body seemed to ignite, every cell alight and buzzing all at once. His lips were as warm as the rest of him, but what struck you was how gentle he was, kissing you so delicately it made you dizzy. Overwhelmed, your eyelids fluttered shut, and when you felt him start to pull away, you followed. Now certain you wanted it, Wire found your lips again.

Your hands came up to hold his face, just in case he was thinking of pulling away again, your thumbs tracing the markings on his cheeks. Wire sighed into your mouth, and the tiniest moan escaped yours. He hadn’t even used his tongue, but you were suddenly aware of the growing wetness between your legs–something that never happened to you from just a dry kiss.

The realization was sobering, a voice screaming in the back of your head now: Stop! You’re too close! This is all temporary, remember?!

You broke away from the kiss, eyes opening to see that Wire had never closed his. Had he watched you the whole time? There was a slight panic in your mind now, along with two certainties now made clear: 1. It was too late to deny it–you had feelings for your superiors, and 2. If you stayed there, you were absolutely going to fuck him.

That was a line you couldn’t let yourself cross. It was in the interest of protecting yourself: Getting too close only to have to leave would have hurt, simple as that. But, god, the way he was looking at you now, with a slight sense of awe and pupils blown wide. He wanted you, maybe as badly as you wanted him.

Before you made a decision you’d regret, you stood up, taking a step back. Now away from the cover of his cloak and the warmth of his body, the coolness of the air only contributed to the prickle of goosebumps on your skin. Your hand came to touch your lips, still tingling with the sensation of his.

“Um,” you said dumbly, then tried again, “Wire... Thanks for the chat. I have to, uh. Go to the bathroom...”

It was with the willpower of a thousand Buddhist monks that you forced yourself to leave, not looking back, afraid to see his expression.

You could only pray that he had drunk enough that he would forget about it the next morning. You certainly didn’t, the memory of the kiss fresh in your mind when you next opened your eyes. But Wire never brought it up again, nor did he treat you any differently, leading you to think that he must have. You tried to ignore the disappointment that arose–it was for the best, you told yourself.

You put more effort into staying emotionally distant after that, but it was difficult. Staying in an enclosed space for weeks at a time meant there was no avoiding those four. And aside from them, there was no doubt that the rest of the crew considered you a friend as much as you did them. Vicious battles with other pirate crews or Marines, perilous weather, long hours of work–nothing was able to drag down your mood for long, because at the end of the day, you had fun. It was just fun to sail with them, simple as that.

You were enjoying yourself enough that you almost forgot about your revenge, your reason for joining Kid the first place, until the day came when it stared you in the face. You heard from the natives of the island you had docked at about the other crews currently there, and the name spoken of that pirate, your friend’s killer, was like ice on your skin and in your heart. Finally, after all those years, you would have your opportunity.

You found him. Both crews were there, but this was personal–you wanted to face him one-on-one. He agreed, the cocky look on his face a familiar indicator that he was underestimating you. That was fine. It would only make things easier. You didn’t need an epic battle, you just needed him to die.

With your trusty knives sharp and ready, and your heart crying out for blood, you fought him. You were far stronger and faster than you had been when you first left your home island, a result of the frequent training with the Kid Pirates. The pirate was strong, but not nearly strong enough. When it became obvious he was going to lose, he cowardly called out for his crew. For a moment, seeing the swarm of pirates rush to his aid, you thought you would die there. Then, to your surprise, the Kid Pirates surged forth to intercept them, letting you finish your fight without interruptions.

You slayed the man who killed your friend. Those of his crew that were still standing, now demotivated at the sight of their dead captain, made a hasty retreat. And as you stood there, panting, blood dripping from your knives, you realized that the mission was finally complete. You no longer needed the Kid Pirates. It was over.

Kid approached you. And you? You cried like a bitch, tears streaming down your cheeks at the thought of finally saying goodbye. It was the first time you’d ever cried in front of them like that, and it was not a pretty cry, either.

Kid leaned over you, like he did when you first met. But this time, he was wearing his unique look of annoyed concern. “You got what you wanted after all this time,” he said gruffly. “Why the hell are you crying?”

“I… I…” You fought to keep your voice steady. “I don’t want to leave! I want to keep sailing with you and the crew. I really,” you sniffed, “really enjoyed spending time with everyone!”

“Then stay, you big fucking crybaby.”

You wiped your face on your sleeve and peered up at him. “...I can stay?”

“Did you think you were getting kicked off?” Kid scowled. “You’ll always have a place onboard the Victoria Punk.”

That only made it worse, a fresh wave of tears pouring out, and you couldn’t find the words to respond, only a pathetic sob.

“So quit blubbering and pull yourself together, alright? This is embarrassing,” Kid said. “You’re a Kid Pirate, aren’t you? Act like it.”

Warmth spread through your chest, light and bubbly, a sense of camaraderie so strong it was almost euphoric. You smiled through the tears, the cry turning into a laugh of pure joy.

“Yeah,” you said, standing up straighter, “I am a Kid Pirate.”

The crew threw a party that night in celebration of your achievement. Seeing the reverie, them all having fun for your sake, made you emotional, and when they toasted to you, you cried again, earning their teasing. It didn’t bother you one bit. This was your life and these were your people now, and you wouldn’t change it for anything. You asked Hip, a former tattoo artist, for a certain tattoo later, once you were all sober, and she eagerly agreed.

As soon as the following day, you bore new ink. Situated in the middle of your upper back, right between your shoulder blades, was the Kid Pirates’ secondary jolly roger: Four inches across, a perfect circle of glittering black ink with a row of spikes, and a skull in the center. It wasn’t visible when you were dressed, as you liked to be able to blend in with the general population, but you couldn’t help smiling like an idiot whenever you looked at it in the mirror. Kid made it obvious that you had been one of them since the beginning, but this made it feel official.

The energy on the ship seemed different after that, but it might have been your imagination. You felt closer to everyone than ever before, after all. Maybe it was the symbol you now carried on your back. Maybe it was the memory of the whole crew rushing in to fight for you. Or maybe it was the fact that there was no more reason to keep your distance from those four, a thought that reared up with increasing frequency nowadays. Still, you kept it in your pants, so to speak, mostly because you were afraid of what you would do if you crossed that line. You weren’t sure if you wanted them to find out just how far your craving went, not wanting to appear desperate.

After circling the first half of the Grand Line, Kid decided a break was in order, and so the Victoria Punk headed for your home island to kick back. You were excited, naturally, eager to show the crew the very best Mesiba Island had to offer, local digs and spots that weren’t as well-known to outsiders. You were also planning something else, something you didn’t get to partake in much since you left home.

“I’ve been in contact with one of my buddies. I’m gonna hook up the whole crew,” you told Kid.

“What makes you think I’d smoke your hometown’s mid-tier garbage?” Kid griped.

You weren’t phased in the slightest, well-used to his attitude. “Oh Captain, dearest Captain. You have no idea what you’re in for,” you smirked. “My friend’s a Devil Fruit user! Some ability affecting plants, I don’t know the specifics. Produces nothing but gold, though.”

“Bullshit,” Kid said. “I bet he says that to drive up business.”

“She actually keeps that part quiet, to avoid trouble. But we’re close. So don’t tell anyone I told you that, okay?” You patted his shoulder.

Kid glared at your hand, but you didn’t move it until he replied. “Fine. I’ll judge it for myself, then.”

“We haven't gotten to smoke in a while,” you withdrew your hand, “same with most of the crew. If you’re not careful…”

“I know what I can handle, pipsqueak. Don’t worry about me.”

“Sure, of course. Whatever you say.”

Kid turned his glare to you, but you were already leaving, needing to write another letter to your dealer friend to get the goods prepared.

The first two days on Mesiba Island were less eventful, you taking the time to visit friends and family while the crew relaxed. On the third day, you had met up with your Devil Fruit-using buddy, and, as promised, returned with copious amounts of the highest-quality weed for everyone to enjoy. The crew stayed at one of your friend’s taverns, and you pulled aside Kid, Killer, Heat, and Wire.

“Listen. There wasn’t enough of this particular strain for everyone, but I wanted to share it. Don’t tell the others, okay?”

You had gotten a nice deal on rooms from your friend, and the crew had splintered into various groups to partake in the drugs. It didn’t take much convincing for the four to join you in a separate room, curious about the special strain. You pushed the bed to the side and dragged out extra chairs, arranging them in a circle.

Almost everything had been set up ahead of time. Bottles of water and snacks lined the small table in the middle of the room, along with a rolling tray, an ashtray, and all the papers and tips you could possibly need. You put on gloves before grinding up the bud, chatting while you worked.

“It’s okay to smoke in here?” Heat asked.

“Remember what island you’re on,” you said, sprinkling the herb on the blunt wrap you were currently working with. “Not only is it okay, but we’re going to hotbox the room.”

Kid eyed the row of perfectly rolled blunts that you had already finished preparing. “You were a regular stoner, huh?”

“Have you considered that maybe I’m just good with my hands?” You glanced at him while licking the blunt wrap, which might have been a mistake, because he stared in a way that made your heart skip. You folded the blunt wrap closed. “But, yeah, I used to smoke all the time.”

“What’s so special about this strain?” Wire asked.

“It’s my favorite! Best of the best out of what my friend grows,” you smiled proudly as you dried the blunt with your lighter. “A well-balanced hybrid with a good flavor. Really nice, lofty high without knocking you out too much to enjoy it. Not that the crew got anything mid! This stuff is just even better, but she only grows it in small batches. I bet it’ll even chill you out, Kid.”

Kid shot you a look that you ignored while Wire nodded, saying, “I see. What’s it called?”

“Magenta Mountain.” You set the finished blunt at the end of the row to finish drying. The first ones were ready by now.

You plopped into your chair, lit the first blunt, and made sure it was burning evenly before taking a small hit to start with, to adjust to the feeling of smoking again. It didn’t take long, the hot smoke in your throat and lungs pleasant rather than irritating, and your second hit was deeper. You exhaled slowly, watching the milky smoke curl and expand, then coughed a few times before passing the blunt to your right, where Killer sat. Next to him was Kid, then Heat, and completing the circle, on your left, was Wire.

You expected Killer to lift his mask an inch, like you’d seen him do occasionally for certain foods. Instead, he stuck the blunt in one of the lower holes of his mask to take the hit, and when he exhaled, smoke came out of all the holes in the mask.

“Once the blunt’s gone around a few times,” you said, “that’s gonna be hilarious.”

“It’s hilarious now,” Heat grinned.

“You’ll get over it,” Killer said, passing the blunt to Kid.

“Just don’t get mad if I laugh,” you said.

“I won’t.”

You debated lighting a second blunt and having two going around at once, but ultimately decided against it. There was no rush, as the rooms were rented out for the entire night. Conversation started to flow, interspersed with the occasional fit of coughs, and by the third time the blunt passed your hands, you were starting to feel its effects. The first thing you noticed was the warmth around your eyes, gradually spreading to the rest of your face, and then to your entire body.

“How’s my hometown treating everyone?” you asked, shrugging off your jacket and tossing it onto the bed behind you.

“No complaints here,” Heat said before taking a large hit off the blunt, and you watched with some fascination. Every hit he took was a huge one, and he never coughed once. It must have had something to do with his fire-breathing ability, being used to smoke.

“I liked the restaurant from yesterday,” Killer remarked.

“Oh, you mean Papa’s? I thought you would. Their pasta rules.” You paused, remembering something, then snickered.

“What?” Kid asked, his tone already far less harsh than usual.

“It’s fucking stupid,” you grinned, “but, growing up, my friends and I would call it ‘Daddy’s’ as a joke. Someone would order spaghetti and meatballs, and we’d immediately pile on about them having ‘daddy’s balls’ and whatnot.”

Kid must have been feeling it now, too, because instead of rolling his eyes like he usually would, he cracked a smile.

“Told you it was dumb.” You leaned back in your chair–no, you melted into it. There was a haze in the air now, thick smoke hanging around the room as you hotboxed it further and further. There was also a haze in your head. Different from the kind you would get from alcohol, this one made you feel light and floaty.

The weed was well established in your system now. There was a slight head rush at first that had since settled, leaving you with a gentle sort of drifting feeling. Your heart rate picked up slightly, even as your breathing slowed. A sense of calm settled over you, both in your head and in your body. Muscles loosening up, you relaxed further, everything seeming to move a little bit more slowly. Your senses seemed to heighten, particularly your sense of touch. You could feel the air itself wrapped around your skin, like you were underwater without the water. A faint, soothing pressure.

You didn’t feel the world around you. You experienced it.

Along with the physical sensitivity came an almost spiritual one. Not in the religious sense, or even in the out-of-body sense, but in the way you felt connected to your surroundings. The pressure of your feet against the floor was grounding, and when you closed your eyes, you felt like you were a part of the entire island. When the others talked, you felt connected with them too, like you were locking onto their energy. That closeness was one reason you loved smoking with friends, so it was nice to share it with them, but it wasn’t your favorite thing about being high.

The best thing, you thought, was the way your negativity seemed to dissolve. Fears and doubts subsided, making way for a simple appreciation of existence. It seemed more important to focus on enjoying things in life rather than lamenting the broken state of the world.

You looked around the room and took in the state of your companions. Everyone except Killer had settled back into their chairs, the latter instead leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. But you could tell that even Killer was unwinding. Your gaze slid over to look at Heat, and when the two of you made eye contact, his eyes widened.

“Your eyes are really red,” Heat said.

“Everyone’s eyes are red, my guy,” you replied, then glanced at Killer. “Well, Killer’s might not be. We’ll never know.”

You and Heat giggled.

“And I’ll never tell,” Killer said solemnly.

That got everyone laughing, you covering your mouth until the fit calmed.

“When I first joined the crew,” you nodded at Killer, “I was dying to know what you looked like under the mask, but I’m over it now.”

“No, you’re not,” Wire accused.

You were a bit taken aback that he read you so easily. “No, I’m not,” you agreed.

Kid waved his right hand vaguely. “You’re not missing out on anything. He’s an ugly motherfucker.”

You gawked at Kid in shock, but Killer burst out laughing, the first time you’d ever heard him do so, head hanging down and shoulders shaking. It was a weird but adorable laugh, and you calmed down–it seemed that sort of thing was fine if it was coming from Kid.

“No way,” you said, relaxing once more. “I bet he’s cute.”

Alcohol made you honest due to a lack of judgment. Weed made you honest because you didn’t care otherwise. You knew what you were saying and it was okay because the world was good, and your friends liked you and all that mattered was being in the moment.

“You sound so certain,” Killer said once he caught his breath, a playful lilt to his tone lingering from his laugh.

“I can feel it in my gut,” you said assuredly.

“I could have a facial scar.”

“Kid has a facial scar, and he’s cute.”

Kid looked at you in surprise, and where you would normally smile back with your high confidence, you now deftly avoided eye contact as you were rapidly becoming aware of a new effect of the weed on your body.

Sometimes weed had the effect of raising your libido, and Magenta Mountain had occasionally done so in the past. Maybe it was the increased circulation, you didn’t know. You had considered that it might happen, but it was never enough to be distracting, so you hadn’t been worried. The rest of the effects of the weed were so nice, it was well worth the discomfort of possibly being a bit aroused in the presence of others, you had figured.

But you were not a ‘bit’ aroused. You were burning up, slowly but surely, tingling and hypersensitive all over until there was a growing dampness between your legs. And the others around you were all men you had a raging, years-long crush on. Beneath the carefree optimism of the high was the dawning sense that something was off.

“This shit is amazing. What did you call this strain?” Heat asked, plucking the weed container from the table to look at the label.

“Magenta Mountain.”

“Huh…” His squinty eyes narrowed further. “This says something else.”

“What?”

Heat tossed the container to you. You fumbled it in your intoxication, bouncing it between your hands until it clattered to the floor. The others laughed, and you did too as you reached down to pick it up. Your laughter died as you read the label.

‘Red Sky At Night.’

A weight settled heavily in your stomach as you realized what’s been happening: your friend gave you the wrong strain. Not only that, but you were very, very familiar with what you–and the others–had been smoking all this time.

‘R-SAN,’ as you and your friend had dubbed it, was specifically designed to increase arousal, focusing on blood flow and sensitivity far more than other strains. You knew this because you were the one your friend used as a lab rat when developing it. The information sank in slowly as it dawned on you–you’d unintentionally given you and your superiors a mild aphrodisiac. And you, as the one it was tested on, would be affected by it the most heavily.

“Y/n?”

Your head snapped up. The others were looking at you with some concern.

“You good, or did we just smoke the wrong weed?”

“We’re good!” You replied a little too quickly, voice a little too high-pitched. “She gave me the wrong strain, but it’s fine. I mean, I feel fine. Do you feel fine?”

Heat and Killer shrugged, Kid grunted an affirmative, and Wire nodded.

“I will admit,” Kid said, “whatever this is, it’s some pretty good shit.”

You lifted your chin. “T-Told you so. My friend grows good herb.”

The others lounged in their seats quietly, soaking in the high. Meanwhile, you wanted to scream. The current blunt in rotation was the third one of the night, and you had already smoked too much to be able to come down anytime soon. Not to mention there were four more blunts left that the others would likely want to go through. That meant a lot of time stuck in your worked-up state. If you rejected any more, would it be suspicious? Especially after you went to the trouble to set all this up? You weren’t sure how much more you could tolerate. Already, you wanted to run off and touch yourself until you had sated the blazing urge inside you.

It was imperative, for the sake of your sanity, that you did not let your imagination run away with you.

You tried to think about tame things, and not how you could feel your pulse between your legs, or how wet you were already, or how attractive the men you were sharing space with were. At the least, it was easy to be introspective when high, so you were able to force your thoughts into the sentimental, rather than the physical. You thought about the warmth of your friends–not that kind of warmth, damn it–but how the way they treated you changed since you first met them. Yes, focus on that. Focus on the beginnings, how initially standoffish everyone was. You considered the time when you first met the crew. There had been something odd about your battle with the First Mate…

“Killer,” you said, “remember when we first met? How we fought?” You pulled the neckline of your shirt to the side, exposing your shoulder to show the scar that ran from there to your clavicle. At 6 inches long, it was your biggest scar, but you didn’t hold it against him. Focused on Killer, you missed the gazes of the other three settling on your bare skin.

“Yeah,” Killer replied.

“You were going easy on me, weren’t you?”

“Yeah. Until you stabbed me.”

That was what you had suspected. The sudden increase in his speed during the fight didn’t make sense otherwise. You tried not to sound smug. “Why is that? Why didn’t you try to kill me, Killer?”

“I almost took your head off,” Killer said plainly.

“No, I’m talking about before I stabbed you. You held back,” you pressed.

Killer paused. “...You want the truth?”

“Yes?” You sat forward, intrigued.

“When you approached us years ago,” Killer interlaced his fingers and rested his chin on them, “your eyes were all swollen like you’d been crying for hours. I assumed it was over the friend you wanted revenge for–I realized you came straight to us not long after you’d found out. That kind of determination, that kind of love for a friend, it’s something I value in an ally. That’s why I hesitated.”

“Oh,” you said softly, unexpectedly touched. That was honestly very sweet, so much so that it was making you self-conscious, so you added a playful, “guess that all went out the window after my knife slotted between your ribs, eh?”

“Mostly,” Killer said. “I was kind of into it, though.”

Your eyes widened, and you grinned nervously. “Shut the hell up. No you were not.”

Wire chuckled, a deep sound that practically gave you goosebumps in your current state. “Well, knives are sexy, and Killer has a ridiculously high pain tolerance, so I can see it.”

No matter what you did, it seemed that the conversation kept circling back to indecent places. You mentally floundered for a moment before quickly spouting, “Too bad for you guys. Killer got soft, and now you’re stuck with me.”

Killer’s head snapped to you at the accusation, and even though you couldn’t see his face, you could feel the weight of his glare. You met it (kind of) in challenge. Despite the slight sense of warning you were getting, you continued to run your mouth.

“You could have killed me if you really tried, you know–back then, you completely outclassed me.”

“I still completely outclass you,” Killer stated.

Your look of indignant shock sent the other three into a laughing fit, and your face burned in embarrassment. Even high, you still had your pride as a fighter, which was now thoroughly bruised. “Excuse me?” you fumed. “I’m way stronger than I was years ago! I can fucking take you!”

Killer stood up suddenly, the warning in your head becoming a full-on alarm when he stalked over to you. You scrambled to your feet, but the weed slowed your reaction speed, and before you could do anything about it, Killer grabbed you.

Maneuvering you as easily as a child would a doll, Killer pulled you toward him so your back was against his chest, snaked one beefy arm under yours and around the back of your neck, and locked you into a half-Nelson, all in the span of a second. Then he stood up straight, and you were brought off your feet. With your head being pushed down, you couldn’t gain any leverage, kicking and struggling to no avail. He was a solid wall of muscle, and with only one arm, he had you completely helpless. After another fruitless minute, you gave up, going slack in defeat.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you mumbled, making the other three laugh again.

Point now proven, Killer set you on the ground. It took everything in you to keep your legs from shaking. Arm wrestling with Kid that one time had been bad enough. Being locked against Killer, totally unable to fight back? Feeling the firmness of his torso against your back, the power in his arm? You weren’t just wet anymore–you were completely soaked. You only prayed it wouldn’t get bad enough to show through your pants.

Sinking into your seat, you tuned out the others for a minute, all comments fading into the background. You tried to focus on breathing slowly, to ease the frantic pounding of your heart, to ignore the aching need between your legs. Zoning out was impossible with the raging sensitivity of your body, but you could at least ground yourself enough to make it through the evening. After this session, you would duck into a private room and take care of yourself. Just hold out that much longer, you thought.

They must have moved on from ribbing you by the time you focused once more. You hadn’t heard any of it, though you were sure they had. At least, Kid would have. Now he was talking about something else, finishing a story you had entirely missed.

“It was a pain in the ass,” Kid paused to take a hit, exhaling before he continued, “but right now? I don’t give a shit anymore.”

Hearing that, it was hard not to feel smug. That was the exact reason you had brought weed for everyone (and why you were in your current predicament.) All for the opportunity for your friends to relax.

“See, I knew it’d mellow you out, Kid,” you said, coming off a little too pleased with yourself and making him glower.

“You didn’t know shit. Mind your tongue,” he said, though the effect of his words was ruined by how tranquil he sounded. “You aren’t getting any free passes because of this.”

You hid a grin. He may have said that, but you knew him better. One of Kid’s better traits was to pay back what he was given, good or bad. You knew for a fact that he would go easier on you for a while for having set everyone up for the night.

“You don’t scare me, Kid. I know you care. Mr. You-will-always-have-a-place-onboard-the-Victoria-Punk.”

“Shut the hell up, Y/n,” he said with no real venom, although you did not miss the faint tinting of red on his cheeks. “Don’t make me put your valuables on the top shelf.”

“Go ahead,” you shrugged. “Wire will get it for me.” You turned your gaze onto Wire, batting your eyelashes cartoonishly. “Won’t you, Wire?”

It looked ridiculous coming from you, and had the desired effect of making him giggle, his face lighting up in a way that tugged at your heart. He smiled down at you fondly. “Sure.”

“Are you whipped?” Kid grumbled. “Don’t tell me you two fucked.”

“We did not,” you interjected before anyone made a dumb comment. Unfortunately, you thought to yourself.

“You did kiss me, though,” Wire said casually.

Oh–so he hadn’t forgotten. The man had no idea what kind of bomb that was to drop on you now, of all times.

“Wire!” you shouted. “That’s–”

“What?!” The other three yelled in unison.

“–not how it happened! You kissed me!” You tried to shout, but no one was listening because the other three, even Killer, had rounded on Wire for some reason.

“You kissed her?”

“I thought we had a deal, you scumbag!”

“When the hell was this?”

“Wait, hold on!” you cried. “What did you say?!”

They were not listening.

“With tongue?”

“You’re a fucking traitor, Wire.”

“Here I thought you were the one with self-control.”

“Will you morons shut the fuck up!” you roared.

They finally went quiet, all staring owlishly at you now.

“Did you–did you say you had a deal? What the fuck does that mean?” You said hotly, glaring at each of them in turn, awaiting an explanation.

Kid gave nothing away, but Wire was blushing, Heat looked guilty, and who knew what Killer was thinking.

“Don’t worry about it, Y/n,” Kid said lightly, waving it off like it was nothing.

“I’m supposed to pretend like I didn’t hear that?” You were feeling distinctly less chill now, trying not to get swept up by the implications. There was no way. They couldn’t be…

“You’re better off not knowing,” Kid proclaimed. “You couldn’t handle it.”

That kind of pissed you off. He didn’t know what your life was like before you joined his crew, nor all that you had gone through to make it as far as you did. What you had to endure. Even what you were currently enduring.

You licked your lips, thoughts slipping into the red again. “You have no idea what I can handle, Captain.”

Kid was stunned for a moment, not responding right away, and you could audibly hear the slow breath he sucked in. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

You swallowed and looked away quickly, heart pounding a dent inside your chest. “F-Fine. Whatever. Keep it to yourself. Like I care.”

Kid kept watching you, but you didn’t notice, your eyes fixed on the ground now as your imagination spiraled, thoughts racing a mile a minute. What the fuck had they been talking about? There was no way. No possible way they were all interested. Wire, maybe. He had kissed you, though he had also been drunk, so there was no guarantee he was even attracted. But all of them? All four? It couldn’t be. You had to be reading into it. Right?

Right?

You pushed your feet into the ground, anxious for a sense of stability, trying and failing to tune the others out this time. Weed affected everyone a bit differently, but there were some constants. How much of what you were feeling was also being felt by them? If you felt a sense of connection, were they experiencing it as well? Could they sense your energy?

Did they know?

For a brief, terrifying moment, you had the paranoid thought that they could read your mind. Then you pushed it aside. It was impossible. All in your head. Just make it through tonight, and don’t think about it. Don't think about it.

But the universe was a cruel place, or maybe some god above was playing tricks on you. You were certain some higher being was laughing at your expense, because the conversation turned into a discussion of the mens’ past encounters. You could only sit there as Kid and Wire offhandedly commented on particular dalliances while the more reserved two opted to listen. They weren’t detailed, keeping things vague, but it didn’t matter. Your brain grabbed the barest descriptions and drew out a whole movie in your head, filling in the blanks and imagining the events in graphic detail. At first you pictured a random person as their partner, but then it immediately switched to putting yourself in their place, visualizing yourself getting dicked down by your crushes.

You dug your fingers into your thighs, trying to stay cool. It was a mental chess game to function at this point. You analyzed your every action with militaristic scrutiny, frantic not to give anything away, to not appear like the smoldering ball of lust you were. Was your posture too tense? Were you avoiding eye contact too much? Don’t act off. Don’t stay silent. Say something, join in the conversation.

“You guys don’t know how good you have it,” you said carefully, fighting to keep your tone neutral. “I can’t fuck strangers. I just can’t.”

Kid gave you a look of disbelief, which was fair, considering where you were from. “Wait. Have you really not had any since you joined us?”

“She hasn’t,” Wire answered for you, “she told me.” He shot you a devilish smirk. “Right before devouring my mouth.”

“Not how it happened!” You said brusquely, wanting to throttle him right then. “Shut up, Wire!”

“Why don’t you come over here and shut me up?” He challenged coolly, and the slight drop of his eyes when he looked at you told you he had glanced at your lips.

A fresh wave of heat flared under your skin, and you mentally cursed him. Why did he have to be like that? Why now? You scrambled to come up with a retort, but only managed a lame, “Like I could even reach…”

Wire simply bent over in response, hunching down until he was at your level, cheek resting on his fist and a mischievous sparkle in his eye.

Kid clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Knock it off.”

“What?” you snapped at him, not meaning to lash out but feeling like you were rapidly losing control–of the situation, of yourself, of everything. “Are you jealous or something? You want a kiss, too?”

“Oh, please, Y/n,” Kid said, unbothered. “If I wanted a kiss from you, I would have just taken it for myself by now.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the image his words conjured, and you gaped at him for a moment, for once in your life getting a taste of your own medicine as you were rendered speechless. Losing the mental battle of wills, you found yourself unable to maintain eye contact, giving away your timidity by looking away.

Kid studied your reaction, but by some grace, elected not to comment on it. Not that his choice of words was any better, because he asked, “You haven’t cum at all? For years?”

“Of course I have,” you huffed, “given the shared sleeping quarters, I have to take care of it in the shower like everyone else.”

“Is that why your showers take so long?” Heat stated more so than asked.

It was.

“No, it’s not!” you yelled, further revealing how flustered you were by the conversation. The others dissolved into laughter. Heat was grinning, pleased to see you on the receiving end for once.

“Besides,” you muttered, “it only helps so much. Even with toys.”

“You have toys on the ship?” Kid asked, surprised for some reason.

“Half the crew does, Kid,” you said. “I bet you do, too, so don’t say stupid shit about it.”

Kid smirked, caught. “And it’s still not enough for you, huh?”

This had to be some kind of torture, because every time you thought you were in the clear, things continued to escalate. You would have fled the room if you could live it down, but alas, the others would never let you forget about it. Stuck in a mess of your own making, all you could do was continue the conversation.

“A toy can’t hold you or kiss you,” you said, ignoring the weight of their gazes. “Can’t talk you through it, can’t bite or suck on anything–oh, god damn it.” You dropped your head into your hands, fire billowing in your body as your thoughts surged into overdrive once again. Your fingers curled in your hair and you pulled lightly, seeking any sort of counter-stimulation to bring down the heat. “Ughhh.”

They all watched as you groused, lifting your head with a hopeless sigh. “Fuck, I need to get laid.”

“Dibs,” said all four of them at once. They all looked at each other in surprise, then burst out laughing, curling over themselves.

You experienced the unique sensation of being stunned silent while also wanting to scream, the burning of your flesh now that of embarrassment as well as need. Their laughs would actually be very nice if it wasn’t at your expense, and everything felt so crushingly unfair right then that you growled at them. “Really, guys? That was not an invitation.”

All bullshit, of course. You would have slept with any of them even without the influence of the weed. And now the pace of your heart kicked up, because they had confirmed what you had suspected, but couldn’t quite believe–they were interested. All of them. It wasn’t your imagination.

“Well then, Y/n,” Kid said, “consider this an invitation.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you stared at him. “What?”

“You heard me.” Kid took a hit off the blunt, then leaned forward and exhaled the smoke in your face, the rude action only riling you up worse. “You want a big dick to ride? All you gotta do is ask.”

The fire inside you blazed larger and hotter, and you were aware of your breath coming out shorter. You dropped your gaze to the floor, gritting your teeth. After everything–all the years getting to know them, all the suggestive conversations, all the times you had craved them��after all the longing you pretended wasn’t there–now Kid was laying it out on the table, a clear offer to sate your desires. You could have what you wanted. All you had to do was accept.

Every cell in your body yearned for it, and yet a part of you still resisted, the part that still wanted not to appear desperate. You fought not to stay composed, masking your nervousness with attitude. “Who’s got the big dick, though?”

Kid scowled. “Watch it, little girl.”

The words had an immediate reaction deep in your gut, because Kid had never called you that before. He looked you in the eye while he said it, too, and you knew you failed to hide the momentary panic in your eyes. You ripped your gaze away, hands balling into fists.

At that point, you were so worked up and so wet that you couldn’t move without feeling it. The lightest shift in your seat had your lower lips sliding against each other slickly, the hypersensitivity from the high meaning you felt it like sparks. Even the fabric of your bra against your nipples was overwhelming.

“Are you okay?” Heat asked, and you realized you were trembling.

“All good,” you bit out.

“You’re sweating,” Wire said.

“And you were worried about me overdoing it.” Kid tsk’d. “Handle your shit, Y/n.”

“It’s handled,” you insisted. “I’m fine.”

“You sure about that, princess?”

He knows! You thought in a panic. If Kid’s words didn’t make that obvious, the curl of his lip certainly did. Your thoughts descended into near-hysteria, like a beehive had been upended in your head. Through the chaos was also the bemoaning thought that he was such an asshole, messing with you like this.

“Poor little Y/n,” Kid continued, smirking. “So pent-up. So many years without getting fucked.”

“Kid…” You nearly whined, voice quivering as much as your body was.

Movement in your peripheral vision made you glance to the side, just in time to see Killer reaching out to touch your arm, the contact like pure electricity on your skin. You jerked your arm away and grabbed his wrist, fingers unable to wrap all the way around, tightening your grip in warning.

“Do not–do not fucking touch me right now. Don’t tease me,” you hissed.

“You’re a real idiot sometimes, you know that?” Kid griped. Your resulting glare was offset by how you bit your lip, and Kid rolled his eyes. “I know you want it. That you’ve been wanting it. And yet you always hold yourself back. You’ll say the nastiest things while looking us dead in the eye and then just disappear. I don’t know if it’s some sort of pride you’re clinging to, or if you’re secretly shy underneath it all. But for fuck’s sake, Y/n, it’s getting hard to watch. Why don’t you do yourself a favor and just indulge? Let yourself have something nice, for once.”

Your jaw dropped further and further as he spoke, gawking at how he mercilessly called you out. Then you shut your mouth, swallowed a lump in your throat, and dropped your head, covering your face.

“You want to get fucked tonight, don’t you?” You heard Kid say.

“...Yes,” you mumbled into your hands, but the room was so quiet now that you were sure everyone heard.

“Then get over yourself, pick a guy, and go to another room.”

He made it sound so simple.

Maybe he was right. Why were you making it more complex than it needed to be? Why couldn’t you just let yourself have this? But even if you succumbed to your desires, there was another problem.

“But… But, um,” you stammered. “How could I possibly choose? I lov–I like all of you!...”

A humiliating slip-up, one you expected them to tease you about, but there was only silence. You braved a peek at them from between your fingers. All eyes were on you–the pointing of Killer’s mask in your direction left no doubt–and then the guys glanced at each other, exchanging looks you couldn’t quite decipher, but that made something curl in your stomach anyway.

“Maybe,” Kid said slowly, gauging your reaction, “you don’t have to.”

You felt something change in the room. Like the air got heavier, though it could have been the smoke–although the group’s pace had slowed, the blunts never stopped their rotation. You weren’t sure which one you were on anymore, only that there was something else drifting alongside the undulating smoke, something that tingled like the air before a storm.

You lowered your hands so you could look at Kid clearly, keeping your mouth covered. There was no playfulness in his expression, only an ardent luster to the black of his eyes, the gold of his irises constricted into a thin band.

“Kid?” You only said his name, but the full question was implied. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?

“I’m serious. You could strip down right here, and we’ll figure something out,” Kid said, “if you really think you can handle it, like you so claimed.”

The challenge went over your head. You were too distracted by how your fervent body roused at the notion, every aching cell screaming at you to accept, any opposing thought quickly drowned out by sheer, unbearable need. You had been gradually wound more and more taught throughout the night, and the last threads of resistance were beginning to snap.

You lowered your hands, so your consent would be fully comprehensible, but you were cut off before you had the chance to respond.

“Wait,” Wire said, the concern in his tone grabbing everyone’s attention. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

The swell of disappointment within you threatened to be crushing. You couldn’t keep it out of your voice. “Oh… You don’t want to?”

“Of course I want to, dummy,” Wire said, “but, Y/n. You’ve never slept with any of us before. To jump into doing something intense like this? While we’re all under the influence? There are risks.”

“I really don’t care at the moment.”

Kid smirked at your eagerness, but Wire wasn’t amused. “Have you ever been with multiple partners?”

“I’ve been in a threesome!” you said quickly. “I can handle it, Wire!”

“Mm… I dunno,” Wire considered. Heat passed the blunt to him right then, and the pause in which you had to wait for him to take his hit was agonizing. Wire watched the smoke he exhaled rise before meeting your eye again. “There should at least be a discussion first. About limits and stuff.”

“Please, I can’t wait anymore!” Keeping your voice down was its own trial. You could have cried from frustration. “I fucked up, okay? I got the wrong strain, and it’s driving me insane. I’ve been practically edging on the spot, and you four are just sitting there, all relaxed and having fun and unfairly hot…” You resisted the urge to cover your face again, but couldn’t help avoiding eye contact while admitting it. It surprised you, then, to hear who spoke up next.

“We could start slow,” Heat suggested, a blush coloring his face, “one person at a time. Discuss anything else as we go.”

You glanced at Wire hopefully, and found that everyone else was doing the same. In the back of your mind, you vaguely wondered why the decision seemed to hinge on Wire rather than Kid, but you didn’t question it in the moment.

Wire passed you the blunt, the mere slide of his giant fingers past yours as he did enough to make you shiver. He watched your reaction, then assessed the other three in the circle, one at a time. By the time he looked back at you, you had taken your hit, and your eyes met as the smoke flowed from your parted lips.

“Tch,” Wire’s shoulders drooped slightly in defeat. “Alright. If you’re gonna look at me like that. But at least choose a safeword.”

“I don’t care,” you said.

“I do,” he snapped, the stern rebuke going straight between your legs, “pick something.”

“Fine...” It was a struggle to come up with anything with the prospect of having them so close by, and you raced to think of something. The reason for your current state flashed through your head. “Red Sky?”

“Works for me. Everyone hear that?” Wire questioned, waiting for verbal confirmation from the other three before he nodded his approval.

You passed the blunt to Killer, pressing your thighs together in anticipation. “Um… How are we going to do this?”

Kid’s smirk widened, as fiendish as you’d ever seen it. “I think we should pass her around like a blunt.”

Once more, you found yourself gaping at Kid, slack-jawed at the lecherous idea. It was depraved, it was objectifying, and you were, truth be told, not the least bit opposed–you would have had them any way they offered at that point. Anything to ease the fever.

“Y/n,” Killer said firmly, making you tense, “come here.”

He had said it like a command, tone no different than if he were giving orders on the ship. You responded instinctively, drawn to Killer like a magnet, feeling as if your body wasn’t yours to control anymore. His mask dipped as you stood before him, looking you up and down.

“Sit.” Killer patted his lap. “Facing them.”

You swallowed and turned, perching on Killer’s knee. He grabbed your hips, making you gasp, and dragged you back until your back touched his chest, situating you directly over his crotch.

Killer’s hands never left your hips, your skin buzzing where he made contact, even through your clothes. His chin rested on your shoulder, deep voice murmuring into your ear. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes,” you breathed. The other three leaned forward in their seats, making you realize rather belatedly that everything that was about to happen would have an audience. You had never been watched before, and you didn’t know how you’d feel about it. But that thought, and any others, promptly flew out the window when Killer’s hands started their slow slide up your body, curving to the front and cupping your breasts.

You pressed yourself back against his chest, breaths coming out shaky. He was only squeezing and massaging gently, but after everything you had to endure so far, as roiled as you were, it was enough to send pleasant little shocks throughout your entire body.

Little shocks immediately turned into powerful bolts as Killer started teasing your nipples, your body jerking in response. You were sensitive enough there without the weed factoring in–as high as you currently were, it was overwhelming.

“Ah! K-Killer!” You pulled at his hands. “Please, slow down! I’m extra sensitive there, and the weed makes it ten times worse, so you gotta go slow…”

“You are, huh?” Killer hummed, flicking a nipple just to make you yelp.

“I thought you could handle this, Y/n,” Kid taunted.

“Whatever, Kid! You can watch, but I don’t need your lip,” your snarl didn’t sound nearly as threatening when it came between breathy pants. “Wait your turn and–nhh!”

Killer chose to resume touching you right then, rubbing your nipples at an appropriately slower pace. The tingling went straight to your cunt, and you threw your head back onto his shoulder, whimpering.

“Better?” Killer asked softly, and at your hasty nodding, you felt his chuckle against your back.

As incredible as it felt, it only made the need worse, the burning of your flesh intensifying under Killer’s touch. You writhed in his lap, desperate for stimulation between your legs, but you weren’t at the right angle to grind your clit against anything, and Killer was pressing your torso to his to keep you in place. Held against him and unable to escape, you could only take it, able to feel the calluses on his fingertips even through a shirt and bra. Killer let out a pleased growl at the sensation of you squirming over his growing bulge, the sound making you clench around nothing.

“Damn,” Wire muttered. “Look at her writhe.”

The other three were now sporting obvious erections, Wire and Kid idly palming at themselves while Heat elected to just watch.

“It’s the weed,” Kid responded, smirking. “I’ve been half hard ever since the first blunt, but I didn’t think much of it until she got all cagey about the strain.”

“The name is obvious enough,” Heat agreed.

So Kid had you figured out all along. Go figure. You weren’t paying much attention to that right then, though, not under Killer’s cruel assault.

“Please, Killer,” you whined, “stop teasing!”

“Gotta make sure you’re ready, first,” Killer said. “None of us are average, Y/n. I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“I’m ready!” You almost sobbed. “I–ah!–I promise, I’m wet!”

Killer paused, mask tipping down over your shoulder. “You don’t say.”

You followed his gaze (so to speak) to see a damp spot on your pants–you had soaked through both layers. “See? I told you, I’m ready!”

“Soon,” Killer assured, resuming his slow teasing of your chest.

Every time you thought you had adjusted enough to keep from making noise, Killer would switch it up, circling or skimming over the pert buds, drawing more whimpers out of you. He played you like an instrument, a steady chorus of your soft cries in time with his fingers, and the other three were as enraptured as if it was a song. All your nerves ablaze and still being denied what you needed, you looked to your audience for help. Kid and Wire weren’t moved by your plight, but as soon as you locked gazes with Heat, he rose to his feet as if you had called out to him.

Heat crossed the short distance and sank to his knees in front of you and Killer, resting his hands on your thighs.

“What happened to one person at a time?” Kid grumbled.

Heat ignored him, leaning in to kiss you but pausing before he made contact. “Can I–” he started to ask, but you grabbed his face and pulled him in the rest of the way, crushing your lips against his to really get across the kind of state you were in. Just to make sure he understood, you shoved your tongue past his lips. Heat’s small moan of surprise was muffled, but then he eagerly reciprocated.

Heat matched your pace, returning everything you gave him with equal passion, and you quivered in anticipation as his hands slid up your thighs. Instead of going between your legs, though, they went to the hem of your shirt, and as Heat moved to kiss your neck, you realized he hadn’t come to help anyone but himself.

“Heat?” you inquired.

“Lift your arms,” he instructed, ignoring your question.

“But–”

“Lift your arms.”

You clenched at the command, not expecting it from the normally laid-back man. He was still blushing, but there was an intensity in his tone that had you complying right away, though not without an irritated huff. Heat nipped at your neck as a reward for listening before he pulled your shirt off.

Killer’s mask touched the back of your neck like he was kissing it. “Kid’s gonna like that tattoo,” he whispered as he unfastened the clasp of your bra. You barely paid attention to the comment, helping him remove it and tossing it onto the nearby bed.

Heat stared, transfixed, at your breasts. When no one made a move to continue, you started to consider violence. “Heat…”

“You have cute tits,” Heat said.

“Whatever!” You were about to strangle him, and not in a sexy way. “Would you just hurry and–”

Heat cut you off by kissing your nipple, making you gasp, and when he took it into his mouth, your back arched into him. “H-Heat!”

Killer’s prior touches might as well have been through a heavy blanket. It didn’t compare to the wet warmth of Heat’s mouth directly on your sensitive bud, nor the velvety texture of his tongue running over it. You reached to bury your fingers in his hair, but then Killer grabbed your wrists and forced them behind your back. The ache between your legs magnified at the restraint, and you didn’t think it was physically possible to be any more worked up, but then Heat proved you wrong by starting to suck.

You twitched and writhed, pulling weakly against Killer’s iron-like grip, helpless under Heat’s assault. He switched from one nipple to the other, bringing his hand to play with whichever his mouth wasn’t currently on. It felt like live wires had been laid through your body, running straight to your cunt, making you want to cry with how empty you were. You clenched and flexed your pelvic floor muscles, desperate for sensation, and somehow, you felt something start to build, as steadily as if you had been playing with yourself. You had never come without touching your clit before, but now you understood how it was possible, your cunt so sensitive that clenching alone brought sufficient stimulation. But right when you thought you could see the peak, right when you were certain you could make it, the build stopped, leveling off and leaving you stuck. Even the scrape of Heat’s teeth against your nipple, though maddening, wasn’t enough to get you there.

“Please!” You cried out in frustration, on the verge of tears. “Please touch me, Heat, Killer, anybody! Please!”

“You’ve endured it for so long, haven’t you?” Killer said huskily, moving your wrists to one hand, resting the other on your hip and squeezing hard. “That’s okay. We’re gonna take care of you…”

You were about to snap at him that no one was taking care of shit, but your remark caught in your throat when Killer’s hand slipped under your pants and underwear, inching forward until he was finally, finally reaching where you needed it. His wide hand parted your thighs, going straight for your slit, the brush of him over your clit along the way making you buck.

“Wow,” Killer said as he felt the evidence of your need, everything between your skin and clothes down there a thick, slippery film. “I thought you were exaggerating about how riled up you were. But the weed’s really done a number on you, hasn’t it?”

There was no resistance when he penetrated you with a thick finger, and you bucked your hips again with a sharp cry. “Oh! Oh, fuck! Killer!”

“Never seen anyone this wet before,” Killer mused, stroking a few times before inserting a second finger. His thumb found your clit, rubbing in little circles.

Heat’s messy slurps combined with the squelches of Killer’s fingering only amplified the experience. After everything you had gone through, it didn’t take very long, especially with the two of them working together. Killer added a third finger and curled them insistently as he went, and you came hard a few seconds later.

You shut your eyes from the intensity, hips grinding furiously into Killer’s hand as you rode it out, whimpering with every wave that rocked your body. He never stopped probing his fingers against that spot, working you deftly through it until the fluttering of your walls finally stopped and you slumped against his chest, panting.

Heat kept on sucking on your nipple, the stimulation rapidly becoming overwhelming in the wake of your orgasm. “Heat–Heat, Heat!” With your head fuzzy with dopamine, you couldn’t form a better sentence, higher functions temporarily absent.

Luckily, Killer had been able to feel everything. He let go of your wrists to push Heat back by the shoulder, the pop of his lips disconnecting making you twitch. You twitched again when Killer pulled his fingers out.

The residual throbbing of your clit lasted longer than it ever had, aftershocks of an orgasm while high spreading through your body like lightning branching through your nerves. You didn’t open your eyes for a minute, chest heaving. When you did, the first thing you saw was Heat’s look of adoration. Behind him, Kid and Wire were burning holes through you with their gazes, both of them red-faced and awestruck. It dawned on you that you’ve cum in front of four guys. In front of your superiors. Your friends. And yet, instead of shame, instead of self-consciousness, the pulsing within you subsided and left behind a fervent hunger in its place.

Again. You needed it again.

Killer brought his hand to your mouth, fingers glistening with your slick. You parted your lips without hesitation, letting him in. The tang of your fluid on your tongue reawakened spent nerves, making you sensitive all over again. Killer let out a soft curse when you sucked, tongue sliding between his fingers to get every drop. Your eyes fell closed again, focused wholly on the act of cleaning up your own mess.

Killer peered down at your face and hummed. “Open your eyes. I want you to look at them.”

You obeyed, making eye contact with each of the other three while you sucked your slick off Killer’s fingers, fresh heat searing through your body at how they marveled at you. Kid had started stroking himself through his clothes with his flesh hand, his expression in particular full of dark intent.

“There’s a good girl,” Killer praised, “see what you do to them…”

You pulled Killer’s hand out of your mouth. “Killer,” you whined, grinding your ass against him in a clear signal to go further.

Cumming in Killer’s lap and sucking on his fingers had its effect on him, because he was harder than before, pressing stiffly into your ass cheek and breathing heavily by your ear. So it came as a shock when he raised his head and said, “Kid. You can go first.”

“Nah, Killer, you go ahead,” Kid said, waving his metal hand. “According to the sounds she just made, you earned it.”

“You go first. I know you’ve wanted this for a while,” Killer insisted.

“I don’t care who goes first!” you yelled, the revelation of Kid’s interest fading into the background in your desire. “For fuck’s sake, just whip it out!”

They all laughed at that, which only pissed you off further. Then Kid’s voice echoed across the room, sending a pleasant chill down your spine.

“Pass her here.”

Killer scooped you up and leaned over, holding you out to Kid like you weren’t a whole adult. The chairs were close enough together that Kid could reach you without getting up, merely holding out his metal arm and letting Killer drop you onto his palm. His arm didn’t even dip with your weight.

Kid tipped his hand suddenly so you fell into his lap, momentum throwing you against his chest and making you instinctively grab him for support.

“I get it, Y/n. You’re desperate. But you don’t have to grab me over it,” he jeered, and not for the first time in your life, you seriously contemplated striking your captain.

“Hold on,” Wire said, patting his pockets and frowning. “Does anyone have condoms?”

“Not an issue,” you said abruptly, “I’m set on birth control.”

“I thought you didn’t get any,” Heat asked, now back in his chair.

“There are other reasons to take birth control. It makes your menstrual symptoms less severe.”

“I knew that,” Wire said, sounding proud of himself.

”No one cares! Get on with it!”

Kid looked thoughtful, smile faltering as he deliberated over something. “...Wire may be right, actually.”

“What?” You stared at him.

“I mean, four guys, after you haven’t had a partner in years? It’s far too much. You could end up hurt.”

You searched his eyes, trying to figure out where this sudden change of heart came from. It was so unlike Kid that you didn’t even protest at first, bewildered.

“I wouldn’t want you to walk away from this with regrets, Y/n,” Kid said gravely. “You’ve come once already, so that should be adequate. End the night on a good note.”

“No! No, I can keep going! Please, please!” you bid urgently.

Kid’s somber look broke at your plea, his lip curling like he was trying not to smile, and you realized that he was messing with you. Arousal flipped into anger in an instant.

“You’re such a dick!” you cried. “I can’t believe you! I know you want it too, so stop fucking with me and start fucking me already!”

Kid’s infuriating smirk grew wider. “Beg for my cock.”

“Ugh! Fine, you jerk!” You ground your hips into his bulge to help make your point, face flushed hot as you glared at him. “Please, Kid! I–I need you. I need to be violated in the way that only a ruthless pirate captain can.”

It was kind of stupid, but Kid was vain enough that the words got to him anyway, his nostrils flaring with the steep breath he took. “That easy, huh? I always knew deep down, you were a slut.”

You slapped him, hard. The slap echoed as the room fell quiet, and though Kid was momentarily stunned, you felt his dick twitch through his pants.

“You’re the one making me beg–” you started to say, but Kid grabbed you by the neck and pulled you in for a rough, possessive kiss. He wasted no time in claiming your mouth with his tongue, probing it deep to wrap around yours. You moaned into his mouth, grinding on him for some much-needed friction. Kid pulled back, but you followed, straining forward to kiss him again.

The fingers of his flesh hand curled into your hair, gripping tight and forcing you back off of him. The slight pain pulled another little moan out of you, and Kid grinned.

“One more time. Tell me how bad you need it,” he said huskily.

“I think I’m gonna die if you don’t,” you whined.

“Good girl.”

He prompted you to lift your hips so he could reach his pants, undoing them and finally, finally pulling out his cock. You pulled your own pants and underwear down before Kid could think to rip them, not keen on doing a bottomless walk of shame in front of the crew later. Kicking off the garments, you repositioned yourself over Kid. He groaned when you wrapped your hand around his thickness to line yourself up.

“Fuck,” he husked. “If your pussy’s as small as your hands…”

“Wait, Kid,” Killer interjected. “Make her face us.”

“Why?” Kid asked, but you had already started to turn around in his lap to comply with Killer’s wishes. Kid’s voice suddenly dropped low, heavy with interest. “Oh.”

“What?” You glanced over your shoulder, where Kid’s eyes were boring into the spot right below the back of your neck. You realized he had never seen your tattoo before. “Oh, my ta–ahh!”

Kid slid two fingers up through your slit, finishing with a little circle around your clit that made your legs weaken. “Now when did you go and get that done?” he murmured.

“Fewmonthsago,” you slurred. “Kid…”

He grabbed your hips, positioning you over his cock. “I wouldn’t have made you wait so long if I had known. You’ve been dedicated all this time, haven’t you?” He guided you down slowly, thick cock parting you gradually.

You bit your lip and nodded, that aching within you finally eased. Kid’s grip tightened as your hips met, digging into your skin.

“Shit,” he cursed. “You’re really wet. Killer wasn’t joking. Now, face forward.”

You turned your head back to look at the other three. Everyone else had taken their dicks out at that point and were stroking themselves, Heat’s free hand holding a still-burning blunt. You glanced between them–all eyes were on you, making you burn up even hotter. Their gazes felt like a physical sensation on your skin. Your own gaze faltered, though, when a harsh smack landed on your ass.

“Ah!” you yelped, the sting both grounding you and riling you up worse.

“Captain, at least ask if she likes it first,” Wire admonished.

“She got tighter, Wire,” Kid responded, groping your ass cheeks. “I think she likes it just fine.”

“It’s okay,” you mumbled, starting to move. With your feet unable to touch the floor, you had to use your thighs to squeeze Kid’s lap and lift yourself up and down, but you had plenty of stamina to go at that point and a monstrous, intoxicated desire spurring you on. You set a quick, needy pace, fucking yourself on his rigid cock so he hit all the right spots, making whimpers slip out between your panting breaths. You rolled your hips whenever they met Kid’s, grinding him into your g-spot deliciously.

“Fuck,” Kid groaned, and smacked your other ass cheek, making you moan. “Look at you go, princess. I’m gonna cum soon if you don’t calm down.” He grabbed your hips and dug his fingers in tightly, forcing you to stop. You cried out in protest, your pleasure mercilessly cut off. “Kid!”

Kid leaned in and kissed your tattoo, moving your hips up and down at a cruelly slow pace and ignoring your cries.

“Kid, go faster! Please!” you begged.

“No,” he said, and even without facing him you could hear the grin in his voice. “You have to earn it.”

“How?!”

“By being honest, for once.” He kissed your tattoo again, and this time let his tongue drag over the inked skin, making a shiver run down your spine. “Did I hear you correctly earlier, Y/n? You haven’t just been flirting with us for fun…” He pulled you down on his cock, holding your hips down and rolling his up into you. “You’ve caught some feelings as well, so say it again.”

“What do I say?” you whined, too needy to remember.

“You said you love us,” Wire said smugly, now in possession of the blunt.

“Oh!” you said, both in surprise and because Kid was fucking you slowly and deeply now. “I…b-but…”

“Shy now?” Heat chuckled.

“That’s so embarrassing, come on,” you protested, “just hurry up and go faster, Kid!”

Kid’s lips pressed to your tattoo again, and you could feel his lips curl into a smirk. “No.”

“I don’t think that pace is gonna change until you say it,” Killer mused.

“Fine!” you huffed, then lowered your voice. “I… I love you…”

“What was that?” Kid asked.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Killer said.

Wire grinned, and Heat shook his head. “Me neither.”

Your face burned. “I love you,” you said again, though it was still a bit quiet in your embarrassment.

“Louder,” Kid commanded, slowing his pace even further until tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

“Kid, please. I love you.”

“You can do better than that. Tell us how you really feel.”

“I love you!” you whined. Kid picked up his pace ever so slightly.

“And Killer?”

“Y-Yes! I love him too!”

“And W–”

“And Wire and Heat! All of you!”

“Say it again!” Kid smacked your ass.

“Ah-! I love you!” you cried it out, again and again, and Kid did not fuck you properly until you were screaming it. Only then did he give you what you needed, bouncing you on his cock fervently with his metal hand. Everyone watched, enraptured, three pairs of eyes on you, on your bouncing breasts, on the point where your body met Kid’s.

“My loyal girl,” Kid praised, tongue on your tattoo again, “you like getting fucked by your captain?”

“Yes!”

“Wanna be shared by everyone?”

“Yes! I’m, I’m gonna cum-!”

“Who do you belong to?”

“The Kid Pirates!” you cried.

“Good girl. Now, cum on my cock for everyone to see.”

You came hard, orgasm hitting you like a battering ram, making your body tighten and lock up. Kid held you down as you pulsed around him, cursing as he tried to keep himself from tipping over the edge along with you.

For a minute, there was nothing but the soft sound of slapping around you as the other three jacked off to the sight of your bliss. You went limp against Kid, panting.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum,” Heat muttered. “So fucking hot.”

“Have some discipline, Heat,” Kid said above you, “you’re next anyway.”

“Ugh, I hate edging.” Heat let go of himself, holding his hand away.

“It’ll be worth it,” Wire said. “Don’t let the weed make you finish early.”

“Easy for you to say, Wire. You do this kind of thing all the time.”

As your fuzzy brain started to grasp cognitive thought once more, you wondered if that was why Wire seemed to be in charge here. You always knew he was kinky, but never realized just how much experience he had.

Killer, who’d been holding onto the blunt while Kid was occupied, now passed it to Kid, who took a deep hit before offering it to you. You held up your hand in refusal, needing to catch up on oxygen first.

“How you holding up, Y/n?” Wire asked.

“Fucking fantastic,” you said earnestly, making them all laugh.

“Who’s great idea was this, again?” Kid asked, and you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” you said, shifting and dismounting off him, making him grunt from the stimulation. You pecked him on the lips, silently grateful that he had pushed you past your nervousness. “Thanks, Captain.”

Kid smirked proudly as you started to slide off his lap, and he grabbed your wrist to stop you from walking away. “Where do you think you’re going? We’re passing you around, remember?” With that, he pulled you back into him and picked you up, making you squeak in surprise, before stepping over to Heat and setting you down onto his lap.

Heat’s blush deepened as you immediately recovered and hooked your arms around his neck. He parted his lips when you leaned in to kiss him, his tongue sliding over yours, gently stroking and intertwining, making you moan sweetly. He started touching himself again, which you noticed once Heat started to gasp into your mouth.

“Heat, wait,” you said. “Let me.”

Heat moved his hand away, and you replaced it with your own. The feeling of something metallic and hard against your palm made you pause, pulling your hand away to look. Heat had his dick pierced, a frenum ladder–a set of parallel barbells going up the underside and stopping at the frenum.

“Oh, wow,” you said, running your thumb down the underside of his cock to feel the metal underneath. Heat groaned, his dick twitching. “Is it sensitive?”

“Yes,” he hissed, closing his hand around yours and making you start to jerk him off. “Don’t be a tease.”

“Says you! You were the one who tormented me earlier!”

“You look good when you’re needy,” Heat bit out, thrusting up into your hand. “I couldn’t help it. Now squeeze harder.”

“No, I wanna try something else,” you said, stopping. “I want to know what it feels like in my mouth.”

“Nope, sorry. I’ll come too quickly and have to sit out the rest of the session.”

You frowned. “Fiiiine. You’d better make up for it, then.”

Heat’s brows raised, then his eyes narrowed, and suddenly you felt as if you possibly made a mistake in your choice of words.

“Uh oh,” Wire said, but you could hear the grin in his voice.

“Make up for it?” Heat sneered down at you. “Do you think I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Heat,” you tried to placate him, but his tight grip on your hips told you that you were in trouble.

“Come here,” he snapped, pulling you to hover over his dick. “I don’t have a metal arm like Kid to toss you around with–so instead, you’re going to do what I say.”

It was so unlike Heat that you found yourself complying right away, resting your hands on his shoulders. “Or what?” you teased.

“Or we’ll find out your limits the hard way, regardless of what Wire says,” Heat lined himself up with your entrance, “I get the feeling you’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?”

“How should I know? I’ve never tried–oh…” You lost your words as Heat guided you to sink down onto his length. He was thicker toward the base, letting you feel each one of his piercings slide along your sensitive insides. “Oh, fuck, that’s–that’s good...”

Heat smirked. “Like the piercings?”

“Yes!” You rolled your hips to feel them move inside you, your eyelids fluttering shut. “Fuck.”

“Eyes on me, babe.” Heat instructed, and you snapped your eyes open to see him looking at you intensely, the hunger in his gaze sending prickles all over your skin. He slid his hands up your sides to your front, groping your breasts, pulling a moan out of you when he rubbed your nipples with his thumbs. You look down to watch him do it, contracting around him at the sight, and Heat corrected you with a harsh slap to your ass.

“Ah!”

“She does tighten up,” Heat grinned, his arm muscles flexing as he delivered a second firm smack.

“Heat!”

“Eyes up.”

You kept your eyes on him this time, even as he teased and tugged at your nipples. Gripping him tight, you rolled your hips again, the combination of the piercings and your chest being played with nearly making your eyes roll back. “Oh, fuck. Spank me again.”

Heat grinned. “Ask nicely.”

“Please!”

“Attagirl.” Heat smacked your other ass cheek, making you cry out. “What do you say?”

“T-Thank you!”

He chuckled. “You’re cute, you know that?” One of his hands snaked its way up your chest and around your throat, fingers wrapping around your neck.

Wire spoke up, his voice a firm admonishment. “Heat.”

“M’not squeezin’,” Heat said, pulling you in for another greedy kiss. You eagerly reciprocated, sucking on his tongue and making him groan. “Fuck…Come on, ride me.”

He didn’t have to ask twice. You planted your feet on the floor and started to lift yourself up and down on his cock, whimpering at the unique sensation of riding a pierced dick. Heat was already filling you up, to feel the barbells stimulating you on top of it was almost overwhelming in your intoxicated state.

“There’s a good girl,” Heat moaned. “Oh, fuck. Look at you.”

Heat fondled your chest as you rode him at a brisk, even pace, rolling your hips to grind your clit into him. You felt yourself rapidly approach the edge, until he pinched your nipple a little too hard, and the pain brought you out of it with a yelp.

“Ah-! Too hard, Heat,” you whimpered.

“See?” Wire said. “This is why you have to discuss these things. We really should have started by now.”

“Isn’t it too late?” Kid asked.

“No.”

“Where do we start, then?” Killer wondered.

“With what she wants out of this,” Wire said. “If she can even focus right now.”

You could not, especially when Heat chose right then to smack your ass again, which brought you right back to the edge. “Fuck, Heat!”

“Gonna cum, pretty girl?” Heat whispered huskily.

“Yes! I’m close!”

“That’s too bad–I want you to slow down.”

“W-What?”

“You heard me.” Heat lifted his legs so you could no longer reach the floor, your riding stopped in an instant.

“Ahh, no no no, Heat! Don’t stop!” you protested, trying to stretch your legs to reach the floor again, but he was much taller than you were.

“Only if you agree to slow down.” Heat said, massaging your breasts. “Can you do that for me?”

“I’ll do anything, just let me keep going, please!”

“Then ride me, slowly, and pay attention to what we’re talking about.” Heat lowered his legs again, graciously letting you reach the floor. “Otherwise I’ll just stop again when you’re about to cum.”

You nodded, slowly working yourself up and down his shaft. It was torturous to go at that pace after all you had been treated to, but the moment you sped up, he would just stop you anyway.

The blunt was passed to Heat at that moment, and he took a deep hit. With his other hand, he pulled you closer to him by the neck, sealing his lips around yours. You followed his lead, inhaling as he exhaled, filling your lungs with smoke.

Heat didn’t force you to take his entire hit, knowing he could handle bigger lungfuls than you could, and you both exhaled at the same time. He passed the blunt to Wire and placed both hands on your face, pulling you in again for a kiss that tasted of smoke.

“You listenin’?” Heat asked. He was looking at you with adoration now, and you nodded, wanting nothing more than to please him. “Wire asked you what you want out of this.”

He went back to massaging your chest the way you liked, playing with your nipples more gently while you rolled your hips and whimpered, trying to think while being teased. Your brain was already high on weed and dick–what more could you want? If you could do absolutely anything more than this, what would you do?

A mental image suddenly came into your mind. Of course. The only thing better than being used by all of them would be being used by all of them at the same time. You pictured it vividly, taking them in all three of your holes at once, and the thought turned you on so much that suddenly you were at the edge again. It only took one more roll of your hips before your orgasm snuck up on you, making you tremble all over as you choked on a gasp.

“She’s cumming,” Heat announced as you fluttered around him. “Fuuuck.”

“From that pace?” Killer asked. “Is she reaching her limit?”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Kid said.

“I’m with Kid. It’s something else,” Wire said. “Come on, Y/n, use your words.”

You sagged against Heat as your orgasm pulsed through your insides, muttering against his chest. Heat laughed. “She said she knows what she wants,” he said. “I think she just had a nice little mental image to get off to.”

Heat rubbed your back as you came down, then had you dismount him. He picked you up and tossed you over his shoulder, stepping over and letting you fall into Wire’s big arms.

“Well?” Wire said, repositioning you so you were sitting and facing the group. He rubbed your hips fondly. “Tell us what you want, and we’ll make it happen.”

You turned to look at Wire’s dick up close. He was proportional to his height, twice as big as the others at least. There was a single frenum piercing that you immediately went to touch.

“Pay attention,” Wire said, though he made no move to stop you.

At that point, you had not an ounce of reservation or shame left to be found. “I want everyone at the same time,” you said. “All holes.”

“Ohh?” Wire said. Kid whistled, and Heat chuckled in surprise while Killer leaned forward in interest.

“I’ve…I’ve always wanted to try something like that,” you admitted. “I can handle it.”

Wire bent down to kiss the top of your head. “Alright. We’ll work up to it, but first things first. Sorry to ask, but when was the last time you went to the bathroom?” After you told him, he nodded. “Then we should be fine for anal.”

“And in the meantime…” you said, lifting up on your knees and going to straddle his cock, but Wire turned you back around to face the group, pressing down on your shoulders so you were forced to sit further up on his lap. “Wire?”

“You’re not ready for me yet,” Wire said. “Maybe after another rotation.”

“What?! Come on!”

“Hush.” Wire pulled you back by the hips so you could feel his big cock nestled against your ass, an unfair tease of what you could potentially have had he not been so damn concerned for your well-being.

Before you could protest, Wire ran his huge hands down your body, one of them spreading your legs. Two thick fingers burrowed their way down and penetrated you, the length of them making it easy for him to reach your g-spot with a slight curling motion.

“Oh, fuck!” you gasped, squeezing around his fingers.

“Let’s get this started. For your sake, I’ll condense what we need to go through as much as possible without you getting hurt. Okay?”

“Okay!”

“There’s my good girl.” Wire rewarded you by rubbing your clit with his thumb, making your toes curl. He stopped far too soon as he began his questioning. “Now, what are your hard limits? The things you will absolutely not do?”

“Mm, fuck…Hard limits?” you echoed, trying to think while he had two fingers massaging your g-spot. “Um, um… No watersports. And, no calling me really mean things? ‘Slut’ and ‘whore’ and stuff are fine, though, but I don’t want to be actually insulted.”

“You prefer being teased about what you like, right? Rather than being told you’re only good for sex, that sort of thing.”

“Yeah, you understand. I don’t like being called stupid or useless.”

“Fair enough,” said Killer, one hand on his dick while the other held the blunt to a hole in his mask. “I don’t like that kind of thing either.”

“You can call me a dumb slut any day,” Heat muttered, surprising you and making Kid laugh, “but I get it.”

“And I don’t want to be throat-fucked really hard,” you said. “I want you to use my mouth, but only go into my throat at the end to cum. Actually, I’d rather you came in my mouth than on my face–hhn!”

Wire resumed rubbing your clit again as a reward for your honesty, short-circuiting your brain until he stopped. “Deepthroating once is okay, only at the end. No finishing on your face. What else?”

You continued that way, detailing your limits while getting fingered, with Wire teasing your clit every time you finished answering a question. Wire added a third finger inside you once he moved on to asking you about positions, and by the time the safety discussion was done, he didn’t let up playing with your clit, either. His fingers curled and rubbed against your g-spot in perfect rhythm with his thumb, his other hand teased your chest, and, legs shaking, you came hard into his hand a few blissful minutes later.

“Aw, my sweet little girl can’t stop cumming for her superiors,” Wire praised, turning your head to kiss you. “Love how you use that crazy stamina of yours for us.”

“I’d do anything for you,” you said earnestly, a little drunk on the rush of your orgasm.

Wire blinked for a moment in surprise, then smiled, running his other hand over your head adoringly. “All the more reason you deserve this. Now, clean up this mess you made,” he said, holding his slick-coated fingers to your lips, “and I’ll pass you to Killer.”

You held Wire’s hand in your smaller ones as you licked and sucked on his fingers. He probed inside your mouth teasingly, rubbing your tongue and feeling around, working you back up so you’d be nice and needy for Killer. As if that would be an issue–with the Red Sky in your blood, you knew you could go all night. You wanted to go all night.

“Don’t miss a single spot,” Wire muttered in your ear, and you complied, tongue weaving in-between his fingers obediently. “Do you like how you taste?”

“Uh-huh,” you said honestly, sending a noticeable wave of excitement through the group.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” Heat groaned, letting his tongue loll out as he stroked himself.

“She sure makes it look good, doesn’t she, Killer?” Kid grinned. “Why don’t you eat her out later?”

“Yeah,” Killer replied, a breathiness to his voice, fisting himself faster. “I intend to.”

Letting you cool down this way gave you the chance to really focus on watching the others, and you never realized how tantalizing it was to watch the three men you crushed on jack off at the sight of you. Thrilled and impatient, you pulled Wire’s hand away. “I want Killer now.”

Killer growled in excitement at your words, sending a shiver up your spine. Wire took mercy on the both of you, deciding you had done a good enough job. He scooped you up, carrying you bridal-style, and handed you off to the masked man.

Killer, eager to have you to himself for a little while, opted to have you facing him.

“What the hell, man? Face her forward,” Kid complained.

“No,” Killer said, “I want to see her face when I make her cum.”

He didn’t miss how you squirmed on his lap at the statement, a rumble in his chest. You didn’t know which you preferred–both watching the others and having one-on-one attention was elating, but it would have been better if you could see Killer’s expression. You supposed him wanting you this way would have to be enough for now, though you still longed to kiss him. It couldn’t hurt to ask, right?

“Killer,” your purr was just on the edge of a pouty whine, “won’t you kiss me? Please?”

Killer hesitated just a moment, prompting the others to speak up.

“She’s been so good, Kill, don’t you think?” Wire said.

“Go on, we won’t look,” said Heat.

“No pressure,” Kid added.

Killer’s mask tilted down, and you knew he was looking right at you. “If that’s what you really want.”

“I’ve wanted that for a long time,” you told him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance.”

“Can’t say I ever thought I’d get to either.” His large hands rubbed up and down your sides. “Didn’t think any of this would ever happen. You were so…”

“Yeah?”

“Awkward.”

The other three barked out laughs, and you pouted. “Okay, that’s fair.”

“But even before that…” Killer said, one hand tracing the scar on your clavicle, “you were quiet… lonely.” He brought both hands to cradle your face.

Though only faced with the mask, you felt like you could see through it to his eyes. “I’m not lonely anymore,” you whispered.

One of his hands shifted to cover your eyes, and you held your breath in anticipation. A moment later, you felt the soft, smooth warmth of his lips pressing to yours. The kiss was hesitant, uncertain, but heavy with wanting; you parted your lips slightly to give him silent permission to go further. When he didn’t, you poked your tongue out to trace his bottom lip, testing, and Killer responded with a soft groan. He pulled you closer with his free hand, deepening the kiss and finally tasting you, his tongue meeting yours. The touch of the wet muscles released some sort of floodgate within him; suddenly he was kissing you fervently, all that wanting let loose onto you. You felt him pull away, only to press a kiss to your jaw, then your neck, working his way down to your scar, which he dragged his tongue across.

You whimpered, reaching up to dig your fingers into his hair and hold on, core aching with need as he kissed down to your breasts.

Suddenly you felt yourself tipping down, yelping as Killer flipped you lengthwise, your chest in his lap and your legs in the air on either side of his neck. He wrapped his arms around your lower half, firmly holding you in place. There was no warning before he pressed his face into your cunt.

“Ah, K-Killer!” you moaned as he lapped and slurped at the sensitive flesh, tonguing between your folds and into your center. He ate you out with all the fervor of a man starved, his goatee rubbing into your clit as he went.

“That’s one way to cure cottonmouth,” Heat said, prompting Kid to lean over to high-five him.

“Don’t be lazy, Y/n,” Wire tutted, “suck him off.”

“Yeah, suck his dick!” Kid encouraged, tongue sticking out.

“Fuck, o-okay,” you breathed, bracing yourself against his muscular thighs with one hand and wrapping your fingers around his cock with the other. You guided his leaking tip into your mouth. It was warm and smooth on your tongue, the salty tang of pre-cum leaving your head spinning. You couldn’t really bob your head from that position, but you did your best to try and please him, though you felt too distracted by the way he plunged his tongue inside you. Killer, on the other hand, didn’t seem thrown off by the added stimulation, merely moaning into your cunt and continuing his assault on your senses.

“Attagirl,” Heat praised. “Take him deeper.”

“Watch us while you do it,” Wire commanded.

Killer had a slight upward curve to his dick, so from that angle, you found that taking him further into your mouth wasn’t so difficult. As long as you braced yourself, you could handle it without choking. You strained forward, letting him deeper into your mouth, eyes flicking up to meet the others’ gazes as you did. The eye contact tightened the building tension within you even tighter, and your moan was muffled when Killer started sucking on your clit.

“Fuck, there you go, princess,” Kid said.

“Mmff-!” you pulled off of Killer’s dick, gasping. “Gonna cum! Killer!”

Just like that, Killer manhandled you to flip you back the right way up, pulling you down onto his cock all the way to the base. He had his mask tilted partway up, beautiful blue eyes cast in shadow barely visible, but fixated on you. He started bouncing you on his cock like you weighed nothing, fingers sinking into your hips, the muscles of his arms and abs flexing. Killer gritting his teeth, too lost in the euphoria of fucking you to worry about his face being visible.

“Killer!” you moaned, holding on for dear life, his handsome face in view as you felt yourself climbing to yet another dizzying orgasm. You trembled as it washed over you, and Killer growled when he felt your walls spasming.

“You cumming on my cock, pretty girl?” he said huskily, holding you down and thrusting up into your g-spot.

“Yes, yes, fuck,” you whimpered–somehow, even being the fifth time, it was just as strong as the first. You slumped against Killer, resting your hands on his chest and catching your breath. He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before lowering his mask.

You were still feeling the waves of it by the time Killer lifted you off of him, a rope of slick connecting your cunt to the tip of his dick.

“Do you need a break?” Killer asked, rubbing your back.

“I don’t know? Maybe?” you said. “I’m a bit tired, but it’s weird. No matter how hard I cum, I still want more.”

“At least drink something,” Wire suggested.

“Like cum?”

That earned you a few giggles from Heat and Kid. Wire picked up one of the water bottles on the table and tossed it at Killer, who caught it one-handed and offered it to you.

After rehydrating, you were passed to Kid. Despite his earlier protests to Killer, he faced you toward himself this time. At first you thought this was to torment you more, as he seemed eager to make you say embarrassing things so he could commit the look on your face to memory.

“Who’s your captain?” Kid demanded as he fucked up into you.

“You are!” you cried.

“And who’s your daddy?”

“Ah! Y-You are!”

Afterward, you realized he just wanted to make out while you rode him. Or maybe it was both things, but you weren’t about to complain. It was hard to tell which of you was more greedy; him for offering up this situation in the first place, or you for accepting it enthusiastically.

Heat opted to take you on the ground for his turn in the rotation, pushing you onto your hands and knees and giving backshots that had your toes curling. Finally, Wire agreed to let you ride him, facing you toward the group and letting you lower yourself onto his cock at your own pace. It was a tight fit, he was the biggest you had ever taken, but you had been fucked so thoroughly and came so many times at that point that you didn’t need any extra preparation. It only took a little bit of working yourself down to take him all.

“Theeere you go,” Wire praised as he bottomed out. You shivered at the sensation of being filled so full. He was pressed firmly against your g-spot without even needing to move or angle himself, all it took was you clenching down on him to feel bliss. He chuckled when he felt you doing so repeatedly, bending down to whisper into your ear. “How’s that big dick feel?”

“So good, Wire,” you sighed, resting your hands over his on your hips. The final blunt in the rotation was passed to Wire, and after taking his hit, he held it to your lips so you could take a hit, too.

Wire passed the blunt, then moved your hands to your lower stomach, making you feel the pronounced bulge that was there. You clenched up again at the feel of it. “You know,” he murmured, “I always had a feeling you could take all of me. That you were made for taking cock.”

“Let me see,” Kid said.

Wire moved your hands away to show off your belly bulge. “You guys wanna take a closer look?” he asked with a lazy smirk.

Before you knew it, the other three had come over to see the spectacle up close, whistling and cooing. You flushed hotter as they felt it for themselves.

“It’s like you were made for us, babe,” Heat said. He stepped even closer so he was right in front of you, then took his cock and rubbed the tip against your clit, making you gasp. It was smooth and slick against the sensitive nub.

“Fuck, Heat!” you moaned, hands twitching, but Wire held them firmly at your sides, not letting you move.

“What?” Heat said. “After everything, you can’t take this?”

“S-Sensitive! It’s–oh god, fuck…”

“Her hands are free,” Wire pointed out to the other two, holding your hands out. Kid and Killer didn’t hesitate, positioning themselves at your sides. Wire guided your hands around their cocks, helping you jerk them off. The group forced you to stay trapped in that position, Wire rocking his hips all the while. Your eyes rolled back; the build was steep and intense, causing tears to form at the corners of your eyes. The others praised you while you whimpered.

“Did you think about us? When you were alone in the shower?” Wire muttered into your ear.

“Yes! I’m, I’m cumming,” you whined. None of them let up, pushing you over the edge yet again.

“How many times is this?” Kid grinned as you gasped and shuddered.

“That makes six,” Killer said.

“About to be seven,” Wire said, reaching around to rub your clit in expert circles.

“Wire!” You immediately twitched and writhed, but couldn’t get away. “It’s too soon, it’s too soon!”

“You can take it,” he assured, thrusting up harder. Before he was mostly still, this time his massive cock slid in and out of your cunt at a slow pace. You didn’t think you could cum again so soon, but the overstimulation soon went from maddening to euphoric under his experienced touches. Only another minute of you keening, and then you came again.

“Told you,” Wire said as he finally released your hands. “Seven.”

You fell back against Wire, feeling a bit light-headed. Heat patted your cheek and Killer ruffled your hair.

“Still good to keep going?” Wire asked, grinding his hips against yours to draw out your orgasm. You didn’t respond, too fucked-out, still riding the sensation of the little pulses shooting through your core. “I’m gonna need a response if you want this to continue, sweetheart.”

Your voice was small and shaky. “Don’t stop.”

“You heard her,” Kid grinned.

“What do you think, then, Y/n?” Wire asked. “You ready for all of us?”

“Y-Yeah…” you said. “Just…gimme a minute.”

“And everyone else? You all still in?”

The rest of the group gave eager agreements. Wire helped you dismount from him and let you rest against his broad chest. In the meantime, he started directing the others to set up. There wasn’t much to do, just taking the blanket from the nearby bed and putting it onto the floor for some extra cushioning. Everyone took a drink break, and the last blunt was stubbed out on the now-full ashtray. You went to sit in the center of the blanket, and the others followed. There was a brief discussion on how to make the positions work, you were given another check-in to ensure you were okay with the setup, and anyone who hadn’t fully disrobed did so.

Killer laid down on his back, taking your hand as you crawled over him. You mounted his cock eagerly; despite all the prior attention, you were finally getting to try acting out one of your fantasies, and had perked right back up at the chance.

“Nervous?” Killer asked as Kid took up position behind you.

You shook your head. “You know I trust you guys with my life, right?”

“That’s right,” Kid said, pressing a kiss to the tattoo on your back. Then he placed a hand on your back and pushed you forward to expose your cunt to him. He positioned his cock right up against Killer’s, pushing against it and forward to stretch your cunt until it gave way to his, too. You bit your lip as you were filled by both men simultaneously–the stretch was just like taking Wire.

“Who fills you more?” Wire questioned as he took place at your side, taking your hand and putting it on his cock. “Our captain and first mate, or me?”

“I can’t really tell,” you answered honestly, wrapping your hand around the base of him.

“I guess we’ll just have to give you more practice, then,” he grinned.

Heat stepped over Killer, standing in front of you. “Open wide, babygirl,” he purred, and you did so, tongue sticking out like a landing strip for his cock. He eased himself into your mouth gently, cursing when you started to suck on him. The feeling of his piercings on your tongue was fun, a little sensory treat for you to play with.

Kid started to thrust first, Killer waiting a bit to pick up on Kid’s rhythm before he joined him. He timed himself so you were never left empty; if Kid was pulling back, Killer was thrusting in, and vice versa. The two of them were in perfect sync like they’d done this before, and you wouldn’t have been surprised if they had. Between Kid’s grip on your hips and Killer’s hands on your waist, you were held steady so you didn’t rock too far forward, keeping you feeling the full brunt of their combined attack.

“God, I’ve wanted to do this for a while.” Heat said, placing a hand on the back of your head and starting to thrust shallowly into your mouth. Now that you had been pushed to make eye contact so much during the rotations, there was no more hesitation from you as you looked up through your eyelashes at Heat, who cursed at the sight.

“Oh, fuck, you look good like that,” he muttered, “sucking my cock while getting railed. You feel so fucking good, shit.”

“Isn’t she just perfect?” Wire cooed, guiding your hand to pump his cock. “Servicing us all with those slutty little holes of hers, and doing such a good job of it, too.”

Your moans were muffled by Heat’s cock, but the sound made the others’ grip on you tighten, their thrusts increasing in force. It was almost everything you had wanted, their cocks a drug to you as much as the weed was–you didn’t think you could feel any better. But even then, with three of them inside you pounding you into oblivion, you still wanted more. During the discussion, Wire made you agree to show you could take double penetration before trying triple. You had no choice but to comply, but like you had told Kid earlier, they had no idea just what you could handle.

You gave the safety signal with your trembling free hand, holding up three fingers. Wire immediately barked at the other three to stop, and when they pulled out of you, you felt emptier than when before you had started.

“You okay? What’s wrong?” Wire asked. The whole group was alert and focused on you now.

“I took two, like you said!” you cried out. “I don’t want to jerk you off, Wire, I want you all at once, like you promised!”

Wire started to laugh while the others relaxed.

“That’s all?” Killer huffed. “I was worried for a second.”

Kid smacked your ass. “That’s my girl! A true Kid pirate.” He pulled you up by the neck so your chest was flush with his back, growling into your ear. “You’re just a greedy little thing, aren’t you? Need us all right this second, hmm?”

“Fuck, yes, just hurry up,” you whined.

Kid held his hand in front of your face. “Spit,” he commanded.

You spat into his palm, and he stroked his cock with that hand. “Alright, boys, let’s rearrange. Wire? What do you think?”

“I’ll take her mouth,” Wire said. “Too big for triple. Otherwise, first choice of ‘loot’ goes to the captain.”

“Her ass is mine.”

“I’m good here,” Killer said.

Heat joined Kid and Killer behind you while Wire took his place in front. He had to sit up on his legs for his cock to be at the right height to line up with your head.

“First Killer and Heat start, then Kid, so I can keep an eye on her. Once I think she’s good, I’ll take her mouth,” Wire directed.

Killer and Heat penetrated your cunt at the same time, hilting themselves before Kid pressed the head of his cock against your ass. The weed had relaxed your muscles enough so that there was little resistance, but you still closed your eyes at the unique feeling of him entering you there. It had been a while since you played with yourself anally, so adding it to the mix of sensations was a thrill. As Kid filled you up, Heat and Killer noticeably tensed in pleasure, the space inside you growing even smaller with the third addition.

“Tight,” Kid muttered, pulling out slightly before pushing in even further, making you moan as you were stuffed to the brim.

“But she did it,” Wire noted, looking proud. He stroked your cheek. “Sorry to have underestimated you.” You responded by opening your mouth, and Wire grinned. “Little slut. Alright, here I come.”

You could only really take the first two inches of Wire in your mouth, but that was enough, you swirled your tongue over his frenum piercing as you sucked him off. The other three took that as a signal to start. Kid went at his own brutal pace, steady but harsh, while the other two were more gentle as they figured out a good rhythm. At first it was disorganized and more uncomfortable than you had expected, until Wire directed Kid to slow down, and suddenly the other three fell into the perfect pace. At that point, you feared you had no rational thought left, every bit of cognition fucked out of your body. A warm, thick haze fell over your mind as they ravaged you, some part of you finally feeling relief from being used so thoroughly by your superiors. It was the satisfaction of your deepest fantasies coming true. Every nerve in your body was attuned to the feeling of their skin on you, against you, inside you.

Their desire for you was evident in their desperation, in their hands all over your body, in their praises and groans and whines of your name. At the center of their carnal affection, you finally felt whole.

Wire dug his fingers into your hair, grunting that he was close. You were, too, but you couldn’t tell them as you were. The other three figured it out when they felt your walls flutter around their cocks.

“She came.”

“Fuck, she came again.”

“Good girl, good girl.”

You could barely tell who said what, but the following curse of “f-fuck!” came from Wire, and a moment later, a salty, slightly bitter taste coated the back of your tongue. You swallowed it down without a second thought, fully in subspace and never happier.

Heat came next; you couldn’t really feel it, only noticing once he pulled out and you were suddenly, tragically emptier.

“Just you and me, Kill,” Kid said.

Wire pulled out of your mouth, and you collapsed forward onto Killer, fingers scraping against the curly fuzz of his chest hair.

“Easy, just–mm–relax,” Killer grunted, hands traveling up your sides. “Fuck, you don’t know how good you feel.”

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you panted. “Keep g-going.”

You rested your head on Killer’s chest as they double-teamed you, content to lay there and be used. It came as a surprise when you felt fingers rubbing your clit–Kid had reached around to tease you.

“One last one, princess,” he said.

“Ah, Kid! I don’t think–” you started, but Kid smacked your ass hard and made your words end in a yelp.

“Trust your captain.”

“Y-Yes, sir.” You hung your head down, breaths coming out short, putting all your focus on your lower half.

“Just a bit more,” Killer urged. “Just a bit–fuck, I’m at my limit.”

Killer emptied inside you with a low groan. Kid didn’t let up, rubbing your clit between his thumb and forefinger, pushing you to the edge with that sheer, brutal determination that he approached everything in life with.

“I’m almost there,” Kid promised. “Cum for me, Y/n, cum for your captain.”

“Kid!” you cried, “Kid, Kid, Kid–!”

You both hit your peak at the same time, you with a tired whimper, Kid with a throaty groan. You felt like you had dissolved into a billion little sparks, unable to do anything but pulse and twitch. Then you went limp, all energy seeming to drain out of your body at once.

“Y/n? Are you alright?” Wire asked, and you responded with a weak grunt of confirmation.

Kid and Killer pulled out, the latter sitting up and supporting you against him.

“Just rest,” Killer said. “We’ll take care of everything.”

“Wait. One last thing,” Kid said. He spread your ass cheeks, a smirk etching itself across his face when he saw the cum leaking out of your holes. “Yeah, that’s good. Nicely done, princess.”

You just pressed your face into Killer’s chest and grunted again. The four men chuckled.

“Let’s get her cleaned up,” Kid said, holding his hands out to you. Killer picked you up for one final pass to Kid, who stood you on your feet and pressed a kiss to your temple. “You look like a fucking mess.”

“Mm,” was the only noise you made, though it still managed to sound sarcastic, and Kid laughed. He detached his metal arm, setting it on the ground, then supported you with his remaining arm as you walked on trembling legs to the bathroom.

Kid started the shower, stepping inside it with you to make sure you wouldn’t collapse. You leaned against him, sighing as the hot water soothed your tired muscles.

“I guess I lived up to my hometown’s reputation after all,” you mumbled into his chest.

“No one gives a shit,” Kid said. “You should be happy you got to do this.”

“I am,” you grabbed the soap and started scrubbing your front. “I just think it’s funny. After all that time, you know?”

“Yeah.” He spun you around so the water hit your front. “After all that time. You were so cold before. I always figured you’d leave after your business was done.”

“I thought so, too,” you said, reminiscing. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Kid helped you lather soap on your back, then spun you around to let it rinse off. You looked up at him. He was standing over you not unlike that day all those years ago, when you had marched up to him and demanded to join his crew. Except instead of a sneer on his face, there was only a soft look.

You felt yourself tear up. Kid’s expression changed to one of alarm. “Woah, what’s wrong?”

You shook your head. “Nothing. I’m just happy.”

“You sure? You don’t regret this, right?”

“No. It was exactly what I wanted.” You smiled up at him to show you were fine, even as you sniffled.

“Okay. Good,” he said, looking relieved. “It was what I wanted, too.”

You hugged him tight. “I do have a question, though.”

“What?”

“What was the ‘deal’ you guys were talking about earlier?”

Kid snorted. “Ages ago, we talked about which crewmates we hadn’t fucked yet, and all of us agreed that we would have smashed you if we had the chance. So we decided that none of us would make a move until you did.”

“Is that all? Then why did you get mad at Wire?”

“Because we all know that he’s a huge flirt. None of us believed that you made the first move.”

You thought back to when you kissed him. “We were both drunk, but–yeah, he kissed me first. Despite what he says.”

You and Kid chuckled. After getting cleaned up, you wrapped yourself in a towel and went back out. The others had all redressed by then. You were about to flop into your chair until Wire held his arms out to you. You drifted over and let him pull you into his embrace, resting against him while he massaged your thighs.

“If you want to talk about any of it, just say so,” he said. “Questions, comments, concerns.”

“I just want to eat something that’s not cock,” you said.

The others laughed, except for Heat, who shouted, “Fuck!”

“What?”

“I wasn’t hungry until you said something, damn it.”

You and the other three laughed again, this time at Heat’s expense.

“I could eat all of Whole Cake Island,” you said.

Heat started rummaging around the cabinets in the dresser. “There’s gotta be a list of nearby places to eat–huh?” There was a pause, and then Heat turned around. “Why are there a bunch of condoms in here?”

“Amenities, obviously. Remember what island you’re on,” you said.

Wire’s hands froze where they were on your hips. “Y/n?” he said, the tone making you nervous.

“Now, listen, Wire–” you started.

“Don’t ‘listen’ me,” he said thinly. “You knew there were condoms and didn’t tell me?”

“Well, you know, I’m still good on birth control, and, uh,”

“It still matters–” Wire realized something, then grabbed your shoulders. “Did you fucking lie so you’d get creampied, you fucking slut?”

The other three howled, and you shrank in his lap, even as you squeaked out, “I’m not sorry.”

“I guess you’ll have to punish her, Wire,” Kid grinned.

“Just let us watch when you do,” Killer added.

“What did you have in mind?” Heat asked.

“Oh, I’ll come up with something.” Wire said. He tickled your sides, making you flail in his lap until you begged for mercy.

“That settles it, then,” Kid said. “Y/n? Before we leave this island, make sure you go get a big bundle of Red Sky for us to take with us.”

“Aye aye, captain,” you said, heart already leaping at what the future would hold.

#eustass kid x reader #killer x reader #heat x reader #wire x reader #one piece imagines #one piece smut #x reader #zen writes

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myfictionalromance · 7 days ago

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A Ghost at Gotham University Pt.2

DP x DC | Danny Fenton x Tim Drake | Masterlist

The espresso machine roared as Danny pushed open the door to the café. The low lighting was warm and gave the space a cozy atmosphere. It was a quiet little spot on a well-lit street, not too far from campus, and right next to the business district—which meant it was plenty busy during the day but stayed open late as a haven for night owls like himself. Danny was hoping it would be a good study spot from now on.

Not that he couldn’t study in his dorm—but he couldn't study in his dorm. There were plenty of ghosts haunting the historic dorm he was privileged enough to stay in—thanks to the Wayne Scholarship. Specifically, the ghost that haunted his small room—a frat guy from the ’80s named Brock—did not take well to Danny encroaching on his haunt.

“Bro, you cannot be serious—this is my dorm. My dad paid for me to not have a roommate!”

“BRO—” Danny countered exasperatedly, “You’re literally a ghost. Your dad hasn’t paid for anything since your Hell Week incident.”

“Hazing is all a part of the brotherhood, lil’ man. I have no regrets—my final keg stand was the stuff of legends!”

Danny facepalmed. It took promising that he’d swing by a frat party soon—and the fact that Danny had literally nowhere else to stay—to convince Brock.

“Alright, bruh. You go to a party, become my honorary brother—you can hang. The brotherhood doesn’t turn down their bros who need to couch surf!”

“This is my assigned dorm room. I’m using the bed,” Danny replied flatly.

And that was how Danny ended up getting his first college roommate. It seemed to go well the first few nights. Brock made himself scarce—usually visiting the frat house or other communal haunts around campus. Until Danny sat down to crack open his biology book, and Brock appeared in a flash—moaning about how studying harshed the vibe of his haunt, and refusing to let Danny ruin that while he stayed there. This was apparently some ghostly trigger, it seemed—so Danny couldn’t fault him too much. But it didn’t stop him from grumbling as he hauled his heavy backpack down the street.

Walking the dark streets of Gotham just to study wasn’t his best choice, but he had a pop quiz tomorrow! It wasn’t his fault he’d procrastinated all day under the false assumption he’d be able to study in his dorm. Then, like a lighthouse guiding him home—the neon sign for Gotham Grounds caught his eye. Hark! He was saved!

Now, as he made his way through the café, with only a few patrons sprawled about, he decided to take a whole table in the front for himself. Perfect! Now he could spread out a bit, grab a little coffee, and dig into his assignments. He was determined to make Jazz proud this time around—get the best grades he could, prioritize school, so he could have a strong career in whatever he ended up wanting to do (he still wasn’t sure yet…). After all, college isn’t cheap—and if he wanted to keep his scholarship, he’d have to be way more committed to his studies than he was in high school.

As he walked up to the counter to place his order, he came to an abrupt stop when a new patron came speeding through the door. The guy in question—tall, dark-haired, wearing a stunning suit—would’ve been handsome if he didn’t look so utterly sleep-deprived. His eyes, framed by dark circles, popped wide open when he realized his hurried and abrupt entry made him cut Danny off in line. He let out a brief, “Oh, sorry—you go!” and ushered Danny forward to order first.

“Thanks—” Danny’s soft reply hitched in his throat when they caught eyes. Mr. Handsome Stranger smirked a bit before Danny shook his head and turned his focus back to what was important right now—caffeine! He wrestled through the bi-panic to remember his coffee order.

“Uhhh, I’ll have a medium red-eye.” The barista looked aghast, and Danny at least had the self-awareness to look a bit sheepish.

“A red-eye at 8 p.m.? Are you sure? That stuff’ll wake the dead…”

Danny mused that it was nice the barista seemed to care enough for his well-being to double-check.

“Oh yeah,” he quickly tried to laugh it off. “Lots of studying to do tonight, and it really doesn’t hit me that bad.” The barista reluctantly rang him up and gestured to Mr. Handsome behind Danny.

“What about you, sir?”

Sleepy Beauty blinked slowly and yawned out, “I’ll take a black-eye…”

“A black-eye? Geez, what’s with all these hardcore coffee orders this late?” The slack-jawed employee was absolutely peeved as he rang up the next order. “You want that to-go as usual, Mr. Drake?”

The guy—Mr. Drake, apparently—glanced at Danny, who quickly looked away.

“I’ll take it for here, actually. I’ve got some work to do as well.”

“All right—two death-by-coffee’s coming up… you freaks.” The surly man chuckled as he fired up the espresso machine and got to work.

Danny was already back at his table—staring very intently at that biology book that had seemed so important ten minutes ago.

“Sorry Jazz, I’m weak,” he thought to himself.

If this was the rate he was going at, he might not make it through the semester. He noticed this Drake guy had picked a table adjacent to his at the front. Danny could see him out of the corner of his eye as he pulled a sleek laptop from his bag.

After a moment, the barista sauntered over to their tables with their orders. Danny looked up at Mr. Drake and chuckled.

“That’s so funny we both got pretty much the same order—that guy thought we were nuts.”

“Hey, it’s always good to meet someone with superior taste in coffee,” he laughed back. “I’m Tim, by the way.”

“Danny!” he replied with a crooked smile.

They raised their mugs to each other in solidarity before hunkering down to their respective tasks.

And from then on, they worked in comfortable silence. Only the sound of soft jazz pouring through the radio, the espresso machine, and the murmur of the few other patrons filled the air. The night eventually wore on, and about an hour later, Tim left. Danny’s eyes trailed him on the way out.

“It was nice to finally meet someone who wasn’t a ghost,” he mused. “I wonder if I’ll see him around?”

Unbeknownst to Danny, Tim was hurrying back to the Nest to suit up for the night. He couldn’t believe he’d wasted a whole hour of patrol over coffee and a brief moment of bi-panic! But then again, it had been nice to take a moment to breathe. A busy day at the office followed up by what was sure to be a long night out—he couldn’t fault himself for wanting to stop for a minute.

He was going to be thinking about those blue eyes all night…

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dpxdc #dc x dp #tim drake #danny fenton x tim drake #fanfic #a ghost at gotham university #batfam

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elikajinnie · 7 months ago

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I Let The World Burn For You - N.R |Part 2

P: Serial Killer!Ni-ki X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Graphic Descriptions, Murder, Manipulation, Attempted Murder, Injury/Blood, Teasing, Angst, Obsessive Behaviour, Mind Games, Ni-ki is a nerd.

Synopsis: You’ve always loved crime shows, captivated by the mystery and mind games, but you never expected to live in one. When a killer develops an unsettling obsession with you, you’re thrust into a deadly game where you’re not just a target—you’re the centerpiece.

a/n: i see i made Ni-ki a GIANT red flag!! mhh but i love horror so whatever :) @totallynotj3zz you gave me too much power.

See request here | Read part 1 here

The door bursts open, and there he is, silhouetted against the dim light of the hallway, his figure towering, his shadow stretching across the floor like it’s ready to swallow you whole. But you’re ready this time. Your grip tightens on the wrench, and as he steps into the room, you swing.

The wrench cuts through the air with a force that surprises even you, but he’s fast—unnaturally fast. He sidesteps, the tool narrowly missing his masked face. The momentum of your swing sends you stumbling forward slightly, but you recover quickly, your grip on the wrench tightening as you raise it again, desperate and determined.

This time, you swing with even more force, aiming for his chest, but his hand snaps out with alarming speed, catching your wrist mid-swing. The impact jars your entire arm, pain shooting up from the sudden grip. His fingers digs into your skin as he pulls you closer, wrenching the weapon from your hand and tossing it to the floor with a metallic clatter.

You’re pulled into him, your chest nearly colliding with his as you struggle against his hold. His mask looms inches from your face, and you can hear his heavy breathing beneath it, eerily calm despite your thrashing. One hand keeps your wrist firmly pinned, while the other tilts your chin upward, forcing you to meet the blank, haunting stare of the mask.

“Well, aren’t you feisty,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. His grip tightens slightly as he leans closer, his head tilting as if to study you. “I like that. Makes this so much more fun.”

Your breath catches in your throat, a mix of fear and fury bubbling inside you. You feel trapped, but you refuse to let him win. His hand lingers on your chin, tilting your face slightly, as if he’s savoring the moment.

“Such a pretty little thing,” he taunts, his voice dripping with amusement. “Shame you don’t know when to quit.”

Before he can say anything more, your legs jerks up, slamming into his shin with all the force you can muster. The impact is solid, and his grip falters as he lets out a grunt of pain, momentarily stumbling. You take the opportunity and yank yourself free, adrenaline surging through you as you spin and bolt for the doorway.

He curses behind you, a sharp sound filled with irritation, but you don’t dare look back. Your bare feet skid against the wooden floor as you push yourself forward, your lungs burning with each ragged breath. You can hear him recovering, his footsteps heavy and fast as he begins to follow you again, but you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

You barrel down the hallway, your heart hammering in your chest, searching desperately for another way out. Doors blur past you, each one closed, each one a potential death trap if you’re cornered again. Your mind races as you try to remember the layout of the house. There has to be another way down, another way out—anything to put more distance between you and him.

The only thought in your head is survival.

Your heart pounds like a war drum in your chest as his heavy footsteps echo behind you. The house is a labyrinth of creaking floorboards and peeling wallpaper, and every turn feels like it leads you closer to him. But somehow, you manage to stay just out of his reach, darting through doorways and ducking under tables, fueled by sheer desperation and adrenaline.

You burst into a dusty living room, skidding on the wooden floor. Your eyes scan for an escape route, and you spot a heavy armchair near a window. Without hesitation, you shove it toward the door just as he rounds the corner. His masked face tilts, almost amused, as he watches you struggle to block the entrance.

“Smart move,” he taunts, his voice laced with a twisted sort of admiration. “But not smart enough.”

You dive for the window, frantically trying to lift the old, stuck frame, but his footsteps are closing in fast. He’s almost on you when, in a flash of inspiration, you grab a nearby lamp and hurl it in his direction. It smashes against the wall, shards flying, forcing him to pause and shield himself. You use the moment to slip past him, sprinting back into the hallway.

“Always so clever,” he calls after you, his voice carrying a strange mix of irritation and delight. “I love it.”

You find yourself in a small kitchen, the counters cluttered with decades of dust and grime. You grab a drawer handle, yanking it open to reveal a collection of rusted utensils. Your trembling fingers close around a knife, and you whirl around just in time as he bursts through the doorway.

He lunges at you, and you slash wildly. The blade grazes his arm, and he lets out a sharp hiss of pain. For a moment, you see him falter, but then he laughs—low and rich, like he’s genuinely enjoying this.

“Feisty as ever,” he says, clutching his arm, his stance relaxed despite the blood seeping through his sleeve. “You make this so much fun.”

You don’t waste time responding, instead darting past him again. His hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist, and for a brief moment, you’re yanked back against him. His grip is ironclad, and you twist and thrash, trying to break free.

“Caught you,” he murmurs, his voice soft, almost tender. “You know, it’s so sweet for me when I finally catch you.”

“Let go of me!” you scream, your free hand clawing at his arm, but he only chuckles, his mask tilting down as if he’s watching you with amusement.

“Why would I let you go? You’re the prize, sweetheart.”

Fueled by anger and fear, you stomp hard on his foot. He grunts, his grip loosening just enough for you to wrench yourself free. You sprint out of the kitchen, back into the endless maze of hallways. You hear his laughter behind you, echoing through the house like a sinister melody.

“You can run all you want,” he calls out, his tone teasing, almost playful.

You whip around a corner, slamming a door shut behind you and locking it. Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, pressing your ear to the door. His footsteps grow louder, then stop right outside.

“You’re not bad at this,” he says through the door, his voice muffled but still unsettlingly calm. “But I’m better.”

The knob rattles, and you back away, searching the room for anything you can use to defend yourself. Your eyes land on a metal curtain rod, and you grab it just as the door bursts open. He steps inside, his shoulders squared, his head tilted like he’s enjoying the sight of you scrambling.

“Stay back!” you shout, holding the rod in front of you like a spear.

He pauses, then raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll play along.”

But the moment you lunge at him, he sidesteps effortlessly, grabbing the rod and yanking it out of your hands. You stumble, and before you can react, his arms are around you again, pinning you against his chest.

“Got you,” he whispers, his voice soft but dripping with satisfaction. His grip tightens as you thrash, his laugh rumbling against your back. “You’re such a fighter. That’s what makes you so perfect.”

“What the hell is your problem?” you shout, your voice cracking with frustration and fear.

He leans down, his masked face close to your ear. “You,” he says simply, his tone almost reverent. “You’re my problem. My reward.”

That word sends a chill down your spine, and your instincts kick in. You throw your head back, slamming it into his mask. He stumbles, momentarily dazed, and you break free once more, running with every ounce of strength you have left.

The chase continues, his footsteps never far behind, his laughter haunting every turn. But one thing is clear: he’s not just chasing you for sport.

You burst into another hallway, your lungs burning from the effort. Your legs feel heavy, but adrenaline keeps you moving. The sound of his footsteps behind you is relentless, echoing through the abandoned house like a predator stalking its prey. Every step sends a fresh wave of panic through your body.

Your eyes dart around, searching for an escape, a weapon, anything that could give you the upper hand. You spot a door slightly ajar to your left and dive into the room, quickly pressing your back against the wall. Your breaths come fast and shallow, your body trembling as you strain to hear his movements.

The footsteps stop.

The silence is deafening, wrapping around you like a vice. You clamp a hand over your mouth, trying to muffle the sound of your breathing. A creak comes from the hallway, followed by his voice—low, teasing, and far too calm.

"You're so close," he singsongs. "I know it."

You grit your teeth, the urge to cry nearly overwhelming, but you swallow it down. This isn’t the time to panic. You inch toward the edge of the doorway, peeking out just enough to see his shadow moving across the opposite wall. He’s taking his time, dragging it out like he’s savoring the chase.

You step back into the room, your hands fumbling in the darkness for something—anything—that can help. Your fingers brush against a broken table leg lying on the ground. It’s splintered and rough, but it’s better than nothing. You grab it, holding it tightly, readying yourself for his inevitable arrival.

And then you hear it—a faint creak right behind you.

You spin around, swinging the table leg wildly, but it hits nothing but air. He’s standing there, just out of reach, his white mask tilted slightly as if he’s amused by your attempt to defend yourself.

“You’re getting predictable,” he says, his tone almost playful.

“Stay back!” you shout, your voice trembling but firm.

He takes a step closer, his boots crunching against the old wooden floor. “You’re not really in a position to give orders, are you?”

You swing again, but he moves too fast, ducking under your attack and closing the distance between you in an instant. His gloved hand grabs the makeshift weapon, yanking it from your grasp and tossing it aside like it’s nothing.

Before you can react, he’s on you, his hands gripping your wrists and slamming you against the wall. The force knocks the air out of your lungs, and you struggle against him, but his grip is like steel.

“There it is,” he murmurs, his voice low and almost affectionate. “That fire in your eyes. I love it.”

“Let me go!” you scream, kicking at him, but he easily avoids your strikes, his body pressed too close for you to gain any leverage.

He tilts his head, studying you like you’re some kind of puzzle he’s desperate to solve. “Why would I do that? We’re having so much fun.”

“You’re insane,” you spit, your voice shaking with anger and fear.

He chuckles softly, his gloved hand brushing a strand of hair out of your face. The gesture is oddly gentle, a stark contrast to the violence of the situation. “Maybe,” he says, his tone almost contemplative. “But you make it worth it.”

Summoning every ounce of strength you have left, you lift your knee sharply, aiming for his stomach. He grunts, his grip loosening just enough for you to shove him back and dart past him.

You don’t look back as you run, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest. The house feels endless, the hallways stretching on forever, but you don’t stop. You can’t stop.

Behind you, his laughter rings out, cold and unhinged. “Run all you want!” he calls after you.

You burst into another room, slamming the door shut and locking it behind you. Your eyes dart around, searching for an exit, but all you see are boarded-up windows and a single, dusty wardrobe in the corner.

The door rattles violently, and you back away, your body trembling as the lock starts to give way.

You find an old crowbar leaning against the wall. Without hesitation, you grab it and rush to the boarded-up window. The wood is old and brittle, but the panic coursing through your veins gives you strength as you wedge the crowbar between the planks and pry them loose, one by one.

The door behind you shakes violently as he slams into it again and again, each hit sending splinters flying from the frame.

“Hurry, hurry,” you mutter under your breath, sweat dripping down your temple as the final plank falls free.

You look through the shattered glass and gasp. The drop is much higher than you anticipated—two stories at least. Your heart sinks, but the sight of thick, overgrown bushes below gives you a sliver of hope. You glance back just in time to see the door burst open, the lock snapping off entirely.

There he stands, his chest rising and falling as if the chase had been a thrill for him, the white mask gleaming in the dim light. The way he tilts his head, slowly and deliberately, makes your stomach turn.

"Going somewhere?" he teases, taking a step forward.

Without thinking, you climb onto the ledge, gripping the sides of the window for balance. The cool night air bites at your skin, and your heart races as you glance down at the bushes.

“Don’t,” he warns, his voice sharp now, losing the playful edge.

You don’t wait for him to finish whatever twisted thing he was about to say. Instead, you suck in a deep breath and leap.

The air rushes past you, the world spinning for a split second before you crash into the bushes below. The impact knocks the wind out of you, branches scratching your arms and legs as you tumble through the foliage. For a moment, you lie there, stunned, your lungs burning as you try to catch your breath.

Above you, his figure appears in the window. He doesn’t follow immediately; instead, he leans out, watching you with a predatory stillness that makes your skin crawl.

"You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?" he calls, his voice echoing in the night air.

Ignoring him, you scramble to your feet, your muscles screaming in protest. The bushes have softened the fall, but you’re bruised and battered.

You take off running, your feet pounding against the uneven ground. The house looms behind you, its shadow stretching out like it’s trying to pull you back. The grocery bag left behind.

The house’s silhouette fades into the distance as you sprint down the overgrown path, branches snagging at your clothes and sharp stones biting into the soles of your shoes. The air is cold, sharp, but it does nothing to dull the heat of adrenaline coursing through your veins.

For a moment, the only sound is your ragged breathing and the thundering of your heart in your ears. The silence feels eerie—too quiet. Your instincts scream at you to keep going, but a flicker of doubt slows your pace.

That’s when you hear it.

The heavy thud of footsteps slamming against the ground, gaining on you.

You risk a glance over your shoulder, and your blood runs cold. He’s there, his long strides closing the gap between you. The mask hides his expression, but his posture, the way his shoulders hunch slightly forward in pursuit, tells you everything: he’s not letting you go.

“Run faster,” he taunts, his voice carrying through the still night air. It’s playful, like he’s enjoying the chase.

Fear electrifies your limbs, pushing you to move faster. The path ahead disappears into a thick forest, the tree line dark and menacing under the faint moonlight. You hesitate for just a second, but the sound of his footsteps—closer now—leaves you no choice.

You dart into the woods, branches whipping at your face and tearing at your jacket. The uneven forest floor threatens to trip you with every step, but you refuse to stop. The tall trees feel suffocating, their shadows long and jagged, closing in on you as if the forest itself is conspiring with him.

His footsteps follow, crunching leaves and snapping twigs. He’s still behind you, relentless. The sound is maddening, his pace steady, like he knows he’ll catch you eventually.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he calls out, his voice unnervingly calm now. “You can’t hide from me.”

You stumble over a root, barely catching yourself on a nearby tree. Gritting your teeth, you push forward, weaving through the trees, hoping the dense forest will slow him down.

Your lungs burn, your legs ache, but you can’t stop—not when you can still hear him.

Then, up ahead, you spot a small clearing. You race toward it, desperate for open space, for anything that might give you an advantage.

But as you burst into the clearing, you realize your mistake. It’s a dead end, surrounded by towering rock formations on three sides.

Panic grips you as you spin around, searching for another path. The forest is silent again, but it’s the kind of silence that makes your skin crawl. You know he’s there, watching.

And then he steps into the clearing, his figure tall and imposing against the dark backdrop of the trees. The mask tilts slightly, like he’s studying you, savoring the moment.

“You’re making this so much more exciting than I imagined,” he says, his voice low and smooth, almost like a purr. He takes a step closer, the blade glinting faintly in his hand.

You back away, your chest heaving, your mind racing for a way out. But the rocks block any escape, and the forest behind him feels like a trap.

“Don’t look so scared,” he says, taking another step forward. “You’ve been so clever tonight. It’s almost a shame it has to end.”

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to think.

Your back presses against the cold rock, the jagged surface biting into your skin through your jacket. Your breaths come in sharp gasps, your chest heaving as you try to think. Anything. A way out. A distraction.

He steps closer, his boots crunching on the forest floor, deliberate and unhurried. He knows you have nowhere to go. He tilts his head, studying you like a predator savoring its prey.

“You know,” he says, voice dripping with mock affection, “you really are something else. I’ve chased plenty before, but none of them…” He pauses, gesturing toward you with the knife, “…none of them made my heart race quite like this.”

You feel your stomach churn, the sheer audacity of his words igniting a spark of anger amidst your fear. But there’s no time for a retort—he’s only a few steps away now.

His eyes—hidden behind the mask—feel like they’re boring into your soul. You glance around the clearing, searching for anything that could be used as a weapon. A stick, a rock, anything.

He notices your shifting gaze and chuckles. “What’s the plan now? Going to throw a pebble at me?”

Focus, you tell yourself, swallowing the lump of fear rising in your throat.

When he’s close enough, you act on impulse. You crouch low, grabbing a fist-sized rock near your feet. With all your strength, you hurl it at him.

He reacts quickly, dodging the rock with ease, his body twisting to the side. But it’s the distraction you needed. As he recovers, you dart to the side, aiming for the gap between him and the edge of the forest.

He’s fast—faster than you expect. You feel his hand graze your arm as you slip past him, but you manage to keep running, your feet pounding against the dirt as you plunge back into the dense trees.

“You’re just delaying the inevitable!” he shouts behind you, his voice tinged with amusement but also frustration.

You don’t stop. The forest is darker now, the moonlight barely penetrating the canopy above. Every branch that snaps under your feet feels like a signal to him, guiding him closer.

Your lungs burn, and your legs threaten to give out, but the primal need to survive keeps you moving. Then, in the distance, you spot it—lights. Faint, flickering, but unmistakable. A cabin? A campsite? You can’t be sure, but it’s hope.

You push yourself harder, your eyes locked on the distant glow. But the footsteps behind you grow louder, closer. He’s gaining on you.

And then—crash. You trip over a root, your body slamming into the ground with a force that knocks the air from your lungs. Pain radiates through your knees and palms as you scramble to get up, dirt caked on your hands.

Before you can move, his boot slams down on the ground beside you, the blade of his knife glinting as he crouches down.

“There you are,” he says softly, his voice dripping with mock relief, as if he’s found something precious. His hand reaches out, grabbing your wrist before you can crawl away.

“Let me go!” you scream, kicking and thrashing. One of your punches lands on his chest and he grunts in pain, momentarily loosening his grip.

You seize the chance, wriggling free and stumbling to your feet. Your eyes dart back to the lights in the distance, and you take off running again, ignoring the burning pain in your legs and the pounding in your chest.

“You’re just making me want you more!” he shouts after you, the words sending a fresh wave of terror coursing through your veins.

The lights grow brighter as you draw closer. You don’t know who or what you’ll find there, but it’s your only chance. Please, you think desperately, please let someone be there.

Behind you, his footsteps quicken, and you know he’s not far.

You don’t even hear him closing the distance behind you until it’s too late. A hand suddenly clamps over your mouth, muffling the scream that instinctively rises in your throat. His other arm snakes around your waist, locking you against his chest like iron.

Your heart pounds wildly as you thrash and kick, but he’s too strong, dragging you backward as if your struggling means nothing.

“Caught you,” he murmurs in a low, almost amused tone, his breath brushing against your ear.

The lights in the distance—your last shred of hope—fade further and further away as he drags you back toward the clearing. The forest seems darker now, the shadows deeper, closing in around you as if they’re working with him.

When he reaches the clearing, he wastes no time. He throws you down to the ground with a force that knocks the wind out of you. Your back hits the dirt, and before you can even think about scrambling away, he’s on top of you, one hand pinning your wrists above your head, the other pressing firmly against your shoulder to keep you in place.

“Stop squirming,” he growls, his tone no longer playful. It’s sharp, commanding, like he’s finally losing patience.

You try to buck him off, twisting your body and kicking your legs, but he doesn’t budge. His weight presses down on you, and the knife in his hand gleams in the faint moonlight.

“I really don’t want to hurt you,” he says, his voice softening into something unsettlingly tender. His free hand brushes a strand of hair out of your face, his gloved fingers lingering against your skin. “But you’re making it so difficult.”

You glare up at him, fire burning in your eyes despite the fear gripping your chest.

“God, I love that,” he says with a low chuckle. “That fight in you. You don’t even realize how much you stand out, do you? How much more alive you are compared to everyone else I’ve met.”

His words send a chill down your spine. You thrash again, but he only tightens his grip on your wrists, leaning in closer until his masked face is mere inches from yours.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispers, his tone almost mocking. “You should be thanking me. If it weren’t for me, you’d still be just another nobody. But now…” He trails off, tilting his head as if he’s admiring a work of art.

You turn your head to the side, biting down hard on the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from crying out in frustration or fear.

“Look at me,” he demands, his voice low but firm. When you don’t comply, his grip on your wrists tightens painfully, making you wince.

You turn your head back to glare at him, hatred burning in your eyes.

“There she is,” he says softly, almost reverently. “That fire… Don’t ever lose that.”

The knife in his hand flashes as he moves it closer, and for a horrifying moment, you think he’s going to stab you. But instead, he presses the flat of the blade against your cheek, the cold metal sending a shiver through your body.

“You’re mine,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “And no matter how far you run or how hard you fight, I’ll always catch you.”

You grit your teeth, your mind racing for a way out. He’s too strong, too fast—but maybe, just maybe, you can use his arrogance against him.

“Go to hell,” you spit, your voice trembling but defiant.

His laughter fills the clearing, low and dark, as if your defiance only fuels his twisted amusement. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, leaning in closer, his mask nearly brushing your forehead. “Hell is wherever you aren’t.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, the weight of them suffocating. His voice is smooth, almost sweet, but the malice behind it is unmistakable. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, fighting the fear clawing its way through your chest.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he murmurs, tilting his head as if observing you from a new angle. “You can run, you can fight, but in the end, it’s always going to be me and you. No one else matters.”

Your breath catches as his gloved fingers trail down your cheek, the contact both gentle and deeply unsettling. You flinch away, but the weight of his body keeps you pinned to the ground.

“Still so stubborn,” he muses, almost fondly. “It’s adorable, really. Makes this so much more satisfying.”

You glare up at him, your jaw clenched tightly. You feel your pulse pounding in your ears as your mind races, searching for any way to escape. His grip isn’t as firm now—his arrogance has left an opening, and you have to act fast.

With a burst of adrenaline, you jerk your knee upward, slamming it into his stomach. The air leaves his lungs in a sharp gasp, and his grip on you falters just enough for you to slip free.

You don’t waste a second. Scrambling to your feet, you push past him and take off running, your heart pounding so loudly it drowns out everything else.

Behind you, his laughter rings out again, low and cruel, but you don’t dare look back.

“Run, sweetheart!” he calls after you, his voice laced with dark amusement. “Let’s see how far you get this time!”

You tear through the forest, the branches clawing at your arms and face. The air is cold and sharp in your lungs, but you don’t stop. You can’t.

The sound of his footsteps behind you sends a fresh wave of terror through your veins. He’s faster than you, more experienced in this game of cat and mouse. But you refuse to let him win.

As you weave through the trees, you spot a cluster of rocks up ahead—jagged and uneven, but large enough to provide some cover. Without hesitation, you dive behind them, crouching low and trying to steady your breathing.

The footsteps slow, then stop.

“Where are you, little mouse?” his voice calls out, taunting and playful. “I know you’re close.”

You press a hand over your mouth to muffle your breathing, your entire body trembling. He’s so close you can hear the crunch of leaves under his boots as he moves.

“You can hide all you want,” he says, his tone almost sing-song. “But you’ll come back to me eventually. You always do.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to steady your racing thoughts. There has to be a way out of this. There has to be.

The sound of his footsteps fades slightly as he moves further into the forest, but you know it’s only a matter of time before he circles back. You glance around, your eyes darting between the trees and the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the canopy.

Then you see it—a narrow path winding down the hill, almost invisible beneath the dense foliage. It’s risky, but it might be your only shot.

Summoning every ounce of courage, you take a deep breath and bolt from your hiding spot, darting toward the path as silently as you can.

But his laughter follows you again, closer this time, chilling and relentless.

“Oh, there you are!” he exclaims, and the sound of his footsteps erupts behind you once more.

Panic surges through you as you sprint down the path, the uneven ground threatening to trip you with every step.

You darted down the narrow path, your smaller frame weaving effortlessly through the low-hanging branches and dense underbrush. Every breath felt like fire in your lungs, but you had gained some distance. His heavier, taller frame wasn’t as agile as yours, giving you the upper hand in this chase—at least for now.

Your mind raced as you spotted a small clearing ahead. You knew you couldn’t keep running forever; he was relentless, and eventually, he’d catch up. But you had something he didn’t: creativity and a desperate will to survive.

Scanning the area quickly, you noticed a tangle of vines hanging from a low branch, some loose rocks scattered on the ground, and a sturdy fallen tree trunk. An idea sparked in your mind, and you didn’t hesitate.

Grabbing the vines, you tugged them free from the branch and looped them across the path at ankle height, tying them tightly between two trees. Next, you placed the rocks strategically along the trail, half-buried in the dirt to make them harder to spot. Finally, you pushed the fallen tree trunk to the edge of the path, balancing it precariously against a rock, so the slightest nudge would send it rolling.

You heard his footsteps approaching fast, his taunting voice cutting through the silence.

“Getting tired, sweetheart? You’re making this too easy!”

You ducked behind a thick tree trunk, your heart pounding in your chest. You clutched a thick branch in your hands, ready to fight if your trap didn’t work.

The sound of his boots hitting the ground grew louder until you saw his dark figure barreling toward the clearing. He didn’t slow down, too focused on chasing you to notice the subtle trap you’d set.

The moment his foot caught the vine, he stumbled forward, his balance thrown off. His boot slammed into one of the hidden rocks, sending him lurching sideways. Before he could recover, the fallen tree trunk tipped over and rolled directly toward him.

“Shit!” he snarled, barely dodging the trunk as it crashed into the ground.

The commotion gave you the distraction you needed. While he cursed and scrambled to his feet, you slipped away, keeping low and moving as quietly as possible.

You didn’t stop until you found yourself on the edge of the forest, the dim glow of the streetlights in the distance signaling safety. Gasping for breath, you spotted your abandoned grocery bag near the roadside. Without thinking, you grabbed it, clutching it tightly to your chest like a lifeline.

Reaching into your pocket, your fingers fumbled over the smooth surface of your phone. Relief surged through you as you unlocked it, your shaking hands dialing the police.

The line rang twice before a calm voice answered. “Emergency services, what’s your location?”

“I… I’m near the forest,” you stammered, your voice trembling. “There’s—there’s someone chasing me. He’s dangerous. Please, you have to send help!”

“Stay on the line,” the operator said firmly. “Officers are on their way. Can you describe the man?”

You glanced back at the dark forest, half-expecting to see that white mask emerge from the shadows. “He’s… tall. He’s wearing black, and he has a mask. Please, hurry!”

“Stay where you are, and keep yourself safe,” the operator instructed.

You nodded, even though they couldn’t see you, clutching the phone tightly as you kept your eyes fixed on the forest’s edge. Your body trembled with exhaustion and fear, but you refused to let your guard down.

In the distance, you heard the faint wail of sirens. Help was coming. You just had to hold on a little longer.

As the sound of the sirens grew louder, you felt a flicker of relief—hope that maybe, just maybe, this nightmare was coming to an end. You stood rooted to the spot, your breath shaky and uneven, staring at the dark line of trees, half-expecting him to step out at any second.

The grocery bag in your arms felt like dead weight now, but you couldn’t bring yourself to let go of it. It was the only thing grounding you in reality amidst the chaos.

Suddenly, a rustle came from the forest’s edge. Your heart leapt into your throat, and your entire body stiffened. There he was.

He didn’t move closer—he just stood there, half-hidden by the shadows, watching you.

You stumbled back, gripping your phone tighter. “The police are coming!” you yelled, your voice cracking. “You’re done!”

He cocked his head, unmoved by your words, his hand slowly reaching up to adjust the mask as if to taunt you.

The sirens were deafening now, blue and red lights flashing in the distance. A police car screeched to a halt at the curb, two officers stepping out quickly, their hands hovering near their holsters.

“He’s there!” you shouted, pointing toward the forest.

But when you turned back, he was gone. The trees were still, the shadows undisturbed. It was as if he had disappeared into thin air.

One of the officers approached you cautiously, his flashlight scanning the area. “Miss, are you hurt?”

You shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “He was right there. He… he was watching me.”

The second officer moved toward the forest’s edge, his flashlight sweeping across the trees. “We’ll check the area,” he said, motioning for his partner to follow.

They disappeared into the woods, leaving you standing by the police car. The operator on the phone was still speaking, but their words sounded distant, drowned out by the pounding of your heart.

A few minutes later, the officers returned, shaking their heads. “We didn’t see anyone,” one of them said. “But there are clear signs of movement in the brush. We’ll keep searching.”

“He’s out there,” you insisted, your voice trembling. “He’s the one who… who killed those kids. He tried to kill me!”

The officer nodded, his expression serious. “We believe you. We’ll make sure the area is secured. Do you have somewhere safe to stay tonight?”

You hesitated, glancing down at your phone. Ni-ki’s name flashed across the screen in a text notification. For a brief moment, you considered calling him, but then you shook your head. This wasn’t something you wanted to drag anyone else into—not him, not anyone.

“I’ll be fine,” you lied, your voice barely steady.

The officers exchanged a look but didn’t push further. “We’ll escort you home,” one of them said, opening the passenger door of the car for you.

You climbed in, clutching the grocery bag like a lifeline as the car pulled away. Through the window, you stared back at the forest, half-expecting to see that mask watching you from the shadows again.

But there was nothing.

Just the trees, silent and still.

You lay in bed, the blankets twisted around your body, but the warmth of them did nothing to calm the chill that had settled deep in your bones. Your phone sat on the nightstand, screen glowing softly in the dark, but you hadn’t looked at it in what felt like hours.

Every time you closed your eyes, the image of that mask—the twisted, mocking grin—seemed to float in your mind, just out of reach. You could almost hear his voice in your head, low and smooth, the way he’d whispered into your ear, the way he’d taunted you. “Hell is wherever you aren’t.”

The words had haunted you all evening.

You had tried to shake them off, to bury them beneath the numbing exhaustion that should have come with the adrenaline you’d been running on, but your body refused to cooperate. Even with the police’s reassurances, you couldn’t stop the feeling that something was still lurking just beyond the edge of your awareness.

What if he was still out there? What if he had been watching you tonight, too? The thought of it made your pulse race, your heart thumping too loud in the silence of your room.

You grabbed your phone, staring at it in your hands, weighing whether to text Ni-ki. He had sent you a message earlier, asking if you were okay, but you hadn’t responded. Part of you wanted to reach out, wanted to tell him everything, but another part—no, a bigger part—didn’t want to drag him into this any deeper. He didn’t deserve it.

You tossed the phone aside and stared up at the ceiling, the quiet of your apartment settling around you like a heavy blanket, thick and suffocating. The rain had started up again, tapping lightly against your window. You listened to the rhythmic pattering, your mind drifting in and out of awareness, trying to push away the lingering fear.

It wasn’t long before the sound of the doorbell echoed through the apartment.

Your heart leapt into your throat, your whole body freezing, every muscle stiffening at once. The sound of the doorbell, so sharp and unexpected, felt like an intrusion, a sign of something you couldn't escape.

You waited, breath held, listening for footsteps. But there was nothing. Not at first. Just the sound of rain falling and the eerie quiet of the house.

Then, a faint knock at the door. Three taps.

You didn't move. Didn't even breathe.

And that's when your phone buzzed, the text you had been avoiding lighting up the screen.

"Are you okay? Please let me know."

You knew it was Ni-ki. His concern was so evident in the words, the kind of concern that made your heart ache. You felt a wave of guilt rise in your chest.

But that knock, those taps on the door—they wouldn’t go away.

Your heart hammered in your chest as the knock echoed again. You sat frozen, unsure of what to do, your mind racing with possibilities. Was it him? The killer, the masked figure who had haunted your every step since that night? Or was it someone else—someone who could help you, someone who had heard your silent cries for help?

You reached for your phone, your fingers trembling as you unlocked it and quickly typed a response to Ni-ki.

I’m okay. Just… a little freaked out. I’ll be fine.

You hesitated before sending it, but the longer you sat there, the more you realized you couldn't keep the fear buried. You needed help, but you didn’t want to drag him into this. You didn’t want him to be in danger, especially when you didn’t know who or what was on the other side of that door.

But the knocking continued. Three slow, deliberate taps again. This time, it felt more urgent. Like whoever was out there knew you were in the apartment.

You moved cautiously to the window, peeking through the blinds to see if there was anyone outside. The rain had let up slightly, but it was still dark, the street barely visible in the dim light from the streetlamp. There was no sign of anyone.

Still, the knocking continued.

Your mind raced. Could you trust it?

You quietly moved to the door, pressing your ear against it, listening for any sounds from the other side. The knocking had stopped, and the silence stretched on for a few moments, stretching your nerves thinner with each passing second.

Then, without warning, the door handle jiggled. You stiffened, holding your breath as you backed away.

Whoever was out there was waiting.

You reached for the lock, your hands shaking, and with a quiet click, you turned it. Just as you were about to open the door, you heard a faint voice, soft but clear.

“Y/N?”

Your heart skipped a beat. The voice was familiar.

You opened the door, and there he was. Ni-ki. Standing in your doorway, looking concerned, his expression soft but full of worry. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of distress.

“You… you came?” You whispered, surprised and relieved all at once.

Ni-ki stepped inside, closing the door gently behind him. “I got worried,” he said quietly, his voice low.

You nodded, a wave of relief washing over you. But before you could speak, Ni-ki’s eyes caught something on the table—your phone, with his message still displayed.

His expression faltered slightly, his eyes lingering on the text as if searching for the truth behind it.

“Are you really okay?” he asked softly, stepping closer to you. “I know you said you were fine, but… I’m not sure I believe that.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, but you managed a weak smile, trying to reassure him. “I’m okay now… I’m just… I’ve been a little scared, that’s all.”

Ni-ki didn’t say anything. He simply walked over to you, and without another word, he wrapped his arms around you.

Ni-ki gently guided you to the couch, his touch reassuring and steady as he helped you sit down. The weight of everything—of the fear, the tension, the uncertainty—finally began to crash down on you all at once. You buried your face in your hands, your shoulders trembling as the tears you’d been holding back for so long finally spilled over.

Ni-ki sat next to you, his presence calm and warm, like a shelter from the storm. He didn’t say anything at first, just let you cry, the sound of your sobs the only noise between the two of you. His hand found its way to your back, rubbing slow, comforting circles, as he whispered softly to you.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle. “I’m here.”

His words wrapped around you like a blanket, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself lean into the comfort. The tears flowed freely, the weight of everything you’d been through crashing over you in waves, but there was no judgment, no rushing to make you feel better.

“I know it’s been so hard,” Ni-ki continued, his voice steady and warm. “But I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded, the sobs slowly beginning to subside as his words sank in.

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand, the gesture simple but grounding. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I swear.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t want to burden you with all of this. I didn’t want you to have to deal with my… my fear.”

Ni-ki shook his head, his eyes softening. “Hey, don’t apologize. You’re not a burden. You’re my friend, and you mean more to me than anything. I don’t care what’s going on, I’m not leaving you to deal with it alone.”

His words wrapped around you like a lifeline, and you felt a warmth that cut through the cold fear still lingering in your chest.

"Thank you," you whispered, the words barely more than a breath. "I don’t know what I would’ve done without you."

Ni-ki gave you a soft, reassuring smile. "You don’t have to. I’ll always be here for you."

After he put on a movie, its soft glow illuminating the room, you felt yourself slowly relaxing next to Ni-ki. The weight of everything still lingered in the back of your mind, but his presence beside you—calm, steady, unwavering—made it easier to breathe, to forget, even if just for a little while. The tension in your body began to ease as the gentle hum of the movie filled the space, and before you even realized it, your eyelids grew heavy.

You shifted slightly, curling up against the couch, subconsciously inching closer to Ni-ki, the warmth of his body providing comfort. It wasn’t long before you drifted off, the quiet rhythm of his breathing lulling you into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Ni-ki, noticing your soft exhale, glanced down at you, a small, amused smirk curling at the corners of his lips. You were so still, so vulnerable in your sleep. His gaze softened as he studied you, his fingers gently brushing the strands of hair that fell across your face, tucking them behind your ear.

His heart beat faster as he took in the sight of you, lying so trustingly beside him, completely unaware of the way his eyes roamed over you. His fingers lingered, caressing your skin. He admired the way your features softened in sleep, how relaxed you looked.

“I’d do anything to make sure you’re always by my side.” He whispered, his voice low, barely audible.

His smirk deepened, his thumb lightly grazing your cheek. “You’re far too precious to let anyone else have you.”

He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered into your ear, “I’ll protect you, forever. You’re my treasure, and I won’t let anyone take you away. Not now, not ever.”

Ni-ki pulled you a little closer, adjusting your position so you were nestled more comfortably against him, and he rested his head against the back of the couch, keeping his gaze fixed on you. The way you slept so soundly in his arms sent a strange rush of satisfaction through him.

Ni-ki's fingers gently brushed over your hair, his touch tender as he continued to gaze at you. His mind raced with thoughts, each one swirling around the way you looked so peaceful, so trusting, in his arms. There was a sense of calm that settled over him too, a deep, almost primal satisfaction in knowing you were there—safe, protected, and unaware of the way his heart beat faster with each passing moment.

He shifted slightly, careful not to disturb you, as his gaze moved from your peaceful face to the way you nestled against him. The warmth of your body, the slow rise and fall of your chest, all of it made him feel something deep within, something that told him, you’re mine. His fingers slid down your arm, brushing lightly against your skin as if to remind himself that you were right here, with him.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, his feelings for you had become so much more than just care or friendship. You had a hold on him—one that was impossible to ignore, impossible to break free from. He’d always been protective of you, sure, but now, as he looked at you sleeping so soundly, he realized how much deeper his attachment had grown.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. "Rest now," he whispered, barely audible, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the perfect moment. "I’ll take care of everything. You don’t have to worry about a thing."

The way you fit against him, how natural it felt to have you there, was enough to make his heart ache in the best way. You had no idea how much he needed you, how much he wanted to keep you close, but he would make sure you felt that care every single day.

He wasn’t going to let go of this moment—not yet, not ever. He would make sure you were safe and happy. You were his world now, and he would do anything to keep it that way.

As the days passed, you started to notice two things. The first was that Ni-ki seemed to be… everywhere. Whether it was during lunch, between classes, or after school, he was always by your side. It wasn’t just that he was constantly close to you; he somehow made sure that no matter what, your attention was on him. Even when you tried to talk to your friends, he'd find a way to insert himself into the conversation, either by cracking a joke or pulling you away with a light touch on your arm, directing your attention back to him. e was making sure he had some kind of excuse to keep you close—whether it was an excuse to study together, a reason to walk you to your next class, or just a casual invitation to hang out after school. He was clingy, yes, but it didn’t feel suffocating.

The second thing that began to weigh on you was the strange shift happening around the school. It wasn’t a loud change, but it was impossible to ignore. The usual bullies, the ones who would taunt others, pick on those weaker than them, and make life miserable for anyone they considered "lesser," some of them were gone entirely, never seen again. Others were found in a state that was… unsettling. And the ones who still lingered, seemed to have a new fear in their eyes. They were nervous, always looking over their shoulders, as if expecting someone to jump out at them at any moment. You heard hushed whispers in the hallways about how the only people who were being targeted were those who’d tormented others—bullies who had crossed a line and had paid the price for it.

It wasn’t just idle gossip anymore. There was a clear pattern forming—those who’d been mean, those who had taken pleasure in others' pain, were the ones disappearing or found dead. And no one wanted to be the next victim. It was almost like there was a sense of fear hanging in the air, suffocating the usual bravado that these students carried.

One afternoon, as you sat with Ni-ki in the cafeteria, you couldn't help but notice the change in the atmosphere. The usual suspects who would pick fights or belittle others were nowhere to be seen. A few students whispered nervously, glancing at the empty seats where the loudest voices used to sit. Ni-ki, ever the observant one, seemed to catch on to your unease and leaned closer, his voice low as he spoke, “It’s strange, isn’t it? How quiet it is now. Not many people causing trouble anymore.”

You glanced over at him, slightly startled by his words, but the look on his face was almost… satisfied. It was as if he knew more than he was letting on. "Yeah," you said quietly, lowering your voice, "I haven’t seen some of them around lately. It’s… like they’re just gone."

Ni-ki smirked slightly, a glint of something dark in his eyes, but he didn’t comment further. Instead, he reached for your hand, gently brushing his fingers against yours as if to reassure you, but also claiming you in his own quiet way. “People like them never last long. They always get what's coming to them.”

You looked at Ni-ki, about to say something, to defend the idea that not everyone deserved what was happening. But as you paused and really thought about it, the words didn’t come. What could you really say in defense of them? The bullies at school had picked on others without mercy, with no regard for the pain they caused. They had gone out of their way to hurt people, and more than once, you had seen how cruel and relentless they could be. They never showed any sympathy. So why should you feel sympathy for them now?

The thought sat uneasily in your chest, but you couldn’t find the words to oppose what Ni-ki had said. Instead, you turned your attention back to your lunch, pushing the food around on your plate without much appetite. You shrugged casually, as if the whole thing didn’t matter to you.

But in that moment, Ni-ki's grin grew wider, a silent triumph flickering in his eyes. He’d been watching you closely, sensing that shift in your mindset, and now, he had won this silent battle. You didn’t argue. You didn’t fight him on it.

For a moment, you felt his gaze linger on you, as if trying to decipher the change within you. His fingers tightened around your hand just a little, a subtle claim, as if to mark his success.

“Good,” he said softly, almost under his breath, as he leaned back in his chair, still watching you with a look of quiet satisfaction.

You were barely aware of how much Ni-ki had already influenced you—how much his presence and his words had started to shape your thoughts. You couldn’t deny that you felt a strange sense of security when you were around him, a feeling that only grew stronger with each passing day.

As the lunch bell rang and people started to get up, you stood with him, quietly gathering your things. Ni-ki followed you out of the cafeteria, his presence close behind you, and you didn’t voice it, you didn’t mind having him by your side. Not one bit.

The days blurred together, and without realizing it, Ni-ki’s influence over you deepened. It started small, with offhand comments he’d make during class or when you were walking home together, words that felt comforting at the time, like whispers of protection. “No one understand you like I do,” he’d say, casually brushing your hair out of your face or squeezing your hand.

At first, it was easy to dismiss. A small comment here and there, a quiet reassurance that you weren’t alone. But slowly, those comments became more frequent, more insistent. Ni-ki’s voice seemed to crawl into your mind during the quiet moments when you were alone, when the noise of the world faded away.

“You don’t need them,” he’d tell you, his voice soft but certain. “They only want something from you. They don’t care about you, not like I do.”

It was subtle at first—just little seeds of doubt about the people around you, people you had known for years. The classmates who had once made you feel safe now started to feel like strangers, like people who would only bring harm.

The bullies, those who had tormented you and others for so long, would occasionally come to you, apologies on their lips or fake smiles plastered on their faces. They’d try to beg for your forgiveness, as though everything could just be forgotten with a few words. You had tried to be kind, to forgive them in the past, but now? Now it felt wrong. Ni-ki’s words echoed in your mind every time one of them came near.

“You don’t owe them anything,” he’d whisper. “They don’t deserve your kindness. Don’t be fooled by their fake apologies.”

And so, you didn’t. You turned away, ignoring their desperate attempts to make amends, not feeling guilty or conflicted anymore. They didn’t deserve your forgiveness. They hadn’t earned it, not after everything they had put you through.

But it wasn’t just the bullies. Ni-ki’s words had woven themselves into your everyday life, shaping your thoughts and actions, slowly erasing the boundaries you once held so firm. He started influencing the way you saw people, the way you interacted with them. Slowly, everything became a reflection of what Ni-ki wanted, a twisted mirror of his desires.

And Ni-ki knew it. Every time you followed his guidance, every time you chose to act in a way that fed into his plans, there was a dark satisfaction in his eyes, a quiet pleasure in his smile.

It was as if he could feel the power he had over you, the way your thoughts bent to his will, the way your heart seemed to beat in time with his words.

“You see?” he’d murmur, that sly smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The world’s a lot easier when you’re with me, isn’t it?”

You didn’t have the words to fight back. You didn’t even want to anymore.

The more he was with you, the more his words echoed in your mind, the more you realized that the satisfaction he found in your compliance wasn’t just for him. It was for you, too. You wanted to make him proud, to feel his approval. It became your quiet obsession, that each small action you took to please him made you feel good.

The line between what was right and wrong began to blur, as Ni-ki’s influence crept deeper into every part of your life. You found yourself thinking less about what you had always known and more about what Ni-ki told you was true. His twisted view of the world started to become your reality.

And somewhere deep inside, you knew this wasn’t normal. But it felt too good to stop. It felt too easy, too natural to follow him, to listen to his words.

And with every step you took further into his world, Ni-ki’s smile grew just a little wider.

The late afternoon sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the streets as you walked home. The air had a faint chill, and your bag felt heavier than usual after the long day spent visiting your family. You adjusted it on your shoulder, absently scrolling through your phone as you neared your apartment.

Suddenly, someone walking toward you collided into your shoulder. The impact jolted your phone from your hands, and it clattered loudly onto the sidewalk. You gasped in surprise, looking up at the person who’d bumped into you.

“Watch where you’re going,” the man snapped, his tone laced with irritation. He didn’t even glance back as he shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets and kept walking, his head bowed against the wind.

Your mouth opened to retort, but you decided against it, your annoyance bubbling silently. With a sigh, you bent down to retrieve your phone, brushing off the faint scratches on its case. Muttering under your breath, you straightened up and continued on your way, your steps quicker now as the fading light seemed to make the streets feel emptier.

But you didn’t get far.

Just a few blocks from your building, you collided with someone again. This time, the impact was sudden and hard enough to make you stumble back a step. “Oh, I’m so sor—” The words barely escaped your lips before you felt something press firmly against your face.

A cloth.

You froze in shock as a strong hand gripped the back of your head, holding the cloth against your nose and mouth. You struggled immediately, panic coursing through your veins. You thrashed, clawing at the arm that held you, your muffled cries lost in the fabric. The sharp, sickly-sweet scent of chemicals invaded your senses, making your vision blur.

Your heart raced as you kicked out, trying to fight against the overwhelming dizziness that began to take hold. Your bag slipped off your shoulder and fell to the ground with a dull thud, but the grip on you didn’t loosen. The person—no, the attacker—held you firmly, their breath steady against your ear as your strength ebbed away.

The world around you dimmed, your arms growing heavy as your movements slowed. Your fingers lost their grip, falling limply to your sides as your knees buckled.

The last thing you felt was the strong arm catching your weight as your consciousness slipped away, the sound of your heart pounding in your ears fading into nothingness.

You woke with a pounding headache, the world spinning as your eyes fluttered open. The smell of damp earth and mildew hit your nose, making your stomach churn. Blinking, you tried to take in your surroundings. It was dimly lit, the flicker of a single bulb swaying from the ceiling casting eerie shadows on the cracked concrete walls.

A chill ran through you as you realized you were sitting on the cold ground, your arms pulled tightly behind you. Panic surged when you tried to move and felt the rough bite of rope against your wrists. You were tied up.

Your heart raced, and you looked around the room. It was then that you noticed them—two figures sitting directly across from you, also bound. One was gagged, their muffled attempts to speak barely audible, while the other sat in stunned silence, their wide eyes staring at the floor as if processing their own horror.

Recognition hit you like a punch to the gut.

The first person was someone you recognized from school, a notorious bully. You’d seen them torment others countless times, their cruel laugh echoing through hallways. They looked disheveled and terrified now, their bravado stripped away as they squirmed uselessly against their bonds.

The second person made your blood run cold. It was the man who had bumped into you on the street, the one who had insulted you without a second thought. His face was pale, his body trembling as he glanced around the room like a caged animal.

“What the hell...” you muttered under your breath, your voice shaky and raw.

Neither of them responded to you directly. The bully’s gag prevented them from saying anything coherent, and the man’s eyes darted nervously between you and the rest of the room.

You tried to calm your breathing, your mind racing for an explanation. Why were you here? Who had brought you here?

Before you could piece things together, a sound broke the tense silence: the creak of a door opening.

Your head snapped toward the far end of the basement, where a narrow staircase led up to a heavy wooden door. The hinges groaned as it slowly swung open, and for a brief moment, the only sound was the faint echo of dripping water from somewhere in the room.

Then, slow, deliberate footsteps descended the stairs.

Your breath hitched as the figure came into view—a familiar white mask catching the dim light, its hollow eyes fixed on the three of you. The killer’s tall, looming form filled the narrow staircase, and your heart plummeted into your stomach.

It was him.

He moved with a terrifying ease, his boots thudding against the worn wooden steps. The bully across from you froze, their muffled cries growing more frantic. The man from the street tried to scoot backward, but his bindings kept him in place.

The killer reached the bottom step, pausing to survey the room.

Then his eyes found you.

“Awake already,” he said, his voice low and smooth, laced with a mockery that made your skin crawl. He stepped closer, the soft scrape of his boots against the concrete amplifying your fear. “I was hoping for a little more suspense, but I guess this works too.”

You couldn’t speak, your throat tightening as he approached. Your heart pounded so loudly you thought it might burst.

The killer stopped just in front of you, towering over you like a shadow. He crouched down slowly and you flinched back instinctively, the ropes biting into your skin.

“Don’t be scared,” he said, almost soothingly. “I’d never hurt you. Not like them.”

He jerked his head toward the others, his tone darkening. “They’re the real problem, aren’t they?”

The bully whimpered, their body trembling violently. The man from the street muttered something incoherent, his face pale with terror.

The killer’s head snapped toward them. “Quiet,” he barked, his voice sharp and commanding. Both of them fell silent instantly.

He turned his attention back to you, his tone softening again. “You don’t belong here with them,” he said, his gloved hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. “But I couldn’t risk letting you get hurt, either.”

You recoiled from his touch.

The killer chuckled, low and dark before standing to his full height. “You’ll thank me someday.”

He turned his back on you, walking toward the bully, who was now shaking their head violently, muffled pleas escaping through the gag. The killer tilted his head, as if considering them.

“You,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “The things I’ve seen you do. The way you treat people. It’s pathetic.”

He pulled a knife from his belt, the blade gleaming under the flickering light. Your stomach lurched.

“No,” you said, your voice trembling. “Don’t—”

He turned his head slightly, addressing you without looking back. “Don’t what?” he asked, his tone mockingly sweet. “They deserve it, don’t they? After everything they’ve done? After everything they would’ve done to you if I hadn’t stepped in?”

Your mind raced, panic gripping you. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

You pulled against the ropes desperately, but they didn’t budge. Your heart pounded as you watched the killer raise the knife, his focus solely on the bully.

You couldn’t look away.

The killer crouched over the bully, his movements methodical, almost clinical, as he ran the blade down their arm, leaving a crimson trail. The muffled cries of pain filled the room, mixing with the sound of your own panicked breathing.

“Shh,” the killer whispered, his voice soft, mocking. “We wouldn’t want to disturb anyone, would we?”

The bully’s head shook frantically, tears streaking their face as they squirmed against the restraints. The knife moved again, this time slicing into their leg, and they screamed against the gag, their body convulsing in agony.

You felt frozen, your mind screaming at you to look away, to close your eyes, but you couldn’t. The horrifying scene played out in front of you, each sound, each movement burned into your memory.

The killer leaned in closer to the bully, his head tilting in that unnerving way. “This is what happens,” he murmured, his voice dripping with venom. “This is what you get for being cruel. For thinking you’re untouchable.”

Blood pooled beneath the chair, thick and dark, as the bully’s movements grew weaker. Their muffled screams turned into whimpers, their head lolling forward.

The killer stood up, the knife dripping in his hand. He turned to the other man—the one who had bumped into you earlier. The man’s eyes widened in terror, and he struggled against his bindings, managing to let out a strangled noise.

The killer took slow, deliberate steps toward him, his boots squelching in the blood-soaked floor. The man’s cries grew louder, more frantic, and you could see the pure panic in his eyes.

“Quiet,” the killer snapped, his voice sharp. “It’s your turn, but I promise to make it quick.”

You saw the man try to shout, his body thrashing violently, but the killer moved with chilling efficiency. He raised the knife and plunged it into the man’s chest with a sickening thud.

The man’s body jerked once, his muffled scream cutting off as blood bubbled at his lips. The killer twisted the blade before yanking it out, letting the body slump back into the chair, lifeless.

The room fell into a deafening silence, save for the sound of your ragged breathing and the drip of blood hitting the concrete floor.

Then, slowly, the killer turned towards the bully.

He reached up, fingers hooking under the edge of his mask. You held your breath, your body stiffening as he began to lift it.

The white mask came off in one smooth motion, but from your position, you couldn’t see his face. His back was turned to you, shielding his identity.

What you could see was the reaction of the bully, who weakly lifted their head, their bloodied face twisting in horror. Their eyes widened, and a choked sound escaped their throat—half gasp, half sob.

The killer crouched in front of the bully, setting the mask down beside him. “You should’ve stayed in your place,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

The bully’s lips quivered, as if trying to form words, but no sound came out. They slumped further, their body trembling.

You didn’t dare move, your heart racing as you strained to make out his features, but the angle made it impossible.

The killer stood again, slipping the mask back on before turning his attention to you.

Your stomach churned as he began walking toward you, his footsteps unhurried, almost casual.

You pressed yourself against the chair, your mind racing for a way out, but there was nowhere to go. You were trapped.

His voice was calm, disturbingly so, as he crouched down in front of you, his bloodied knife resting casually in his hand. “People like them… they take and take, hurt and hurt, until someone stops them. I’m just doing what no one else will.” He said softly, almost as if speaking to a child.

You thrashed against the ropes binding you, the rough fibers biting into your skin. “You can’t just decide that!” you shouted, the words pouring out before you could think. “You’re not some kind of… of judge or executioner!”

The killer leaned forward, his presence overwhelming, his masked face inches from yours. You could feel the cold metal of the knife near your leg, the blood dripping from it staining the floor beneath you. “I don’t decide anything,” he murmured, his voice quiet but firm, laced with a sinister undertone. “They decided it themselves. Every cruel word, every time they tore someone down, every life they ruined… they sealed their own fate.”

You shook your head vehemently, your breathing ragged. “That doesn’t make it right!”

He let out a low chuckle, the sound reverberating in the hollow space of the basement. “Oh, sweetheart,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “You still think the world is black and white, don’t you? That there’s some kind of fairness in it all?” He stood abruptly, towering over you, the knife twirling between his fingers. “The world isn’t fair. It’s a cruel, ugly place where people like them thrive because no one holds them accountable.”

Your voice cracked as you shot back, “And what makes you any different? You’re not saving anyone—you’re just a murderer!”

For a moment, the room fell deathly silent. The killer froze, his grip tightening on the knife. Then, he let out a dark, humorless laugh, his shoulders shaking. “A murderer?” he repeated, almost as if testing the word. “You’re wrong. Cause the difference is I know what I am.”

You stared at him, heart pounding, your body trembling as he slowly crouched back down, his masked face so close to yours.

“And here’s the thing, doll,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Deep down, you know I’m right. You’ve seen what people like them do. You’ve felt it.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as his words wormed their way into your mind. You hated how his tone softened, how it made him sound almost reasonable.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he continued, brushing a finger lightly against the ropes binding your wrist, his touch so delicate it sent chills down your spine. “You get it, even if you won’t admit it.”

Your breaths came out in short, shallow gasps as you watched him, your mind racing.

The killer stilled, his head tilting as he studied you, the sharp edge of his knife glinting in the dim light. “Where did the good version of you go?” he asked softly, almost disappointed. His voice carried a quiet intensity, laced with frustration. “The one who listened to me. Who followed my instructions without question.”

You blinked, confused and terrified, your lips trembling as you struggled to process his words. “What are you talking about?” you whispered, voice cracking under the weight of your fear.

He let out a sigh, shaking his head like a disappointed teacher scolding a wayward student. Slowly, he reached up to the edges of his mask, his fingers brushing over its smooth surface. “I guess it’s time we stopped playing this little game, huh?”

Your heart pounded in your chest, dread building with every passing second as he began to remove the mask. First, his chin came into view, sharp and familiar. Then his mouth—lips curved in a small, knowing smirk.

“No,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, your stomach twisting into knots.

The mask came off fully, and your breath hitched as the rest of his face was revealed. Those eyes, dark and piercing, stared back at you with a twisted mix of affection and amusement. It was a face you knew better than anyone else’s.

“...Ni-ki?” you stammered, tears spilling from your eyes as your mind struggled to reconcile what you were seeing.

He tilted his head, his smirk widening into something more sinister. “Surprise,” he said, his tone almost playful, as though this was all some sick joke.

Your body froze, every muscle locking in place as you stared at him, shaking your head in disbelief. “No… no, this can’t be real.”

“Oh, it’s very real,” Ni-ki replied, crouching down in front of you so you were at eye level. His gaze softened for a moment as he reached out, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. It doesn’t suit you.”

You jerked your head away from his touch, your breathing ragged. “You—how could you—”

“How could I what?” he interrupted, his voice sharp now. “Do what needs to be done? Protect you from people like them?” He gestured toward the two lifeless bodies still slumped in the room.

“Protect me?” you choked out, incredulous. “You call this protection? You’re killing people, Ni-ki! This isn’t normal, this isn’t—”

“Shh,” he cut you off, pressing a finger to your lips. “Don’t ruin this moment with your panic. I know it’s a lot to take in, but think about it. Haven’t I always been there for you? Always protected you?”

You stared at him, wide-eyed, unable to speak as he leaned closer, his face just inches from yours.

“I did this for you,” he whispered, his tone eerily tender. “Every single one of them… they hurt you. Or they would’ve. And I couldn’t let that happen. I won’t let it happen.”

Tears streamed down your face as you shook your head, your voice cracking. “You’re not the Ni-ki I know. You can’t be.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Oh, but I am. I’m the real Ni-ki. The one who loves you enough to do what no one else will.” His hand reached out, cupping your face as his thumb traced your cheek. “You just don’t see it yet. But you will.”

You flinched under his touch, bile rising in your throat as you tried to twist away from him. “You’re crazy!”

“And you’re perfect,” he countered, his voice sweet, dripping with affection. “That’s why I can’t let you go. Not now. Not ever.”

Your breathing was shaky as you stared at Ni-ki, his face so familiar yet warped by the sinister edge in his expression. Tears blurred your vision, but you forced yourself to speak. “When… when did this start? Ni-ki, why—how did you—” You struggled to find the right words.

His head tilted slightly, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a strange, unsettling mix of amusement and frustration. “When did it start?” he echoed, almost as if asking himself the same question. He leaned back slightly, still crouched in front of you, one knee on the ground, his arms resting on his bent leg.

There was a flicker in his dark eyes, a spark of something—anger, pain, sadness—all swirling together. He took a deep breath, his expression shifting to something almost depressing.

“You remember that week you got sick?” he asked softly, his voice calm but laced with something far darker.

You blinked, startled. “When I had the flu?”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah. You were out for almost a week. Barely even answered my texts. I was worried about you, of course, but… it wasn’t just that.” He paused, his jaw clenching as his tone grew colder.

“That was the week they started targeting me,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl.

You froze, the blood draining from your face as you realized what he was saying.

“They,” he continued bitterly, his gaze hardening. “The second you weren’t there, they saw me as an easy target. Your absence gave them permission to attack.” He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “I thought I could handle it. At first, I did. But then… it got worse. They didn’t stop.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he wasn’t done. His words poured out now, each one sharper than the last.

“They’d corner me. Taunt me. Spread rumors. Push me around in the hallways like I was nothing. Like I wasn’t even human. And the worst part?” His voice cracked slightly, his fists tightening at his sides. “You weren’t there. You didn’t even know. I told myself it wasn’t your fault—you were sick—but I was alone, and no one cared. No one stopped them.”

His voice rose with each word, anger and hurt dripping from every syllable. You could see his hands trembling slightly, his chest rising and falling as his breathing grew heavier.

“Ni-ki…” you started softly, guilt twisting in your stomach.

“I didn’t deserve it,” he snapped, cutting you off. His eyes burned with fury now, his voice trembling with emotion. “I never did anything to them. I was your friend, but that was enough for them. Just being close to you made me a target.”

Your mind reeled, piecing everything together. Memories of those days flooded back—how Ni-ki had seemed distant when you returned to school, quieter, more withdrawn. At the time, you’d thought he was just giving you space to recover, but now you understood.

Your lips parted in recognition, the realization hitting you like a punch to the gut. “It was them,” you whispered. “Those same people. They’re the ones who—”

Ni-ki’s head snapped toward you, and for a brief moment, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes: validation. He nodded, his expression a mix of satisfaction and pain. “You understand now,” he said, his voice quiet but intense.

But you weren’t finished. “They’re the reason you… snapped,” you said, the word tasting bitter on your tongue.

His lips curled into a humorless smile as he tilted his head at you, studying your face like you were a puzzle he was finally solving. “Yeah,” he admitted. “They pushed me too far. And then… something inside me just… clicked.”

He leaned in closer, his voice soft but chilling. “I realized they didn’t deserve to get away with it. Not with what they did to me! They’re parasites, and the world is better off without them.”

You stared at him, trembling, your tears flowing freely now. “Ni-ki… this isn’t you. This isn’t—”

“It is me,” he said firmly, cutting you off again. His hand reached out to gently cradle your face, his touch surprisingly tender despite the blood still staining his fingers. “Oh, but this is the real me doll!”

“You can’t…” you choked out, your voice breaking. “You can’t just decide who deserves to live and who doesn’t. That’s not your choice to make!”

He smiled, his thumb brushing against your cheek, smearing a tear. “Oh, but it is. Because no one else will. And I’ll keep doing it—again and again—even if that makes me seem crazy.”

You shook your head, sobbing quietly, but he only leaned closer, his forehead almost touching yours. “Don’t cry,” he murmured, his voice softening again. “I’m not the villain here. You’ll see that someday.”

You turned your head away, unable to meet his gaze, but his grip on your face tightened just enough to bring your attention back to him. “Someday,” he whispered, his lips brushing your forehead, “you’ll thank me.”

Ni-ki’s voice was calm yet insistent, each word weaving its way into your mind like a snake, coiling tightly around your thoughts. “They were the problem,” he repeated, his tone soft but unwavering. “Every single one of them. They hurt you, they hurt me, and they would’ve kept going. People like that don’t change.”

You shook your head weakly, tears blurring your vision. “No… no, you can’t just… You can’t decide—”

“I didn’t decide anything,” he interrupted, his voice sharpening just slightly. “They chose this. They chose to torment others, to stomp on anyone they thought was beneath them. You’ve seen it yourself. How many times have you been their target? How many times have they made you feel small?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but no words came. Memories of those moments flashed through your mind—the taunts, the rumors, the laughter at your expense. You could still hear their voices, their mocking tones, still feel the sting of their words.

Ni-ki leaned in closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “They didn’t care about you. About anyone. They’re leeches, feeding off other people’s pain. And you want me to just… let them live? To give them the chance to hurt someone else?”

Your heart pounded in your chest. “People can change,” you whispered, though even you could hear the doubt in your voice.

“Can they?” he challenged, his lips quirking into a bitter smile. “Tell me, have you ever seen one of them apologize? Have they ever truly felt sorry for what they’ve done? Or do they just pretend to care when it benefits them?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

He sighed, his hand brushing a strand of hair out of your face as if he were comforting you. “You’re too kind,” he murmured, almost wistfully. “That’s what I love about you. But kindness doesn’t work on people like them. They see it as weakness. They use it against you.”

His words slithered into your mind like a viper, sinking their fangs into your thoughts. They coiled around the doubt already lurking there, tightening their grip.

“They were the problem,” he repeated, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. “You know I’m right. Deep down, you’ve always known it.”

You shook your head again, but it was weaker this time. The venom of his words was spreading, clouding your judgment. Memories of the bullies flashed through your mind again—how they’d laughed at you, taunted you, humiliated you. How no one had stopped them. How no one had cared.

“They didn’t deserve it,” you whispered, though the conviction in your voice was faltering.

“Didn’t they?” Ni-ki pressed, his gaze never leaving yours. “Think about it. Think about everything they’ve done. Everything they’ve said. Did they ever feel sorry? Did they ever stop to think about how their actions hurt others?”

You stayed silent, your breathing shaky.

“They didn’t care,” he said, his voice low but firm. “They never cared. And they never will. People like them… they only stop when someone makes them.”

His words kept slithering into your mind, twisting around your thoughts until they were all you could hear. You wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but… was he?

You felt your resolve cracking, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a heavy stone. Maybe… maybe he wasn’t wrong. Maybe they really wouldn’t have stopped.

Your silence seemed to embolden him. He smiled, leaning closer, his forehead almost brushing yours. “See?” he whispered. “You’re starting to understand. I’m not the monster here. I’m the one who’s doing what no one else will.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, but you didn’t speak. You didn’t deny him. You couldn’t.

Ni-ki smiled wider, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek, wiping away a tear. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, his voice filled with a twisted kind of pride. “You’ll see. One day, you’ll see that I did this for us. For you.”

You closed your eyes, trying to block out his words, but they were already there, buried deep in your mind.

You barely registered what was happening. Exhaustion weighed heavily on you, the emotional toll of the past hours rendering you too drained to fight or even think straight. When Ni-ki untied your wrists and re-bound them in front of you instead, the shift barely registered in your foggy mind. You flinched slightly at his touch, but even that was weak.

Before you knew it, he was scooping you up, his arms cradling you securely as if you were something precious. Your legs, still bound, dangled uselessly. The motion made you groan softly in discomfort, but you didn’t resist. You couldn’t resist.

He carried you up the stairs, out of the dim, suffocating basement, and into a softly lit living room. The space was strangely simple, furnished with a small couch, a coffee table, and a few personal touches—a bookshelf in the corner, a stack of neatly folded blankets on a chair. It felt too… normal. Too domestic.

Ni-ki carefully lowered himself onto the couch, keeping you in his arms as if he were holding a fragile doll. He adjusted your position so you were leaning against him, your cheek resting against his chest. His fingers moved gently, brushing strands of hair out of your face, his touch light and tender.

“You’re so tired,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You’ve been through so much. But it’s okay now. I’ve got you.”

Tears continued to stream down your cheeks, silent and unrelenting, as if your body didn’t know how else to process everything. You didn’t have the energy to speak, to scream, or even to flinch when his hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing away the tears.

“Shh,” he cooed, his lips curling into a soft smile, though his dark eyes gleamed with something far less gentle. “No more crying, sweetheart. They can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe now. Safe with me.”

You wanted to tell him he was wrong, that he was the danger you needed saving from, but the words wouldn’t come. Your chest felt tight, the weight of everything suffocating you.

Ni-ki’s other hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling lightly in your hair. “You don’t have to be scared anymore,” he whispered, his tone achingly sweet. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll protect you. Just like I always have.”

The warmth of his embrace was suffocating in its own way, the tenderness of his touch a cruel mockery of the terror coursing through your veins. But as the minutes ticked by, your body, weakened and overwhelmed, began to betray you. Your muscles slackened, your breathing evened out, and though your mind screamed for you to resist, the exhaustion dragged you closer and closer to unconsciousness.

Ni-ki noticed the change immediately. He shifted slightly, pulling a blanket from the back of the couch and draping it over the both of you, his movements slow and deliberate, as if savoring the moment.

His eyes softened as he watched you, his gaze lingering on your face, as if he were memorizing every detail, every emotion flickering across your features. His fingers brushed lightly over your cheek, tracing the path of a tear you hadn't realized had fallen.

Then, slowly, he leaned down. You could feel his breath against your skin before his lips ever touched you, a soft, tentative brush against your temple. It was the faintest of touches, but the moment it happened, your heart skipped in your chest. His lips moved slowly across your skin, tender, careful, as if testing the waters.

You closed your eyes instinctively, your breath catching, not sure what to make of the emotions stirring within you. Your body reacted before your mind could process it—an unexpected warmth spreading from your chest outward, the quiet, gentle touch of his lips on your skin softening the frantic thoughts that had been chasing themselves through your mind.

Ni-ki’s kiss lingered on your forehead, then your cheeks, as though savoring each moment. He was taking his time, savoring the moment in a way that made everything feel too intimate, too personal.

As he kissed your jaw, you couldn't deny that your heart raced. It was a strange feeling, unfamiliar, and yet somehow soothing. His lips were tender, his touch softer than you expected. When he finally stopped, you opened your eyes, only to find him hovering over you, his lips just barely brushing yours.

He looked at you then, his dark eyes intense, searching. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but there was something else in his gaze—something that felt more possessive than loving.

"Can I?" he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper, as if seeking your permission.

You blinked, the weight of his question sinking in. You had no words, no deflection, only the silent pounding of your heart in your chest. You looked up at him, and the moment seemed to stretch on forever.

With a soft sigh, almost as if resigned to whatever this was between you, you nodded. “Yes.”

The moment you gave your consent, he closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. Ni-ki kissed you with a quiet hunger, the kind that felt as though he were marking his place in your world, making sure you wouldn’t forget him. And in that moment, with his arms wrapped around you and his lips claiming yours, it was hard to think of anything else.

Ni-ki, sensing your acceptance and the lack of resistance, initiated a deeper kiss, his lips pressing more firmly against yours, his tongue teasing and exploring.

You gasped softly, your breath catching in your throat as the intensity of his kiss took you by surprise. With your bound hands, you instinctively gripped onto his arms, your fingers tightening around his muscles.

The sensation of your touch seemed to drive him wilder, his kisses becoming more passionate and demanding, his lips moved from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of passionate marks. His teeth grazed your skin lightly, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

As Ni-ki pulled back just a fraction, you watched with a mixture of curiosity and tension. His hand reached down into the pocket of his jacket, and for a moment, you tensed—your body still wired with caution. But when he pulled out a knife, it wasn��t the sharp gleam of the blade that caught your attention. It was the way his gaze remained locked with yours, intense, but strangely calm.

He held the knife with practiced ease, his fingers brushing against the rope around your wrists. You held your breath as he made a precise cut, the rope falling away in seconds. The pressure on your wrists eased, but you didn’t move, not immediately. You kept your eyes on him, and he studied you back, as if waiting for a reaction, something that might hint at what you were thinking.

But instead of pulling away, instead of running, you found yourself unable to budge. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but they held you in place, as though you were stuck in an invisible web.

The silence between you stretched, and without thinking, without second-guessing, you slipped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He didn’t hesitate for a second. His lips found yours in an instant, and the kiss was urgent, almost hungry, as if he had been waiting for this moment. His hands moved and there was no mistaking the way he pulled you into him, as if he never wanted to let go.

When he finally pulled away, his lips still lingered over yours, his breath warm against your skin. You looked into his eyes, seeing the satisfaction there.

Ni-ki, with a hint of sadistic pleasure in his eyes, leaned in and kissed your lips, his movements calculated and precise. As he pecked your lips, his words flowed like honey, sweet yet dark.

"You know I only want what's best for you, don't you, doll?" he whispered, his voice laced with control. "I'm the only one who truly understands you. I can give you everything you desire, everything you've ever wanted."

Your lips, soft and pliable, parted slightly as if in agreement. You nodded, a slight movement that confirmed your acceptance of his words, your mind clouded by the intense passion he had instilled in you. The depth of your love for Ni-ki had clouded your judgment, making you susceptible to his every word.

"I can make you feel things you've never felt before," he continued, his voice low and compelling. "I can take you to places only I can show you. Trust me."

Your heart raced at Ni-ki's words, your mind a whirlwind of excitement and anticipation. "I trust you," you said, your voice filled with surrender.. "Take me wherever you wish."

Your logic, once a steadfast companion, had fled, leaving you vulnerable to the allure of his charm. His words, like a drug, had you addicted and longing for more.

Ni-ki, with a calculated smirk, leaned in close, his eyes piercing into yours. His voice, laced with a hint of dark seduction, whispered, "You know you belong to me, don't you? I've crafted you into the perfect companion, one who adores and loves me unconditionally."

You no longer questioned, no longer resisted, for you had become a willing participant in his world.

Ni-ki's hands roamed over your body, a gesture that was possessive. His touch, once gentle, had transformed into a commanding force, a reminder.

"You're perfect," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

You nodded again, your mind a maze, created by Ni-ki. You had become his willing captive, a puppet. Your love, once pure and innocent, had morphed into something complex.

Ni-ki's kisses became more frequent, more insistent, as if he were claiming ownership over your very being.

"I love watching you surrender to me," he purred, his eyes dark with desire. "You're mine to command, and I will make sure you never question that."

You, under the spell of Ni-ki's kisses and his presence, felt a surge of something unknown.

"I want to be yours," you whispered, your voice soft and surrendered. "Command me, control me, and make me yours forever."

Ni-ki's kisses became more intense, his lips moving from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His hands, strong and assertive, roamed over your body, leaving no part untouched.

The next day at school, you walked through the halls with Niki at your side, the two of you almost in sync. Everyone around you seemed unaware of the shift, the change in the air. To the teachers, you were just another student; to your friends, you acted as though everything was perfectly normal. You laughed at their jokes, smiled when needed, and joined in conversations as though the world hadn’t turned upside down just a day ago.

But when the moments between you and Niki were private, things were different. You weren’t the same person you had been before; you were only his. Every glance he gave you, every touch, sent a spark through your body. And you, in turn, clung to his words, listening intently as he spoke, like they held the key to everything you needed to know.

The moments alone with him, in the quiet spaces between classes or in the halls when no one else was around, were when you felt the most alive. He’d find ways to hold you close, one hand on your back, the other gently cupping your chin to pull you in for a kiss that felt like it could last forever. Each kiss left you breathless, like it was all you needed in that moment.

You began to notice that Niki, too, seemed to only listen to you. The way he would react when you spoke, how he would follow your requests without hesitation, no matter how small or trivial. If you asked him to do something, he did it—immediately, without question. If you needed him to hold you, he would. If you wanted him close, he was always there, like he couldn’t bear to be any farther away from you.

Standing in the empty hallway, the buzz of the school day fading into the background, Ni-ki's strong arms encircled your waist, pulling you against him. His lips, soft yet demanding, met yours, and the kiss ignited a fire within you.

With each passing second, the kiss grew more intense, more passionate and you welcomed it with open arms, or rather, open lips.

As Ni-ki pulled back slightly, his breath warm against your lips, he smiled, a smile that held a mixture of satisfaction and mischief. "See how easy it is to let go?" he whispered, his voice low. "The way you surrender, the way you let me take control…"

You nodded, you didn't need to speak; your actions and your body language spoke for you.

His smile widened, and he leaned in once more, his lips finding yours with precision. The kiss deepened, his tongue teasing and exploring.

The wall behind you provided support as Ni-ki pressed his body closer, his hands moving to your hips, pulling you tighter against him.

As the kiss lingered, you could feel his breath against your neck, his hot words whispered against your skin. "I love having you like this," he murmured, his voice hoarse. "So ready to give in to me."

You nodded again, a silent affirmation of your agreement.

Ni-ki's smile, a triumphant smile, told you everything you needed to know - you were his, and he had you exactly where he wanted you.

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

514 notes · View notes

lanadelspray02 · 2 months ago

Text

HOLD ME ANYWAY: CHAPTER 11

paige x azzi

SURPRISE! I hope y'all like this chapter. I rushed it a bit to get it out quicker for everyone, so I hope it's still readable. It is very long, so be warned. I wanted to make the first meeting between Ruby and Paige a bit unexpected. I also didn't really have Azzi properly explain to the team about Ruby, so that will be upcoming. I just wanted them to respect both Ruby and Azzi, which they did. Let me know what you think :) I hope it's not too underwhelming for y'all.

crossposted ao3 here

masterlist here

wc: 12,272

--------------------

Azzi woke to a heel pressed into her ribs and the slow, sticky sound of someone whispering into her ear.

“Mama. Wake up. Wake uuup.”

She groaned, not moving.

A giggle echoed near her face, breathy and triumphant, followed by a sudden flurry of motion as Ruby scrambled higher up the bed, her little legs tangling in the blanket like a determined, curly-haired octopus.

“Mamaaaa,” Ruby sang this time, louder. “Sun’s up! We do breffast now!”

Azzi cracked one eye open and was immediately met with Ruby’s face hovering over hers, close enough that their noses almost touched. Her curls were wild and sleep-tangled, cheeks flushed, pajamas twisted from a night of tossing. She had one sock on. The other appeared to be stuck around Sparklehorn’s neck like a scarf.

Azzi blinked at her.

“Good mornin’,” Ruby whispered dramatically, then giggled again and rolled over like she’d nailed the performance.

Azzi grunted and rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. Her joints ached. Her eyes burned.

“Mama dead?” Ruby asked, very seriously.

Azzi dragged a hand over her face. “Mama’s exhausted.”

Ruby didn’t seem moved. “No ‘zausted,” she said with a pout. “It’s breffast time. I hungry now.”

Azzi turned her head and looked at her daughter sideways. Ruby was sitting upright now, Sparklehorn clutched under one arm, chewing absently on her own sleeve. Her small feet kicked against the blanket in rhythmic thumps.

“I ‘membered somethin’,” Ruby added thoughtfully.

“Oh yeah?” Azzi mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.

Ruby nodded hard, curls bouncing. “You said Paigey, the unicorn girl come over.”

Azzi blinked. “I said what now?”

Ruby tilted her head, her pout reappearing. “Paigey come for pancakes. You said last night. ‘Member?”

Azzi sat up slowly, wincing as her muscles protested. “I definitely didn’t say she was coming over.”

“You did in my head,” Ruby replied without hesitation, then shrugged. “So that still count.”

Azzi stared at her. “That’s not how it works.”

Ruby, unfazed, hugged Sparklehorn tighter. “We share wif her. Sparklehorn say so.”

“Okay,” Azzi sighed, swinging her legs off the bed. “Let’s slow down. We need to brush our teeth, put real clothes on, and maybe, if the mood strikes, make some pancakes. No promises.”

Ruby gasped. “Sparklehorn like pancakes! Pink ones. Wif stars.”

Azzi stood, her hoodie wrinkled, her hair half-falling out of a messy bun. She reached for her phone on the nightstand.

“Do we have pancake mix?”

Ruby jumped off the bed and landed like a cat, slightly unbalanced but upright. “We got mix. I saw. In the snack drawer. Next to the spoons.”

“That… is not where the pancake mix goes.”

Ruby shrugged. “It there now.”

Azzi followed her out of the room, yawning hard as Ruby led the charge down the hallway like a queen with a mission. The hardwood was cold under her feet. Somewhere in the house, a kettle clicked to life, probably Katie already up. The scent of coffee grounds drifted faintly through the air, and sunlight was just beginning to fill the edges of the living room with a muted glow.

Ruby ran into the kitchen full-speed, dragging Sparklehorn behind her by the tail.

“Grammaaaa!” she yelled. “We makin’ pancakes! Paigey, the unicorn girl comin’!”

Azzi winced. “Roo, inside voice.”

Katie turned from the stove, a mug in her hand and a tired smile tugging at her lips. “Good morning to you too, sweet pea.”

Ruby clambered up onto one of the barstools and planted Sparklehorn on the counter like an honored guest.

“She comin’,” she declared. “Paigey. The unicorn girl. The smiley one”

Katie raised an eyebrow at Azzi.

Azzi mouthed, not my fault, then grabbed two mugs from the cabinet.

“Somebody’s been rewriting reality,” she said, pouring herself tea.

Katie sipped her coffee. “She’s got a good imagination.”

“She also has no chill,” Azzi muttered.

Ruby pointed dramatically at her unicorn. “She told me in the night. Paigey wanna come for pancakes. She said she like syrup.”

Azzi covered her face with one hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Katie said, chuckling. “This might be the most animated she’s been before 8 a.m. in weeks.”

Azzi set her mug down and pulled her phone from the front pocket of her hoodie. She opened her messages, thumb hesitating just for a second before tapping Paige’s name.

Ruby, still watching her, narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “You tell her?”

Azzi nodded, amused. “I’m telling her.”

She opened the voice memo feature and hit record.

“Hi. So… apparently Sparklehorn has decided it’s a pancake emergency. Ruby’s convinced you’re coming over. And I quote: ‘Paigey like syrup.’ So, you’ve got some explaining to do. We’re starting breakfast now, try not to disappoint the unicorn.”

She hit send.

Ruby, not understanding any of the subtlety, leaned over the counter with wide eyes.

“She say yes? She comin’?”

Azzi smiled at her, something soft pulling at her chest. “We’ll see, Roo.”

“Okay,” Ruby said, satisfied, then reached across the counter to grab a handful of cereal flakes from the open box. “We save her da pink pancake.”

Azzi walked around the counter, leaned in to kiss her daughter’s temple, and let herself rest her forehead there for a second longer than usual.

Katie watched quietly from the sink, her expression unreadable but warm.

Azzi stood up straight and took a breath.

Everything had shifted. Not all at once, not loudly, but in the quiet way a tide turns. Gently. Inexorably.

She turned her head, eyes drifting to her phone screen, waiting for Paige’s reply.

Some part of her already knew what it would say.

But it still made her heart jump anyway.

Azzi didn’t have to wait long for Ruby to shift gears again, toddler attention spans were short, especially when syrup was on the line.

“Mama,” Ruby said seriously, cupping her cereal flakes in both hands, “I need da mix now. The pancake mix.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Is that a command?”

“It’s a need,” Ruby replied, deadly serious.

Katie snorted softly behind them, wiping down the kitchen bench. “You heard the queen. Hop to it.”

Azzi made a show of groaning but walked to the pantry, grabbing the half-empty bag of pancake mix from the middle shelf, not next to the spoons, thank God. She set it on the counter beside Ruby, who was now hugging Sparklehorn and whispering to her like they were conspiring.

“I wan’ pink ones,” Ruby said again. “Wif sprinkles.”

“We don’t have pink pancake mix, baby.”

Ruby gasped like Azzi had just cancelled her birthday. “But we always do pink!”

“No, sometimes we do pink. When we have the dye.”

“Ask Gramma,” Ruby insisted, spinning dramatically on the barstool to face Katie. “Gramma, we have da pink?”

Katie opened a drawer. “We’ve got red. We can fake it.”

“Red okay,” Ruby decided after a moment of thought. “But not too red. Just pink pink.”

Azzi, already halfway into mixing the batter, bit back a smile. “We’ll go light on the apocalypse shade. Got it.”

She poured the milk in slowly, Ruby watching her every move like a hawk. The tiny measuring spoon clinked against the edge of the bowl as Azzi added just a touch of food coloring, swirling it in with exaggerated strokes.

“Ooooooh,” Ruby breathed. “It changin’.”

“You’re a wizard,” Katie told Azzi.

“I prefer pancake artist,” Azzi replied.

“Pancake wizard!” Ruby screamed with delight.

Azzi stuck her tongue out at her daughter and flicked a small drop of batter onto her nose. Ruby squealed like she’d been betrayed and immediately reached for the spoon.

“Ruby....no, not in your hair, babe”

Too late. A dot of pink batter now sat proudly in the curls above her forehead.

Azzi groaned, reaching for a dish towel.

“Hold still. You’re gonna be sticky all day.”

“I wanna be sticky,” Ruby announced. “Sticky is fun.”

Azzi wiped her gently, one hand cradling the back of Ruby’s head with practised ease. She didn’t even have to think about it anymore, the movements had become muscle memory, just like brushing teeth or buckling the car seat or wiping tears off tiny cheeks mid-tantrum.

Everything about mornings like this, the mess, the pace, the affection woven through every movement, it was chaotic. But it was hers.

Theirs.

“Mama,” Ruby said as Azzi pulled the towel away. “You think Paigey gonna come next time?”

Azzi paused for just a second. Long enough that Ruby noticed.

She tucked a curl behind Ruby’s ear and said softly, “I think… maybe. If we ask nice.”

Ruby beamed. “I be nice. I say pwease. I give her sprinkles too.”

Azzi felt a lump rise in her throat, sudden and full.

She looked down at the tiny girl in front of her, now rhythmically kicking her feet against the cabinets and humming off-key to herself, Sparklehorn tucked neatly in the crook of her elbow like a second heartbeat.

Sometimes Azzi forgot how small Ruby still was. How recently she’d come into the world. And how completely she had rearranged every part of it.

“Alright, Roo,” she said, pouring the first ladle of batter into the skillet, watching it sizzle. “You want big pancakes or little ones?”

“Big! Like your head.”

Azzi gasped. “Are you saying I have a big head?”

Ruby nodded solemnly. “Yup. Big head, small nose, silly eyes.”

Katie choked on her coffee in the background.

Azzi shot her mother a betrayed glare.

“You know what,” she said, flipping the pancake with dramatic flair. “You’re getting the crispy one.”

Ruby screamed with laughter. “Nooo! No crispy!”

“Too late,” Azzi teased. “Crispy pancake for the pancake wizard’s rude apprentice.”

“I sorry!” Ruby giggled. “You have nice head! Very nice!”

“Uh-huh.”

Azzi plated the first pancake and set it in front of her daughter, topping it with a small swirl of syrup and the few remaining rainbow sprinkles from the cupboard. Ruby leaned in like she was praying.

Katie set a fork beside her. “Tell Sparklehorn to pace herself.”

Ruby nodded seriously. “She eat slow. She got tiny teef.”

Azzi sat down beside her, her legs aching, her body heavy from lack of sleep, and yet… she felt light.

A quiet buzz came from her phone.

Paige.

Azzi picked it up, thumb brushing the screen.

“Tell Sparklehorn I’ll be there for bedtime tonight. Battle-ready.”

She smiled without meaning to, small and involuntary, the kind that warmed the back of her neck and crept into her chest before she could stop it.

Ruby didn’t notice. She was too busy feeding her unicorn a piece of pancake.

Azzi glanced at her daughter, then back at the screen.

A tiny piece of her heart, the careful, scared one, uncurled just a little more.

--------------------

Paige’s phone buzzed against the edge of her pillow just as the morning light started to slip in through the blinds. She didn’t reach for it right away. She lay still for a minute, the blanket tangled around her legs, the dorm quiet except for the faint hum of the radiator and a shower running down the hall.

Her body felt like it had finally stopped spinning.

Her brain, though? Still tangled.

The past 24 hours had been a swirl, soft, sharp, surreal. Azzi at her door. Azzi telling her the truth. The kiss that wasn’t desperate, but deliberate. And the way Azzi had looked at her after, like Paige had somehow passed a test neither of them had written down.

She blinked slowly, then finally turned and grabbed her phone.

Voice message. From Azzi.

Her stomach flipped.

She tapped play, holding the phone to her ear with sleep-heavy fingers.

Paige’s laugh came out half-choked.

She pressed the phone to her chest, closed her eyes for a second, then opened them again, awake now. Fully.

Ruby remembered her. Not just remembered, was planning her breakfast plate like Paige was already family.

She flopped back on her pillow, eyes aimed at the ceiling, grinning like a fool.

From across the room, Nika emerged from the bathroom in a robe, towel around her neck, coffee mug in hand.

“You’re smiling at your phone like it just sent you a love letter,” she said flatly.

Paige didn’t look up. “It kinda did.”

Nika sat on the edge of her own bed, one brow raised. “Was it from her?”

“Mmhm.”

Nika sipped her coffee and leaned back on one hand. “You’re too far gone, dude. You’re like... in.”

“I was already in,” Paige said, finally sitting up and stretching. “Now I’m just... being let in.”

Nika didn’t tease that. Not really. She just nodded once, quiet. Then: “That’s good.”

There was a beat, quiet enough for the radiator to hum through it.

Paige hesitated.

Then: “There’s something I should tell you. But you can’t say anything yet.”

Nika’s brows lifted, intrigued. “You’re being dramatic. I like it. Continue.”

“I’m serious, Nik. I just need to talk to my best friend about this.”

Nika sat up straighter. “Okay. What?”

Paige pulled one knee to her chest and rested her chin there for a second. “Azzi… she has a kid. A daughter. Her name’s Ruby. She’s two and a half.”

The silence hit harder than Paige expected. No gasp. No stunned squeal. Just Nika staring, processing.

“Wait, what?”

Paige nodded. “Yeah. I found out yesterday. She told me everything.”

“She has a kid? I was wondering who Ruby was when she mentioned her the other day.”

“She lives at home with her parents and raises her. She’s incredible, Nik. Like... smart, funny, opinionated. She calls me ‘the unicorn friend, paigey”. Paige smiled faintly. “Because of the stuffed toy I won her. and well now she just calls me Paigey sometimes too i guess.”

Nika blinked twice. “Dude. That’s huge.”

“I know.”

“And no one else knows?”

Paige shook her head. “Not even Ines or Caroline. She’s gonna tell them when she’s ready. So, please. Just keep it between us. I feel wrong for even telling you but i just wanted to talk about it with you.”

Nika held up both hands like a solemn vow. “Locked down. Sworn to secrecy. You got the classified stamp and everything.”

“Thanks.”

Nika tilted her head. “But are you okay with it?”

Paige looked up. “Yeah. I mean, I’m figuring it out. I'm scared, but yeah. I want to be part of it. Of her. Of them.”

Nika gave a slow nod, then nudged her with the toe of her sock. “You’re a good one, Bueckers.”

“Don’t say that. I’ll cry and miss class.”

“Fair.”

Paige stood, grabbed her hoodie off the back of the chair, and pulled her hair into a bun with the kind of ease that said she’d done this routine a thousand times.

She tossed a glance over her shoulder. “I told her I’d be on standby tonight. For Sparklehorn-related emergencies.”

Nika gave a long, dramatic pause. “You are FaceTiming a toddler now?”

“It’s part of the gig,” Paige said, tugging on her sneakers. “Gotta earn the unicorn’s trust.”

“God help you,” Nika muttered. “You’re gonna start packing snack bags to class.”

“Honestly?” Paige tossed a granola bar into her backpack. “Might as well get the practice in.”

Nika snorted.

--------------------

Campus was still shaking off the quiet of the weekend when Paige stepped out into the crisp morning air. Students moved in slow clusters across the paths, bundled up against the lingering chill, some still yawning behind travel mugs.

The sun was just high enough to throw long shadows across the quad. Paige tucked her hands into the front pocket of her hoodie and let her feet take her in the direction of her first lecture, not in a rush, not dragging. Just... present.

Her phone vibrated once in her pocket.

She pulled it out to see Azzi’s reply:

“Ruby says Sparklehorn requests your attendance at bedtime. Pajamas optional but encouraged.”

Paige bit her lip to hold back the grin that tried to escape. She typed back quickly:

“Tell Sparklehorn I’ll be ready. Full musical number if requested.”

Another message arrived before she could even put the phone away:

“You’re dangerously close to becoming her favorite person.”

Paige’s heart kicked a little faster.

She slowed her steps, glancing around campus like the air might catch the way her chest felt, light, cracked open, bright in places that had long been grey.

She thought back to what Azzi had said the night before.

“She doesn’t need perfect. She just needs someone who shows up.”

Paige had spent so much of her life keeping things clean, organised, walled-off, afraid that if someone stepped too far inside, they’d see the mess. The confusion. The family stuff. The need she didn’t know how to name.

But Azzi hadn’t flinched.

And Ruby... God, Ruby. Ruby had reached for her through a screen like she already belonged.

She pulled her phone out again, thumb hovering. Then typed:

“You need anything from me today?”

Azzi replied a minute later:

“Just show up tonight. She’s got a new toothbrush song planned. It’s chaos.”

Paige smiled down at the screen. Paused. Then typed one more message.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

She stepped into the lecture hall five minutes early, dropped into a seat near the back, and opened her laptop. The professor was still organising slides, students murmuring all around her, half awake and semi-focused.

Paige wasn’t sure she’d remember anything from today’s lecture.

But she’d remember the voice note.

She’d remember the way it felt to be invited into someone’s morning, unfiltered and loud and real.

And she’d remember the promise she made.

To show up.

Even if all she had was a screen and a toothbrush song.

--------------------

The sun was high by the time Azzi made it to the student union lawn, the kind of gentle, late-winter warmth that made people believe spring was actually coming. A few students lounged on the grass despite the damp patches, earbuds in, notebooks open. There was something peaceful about it, the lull between classes, the illusion of stillness.

She spotted Caroline and Ines by the benches near the big oak, their backpacks dumped haphazardly on the ground like they’d arrived in a hurry and stayed longer than intended. Caroline was mid-rant about a group project disaster; Ines was eating dry cereal from a ziplock bag and nodding like she hadn’t heard a single word.

Azzi took a breath, smoothed down the sleeves of her hoodie, and walked toward them.

“There she is,” Caroline said, spotting her. “We were about to send a search party.”

“You okay?” Ines added. “You look… floaty.”

“I don’t look floaty.”

“You do a little,” Caroline said, scooting over. “Like someone got kissed and then replayed it a hundred times in her head.”

Azzi snorted as she sat down between them. “Okay, stalkers.”

“Not stalkers. Observant friends,” Caroline said, nudging her. “So. Paige?”

Ines perked up. “You saw her again?”

Azzi nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yesterday.”

“Ooooh,” they said in unison, cartoonishly loud.

Azzi laughed, but it came out a little shaky.

Caroline narrowed her eyes. “Wait. Are you okay?”

Azzi hesitated, looking down at her hands. She wasn’t holding anything, but she twisted her fingers together anyway.

There was no perfect segue into this. No soft ramp.

So she went slow. Gentle. Honest.

“I need to tell you something,” she said. “And it’s kind of big. So please don’t freak out.”

Caroline and Ines glanced at each other.

“Are you dying?” Ines asked, serious.

“No!”

“Are we dying?” Caroline added.

Azzi rolled her eyes. “Why is that your first reaction?”

“You said not to freak out,” Caroline replied. “Which means freak-out-worthy information is coming.”

Azzi exhaled. “Okay. Look. You remember that FaceTime call? From like... the first week of the semester?”

Both girls nodded instantly.

“Yeah,” Ines said. “The one where you disappeared mid-sentence and a little kid yelled ‘mama!’ in the background?”

Caroline’s eyes widened. “Wait…”

Azzi met their eyes. Her heart beat harder than she wanted it to. “That was my daughter.”

Silence.

Caroline’s mouth fell open. Ines blinked like her brain had frozen.

“She’s two and a half,” Azzi continued, voice quiet but steady. “Her name’s Ruby. She lives with me and my parents. And yeah, I’ve been raising her since high school.”

“Holy shit,” Ines breathed.

Caroline’s hand flew up like she didn’t know whether to cover her mouth or high-five her. “You have a kid? Azzi!”

“I know,” Azzi said quickly. “I know it’s a lot.”

“It's not bad,” Caroline clarified. “It’s just… wow.”

“Yeah. Wow,” Ines echoed, softer now. “You’ve been doing all this and never said anything?”

Azzi shrugged, her shoulders curling in. “I didn’t want people to look at me differently. Or like I was... complicated.”

“Girl,” Caroline said, voice sharp with affection, “you are complicated. So are we. Everyone is.”

“But you’re raising a whole human,” Ines added, still sounding dazed. “Like, you’re... a mum. That’s insane. In a cool way.”

Azzi’s throat tightened. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I just... I needed to know who felt safe first. Paige was the first person I told here.��

Caroline gave a small nod. “That makes sense.”

“And I didn’t want to drop it on you like it was some kind of test. Like ‘if you’re really my friends, you’ll be okay with this.’ That’s not fair either.”

Ines leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “You’re allowed to protect your peace.”

Caroline’s voice softened. “But you don’t have to protect it from us.”

Azzi blinked fast, trying to clear the burn behind her eyes.

“Thanks,” she murmured. “Seriously.”

Caroline bumped her knee. “So... Ruby. That’s her name?”

Azzi smiled. “Yeah.”

“Tell us everything.”

Azzi laughed under her breath. “That might take a while.”

Ines grinned. “Good. We’ve got time.”

Azzi hesitated for a second, then pulled out her phone.

“She loves music,” she said, scrolling. “Like... anything loud and chaotic. And she talks to her unicorn like it’s real. She named it Sparklehorn this morning.”

Caroline snorted. “Icon.”

“She also thinks pancakes should be pink,” Azzi added, holding up her phone so they could see the screen.

It was a picture she’d taken just this morning: Ruby in her lopsided pajamas, grinning with a sprinkle-covered pancake in one hand and Sparklehorn in the other, syrup streaked across her cheek like war paint.

Caroline gasped. “Oh my God.”

Ines reached for the phone. “She’s perfect.”

“She’s two and a half going on thirty,” Azzi muttered, but her smile gave her away.

Caroline studied the image like it was a masterpiece. “She has your eyes. And your scowl.”

“Excuse you,” Azzi said, mock offended.

“I mean it with love.”

Ines leaned over to look again. “What’s she like with new people?”

Azzi paused. “Shy. But once she warms up? She’s loud, affectionate, stubborn. Very opinionated about snacks.”

“She sounds amazing,” Ines said, grinning. “Can we meet her? I mean.... not today, obviously, but... eventually?”

Caroline nodded. “Only if we pass the Sparklehorn vibe check, of course.”

Azzi blinked hard.

The tightness in her chest, the part that always coiled whenever she thought about people finding out, judging her, making her feel small, loosened just a little more.

“You guys really want to meet her?”

“Are you kidding?” Caroline said. “I already wanna babysit. I’ll bring a puppet. Or a tambourine.”

“I wanna be the chaotic aunt,” Ines said. “Like, the one who lets her eat ice cream before dinner.”

“She’ll love that,” Azzi murmured, smiling down at the photo again. “She already loves Paige.”

Caroline leaned in. “Okay, speaking of.... how’s that going?”

Azzi laughed, cheeks pinking. “It’s... really good. I told her about Ruby yesterday”

Both girls straightened.

“Damn,” Caroline said. “Big day.”

“It was,” Azzi said. “And she didn’t run. She stayed. Even said she wants to know Ruby. Like actually know her.”

Ines let out a long, low whistle. “I take it back. You’re the one who’s fully in.”

Azzi didn’t deny it.

She just smiled down at her screen, a little shaken, a little shy, but honest.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I think I am.”

They didn’t pressure her to say more.

--------------------

When Caroline and Ines started packing up their bags, stretching and groaning about their next classes, Azzi lingered for a moment longer at the bench. Letting the sunlight rest on her hoodie. Let her fingers drift one more time over Ruby’s photo.

She hadn’t realized how scared she’d been to tell them — how deeply that fear had wrapped itself into her routine. The fear of being pitied. Or judged. Or worse, treated like she was someone else entirely.

But they hadn’t blinked.

They’d just seen her.

All of her.

And they still stayed.

Her phone buzzed once breaking her out of her thoughts.

Paige:

We’re on for tonight, right? I already warmed up my toothbrush vocals. Ruby’s not ready for the high notes.

Azzi grinned.

She typed back:

You’re so weird.

Then another message:

But yes. You’re in the bedtime lineup. She’s been talking about “the unicorn girl” all day.

The reply came instantly.

That’s the title I’ve always wanted.

Azzi smiled again, smaller this time. Softer. She slipped her phone into her pocket and started toward the gym, her footsteps slow but steady.

It was strange, she thought, how quickly everything was changing.

How the world still looked the same, the same path she always walked, the same lockers and doors and polished courts waiting ahead, but she didn’t feel the same walking through it.

She felt fuller. Heavier in some places, lighter in others.

Like she wasn’t holding it all alone anymore.

She rounded the corner and the gym came into view.

The familiar sound of basketballs bouncing and sneakers squeaking echoed through the open doors.

Practice was next.

The world didn’t stop just because she was starting to feel whole again.

But this time... she didn’t mind.

--------------------

The gym always had its own kind of weather — sharp air from the vents, the polished floor reflecting overhead lights like a mirror to every misstep. On Mondays, it smelled faintly like citrus cleaner and tired ambition.

Practice was supposed to be low intensity to start the week. Just a shake-out, a reset. But no one believed that lie anymore, not after three years under Coach Auriemma. By the second drill, half the team was already sweating through their warmups, and the sound of sneakers squeaking over shouted directions echoed like a storm in progress.

Azzi didn’t mind the pace. She liked the rhythm. The repetition. The way her body could stay busy while her thoughts worked themselves out quietly in the background.

Except... her thoughts weren’t quiet today.

Not when Paige was across the court, hair in a messy bun, compression tee clinging to her back, mouth slightly open as she caught her breath between reps.

Not when Paige kept glancing her way in those tiny, almost-not-there flickers. The kind that said I know you’re watching, because I’m watching too.

Azzi dropped into a defensive slide, cutting across the baseline, keeping her body low and focused, at least on the outside.

Inside, she was still thinking about the messages Paige had sent this morning.

Still thinking about how Ruby had squealed her name like they’d been best friends for years.

Still thinking about the way Paige had said, “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Hey.” Caroline jogged up beside her during water break, nudging her elbow. “You good?”

Azzi took a swig from her water bottle. “Yeah. Why?”

“You keep zoning out. And smiling. It’s unnerving.”

“I’m not smiling.”

“You’re literally smiling right now.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but it was half-hearted.

From across the court, Paige caught her gaze again. Brief. Casual.

But her smirk said everything.

Azzi looked down at her bottle like it held the answers.

Keep it chill, she told herself. Play it cool.

Which was hard when Paige looked like that in practice gear.

When they rotated into 2-on-2 drills, Paige ended up subbing into Azzi’s group, completely by accident, or at least that’s what she claimed. The second they were side by side, stretching, Azzi could feel the tension shift around them like heat rising off the floor.

“You’re quiet today,” Paige murmured, not looking over.

Azzi bent deeper into her lunge. “Trying to focus.”

“Mm. On basketball, or on not smiling when I look at you?”

Azzi turned her head slightly. “You’re so cocky.”

“You like it.”

Azzi didn’t answer. She didn’t need to, the smirk tugging at her mouth gave her away.

Caroline, now watching from the sideline, narrowed her eyes like a bloodhound. “Oh my God.”

“What?” Ines asked, coming up beside her.

Caroline pointed. “That. Whatever that is.”

Ines followed her line of sight. “Oh. Oh.”

Nika wandered over with a towel around her neck, caught their expressions, and turned just in time to see Azzi and Paige bump shoulders coming off a screen.

“That’s new,” Nika said casually.

Caroline nodded. “They’re doing a thing.”

“A thing-thing?”

“A thing-thing.”

Ines: “We’re sure it’s not, like, just competitive banter?”

Paige, at that moment, passed the ball behind her back and gave Azzi a look over her shoulder that could melt glass.

Ines: “Okay yeah. That’s not banter.”

By the time drills ended, the energy was less chaotic and more conspiratorial.

Nika collapsed on the floor beside Paige during cooldown and muttered, “You’re not slick, you know.”

Paige tossed a towel over her face. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Nika pulled it off. “You are literally making heart-eyes at Azzi in HD.”

“I am stretching.”

“You’re flirting while stretching. Which is a whole new level of multitasking.”

Paige grinned, but didn’t deny it.

Across the court, Caroline was helping Azzi unlace her sneakers. “So... you gonna tell the rest of us when it’s official? Or do we just get surprise invites to the wedding?”

Azzi threw a sock at her. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” Caroline said sweetly. “You love me. Like you love unicorn girls and bedtime routines.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but couldn’t quite hide the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Ines leaned over from the bench, grinning. “So... it’s happening tonight, right?”

Azzi paused mid-motion, her fingers still on the knot of her sneaker.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “First FaceTime. Ruby’s already picked out her toothbrush song. Paige has no idea what she’s in for.”

Caroline let out a low whistle. “You nervous?”

Azzi gave a short laugh. “Like, stomach-doing-cartwheels nervous.”

“She’s gonna love her,” Ines said. “I mean, if she’s still here after everything you told her? That’s not someone who scares easy.”

Azzi nodded slowly, glancing across the gym again.

Paige was stretching out near the sideline, towel around her neck, quietly talking to Nika. She wasn’t looking over. But something about her posture, relaxed, present, still made Azzi’s pulse skip.

“I think she will,” Azzi murmured. “I just… don’t want to get it wrong.”

Caroline bumped her knee gently. “You won’t. You’re already doing it right.”

Ines grinned. “And if she survives the bedtime concert? That’s the real test.”

Azzi laughed, nervous, hopeful, real.

Then looked toward Paige again.

And this time, Paige looked back.

Like she knew the whole conversation had been about her.

And maybe, just maybe, that was okay.

--------------------

Paige checked her phone for the third time in a minute, even though she knew Azzi wasn’t late.

It was just after 7:45 p.m., and the soft hum of campus life had already quieted. From the hallway came the occasional thud of someone dropping a textbook, a distant laugh, the dull scuff of socks against tile. But inside her dorm room, it was still. Still and too quiet, like the kind of stillness right before something important begins.

She’d changed shirts twice. Not because she was trying to impress a toddler, she told herself, but because the first one had toothpaste on the collar and the second made her feel like a substitute teacher. She finally settled on a plain blue tee, sleeves rolled once. Clean. Casual. Not trying too hard.

Why am I nervous? she thought, sitting cross-legged on her bed.

The phone buzzed.

Incoming FaceTime: Azzi

Paige’s stomach flipped like a gymnast.

She pressed accept, and the screen filled instantly with chaos.

Ruby appeared mid-spin, curls flying, arms flapping like she was conducting a symphony. Sparklehorn was clutched in one hand, wearing what looked like a doll-sized tiara. The screen wobbled dramatically until Azzi’s voice came into frame, breathless.

“Sorry. She insisted on calling.”

“Mama, it’s her! It’s the unicorn girl! Paigey”

Azzi appeared properly now, crouched beside Ruby, her hair half-tied and looking like she’d already had a full day of negotiations. She looked beautiful.

“Hi,” Paige said, suddenly feeling a little breathless herself.

“Hi,” Azzi said back, eyes warm, tired, fond. “We’re about five minutes into the pre-bedtime hyperdrive.”

Ruby leaned in so close to the camera her nose fogged the lens. “I can see you!”

“You can,” Paige said, grinning. “Hi Ruby.”

Ruby blinked, as if seeing Paige live and talking was somehow different than imagining her from Sparklehorn stories.

“You not on the phone before,” Ruby said seriously.

Paige nodded. “That’s true. I wasn’t.”

“Why not?” Ruby demanded.

Azzi gently pulled her daughter back so her face wasn’t all nostril. “Be gentle, Roo.”

“No, it’s okay,” Paige said, shifting a little so the light from her lamp hit better. “I didn’t know I was invited. But I’m really glad I am now.”

Ruby seemed to accept that. She turned to Sparklehorn. “She say nice things. You like her now.”

Azzi snorted.

“So,” Paige said, still grinning, “what’s the plan for tonight? I hear there’s a song?”

Ruby lit up like a switch had been flipped. “YES.”

“She’s been workshopping it all day,” Azzi added. “I warned you.”

“I’m ready.”

Ruby cleared her throat dramatically and stood on what looked like the edge of her mattress. She held Sparklehorn in front of her like a mic, then pointed a tiny toothbrush at the camera.

“You have to brush and dance,” she said.

“Wait—what?”

“Rules,” Ruby replied, dead serious.

Azzi muttered, “Welcome to hell.”

The music started, Azzi had clearly queued up some kind of instrumental remix of the alphabet song with an aggressive amount of cowbell layered in.

Ruby began bouncing in place, brushing her teeth in erratic swipes, yelling along to her self-invented lyrics:

“Brush the teef, left and right!

Up and down, don’t start a fight!

Get the back, get the side,

SPARKLEHORN SAY ‘OPEN WIDE!’”

Paige lost it.

She actually dropped her phone for a second from laughing.

Ruby, however, was in full performer mode. She continued dancing, stomping, brushing, spinning until her hair flared like a halo.

Azzi looked directly into the camera and mouthed: I warned you.

When Ruby finished, complete with a high-pitched “DAAAAHN!” and a bow, Paige clapped. Sincerely, Loudly.

“That was amazing,” she said. “Ten out of ten.”

Ruby beamed. “You not brush!”

“I didn’t have a toothbrush ready!”

“You have hands!”

“Hands don’t brush teeth!”

Ruby crossed her arms. “Then you need to practice more.”

Azzi cracked up, covering her mouth to keep the sound in.

“You okay?” Paige asked, laughing.

“I just...” Azzi shook her head. “She owns you already. It’s over.”

Paige smirked. “I accept my defeat.”

Ruby laid down abruptly, arms flopping wide. “I tired now.”

“Wow,” Azzi said, raising her brows. “That’s a first.”

“Too much sparkle,” Ruby mumbled into her pillow.

Azzi reached over and pulled the blanket gently over her. “You want to say goodnight?”

Ruby turned her head toward the phone again, hair half stuck to her face.

“Goodnight, Paigey. You can come over next time. I give you your own toothbrush.”

Paige smiled. “Thanks, Ruby. I’d like that.”

Ruby paused. “You have to name it though.”

“Name... my toothbrush?”

“Duh,” Ruby said. “Mine is Mr. Bluey.”

Azzi whispered, “She’s got naming rules. Don’t get stuck.”

Paige thought for a moment. “How about... Captain Sparklechew?”

Ruby let out a delighted shriek and started clapping against her pillow.

“Okay! You can keep that one!”

When Ruby finally flopped onto her pillow in a dramatic “I’m done now” sprawl, Paige felt like she’d run a full emotional marathon — giddy, dizzy, a little breathless.

Azzi returned on screen after tucking Ruby in, camera swaying softly as she walked into the hallway and into what must’ve been her room. The light was low, just her bedside lamp, warm and honey-toned against her skin. She set the phone down on a stack of books and sat cross-legged on her bed, her hair falling messily to one side, hoodie loose on her frame.

“I feel like I was the one who just did a live concert and got paid with a toothbrush.”

Azzi grinned, rubbing her temple. “She was so hyped you were there.”

“I’ll take it,” Paige said, propping her chin in her hand. “You looked really good just now, by the way.”

Azzi blinked. “When?”

“When you were in full mum-mode,” Paige said, not flinching. “Blanket over her shoulders, gentle voice, everything.”

Azzi tucked a knee to her chest, watching Paige from the screen. “I thought I looked like chaos.”

“You looked like home,” Paige murmured.

Azzi’s breath caught.

And in that soft pause, everything else seemed to dim, the quiet shuffle of dorm noise outside Paige’s door, the echo of Ruby’s song still in the back of her head, the ache in her shoulders from practice.

It was just them.

“I liked hearing your voice in our house,” Azzi said, almost whispering now.

“You’re gonna have to get used to it,” Paige replied, smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Even when Sparklehorn kicks you out?”

“I’ll fight Sparklehorn,” Paige deadpanned. “I’ve beaten the claw machine once. I can do it again.”

Azzi let out a soft, breathy laugh. “You’re kind of ridiculous.”

“And yet...”

Azzi smiled, slower now. “And yet I’m still here.”

They both fell quiet for a beat, but it wasn’t empty.

It was full. Like the stretch of silence between two people who don’t need to fill it anymore.

“Stay on the call?” Azzi asked after a while. Her voice had dipped, husky with sleep and something sweeter.

“Yeah,” Paige said, already shifting so she could lie down.

Azzi turned her camera so it faced her pillow, still catching her face in profile. Her hair was splayed across the sheets, eyes fluttering heavier by the second.

“You okay?” Paige asked, voice low now too, sleep-drunk and tender.

Azzi nodded, curling into her blanket. “You’re still here.”

That was all she needed to say.

Paige swallowed. “Yeah. I’m still here.”

Eventually, the screen dimmed slightly but stayed on, just the soft glow of Azzi’s room, the occasional rustle of sheets, and Paige’s own reflection hovering in the corner.

And sometime between her third yawn and the sixth time she blinked too slowly, Paige fell asleep.

--------------------

Paige stirred before her alarm — eyes opening slowly to the faint blue of pre-dawn light cutting through her blinds.

Her phone screen was still lit.

She blinked and reached for it, heart lurching slightly as the FaceTime screen came into view.

Azzi was still asleep.

So was Ruby.

The camera had shifted sometime during the night. Now Paige could see both of them, Azzi curled on her side, one arm wrapped protectively around Ruby, who was nestled into her chest with Sparklehorn smushed between them like a VIP guest.

Paige didn’t move.

She just stared for a moment, breath quiet, eyes soft, chest full in a way she wasn’t ready to name.

They looked peaceful.

Azzi’s mouth was slightly open, lashes fanned against her cheek. Ruby had one tiny fist tangled in Azzi’s hoodie, her curls a wild halo around her head. Sparklehorn was missing an ear bend and looked like he’d been through battle.

Paige reached for the screenshot button.

click.

Then she opened the text thread.

Paige:

sparklehorn stole my spot

She hit send.

Waited.

Then, after a few more seconds of watching them, of letting herself have this one quiet, private moment, she ended the call.

The screen went dark.

But the feeling in her chest isn't

She fell back onto her pillow, phone against her heart, smile tugging at her lips like something just barely contained.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t dread waking up.

--------------------

Azzi stirred when a tiny elbow jabbed her in the ribs.

“Mmm....Roo…”

Ruby snored softly beside her, Sparklehorn draped over her like a weighted blanket.

Azzi squinted into the early morning light, blinked twice, and reached for her phone. The FaceTime screen was dark.

She frowned for a moment, had Paige hung up?

Then the text preview lit up:

Paige:

sparklehorn stole my spot

Azzi’s heart clenched.

She opened the image — and saw what Paige had seen.

Her. Ruby. Curled together.

Safe. Real. Whole.

She didn’t cry.

But her eyes stung.

She looked down at her daughter, still drooling into Sparklehorn’s mane, and whispered, “She’s already part of us, isn’t she?”

Ruby didn’t answer, of course.

But Sparklehorn’s crooked glitter horn caught the light like it agreed.

Azzi stared at the photo again, thumb hovering over the screen.

She hadn’t expected to wake up to something that made her chest ache and flutter at the same time. The sight of herself, vulnerable, real, and Ruby curled against her like she always did on mornings after long nights… and the knowledge that Paige had seen that. Had stayed. Had captured it.

Her throat tightened.

She tapped into the message thread and typed slowly:

Azzi:

she didn’t mean to

but i think she’s claimed you too

She hit send.

Paused.

Then followed with:

next time you’re here in person, she’ll probably make you sleep on the Sparklehorn pillow tho. fair warning.

Then, after a minute of staring at the screen, she added one more:

you looked really good on my screen last night, btw. especially under a blanket of unicorn chaos.

--------------------

The sunlight hit her pillow before her alarm did.

Paige stirred slowly, limbs stiff with sleep, the edge of her phone still tucked beneath her cheek. The screen had gone dark hours ago when she hung up, but her body remembered the glow, remembered Azzi’s voice curling around her just before she’d slipped under. She stayed still for a few seconds, blinking up at the ceiling, the hum of morning quiet settling over her chest like a blanket she didn’t want to shake off.

Then the text buzzed.

Azzi.

she didn’t mean to

but i think she’s claimed you too

Paige’s lips curled. She could practically hear the sleep still caught in Azzi’s tone, the hush of her mornings, like every word was wrapped in the softness of Ruby still curled beside her. She read it again. And again. Something in her chest pulled warm and low.

Another ping.

next time you’re here in person, she’ll probably make you sleep on the Sparklehorn pillow tho. fair warning.

Paige laughed into the silence. Actually laughed — the kind that cracked something open gently. She reached for the phone, still smiling, when a third message came through.

you looked really good on my screen last night, btw. especially under a blanket of unicorn chaos.

Her fingers hesitated, her heart tightening with something that wasn’t fear. She stared at the message until her smile deepened into something softer. More real. Then typed without thinking:

you and ruby last night... I've never seen something that made me want to stay in one place so badly.

She sent it before she could overthink it, then flipped her phone over, screen-down, and sat up.

The moment of stillness didn't last.

Because her phone buzzed again.

Azzi, again.

heads up, Ruby and I are coming to the team breakfast. kinda unavoidable this morning.

she doesn’t usually do early mornings with me but... here we are please don’t panic and i'm sorry this had to be how you first meet her in person.

Paige sat bolt upright in bed like she'd been struck by lightning. Her pulse kicked hard. She stared at the message like it might change if she read it a second time, then a third. But the words stayed the same.

Ruby was coming.

To breakfast.

In the next thirty minutes.

She checked the clock. 7:12 a.m. Her stomach flipped. Not because she wasn’t ready, emotionally, she’d been ready for days, but because this was now. No warning. No quiet moment to meet Ruby for the first time. No gentle, private transition. Just... fluorescent lighting, cereal bowls, and twelve of their teammates trying not to stare.

Her thumbs tapped a rushed reply.

"okay. okay. um. good to know. Thank you for the warning. I am totally not spiraling. not at all"

Azzi��s response was instant.

"you’re gonna be great. she already adores you."

Paige dropped her phone onto the comforter and dragged both hands down her face, groaning quietly. She wanted this. God, she wanted this, to meet Ruby, to step into this part of Azzi’s life. But she hadn’t expected it to be so fast. She hadn’t expected to feel like her heart was caught somewhere between a free-fall and a safety net.

She threw the blankets off and opened her dresser, rifling through sweats and hoodies until she landed on something soft and worn comfort clothes, something that didn’t scream panic. But as she pulled the hoodie over her head, her eyes flicked toward her desk. Her wallet. Her keys.

And an idea.

Without thinking, she grabbed them and bolted out the door.

The campus store had just opened, the lights still half-lit and flickering as a sleepy-looking senior restocked a display of protein shakes near the register. Paige slipped in with her hood up, heart pounding, sneakers squeaking faintly against the floor. She moved quickly to the back where the novelty kids’ stuff was, a wall of small trinkets, toys, and rainbow-bright chaos.

She scanned the shelves like she was preparing for a toddler apocalypse. Stickers. Coloring books. Bubble wands. Plastic tiaras. Nothing felt right.

Then she crouched low and spotted it, a tiny, glittery unicorn-shaped lip balm with a raspberry scent and sparkly horn. It was ridiculous. And perfect. She turned it over in her hand, smiling despite herself.

“Hi, I’m Sparklehorn Junior,” she whispered, testing a voice, before shaking her head at herself.

A shelf over, she grabbed a pink bag of frosted animal cookies, not too sweet, not boring, and cute enough to count as an official offering. She clutched both items like sacred objects and paid fast, nerves prickling with urgency.

Back in her room, she dropped the bag gently onto her bed and let out a breath. Her hands were shaking.

Shower. Ponytail. Hoodie. Breathe.

She moved through it all on autopilot, then stood in front of the mirror, hands gripping the edge of the desk. This wasn’t a date. It wasn’t even about Azzi. It was about Ruby. About showing up. About being the kind of person who could meet a two-and-a-half-year-old’s glitter-soaked standards.

Just as she grabbed a protein bar, a knock landed at her door.

KK let herself in a second later, already mid-sentence. “You alive?”

“Technically,” Paige muttered.

“I brought backup,” KK said, lobbing a bar toward her desk. “Also, you’re gonna want to brace yourself. Azzi just dropped a full team chat bomb.”

Paige opened her mouth, but KK was already scrolling. “Direct quote: ‘Heads up I’ll be a little late, had to bring Ruby (my daughter) with me this morning, long story, pls don’t be weird.’”

She looked up, eyebrows practically doing cartwheels. “Did you know she had a kid?”

Paige blinked, trying to play it cool, but she hesitated, just a beat.

KK gasped. “You knew?!”

“She told me a few days ago,” Paige said, tone quiet but steady. “She hadn’t told anyone else. I wasn’t going to break her trust.”

KK blinked. Then pointed dramatically. “Okay, wow. You kept a secret. Look at you. Emotionally mature. Mysterious. Are we calling this growth?”

“I didn’t think breakfast would be the big reveal,” Paige muttered, rubbing the back of her neck.

KK plopped onto the bed and gave her a long, appraising look. “You’re spiraling.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. This is the same face you make when Coach tells us we’re running suicides with resistance bands.”

“It’s just…” Paige exhaled. “It’s a lot. I didn’t think the first time I’d meet her would be so… public.”

KK grinned. “You mean the first time you’d meet your girlfriend’s toddler while everyone watches you try not to cry?”

“She’s not” Paige stopped, cheeks pink. “We’re not… titles are complicated.”

“Oh my God,” KK said, collapsing dramatically backward onto the bed. “You’re already shopping for matching unicorn sweatshirts.”

“I went to the campus store,” Paige said with a sigh. “Got her lip balm. And cookies.”

KK sat up like she’d been electrocuted. “You got her lip balm?!”

“It’s shaped like a unicorn.”

“Oh my God. You’re done. You’re gonna let that kid braid your hair and tell you what to watch and call you ‘Paigey’ and you’re going to like it.”

Paige didn’t respond.

KK stared for another beat, then burst out laughing. “Come on, lover girl. Breakfast is in twenty. Let’s go see if you survive the toddler test.”

--------------------

By the time she stepped into the dining hall, the space was already alive with clinking plates, low chatter, and the steady hum of a team trying their best to act normal despite the monumental shift in their morning. Caroline and Ines were huddled near the back table, practically vibrating with anticipation, while KK sat with her legs stretched out and a bowl of cereal perched in her lap like she was front row at a red carpet premiere. The rest of the girls had adopted varying levels of performative nonchalance, eyes flicking toward the entrance every few seconds, spoons pausing midair, conversations trailing off and picking back up again with awkward timing.

“Okay,” Ines said the second Paige slid into a seat. “Deep breaths. Smile friendly. Don’t make sudden movements.”

“She’s not a deer,” Paige replied, trying to ignore the way her hands clenched slightly in her lap. “She’s two.”

“Exactly,” Caroline muttered. “No filter. Random violence. Can smell weakness.”

“She’s not feral,” Paige said, laughing under her breath. “She’s just got good instincts.”

KK raised an eyebrow. “So what’s my vibe? Dangerous? Adorable? Unstable aunt energy?”

“You’ll find out in about thirty seconds,” Paige said, glancing toward the door.

Because there right on cue, was Azzi.

Holding a tiny hand.

Ruby trotted alongside her mother in light-up sneakers that blinked faint purple with every step. Her cupcake backpack bounced against her lower back, and Sparklehorn’s glittery horn peeked from the top zipper like a scout surveying enemy territory. Her curls were pulled into two fluffy puffs, neat and shiny, and Paige’s heart clenched at the sight. The second Ruby’s eyes found her, across the room, through the noise, like a beacon, she stopped. And then, she ran.

No hesitation. No shyness. Just full-speed toddler enthusiasm, legs pumping, puffs bouncing, eyes wide with glee.

Paige barely had time to react before a small body collided into her legs with surprising force. Ruby wrapped both arms around her knees like a vice, face pressed into her sweats.

“Paigey!” she announced, voice muffled but thrilled.

The team froze.

Paige’s mouth parted in surprise, then softened into the biggest, most helpless smile she’d worn in weeks. She crouched down, gently brushing one of Ruby’s curls away from her cheek.

“Hi, Roo” she said, voice low. “Missed me already?”

Ruby nodded fiercely, then squinted up at Paige, all suspicion. “Did you brush your teeth this morning?”

Paige blinked. “Uh… yeah?”

Ruby didn’t budge. “The song?”

Paige tried not to laugh. “What song?”

Ruby gasped, scandalized. “Paigey.”

Azzi was already smiling, shaking her head.

Ruby pulled back just enough to perform it on the spot, serious, rhythmic, complete with tiny hand motions: “Brush the teef, left and right! Up and down, don’t start a fight! Get the back, get the side, SPARKLEHORN SAY ‘OPEN WIDE!’”

The table went silent for a half-beat, and then Ines choked on her water.

Paige clutched her chest, feigning heartbreak. “Oh no. I totally forgot to ask Sparklehorn.”

Ruby stared at her, scandalized. Then gently patted her cheek like a disappointed grandparent. “Next time, okay?”

“Next time,” Paige vowed solemnly. “Cross my heart.”

Azzi leaned in, smirking. “Wow. Forgot the song? That’s tough. Rookie mistake.”

“Harsh crowd,” Paige muttered, but she was smiling, soft and completely smitten.

At that, Ruby pulled back, eyes wide. Paige reached into the small campus bag still looped around her wrist and held out the unicorn-shaped lip balm first, glitter glinting under the overhead lights.

Ruby gasped like she’d just witnessed a miracle. “Is that… Sparklehorn lips?!”

“Limited edition,” Paige said solemnly. “Only for very important people.”

Ruby snatched it out of her hand and turned to show Azzi, who had finally reached them, laughter already tugging at her mouth. “Mama! Look!”

Azzi glanced at the lip balm and then at Paige, raising a brow. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

Paige shrugged, trying to play it off, but her ears were pink. “It’s just a little something.”

Azzi leaned in slightly, voice warm. “You’re such a simp.”

Before Paige could respond, Ruby gasped again as Paige pulled the second item from the bag, the frosted animal cookies. “Ohmygosh,” she whispered reverently. “Those are my favourite snack. Sparklehorn like them too.”

“I figured,” Paige said with a wink. “You two have elite taste.”

Ruby beamed. And then, without prompting, she launched herself into Paige’s arms again, this time with more trust than speed. Paige caught her easily, lifting her like she’d done it a hundred times. One hand at Ruby’s back, the other tucked beneath her legs, she stood, the picture of quiet certainty.

Behind them, the table had gone completely silent.

“I think I’m gonna cry,” Caroline said, eyes wide.

Ruby peeked up from Paige’s shoulder, blinking once at the table full of unfamiliar faces before immediately tucking her head back down, arms tightening around Paige’s neck.

“She’s shy,” Azzi explained softly. “She just needs time.”

“That’s okay,” Paige murmured. “She doesn’t have to be anything she’s not.”

Azzi met her gaze across the small space between them, something unspoken settling like warmth in her chest. Paige wasn’t putting on a show. She wasn’t doing this to impress anyone. She was just... here. Holding Ruby like she was already part of her rhythm.

They made their way to the table, Paige with Ruby still curled up in her arms, Azzi sliding into the seat beside her. Ruby refused to move, legs draped over Paige’s lap, one hand tightly holding Sparklehorn and the other cradling the lip balm like it was made of gold.

Caroline leaned over, keeping her voice low. “Hey Ruby. Those look pretty tasty.”

Ruby didn’t answer. Just clutched Sparklehorn tighter and leaned more heavily into Paige.

“She’s warming up,” Paige said, tucking a curl behind Ruby’s ear. “She just likes to observe first.”

KK nodded sagely. “Same. I’m also shy and require cookies.”

Ruby didn’t look up, but she whispered something near Paige’s collarbone.

“She said she likes your hair,” Paige relayed, smiling.

KK’s hand flew to her chest. “Okay, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. I’ll never recover.”

Ines giggled into her orange juice. “The queen has spoken.”

Azzi, now relaxed enough to sip her coffee, watched the way the table adjusted without being asked, voices staying low, energy softening around them like someone had hit a dimmer switch. Not one person reached out to grab Ruby’s attention or demand her affection. They just made room. Gave her space. Followed Paige’s lead.

When Ruby muttered something about her pancakes being “too big,” Paige didn’t miss a beat. She reached for Ruby’s plate, cutting each piece into perfect little squares like it was second nature. She wiped syrup from sticky fingers, brushed crumbs from her hoodie, and shifted Ruby gently without ever losing her flow of conversation with the rest of the table.

“She likes them cubed,” Azzi said under her breath. “Even when I cut them into stars, she still complains.”

“She’s a texture purist,” Paige replied, grinning. “I respect the commitment.”

Azzi shook her head, smiling into her coffee. And then, after a beat, softer: “She really does adore you.”

“I’m kind of obsessed with her too,” Paige said, so quietly Azzi almost missed it.

--------------------

Eventually, Ruby let out a sigh, leaned further into Paige, and rested her head under her chin like she’d just declared her territory. Her thumb slipped into her mouth, Sparklehorn tucked under one arm, and Paige adjusted without thought, one hand cradling her and the other sliding under the table to lace gently with Azzi’s.

Neither of them looked down.

They didn’t need to.

When Caroline asked, only half-joking, “So... does Sparklehorn come to every breakfast or just the special ones?” Azzi smiled into her toast.

“Only when there are pancakes. She has standards.”

Ruby stirred, peeking up just enough to declare, “She ate five. But she not full yet.”

Paige nodded with mock seriousness. “That’s impressive. Might beat my record.”

Ruby squinted up at her, unimpressed. “No. Sparklehorn always wins.”

Paige bowed her head. “Naturally. Glitter powers.”

Ruby smiled, eyes already drifting shut again.

--------------------

Azzi didn’t know how long they sat like that. Ten minutes? Twenty? It felt like no time and all the time in the world. The table hummed with soft conversation. The clinking of forks. The warmth of people adjusting to a new rhythm without question.

When breakfast finally wound down, Paige leaned her head slightly against Ruby’s, her voice quiet as she murmured something Azzi couldn’t hear.

Ruby nodded.

And for the first time all morning, she sat up and looked directly at Caroline.

“Thank you,” she said, voice small and sincere.

Caroline blinked. “For what?”

“For not bein’ loud,” Ruby replied, then turned back into Paige’s chest.

Caroline looked like she might actually tear up. Ines patted her on the back.

Ruby yawned against Paige’s chest, a tiny sound that barely registered above the clatter of silverware and quiet morning conversation. She was still curled up tight, but her limbs had gone loose, heavy with the kind of sleepiness that came after a full belly and too much stimulation. Her head lolled against Paige’s shoulder, curls brushing beneath her chin, and her thumb found its way back to her mouth without ceremony. Paige didn’t move, just adjusted her grip to keep Ruby supported with one arm while she reached for her water glass with the other.

Azzi watched it all from beside them, still picking at her toast, not because she was hungry but because she didn’t want to move yet. She could feel it, the closeness, the quiet, the sense that something had settled between them all that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t just about Ruby anymore. It was about what Paige had stepped into without flinching. Without being asked. The way she held Ruby like she’d done it a hundred times. The way she didn’t apologise for it. Like it was natural.

Caroline and KK had shifted into a conversation about practice rotations, giving the table a bit of space. Ines was scrolling on her phone beside them, humming softly to herself. Sparklehorn lay flopped across the table like a passed-out party guest, syrup crusted in her mane.

Azzi leaned slightly into Paige’s side, her voice pitched low. “She’s never fallen asleep on anyone but me and my mum.”

Paige glanced down at Ruby’s drowsy form, then back up, her mouth tugging into something soft and stunned. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Azzi’s hand brushed against Paige’s forearm, deliberate and slow. “You’re kind of ruining her standards.”

Paige’s smile deepened, her eyes holding Azzi’s for a moment that stretched. “Guess I’ll have to keep showing up, then. Set the bar even higher.”

There was something in Azzi’s chest that twisted at that, not in fear, not this time. But in recognition. A moment of clarity so quiet it almost hurt. Paige wasn’t just here. She was in it. With her. With Ruby. With both.

Ruby stirred, nose scrunching as she blinked blearily, her voice small and groggy. “Done eatin’, Mama…”

Azzi reached over and brushed a thumb across her cheek. “Yeah, baby. All done.”

“Where’s Bunny?” Ruby mumbled.

“In the car, remember? You brought Sparklehorn instead.”

Ruby clutched Sparklehorn tighter, eyes still closed. “She tired too.”

Paige laughed quietly and adjusted her arm again, starting to rise. “Want me to carry her out?”

Azzi nodded, already stacking her plate onto her tray. “If you don’t mind. She’ll probably be out again before we even get to the door.”

Caroline looked over, her tone still easy but laced with something deeper now. “Hey, thanks for letting us meet her.”

Azzi paused, just for a second, and then gave a small nod. “Thanks for not making it weird.”

Ines added, “She’s got an intimidating vibe. I respect it.”

They stood slowly, carefully, like moving too fast might burst whatever peace had formed around the table. Ruby let out a little sigh as Paige hoisted her more firmly, her tiny arms draped limply over Paige’s shoulder, cheek pressed against her collarbone like it was always meant to be there. Azzi gathered their trash with one hand and reached for Sparklehorn with the other, tucking the plush under her arm as she followed while Paige grabbed Ruby's backpack in her spare hand.

Behind them, the team lingered in the soft aftermath, not the kind of hush that came with awkwardness, but the kind that followed a moment worth absorbing. The kind that told you something had just shifted, even if you couldn’t name it yet.

--------------------

As they stepped toward the doors, Azzi glanced sideways, watching Paige hold her daughter like she’d been born to carry something that delicate. Paige looked back, just briefly. Just enough for Azzi to reach out and touch her fingers to the small of Paige’s back, not to guide, not to hurry.

Just to be near.

The morning air was crisp, not cold, but just sharp enough to lift the sleepiness from Azzi’s limbs as they walked toward her car. Ruby was still draped against Paige’s shoulder like a breathing scarf, her fingers curled gently into the fabric of Paige’s hoodie, her cheek squished adorably against the collarbone she’d claimed as her pillow. Paige held her easily, like she’d been doing it for years, one arm beneath her knees, the other wrapped protectively around her back. The tiny backpack now slung awkwardly around Paige's back.

They reached the car, and Azzi unlocked the doors with a soft chirp from her keys. As Paige bent slightly to ease Ruby toward the car seat, she glanced up.

“So…” Paige said, voice quiet, “what happened this morning? Why’d you end up having to bring her?”

Azzi moved to open the back door, brushing hair out of her face as she exhaled. “Daycare texted. Power outage or something, totally shut down for the day. My parents were already out, and I didn’t want to cancel last minute on practice breakfast. She was already up, so I figured… what the hell.”

Paige smiled as she gently laid Ruby into the seat. “Worked out okay, I think.”

Azzi reached past her checking to make sure Paige buckled the harness correctly, fingers moving automatically, practiced. “Better than okay,” she murmured, glancing sideways. “I think she’s in love with you now.”

Paige leaned back as Azzi checked the final buckle and shut the door gently, sealing Ruby in with her half-finished dreams and a syrup-stained Sparklehorn.

They turned to face each other in the quiet.

“You look really hot when you do that, by the way,” Azzi said, voice low and unfiltered.

Paige blinked. “Clip in a toddler?”

Azzi nodded, back pressed against the car, one hand still on the handle. “Yeah. Like… dangerously hot.”

Paige raised a brow. “So all this time, I didn’t need game-winners or a three-point percentage? Just some car seat confidence?”

Azzi’s mouth curved. “Apparently.”

Paige stepped a little closer, enough that Azzi could feel the warmth of her in the space between them. “Good to know.”

The silence stretched for a beat, not awkward, just full of everything that had been building since Saturday. Since the arcade. Since the moment Paige leaned in and didn’t get to finish what she started.

Azzi let her eyes wander. Paige’s hands. Her mouth. Her eyes.

Then she laughed, softly, and shook her head. “So much for keeping things subtle.”

Paige looked amused. “In front of the team?”

“In front of anyone.” Azzi glanced toward the building. “Caroline nearly cried. KK’s probably making a TikTok analysis of your parenting technique. Ruby’s going to ask for you before I even get her home.”

Paige tilted her head. “She really clung to me, huh?”

“She doesn’t do that,” Azzi said, more serious now. “She’s never done that. Not with strangers.”

Paige’s expression softened. “I don’t feel like a stranger.”

“You’re not,” Azzi said, voice dropping slightly. “You haven’t been for a while.”

They were standing closer now, no real distance left between them. Paige’s hand brushed lightly against Azzi’s wrist, then lingered.

Azzi looked down at the contact and smiled, slow and teasing. “We’re not even dating yet, you know.”

“Yeah,” Paige murmured, her thumb sliding across Azzi’s skin. “I’ve noticed.”

“So what is this?” Azzi asked, not pulling away.

Paige leaned in, voice low and warm. “This is me trying really hard not to kiss you again in front of your sleeping child.”

Azzi laughed, breath catching. “God, I want you to.”

Paige’s smile flickered, not cocky, not showy, just quiet and open. “Then come here.”

Azzi didn’t hesitate.

She leaned in, hands slipping around Paige’s neck like it was already her favorite place to land. Paige met her halfway, their mouths brushing in a slow, careful kiss that deepened as the world around them blurred.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t unsure.

It was everything they hadn’t let themselves have yet, soft and full and long overdue.

When they pulled back, their foreheads pressed together, Azzi kept her eyes closed for a second longer.

“I really like you,” she whispered, lips still brushing Paige’s.

“I know,” Paige whispered back. “I really like you too.”

Azzi opened her eyes. “What do we do now?”

Paige’s voice was soft, steady. “We don’t rush. But we don’t hold back either.”

Azzi nodded slowly. “Okay.”

They stood like that for another quiet moment, until the breeze tugged at Paige’s hair and a small snore sounded from inside the car.

Paige stepped back reluctantly, already missing the warmth of Azzi’s touch. “You gonna text me later?”

Azzi opened the driver’s side door and smiled over her shoulder. “Only if you promise not to ignore me for Sparklehorn.”

“No promises,” Paige said, grinning as she backed away.

Azzi laughed, slid into the driver’s seat, and gave her one last look, eyes bright, mouth tugging into something that felt like the start of everything.

Paige waved once, slow and small.

And Azzi drove off with her heart still thudding behind her ribs.

--------------------

The call came just after eight, right on schedule.

Paige was already in bed, one leg tangled in the blanket, hair damp from her shower, her phone resting beside her like it was waiting. The moment the screen lit up with Azzi’s name, Paige answered instantly.

She didn’t even get out a full “hello” before Ruby appeared, eyes bright and wild, Sparklehorn half-eaten by the camera’s edge.

“PAIGEY! We already brushed but you didn’t do yours yet!”

Paige blinked into the screen, then burst out laughing. “I didn’t realise I was on the clock.”

“You are! Sparklehorn said so,” Ruby declared, completely serious.

From somewhere behind the phone, Azzi’s voice floated in, low and amused. “She made me wait to start the video until she was sure you were in pajamas.”

Ruby narrowed her eyes into the screen like she could see through Paige’s phone. “You wear the UConn shirt again?”

Paige angled the camera toward her chest, grinning. “Is this one acceptable to the unicorn court?”

Ruby gave a sage nod. “You can do it now!”

The next few minutes passed in the usual chaos. Paige brushed her teeth in front of the camera while Ruby narrated instructions like she was hosting a cooking show. Paige had to “wiggle” at least twice or face disciplinary action from Sparklehorn. Azzi didn’t say much — Paige could hear her moving in the background, picking up toys or folding laundry, but the occasional laugh slipped through, soft and private.

Eventually, Ruby yawned mid-sentence and blinked heavily, Sparklehorn now drooping sideways across her chest like he’d given up too. Azzi appeared properly on screen then, hair tied back, hoodie loose and sleeves pushed up, face flushed with that end-of-the-day glow that Paige had started to crave.

“I think she’s winding down,” Azzi said, brushing a hand gently through Ruby’s curls as she settled onto the pillow beside her.

Ruby’s eyes were barely open now. “Night Paigey…”

“Night Roo,” Paige whispered. “Sweet dreams, okay?”

Ruby reached toward the screen once, touched the glass with her fingers like it was a real goodbye, and then let Azzi guide the phone away. There was a little jostling, some shuffling as Azzi tucked her in, murmured something about Sparklehorn being on guard duty, then the camera flipped, and it was just Azzi’s face again, framed by warm lamplight, her expression softer now. Quieter.

She settled back on her bed, phone propped in front of her. Paige mirrored her, both girls lying on their backs in different rooms, looking at each other like the distance didn’t matter.

“She was waiting all day,” Azzi said, voice lower now. “She asked three times if it was ‘FaceTime o’clock’ yet.”

“She might be the only person who’s ever scheduled me like that,” Paige replied, smiling lazily. “Not even Coach gets that kind of loyalty.”

Azzi laughed under her breath, then looked at her for a second longer before speaking again. “She really likes you already, you know.”

Paige blinked, suddenly still. “Yeah?”

Azzi nodded, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “It’s kind of ridiculous. She barely lets my dad carry her like that.”

“I really like her too,” Paige said quietly. “I even got a name change, Im now Paigey”

Azzi’s smile tugged wider, soft with amusement. “Honestly, I lost count after her third nickname for you. First it was the smiley one, then the unicorn girl, and now Paigey”

Paige laughed. “I think I’ve been promoted.”

Azzi smiled, “Yeah, well... once she starts renaming you, that’s it. You’re part of her world now.”

Paige glanced toward the photo booth strip hung up on her wall and smiled. “Feels like I am.”

Azzi looked at her for a long second and then, more quietly, “You are.”

The quiet between them stretched again — not heavy. Just full.

Then Paige shifted slightly, propping herself on one elbow. “Actually… I was gonna wait until tomorrow to ask you, but since we’re already having our very romantic post-toothbrushing moment…”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I want to take you out,” Paige said, lips twitching. “Like, officially. Just us. Thursday night.”

Azzi blinked. “A date?”

“Yeah.” Paige’s voice was casual, but her eyes were serious. “If you’re free.”

“I’m free.” Azzi’s smile grew. “Where are we going?”

Paige leaned closer to the camera. “That’s a secret.”

“A secret?”

“You’ll like it,” Paige promised. “I have a plan.”

Azzi grinned. “You planning makes me nervous.”

“You should be,” Paige said, smug.

They both laughed, then slowly fell back into the quiet — the soft, late-night kind that didn’t need to be filled. Just felt.

After a while, Azzi’s voice came quieter. “Can I ask you something?”

Paige’s body stilled. “Of course.”

Azzi hesitated, then said gently, “Are you nervous about your mum coming to the game Friday?”

Paige exhaled slowly, the question landing with a softness that somehow still felt sharp. “Yeah. A little.”

Azzi didn’t speak, just let the space stay open for her.

Paige picked at a loose thread on her blanket. “She’s complicated. We’ve never really figured each other out. And seeing her with Ryan and Lauren always feels like… I don’t know. Like I’m visiting someone else’s life. One I’m not really part of anymore.”

Azzi’s voice was steady. “Does she know you feel that way?”

Paige shook her head. “I don’t think she wants to know.”

There was a pause. Azzi reached up to adjust her phone, eyes still on Paige. “You don’t have to carry that alone.”

Paige looked at her, really looked. “Yeah?”

Azzi nodded. “You know you’ve got a place here too, right?”

Paige swallowed around the lump in her throat. “Yeah. I’m starting to believe that.”

They didn’t say goodnight right away. They just watched each other, phones propped, matching shadows across both ceilings. And when Paige finally drifted off long after they stopped talking, her screen still glowed with Azzi’s face, quiet and still, eyes just starting to flutter closed too.

#azzi fudd #paige bueckers #pazzi fics #uconn wbb #paige x azzi #pazzi #wlw

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