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redeemingvillains · 1 month ago

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dove - mattheo riddle

─✶⋆.˚ 𝔟�� 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔰𝔢 𝔞𝔰 𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔭𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰, 𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔞𝔰 𝔡𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔰

summary: fed up with the way the slytherin boys create chaos without consequence, someone seeks to bring them down a notch by going after the one thing their strongest loves most: you.

warnings: this is relatively dark (for me anyway!) reader is attacked + kissed/touched against their will. mentions of blood, knives and violence.

word count: 6.6k 🫣

soundtrack: heathens - twenty one pilots

a/n: i promise this isn't deranged, there is ample flangst and a mattheo that would burn the world to the ground for you ♡

If you'd heard it once, you'd heard it a thousand times.

Be careful. He's dangerous. You don't know what you're getting yourself into.

As if you weren't an adult, perfectly capable of making your own decisions, of reading people, of caring for your own heart.

On paper, you and Mattheo Riddle made no sense. You were quiet and calm, friendly and compassionate, quick with a warm smile and a hug. You were light and laughter and goodness.

By contrast, Mattheo was rough and edgy, quick to anger with a firecracker temper and a biting sarcasm like a venomous snake that kept everyone but his closest friends at an arm's length. But around you? He melted.

It was like you held the key that unlocked his defenses, allowing you to walk straight into the dark center of his heart. He would have mocked any guy who fell for a girl the way he fell for you: immediately, irrevocably and hard. And once he had his mind made up about you, there was little you could say in the matter (not that you were arguing).

He showered you with a depth of affection that was rare for anyone, let along the brooding bad boy of Hogwarts.

Suddenly, he was just there, beside you in class, next to you at meals, and keeping you company in the library as you studied. Before long you began to crave the feeling of his presence, of his warmth next to you, of the low rumble of his voice meant only for you to hear as he shared an inside joke or complimented you. He'd eagerly watch your face light up in return, the twinkle in your eyes, the lift of your lips and your happiness became a high for him that he wouldn't stop chasing; making you happy and keeping you happy became his mission, one that he succeeded at in every way.

Then late one night in the library you were huddled close together as a storm racked the castle outside, sending wind and rain against the large windows. Your heads were close together as you spoke in whispers. You looked at him and smiled and for just the breath of a second your eyes flitted from his eyes to his lips, and that was all the invitation he needed. He leaned in slowly, winding his hand to cup the side of your face as he pressed his lips to yours and he kissed you with tenderness and hunger, the combination of which pulled you out of your seat and onto his lap. And once he realized how bright you shined after he kissed you? He was a goner. And so were you.

There wasn't a thing anyone could say to you about Mattheo after that that you would have listened to, because he had you, heart and soul. He treated you like royalty, he protected you like treasure and he loved you with everything he had in him. What more could a girl possibly ask for?

You fell in step with Mattheo's long strides on your walk to breakfast, the early morning light beaming through the stained glass windows.

He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side, right where he always wanted you, as close to him as possible. You nuzzled into his neck and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

As usual, the sea of students in the corridor dipped and dodged out of your way, leaving a wide berth for your group out of deference and intimidation. It was odd for you at first joining the group that held the rest of the school in such rapt fear because it was immediately obvious that they were just like everyone else, they just didn't care to show that side of themselves to the world; they were fun-loving, goofy, affable and caring and they quickly adopted you as one of their own.

You rounded the corner to the Great Hall and Mattheo went crashing into a figure that hadn't had the wherewithal to get out of his way. He tightened his grasp on you out of instinct and narrowed his eyes towards Seamus Finnegan who had dropped the entire stack of books he'd been holding and looked ready to argue about it until he saw who he was confronting. He bit his tongue instead, averted his eyes, and stepped out of your way.

Mattheo moved by him without a word, the slight already forgotten, but you glanced back with the smallest ounce of pity in your eyes as Seamus knelt to the floor to gather his books and a few Gryffindors came to help him.

"M'fuckin' sick of it" Seamus said quietly once you were out of earshot. "Him, them, walkin' around like they own the school" he shot a nasty glare in the direction of the Slytherin table.

"Good luck doing anything about it" Ron sighed, resigned. "Nasty temper, that one" he added, eyes shifting warily towards Mattheo like he might actually have the ability to hear him from the other side of the loud hall.

"It's cruel is what it is! Neville is still trying to recover from Nott hexing him. He claimed it was an 'accident', but we all know the truth. He should be expelled!" Hermione added hotly, her cheeks flushing at the idea of anyone breaking the rules and getting away with it.

Seamus grimaced as he stared at your group, at the ease with which you had all carried on with your morning, laughing and joking, boisterous, without a care in the world because you knew you were all completely untouchable, above reproach or reprimand.

He knew there wasn't a thing he could do in retaliation without ending up in the infirmary or worse he thought solemly.

What I wouldn't give to take them down a notch his mind whirled, to make them feel something, to feel vulnerable, on edge, afraid like the rest of us.

His eyes narrowed.

Surely there was a weakness, a vulnerability he could find, something something to level the playing field. His eyes skated over Draco and Blaise, over Theo's large frame and Lorenzo's tall figure before they landed back on Mattheo, and finally on you.

You.

He watched the way Mattheo kept his arm around you, as he always did, keeping you close to his side like you were two parts of one whole and Seamus thought about the way he'd seen Mattheo pull you even closer when he'd run into him. He watched, really watched him turn to look at you when you talked and saw a surprising softness in his normally cold, dark eyes.

It was no secret that you two were together, Mattheo loved kissing you openly, unabashedly, anywhere and everywhere he pleased: in between classes, after quidditch matches, at meals, even in class from time to time with a complete disregard to anything the professors said about it.

If there was one thing anyone knew or had learned the hard way it was that you were one hundred percent off limits and to think otherwise was a death wish.

Seamus remembered the transfer student several months ago that had unknowingly asked you out, and how Mattheo had broken his nose over it. Twice. Never mind the time Mattheo happened to overhear a Ravenclaw compliment your outfit, and he ended up puking slugs for weeks.

Seamus shuddered.

Mattheo had an appetite for violence and a temper that never burned hotter than when it came to you, sending him into a fitful spiral.

She's his weakness he realized.

"I have an idea" he said to the group around him.

Weeks later, your feet carried you quickly down the winding stone staircase from Divination. You were first out the door, eager to spend every second of the short break you had between classes with Mattheo as you always did at this time in the neighboring stairwell of the North Tower.

You turned the corner to see him leaning against the wall, waiting for you and your face lit up as you strode toward him in the small, empty space. He stood up straighter as he took you in and he fidgeted with his hands in an unusually nervous way that had you laughing as you approached him and pressed into him, winding your arms around his neck.

"Hi handsome" you breathed against his lips before you kissed him.

But it was like kissing a statue.

His lips sat unmoving against yours, his hands awkwardly at his side.

"Matty?" you asked, pulling back to look at him to see the same look of genuine nerves on his face, his cheeks flushed.

You laughed again, totally confused at his reaction.

"Are you okay?—"

"—Y-yeah" he mumbled before running his hands slowly up your sides. "Yeah, m'so good" he confirmed before tugging you into him.

His lips met yours but something was still off, he was stiff and awkward. You moved to pull away from him again but his grip on you tightened, holding you in place until he swung you around and pushed you against the stone wall so quick and so hard your head knocked against the surface painfully.

Mattheo was a lot of things.

But careless with you was not one of them.

Your heart raced in your chest as your head throbbed. You pushed against him, but he was unwavering as he deepened his kiss aggressively, sloppily, despite your growing protests. And then he bit your bottom lip. Hard. And you tasted blood.

"Ah! Mattheo - what the fuck!" you said, shoving him hard this time as your hand flew to your bleeding lip.

He looked completely disheveled, flushed, his eyes glazed as he stared at you. Your stomach roiled.

And then you earnestly began to panic because for the first time in the year you'd been together you were keenly aware of how tall and how big he was, and how helpless you were in comparison.

Your heart began to race and your breaths came fast and shallow as you searched his face for any sign of the boy you loved and every cautionary word you'd been told came racing back to you: Be careful. He's dangerous. You don't know what you're getting yourself into.

Those fears mixed with how fiercely you loved him in a cocktail of confusion that left tears burning in your eyes as you tried to hold back a sob.

At the sight of that he smirked and a chill ran down your spine.

You tried to run.

He grabbed you.

"C'mon dove" he said, caging you in with his arms against the wall despite how you squirmed. "I know you like it like this" he muttered as lips attached to your neck and he began to suck and bite you.

Dove?

He'd never once called you that.

You scraped against his chest. You tried to shout until he put a hand over your mouth and it was like he was intentionally trying to mark you, sucking your skin so hard you could feel the bruising as you pushed and punched him to no avail. He reached for the top of your shirt and yanked, tearing it as buttons flew off.

You were crying hard now as you fought his hands when suddenly voices echoed in a nearby corridor and he pulled away from you.

His grip loosened and his eyes flashed with fear, and then he left, taking off down the corridor without a word.

You sunk to the floor in disbelief, gasping to catch your breath as cries ripped from you and you wrapped your arms around yourself, your brain a mottled mess as you tried to comprehend what the fuck had happened to your boyfriend.

As soon as you could steady yourself, you grasped your torn shirt with shaking hands and made your way as quickly as you could to the common room through a series of passageways and abandoned corridors to avoid running into anyone.

You snuck into the dungeons, head down, desperate to get to your room, when you heard your friends' voices.

"There she is. Hey! YN!" Blaise shouted.

Shit.

You tried to ignore him, to act like you didn't hear anything.

"YN!" Theo called after you, louder. "Hang on, I'll get her" he said, standing to come after you.

You tried to walk faster, doubling your pace.

"Hey, hey!" Theo said, catching up with you easily with his long strides. "Have you seen Mattheo? He—"

He reached for you and you pulled out of his grasp, turning to face him and he stopped in his tracks, the words dying on his lips as his eyes widened and the color drained from his face.

"YN" he said quietly, intently. "What the fuck happened to you? Holy shit."

He reached for your face, taking your chin in his warm hand, his touch so soft and gentle, so completely opposite of everything you'd just experienced that you immediately began to cry.

"Bella, your lip" he said, panic slipping into his tone both at your reaction and the sight of the blood there. "Who the fuck did this?"

You closed your eyes and shook your head and he slowly wrapped his arms around you. Your head fell to his chest as you grasped him, soaking his jumper with your tears.

By now, Draco, Lorenzo and Blaise had come over and were muttering softly.

"Bloody hell."

"This is fucking mental, mate."

"Matty is going to kill them."

And at just the mention of his name, you pushed further into Theo's chest, burrowing there like you could hide from the world.

"Bella, you're going to have to tell him, you can't protect whoever did this" he said, misreading your reaction.

"Well, we'll have to find him first. He'd better hear this from us" Blaise said.

Find him?

"W-what do you mean find him?" you muttered against Theo's chest.

"Haven't seen him since breakfast. Wasn't in class this morning and didn't come for our smoke" Draco replied.

Your head ached as much from your tears as it did from where he'd pushed you into the wall as you tried to process that. What had he been doing all day? And what the hell had gotten into him?

A burst of laughter, shouts and a loud wolf whistle echoed from behind you and pulled the group's attention to the door. You peeked from the comfort of Theo's arms to see Mattheo walking in... in his underwear.

"Thank you, thank you" he smirked, bowing cockily to the group of onlookers who cheered and gawked at his half-naked body, moving to make his way towards his room until he saw your group.

"There you fuckers are" he said as he approached. "I have had a fucking day - someone's getting their face rearranged—" but he stopped midsentence when he got close enough to see you in Theo's arms.

"What's going on? What's wrong?" he asked, stepping towards you immediately.

Theo moved to let you go but you gripped him tighter, hiding yourself, refusing to move.

Mattheo stopped, startled by your reaction like he'd run into a brick wall. He stood at a distance from you, completely unmoored by the sight of you grasping onto someone else for comfort. His heart began to thump heavily and angrily in his chest and his cheeks flushed in irritation and embarrassment.

He let out a steadying breath, his jaw clenched as his eyes slid to Theo, the decided object of the brewing anger he felt.

"What. The fuck. Is going on?" he asked again, his fury palpable.

"It's not—I don't—" Theo stumbled.

"—She hasn't said anything, mate" Enzo clarified.

You could feel yourself begin to shake and a dam of pressure welled up behind your eyes at how angry Mattheo was, at how afraid you were to be near him, at what he might do or say next and yet at the same time, how much you craved his comfort, how you knew he was the only person who could truly make you feel better.

Your tears came hot and wet down your cheeks as you cried into Theo's chest and Mattheo felt something crack inside of him. He'd never once seen you like this and he felt a wave of nausea wash over him, sick over how upset you were, sick that you were in pain, sick that you didn't seem to want him or to be anywhere near him, sick that he didn't know what to do or how to help.

"B-baby, please?" he said, nearly begging as he tried to move closer.

The tone in his voice and the affectionate nickname tugged at your heart.

You swallowed and turned your head to look at him, gently, tentatively letting Theo go.

Mattheo's eyes met yours before they wandered over your face.

His face fell.

And he stopped breathing.

A cold sensation like the ooze of a cracked egg ran down his body as he looked at you.

Your mascara was smeared, caught in the tears that were running down your face. Your cheeks were red and flushed and your lip was swollen and bleeding. He catalogued the bruises down your neck and marks that looked an awful lot like bites there too that led to your ripped and tattered shirt.

Mattheo had been angry plenty of times in his life, and for good reason. But this was the first time he felt it. He could have told you where and how quickly the rage pulsed in his veins, blooming hot in his chest, pumping into his arms, into his hands that curled into fists and ached to hit something, into his stomach, his legs that wanted to run, to cause chaos and destruction until he fixed this.

But he didn't expect the next emotion that hit him like a dark wave in a stormy ocean, all consuming, nearly bowling him over: deep and overwhelming sadness.

"N-no, no no no who-who did this? Baby" his voice ached with pain as he moved to step towards you again, desperate to hold you, to make it better as quickly as he could.

You took a small, hesitant step back and looked at him with confusion, with trepidation.

And you said the next words so quietly he was certain he'd heard you wrong.

"You" you whispered.

His face scrunched in confusion.

"It was you" you said louder and all the boys turned to look at you and then back to Mattheo.

"In the stairwell? Our spot?" you said pointedly, trying to get him to remember.

"You were there, waiting for me, but you were... off. Different. And then y-you..." you gestured to yourself as you tried to keep from coming undone again at the memory.

Theo took a protective step closer to you.

Mattheo carded his hands through his hair in exasperation where they rested atop his head as he paced a step back and forth before stopping in front of you. It was taking his entire willpower not to lose his composure, and not to launch at his best friend.

"I got jumped this morning" he said patiently, evenly, though his underlying anger was still very much there. "I woke up in a broom closet ten minutes ago with no fucking clothes."

"B-broom closet?" you muttered, confused.

"Yeah, it was maddening, had to break the door down and— look, that doesn't matter. Please please tell me you believe me."

Your mind was reeling. You opened your mouth hesitantly to reply, but you couldn't find your words, your emotions, your fear, everything you felt far too raw.

He let out another deep breath and then crouched in front of you, making himself smaller, less threatening as he met your gaze directly.

"You are the most important person in my world. You know that, right? You are everything to me. Everything that is precious and perfect and right. And I would never ever hurt you."

You met his dark brown eyes that were shining intently up at you, unflinching in their truth and you nodded despite your tears and sniffles. Of course you knew that, which was why everything that happened this morning was so fucked up.

He slowly extended his hand to you, palm up, wordlessly asking you to believe him, to trust him.

"You're okay now, you're safe. No one can hurt you, no one can fucking touch you when I'm here, when we're all here, okay?"

And gods you'd needed to hear that. You nodded again, more strongly now.

"We're going to figure this out. And I'm going to fix this, I can promise you I will fix this. Hey, can you look at me?"

Your eyes met his and more hot tears fell down your cheeks at the gentleness and patience in his expression, the way he was nearly on his knees begging for you to trust him, to believe that the boy in front of you in no way could have been the boy from this morning and you pursed your lips.

"I love you" he whispered.

And those words alone healed a significant part of your hurt.

You slowly placed your shaking hand in his and it was like your body immediately registered the difference in his touch, how he tenderly ran a thumb over your knuckles as he continued to speak softly to you as he stood up.

"I've got you, you're going to be okay. It's me, I'm here" he said as he slowly pulled you toward him.

You took one step, and then another, and then you curled yourself against his warm chest and you let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding as you grasped him. He held you tightly to him, squeezing hard, and his hand held the back of your head as he pressed his lips to your temple.

You sniffed and let out a few more shaky breaths, letting him consume you, trying to replace every memory from this morning with his touch like it could pull the fear from you as you listened to his heartbeat and took in his familiar smell.

Theo cleared his throat as politely as possible.

"Really hate to break up the moment, but if you spent the morning in a broom closet, then how the fuck were you also walking around the North Tower?—"

"—Polyjuice potion" Draco said, without missing a beat, his brow furrowed in thought. "It's the only logical explanation, would also explain why they had to take your clothes" he gestured to Mattheo's half-naked body.

"What?!" Blaise exhaled in disbelief.

"So you mean to say someone planned all of this? Went through all of this effort just to get to her?" Theo asked, and you could hear the fury rising with his tone.

Mattheo's arms squeezed around you, a subconscious reaction to the thought.

"What kind of sick fuck?—"

"—I'm going to kill them" Mattheo said flatly.

And it wasn't a turn of phrase.

He'd said it so plainly, so matter-of-factly that you nearly believed him and hugged him back a little tighter.

"Do you have any idea who it was?" Lorenzo asked.

"No you dipshit, don't you think if she knew it wasn't him this wouldn't have happened?" Draco replied, smacking him in the back of the head.

Theo and Blaise chimed in, arguing the point with one another.

"He did say something weird" you mused quietly, silencing them all as they turned to look at you. "He called me dove" you said, shaking your head at the memory, like you could make yourself forget it.

Mattheo held you that night in a way that made you wonder if he'd ever let you go again. Every minute you spent back with the real him seemed to stitch you together again, to heal and comfort you as you snuggled further into his arms.

He'd apologized no less than a thousand times by now, the guilt steadily eating away at him, even though he had nothing to be sorry for, which you continually reminded him.

"You're a fucking angel" he sighed, unable to stop thinking about it as he traced a thumb over your cheek, his expression sorrowful and raw. "Someone did this to you because of me."

"Matty, that's not—"

"—I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I should have been there."

"It's okay, it's not your fault. I'm okay now" you said, smiling, feeling the words as you said them, tracing a finger down the bridge of his nose.

You tried to reassure him the rest of the night, managing to coax a few smiles out of him, but his eyes never left you, like he feared looking away for a single blink would leave you in danger. And although a spell had mended your lip and healed your bruises, he continued to trace his fingers over where each mark on your skin had been, like he was reminding himself, committing them to memory.

Nothing could have prepared you for the tension of the days that followed.

The whole group was on edge, like a pack of rabid dogs, ready to snap at anyone that got too close to you. One if not all of them walked you to every class, to every meal, to every event, to Hogsmeade and back again; Mattheo even insisted on showering with you and sleeping with you every night, much to you sincere enjoyment.

The boys spent their days eyeing everyone with suspicion and their nights trying to plot out who might have attacked you. Five guys were walking around the castle with black eyes, but no one had come clean and it was slowly driving them mad; the lack of answers was taking the situation from a serious problem to a personal vendetta.

Two weeks passed. And though the tension remained, you were settling into the heightened level of protection, finding a sense of calm in the way the boys surrounded you like a security blanket. You had every confidence that they would figure this out and until then all you could do was seek a return to normalcy, to focus on the present.

You grounded yourself with the task at hand, potting bundles of dittany during Herbology class shoulder to shoulder with your friends at a long table in the warm greenhouse, the boys acting as a veritable wall between you and the Gryffindors.

Your eyes caught Mattheo's across the narrow table from you and you watched the way the spring sun caught his dark locks. He sent you one of his signature smirks and a quick wink that made you blush and smile.

Your classmates chattered back and forth quietly until a phrase wafted down the table as Seamus Finnegan leaned over to Hermione Granger.

"C'mon dove, help me out?"

And it was like someone sucked the air out of the room. The warmth in the greenhouse suddenly felt stiflingly hot and you could hear the blood rushing to your head as it whooshed in your ears.

Time slowed to seconds like the tick of a broken time-turner.

Five.

Your eyes lifted and met Mattheo's whose had lost all warmth and peace in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. They were devoid of color, clouded, jet black. His jaw ticked as he looked at you, asking you wordlessly to confirm what he'd just heard.

The trill of Finnegan's voice, the accent was all too familiar, it was undeniable and it sent you spiraling back to that morning in the stairwell in a way that had you woozy on your feet. You nodded, small and quick back to him.

Confirming what you'd thought so many times before, that there was an inexplicable bond that linked the boys together, four sets of eyes wordlessly confirmed the same.

And then chaos erupted.

Four.

Lorenzo ran for Finnegan and Theo dropped the plant in his hands, sending shattered pottery and dirt flying in his rage, hot on Enzo's heels.

Three.

Your eyes followed them both but fell to Draco who had started moving in the opposite direction, frantically pushing past classmates who were looking around in panic as he tried to reach Mattheo.

Two.

You glanced at your boyfriend.

He hadn't moved.

He wasn't making a scene, but he'd pulled out his wand, and for the life of you, you couldn't remember a time when he'd favored his magic over his fists.

Oh no you thought as you began to move towards him yourself.

One.

Mattheo stood straight and tall, brandishing his wand with unflinching confidence and surety as he pointed it directly at Finnegan's head.

"AVADA KE—" his voice boomed.

"—Not like this, mate!!" Draco shouted, grabbing his arm at the last possible second.

"Get the fuck off of me!" Mattheo roared, the contact breaking him out of his stupor as he thrashed in Draco's arms.

By now the others had wrangled Finnegan whose face was as green as the detail on their robes; he knew he was utterly and hopelessly fucked, and if you weren't sure before you were certain now that it had been him, the guilt so clear on his face it might as well have been written on his forehead. Your skin crawled.

The rest of your classmates were running and screaming, tearing by you to flee the room as your feet kept you cemented to the floor.

"You're dead! You're fucking dead!" Mattheo's voice echoed, as he screamed and thrashed in Draco's arms.

"You're going to wish for death, you're going to beg me for it, Finnegan! How dare you, how fucking dare you!!!"

Draco was barely holding onto him as they all walked quickly towards the back of the greenhouse.

You moved to follow until Blaise came up beside you and gently reached for you, pulling you into the throng of people fleeing.

"C'mon" he said, softly but firmly guiding you the other way, back towards the castle. "They've got this, you don't need to be here for this—"

"—But this is because of me, Blaise" you urged, pulling back, frantically looking between him and the disappearing figures of Mattheo and your friends, his raging threats echoing off the glass walls in a way that amplified them.

"No, this is because of Finnegan" he said coldly, following your gaze. "And he'll get what's coming to him."

Blaise guided you quickly back to the castle, back to the common room and he tried his best to keep you company, to keep you occupied, though neither of you could properly focus on anything else.

"It'll be alright, right?" you asked quietly, for the hundredth time.

He nodded steadily. "It'll be alright, YN" he reassured you.

You sighed.

"This is just... a lot" you admitted.

"Babe, if you wanted someone to be level-headed and normal about you, you're with the wrong guy" he said in attempt to make you smile.

You smiled weakly and toyed with the fringe of the blanket that you pulled into your lap.

An hour passed.

And then four more.

You skipped dinner and sat in the secluded corner of the common room with Blaise until it emptied and the embers in the fireplace burned low, nearly out. You had sat quietly together now for hours. You were exhausted of conversation and exhausted from the wash of emotions from the day, a mix of relief, of pain in reliving the memories upon hearing Finnegan's voice, of worry about what exactly was going on.

You'd never seen Mattheo like that; he had been completely unhinged and you recalled his words the day it all happened. "I'm going to kill them" spoken like a vow, an oath.

It was beyond late before the door snicked open quietly and the four boys walked in without a sound. You and Blaise stood and they met Blaise's eyes first, nodding at one another before your friends departed, leaving you with somber smiles to be with Mattheo.

You navigated around the couches to him, your footsteps quickening to close the distance and you pulled him into your arms. His body was stiff with tension, but you felt it begin to melt away the second you touched him; he nuzzled into you and you could feel the tired on him, mixed with a burdened sense of relief.

"Come on" you said, taking his hand and leading him to your bedroom.

He sat down on the corner of the bed in the dim light and let out a sigh like he was trying to unload the weight he'd been carrying, his shoulders slumped as he ran his fingers through his hair. You stepped between his legs and reached for his hands the way you always did, ready to tend to them.

"They're fine" he croaked, his voice hoarse as he met your gaze, smiling softly at you, taking you in. You could tell he was trying to distract you and when he rested his hands on your hips and moved to pull you into him, he almost succeeded.

You pressed a quick, searing kiss to his lips and then reached to pull his hands off of your hips and he relented, sighing again.

His knuckles were badly bruised and bloodied, at least two of them looked to be broken from what you could tell and a frown crested your lips to know that the same hands that were so gentle with you could be capable of such violence.

But it was the crimson blood that stained his palms, that gathered under each fingernail that made you pause. That was new.

"Mattheo" you whispered, the question lingering in the air unspoken. What did you do?

"He's gonna be gone for awhile" he said plainly in response before his eyes met yours straight on, intense.

"And he is never, ever going to touch you again."

You pursed your lips and nodded, acknowledging that this was his way of apologizing, of making things right, of balancing the scales of justice as judge, jury and executioner.

He brought his bloody hands to your face, cupped it gently and kissed you.

Seamus didn't come back until well after spring solstice, weeks later.

Despite the rampant rumors and speculation, he didn't say a single word about what happened, like the boys had taken his very voice from him.

His face was still mottled with multicolored bruises, one eye swollen shut, evidence that even magic couldn't heal the extent of the damage they'd caused.

But even despite that, something you'd learned about your friends is that they were not quick to forgive and they never, ever forgot...

You were lounging by the Black Lake on an unusually warm afternoon, sprawled on a large blanket with your friends, your shoes and socks forgone and your skirt and shirtsleeves rolled up in an effort to catch a tan.

Mattheo himself was shirtless beside you, his eyes closed against the warm rays as you rested your head on his bicep. Theo, Enzo and Draco were sitting next to you playing exploding snap while Blaise flipped through a book, and you sighed, reveling in the rare moment of peace, which didn't last longer than fifteen minutes.

"Bit warm for a jumper, isn't if Finnegan?" Draco shouted.

Your eyes fluttered open and you turned your head to see a group of Gryffindors nearby.

Sure enough, the group was dressed like you, short sleeves, bare feet, but for Finnegan who was covered head to toe and was visibly dripping sweat. His faced flushed even redder at the comment as he averted his eyes, immediately shrinking in pure terror.

"Should take it off, mate" Lorenzo chimed in cheekily. "Enjoy the sun, no?"

Seamus swallowed but wouldn't meet their eyes.

You turned to look at Mattheo but he hadn't moved. His eyes remained closed though you could see a muscle tic in his clenched jaw.

"C'mon then" Theo said, sitting up like he meant to move. "Need our help? We'll come lend a hand."

Seamus looked like he was about to cry as his face crumpled.

You didn't know what they were playing at, but you could tell it was torturing him, and for the briefest moment you pitied him, until your memories came wading back, threatening to overwhelm you with the feeling of sickening fear and betrayal.

And it was like Mattheo could sense it, his eyes fluttering open to look at you as he tried to tug you back into his arms.

"Just ignore them" he said, his voice still scratchy.

But you saw Seamus pull his sweater over his head out of the corner of your eye and as it came away from his body you noticed the crimson lines covering his arms. Even at your distance you could feel the sickness of them, the curse of dark magic in the air and several people gasped and scrambled away from him.

You sat up and stared closer as you realized the lines spelled something.

On his left arm, MUDBLOOD in deep angry jagged letters, in wounds carved into his skin.

On his right, RAPIST.

He took one fateful look at your group and then got up and nearly tripped over himself as he ran back to the castle.

"Aww, was it something I said?" Draco cried after him.

"Bye!" Lorenzo waved cheerfully.

Blaise blew him a kiss.

And Theo watched his every move under dark lidded eyes.

But Mattheo was looking solely at you, trying to gauge your reaction, your understanding. He reached for your hand and twined his fingers in yours, pulling you back to lay down with him as he looked at you with vulnerability and caressed your cheek. Now you knew the truth. You knew just how dangerous he could be, just what lengths he would go to for you.

Your heart thumped wildly in your chest and your mind raced and for a moment it occurred to you to be scared.

Be careful. He's dangerous. You don't know what you're getting yourself into.

You thought about broken knuckles and black eyes, of blood-stained palms and the lingering feeling of dark magic in the air. You heard his voice rattling the panes of the greenhouse with his rage, 'You're going to wish for death, you're going to beg me for it!'

And then that same voice, from the same boy, sweetly, softly ‘No one can hurt you, no one can fucking touch you when I'm here, when we're all here. I love you, YN.'

And you thought about the caress of his lips against yours on a stormy night, of his warm arms around you, of the feeling of his calloused hands on your bare skin, and the rumble of his voice in his chest as your head lay on his heart.

"It'll never heal" he said quietly, bringing you back to the present moment. "No magic can fix it. He'll wear that reminder on his skin for the rest of his life."

His chocolate eyes warmed as they looked at you, asking you, one more time, to trust him, to tell him that you understood.

You smiled softly, and traced a finger over his lips and a calm comfort settled over you, a reassurance that no matter what life threw your way, this boy would be standing by your side, that he might burn the world to the ground but would never let a flame touch you, that this was simply how he loved: deep, sincere, serious and unrelenting.

“I love you” you whispered in reassurance before leaning in to press the sweetest kiss to his lips that melted his heart and proved to him that every sin he committed along the way would always be worth it, for you.

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey, @mattiesgf, @sleepiibunniiii, @darlingshecried, @girllblogging777, @foivetimesacharm, @clar2aa, @broadwaybaby123, @slytherinscreamqueen, @chelawrites, @loverliner, @smut-anarchy, @locknco, @pizzaapeteer

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #slytherin boys #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle flangst

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harrysfolklore · 6 months ago

Text

christ-max -mv1

summary: you invite your boyfriend max to spend christmas with you for the first time, however, your family doesn't quite believe you're dating a formula 1 world champion. wc: 5.8k

folkie radio: HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL OF YOUUUU! i hope you're having the best day ever with your loves ones. this fic ended up being longer than i intended but i hope you like it!

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

You're nestled into Max's side on his couch, wrapped in the soft throw blanket he keeps specifically for these quiet moments together. The afternoon light filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his Monaco apartment, casting a glow across the room. Your feet are tucked under you, and you can smell the lingering scent of the coffee you both made earlier.

The Netflix show you'd put on - some random documentary about deep-sea creatures - has become mere background noise. Max's fingers are threading through your hair in that gentle way that always makes you melt, occasionally stopping to massage your scalp. .

"I can't believe the season's actually over," you murmur, tracing lazy patterns on his arm. "Feels weird not having to plan around race weekends anymore."

Max chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest where your head rests. "Yeah, but now we have to plan around all the end-of-year events instead. Did you see how many galas and ceremonies are coming up?"

"At least those don't involve you flying halfway across the world," you tease, tilting your head to look up at him. His hair is slightly messy, free from its usual styling, and you resist the urge to reach up and run your fingers through it.

"True," he agrees, then glances at his phone on the coffee table. "Speaking of events, I can't believe it's already December. Christmas is going to be here before we know it. Guess time flies when you're busy winning championships."

Your heart skips a beat. This is the opening you've been waiting for. You've been thinking about this for weeks, planning how to bring it up. "Actually… I wanted to ask you something about Christmas," you start, sitting up slightly to face him better.

Max's blue eyes meet yours, curious. "What's on your mind?"

"Well…" you bite your lip, suddenly feeling nervous despite knowing there's no reason to be. "I was wondering if you'd want to spend Christmas with me and my family this year? I know we've kept things private, but I really want them to meet you, and-"

"Wait, really?" Max interrupts, his whole face lighting up with that boyish excitement that made you fall for him in the first place. "You want me to meet your family?"

You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm. "Of course I do. We've been together almost a year now, and they keep asking why I'm always smiling at my phone." You playfully poke his side. "Which is your fault, by the way."

He catches your hand, intertwining your fingers. "My fault? I'm just being my naturally charming self," he grins, then his expression turns slightly more serious. "But are you sure? I mean, won't they be surprised when you show up with, well…"

"With a four-time World Champion?" you finish for him, laughing. "Actually, my dad might pass out. He's been watching F1 since before I was born. He has no idea I've been dating his favorite driver."

Max's eyebrows shoot up. "I'm his favorite driver?"

"Don't let it go to your head," you warn playfully. "But yeah, he's got your merchandise and everything. It's actually kind of embarrassing how much he talks about you during race weekends."

Max throws his head back laughing, and you can't help but join in. "Oh God, this is going to be interesting," he says, wiping at his eyes. "What about the rest of your family?"

"Well, Mom will probably try to feed you until you burst - she's like that with everyone. And my little sister Ruby, she's seven and she's going to have so many questions. She's in that phase where she wants to know everything about everything."

"I can handle questions," Max says confidently, then hesitates. "What kind of questions are we talking about?"

You pretend to think about it. "Oh, you know, probably things like 'How fast have you ever driven?' 'Have you ever crashed?' 'Do you want to marry my sister?'"

Max nearly chokes on air at the last one, his cheeks turning slightly pink. "You're joking, right?"

"About Ruby? Nope, she has absolutely no filter," you laugh, then soften your voice. "But seriously, they're going to love you. Just be yourself - the you I know, not the racing driver everyone else sees."

He pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I'd love to spend Christmas with your family. I can't wait to meet them." He pauses, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Should I wear my race suit when I meet your dad?"

You swat his arm, laughing. "Don't you dare! He'll actually faint." You settle back against his chest, feeling warm and content. "Thank you for saying yes. It means a lot to me."

"Thank you for asking me," he murmurs into your hair. "I love you."

"I love you too," you respond, smiling as his arms tighten around you. The documentary continues playing, forgotten again as you both start planning for Christmas, trading ideas and jokes about how to break the news to your family.

You're sitting cross-legged on Max's bed while he's in the shower, your phone propped up against a pillow as you FaceTime your family. Your mom's face fills most of the screen, with your dad peering over her shoulder and little Ruby bouncing around trying to get a better view.

"Honey, we can barely see you. The lighting is terrible," your mom critiques, and you adjust your position slightly.

"Better?"

"Much better! Now, what's this important thing you wanted to tell us about Christmas?" Your mom asks, while Ruby shouts "Is it presents?" in the background.

You take a deep breath, trying to contain your smile. "Well, I wanted to let you know that I'm bringing someone with me this year… my boyfriend."

There's an immediate explosion of excitement. Ruby starts jumping up and down, your mom gasps dramatically, and your dad's eyebrows shoot up with interest.

"Finally!" your mom exclaims. "We've been wondering when you'd introduce him. You've been so secretive about this boyfriend of yours."

"What's his name?" Ruby pipes up, her face suddenly taking up half the screen as she pushes closer to the camera. "Is he nice? Does he like Disney movies?"

You laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Yes, Rubes, he's very nice. And his name is…" you pause, knowing what's coming. "Max. Max Verstappen."

There's a moment of silence before your dad bursts out laughing. "Good one, sweetheart. Now, what's his real name?"

"I'm serious, Dad. I'm dating Max Verstappen."

Your mom is trying to hold back her laughter now too. "Honey, isn't that the racing driver you and your father are always watching? The one your dad has all those caps and shirts of?"

"Yes, and I'm actually dating him," you insist, feeling your cheeks heat up.

Ruby's face scrunches up in confusion. "The fast car man? From TV?"

"The very same one, Rubes."

Your dad wipes tears from his eyes. "Come on now, what's next? Are you going to tell us you're best friends with Lewis Hamilton too?"

"Dad!" you groan, running a hand over your face. "I'm being serious! We've been dating for almost a year. I'm literally at his place right now!"

"In Monaco?" your dad asks skeptically. "Prove it."

You swing your phone around to show the familiar view of Monaco through the windows, but your dad just shakes his head. "Could be any apartment in Monaco."

"You're impossible!" you huff. "Fine, don't believe me. You'll see at Christmas."

Ruby presses her face closer to the screen again. "Will he bring his race car?"

"No, Rubes, he can't bring the race car," you say, softening your tone for your little sister. "But I promise you'll love him."

After a few more minutes of your family teasing you about your "imaginary Formula 1 driver boyfriend," you end the call with a mix of frustration and amusement. Just as you flop back onto the bed, you hear the bathroom door open and Max walks out, his hair still damp from the shower.

"How'd it go?" he asks, noticing your expression.

You let out a laugh. "They think I'm making you up. They literally don't believe I'm dating you."

Max raises his eyebrows, looking amused as he sits next to you on the bed. "Really?"

"Really. Dad laughed so hard he nearly cried. And Ruby, my little sister, just wants to know if you're bringing your race car for Christmas."

"Sorry to disappoint Ruby," he grins, then looks thoughtful. "You know, maybe we should've waited to tell them in person. The looks on their faces would've been priceless."

"Oh, don't worry," you sit up, wrapping your arms around his neck. "They'll still be priceless. Dad's going to lose it when he realizes all those times he was rambling about you during races, he was actually talking about his daughter's boyfriend."

Max laughs, pulling you closer. "What else should I know before meeting them?"

"Well, Ruby's seven and obsessed with Frozen. She'll definitely make you watch it and probably sing along too."

"I can handle that," he says confidently.

"And recite all the lines?"

"…Maybe not that."

"And act out the scenes with her?"

Max's eyes widen slightly. "What have I gotten myself into?"

You kiss his cheek. "Too late to back out now, Verstappen. You're stuck with us."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," he murmurs, pulling you in for a proper kiss. "Even if it means playing Olaf the snowman."

"Oh no, you'll definitely be playing Elsa. Ruby's very particular about casting."

The look of horror on his face makes you burst out laughing, and soon he's joining in too. As your laughter dies down, you can't help but think about how perfect this feels - being here with him, planning to spend Christmas with your family, even if they don't believe you yet. You can't wait to see their faces when you show up at their door with Max Verstappen himself.

"Hey," Max says softly, breaking into your thoughts. "What are you smiling about?"

"Just thinking about how Christmas is going to be interesting this year."

"Interesting is one way to put it," he grins. "Should I wear my race suit when we arrive?"

"Don't you dare! Dad will actually faint."

"That's kind of the point," he winks, and you grab a pillow to hit him with, both of you dissolving into laughter again.

"Let me guess, another text from 'Max Verstappen'?" your dad teases from his spot at the kitchen counter, making air quotes with his fingers. He's wearing one of his many Red Bull Racing shirts, completely oblivious to the irony.

"Actually, yes," you reply, rolling your eyes. "He'll be here soon."

Your mom chuckles while peeling potatoes. "Honey, you can just tell us who your boyfriend really is. We won't judge, even if he's not a Formula 1 champion."

"Mom, I've told you a million times-"

"LOOK!" Ruby crashes into the kitchen, pointing at the TV in the living room where they're showing highlights from the last race. "It's YN's boyfriend!" She dissolves into giggles, clearly in on what she thinks is a funny joke.

"Very funny, Rubes," you mutter, but check your phone again when it buzzes.

Max: "Just turned onto your street. Nice neighborhood 😉"

Your heart starts beating faster. "He's here," you announce, heading toward the front door.

"Oh, we're still doing this?" your dad calls after you, amused. "Should I get my Max Verstappen cap for him to sign?"

"Actually, Dad, yes, you should," you shout back, slipping on your boots.

"Sweetie," your mom starts in that gentle voice she uses when she thinks you're being ridiculous, "you don't have to-"

The sound of a car pulling up interrupts her. You open the front door and step out onto the porch, watching as Max's car comes to a stop in your driveway. Your family has crowded behind you in the doorway, probably expecting to catch you in your "lie."

Max steps out of the car, looking unfairly handsome in his dark winter coat and scarf. His face lights up when he sees you, and you don't hesitate to run down the steps toward him.

"Hi," he grins, catching you in a tight hug and lifting you slightly off your feet. "Missed you."

You hear a loud gasp behind you, followed by what sounds like your dad choking on air.

"Missed you too," you murmur against his chest before turning to face your family, keeping one arm wrapped around his waist.

The scene on your front porch is priceless. Your dad's mouth is hanging open, his face pale except for two bright red spots on his cheeks. Your mom has both hands pressed to her face in shock. Ruby is the only one moving, bouncing up and down with excitement.

"IT REALLY IS THE FAST CAR MAN!" she shrieks, breaking the silence as she barrels down the steps toward you both.

Max laughs, crouching down to her level. "Hi Ruby. Nice to finally meet you. Your sister has told me a lot about you."

"You're real!" she exclaims, poking his arm as if to make sure.

"Very real," he confirms, looking thoroughly amused.

"I… you… but…" your dad stammers, still frozen in the doorway.

"Hi, Mr. and Mrs. LN," Max says, standing back up and guiding you and Ruby toward the porch. "Thank you for having me for Christmas."

Your mom seems to snap out of her shock first. "Oh my goodness, please come in! It's freezing out here. I… oh dear… the potatoes… I should… more food… I need to…"

"Mom, breathe," you laugh, as Max follows you inside.

Your dad hasn't moved an inch, still staring at Max like he's seeing a ghost. "You're… you're actually… the Brazil overtake…"

"Dad, no F1 talk yet!" you warn. "Let him at least get his coat off first."

"Right! Yes! Coat!" your dad says frantically. "I'll take your coat! And then maybe… could you… would you mind signing my…"

"Collection?" you finish for him, smirking. "The one you thought I was making up?"

Max raises his eyebrows at you, remembering your conversation about your dad's merchandise collection.

Ruby tugs on Max's hand. "Do you want to see my Frozen dolls? And can we watch the movie? Sissy said you've never seen it!"

"Ruby, let him settle in first," your mom calls from the kitchen, where she appears to be panic-cooking. "Oh God, is the food good enough? Do Formula 1 drivers have special diets? Should I-"

"Mom, the food will be perfect," you assure her, then turn to Max. "See? I told you they'd be cool about it."

Max tries to suppress his laugh as your dad continues to stare at him in awe, your mom stress-cooks enough food to feed an army, and Ruby continues pulling on his hand.

"Very cool," he agrees, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Though I think your dad might need to sit down."

"I'm fine!" your dad squeaks, then immediately sits down heavily on the nearest chair. "Just… just give me a minute to process that my daughter is actually dating Max Verstappen and I've been accidentally talking about my future son-in-law during every race and-"

"DAD!" you exclaim, feeling your face heat up while Max chuckles beside you.

"What? I'm just saying… all those times I said 'that Verstappen boy would make someone a good husband someday' and it turns out-"

"Okay!" you interrupt loudly. "Who wants coffee? Max, come help me with coffee!"

As you drag a laughing Max toward the kitchen, you hear Ruby start explaining the entire plot of Frozen to him, your mom muttering about needing to buy more food, and your dad still talking to himself about racing statistics.

"Still think this was a good idea?" you whisper to Max.

He pulls you closer, grinning. "The best. Though you might want to tell your dad to breathe before he passes out."

"Can we build a snowman after coffee?" Ruby calls out.

"Only if Max gets to be Elsa!" you shout back, earning you a playful glare from your boyfriend.

Looking around at your slightly chaotic but loving family, and seeing how naturally Max fits into it all, you can't help but smile. This is definitely going to be a Christmas to remember.

The initial chaos has settled into a cozy scene in your living room. You're curled up on the couch next to Max, who has Ruby practically attached to his side. She hasn't stopped talking since everyone sat down, and Max, to his credit, is giving her his complete attention.

"And then Elsa makes this huge ice castle," Ruby explains, using elaborate hand gestures. "Can you drive as fast as Elsa runs up the mountain?"

"Probably faster," Max answers with a grin, making Ruby's eyes widen.

"Even in the snow?"

"Even in the snow."

Your dad, who's finally regained his ability to form complete sentences, sits in his armchair trying very hard not to bombard Max with racing questions. He keeps opening his mouth, then closing it again when you give him a warning look.

"It's okay, Dad," you laugh. "You can ask him one race question. Just one."

Your dad looks like he might cry from happiness. "The overtake in Brazil-"

"Which one?" Max asks with a playful smirk, and your dad launches into an enthusiastic discussion about racing lines and grip levels.

Your mom returns from the kitchen with a tray of hot chocolate and cookies, having finally accepted that she doesn't need to cook enough food for an entire F1 paddock. "Here we go. I hope it's okay, Max. YN mentioned you like hot chocolate."

"It's perfect, thank you," Max says warmly, accepting a mug.

Ruby immediately reaches for a cookie, then pauses. "Do race car drivers eat cookies?"

"Only the fast ones," Max whispers conspiratorially, making her giggle.

"Ruby, give Max some space to breathe," your mom says gently, noticing how your sister is practically in his lap.

"It's fine," Max assures her. "I have nephews. I'm used to it."

Ruby beams at this information. "Really? Do they like Frozen too?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure they'd love to hear your explanation of it," he says, and Ruby launches into another detailed plot summary.

You catch your mom watching the interaction with soft eyes, all her earlier panic forgotten. She meets your gaze and mouths 'He's wonderful' when Ruby isn't looking.

Your dad has moved on from Brazil to discussing tire strategies, but stops himself mid-sentence. "Sorry, I'm probably boring you. You live this stuff."

"Not at all," Max says sincerely. "It's nice talking about it with someone who understands racing. YN usually just tells me to stop being a nerd when I talk about tire compounds."

"Because you spent two hours explaining the difference between C3 and C4 compounds!" you defend yourself.

"It's fascinating stuff," your dad says eagerly, and Max nods in agreement.

"Oh no, there's two of them now," you mutter to your mom, who laughs.

Ruby tugs on Max's sleeve. "Can we watch Frozen now? Please? You promised!"

"Ruby, let Max rest a bit," your mom starts, but Max shakes his head.

"A promise is a promise," he says solemnly to Ruby. "Should we watch it now?"

Ruby squeals with delight, jumping up to get the remote. Your dad looks slightly disappointed that his racing talk is being cut short, but you can see him hiding a smile at Ruby's excitement.

"Fair warning," you whisper to Max as Ruby sets up the movie, "she knows every word. And she will sing along."

"As long as she doesn't expect me to sing," he whispers back.

"MAX!" Ruby calls, patting the spot next to her on the floor where she's arranged pillows. "You have to sit here! It's the best spot!"

Max obliges, settling down next to her while you stay on the couch, exchanging amused looks with your parents as Ruby starts the movie, already mouthing along to the opening music.

Your mom leans over to you. "I'm sorry we didn't believe you," she whispers. "He's lovely. And so good with Ruby."

"I told you," you whisper back, watching as Ruby explains to Max why Elsa has ice powers.

Your dad joins in the whispered conversation. "Think he'd sign my mug collection later?"

"Dad!"

"What? I'm just saying, Christmas cards would be sorted for the next few years…"

You're about to respond when Ruby shushes you all loudly. "This is the best part!"

Max catches your eye and winks, clearly enjoying himself despite being roped into a Disney movie viewing with a very enthusiastic seven-year-old commentator. Your heart swells watching him with your family, how naturally he fits in, how gentle he is with Ruby.

"Do you want to build a snowman?" Ruby starts singing along with the movie.

"Later, Rubes," you promise. "Let's watch the movie first."

She nods seriously, then turns to Max. "Pay attention to this part. It's very important."

"I won't miss a second," he promises, and Ruby beams at him before turning back to the screen.

Your mom reaches over and squeezes your hand, giving you a knowing look. Even your dad has stopped thinking about racing long enough to appreciate the moment – his youngest daughter sharing her favorite movie with your boyfriend, who happens to be the F1 driver he's been fan-boying over for years.

It's perfect, you think, watching your family and Max together. Different from how you imagined telling them, but perfect nonetheless.

"Shh!" Ruby whispers loudly. "Elsa is about to sing Let It Go!"

Max shoots you a slightly panicked look as Ruby starts to stand up, clearly ready to perform the whole number. You just grin and shrug. After all, you did warn him about the singing.

Later that evening, you finally manage to steal a moment alone with Max. Ruby had fallen asleep during the third replay of Frozen, and your parents took her up to bed before retreating to the kitchen to finish some Christmas preparations.

You find Max on the back porch, leaning against the railing and looking up at the stars. The winter air is crisp, and you can see his breath forming little clouds in the darkness. Quietly, you step out and wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his back.

"Hey," he says softly, turning in your arms to face you. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer. "Needed a little break from being Elsa?"

You laugh quietly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. "You were amazing with Ruby today. I think you're officially her new favorite person."

"She's a sweet kid," he smiles, then adds with a playful glint in his eyes, "Though I didn't expect to watch Frozen two times in one day."

"Just wait until tomorrow. She'll probably want to act it out."

He groans dramatically, but you can see the fondness in his expression. "The things I do for you."

"Mmm, and I appreciate every one of them," you murmur, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him softly.

Max responds immediately, one hand moving to cup your face while the other pulls you even closer. The kiss is gentle and unhurried, full of unspoken emotions. When you finally pull back, he rests his forehead against yours.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"For what?"

"For being so perfect with my family. For watching Frozen multiple times. For not running away when my dad started his racing commentary."

He chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest. "I like your family. Your dad's racing knowledge is impressive, your mom's trying very hard not to mother me to death, and Ruby…" he pauses, smiling. "Ruby reminds me of Victoria at that age."

You snuggle closer, seeking his warmth in the cold air. "I was so nervous about telling them, and then even more nervous when they didn't believe me. But this… this is better than I imagined."

"Even with your dad asking me to sign his entire Red Bull merchandise collection?"

"Hey, at least he waited until after dinner," you laugh. "Though I'm pretty sure he's in there right now planning which items to bring out first."

Max wraps his arms more securely around you, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I love you," he says quietly, and your heart skips a beat like it does every time he says those words.

"I love you too," you reply, tilting your face up for another kiss.

This one is deeper, more passionate, until you hear the back door creak and quickly step apart.

"Oh!" your mom exclaims, looking flustered. "Sorry, I just… wanted to ask about breakfast preferences… but it can wait… carry on!"

She disappears back inside, and you both burst into quiet laughter.

"We should probably go back in," you sigh, though you make no move to leave his embrace.

"Probably," he agrees, but instead of letting go, he pulls you back for one more kiss. "Five more minutes?"

You smile against his lips. "Five more minutes."

In the quiet of Christmas eve, wrapped in each other's arms, you can't help but think how perfectly he fits into your life, into your family, into your heart. Tomorrow there'll be more Frozen, more racing talk, more of Ruby's endless questions, but right now, it's just the two of you, and it's everything.

The winter sun is just beginning to peek through the curtains of your childhood bedroom, casting a soft golden glow across the room. You're wrapped in warmth, nestled against Max's chest with his arm draped around your waist. His steady breathing tells you he's awake before he even moves.

"Good morning," he murmurs against your neck, his voice still rough with sleep. His lips brush against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

"Morning," you whisper back, feeling his hand slowly slide beneath your sleep shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

"Sleep well?" he asks innocently, but his actions are anything but innocent as he presses closer, leaving a trail of kisses from your shoulder to your ear.

"Max," you breathe, caught between wanting to lean into his touch and knowing you should stop. "We can't… my parents…"

"Then we'll have to be very, very quiet," he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. His hand travels higher under your shirt, making your breath hitch.

You turn in his arms, ready to either give in or properly protest - though the way he's looking at you, eyes dark with desire and that signature smirk playing on his lips, makes you lean heavily toward the former.

"You're trouble," you murmur, reaching up to run your fingers through his disheveled hair.

He leans down to capture your lips in a heated kiss. "You love it."

Just as his hand starts to wander again, a voice pierces through the quiet morning:

"IT'S CHRISTMAAAAS!" Ruby's excited scream echoes through the entire house, followed by the thundering of small feet running down the hallway. "WAKE UP! WAKE UP! SANTA CAME!"

Max drops his forehead to your shoulder with a frustrated groan. "Your sister has impeccable timing."

"Welcome to Christmas with Ruby," you laugh, pressing a consoling kiss to his cheek. "I tried to warn you."

"YN! MAX!" Ruby's fists pound on your door. "GET UP! There are presents EVERYWHERE! And it SNOWED!"

"Five more minutes, Rubes!" you call back.

"NO MINUTES! NOW!" she insists, continuing to knock. "Mom said breakfast is ready and Dad made hot chocolate and I SAW A HUGE PRESENT WITH MY NAME ON IT!"

Max chuckles against your shoulder. "I suppose we should…"

"PLEASE!" Ruby calls again. "I promise I'll let you drink your coffee first!"

"That's quite the offer from her," you tell Max. "She usually doesn't allow any delays on Christmas morning."

"We're coming, Ruby!" Max calls out, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. "Give us two minutes to get dressed."

"TWO MINUTES! I'm counting!"

You can hear her dramatically counting down in the hallway, making Max laugh. "She's serious about this, isn't she?"

"Oh, you have no idea."

The living room is a festival of color and chaos when you finally make it downstairs. Ruby's bouncing by the tree in her Christmas pajamas, while your parents are settled on the couch with steaming mugs of coffee.

"Finally!" Ruby exclaims. "I counted way past two minutes!"

"Sorry, princess," Max says, accepting a coffee mug from your mom. "But I'm here now."

"Max, sweetheart, you really didn't have to get us anything," your mom says, noticing the pile of presents he'd arranged under the tree last night.

"Of course I did," he replies warmly. "It's Christmas."

Ruby's practically vibrating with excitement as your dad starts distributing gifts. "Can I open mine from Max first? Please?"

At your nod, she tears into the elaborate wrapping paper, gasping when she reveals a beautiful wooden chest with golden details. "It's like a treasure chest!"

"Open it," Max encourages, smiling.

Ruby lifts the lid carefully, her eyes widening. Inside is a complete collection of princess dresses, each one a perfect replica from different Disney movies, along with matching accessories and a tiara for each one.

"The chest is magical," Max explains, kneeling beside her. "Every time you open it, there might be a new surprise inside. And look at this…" He reaches in and pulls out a small envelope.

Ruby opens it to find a letter with the Disney castle letterhead. "Dear Princess Ruby," she reads aloud, her voice getting more excited with each word. "You are cordially invited to spend a royal weekend at Disney World, where you will have a private breakfast with all the Disney princesses…"

She doesn't even finish reading before launching herself at Max, nearly knocking him over. "Thank you thank you thank you! Can I try on the Elsa dress right now?"

"After presents," your mom laughs. "Let's see what else Santa brought."

Your dad opens his gift next, finding an envelope that makes him pause. "Son," he says, voice thick with emotion as he reads the contents. "This is…"

"VIP passes to the British Grand Prix," Max confirms. "Including garage access, grid walk, everything."

Your dad has to sit down, clutching the passes like they might disappear. "This is… I can't…"

"And this," Max hands him another package, "is just a little something extra."

Inside is a vintage racing jacket from your dad's favorite driver from the 80s, signed and authenticated. Your dad actually tears up.

Your mom opens her gift next, despite protesting again that Max shouldn't have gotten them anything. She unwraps a beautiful pair of earrings.

"Oh, Max," she whispers, "This is beautiful."

Ruby, who has been surprisingly patient, tugs at Max's sleeve. "Can we do my princess breakfast now?"

"After we finish presents," you laugh. "And maybe we should have real breakfast first?"

"But I'm a princess now," she declares. "Princesses have special breakfast times."

Your mom shakes her head fondly. "How about pancakes fit for a princess?"

"With chocolate chips?" Ruby negotiates.

"With chocolate chips," your mom confirms. "Max, honey, how do you like your pancakes?"

"However they're made is perfect," he assures her, but your mom is already heading to the kitchen, muttering about making sure she has enough chocolate chips.

Your dad finally finds his voice again. "Max, this is too much…"

"It's not," Max says firmly. "You're… you're family now. Or at least, I hope…"

He glances at you meaningfully, making your heart skip a beat.

Later, after pancakes and multiple princess dress changes from Ruby, you manage to steal some time alone with Max in your favorite spot on the back porch. The morning sun has warmed the air slightly, but there's still a crisp winter chill that gives you an excuse to stay close to him.

"Your turn," Max says softly, pulling out a small wrapped box from his pocket.

Your hands tremble slightly as you unwrap it, revealing a velvet jewelry box. Inside is a delicate silver necklace with two intertwined pendants - a heart and a tiny racing helmet.

"Max," you breathe, touching the pendants gently. "It's beautiful."

"Look at the back," he says quietly, his voice carrying a note of nervousness you rarely hear.

You turn the heart over to find an engraving: "You're my biggest victory. -MV"

"I love you," you whisper, pulling him down for a kiss. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as if you're the most precious thing in his world.

When you finally part, you hand him your gift - a wrapped box that makes him raise his eyebrows at the weight.

Inside, he finds a handmade scrapbook filled with your personal moments - sneaky paddock kisses, quiet mornings at home, victory celebrations, and candid moments no one else has seen. The final page holds a photo from yesterday - Max on the floor with Ruby, both laughing during their third viewing of Frozen.

"This is…" he starts, voice thick with emotion.

"Wait," you say softly, reaching into your pocket. You pull out a key on a simple keychain. "I thought… maybe… if you wanted…"

"Move in with you?" he finishes, breaking into that brilliant smile that never fails to make your heart race. "Yes. Absolutely yes."

He pulls you into another kiss, deeper this time, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other holds the key carefully.

"MAX!" Ruby's voice carries from inside. "I need help with my Cinderella shoes! And then we have to build a snowman! A FROZEN snowman!"

You both laugh against each other's lips.

"Duty calls, Elsa," you tease.

"Only if you'll be my Olaf," he grins, pressing one more quick kiss to your lips.

"Always," you promise, letting him lead you back inside where Ruby waits, already changed into her third princess dress of the morning.

Your dad catches your eye as you pass, "If you don't marry this boy," he whispers, "I will."

"Dad!"

"I'm just saying," he shrugs, then heads outside to join the snowman-building committee.

Your mom appears at your other side, wrapping an arm around you. "He's right, you know. He's perfect for you."

You lean your head on her shoulder, watching Max let Ruby direct him on where to place the snowman's arms. "I know," you smile. "I know."

"Best Christmas ever?" she asks softly.

Looking at your family, and Max in the middle of it all, belonging there like he's always been part of it - you smile.

"Best Christmas ever," you agree.

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ditzyrafe · 2 months ago

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— squirting in front of bf!rafe for the first time

warnings — oral (fem!rec), squirting, lewd language

the late afternoon light slanted through the blinds, striping your bodies in gold and shadow. sweat slicked the space between your skin and rafe's expensive sheets, which were already twisted into a testament of the last hour. you were close, impossibly close, riding that sharp, sweet edge where pleasure blurred into frantic need. rafe knelt between your thighs, solely focused on pleasuring you. his fingers moved with ruthless precision inside of you, hitting that spot while his thumb worked relentless circles against your clit.

"that's it, baby," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly purr that vibrated through your bones. he watched your face intently, eyes dark and hooded, tracking the flush spreading across your chest, the way your eyes were blown wide. he loved seeing you come apart for him, loved being the sole reason for the incoherent whimpers escaping your throat. "you can do it."

he shifted slightly, changing the angle of his fingers, adding a deeper pressure that sent a jolt straight through your system. you gasped, hips buckling off the mattress. this felt… different. the usual coiling tension was there, tightening unbearably low in your belly, but beneath it was a strange, building pressure, like an urgent need you couldn't identify. "rafe, i- oh god…"

"cum for me, baby. show me," he commanded softly, his thumb pressing down harder, faster.

the command, coupled with that impossible pressure, tipped you over. but it wasn't just the familiar, shattering waves of orgasm that ripped through you, making you cry out his name. it was accompanied by a sudden, shocking gush. a warm surge erupted from you, soaking the sheets beneath you, spattering onto his hand and wrist.

your eyes flew open in mortified confusion, the last shudders of pleasure mixing with sheer panic. you'd never done that before. "oh my god! rafe, i'm sorry-" you started, cheeks flaming, convinced you'd just humiliated yourself completely.

but rafe wasn't recoiling, wasn't looking at you in disgust. he'd frozen for a split second, feeling the unexpected warmth soak him, then he slowly lifted his slick fingers to his lips, tasting your sweetness on his tongue. a slow, predatory grin spread across his lips, transforming his features. his eyes weren't annoyed; they were blazing with a new, intense fire that burned only for you.

he looked back down at the evidence soaking the bed, then met your gaze again, his cock visibly pulsing with need at the sight of you. "don't you dare be sorry, baby," he murmured, reaching out to trace the edge of the wetness on the sheets with one finger. "you fucking soaked my bed for me." the possessiveness in his tone was sharper now, edged with something primal. "that was the hottest fucking thing i've ever seen."

before you could process his reaction, he surged forward, covering your mouth in a brusing kiss. his hands roughly gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him as he aligned his cock near your sensitive folds that were practically still dripping in arousal for him. he drove himself inside of you, hips halting so you could properly adjust to his size. "did that feel good?" he whispered huskily against your ear, his voice thick with raw, predatory pleasure that sent shivers down your spine despite the lingering shock.

"yeah? let'see how much of’a mess you can make on my cock."

taglist ; @13hischiers @rafesprecious @mayanqueenxx @dreewsepj @zoenighshade555 @feverg1rl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @onxlyemery (join here) | divider creds ; @/anitalenia @/fairytopea

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nightingale-prompts · 9 months ago

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Danny lives in a horror movie-DC x DP prompt

Based on my favorite book series "tales from the gas station"

It's not every day that a mission requires the league to travel to middle America in a bid to obtain a highly cursed artifact but it certainly is today.

Locating the Seal of Silent Ashes was a task usually given to Justice League Dark but Constantine was currently busy. So that meant it was left to the poster boys to get this done. They dressed in civilian attire to investigate the last location of the seal starting with the first building on the edge of town. A small dusty gas station near the woods.

The inside had an awful smell, like death and cleaning fluid. The lights gave off a greenish-blue tint. Rats could be seen out of the corner of your eyes. Most of the chips were offbrand and crappy.

Behind the counter was the teenage boy chewing gum. He looked up at the group before going back to reading his book. He had clearly seen better days but didn't show signs of caring about the state of his hair or bags under his eyes. He drank his coffee.

The air felt off.

"Hey kiddo, do you mind giving us directions?" Clark started.

The kid narrowed his eyes as he popped his gum.

"You're not from here. That or you're from that cult in the woods. Listen I'm not joining. Seriously, cosmic nihilism and fatalism sounds doomed. Hey wait-" the teen checked his notes " No, the cult killed themselves in that mass suicide 2 weeks ago. I forgot, sorry."

The teen didn't say anything else as he went back to his book.

The horrified look of the adults shared was almost hilarious. At least to the teen if he looked up.

"Oh, and stay out of the woods. I don't want the police to come back and ask about who saw you last. Seriously if whatever is in there tears you apart I won't feel bad. I put those signs out forever ago and if I get one more girl covered in blood running in here screaming about her dead friends I'll get a headache." The teen shrugged turning the page.

"What do you mean?! Why would-?! Who's killing people?!" Barry asked frantically as Bruce serched for more reports of missing people in the area.

"I don't know. Why would I know? If you want to go in the cursed forest go ahead. I mean that's how they all die. It isn't my job to stop you. My job is to sit here and watch this store." The teen huffed in annoyance.

Before anymore questions were asked the signal of the radio was disrupted and a demonic howl screeched through the radio.

"God damnit. That cunt is back. Stay here." The teen growled as he grabbed his bat from under the counter and walked out the back door. "String bean! Get off the fucking roof you bastard! You know that radio is all I have here!"

A chattering laugh like a death rattle was heard and the sound of 2 sets of feet was heard on the roof then they lept down.

"Come here so I can beat you to death!" The teen ran around the building towards the front of the gas station chasing-what the fuck is that!

It was like a human that was twisted to crabwalk on all fours backwards. Its face was contorted into a black stretched-out smile with no teeth. It had no eyes just black sockets. All its limbs were stretched out to an extra meter in length. It was a skinwalker of some kind with chalk-white skin. It was skittering away from the teen who was swinging his bat at its head.

"Stop running! I told you before what would happen if I found you fucking with me again!" The boy meant it as he finally landed a hit and began wacking it over and over it.

The skin walker screeched and tried to run for its life but couldn't.

After reducing the monster into a black puddle the black-stained teen came back inside to sit back down not paying anymore to the monster blood he was covered in.

"Sorry about that. Most of the freaks around here have learned to stay away from this place. That one is new and he doesn't listen. You'd think they'd learn but Sting Bean thinks he can torment me. Petty bastard." The teen sighed "anyways are going to buy anything or are you going to waste what oxygen we get in here with this shitty ventilation.

Diana couldn't help but admire the boldness of the boy. He had no hesitation or fear against the beasts of this area even if was crude.

"Does Constantine have a cousin or something? Just a more angry one" Barry whispered to Hal.

#dc x dp #dpxdc #dc x dp prompt #dp x dc prompt #danny fenton #danny phantom #batman #barry allen #hal jordan #superman #clark kent #justice league #diana prince #wonder woman #john constantine

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ozzgin · 8 months ago

Note

hear me out...

yandere prison..

runs normally, but the warden hired very specific people

and you just got falsely accused of a heinous crime

Yandere!Prison x Reader

A few years back I actually wanted to make a dating sim with a similar premise! So I might just redraw my old cover and recycle the characters, haha. content: gender neutral reader, violence

You've been accused of a crime you didn't commit. Even worse, you were speedily shipped to a maximum-security prison, despite your horror and your desperate protests. Your lawyers are scrambling to get you out as soon as possible, but it's not a guarantee.

You thought you'd be killed within the first moments after arriving. The three men you're sharing a cell with, however, turned out to be reasonable enough. Unexpectedly so.

The blonde one greeted you with a wide, merry smile. He's the friendliest of the bunch, despite his heavily scarred features. One of them seems to wear a mask at all times, and he doesn't speak much. The last one is polite, though he keeps his distance. His answers are curt and to the point.

You quickly noticed that all other inmates avoid you religiously. The tables empty when you put down your lunch tray, and during breaktime the yard fluctuates with people migrating to whatever corner is farthest away from you.

Today, you finally found out why: one of the prisoners happened to bump into you, and he promptly fell to his knees, begging you to not mention it to your cellmates. You are apparently sleeping next to the leaders of the biggest gang around. Even the guards are terrified to approach them the wrong way; the last one to do so was placed on permanent medical leave.

And yet, they are nice to you. In fact, you'd go as far as to say they're strangely protective of you, always looking out for your safety and hovering in your vicinity like trained dogs.

On your way back, you find the inmate who pleaded for your silence; his head nearly cracked open, held against the bathroom sink by your beloved blonde bunkie.

"Oops! You weren't supposed to see this," he laughs awkwardly. "Why don't you return to our room? I'll join you in a moment."

He flashes you his usual smile, innocent and somewhat silly. This time it appears particularly eerie, given it's stained by fresh splatters of blood.

[More yandere stories]

#doodle #yandere #yandere prison #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere imagines #yandere oc

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jinxessticktogether · 1 year ago

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i have half a week of having the house to myself and i have received a massive confidence boost tonight i will wake up tomorrow and not need to worry about what my mother will hurl at me first thing in the morning what if i can actually be productive what if the combination of these things ends up curing my fucking depression

#if i can keep up being this good at that game consistently i could literally make a career out of it #and honestly if i can then like. i fucking will #like this has come so so so naturally #it wouldn't be a surefire 'this will have me set for life' Obviously i'm well aware of the myriad things that can go wrong with it #but like.........#i don't even know how to describe playing it. it's not the usual fun you'd have playing a game it's more. i don't even know #it's. Instinct #like i jumped in having done the tutorial a year ago and then not having touched the game since #and immediately made top 3 and got 5 kills and only died bc i didn't know water killed you #it feels like i just Know what to do and it works and i'm #what the fuck #i hope i can keep this up consistently i hope this feeling stays the same because playing that game just feels Right #it's natural it's instinctual i don't fucking know #i sound like the most insane person ever rn but like???????#my whole life i've dreamed of maybe being able to make a living by playing games and being good at them #i gave that a shot trying to join overwatch esports a few years ago and Stopped bc it was just so toxic and draining and i wasn't improving #but this. this is different this feels like i'm supposed to be here???#idk. i wanna see where if anywhere i can take this #if i can keep this up consistently then i feel like i could chase it no matter what #i have one friend that i think would understand this feeling and he gets it from his work and he's been chasing it so determinedly i just #i feel like this could be the same for me. and that feels stupid on the one hand because it is a Video Game but like........ idefk #like i feel weird just comparing it bc his work is a serious and honestly awesome career and he's excelled in it #and again this is. a video game.#but. y'know???????

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snekdood · 1 year ago

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i feel like u shouldnt be allowed to say someone has an ideology if they dont even know wtf you're talking about

#idk maybe they came to their conclusions on their own and are more malleable than you think #like if you call me x thing and idek wtf you even really mean when you say it i kinda feel like you dont get to treat me as if im loyal #to some sort of ideology or internet community. clearly ive never interacted w others on this.#kinda puts a huge hole in your narrative for that person.#if they arent being influenced by some niche internet communty- instead of getting mad at them for not being what you wanna accuse them for #(yknow. instead of being mad at yourself for making assumptions 😒)#maybe try investigating why someone whos virtually a normie came to that conclusion and understand how underlying a lot of #ideologies are in a lot of shit.#you should be concerned that a normie is absorbing that kinda shit from normal-seeming sources #rather than assume theyre actively talking to a bunch of ppl online w those ideologies #bc i can tell you for sure- in my particular situation of my abuser accusing me of a bunch of shit- i havent talked to anyone about any #of my beliefs for shit #and if i did they were usually ppl who disagreed with me #my ass never joined any forums. never interacted w anyone w similar beliefs online. just watched videos or read articles.#be more concerned that theres ideologically-laced media being pushed to normies than getting mad at me about it #hey yknow what mati maybe if you focused on that and tried to tackle that situation you'd be more of a productive leftist!#instead of you know. trying to obliterate me from the internet bc god forbid someone hate you for your actions you refuse to acknowledge #ask me how ik its all performative holier than thou shit instead of genuine fucks being given to people effected by such beliefs.#though tbh- i am being VERY charitable with the idea my abuser knows wtf any of the things they accused me of actually means #i think its more like a. vague understanding. rather than actually getting it at all.#and i mean obviously i didn't know what they meant much either. still knew more than them. otherwise they wouldnt call me that shit #unless- no... you dont think--- maybe they were lying??? *gasp* who could've seen that coming !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!! !!! !#my abuser using the most buzzwordsy language to appeal to people who rely on buzzwordsy language for all the info they get???#instead of actually looking into the situation at all????? couldnt be.#u really think someone would do that??? just go on the internet and lie to people who for some reason they've gained the undying #trust of no doubt by being the most performative mf online?#vent

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nanaslutt · 1 year ago

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insatiable

ʚ synopsis: Choso accidentally discovers that you can squirt and he’s determined to make you do it over and over again

ʚ cont: fem reader, rough sex, multiple orgasms, squirting, mating press, dirty talk, he talks you though it, inexperienced choso, unprotected sex, cumming inside

ʚ note: another brilliant ask from 🌱 anon <3

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

The position he currently has you folded in is one that has you seeing stars behind your eyes. Your legs are folded against your body while Choso drops the weight of the bottom half of his body down onto your pelvis with each thrust, making his cock assault your sweet spot deep inside you to no end. It felt like your organs had molded to make room for Choso's cock.

His hard pelvis crushed yours each time he thrust into you, his hot skin smashing against your clit, making your walls spasm and squeeze around him ruthlessly. "God, you're so tight-" Choso gritted through his teeth, his hot breath tickling your neck as he whined and groaned against your skin. Each time he bullied his cock into your walls, you felt something coil itself tighter and tighter in your stomach.

It felt deeper and more intense than your usual orgasms, but you were being fucked with such force that you were unable to utter any words, only able to squeeze your arms tightly around your boyfriend's neck and cry choppy moans as he humped into you ruthlessly. "O-oh shit-" Choso's eyes twitched and his eyebrows furrowed as your jaw fell open, mouth forming a big O shape as the ball of tightness in your pelvis burst.

Choso placed his hands on the undersides of your knees and pushed his body up, allowing him to look at the mess you were making on his cock. His eyes opened in shock, his hips not even slowing a bit as he fucked streams of a white liquid out of your cunt. The feeling of you gushing out around him made him bite his lip between his teeth, his balls throbbing as he watched you have an orgasm like you never have before.

You gasped and breathed heavily as you struggled to come down from such an intense high. You placed your hands over your face, mortified and aware of what you just did. Choso paused his hips, relishing in the feeling of your tight cunt throbbing around him in the aftershocks of your orgasm as he struggled to comprehend what just happened. You'd never cum like that before.

A bead of sweat dripped down the side of Choso's face, sliding down his bare neck. His eyes were wide as he stared at your ruined cunt, a little swollen on the outside the force of his thrusts. His abdomen and balls were coated in your cum from when you squirted all over him, the liquid dripping down onto the mattress and joining the wet mess under your bodies.

"What… what was that?" Choso asked, slightly out of breath from how rough he was going. He kept you folded in that intense position, just using your cunt to cockwarm him as he waited for you to respond. Choso stared at your cunt for a few beats longer, and when you didn't respond he dragged his eyes up your body to find your face, which was covered by your hands. "Hey," Choso spoke, releasing the hold he had on one of your thighs, letting it fall over his own as he grabbed your wrist, trying to pull your hand away from your face.

"Baby, what was that? It was so hot, can- can you do it again?" Choso asked, replaying the moment you squirted on him over and over again in your head. You dropped your hands from your face and grabbed his wrist, averting eye contact. You felt your face burn with embarrassment at the thought of explaining what squirting was to him. It wasn't his fault he had little experience in bed and had never watched porn before.

"I just came… that's all." You tried to lie, not wanting to face the mortification of the conversation. Choso cocked his head to the side and looked down between your legs again. The wet spot underneath you had grown as your liquids had seeped into the sheets, making your mess look even worse. "I've never seen you cum like that," Choso responded, a bit skeptical. He felt his cock throb inside you, he wanted to make you do that again, he needed to.

"Fuck Cho…" You cursed, your face scrunching in discomfort. Choso wrapped his arms around one of your legs and placed it over his shoulder, keeping your appendage snug against his body. His cock jolted inside you as he pressed himself deeper, making sure the two of you were as close as possible. "Then, you can do it again right?" You reached out and placed your hands on his lower hips, resting them there.

You shook your head in embarrassment, not wanting to squirt again. "Why not?" Choso asked, almost sounding like he was pouting. "Cho, I squirted, that's what that was." Even after your explanation, Choso still had no idea what that meant, but he did know that both he and his dick liked the sound of it. "That's only happened one other time… when I was touching myself. It's so messy and embarrassing." You explained.

Choso's eyebrows furrowed together, he didn't understand why you thought it was embarrassing. You sure looked like you were feeling good when it happened, so why was it so bad? And the mess? Choso was never one to care about something like that, especially in bed. He fucked sloppily and came buckets all over you every time you had sex.

There was another thought Choso was having though. He was irritated that you had squirted without him, and hadn't told him you had done or could do such an amazing thing. "Well, I think it's hot. I wanna see you do it again please." Choso said, not giving you any time to respond before he pulled his hips back and fucked half of his cock back inside you.

Your nails dug into his hips at the unexpected stimulation. The man above you started at a quick and fast pace, the same one as before. "W-wait Choso-" You tried to cry but your moans fell on deaf ears as Choso's arms wrapped tighter around your leg, keeping you sturdy and close in proximity as he abused your cunt with his cock. You threw your head back against the pillows in pleasure, already feeling something start to well up inside you again.

Choso turned his head against your leg and opened his mouth to press sloppy kisses and lickes on your skin. His eyes were shut tight, eyebrows furrowed together as he molded your pussy to shape his cock. "A-ahhh-" Choso groaned in pleasure against your leg, biting the flesh there before pulling away and cracking his eyes open, looking down at your disheveled form.

"H-how, how do I make you squirt again? Will this help?" Without warning, Choso used one of his hands to rub quick, sloppy circles against your clit with his thumb, his other fingers and palm spread out on your thigh. "God wait- Choso not there-" You gasped, shaking your head back and forth against the pillow, gritting your teeth together.

Choso's choked moans could be heard in his throat, his ragged breathing making you feel dizzy from how hot he sounded. "Y-you're getting tight again, are you gonna squirt?" Choso asked, leaning forward over your body. He placed his hand next to your head to stabilize himself as he continued fucking into you, his thumb ruthlessly rubbing back and forth against your sensitive clit.

"Choso f-fuck, c-choso-" You could do nothing but cry and whine his name as he fucked you in that deep angle again, your one leg folding over his shoulder and dangling weakly by his head, your body limp from all the pleasure he was giving you. "Please squirt again, I wanna see it, I need it." He begged, adjusting his hips against yours so his cock was drilling impossibly deeper inside you.

"Don't be embarrassed i-its, okay, I got you, please just cum." Choso's words were doing wonders on your body. The same feeling of that tight, deep ball was forming inside your pelvis, reading to be released all over Choso and his cock once more. Your eyes could barely stay open as your body took in all the pleasure your eager boyfriend was forcing on you.

"Oh god- oh god-" You winced when you felt it ready to release, you bit down hard on your teeth, your lips parted to show your strained expression, your body going rigid against him all the while Choso kept fucking into you, working you right up to your breaking point. "Yeah, y-yeah yeah-" Choso groaned along with you, fighting the urge to not blow his load before you came.

His eyes were glued to where the two of you were connected as he waited to see that liquid gush from your cunt again. His jaw fell open in a silent scream when your cunt constricted tighter than the first time and that same liquid from before squirted out from around his dick. "Goddd- yesyesyes-" Choso groaned from between his teeth, shaking his head back in forth in disbelief as you squirted all over him.

Not long after you came, Choso followed your lead. His hips stuttered and paused against your cunt, pushing his cock as deep inside you as possible as his balls throbbed and he released load after load of his cum inside you. You shook and spasmed against him, feeling your insides grow warmer as he filled you up with his seed. Your leg slipped off of his shoulder, allowing him to collapse fully against your body as the both of you shook in the aftershocks.

You wrapped your arms around Choso's neck and whined when he weakly thrust his cock in and out of you, using your cunt to milk his balls dry. You were just starting to catch your breath before you heard Choso mumble something against your neck quietly. "Huh?" You managed to force out, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion when Choso pushed himself off your body and placed his hands on either side of your body, looking down at you.

His hair was disheveled, his face all the way down to his chest bright red, and his chest heaved as he fought to catch his breath. "Again." He said, louder this time. Your eyes widened in shock, surely he couldn't be serious, your body felt like jello, you didn't know if you had anything left inside you to give. "N-need you to do that again, just one more time." You swallowed harshly, trying to mentally prepare yourself for Choso's unsatiable cock to drill you all over again.

You felt him twitch inside you, already back to life even though it felt like he had released all he could give you from his balls. You winced and whined when Choso slowly pulled his cock out before pushing it back inside you, relishing in the warmth and gumminess of your now cum soaked walls.

The mess on the bed underneath you was not twice the size, and it was about to get worse when you felt Choso's cum force itself out from around his cock and drip down your ass, joining the mess. Choso found your eyes with his and waited for you to say something as he continued slowly pushing himself in and out of you "One more time." You whispered, holding your finger up in front of you, trying to look stern, but failing. A satisfied grin spread across Choso's features. "One more time." He repeated.

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cherry-hulu · 8 months ago

Text

— PCD (Pre Concert Dick)

Synopsis: The boys had a problem that badly needed a solution. It was getting out of hand and silicones simply wont do the trick anymore. What was this problem you ask? Boners.

Warnings: Idol!Seungcheol-Mingyu-Wonwoo x staff!reader, threesome, double penetration, oral (m receiving), dirty talk

The adrenaline rushes through their veins as they prepare for the stage. Everything was ready and set in place, all that's needed were the stars of the show. But the roles were reversed and it was the artists who was experiencing the technical difficulties.

A few members, namely: Seungcheol, Wonwoo, and Mingyu, were experiencing problems. They all had a boner and it was stopping them from wearing their pants properly. The situation was laughable really, the trio was getting teased left and right but they were left to do nothing but groan in pain as their pants hung low. Turns out exercise, sex talks, and adrenaline was not a good mix to have before a concert.

A strict boundary is usually set between the artist and the staff in order to avoid any complicated relationships. But would that still be in effect if the situation required an urgent solution?

And that brings you to now: all fours facing Seungcheol, eagerly licking, sucking, and slobbering all over his dick, while Wonwoo and Mingyu stand behind you opening your holes up.

This wasn't your first time, and it shows. From your first month of working with them as their stylist, you'd already been touchy with some of the members—in mutual consent and understanding of course— and have had a few secret escapades with them, sometimes even having more than one member at a time. Mingyu specially had the hots for you. Cocky and confident as ever, winking and flirting with you during his fittings.

Wonwoo has two of his long and slim fingers inside you scissoring you open, savouring the view of your cunt gaping at him covering his fingers in your slick, while Mingyu was slowly jerking himself off, tapping his dick on your butt while lightly teasing your other hole with his thumb.

"Gonna be a good girl and take us in all three of your holes, hm baby?" Mingyu teases gripping your butt cheeks, slapping it hard that it leaves a handprint of his hand. You choke on Seungcheol's dick in reply eyes rolling the back of your head as he presses hard down your throat, smirking as he takes grip of your neck tightening it when he feels a bulge.

You already felt so full, and it's only been one dick. Wonwoo removes his fingers from inside of you, stunned by the string of clear and smily pre cum stretch on his fingers as he pulls away. Wonwoo motions his fingers like a scissor infront of the celling light, a sly smirk on his face, "Haven't even fucked you yet and you're already this bad," he says.

Seungcheol abruptly pulls out of your throat watching strings of saliva drip down from his dick and on your tongue, "Fuck. She's dripping all over." He says before thrusting back in, a tight vice around your hair.

Mingyu gives your pussy a few taps using his dick before finally entering you. Usually he'd tease you first by only thrusting with his tip before finally slowly pushing in, but you didn't had the time for that.

Not even a spare time to ajdust as he bottoms out, Wonwoo quickly follows completely stretching you out. You were being stretched all over with three thick dicks inside of you. If it wasn't for Seungcheol's thick dick occupying your mouth, you'd definitely be a moaning mess by now.

Seungcheol's dick was thick and big, a thickness you could only imagine to have had existed, it gave him many advantages, but also disadvantages as he was forced to fuck your mouth rather than your cunt because it'd be impossible for him to join in without proper size training.

Wonwoo and Mingyu had almost the same size, only that Wonwoo was less thick than Mingyu. Which is why the mix of two combined had you rolling your eyes to thr back of your head. Reaching you deep and stretching you thick.

Mingyu slowly starting to rut into you, spitting in between their cocks providing more lube to allow the stretch. Wonwoo could feel his dick physically get harder and harder at the feeling of another dick rubbing against his, the warm hug of your cunt, and his tip resting near the entrace of your womb making him leak pre cum more.

He starts to move soon when he realizes the reality of the situation. This wasn't happening in the hotel room but rather in the venues dressing room. They had their stage outfits on, make-up done, and they were doing this to have their pants fit them. Shit. The concerts starting in 30 minutes. They haven't even had their pictures taken yet.

He adjusts his hips the youngers movement, thrusting in at the exit of the other. And together they create a perfect rhythm of movements. Sweat dripping down their faces. Seungcheol throwing his head back as his movement begins to quicken, becoming desperate even, before finally cumming inside your mouth. Leaks of his cum drip down the side of your mouth as you were forces to swallow every drip of him.

Seungcheol pulls out while you still had your mouth tight around him during the process sucking him off clean. "Fuuck," He groans holding a grip of your hair, forcing you to look up at him when he rests his dick on your cheeks. You bite your lips and roll your head backwards when the two repeatedly hit your g spot with the the tips of their dicks.

"Open your mouth baby, let us hear you." Seungcheol mutters, pulling your lip from your mouth, and as you open it, screams of their fans erupt from the venue snapping the three back into reality.

Mingyu groans gripping your waist and slapping your ass, "Dirty, dirty, slut, letting idols fuck her in the middle of work while fans wait for them outside." He says pounding deeply into you.

You're left to do nothing but whimper and gasp, taking the two of them behind you. Clenching your cunt at their words of praises and insults, "Doing so good for us babe, just a few more. C'mon, I know you can do it. Be the slut that you are." Wonwoo pants, fondling with your tits.

"I'm cumming," You barely get it out before collapsing on the floor, hands giving up as you clench and cream all over them. Liquid spurts from your hole as you squirt, making the duo groan and moan when they cum with you.

Mingyu goes first, throwing his head back as he lets out a guttural moan, still slowly thrusting inside of you with his hands massaging your hips. Wonwoo follows quickly after, stilling inside of you, letting his cum deposit in you before pressing down hard inside inducing a loud moan from you.

He bends down and leaves kisses all over your back before sitting back up and slapping your butt causing you to clench around them, making them groan in the process.

"Well that was quite a show." Seungcheol chuckles, wiping yout face down with a tissue and making you sip water from a bottle.

"Told you doggys the best." Mingyu says, pulling out while Wonwoo follows, gaping your cunt to watch a mix of cum drip down out of you. "I still prefer the show I recieve during cowgirl." Wonwoo replies, placing his face right before your cunt after Mingyu moves away from watching the show.

"Gonna clean you up now baby, m'kay?" Wonwoo says, kissing your cunt, before licking your flaps to start, and sucking your cunt using his whole mouth.

Safe to say that you were gonna get both a raise and a bonus.

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navybrat817 · 18 days ago

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Sanctuary

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: The shower is a sanctuary, and Bucky can't resist joining you.

Word Count: Over 1.2k

Warnings: Established relationship, implied smut, tenderness and feels, thoughts of marriage and kids, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: A nonnie inspired me. I'm picturing this before Bucky gets married, but you can view it however you'd like. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You stood under the spray of the water, not bothering to lift your hands to wash yourself just yet. It was just the right temperature with the perfect amount of steam to surround you without feeling like you’d choke on it. You tipped your head back and closed your eyes, wishing that time could stand still. Showers were a necessity as well as an enjoyment and it felt wrong that time had to continue when you wanted a moment of peace.

Your temporary sanctuary was interrupted by a familiar presence at your back. No, not interrupted. If anything, your sanctuary was more alive. “Sorry if I scared you,” Bucky whispered, slipping his arms around your waist.

“You didn’t,” you whispered back, sinking into him. “Never have, never will.”

“That’s good to know.”

Every chapter of your life since you met Bucky had him written in it. He had been a beautiful stranger who exuded danger and comfort, a heady and contrasting combination. He became a wonderful friend, opening up and trusting you with his secrets and vice versa. It wasn’t long before he became your boyfriend and allowed you to love each other the way you both deserved. He would be your husband one day, and the father of your children if you went down that path.

“Sorry though,” he said, his fingers barely skimming you, but making you shiver just the same. “I should’ve asked before joining you.”

You smiled, noticing that he didn’t sound apologetic in the least. “You made a mess on your shirt again, didn’t you?”

“Sure did,” he replied. Your man had stained more white shirts than you thought possible. He joked that it was one of the reasons he usually stuck with black. At least he was decent with laundry. “Want me to go?”

You put a hand over his to stop him from letting you go. “Don’t you dare,” you warned, which earned you a warm chuckle in response. You hadn’t initially asked him to join you because you were impatient and wanted to feel the cascading water on your skin.

Now you wanted to feel him all over you.

“Fine, I’ll stay,” he teased.

“Smart man,” you teased back.

Bucky was a man who appreciated showers just like you. When he still accepted missions, he would take the opportunity to self-reflect in a peaceful environment, especially if the mission was a long or tough one. The water helped his muscles relax and reduced his stress. It gave him a sense of well-being. The mood he was in when he joined you often determined whether he would be loving and tender or rough and intense.

You welcomed him either way.

“Feels nice,” he sighed, his breath dancing over your skin before he softly kissed your neck.

“Me or the water?” you sighed.

“Both,” he said, kissing directly over your racing pulse.

As your mouth parted and your head fell back further, a shallow breath escaped. His hands and lips enticed you, igniting a slow spreading fire in your veins. You were the match for each other’s flames and the heat was going to consume you both.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asked, his hands tracing along your skin like an unspoken promise. “You take my breath away.”

Your heart pounded and you turned your head with a soft smile. The angle was just enough to catch the blue of his eyes and the drops of water dripping from his long hair. He was so beautiful. “You take my breath away, too.”

“Yeah?” His smile didn't just rob you of your breath, it snuffed out all the noise in your mind until all you focused on was him.

“Yeah,” you smiled back.

When his lips touched yours, the slow spreading fire erupted into an inferno. His hand slowly slid down your stomach, the other moving up to tease your breasts. “You're so responsive,” he whispered, his thumb grazing a nipple.

Your breath hitched when the hand moving south dipped between your thighs, a tremor running through your body when he gently moved a finger along your slit. The hand cupping your breast pulled you closer, drawing another gasp when he slowly rolled his hips to tease you when his hard cock brushed against your ass. You wanted him to tear you apart.

“And so wet,” he rumbled, suddenly turning you so that your back was against the wall. His hungry gaze had you choking on your next breath when he brought his hand back to your pussy, slowly rubbing it like he had nowhere else to be. Your essence coated his thick fingers, and he hadn’t pushed them inside you yet.

“Please,” you gasped, lost in his touch and wanting more.

But Bucky didn't rush. He merely moaned when he leaned in and kissed your lips, tenderly lavishing you and forcing you to be patient. While your hands dug into his arms to hold on for dear life, he touched you as if it were an honor, cherishing every part of you. He was an artist who molded your body like it was his own creation, a masterpiece for him and him alone. The pleasure building within you was overwhelming, the kind that left you trembling and on the verge of breaking to pieces. The cracks filled with parts of him, piecing you back together in a way that was still you and yet forever changed.

“Can we just stay like this?” he murmured, as if he wasn’t setting you ablaze when his thumb circled your clit.

“Yes,” you whispered, wrapping a leg around him. If that was what Bucky wanted, you’d give it to him.

Just like when he asked for your heart.

His tongue traced a water droplet down the columb of your neck before he gently bit down. “Say my name,” he whispered, moving his hand away to replace it with his cock.

“Bucky,” you breathed, your back arching when he began to push into you. You’d chant it, scream it, let the whole world hear it. Everyone would know who you belonged to and who you chose to be by your side.

His warm body pressed against yours and your heart squeezed in your chest when he whispered, “I love you.”

You breathed him in, your eyes shining with unexpected tears. “I love you, too.”

He didn’t thrust yet, even when you tightened around him. “Forever mine?” He phrased it as a question, but you were his from the start.

This man had burrowed so deep into your heart and soul that you would never be able to carve him out. You didn't want to. If you ever dared to put a wall up, he’d either crash through it or bring it down brick by brick, whatever you needed to get back to him. And you would do the same for him, burning the world if you had to if it meant you’d be together.

Moving a hand to his chest to feel his racing heart, you whispered, “Forever yours.”

You loved being his, loved that he was yours, and you would cry his name to the heavens above before the shower was over.

And under the water and steam, you’d stay wrapped up in each other and enjoy your sanctuary together.

I want this! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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enhaflixer · 3 months ago

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hogwarts time travel au! traveling to the future and waking up MARRIED PART 2

slytherin!riki x gryffindor!reader PART ONE HERE

warnings: time travel, sex, kissing, lots of kissing, kinda angsty, they have two kids, there are pranks and rivalry and its just real cute im ngl

The night before the department dinner, after the children were asleep, Riki found you in the study reviewing your class notes—a habit you'd developed to avoid embarrassing yourself in front of your students.

"We should probably practice," he said from the doorway, startling you.

"Practice what?"

"Dancing." He shifted his weight, looking uncharacteristically nervous. "If this is a formal department thing, there will probably be dancing."

You set aside your notes reluctantly. "Is that really necessary?"

"These people know us—know our future selves," he pointed out. "If we're awkward or stepping on each other's toes, they'll notice."

You sighed. "Fine. But just a quick run-through."

He nodded, then flicked his wand at the wireless in the corner. Soft, melodic music filled the room. With another wave, he pushed the furniture against the walls, creating a small dance floor in the center of the study.

"Shall we?" He extended his hand formally, a hint of his usual confidence returning.

You rolled your eyes but placed your hand in his, allowing him to draw you to the center of the room. His right hand settled at your waist while his left held yours aloft. You placed your free hand on his shoulder, careful to maintain a respectable distance between your bodies.

"I'm not going to hex you," he said with a slight smile. "You can stand a bit closer."

"This is fine," you insisted, though you knew real couples wouldn't dance with a foot of space between them.

He shrugged and began to lead, moving with surprising grace. After a few moments of stiff movement, you found your rhythm, matching his steps as you circled the makeshift dance floor.

"You're not terrible at this," you admitted grudgingly.

"Pure-blood family," he reminded you. "Dance lessons from age six. Mother's orders."

"That explains why you didn't completely embarrass yourself at the Yule Ball," you said, remembering how he'd danced with Olivia Greengrass for most of the evening.

Something flickered in his eyes. "You noticed me at the Yule Ball?"

"Hard not to notice when someone transfigures the punch bowl into a singing toad halfway through the evening," you countered, deflecting the implied question.

He laughed. "McGonagall's face was priceless."

The music shifted to something slower, more intimate. Riki's hand at your waist exerted the slightest pressure, drawing you incrementally closer.

"People will expect us to dance like we've done it a hundred times before," he said softly. "Like we know each other's movements by heart."

"And how do we do that?" Your voice came out quieter than intended.

"For starters, not like we're afraid of each other." Before you could protest, he eliminated the space between you, bringing your bodies together from chest to knee.

Your breath caught as he adjusted his hold, his arm now encircling your waist completely. Your joined hands moved to rest against his chest, while your other hand slid from his shoulder to the nape of his neck. The new position was undeniably intimate—you could feel his heartbeat against your fingers, the warmth of his skin beneath your palm.

"This is how married people dance," he murmured, his breath stirring your hair.

You couldn't formulate a response as he began moving again, the steps simpler now—less formal waltz and more just swaying together to the music. Your bodies moved in sync, with none of the awkwardness you'd expected.

"See?" he said after a few moments. "Not so difficult."

You made a noncommittal sound, not trusting your voice. Because it wasn't difficult—that was the problem. It felt easy. Natural. As if your body remembered dancing with him like this before, even if your mind didn't.

The music swelled, and Riki spontaneously spun you out and back into his arms. You returned smoothly, your back now pressed against his chest, his arms crossed over your waist, holding you securely. The move had been unexpected but you'd followed his lead instinctively.

"Perfect," he said, his voice dropping to a lower register that sent a shiver down your spine. "You see? Muscle memory."

You turned in his arms to face him again, intending to create some distance, but found yourself caught in his gaze. There was something new there—a heat that hadn't been present in your previous interactions.

"Riki..." you began, not sure what you intended to say.

His eyes dropped to your lips, lingering just long enough to send your pulse racing, before he stepped back, releasing you as the music ended.

"That should be sufficient practice," he said, his voice slightly rougher than usual. "For tomorrow."

"Right," you agreed, wrapping your arms around yourself to ward off the sudden chill of his absence. "For tomorrow."

The next evening found you in the bedroom, putting the finishing touches on your appearance while Riki took the girls to The Burrow. You'd opted for the green gown after all—silk that flowed like water, with a modest neckline but a back that dipped daringly low. Your hair was arranged in an elegant updo, and you'd applied makeup with more care than you'd ever bothered with at seventeen.

The effect, you had to admit, was striking. You hardly recognized yourself in the mirror—this poised, elegant woman seemed worlds away from the student who'd spent most of her time in the library with ink-stained fingers.

The sound of the Floo activating announced Riki's return. You took a steadying breath and descended the stairs, feeling oddly nervous.

Riki stood in the living room, adjusting the silver cuffs of his midnight-blue dress robes. The tailoring was impeccable, emphasizing his broad shoulders and lean frame—clearly, these robes had been made specifically for him. He looked up as you entered, and the expression that crossed his face made your stomach flutter unexpectedly.

"Wow," was all he managed at first, his eyes traveling slowly from your face to your feet and back again. His gaze lingered on the way the deep emerald and black silk draped across your body, the Grecian-inspired cut accentuating your figure while the open back added an unexpected touch of allure.

"Just 'wow'?" you supplied when he didn't continue, turning slightly to show the full effect of the gown.

"Devastating," he finally said, his voice rough. "You look absolutely devastating."

He swallowed visibly, and you noticed with satisfaction that his usual quick wit seemed to have abandoned him entirely. The thought flashed through his mind, surprising even himself—did he have a previously undiscovered kink for seeing you in Slytherin green? The rich emerald color that had once represented rivalry now stirred something entirely different in him.

"You clean up decently yourself," you offered, aiming for casual despite the charged atmosphere.

"The robes that make my ass look fantastic," he confirmed with a flash of his usual humor, though his eyes never left yours. "Ready to convince a room full of Aurors we're madly in love?"

"As I'll ever be," you replied, trying to ignore the nervous flutter in your stomach.

Theodesia's turned out to be an elegant restaurant with crystal chandeliers and goblin-wrought silver place settings. You were greeted effusively by the maître d' who clearly recognized you both and led you upstairs to a private dining room already buzzing with conversation.

"Riki! Professor!" A man detached himself from a group near the bar—Jake, from the Floo call yesterday. He approached with a broad smile, a striking woman with dark skin and elaborate braids at his side. "About time you two showed up. Cutting it close as usual."

"Some things never change," Riki replied with surprising ease, clasping Jake's hand. "Traffic in the Floo network was awful."

"You look gorgeous," the woman—presumably Seera—said, embracing you warmly. "That color is perfect on you. I've been telling you to wear more green for ages."

"I decided to take your advice," you improvised, returning her hug.

"Where are the little menaces tonight?" Jake asked. "With Molly?"

"Yes, we dropped them off earlier," Riki confirmed. "Sara was already eyeing the cookie jar when we left."

His effortless lying impressed you—he sounded completely natural discussing children he'd only known for two weeks.

"Smart move using your anniversary as an excuse for a night off," Seera said with a knowing smile. "Though I still can't believe it's been five years since your wedding. I remember it like yesterday—you two dancing under those enchanted cherry blossoms, looking disgustingly in love."

"Time flies," you managed, leaning into Riki's side as his arm slipped around your waist.

"Speaking of which," Jake said, checking his watch, "we should find our seats. Kingsley will be starting the presentations soon."

The next hour passed in a blur of introductions, small talk, and desperately trying not to reveal your ignorance of people who clearly knew you well. Riki proved surprisingly adept at navigating conversations, deflecting personal questions with humor and redirecting topics when things veered into dangerous territory.

His hand remained a constant presence at the small of your back, his thumb occasionally brushing bare skin through the open back of your gown, sending little jolts of electricity up your spine each time.

Dinner was served—an elegant multi-course affair with wine pairings—as various department heads delivered speeches and presented awards. You were relieved to discover that Riki wasn't receiving any special recognition, though he was mentioned several times for his team's recent successful operations.

"Your husband's quite the rising star," whispered the witch seated on your other side—a senior Auror named Claudia. "Youngest division head in thirty years. Though I suspect he'd give it all up if you decided to have another baby."

You nearly choked on your wine. "Another—"

"Oh, I know, I know," she said hurriedly. "You've said two is your limit. But the way he dotes on those girls... Well, just saying. Never seen a man more besotted with fatherhood."

You glanced at Riki, deep in conversation with an older wizard across the table. The idea of him as a doting father had seemed absurd two weeks ago, but now... You'd seen how he was with Suki and Sara. How natural he seemed with them, how his entire demeanor softened around the children.

Your contemplation was interrupted as Jake stood, tapping his glass for attention.

"If I could have everyone's attention for a moment," he called over the chatter. "As is tradition at our annual dinner, we take a moment to celebrate not just professional achievements, but personal ones as well. And tonight, we have a very special milestone to recognize."

He turned toward your table, raising his glass. "Riki and Y/N Nishimura are celebrating their fifth wedding anniversary this month. Five years of proving that even when you start as sworn enemies, love finds a way."

A ripple of laughter and applause moved through the room.

"For those who don't know their story," Jake continued, "these two spent seven years at Hogwarts hexing each other at every opportunity. Their legendary prank war culminated in what we now affectionately call 'The Great Time-Turner Incident' where they accidentally sent themselves ten years into the future."

Your blood ran cold. Riki's hand found yours under the table, squeezing tightly.

"When they finally managed to return to their time," Jake went on, oblivious to your shock, "something had fundamentally changed. As Riki tells it, 'Seeing a future where we were happy together made me realize I'd been fighting my feelings all along.' Three years later, they were exchanging vows with half the faculty of Hogwarts in attendance."

The room awwwed appreciatively.

"So please raise your glasses," Jake concluded, "to Riki and [Your Name]—proof that sometimes the person who drives you absolutely crazy is exactly the person you're meant to be with."

"To Riki and Y/N !" the room echoed, glasses raised.

You managed a smile, lifting your glass automatically as your mind raced. The Great Time-Turner Incident? Your future selves had experienced something similar—had, in fact, ended up together because of it.

Riki's hand was still clutching yours beneath the table, his knuckles white. He'd clearly reached the same conclusion.

"And now," Seera announced, standing beside her husband, "as is tradition, a few words from our anniversary couple!"

The room erupted in applause and expectant looks.

Riki recovered first, rising to his feet and pulling you gently up beside him. His arm went around your waist, steadying you.

"Thank you all," he began, his voice remarkably steady given the bombshell that had just been dropped. "Five years doesn't seem possible, does it, love?" He looked down at you with such convincing affection that your breath caught.

"Sometimes it feels like yesterday," you managed, finding your voice. "Other times, like we've always been together."

The room sighed appreciatively at your response.

"I won't subject you all to the story of how this brilliant, beautiful woman finally agreed to go out with me after years of turning my hair various colors," Riki continued, drawing laughs from the audience. "But I will say this—Jake's right. Sometimes the person who challenges you most is exactly who you need."

He turned to face you fully, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made the rest of the room fade away. "Every day with you is an adventure, even when it's just making pancakes with the girls or grading papers by the fire. I wouldn't trade our life for anything."

The raw sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten. This wasn't just a performance for the crowd—there was something real beneath his words.

"Neither would I," you said softly, surprising yourself with the truth of it. "Even when you drive me crazy."

The room laughed again, but Riki's smile was just for you—small, private, and achingly genuine.

"Thank you all," he said, turning back to the audience. "For celebrating with us tonight."

As you both sat down, the room burst into a chant: "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

Riki looked at you, a question in his eyes. A public kiss hadn't been part of your planning, but refusing would seem odd for a celebrating couple.

"We should," you whispered. "Just a quick one."

He nodded, then leaned in slowly, giving you time to prepare. You expected a brief peck—the bare minimum to satisfy the crowd.

What you got instead was a revelation.

His lips touched yours gently at first, a whisper of contact that sent a shock wave through your system. Then, as if unable to help himself, he deepened the kiss, one hand coming up to cradle your jaw. Your eyes fluttered closed as you responded instinctively, your lips parting slightly beneath his.

The kiss lasted only seconds, but it felt like an eternity—an eternity where nothing existed but the warmth of his mouth on yours and the dizzying sense that something fundamental had shifted between you.

When he pulled back, his eyes were dark, pupils dilated. You could read the same stunned recognition in his face that you felt coursing through your veins.

The room erupted in cheers and whistles, breaking the spell. Riki's thumb brushed your cheekbone once before he withdrew his hand, turning to acknowledge the crowd with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Under the table, your fingers touched your lips, still tingling from the contact. That hadn't been a performance. That had been... something else entirely.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. People stopped by your table to share anecdotes about your relationship, each one a piece of a puzzle you were desperately trying to assemble. You learned that you'd started dating in your final year at Hogwarts, after returning from your accidental time travel. That you'd worked as a curse-breaker before taking the teaching position at Hogwarts. That your wedding had featured cherry blossoms and fairy lights, with Hagrid sobbing so loudly during the vows that no one could hear them.

When the orchestra began playing a slow, haunting melody, Riki stood and offered his hand. "Dance with me?" he asked softly, all pretense stripped away in that moment.

You took his hand without hesitation, letting him lead you to the dance floor. His arm slid around your waist with practiced ease, drawing you close as you began to move together. All your awkward practice from the night before had vanished—your bodies knew this dance, knew each other, moving in perfect synchrony as if you'd done this a thousand times before.

"Everyone's watching us," you murmured, noticing the fond glances directed your way.

"Let them," he replied, his eyes never leaving yours. "They're seeing what they expect to see—the department's most disgustingly perfect couple."

"Is that what we are?" you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

Something shifted in his gaze, a vulnerability you'd glimpsed only in rare moments. "Maybe not yet. But..."

He didn't finish the thought, didn't need to. As the music swelled around you, he guided you into a graceful turn that made your dress billow around your ankles. When you returned to his arms, you were both smiling, caught in a bubble of shared connection that felt startlingly genuine.

"Happy anniversary," you whispered, so quietly that only he could hear, surprising yourself with the sincerity behind the words.

His eyes widened slightly, genuine shock flashing across his features before his expression softened into something warm and unguarded. For a moment—one perfect, suspended moment—you both forgot that this wasn't really your life, that you hadn't actually been married for five years, that the memories everyone was celebrating weren't truly yours.

"Happy anniversary," he whispered back, his eyes never leaving yours, meaning it in ways neither of you could fully understand.

As you continued to dance, you noticed a small group of witches watching you from the edge of the dance floor, smiling affectionately at what they clearly considered a romantic moment between longtime lovers. Without overthinking it, you leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to Riki's jaw—ostensibly for your audience, though the flutter in your stomach suggested other motives.

You felt his sharp intake of breath, his arm tightening almost imperceptibly around your waist. When you pulled back slightly to gauge his reaction, the heat in his eyes made your pulse skip.

The song ended too soon, breaking the spell as applause rippled through the room. But as Riki led you back to your table, his hand resting lightly on the bare skin of your back, something had changed between you—something that couldn't be dismissed as merely playing a part.

Through the rest of the evening, Riki remained close—his arm around your chair, his fingers occasionally brushing yours, his body angled toward you in the unconscious way of couples accustomed to each other's presence. You found yourself responding in kind, leaning into his touch, laughing at his jokes, exchanging glances that somehow conveyed entire conversations.

It was frighteningly easy to play the role of his wife, you realized. Too easy.

And that kiss... that hadn't been playing at all.

By the time you said your goodbyes and stepped into the cool night air outside Theodesia's, you were both quieter than usual, lost in your own thoughts.

"Well," Riki finally broke the silence as you walked toward the apparition point. "That was... informative."

"The Time-Turner Incident," you said, focusing on the practical rather than the confusing emotional aftermath of the evening. "Our future selves experienced something similar."

"And it changed everything for them," he added. "Or us. Time travel pronouns are confusing."

You laughed despite yourself. "That's your takeaway?"

"No," he admitted, stopping beneath a street lamp. The warm glow illuminated his features as he turned to you. "My takeaway is that we need to talk about what happened in there."

"The toast? The revelations about our apparent history?"

"The kiss," he said simply.

Your heartbeat quickened. "It was just for show."

"Was it?" His voice was soft, his eyes searching yours. "Because it didn't feel like just for show."

"Riki..."

"I know we're supposed to be finding a way back," he continued. "I know this isn't our real life. But—" He paused, seeming to struggle with his words. "What if Jake was right? What if the person who's been driving me crazy for seven years is actually..."

"Don't," you whispered, not ready to hear the end of that sentence. Not ready to confront the growing realization that your feelings for Riki had become far more complicated than simple animosity.

He studied your face for a long moment, then nodded once. "We should get back. Check on the girls."

"Yes," you agreed, relieved by the return to practicality. "Molly's probably wondering where we are."

He offered his arm for side-along apparition. As your fingers curled around the rich fabric of his sleeve, you couldn't help remembering how it had felt when those same fingers had tangled in your hair as he kissed you—how perfect it had felt, how right.

And how terrifying the implications of that rightness might be.

The days following the department dinner passed in an increasingly elaborate dance of avoidance.

You began waking up earlier than necessary, slipping out of bed before Riki stirred and volunteering for morning duties with the girls. He, in turn, started staying up later, buried in case files at the kitchen table long after you'd retired to bed. The bedroom became a transition space—a place you occupied in shifts rather than together, despite the fact that you still technically shared it.

At breakfast, you'd focus intensely on helping Suki with her cereal or wiping Sara's sticky hands, using the children as buffers. Riki would read the Daily Prophet with unusual thoroughness, suddenly fascinated by Ministry policy updates and Quidditch standings he'd normally disregard. If your fingers accidentally brushed while passing the tea, you'd both flinch away as if burned, murmuring awkward apologies before finding new reasons to be elsewhere.

The kiss—that unexpectedly genuine, heart-stopping moment at the department dinner—hovered between you like an unacknowledged presence, impossible to address yet impossible to forget.

Neither of you mentioned the way you'd whispered "happy anniversary" and meant it, or how his hand had lingered on your bare back during the dance, or how natural it had felt to lean into his touch throughout the evening. Those moments contradicted the narrative you'd both silently agreed upon: that this was all temporary, that your real lives waited elsewhere, that the growing comfort and connection between you was simply muscle memory from bodies accustomed to each other.

In the evenings, you'd grade papers in the study while Riki handled bedtime stories with elaborate sound effects that made the girls squeal with delight. You found yourself lingering outside the nursery door sometimes, listening to his patient voice as he answered Suki's endless questions or soothed Sara with a gentle lullaby. These glimpses of tenderness made avoiding him both more necessary and more difficult.

When you did occupy the same space, conversation remained strictly practical, delivered with exaggerated casualness.

"Suki's daycare is closed on Friday," you'd mention, focused intently on stirring your tea. "Teacher training day."

"I can work from home," he'd offer, eyes fixed on a spot just over your shoulder. "No problem."

"Great. Thanks," you'd reply, already moving toward the door. "I should prepare for tomorrow's lessons."

You weren't hostile—quite the opposite. There was a new carefulness between you, a politeness almost painful in its restraint. You both said "please" and "thank you" with formal precision. You complimented his cooking; he praised your patience with the children. But beneath the courtesy lay a current of tension neither of you was willing to acknowledge.

Sometimes you'd catch him watching you when he thought you wouldn't notice—a speculative look in his eyes that made your stomach flutter. Other times, you'd find yourself staring at his hands as he helped Suki with a puzzle, remembering how those same hands had felt on your waist during the dance, and you'd have to excuse yourself to another room until your heartbeat steadied.

The weekend arrived with blessed relief. Riki announced he had paperwork to complete for an ongoing smuggling investigation—a transparent excuse, but one you gratefully accepted. You responded with equal transparency about needing to revise lesson plans. The mutual agreement to separation was welcome, even as the strained atmosphere grew increasingly unbearable.

By Saturday afternoon, the house felt too small despite its magical extensions. You found yourself wandering into the study, ostensibly searching for reference materials but really just seeking a space Riki wasn't occupying. That's when you discovered a cabinet tucked in the corner that you hadn't fully explored.

Inside were rows of small crystal orbs—magical recordings, similar to Pensieve memories but viewable without immersion. You'd seen similar devices in the Hogwarts archives, used to preserve important lectures and ceremonies.

Curious, and perhaps a bit desperate for distraction, you selected one labeled "Suki's First Steps." Perhaps watching family memories would help you better understand the life you were temporarily inhabiting—or at least provide a reprieve from the uncomfortable tension that had settled over the household.

You placed the orb in the viewing stand on the desk and tapped it with your wand. Light bloomed from the crystal, expanding into a three-dimensional projection. There was your future self, sitting on the living room floor, arms outstretched toward a wobbly Suki who couldn't have been more than a year old.

"Come on, sweet girl," your voice encouraged. "Come to Mama!"

Behind the camera, Riki's voice: "She's going to do it this time, I can feel it."

Sure enough, Suki took one hesitant step, then another, her little face a mask of concentration before breaking into a delighted giggle as she tumbled into your waiting arms.

"She did it!" the recorded you exclaimed, scooping her up and spinning her around. "Riki, did you get that?"

"Every second," came his proud reply. The camera moved closer, capturing your radiant smile and Suki's chubby hands patting your cheeks. "Our little prodigy, walking at ten months."

The projection faded, leaving the study quiet again. You sat back, a strange melancholy washing over you. These were your memories—would be your memories—yet they felt like glimpses into a stranger's life.

"What are you doing?"

You startled, turning to find Riki in the doorway, a mug of tea in his hand.

"I found these recordings," you explained, gesturing to the cabinet. "I was just... curious."

He hesitated, then entered the study, setting his tea down. "Anything interesting?"

"Suki's first steps." You smiled faintly. "She was early, apparently."

"Not surprising," he said, the first hint of normal conversation between you in days. "She's rather determined about everything."

You nodded, relieved by the break in tension. "Want to see another?"

It was an olive branch of sorts. He recognized it for what it was, settling into the chair beside yours. "Sure. You choose."

You returned to the cabinet, scanning labels. "Baby's First Quidditch Match," "Sara's Naming Ceremony," "Holiday in Greece." One caught your eye, labeled simply "The Surprise." Intrigued, you selected it.

The projection revealed your future self in the kitchen, setting up what appeared to be a camera. You wore casual clothes, hair pulled back, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you adjusted the angle.

"Is this recording?" On-screen you leaned close to the lens, then stepped back, satisfied. "Perfect. Operation 'Prank the Prankster' is a go."

You quickly arranged several items on the counter—a potion vial with a mysterious pink liquid, a book titled "So You're Expecting: A Magical Guide," and what looked like a sonogram image, though you carefully hid these under a dish towel. Your recorded self was practically vibrating with suppressed excitement.

The kitchen door opened, and Riki entered, setting down a grocery bag. "Got everything, including those weird pickled radishes you suddenly can't live without."

"My hero," recorded-you smiled, reaching up to kiss him with easy affection. "Hey, can you help me with something? I brewed a potion and I need a second opinion."

"Is it for those bizarre cravings? Because the clerk at the apothecary already thinks I'm running some kind of illegal lab with all the ingredients you've been sending me for." He began unpacking groceries, oblivious to your barely contained grin.

"No, it's for a special project." You casually removed the dish towel, revealing the blue potion. "It's supposed to change color based on certain... conditions."

Riki looked up, intrigued but suspicious. "What kind of conditions? This isn't like the time you made me test that 'harmless' potion that turned my eyebrows purple for a week, is it?"

"Would I do that to you?" you asked with exaggerated innocence. "I just need you to verify the color. What shade of pink would you call this?"

He approached reluctantly, peering at the vial. "I don't know... fuchsia? Why does it matter?"

"Because," you said, sliding the book into view, "according to page 94 of this particular guide, cerulean fuchsia means it's a girl."

For a moment, Riki just stared at the book, his brain not quite making the connection. Then his eyes darted to the sonogram image you'd nudged forward, back to the potion, then finally to your face.

"Wait..." he said slowly, realization dawning. "Are you... is this... are you pranking me right now?"

You bit your lip, torn between laughter and tears. "Well, yes, I'm pranking you. But also no, because..." You reached into a drawer and withdrew a pair of tiny Slytherin green booties. "I'm actually twelve weeks pregnant."

The sequence of expressions that crossed his face was extraordinary—confusion, shock, disbelief, and then pure, unadulterated joy. He let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

"You—" he started, shaking his head in amazement. "You used a prank to tell me we're having a baby? That's—"

"Fitting?" you suggested, eyes dancing with mirth. "Given our history?"

He didn't answer with words. Instead, he closed the distance between you in two strides, lifting you off your feet in a spinning embrace that made you laugh and protest simultaneously.

"Careful! Morning sickness is still a thing!"

He set you down immediately, but his hands remained on your waist, his eyes searching yours with wonder. "We're actually having a baby? You're not just pranking the prankster?"

You took his hand and placed it gently on your still-flat stomach. "We're having a baby," you confirmed, tears spilling down your cheeks now. "Suki's going to be a big sister."

The look of pure joy that transformed his face made your throat tighten just watching. He dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead against your stomach.

"A baby," he whispered, voice choked with emotion. "Our baby."

Then he looked up at you, eyes shining with tears and laughter. "I can't believe you out-pranked me for something this important."

"Had to make it memorable," you replied with a watery smile. "Got you good, didn't I?"

He rose to his feet, cradling your face in his hands with such tenderness it was almost painful to witness. "You got me good," he agreed softly. "Best prank ever."

The kiss he bestowed upon you was reverent, his hand drifting down to rest protectively over your still-flat stomach.

"I love you," he murmured against your lips. "I love you so much."

The recording faded, leaving you and present-day Riki sitting in stunned silence. The intimacy of the moment you'd witnessed felt almost invasive, like you'd eavesdropped on something sacred.

"That was..." Riki began, then cleared his throat. "That must have been when you—they—found out about Sara."

"Yes." Your voice sounded strange to your own ears.

Neither of you seemed to know what to say next. After a moment, Riki reached for the cabinet. "Mind if I choose one?"

You nodded, grateful for the distraction.

He selected an orb labeled "Wedding Night Promises." Before you could suggest something less potentially intimate, he'd placed it on the stand and activated it.

The scene that materialized made you both inhale sharply. A hotel room, clearly luxurious, with rose petals scattered across a massive bed. Riki lay on his back, dress shirt unbuttoned, hair disheveled, and his face adorned with lipstick marks in the same shade you'd been wearing in earlier wedding photos you'd seen. The camera appeared to be held by him at arm's length, capturing both his face and you as you leaned over him, adding another kiss to his jawline.

"You missed a spot," recorded-Riki said, pointing to his left cheekbone. "Can't have an incomplete masterpiece."

Your future self laughed but obliged, pressing your lips to the indicated spot and leaving a perfect imprint. "Better?"

"Much," he said with a satisfied grin. "But this area is still tragically unmarked." He tapped the corner of his mouth.

"You're ridiculous," you told him, but leaned in to place another kiss where he'd pointed.

"And here," he continued, touching his other cheek. "Symmetry is important in art."

You were laughing now as you worked your way across his face. "Are you planning to have me cover every inch?"

"That's the general idea, yes," he confirmed without a trace of shame. "I want everyone at breakfast tomorrow to know exactly what my wife thinks of me."

"Your wife thinks you're insufferable," you teased, but contradicted your words by pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead.

"You know," he said, his free hand playing with a strand of your hair, "you were so beautiful today. When you walked down the aisle, I forgot to breathe."

You paused in your kisses, visibly touched by his sincerity.

"Who told you to stop?" he protested immediately.

"I thought you were being serious for a moment," you said, shaking your head with fond exasperation.

"I am being serious," he insisted. "Deadly serious about how stunning you looked. That dress..." He gave an exaggerated sigh. "And your hair with those little flowers woven through it. I've never seen anything more perfect."

You rewarded him with another kiss, this time at the corner of his eye.

"And when you started crying during your vows," he continued, his voice softening, "it took everything I had not to just drop to my knees right there."

"Stop," you murmured, clearly embarrassed. "I was a mess."

"A beautiful mess," he corrected. "My beautiful mess. Forever, as of today."

You leaned in to kiss him properly on the lips this time, but he turned his head slightly. "Not yet. I still have unmarked territory here." He pointed to his chin.

You rolled your eyes but complied, adding another lipstick mark.

"What are you doing with the camera, anyway?" you finally asked, looking up with mock exasperation as you pulled back.

"Documenting," he replied, voice warm with affection and something deeper. "So you can never deny how utterly irresistible you find me."

"As if your ego needs more inflation," you teased, but your expression was impossibly tender.

"Actually," Riki's voice grew serious, "I wanted to record a promise."

Your future self settled beside him, head propped on one hand. "A promise?"

"I know we did vows today," he said, camera steady on both your faces. "But there are things I wanted to say just to you. Not for an audience."

The raw emotion in his voice must have affected your future self as it did you now, because her playful expression softened into something solemn and attentive.

"I promise," he began, "that no matter how busy we get, how many cases I take, how many students you teach, I will never go a day without making sure you know how much I love you."

He shifted slightly, making sure the camera still captured both of you. "I promise that every morning when I wake up next to you, I'll remember how lucky I am that you saw past the idiot who turned your hair pink and found whatever was worth loving beneath."

Your future self's eyes had filled with tears, but she remained silent, letting him continue.

"I promise that when we fight—and we will fight, because we're both stubborn and opinionated and that's part of why I love you—I will always fight fair. I will never go to bed angry. I will never use your vulnerabilities against you."

His voice had grown husky. "I promise that when we have children, I will be the father I wish I'd had, and I will cherish every moment of creating a family with you."

Your recorded self was crying openly now, tears sliding silently down your cheeks.

"And I promise," he finished, his own eyes suspiciously bright, "that fifty years from now, I'll still look at you the way I'm looking at you right now—like you're the greatest adventure of my life, and I'd fight a hundred time-turner accidents to end up right here with you."

The recording ended as your future self leaned down to kiss him, the camera tumbling forgotten to the side.

In the study, you became aware of wetness on your cheeks. You were crying, you realized with distant surprise. Beside you, Riki's breathing had gone shallow, his knuckles white where he gripped the edge of the desk.

Neither of you spoke, the weight of what you'd witnessed pressing the air from the room.

Without discussion, you reached for one more orb—this one labeled "Baby Talks with Papa, Night 213."

The projection revealed a darkened bedroom—your bedroom in this house. Your future self lay on your side in bed, clearly pregnant, with Suki fast asleep beside you. Riki knelt on the floor, his face level with your rounded belly, his mouth close enough that his lips occasionally brushed the thin fabric of your nightgown.

"—and that's why Mama's wrong about the Holyhead Harpies' chances this season," he was saying softly. "But don't tell her I said that. She's very sensitive about quidditch, especially now that she can't play."

Your sleeping form shifted slightly, and Riki froze, waiting until you settled before continuing his one-sided conversation.

"Anyway, little one," he murmured, one hand spread reverently across your stomach, "your big sister finally learned to say 'dada' properly today, which is excellent timing since I was starting to worry she'd call me 'baba' forever."

He paused, smiling as something—presumably the baby—moved beneath his palm.

"That's right, kick for your dada." His voice dropped even lower. "You know, when your mama told me she was pregnant with you, I cried like a baby myself. Don't tell anyone that part. Aurors have a reputation to maintain."

The tenderness in his expression was almost painful to witness.

"I hope you have her eyes," he whispered. "And her courage. And her laugh that makes everything better even on the worst days." His thumb traced small circles on your belly. "I hope you don't have my impatience or my tendency to act before thinking. But maybe a little of my charm wouldn't hurt."

A barely audible chuckle escaped you. "Are you corrupting our unborn child again?" your drowsy voice asked, one hand reaching down to touch his hair.

"Never," he protested with mock innocence. "Just telling her about quidditch."

"Him," you corrected sleepily. "It's definitely a boy."

"We'll see," he replied, pressing a kiss to your stomach before rising to slide into bed beside you. The camera, apparently charmed to follow him, captured how he gathered both you and sleeping Suki into his arms, creating a protective circle. "Either way, they're going to be as perfect as their mother."

"And as humble as their father," you murmured, already drifting back to sleep.

The recording faded to darkness, leaving the study in crushing silence.

You realized you were still crying, tears flowing unchecked down your face. You couldn't look at Riki—couldn't bear to see if he was affected as deeply as you were by these glimpses into a life that felt both impossible and inescapably real.

When his hand found yours, you nearly jumped. His fingers twined with yours, grip almost painfully tight, as if he needed an anchor in the emotional storm these recordings had unleashed.

"I wouldn't have thought..." he began, his voice hoarse. "I never imagined I could be that person."

Summoning your courage, you turned to face him. The raw vulnerability in his expression broke something loose inside you—some final defense against the truth that had been building since you first woke in this timeline.

"I never imagined you could be either," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But you are. With the girls. Every day, I see glimpses of him—that man in the recordings."

His thumb brushed over your knuckles. "And I see her in you. The way you know exactly what Suki needs before she asks. How you sing Sara back to sleep after nightmares."

"This isn't real," you said, but the protest sounded hollow even to your own ears. "We're just... playing parts."

"Are we?" His dark eyes searched yours, more serious than you'd ever seen him. "Because it doesn't feel like playing anymore."

You couldn't answer—couldn't find words for the confusion swirling inside you. This was Nishimura Riki, your nemesis, the bane of your Hogwarts existence. Except... he wasn't. Not entirely. Not anymore.

"I don't know what's happening to us," you finally managed. "I don't know who we're becoming."

"I think," he said slowly, "we might be becoming the people in those recordings. The people we're apparently meant to be."

The thought should have terrified you. A week ago, it would have. Now, it filled you with a complicated mix of fear and something dangerously close to hope.

"What if we get sent back?" you asked, giving voice to the question that had been haunting you. "What happens to... this? To them?" You gestured toward the orbs, the tangible evidence of a future built on love rather than animosity.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I'm starting to think McGonagall might have been right."

"About what?"

"About this being an educational opportunity." His smile was rueful. "I'm definitely learning things about myself I never knew."

You found yourself returning his smile, fragile though it was. "Like the fact that you apparently cry at pregnancy announcements?"

"Like the fact that I can make pancakes with faces and that I apparently give excellent pep talks to unborn children," he corrected, a hint of his usual humor returning. "The crying is clearly fake news."

The tension broke, a small laugh escaping you. Riki's expression softened, his hand still holding yours.

"I don't know what happens next," he said quietly. "McGonagall said we only have fourteen more days before we get sent back. Two weeks to reconcile the person I was with the person I apparently become." His eyes met yours, something vulnerable and urgent in his gaze. "But I do know one thing."

"What's that?"

His eyes met yours, steady and certain. "I don't hate this life. I don't hate it at all."

The simple admission hung between you, weighted with implications neither of you was quite ready to explore fully.

"Neither do I," you confessed, the words both frightening and freeing. "And that scares me more than anything."

From upstairs came the sound of Suki's voice, calling for her father to come see the tower she'd built. The moment broke, reality reasserting itself.

Riki released your hand reluctantly. "Duty calls," he said, rising from his chair. At the doorway, he paused, looking back at you. "For what it's worth... I think we could do worse than becoming those people."

He left you sitting among the scattered orbs, each one a window into a future that felt less impossible with every passing day. The wedding night promise echoed in your mind: I'd fight a hundred time-turner accidents to end up right here with you.

Maybe, you thought as you carefully returned the recordings to their cabinet, that wasn't such an outlandish sentiment after all.

That night, after the emotional revelation of the memory orbs, neither of you mentioned the pillow barrier that had separated your sides of the bed for the past three weeks. When you emerged from the bathroom in your pajamas, Riki was already in bed, staring thoughtfully at the ceiling.

"Are the girls asleep?" you asked, hovering uncertainly at the edge of the mattress.

He nodded. "Suki made me read 'The Fountain of Fair Fortune' twice. Said Grandma Molly does all the proper voices."

You smiled despite yourself. "And do you?"

"I try," he admitted with a self-deprecating shrug. "My Amata is apparently 'too growly.'"

The shared moment of normalcy eased some of the tension between you. You slipped under the covers, careful to maintain a respectful distance, and turned off the bedside lamp with a wave of your wand.

For several minutes, you both lay in silence, the events of the day—the memories you'd witnessed, the glimpses of a shared future—swirling through your mind. You were acutely aware of Riki's presence beside you, his breathing, the faint scent of his soap.

"Do you think they're happy?" you asked suddenly, your voice sounding loud in the darkness. "Our future selves, I mean."

Riki was quiet for a moment. "They look happy," he finally said. "In those memories... they seem genuinely happy."

"It's strange," you murmured. "A month ago, I would have said there was no possible future where you and I could..."

"Be anything but enemies?" he finished when you trailed off.

"Yes."

"And now?"

You turned onto your side, facing him though you could barely make out his profile in the dim light filtering through the curtains. "Now I'm not so sure."

He turned to face you, and you could feel his gaze even if you couldn't clearly see his expression. "Me neither."

Neither of you spoke again, but the silence had changed quality—no longer awkward, but contemplative, almost comfortable. You weren't sure who moved first, or if perhaps you both did, but somehow the space between you shrank until your head was resting against his shoulder, his arm curled around you.

"Is this okay?" he whispered, his breath warm against your hair.

"Yes," you replied, relaxing into his embrace. It should have felt strange, being held by Riki, but instead it felt... safe. Right. As if your body remembered this comfort even if your mind didn't.

You fell asleep like that, wrapped in each other's warmth, the barriers between past and present, enmity and affection, blurring with each shared breath.

The sound of crying woke you sometime in the deepest part of the night. Sara's distressed wails coming through the baby monitor. Before you could fully register what was happening, Riki was already sitting up.

"I've got her," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. "Go back to sleep."

You watched through half-lidded eyes as he padded from the room, the gentle concern in his movements so different from the arrogant boy you'd known at Hogwarts. Your body felt cold where his warmth had been, and you found yourself missing his presence with unexpected intensity.

Unable to fall back asleep immediately, you listened to the monitor as Riki entered the nursery.

"Hey, little star," his voice came softly through the speaker. "Bad dream?"

Sara's cries subsided to hiccupping sobs.

"Shh, it's okay. Daddy's here." The creaking of the rocking chair told you he'd settled in with her. "Let's not wake up the whole house, hmm? Your mama needs her sleep. She works so hard, you know."

The tenderness in his voice made your throat tighten. This wasn't for show—he didn't know you were listening. This was just Riki, caring for his daughter, speaking about you with genuine affection.

"Should we sing our special song?" he continued. "The one that always makes you sleepy?"

And then, to your astonishment, Riki began to sing—a gentle lullaby in Japanese, his voice low and surprisingly melodic. You'd never heard him sing before, never imagined he could sound so... vulnerable.

When the song ended, Sara had quieted completely.

"That's my girl," Riki murmured. "You know, you have your mother's smile. All sunshine, even at midnight."

He fell silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice had changed—softer, more introspective, as if he were confessing something even to himself.

"I never thought I could feel this way about anyone," he said quietly. "Your mama... she was always special, even when we were kids. I used to drive her crazy just to see the fire in her eyes when she'd yell at me. Stupid, right? But I didn't know how else to get her attention."

Sara made a small cooing sound, as if encouraging him to continue.

"And now... now I see how amazing she is. How strong and brilliant and kind. The way she takes care of you and Suki, the way she teaches her students..." He sighed. "I'm not sure I deserve any of this, little star. But I think... I think I want to try to be worthy of it."

Your heart raced as you absorbed his words. This wasn't the Riki who'd turned your hair pink during exams or charmed your quills to write love poems about himself. This was a man—one who'd grown from that boy, who'd learned to love and care and put others before himself.

"Time to sleep now," he whispered to Sara. "Dreams of chocolate frogs and flying carpets for you."

You quickly sat up as you heard his footsteps approaching the bedroom. Some tide had turned inside you, some barrier broken by his unguarded words. You'd spent years pushing him away, and now all you wanted was to draw him closer.

When he entered the room, his silhouette outlined in the dim hallway light, you didn't hesitate. You crossed the bed in two movements and met him at the doorway, your hands finding his face in the darkness.

"You're awake—" he began, but you silenced him by pressing your lips to his.

For a heartbeat, he froze in surprise. Then his arms encircled you, pulling you against him as he responded with a fervor that stole your breath. This wasn't like the careful, public kiss at the dinner—this was something raw and honest, years of tension dissolving into something entirely new.

When you finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, his forehead rested against yours.

"What was that for?" he whispered, his voice unsteady.

"I heard you," you admitted. "With Sara. What you said."

His body tensed slightly. "Ah."

"Did you mean it?" you asked, your hands still framing his face, thumbs tracing the line of his jaw. "About wanting to be worthy of this? Of us?"

In the darkness, you felt rather than saw him nod. "Every word."

"I think..." you began, then gathered your courage. "I think maybe you already are."

For a split second, Riki went utterly still—like the admission physically struck him. Then, his exhale came out ragged. That was the only warning before he closed the distance, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, all pent-up longing, confusion, and overwhelming hope released at once.

You melted into him, letting go of everything you’d clung to since you woke in this impossible timeline: your rivalry, your assumptions, your fear. Because beneath your fingertips, you felt Riki tremble. He was as affected by this as you were.

His mouth slid over yours, hot and searching, stealing your breath. His hands dropped from your waist to your hips, fingers digging into your flesh, pulling you flush against him. The moment your body pressed to his, he made a low, desperate sound at the back of his throat—like he’d been starving for this touch.

“God, you drive me insane,” he muttered between kisses, voice muffled by your lips. There was no space left between you—no air, no doubt, just heat and him.

When you whispered his name—Riki—he groaned, deep and guttural, a hand sliding under your shirt, up the curve of your spine. His palm was hot and possessive on your skin. It felt scandalous and necessary all at once.

Your kiss turned filthy, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, a push and pull of half-formed moans. Riki lifted you without warning, guiding your legs around his waist. You could feel how hard he was, the pressure against your core dizzying.

You gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound, sucking on your bottom lip until a bolt of sensation sparked through your entire body. Your fingers twisted into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, tugging, and he growled—a low, feral noise that spurred you both into something deeper.

He backed you against the wall, one arm braced beside your head for support while the other stayed locked around your hips. You rolled your hips to meet his, eliciting another ragged groan from him.

“Careful,” he murmured, breaking the kiss for a desperate breath. His forehead rested against yours, eyes heavy-lidded, blown wide with desire. “I don’t have much self-control left.”

You swallowed hard. “Then don’t.”

It was all he needed to hear. Riki claimed your lips again, this time slower, deeper. The slide of his mouth was hot and wet, an intimate dance that sent tingles down your spine. You curled your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, never close enough.

When he finally carried you to the bed, it felt like the world had narrowed to just heartbeats and frantic breathing. He lowered you onto the mattress, crawling over you with that same mixture of filth and reverence, as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to worship you or ruin you. Possibly both.

You watched, chest heaving, as he peeled off his shirt, exposing the lean lines of his torso. A slight flush stained his cheeks, but his gaze never left yours. You fumbled with your own top, but your fingers trembled too much. Riki’s hands caught yours, guiding them aside, then took over—slowly, carefully lifting the fabric away. His eyes traveled down your newly exposed skin, and he exhaled shakily.

“You’re--” he started, then stopped, swallowing back words he couldn’t say. Instead, he leaned in to kiss a path down your throat, teeth scraping lightly, tongue soothing the small bites he left.

Goosebumps flared over your entire body at the quiet, open-mouthed kisses he pressed to your shoulder, your collarbone, the swell of your chest. The friction was maddening, each press of your bodies a reminder of the tension building below your stomach.

He slid his hand under the waistband of your pants, and your breath hitched. The filthy edge returned, overshadowing any last trace of caution. A ragged moan escaped your throat when his fingers brushed lower, teasing. Even fully clothed, the sensation threatened to snap whatever fragile composure remained.

“Riki,” you whispered, voice choking on raw need. The sound of his name seemed to unravel him.

His eyes lifted to yours, dark with want, but also swirling with something dangerously close to tenderness. You pushed a shaky hand through his hair, pulling him in for another deep, sloppy kiss. Tongue, teeth, shared breath—you both devoured it all.

Suddenly, he groaned, half-cursing. “We shouldn’t—”

“We should,” you interrupted, barely able to think straight. Because if you stopped now, if you allowed sense to creep back in, you might never let yourself have this again.

He pressed his forehead to yours, each pant of air mingling. “You’re… you’re all I can think about.”

A desperate laugh bubbled from your lips. “Same.”

His mouth captured yours once more, thoroughly, like he needed to memorize every corner of you. With a growl, he moved against you, and you felt everything—every ridge, every hard line straining through his pants, pressing right into your hips. An electric jolt shot through you, drawing a high-pitched gasp from the back of your throat.

You felt him smile against your lips, a grin that was half cocky, half wrecked, before he nipped your lower lip again. He guided your hand down, letting you feel just how hard he was—a silent confession of how far gone he’d become. A dizzy wave of heat flooded you in response.

Then, all at once, the kiss slowed, shifting from ravenous to agonizingly tender. His movements became deliberate. His tongue slid over your lips, gentler now, coaxing you to let go of tension you didn’t know you were holding. You shuddered, letting your eyes drift shut, melted by the softness that peeked through the lust.

When he finally pulled away, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead to yours, voice trembling. “You don’t hate me at all, do you?”

A smile trembled on your lips. “Not anymore.”

He made a sound halfway between relief and longing, then carefully laid you back against the pillows. You felt him settle against you, one leg between yours, the rhythmic press of his hips leaving you dizzy and clinging. He kissed you again—soft, consuming—like he planned to stay there forever, tasting your every breath.

Your heart pounded at the realization that you had two weeks left in this timeline. Two weeks before you’d return to being seventeen, to the version of yourself that loathed Nishimura Riki. But in that moment, with his body heavy and warm over yours, with his tongue gently lapping at your bruised lips, none of it mattered.

All that mattered was that, for now, he was yours—and you were his—and the dark weight of your previous hatred had turned into something far more potent: raw, desperate desire, laced with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

So you let him kiss you until you were lightheaded. Let him press you deeper into the mattress, let your bodies align in a flush of friction, let the sweet, filthy moans echo between your parted mouths. Because if time was running out, you’d take every second you could get.

Two weeks left. Two weeks before you returned to the rivalry, the misunderstandings, the wide chasm you once thought separated you. Maybe you’d lose these memories. Maybe he would too. But for now, you poured yourself into him, letting the lines between past and present blur, letting the possibility of something more overshadow every bitter word you’d ever exchanged.

And when you finally made your way back to bed, tangled in each other’s arms, the question of hatred or love no longer loomed so large. In the hush of that moment, with your lips still buzzing from his, the only thing that mattered was him—Nishimura Riki, the man who had once been your enemy, but who now kissed you like you were his only future.

But now you knew what could be. What might be, if you chose a different path.

And for the first time since waking in this strange future, you weren't sure you wanted to go back at all.

Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the bed where you lay entwined with Riki. For a moment after waking, you felt only contentment—the warm weight of his arm across your waist, his steady breathing against your neck, the comfortable fit of your bodies together.

Then memory rushed back—the memory orbs, his confession to Sara, the kiss that had changed everything—and your eyes flew open.

Riki was already awake, watching you with an expression you'd never seen before. Gone was the cocky smirk of your school nemesis, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable, yet somehow more intense.

"Good morning," he said quietly, his voice husky from sleep.

"Morning," you replied, suddenly self-conscious. In the light of day, the boldness that had propelled you into his arms last night seemed both distant and startlingly real.

You made to move away, to create some space to collect your thoughts, but his arm tightened around your waist.

"Don't," he murmured. "Please."

You stilled, acutely aware of everywhere your bodies touched—his legs tangled with yours, his chest pressed against your side, his fingers splayed across your hip.

"About last night," you began, not entirely sure what you wanted to say.

"I meant every word," he interrupted, his eyes never leaving yours. "Everything I said to Sara, everything I... showed you afterward." A faint flush colored his cheeks at the memory of your kisses, but his gaze remained steady. "The question is, did you?"

You took a breath, searching for the right words. "I think I've been fighting this—whatever this is between us—since we arrived. Maybe longer."

"Me too," he admitted. "It seemed easier to hold onto who we were than to acknowledge who we might be becoming."

His fingers traced idle patterns on your hip, the casual intimacy of the gesture making your pulse quicken.

"I've been holding back," he continued, his voice dropping lower. "Trying to maintain some distance, some semblance of our old rivalry, because it felt safer than admitting how much I've come to..." He paused, seemingly unwilling to name the emotion. "Care about you. About this life."

You understood completely. You'd been doing the same thing—clinging to old animosities as a shield against these new, terrifying feelings.

"But I don't want to hold back anymore," he said, his expression growing determined. "We have two weeks left in this timeline, and I don't want to waste another day pretending that I'm not falling for you."

Your breath caught at his directness. "Riki—"

"No, let me finish." His hand moved from your hip to cradle your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone. "I know this isn't how either of us expected things to go. I know we're supposed to hate each other. But I can't keep acting like a reluctant houseguest in what's supposed to be our life together."

The intensity in his eyes made your heart race.

"From now on, I'm going to be the husband you deserve—the one you see in those memory orbs. The one who looks at you like you're the most extraordinary thing he's ever seen. Because right now, you are."

You swallowed hard, overwhelmed by his declaration. "What exactly are you saying?"

His smile was slow, confident, yet tinged with a vulnerability that made it utterly disarming. "I'm saying that with your permission, I'm done holding back. I'm going to court you properly, the way a man should court his wife—with everything I have."

The old Riki—the boy you'd known at Hogwarts—had never looked at you this way, had never spoken with such sincerity. This was the man from the memory orbs, the one who promised forever on your wedding night, the one who spoke to his unborn child with such tenderness.

"Are you sure?" you asked, needing to know this wasn't just the influence of your surroundings, of playing house in borrowed lives.

"I've never been more sure of anything," he said. "The only question is... will you let me?"

The vulnerability beneath his confident words touched something deep inside you. This wasn't just about physical attraction or the strange circumstances that had thrown you together. This was Riki—proud, stubborn, brilliant Riki—offering his heart with no guarantee you wouldn't break it.

"Yes," you whispered, the word feeling like a leap from a great height. "Yes."

The smile that illuminated his face was like sunshine breaking through clouds—radiant and transformative. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours.

"You won't regret it," he promised. "I'm going to make these next two weeks so incredible that when we go back, you won't be able to look at me without remembering."

Before you could respond, the patter of small feet in the hallway announced Suki's approach. With a rueful smile, Riki pressed a quick kiss to your lips before rolling away just as the bedroom door flew open.

"Mama! Daddy! It's pancake day!" Suki announced, launching herself onto the bed. "You promised!"

"Did I?" Riki asked, catching her mid-bounce and tickling her until she shrieked with laughter.

"Yes!" she insisted between giggles. "With chocolate chips and strawberries!"

"Well, if I promised, then I better deliver," he said, setting her down and ruffling her hair. "Why don't you go pick out your clothes while Mama and I get ready?"

"Okay!" She darted from the room as quickly as she'd arrived, leaving a whirlwind of energy in her wake.

Riki turned back to you, his expression soft. "This is what I want," he said quietly. "Not just now, in this borrowed time, but someday. For real. With you."

The simple sincerity of his words stole your breath. This wasn't a declaration of undying love—it was something more grounded, more honest. A recognition of possibility, of potential.

"We should probably get up," you said, not quite ready to examine the way his words made your heart swell. "Before Hurricane Suki returns."

He nodded, but before you could move, he caught your hand. "Just one more thing."

"What's that?"

His eyes crinkled at the corners, a hint of his old mischief returning. "I hope you realize that as your properly devoted husband, I now have full license to be utterly, embarrassingly romantic at every opportunity."

You groaned, but couldn't suppress your smile. "I'm already regretting this arrangement."

"No, you're not," he said confidently, pressing a kiss to your knuckles before releasing your hand. "But you might when I start serenading you at breakfast."

"You wouldn't dare."

His answering grin was pure Nishimura—challenge accepted.

As you headed to the bathroom, you couldn't help but marvel at the strange path that had led you here—from bitter rivals to reluctant co-parents to... whatever you were becoming now. Something new, something unexpected, but something that felt increasingly right.

Two weeks left in this timeline. Two weeks to explore what might have been—what might still be, if you were brave enough to reach for it when you returned.

For now, though, there were pancakes to make, children to wrangle, and a husband who had apparently decided that making you blush was his new favorite pastime.

And for the first time since arriving in this future, you found yourself looking forward to whatever came next.

The days after your mutual decision to embrace this borrowed life took on a bittersweet urgency. Each morning, the calendar on the kitchen wall served as a silent reminder—crossing off another day meant one fewer remaining before your inevitable return.

At first, Riki stayed true to his word about courting you properly—leaving wildflowers on your pillow, preparing your favorite meals, stealing sweet kisses when the children weren't looking. It was charming, thoughtful, and absolutely maddening in its restraint.

By the fifth day, your patience had worn dangerously thin.

You found yourself hyperaware of his presence—the way his shoulder brushed yours when you passed in the hallway, how his fingers lingered when handing you a cup of tea, the sound of his voice reading bedtime stories to the girls. Each small interaction sparked something within you, a slow-burning heat that grew more difficult to ignore.

At night, you'd fall asleep in his arms, your bodies pressed together in increasingly intimate arrangements, only to wake tangled even more closely. Yet he maintained a gentlemanly distance that made you want to scream.

On the sixth day, you both clung to Sara a few seconds longer during morning goodbyes. On the seventh, Riki spent an hour teaching Suki a charm to make paper butterflies, carefully recording her delighted laughter with a memory orb. Neither of you acknowledged the reason for this sudden preservation of moments—the looming reality that soon these children wouldn't be yours anymore.

At Hogwarts, you found yourself distracted during lessons, your mind drifting to Riki—wondering what he was doing, if he was thinking of you, how his hands would feel on your skin if he ever abandoned his infuriating self-control.

The breaking point came on the eighth day.

You'd returned from work to find Riki in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up as he prepared dinner, humming a tune you recognized from one of the memory orbs. The simple domesticity of the scene—this man who had once been your greatest rival now cooking in your shared home—hit you with unexpected force.

"Where are the girls?" you asked, setting down your teaching bag.

"With your parents for the evening," he replied, turning to offer you a warm smile. "I thought we could use a night to ourselves. Maybe stargaze in the garden after dinner? The Cassiopeia constellation is particularly clear this time of year."

Stargazing. Another sweet, thoughtful, perfectly restrained activity.

Something inside you snapped.

"No," you said firmly, approaching him with determined steps.

His smile faltered. "No? I thought you liked astronomy—"

"I don't want to stargaze, Riki." You reached him and took the wooden spoon from his hand, setting it aside. "I don't want to be courted anymore."

Hurt flashed across his face. "I don't understand. I thought—"

"We have six days left," you interrupted, your voice steady despite your racing heart. "Six days before we go back to being seventeen and all of this disappears. I don't want to spend them pretending we have all the time in the world."

Understanding began to dawn in his eyes, but you needed to be absolutely clear.

"You keep treating me like we're starting from the beginning, but we're not. We're already married. We already have children. We already love each other in this timeline." You stepped closer, eliminating the space between you. "I don't need courtship. I need you to be present with me—right here, right now—while we still can be."

His breath caught audibly. "What exactly are you saying?"

"I'm saying fuck the courting," you replied bluntly, satisfaction coursing through you at his shocked expression. "Everything you do—every look, every touch, every sound you make—lights a fire in me, and I'm tired of pretending otherwise."

For a heartbeat, he remained perfectly still, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your skin tingle. Then, with a muttered curse, he closed the distance between you, one hand tangling in your hair while the other pulled you flush against him.

The kiss was nothing like the careful ones you'd shared before—this was raw, desperate, years of tension finally finding release. You responded with equal fervor, your fingers digging into his shoulders as if afraid he might pull away.

He backed you against the kitchen counter, his body pressed against yours in a way that left no doubt about how much he wanted this too. When you finally broke apart for air, his eyes were dark with desire, his breathing ragged.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice rough. "Because if you are, I won't be able to go back to just holding your hand."

In answer, you reached for your wand and cast a quick charm toward the stove, extinguishing the flames beneath the pots.

"Dinner can wait," you said, taking his hand and leading him toward the stairs. "We can't."

Your heart was still hammering from the last kiss, your mind spinning with the realization that you didn’t truly hate him—Nishimura Riki, your longtime rival, the one person you were supposed to despise. But after waking in this future and discovering your lives entwined? All that bitterness had morphed into a pulse-pounding tension you could no longer deny.

Riki’s sharp intake of breath was the only warning before he crashed his mouth into yours, claiming your lips with a force that stole every coherent thought from your head. He gripped the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer until your chests were flush. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, sucking it between his own, making you gasp into his mouth. You tasted something raw and electric on his tongue—years of pent-up rivalry fueling a desperate kind of need.

When you finally broke apart, panting, he pinned you with a dark, unwavering stare. His cheeks were flushed, eyes dilated with hunger you never imagined seeing from him.

“If we do this—” he started, words low and ragged, “there’s no coming back. I can’t go back to just ignoring you, or acting like we’re not…”

You swallowed, heart thudding. “I don’t want to ignore it anymore,” you whispered, the confession surprising even you.

He let out a sound—somewhere between a curse and a prayer—and grabbed your wrist, leading you to the bed. Each step felt like a collision of hearts, the air heavy with unspoken promises. The second your back hit the mattress, he hovered over you, breath coming in harsh pants. His body pressed you down, hips snug between your thighs, letting you feel just how achingly hard he was through his clothes.

“Fuck,” he muttered, dragging his mouth along the line of your jaw, the curve of your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses that had you shivering. “You feel so good… can’t believe we waited this long.”

You barely got a chance to respond before he slid down your body, fingers deftly working to peel away the barriers between you. Clothes were tugged off with clumsy urgency—your shirt up over your head, his hoodie tossed aside. His mouth followed a path down your torso, teeth scraping lightly, tongue soothing the marks he left behind.

By the time he settled between your legs, you were trembling with anticipation, your head spinning from the low, filthy groan he let out at the sight of you. He pushed your knees apart, lips skimming the inside of your thigh, sending jolts of pleasure right through your core.

“Riki…” you moaned, voice cracking.

His name seemed to snap something in him. With a growl that bordered on feral, he lowered his head, pressing his mouth to your center with no hesitation. The first stroke of his tongue was slow but deliberate, an experimental lap that had your toes curling. He moaned softly against you, the vibration making you gasp, and you dug your heels into the bed, hips bucking upward in a silent plea for more.

He gave you more.

Open-mouthed kisses replaced gentler licks, each one wetter, louder, dangerously addictive. Your breath caught when he focused on just the right spot, swirling his tongue, then flattening it in a heavy, dragging motion that left you whimpering his name. His hands crept up your thighs, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your skin as if to anchor you—as if to keep you from floating away under the intensity of his mouth.

“You taste… so fucking good,” he murmured, half to himself. Heat coiled low in your belly at the filthy timbre of his voice.

He licked, sucked, nipped lightly—alternating between decadent slowness and feral bursts of pressure—making your mind go blank. Every moan or sob of pleasure you gave him, he seemed to swallow greedily, redoubling his efforts. Your fingers knotted in his hair, nails scraping his scalp, urging him closer.

When you rolled your hips against his face, desperate for friction, he groaned, a shamelessly erotic sound that sent sparks through your entire body. He pressed his hand against your stomach, keeping you pinned as he focused his tongue with maddening precision. Your vision blurred; your only tether to reality was the slick, relentless glide of his mouth and the thunder of your heart.

“Oh God,” you gasped, head thrashing on the pillow. “Riki—”

He hummed in response—a rumble that made your thighs shake. The sensation built, rising to a point you were sure you couldn’t handle. Your breath hitched, eyes squeezing shut. You were so close, the tension in your muscles near bursting.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, momentarily pulling back to suck a bruising kiss along your inner thigh, before returning to lave his tongue exactly where you needed.

That was all it took.

The coil snapped. Your body arched off the bed, a ragged cry tearing from your lips as the orgasm crashed over you—long, pulsating waves of ecstasy that left you gasping for air. Riki held you through it, unrelenting until the last aftershocks made you shiver, your mind wholly surrendered to sensation.

By the time the world drifted back into focus, you realized he had kissed his way up your trembling body, peppering lazy kisses on your skin. His face hovered over yours, eyes half-lidded, mouth glistening with proof of what he’d done. A flush colored his cheeks, and his breathing was ragged, as though he’d been lost in it as deeply as you were.

“Fuck,” he muttered, leaning down to brush his lips over yours in a sloppy, hungry kiss. You tasted yourself on his tongue, a heady reminder of how intimate you’d just been. You let out a weak moan, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him close.

Your heart pounded, and for a moment, you just breathed each other in—sweat, sweetness, the faint tang of desperation still clinging to every shared breath.

“You okay?” he murmured, running a hand gently down your side. There was a tenderness in his tone that caught you off guard, considering how filthy the moment had been just seconds ago.

“More than okay,” you managed, voice cracked with leftover tremors. You shifted, still dizzy with pleasure, arms and legs like jelly.

A soft, relieved laugh escaped him. He nuzzled your cheek, pressing another lingering kiss to your jaw. “I’m not done with you yet,” he teased, though his voice held a trace of nervous sincerity.

You swallowed, letting your fingers tangle in his hair. “Then don’t be,” you replied softly.

And just like that, the tension began to build again, a quiet, throbbing promise of more. Because if there was one thing this impossible future had shown you, it was that Nishimura Riki was no longer just your rival—he was the man who could unravel you with a single stroke of his tongue, and you never wanted him to stop.

Later that night, lying tangled together in the sheets of your shared bed, you traced idle patterns on his chest while he played with your hair. The desperate urgency had given way to a peaceful contentment that felt all the more precious for its transience.

"I've been an idiot, haven't I?" Riki murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Wasting time with flowers and stargazing when we could have been doing that."

You laughed softly. "To be fair, the flowers were lovely."

"Not as lovely as you," he replied, his expression growing more serious. "I just... I didn't want to push. Didn't want you to think I was only interested in the physical aspect of... us."

"I know," you assured him, propping yourself up on one elbow to meet his gaze. "But we don't have the luxury of a normal courtship timeline. We're doing everything backwards and on an accelerated schedule."

He nodded, his fingers continuing their gentle exploration of your hair. "Speaking of backwards—is it strange that I feel like I'm falling in love with my own wife? Like I'm both meeting you for the first time and rediscovering someone I've known forever?"

The casual mention of love should have frightened you. Instead, it felt right—inevitable, even.

"Not strange at all," you said softly. "I feel the same way."

For a moment, you both lay in comfortable silence, absorbing the weight of the admission.

"What happens when we go back?" he finally asked, voicing the question that had been hovering between you for days.

You sighed, settling your head against his shoulder. "I don't know. Will we even remember this? Or will it feel like a dream we can't quite recall?"

"I'll remember," he said with fierce certainty. "I refuse not to. Even if I have to brew a memory potion or create my own pensieve."

"And then what? We go from this—" you gestured between your entwined bodies, "—to being seventh-year students again? From parents to teenagers?"

"We find each other again," he said simply. "Maybe not right away. Maybe we need time to grow into the people who can truly appreciate each other. But we find our way back."

The conviction in his voice made your throat tighten with emotion. "How can you be so sure?"

His answer was immediate and unwavering. "Because now I know what's possible. And I'm not willing to live in a timeline where we don't end up together."

The remaining days passed in a blur of intense emotions. By unspoken agreement, you both devoted your days to Suki and Sara—memorizing their laughs, recording their milestones, storing away every precious moment with the girls who had somehow become your children in every way that mattered.

But the nights—the nights were for each other.

On those nights, once Suki and Sara were sound asleep, you and Riki would quietly slip away to your bedroom, hearts pounding with an almost desperate urgency. Each evening blurred into the next, infused with a need to capture every last second of this borrowed future.

It began the moment you closed the bedroom door. He crowded you against it, mouth searching for yours, a low, heated groan rising from his chest. You gasped at the contact—your bodies pressed tight, as if you had to make up for all the time lost in the past.

Clothes were peeled away in hurried, clumsy motions. The bed beckoned, but neither of you reached it immediately; you made it halfway across the room before Riki’s hands gripped your hips and he lowered you to the soft rug, the raw ache of your kiss fueling every frantic thrust. It was urgent and wild, a crash of breathless moans echoing in the dim light.

After you unraveled beneath him, panting, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, eyes reflecting a jumble of relief and longing.

The second night, you found each other in the very early hours, awoken by Sara’s soft cries—but once she was fed and settled, you and Riki lingered in the bed, half-lidded with sleep.

He coaxed you onto his lap slowly, fingertips tracing lazy patterns along your spine. The way he kissed you—soft, indulgent—made your entire body tingle. This time, the pace was slower, sweeter, each roll of your hips drawn out, every shared breath reverent. When you let go, he followed seconds later, whispering your name like a vow.

A random pillow fight after Suki fell asleep turned into a tangle of sheets on the living room floor, laughter morphing into sharp gasps when you straddled his lap, feeling him already half-hard against you.

He murmured something about you being the most infuriating person he’d ever loved, and you answered by kissing him with a grin. Before long, your back hit the cushions, his lips traveling down your neck, your chest, leaving you breathless. You tried to keep quiet—worried about waking the girls—but the desperate friction of your bodies made you moan louder than intended. Riki chuckled, pressing a finger to your mouth, but his own voice shook with suppressed groans.

The release was quick and intense, your nails leaving faint crescents in his shoulders, both of you dizzy from the risk and thrill.

The next day, once Sara and Suki were tucked in, you coaxed Riki into a late-night shower, the water cascading over your entwined bodies. The steamy, cramped space made every movement more intimate.

He pressed you to the tile, nipping along your jaw, water drenching your hair as he lifted your leg around his waist. Each slick slide of his hips was both filthy and tender, the warm rush of water muffling your shared gasps.

You bit your lip, fighting to stay balanced, but Riki pinned you gently, murmuring soft curses at how good you felt. By the time you both tumbled out, the bathroom mirror fogged beyond recognition, your limbs trembled with a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction.

On the final night, you could almost feel the looming separation weighing on you both. That awareness fed a fierce, almost frantic edge to your lovemaking—hands clutching, mouths hungry, as if you wanted to burn the memory of each other into your very souls.

Riki rolled you onto your stomach, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your spine, his breath hot against damp skin. You whimpered his name, already aching for the inevitable end that lurked in tomorrow’s sunrise.

When he finally slid inside you, the cry you let out felt like a broken confession, the tears threatening at the corners of your eyes. Every thrust reverberated with the ache of goodbye. When you came apart, you clung to him like a lifeline, and he followed with a ragged moan, arms wrapping around you, holding tight as though he could shield you both from time itself.

Every touch, every whispered confession, every moment of connection was infused with an almost desperate intensity, as if you could somehow store enough memories to sustain you through the separation that loomed ahead.

On your final night, you lay awake long after Riki had fallen asleep, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. In just a few hours, you would return to your original timeline—to being seventeen and full of misunderstandings and rivalry, with the entire story of your lives together yet to be written.

Would you remember this? The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled at you across the breakfast table? How his hands felt, strong and sure, when he pulled you against him? The sound of his voice singing lullabies to Sara or patiently answering Suki’s endless questions?

You traced the lines of his face with gentle fingers, committing each detail to memory. Whatever happened tomorrow, you wouldn’t regret a single moment of the time you’d spent in this borrowed future—this glimpse of what could be, if you were brave enough to reach for it.

As dawn approached, you finally closed your eyes, your body curved protectively around his, as if you could somehow shield him—shield both of you—from the inevitable separation that morning would bring.

Six days had become five, then four, then three, until finally you’d arrived at the last day of your borrowed time together. Tomorrow you would return to being students, to being rivals, to being separate.

But tonight—tonight you were still husband and wife, still partners, still two people who had found each other across time and circumstance.

And that, you decided as sleep finally claimed you, was something worth fighting to remember.

Your heart pounded as reality settled over you. You were back at Hogwarts—in the Room of Requirement, specifically, which had transformed itself into a bedroom much smaller than the one you'd shared for the past month. Morning sunlight streamed through unfamiliar windows, illuminating your school uniforms draped over nearby chairs.

School uniforms. Not adult robes. Not your teaching clothes or his Auror gear.

"We're back," you whispered, the words barely audible.

"The girls," Riki said, his voice cracking. "Suki. Sara."

The names hung in the air between you, impossible weights on your hearts. You wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly cold despite the warm room. "They're not... they don't..."

"They don't exist yet," he finished, his face ashen. He looked younger, you realized with a jolt. The subtle maturity that had marked his adult face was gone, replaced by the smoother features of a seventeen-year-old. Still handsome, but less... weathered.

You touched your own face, feeling the slight differences. No fine lines around your eyes. Fuller cheeks. You looked down at your hands—no faint scar from where you'd burned yourself making potions with Suki. No wedding ring.

"It's like it never happened," you said hollowly.

Riki stood abruptly, pacing the small room. "No. It happened. It was real. I remember everything." He turned to you, eyes wild. "You remember too, right? Please tell me you remember."

"I remember," you assured him, your voice steadier than you felt. "Every moment."

The relief on his face was palpable. "McGonagall said we would. She said the displacement would resolve itself naturally, but our memories would remain intact."

"McGonagall," you repeated. "We should talk to her. She'll know—"

The door burst open before you could finish. Professor McGonagall herself stood in the entrance, her stern expression softening slightly at the sight of you both.

"Ah, good. You're awake," she said crisply. "I see the temporal spell has resolved itself as expected."

"Professor," you began, a thousand questions crowding your mind. "The future we saw—"

"Is one possibility, Miss [Last Name]," she interrupted gently. "One of many possible futures that may come to pass."

"But it felt so real," Riki said, his fists clenching at his sides. "Those people—our children—"

"They may still come to be, Mr. Nishimura," McGonagall said. "Or they may not. Time is not fixed. The future you glimpsed was formed by choices neither of you has made yet." Her gaze sharpened. "The question is whether your experience has taught you anything about the consequences of your actions."

You exchanged a glance with Riki, a silent understanding passing between you that would have been impossible a month ago.

"I believe it has, Professor," you said quietly.

"Good." She nodded briskly. "Then perhaps this entire ordeal was not without value." She checked her watch. "You've missed breakfast, but there's still time to change for your first classes. I suggest you both make haste."

With that, she turned to leave, then paused at the doorway. "Oh, and ten points from both your houses for the reckless spellcasting that caused this mess. Try to remember that magic is not a toy, even when provoked by..." she glanced between you, "...strong emotions."

The door closed behind her, leaving you alone with Riki once more.

An awkward silence descended. He looked so different in his rumpled school uniform, his prefect badge slightly askew. Yet his eyes were the same—the eyes that had gazed at you with tenderness as you fell asleep in his arms just last night.

Except it wasn't last night. That version of him—that version of you—was more than a decade away.

"So," he finally said, his voice carefully neutral. "What happens now?"

It was the question neither of you had fully answered even during your last night together. What would you do when you returned? How could you possibly navigate the strangeness of being seventeen again, with all the memories of an adult life together?

"I don't know," you admitted. "Everything's different. But also the same."

He took a half-step toward you, then stopped himself. "Is it... are we...?" He couldn't seem to complete the thought.

You understood his hesitation. In the future, you had been equals—partners in every sense. Here, now, you were just teenagers again. The depth of feeling, the intimacy you'd shared, felt both precious and impossible in your current bodies.

"I think," you said slowly, choosing your words with care, "that we can't just pick up where we left off. We're not those people yet."

Pain flashed across his face, but he nodded. "You're right. We're not."

"But," you continued, needing him to understand, "I don't want to go back to hating you either."

Hope bloomed in his eyes. "I never really hated you," he confessed. "Even before all this."

"I know." You managed a small smile. "You were just trying to get my attention."

He laughed, a sound that made your heart ache with its familiarity. "It worked, didn't it?"

"A bit too well." You gestured around the room. "Got us thrown ten years into the future."

"Best mistake I ever made," he said softly.

The sincerity in his voice made your breath catch. This was still Riki—your Riki—just younger, less certain, with all the growing up yet to do.

"We should get to class," you said, not because you wanted to leave, but because staying felt dangerous—like you might forget all the reasons why jumping back into your relationship was a bad idea.

He nodded, reaching for his school robes. "Right. Wouldn't want to lose more house points."

You gathered your own robes, hyperaware of him just a few feet away. "Riki?"

He looked up, a flash of vulnerability crossing his features. "Yes?"

"Maybe we could..." you hesitated, then pushed forward. "Maybe we could talk later? After classes?"

The smile that lit his face was so reminiscent of his older self that your chest ached. "I'd like that."

As you both prepared to face the day—the first day of your new, old lives—you couldn't help feeling that this wasn't an ending at all. It was a beginning. A chance to build the future you'd glimpsed, but this time with your eyes wide open.

Suki and Sara might not exist yet. The house with the magical extensions, the teaching career, the shared breakfasts and bedtime stories—all of it lay in a potential future, one you might or might not reach.

But as you caught Riki's eye one more time before leaving the Room of Requirement, you felt something settle in your heart. A certainty that hadn't been there before your temporal displacement.

Some paths were meant to be walked together, even if the journey began again.

The day passed in a blur of familiar yet suddenly strange routines. Sitting in classes you'd once taught, surrounded by peers who had no idea the person beside them was mentally a decade older—it was disorienting to say the least.

You caught glimpses of Riki throughout the day—across the Great Hall during lunch, passing in the corridor between Charms and Transfiguration, in the library during your free period. Each time, your eyes would meet briefly, a world of understanding passing between you before someone would interrupt or you'd have to move on.

News of your overnight disappearance and return had spread, of course, but the details remained vague. Most assumed it was just another chapter in your long-standing rivalry—a prank gone wrong, perhaps, or a duel that had sent you both to the hospital wing. No one could have guessed that you'd spent the missing hours living an entire month in your future.

By the time classes ended, anxiety had settled in your stomach like a lead weight. You'd told Riki you'd meet him by the lake, away from the curious eyes and gossip of your housemates. As you walked down the sloping lawn toward the water's edge, you spotted him already waiting, skipping stones across the still surface.

He looked impossibly young in his school robes, his tie loosened and hair slightly tousled by the breeze. Yet when he turned at the sound of your approach, the look in his eyes was anything but childish. It was Riki—your Riki—the one who had held you through the night and promised to find you across time.

"Hi," you said, stopping a few feet away, suddenly shy.

"Hi," he replied, letting the stone in his hand drop back to the ground. "You came."

"I said I would."

An awkward silence fell, the weight of everything you'd experienced together—everything you'd lost—hovering between you. The easy intimacy you'd developed over the past month seemed both immediate and impossibly distant.

"This is weird," he finally said, running a hand through his hair.

You laughed, the tension breaking slightly. "So weird. I keep wanting to check on the girls, and then remembering..."

"That they don't exist," he finished, pain flashing across his features. "Yet."

That single word—yet—contained so much hope, so much uncertainty.

"I went to Defense Against the Dark Arts and kept wanting to correct Professor Mays," you admitted. "I almost offered to demonstrate the Shield Charm variation I'd been teaching my fifth years."

"I sat in Potions thinking about a case I worked on last week—will work on in a decade, I guess." He shook his head. "Time travel pronouns are still confusing."

Another silence, less awkward but weighted with things unsaid.

"So," you ventured, "what happens now?"

Riki took a deep breath, as if gathering his courage. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether it was all just the circumstances," he said, his voice low and intense. "Whether what happened between us was just because we were thrust into those roles, or if it was something real. Something that could exist here, now."

Your heart began to race. "What do you think?"

He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I think I've been falling for you since fifth year, but I was too stubborn and immature to admit it. I think aggravating you was the only way I knew to get your attention. And I think seeing who we could become together—who we are together—just brought to the surface feelings that were already there."

His raw honesty stole your breath.

"What about you?" he asked, vulnerability evident in every line of his body. "Was it real for you?"

You thought about the last month—the confusion, the gradual understanding, the growing affection that had blossomed into something deeper. Had it all been circumstantial? Just two people playing the roles they were thrust into?

"At first, I thought it was just the situation," you admitted. "That we were just adapting to the reality we found ourselves in."

His face fell slightly, but he nodded, accepting your words.

"But then," you continued, needing him to understand, "somewhere along the way, it changed. It became about you—not future you, not my supposed husband—just you, Riki. The way you were with the girls. The way you looked at me. The person I saw beneath all the bravado and pranks."

Hope bloomed in his eyes, cautious but undeniable.

"I want to be your boyfriend," he blurted out, the words tumbling over each other in his haste. "Not in ten years. Now. Here." He stepped forward and took your hands in his, his grip almost painfully tight. "I don't want to be anyone else's, and I don't want you to be anyone else's either."

The intensity in his gaze nearly buckled your knees. This was Riki stripped of all pretense—raw, vulnerable, offering his heart with no guarantee you wouldn't break it.

"Kiss me," he whispered, his voice dropping to a plea. "Kiss me, kiss me, please. I've been thinking about it all day—wondering if it would feel the same, if you'd taste the same—"

You silenced him the only way you could, closing the distance between you and pressing your lips to his. The kiss was different from those you'd shared in the future—more hesitant, less practiced—but the spark was the same, the connection immediate and electric.

His hands released yours to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones as he kissed you with increasing certainty. You curled your fingers into the front of his robes, anchoring yourself to him.

When you finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, unwilling to let you go completely.

"So," he murmured, a smile tugging at his lips, "is that a yes?"

"Yes," you confirmed, your own smile breaking free. "But on one condition."

"Anything."

"No more turning my hair pink during exams."

He laughed, the sound lightening something in your chest. "I make no such promises. Besides, you looked good with pink hair."

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't maintain your stern expression. "We're going to have to tell people, you know. Our friends. Our families eventually."

"Let them talk," he said, unconcerned. "They'll get used to it. Might even win a few bets—I'm pretty sure half the school has money on when we'd finally figure things out."

The casual way he spoke of your relationship—as if it was inevitable, as if you were always meant to find each other—settled something inside you. The future you'd glimpsed might not happen exactly as you'd seen it, but the essential truth remained: you and Riki belonged together, in any timeline.

"So," he said, taking your hand as you began to walk back toward the castle, "think we'll name our first daughter Suki when the time comes?"

"Don't push your luck, Nishimura," you warned, but you squeezed his hand all the same.

He grinned, unrepentant. "Just planning ahead. I've got a lot of memories to make real."

His eyes gleamed with mischief as he leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper only you could hear. "Speaking of memories... are you planning to keep me 'thoroughly fucked' in this timeline too? Or was that just a future perk?"

"Riki!" You glanced around, mortified though no one was within earshot.

"What?" he asked with exaggerated innocence. "It's a legitimate question about our relationship parameters."

You elbowed him, but couldn't completely hide your smile. "You're impossible."

"And yet, you're dating me now." His grin widened. "Just wondering if I need to earn certain... privileges again, or if there's a temporal grandfather clause."

"You're definitely earning everything from scratch," you informed him primly.

"Challenge accepted," he replied without missing a beat. "Though I do hope you'll give me hints. Like whether you're wearing the same slytherin green underwear from our future, or if I need to charm them off you to find out?"

"You wouldn't dare."

His laugh was warm and intimate, sending a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the evening chill. "No, I wouldn't. Not without your permission." His voice softened. "I remember what you like. What we like together. And I'm looking forward to rediscovering every bit of it—properly this time."

As the castle rose before you, warm light spilling from its windows into the gathering dusk, you felt a curious mixture of loss and hope. You had lost a life, but gained a future—one that you would build together, step by step, choice by choice, with all the patience and passion that your journey had taught you.

fin.

TL: @ziiao @seonhoon @beariegyu @somuchdard @ddolleri @zzhengyu @annybah @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3 @jakewonist @azzy02 @addictedtohobi @cherrybeomm @urmomdotcom5678 @jaeyunsbimbo @yongbokified @changbinniescurlyhair @en-whims

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hcneymooners · 5 months ago

Text

⋆ i am afraid i will love you forever.

ambessa x sugar baby!reader x sevika. men & minors dni.

synopsis: ambessa & sevika are married for business reasons but cannot stand each other. however, they love you—you who are unaware that they are together.

cw: age difference, older woman/young woman, polyam but is it really bc they just love you and not each other, sugar baby!reader, business moguls!ambessa & sevika, power dynamics, power imbalance (you're a sugar baby, lol), sw, pining, non-sexual intimacy, sexually explicit content, threesome, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, oral sex (everyone is receiving at some point), masturbation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, dom/sub, sub!reader, dom!ambessa, switch!sevika, mommy kink, strength kink, face-sitting, face fucking, possessive sevika & ambessa, y'all there's a lot of nastiness in here idk if i can warn for it all, discussions of sexuality, implied assault (non-graphic, within conversation), slightly dub-con, angst, angst with a happy ending, misunderstandings, arranged marriage, sexual tension, hate sex, bisexual!reader.

wc: 10.3k

PLAYLIST.

notes: y'all, i'm going to hell. i had fun with this. i have such a soft spot for plots like this.

ACT I: CONCEPTION. you were used to feeling like a guest in your own life, everything fleeting, everything temporary.

sugaring was something inherently lacking permanence, even in name. it was sweet for a moment, full of gleaming gifts that you accepted with perfect tears in your eyes.

you had more than enough money, saved from endless months in which you traipsed across the world in the hands of older men. maybe it was about the attention now, this idea that you were still young enough to be considered enticing without effort. maybe it was the desperation to wring what you could out of an age gap connection before you became the older one.

still, in the beginning years of your twenties, you found it increasingly grating. very quickly, you understood that the men were the main problem.

they were all the same: fleshy jowls wiggling as they chewed thickly through caviar and jasmine rice, their boisterous laughs sailing across tables when you attempted to join conversations. they took your interests and re-explained them to you, returning them pulpy and distorted as they attempted to convince you that you didn't understand them the way they did. their self-importance clung to them like cheap cologne.

the rare occasions where you actually slept with them were mercifully short, and you learned to suspend yourself out of your body. you would imagine hovering somewhere over yourself, banished to the lavish mirrored ceiling of the ritz or whatever opulent hotel they'd chosen. they shuddered awkwardly above you, and afterward, you'd come back into yourself only to scrub viciously at your skin under the unforgiving spray of the shower.

the women were different—usually. you found yourself drawn to their luxury perfumes and high society drawls. it was because of this that you dropped working through an agency—which you had originally chosen to better protect yourself from male clients—and began independent contracting.

you kept a private log of the ones you liked best. there was the private university professor (who was really a nepotism baby) who loved to wear le labo matcha 26 and smelled so deliciously of fig whenever she kissed you that you sometimes bought the fruit just to continue tasting her. her nickname for you was something in greek—μωρό μου, you think. moro mou. she told you it meant 'my baby', but in all honesty, she could have called you anything. you just liked hearing her speak.

you were a dreamy, distant creature. your appeal lay in your ethereal quality, moving through the world in a way that suggested you were detached from it. people described your presence as lingering, smokey and soft, like a fading perfume in a sunlit room. there was something endearing about the tilt of your head, the deliberate pause in your movements and speech as you stewed in thought, that made people stare a second too long.

you had plied yourself with romantic imaginations since you were younger, when you first grew to hate your mother. that hatred had led you across far waters into a glittering life of your own making. but you'd learned that women could be just as dangerous, if not more so. they could ensnare you, shatter your heart with just the flicker of a glance.

so, of course, this meant that you were bound to get caught in the tides of extensive affection at some point. you just didn't expect it to be with them.

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

the first sign should have been the unusual nature they coaxed from you.

you typically focused on one relationship at a time, securing yourself to a single person until you became too honest or too sensitive or too old. but with them, you found yourself with what you called a roster—a term your best friend and fellow sugar baby clleo (yes, two l's) took issue with during your weekly brunches.

"it's not a roster when it's only two women, [name]," she said, stirring her mimosa with a silver straw.

"it's more than one, no?"

"i feel like you have to have a minimum of three." she raised an eyebrow. "though i have to admit, even two is unusual for you."

the first was ambessa.

you'd met her when you weren't even looking, at some jazz show clleo had received tickets for from her newest beau. you had been perched inside the red velvet of the box, eyes roving over the insides of the other open balcony seats. you loved to observe, to look into others' lives and pretend they could be your own.

that night, you'd worn a navy slip dress that pushed the line of being dress-code appropriate, but it was comfortable and you had been tired. your hair was elaborately braided away from your face, threaded through with silk ribbons of the same color. despite its usually disagreeable nature, you'd managed to make it look elegant enough. your skin was littered with goosebumps from the fervent blasting of the air conditioning.

for once, you'd done your makeup the way you preferred it—less blushing ingenue, more cool nudes and a dark, bold lip. in the bottom of your purse sat two rolling bullets of lipstick: one a berry shade, the other a satiny red slightly subdued by a touch of brown pigment.

your feet had been curled beneath you, your ballet flats cast aside in the corner. the rounded tops were slightly scuffed, but you only saw it as a testimony of love. again, you looked out into the crowd only to find a woman looking back.

she was utterly beautiful, and your body flushed with heat for a moment, eyes wide like a doe. her skin was a dark, rich brown that gleamed with a sheen of oil and perhaps a shimmering body mist. her hair—black and streaked with thin rivers of gray—was pulled up into a tight bun, though the front was cornrowed. her mouth was full and smooth, a small gold cuff inserted in the middle of her bottom lip.

that night, she'd worn an oversized blazer over tailored pants. your eyes caught on her diamond cufflinks, and you felt your fingers clutch tighter around the bulk of your vintage ysl clutch.

she watched you with a sense of urgency, as if you might take flight like a bird and never return. bashfully, you turned back to watch the performance and clapped politely as it came to an end. her gaze never strayed from you, and as you rose to leave with clleo, you knew that she would be waiting.

you don't remember much of what happened after, of arranging the contract and indenturing yourself to her wealth. you only remember how she made you feel, her great body towering over you as she pierced you with her shrewd gaze. she'd cupped your elbow, pulled you gently to the side so that you were less in the way. the movement was easy; you trusted her with your body immediately.

now, ambessa reigned over the entries of your leather journal as your clear favorite. everything she did further endeared you to her, and you found yourself tumbling out of bed to check your phone where it lay on the floor, desperate for her messages. you watched the device all night, its flat body connected to a limp white cord plugged into the wall—willing it to ring.

and when she did call, you were almost delirious with joy.

ambessa's world was a carefully curated exhibition of power. noxus corp dominated the skyline with its obsidian tower, all sharp angles and tinted windows that reflected the setting sun like spilled blood. you'd learned early on not to ask too many questions about her work. the corporate merger making headlines—something about expanding into the industrial district of zaun—was just background noise to the way she'd trace your collarbone with cold fingers heavy with rings.

belatedly, in the midst of your betrayal and anguish, you’d berate yourself on your refusal to engage with real life when it inconvenienced you. you could’ve caught on, dived deep into the hole of information that was the internet as clleo did when taking up with someone new. but you didn’t, you just answered her call.

she liked to dress you up. tonight, it was a paper-thin black dress that cost more than your month's rent, the fabric liquid against your skin. you'd paired it with kitten heels that made soft clicking sounds against the marble floors—ambessa preferred when you were shorter than her, easier to maneuver, to possess. your lips were stained the color of coffee, and you'd lined your eyes with something dusky and soft.

the restaurant was the kind of place that didn't list prices on the menu, where the silverware felt weighty enough to be used as weapons. you liked this style of dining; it allowed you to escape further. you could pretend that since there were no prices, every morsel you ate was free and that the woman across from you was someone whom you loved and received love back from instead of bills.

“pull your hair back,” she commanded softly when you sat down, reaching across to brush a strand from your face. her touch lingered longer than necessary. “i want to see you properly. you should never feel a need to hide from me.”

you obliged, using the elastic around your wrist to gather your hair into a loose knot. the movement exposed the necklace she'd given you last week—a delicate thing of white gold and diamonds that probably cost more than your university education. her eyes darkened with satisfaction. she liked marking you with beautiful things, preferred to communicate through touch and gifts rather than words.

you preened under her clear pleasure. the idea that you’d done something right flowed through you, sweet as sugar as was the phenomenon of female favoritism. your tongue settled behind your teeth as she skimmed the menu, ordering for you as she always did. she seemed more aware of what you liked and needed more than you had ever been.

“are you alright with sharing the roast monkfish tonight, little lamb? i’m not all that hungry, so i think we should deal with something light.”

you nodded and she smiled, chucking your chin as she flagged down the server. you squeezed your thighs together, resisting the urge to rise from your seat and sit at her side with your head resting in her lap.

the waiter arrived with a bottle of wine you were unfamiliar with, which meant it was far more expensive than your beloved six-dollar gas station sémillon. as ambessa swirled the dark liquid in her glass, her phone buzzed. her expression hardened for a fraction of a second before smoothing over.

"business," she said simply, standing. "order whatever you'd like. i'll return shortly."

you caught fragments of her conversation as she walked away—something about zaun's infrastructure and liability concerns. one hour bled into two. the waiter refilled your glass with practiced discretion, and you watched the ice in ambessa's water melt completely. your phone remained silent except for a single text: an urgent matter requires my attention. car service will take you home.

the words blurred on your screen. you'd grown used to her absences, the way she could withdraw completely into her world of corporate warfare, leaving you adrift in these expensive spaces. but tonight, the emptiness felt sharper somehow. you had, more than ever, wanted her to take you home.

it was then that the woman entered the restaurant, right as you blinked upward to dispel the gathering tears. the air seemed to shift with her presence as she absentmindley looked in your direction.

she moved with the fluid grace of someone who knew how to handle herself in the cruel maw of this world, efficient and forceful despite wearing an expertly tailored suit. her left arm caught the light strangely—some sort of advanced prosthetic that spoke of military tech or private healthcare. a significant scar bisected her face, but rather than diminishing her beauty, it enhanced her striking features.

your paths crossed at the bar while you waited for a fresh glass of wine. she ordered whiskey, neat, and her voice was rough velvet.

"you're wearing that necklace wrong," she said, not looking at you directly. "the clasp should be centered at the nape. here."

before you could protest, her fingers—warm, unlike ambessa's—were at your neck, adjusting the chain. you caught a whiff of motor oil beneath expensive perfume. you swayed slightly, pressing into her touch. she steadied you with a single finger at the beginning knob of your spine, strong where you were momentarily weak.

"i'm sevika," she said, finally meeting your eyes. something in her gaze made your breath catch. you’d never seen eyes that grey. "you look like you could use something stronger than wine."

you smiled, albeit shakily, which avalanched into finding yourself talking to her about everything and nothing—about the book of poetry you kept on your nightstand for late night reading, about the way you collected vintage coats, about how you sometimes felt like you were floating three feet above your own life.

she listened with an intensity that made you feel anchored, present in your skin in a way you hadn't felt in months. her questions were sparse but precise, each one drawing out another story, another piece of yourself you hadn't meant to expose. and then she asked you to leave with her, and the answer was quick and easy. a light, eager ‘yes’.

the speakeasy she took you to was hidden beneath an auto shop, all exposed brick and piano medleys that wrapped around you like rope. in the dim light, you noticed the way her prosthetic arm moved with incredible precision as she gestured, the way her eyes softened almost imperceptibly when you laughed. she noticed you shiver and draped her jacket over your shoulders without comment, the leather still warm from her body.

"i manage specialized acquisitions," she said when you asked what she did, her smile suggesting there was more to the story. "currently dealing with some complex merger negotiations. but that's boring. tell me more about that poetry collection you mentioned."

you talked until your voice grew hoarse, until the early hours when the city felt like it belonged only to those who were lost or hiding. when she dropped you home, she fixed your broken porch light without being asked, her movements quick and purposeful. you found out later she'd also left her number saved in your phone under 's'.

what you didn't know—couldn't have known—was that across town, ambessa was returning to the penthouse she shared with her wife of six months, their marriage a carefully hidden clause in the merger agreement between noxus and zaun's industrial empire. their shared living space was largely ceremonial, each woman keeping to their own wing, intersecting only for appearances and board meetings.

that night, sevika found ambessa in their shared study, both of them surrounded by contract papers and acquisition reports.

"the zaun infrastructure reports," sevika said, dropping a thick folder on the desk. her wedding ring caught the light—a simple band worn only within these walls.

"you're late," ambessa replied without looking up. "the board expects updates by morning."

"i had a personal matter to attend to."

"as did i."

neither woman acknowledged sevika’s missing jacket which she never was without, nor the faint perfume—your perfume—that clung to ambessa's blazer. their arrangement was clear: their marriage was business, their personal lives their own. they had trained themselves not to care what, or who, the other did in their free time.

but that night, for the first time since their arranged union, both women found themselves thinking of the same person as they worked in silence. it was one of their more agreeable evenings together.

ACT II: GROWING PAINS.

“where do you go?”

you turned, half-lidded, your hair mussed into an untamed bird’s nest. sevika lay beside you, her smile a lopsided thing—teasing, warm, a little worn. you leaned toward her instinctively, pressing a lazy finger into the shallow dimple that cut into her cheek.

she caught your wrist before you could withdraw, lips brushing the tender pulse beneath your skin before pulling you into her chest. her hand slid across your stomach, warm and heavy, before it wandered higher to pinch your nipple just shy of too hard.

the two of you had met in a hotel, yet somehow, it felt less clinical than it should have.

“what do you mean?” you murmured, breath catching as her hand stilled.

“you go somewhere,” she said, “when we fuck.”

the words hung between you, and you felt your body shift under her scrutiny. her gaze trailed the uneasy motion of your shoulder blades as you shifted upright. honesty clawed at your throat, but you tried to swallow it back. you’ve never been the tiger, only the tiger’s bride.

“i often—” you broke off, tongue darting to wet your lips. her arm tightened around your waist, as if sensing your instinct to retreat. “i tend to disassociate when i do this part of things. i’m not—what i want, i usually can’t achieve. i don’t want to make it anyone’s problem, so i float.”

“float?” she repeated softly. her tone was unreadable, but you refused to meet her eyes.

“i pick a spot on the ceiling,” you admitted, voice small. “from there, i phase myself out of my body. it’s like it’s happening to someone else.”

sevika said nothing at first, and the silence thickened as you focused on the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest. then, carefully, she shifted you into her lap, holding you there like a delicate thing. her lips found the center of your chest, pressing a kiss over your heart before trailing up to the vulnerable line of your throat.

“you do this with me?”

“not always,” you whispered. “you’re…different. you pay attention to me—what i need. only two other people have ever been that way. both women.”

“mmm. do you still see them?” her voice was calm, but you caught the subtle current of possession beneath her words.

“only one.”

“and?”

“it’s good with her. one of the best.”

“and what do you want?” she pressed. the question lodged itself in your chest. “you said you can’t achieve it.”

your cheeks burned, and you squirmed in her lap, but she held you fast. “i—this is embarrassing.”

“there’s nothing embarrassing about your desires, baby girl,” she murmured, her tone soothing. “i wouldn’t be here if i didn’t want you to enjoy this too.”

“i do enjoy it, but…i’d like to go further. i like to go under.” you hesitated, then added, “you know that i’m—”

“submissive,” she finished for you.

you nodded, your voice softening as you continued. “i don’t really like the harsher aspects of submission, but i love being taken somewhere else—being softer. i love being told i’m good, that i’m doing well. i love being pushed past my limits, to the point where i’m…hazy. overstimulated. freed from my worries through my body, through the pleasure i give and receive.

“when you manhandle me, when you pull me close and push into me like you’re starving for it, when you break me apart with your mouth, i get so close. i hover in this warm heaven where i’m nothing but what i feel. you know?”

sevika’s expression softened, her face almost unbearably open. before you could process it, she moved, pressing you into the mattress beneath her. her broad frame blotted out the light, sheltering you in a cocoon of warmth and safety.

“you are good, baby,” she finally said. “so good.”

her lips fell again to your neck and you felt her slide her thick fingers into the warm walls of your cunt. a sound slid from your throat, something gutteral and worn. she began to move, curling her fingers as if you pull you closer. there, in the back of your mind, was that heaven.

she kissed your temple, her lips lingering there as your body arched into her hands. “thank you for telling me.”

then, softer: “that heaven? i want to take you there.”

the words sank into your skin, heady and heavy, as if she’d whispered she loved you.

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

ambessa had endured a long day—one filled with tedious negotiations and the peculiar frustrations of ruling over people who thought themselves her equals. she'd craved just one moment of quiet in her house, but fate, it seemed, had other plans.

when she stepped through the door, the sight of her wife pacing their kitchen dragged a weary sigh from her chest. sevika's movements were sharp, her broad shoulders taut beneath the worn leather of her jacket. even now, after months of marriage, seeing sevika in their shared space felt like an intrusion.

for a fleeting moment, ambessa considered turning around, but she hadn’t built empires by running from conflict.

“sevika,” she began, voice clipped, “if this is about zaun’s profit percentage in the acquisition, i suggest you take it up with legal. i’ve no patience to discuss business tonight.”

“it’s not that,” sevika muttered, her tone bristling with frustration. “but thanks for your grace, medarda.”

ambessa’s eyebrow arched. “then what?”

sevika stilled, the weight of her gaze pinning ambessa in place. “are you the other woman?”

for a moment, the words didn’t register. then irritation flared, swift and hot.

“i thought we agreed we weren’t in love,” ambessa replied, dry as the desert. “who i see outside this house is none of your concern, unless it compromises our arrangement.”

sevika exhaled sharply, the sound edged with restrained anger. she reached into her pocket and retrieved her phone, its screen casting a gentle glow across the marble counter. with a few taps, she pulled up a recent conversation.

she paused, a smile stealing across her face as she took in the selfie you'd sent of you and clleo in matching milano blaniks. the tenderness in her expression was something ambessa had never seen before.

my feet hurt but it might be worth it!! you'd texted. she had responded in record time.

looking cute, baby girl. i like the purple.

me too! they had a navy and gold pair i would kill for, but i'm trying to be responsible.

sevika's smile deepened, and this time she sent a bank transfer along with her next message.

you can be a little irresponsible.

oh, sevi. that's not what i meant.

i know. i don't mind. get them both.

"i'm sorry, but were we not having a conversation?" ambessa's voice cut through the moment like frost.

sevika snapped back to reality, her face twisting into something ugly—the expression she reserved solely for ambessa. she selected another image, and ambessa stepped closer, her eyes narrowing at the familiar necklace adorning your throat.

she recognized it instantly—it had rested on her desk just nights ago, a small token of indulgence she’d gifted you during one of your afternoons together.

you were smiling, beaming, caught mid-laugh. your hair was damp, clinging to your cheeks, and a sea lion nudged at your side. it was an image of unfiltered joy.

"she was talking to me the other night," sevika began, her voice tight as a wire. "mentioned some other woman. i thought it was a client thing, but then she showed me this." she gestured at the screen. "that necklace. it was on your desk when i saw you."

ambessa said nothing at first, her jaw working. finally, she sighed, the sound heavy with something like resignation. “i didn’t know. i assumed she might have other clients, but i didn’t pursue her because of you.”

sevika’s shoulders sagged slightly, but the tension in her face remained. she bent her head, palms pressing into the cool marble of the counter. “what the fuck.”

“does she know?” ambessa asked after a beat.

"what would it matter?" sevika shot back, her voice rising like tide. her gaze locked on ambessa, and her lips twisted in disbelief. "holy shit. are you in love with her?"

the question hit like a blow, but ambessa’s reaction was instant.

“as if you’re any better,” she snapped. her tone turned venomous, sharp as a blade. “you sulk through the door, reeking of her sex, then slink into the shower as if i can’t hear you simpering in there.”

sevika straightened, anger sparking. “and you’re what? innocent?”

ambessa’s laugh was cold, cruel. “i’ve never been innocent a day in my life. but you—god, sevika, you’re pathetic. you’re worse than i thought.”

sevika’s fists clenched at her sides, but she didn’t lash out. instead, she held her ground, her gaze fierce. “what do we do now?”

ambessa hesitated. her mind raced through the implications, the potential fallout. finally, she crossed her arms, her posture stiff. “we don’t tell her.”

“and keep lying to her?” sevika’s voice cracked slightly. “how long do you think that’ll work?”

“as long as it has to,” ambessa replied, her voice low and final. “this arrangement isn’t just about her, sevika. it’s about us. about what we’ve built. if you care about her as much as you claim, you’ll think before ruining what little stability we have left.”

“for fuck’s sake, ambessa. she’s a sweet girl. she won’t—”

“you have no idea what she will do if she finds out,” ambessa hissed. “and i know how sweet she is. she’s the only goddamn person i know who can stand me. who do you think i’m really protecting?”

for once, sevika had no retort. the silence between them was loud, heavy, filled with unsaid things.

“i’ll handle it,” ambessa said after a long pause, her voice softer now but no less firm. “but don’t let your feelings make you sloppy. if you can’t compartmentalize, this will all fall apart.”

sevika turned away, her shoulders tense. “it’s already falling apart.”

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

ambessa didn’t sleep that night.

not because of sevika’s words—though they lingered like a sour taste in her mouth—but because of you. she’d grown accustomed to the softness of your skin beneath her fingers, the way your presence softened the edges of her world, made it almost bearable. and yet, she couldn’t shake the nagging thought that you might be nothing more than collateral damage in this carefully constructed house of cards.

the following morning, as sunlight filtered through the sprawling windows of her office, ambessa reached for her phone. her fingers hovered over your contact, her mind warring with itself. she’d always prided herself on her control, on her ability to compartmentalize. but now, for the first time in years, she felt the cracks forming.

her phone buzzed before she could decide, sevika’s name flashing across the screen.

“what now?” ambessa answered, her tone clipped.

“the gala,” sevika began, her voice unusually subdued. “this year it’s your turn to host, right?”

ambessa’s grip tightened on the phone. “yes. and what about it?”

“and,” sevika said, dragging out the word, “she’ll be there. she got an invite through one of her clients.”

the air seemed to still around her. “you’re certain?”

“positive,” sevika replied. “what do you want to do?”

ambessa leaned back in her chair, her gaze fixed on the skyline. the decision should have been simple: handle the event with poise, maintain appearances, and ensure that you remained blissfully unaware. but something about sevika’s tone made her pause.

“we’ll stick to the plan,” ambessa said finally. “she doesn’t know, and she won’t find out. not from us.”

they both knew it was only a beautiful dream.

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

and then suddenly, it was different. it was horrible in its subtleness, but enough to make you less comfortable than you were before.

you went to dinner. ambessa watched you with eyes as sharp as her diamond cufflinks, and you wondered if she knew how small you felt in her presence. you let her brush her thumb over your lower lip, and you leaned into it, hoping she doesn’t notice your hands gripping your clutch too tightly.

“is something wrong?” you asked her, throat closing around the end of the question.

she seemed to startle, and leaned back with a shake of her head. you knew what was coming next. she was going to blame work or her family, which you barely knew about, or maybe something as clandestine as the weather. you suddenly felt entirely too sick. you took a sip of wine, eyes falling on the little brown bag that sat next to you.

every gift you unwrapped felt a little like a goodbye, the sparkle dulled by the unspoken terms behind it. you kept smiling, face stretching tediously through the pain though your heart was sinking because nothing ruined a good arrangement faster than too much honesty.

you must’ve overstepped somewhere down the line, and she had grown weary of it. you were sweating now, looking away from her. it didn’t help that your phone had stayed dark all evening, your slew of messages to sevika read and unanswered.

“i finished that book you gave me,” you offered and ambessa nodded. “it was lovely. a little macabre, but i managed to push through.”

“bessa?” you asked, voice small.

the nickname seemed to spur her back into herself and she reached across the table, clutching your hand. her rings pressed cold indents into your skin. you'd grown to love the weight of them.

"the annual noxus environmental gala is tomorrow night," she said finally. her thumb traced circles on your palm. "i'd like you to come."

your heart stuttered. she'd never invited you to a public event before. "another client already invited me. i’ll be there."

she squeezed your hand once before letting go, unfazed by the mention of someone else. "good."

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

the evening was opulent in a way that made your skin prickle. the ballroom shimmered with soft golden light, chandeliers casting their glow across marble floors that reflected everything like still water.

you'd been invited by marcus—a client who preferred your company over dinner to discuss art and literature, who looked at you like you were made of gold but never asked for more than conversation. he was safe, a spiderweb you could free yourself from anytime without losing any skin.

your dress—a gift from ambessa—felt like a confession of infidelity. marcus had said nothing in the car, but his face had been momentarily confused. he kept track of what he gifted you, and he hadn’t seen this before. you offered no explanation, just smiled softly and held his clammy hand.

the fabric whispered against your skin with every movement, reminding you of her touch. you held your champagne glass like a shield, watching the bubbles rise and disappear, each one carrying a fragment of your certainty with it.

the past week had been strange. ambessa's usual sharp edges had softened into something almost tender, while sevika's messages had grown shorter, more distant. she’d eventually responded to the ones that had been read, but you felt as though you had disturbed her with them. you'd attributed it to work, to the upcoming shareholder conference business weekly had written about. you were good at making excuses for the people you loved.

and then you saw her.

ambessa stood on the stage like she'd been born there, her voice carrying across the room with the kind of authority that made everyone else feel small. her dress was long and white, with a delicate slit framing the plump skin of her thigh. it clung to her frame with an elegance that made your heart ache. you didn't want to admit how your chest tightened at the sight of her, how your body betrayed you with its instinctive pull toward her presence.

but before you could fully process the sight of her, another figure emerged from the crowd.

sevika.

she stood near the base of the stage, her broad frame impossible to miss. her presence was quieter than ambessa's, but no less commanding. the way she held herself—like she belonged here, like this was her world too—made something cold settle in your stomach. you shifted away from marcus, moved slightly forward with a furrowed brow.

it wasn't just their proximity—it was the way they moved. the way sevika's gaze lingered on ambessa, the subtle nods they exchanged, as if communicating in a language only they were privy to. and then, as if to confirm your worst fears, ambessa's hand brushed sevika's arm in a gesture so familiar, so natural, that the truth hit you like a truck.

the matching rings caught the light. the world tilted sideways.

the soft hum of conversation turned to static, the lights too bright, the room too warm. you tried to steady yourself, clutching the edge of a nearby cocktail table and nearly taking it down, but the weight of realization pressed down on you like a tide. marcus was asking after you, but you snapped at him.

you thought of the gifts—how similar their tastes had been. the way they both knew too much about each other’s companies, about each other's worlds. the little moments that should have added up but hadn't—because you hadn't wanted them to. you'd ignored the signs, wrapped yourself in their separate affections like blankets against the cold.

someone nearby whispered, "isn't that their…" the words trailed off, heavy with implication. you spun, eyes wide and searching. you couldn’t tell who had spoken.

the champagne glass slipped from your fingers. it didn't shatter—caught by a waiter's quick reflexes—but the sound of it leaving your hand seemed to echo through the room. both women turned at the noise, their expressions shifting from professional neutrality to something raw and complicated.

“do you know her?” the question came from a guest nearby, their curious tone laced with amusement.

the tension shattered. the murmurs began, the subtle shifts of the crowd as more guests turned to watch the unfolding spectacle. your voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the gathering noise like a blade.

“how long?”

ambessa stepped forward, her movements slow and deliberate, as if approaching a wounded animal. “it’s not what you think—”

“don’t,” you snapped, your voice trembling with anger and heartbreak. “don’t you dare lie to me.”

sevika tried to intervene, her hand reaching out as if to steady you, but you recoiled, your fury spilling over. “you both knew,” you said, your voice rising. “you knew, and you let me—”

sevika tried again."baby—"

"don't." the word came out hard and cold.

you backed away, your heels suddenly unsteady beneath you. the crowd parted like water, their whispers following you like shadows. you felt that your dress was transparent, exposing your body to the their ravaging gaze. you made it halfway down the marble steps before sevika caught your arm. her touch was warm, familiar—everything you'd grown to love and now couldn't bear.

"please," she said, her voice rough with something like desperation. she couldn’t possibly understand what it meant to be desperate. "please."

"let go of me." you tried to pull away, but she was stronger. had always been stronger.

"we never meant—"

"what?" your voice cracked. "to hurt me? to make me look like a fool? do you think i love being a loser? that i would be fine because i would view this as some way of knowing what it was like to win?" you yanked harder, and suddenly you were falling.

the puddle wasn't deep, but it was enough. your dress—ambessa's dress—soaked through instantly, clinging to your skin like shame. you stayed there on your hands and knees, watching your tears make ripples in dirty water.

"stand up," ambessa's voice came from behind you, softer than you'd ever heard it. “come inside. we can—”

"no." you pushed yourself to your feet, water streaming from ruined silk. your makeup was running—you could feel it tracking down your cheeks, and somehow that small detail destroyed you more than anything else. for the first time in a long time, you felt ugly. "i don’t want to come inside."

when you looked up, they were both there. ambessa's perfect composure had cracked, showing something raw underneath. sevika looked like she wanted to reach for you again but didn't dare.

"were you laughing about it?" your voice was barely audible. "about how pathetic i was, falling for both of you?"

"no," sevika said quickly. "god, no. we didn't even know—"

"until when?"

"a week ago," ambessa admitted. the truth fell between you, landed hard.

you stepped back, barefoot now, heels dangling from one hand. "oh my god. were you ever going to tell me?”

their silence was answer enough. the air around you grew thin.

a scream rose up from the depths of you before you could stop it, and echoed wildly from the sides of surrounding buildings. you clutched at your face, eyes screwing shut as you let out a terrible heaving noise. you knew they were seeing you now as you really were: a frantic girl who clasped desperately at whatever she could get in order to save herself.

“i hate you,” you screamed at them, hurling the words like they were knives. “i hate you! i never want you to speak to me again.”

it was rendered useless because the three of you knew that simply wasn’t the truth.

“just—leave me alone,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

their expressions were unreadable. if you gave in to your delusions, you could believe that ambessa looked slightly ill.

you walked away, legs shaking, each step carrying you further from everything you'd thought was real. behind you, you could hear them arguing in harsh whispers, but you didn't turn around. the city lights blurred through your tears until everything was just a soft shape and shadow.

your apartment felt suffocating when you returned, the silence oppressive in its stillness. you sank onto the couch, your dress pooling around you like a shroud. the tears came in waves, each one more relentless than the last.

you thought of ambessa’s calculated charm, sevika’s quiet strength, the way they’d both made you feel seen, cherished. and then you thought of the lies. you reached for your phone, your fingers trembling as you typed out a message. but no words came. what could you possibly say? that you hated them? you’d done that. that you missed them already? that you wouldn’t know how to exist without them?

instead, you deleted their numbers, one by one, the act feeling both liberating and excruciating. for the first time in what felt like forever, you were truly alone.

your mother was right. you were such a fun girl, but impossible to love. when someone looked at you, they’d never see someone worth settling down with. another wail unearthed itself, reverberating through the grave of your body. you twisted, holding yourself with your own arms as you felt the grief break you down.

you would never see them again. there was nothing worse than this, not now. you felt like you’d be better off dead.

ACT III: DEFORMATION.

ambessa hadn’t slept in days.

the boardroom’s fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across her sharp features as she reviewed contracts she couldn’t focus on. every word blurred into the next, her thoughts returning to the look on your face when the truth unraveled.

“i don’t think i can fix this,” she had told sevika the night it happened, her voice hollow as they sat in the dim confines of her private office.

sevika hadn’t responded, her silence cutting deeper than any argument could. ambessa could tell her wife blamed her, and in some ways, she couldn’t disagree.

sevika, in response, buried herself in her work. her nights were spent overseeing global operations, her jaw clenched tight as she barked orders to underlings down the phone who didn’t dare question her unrelenting pace.

but even the chaos of the company’s industrial sprawl couldn’t drown out the memory of you. the sound of your pleausre haunted her—high and wispy as she ate at you. her dreams were vivid, stuck on the way you’d lit up when you talked about the things you loved—things she hadn’t known enough to ask about.

they’d both lost you, and they felt it in the empty spaces you’d left behind.

ambessa, meanwhile, pulled back. she gave the reins to her daughter for an indeterminate amount of time, something viewed as largely positive and a sign of trust. but those who knew her interpreted it as a sign of grave danger.

her days were spent much like yours, wrapped in the endless heart of her bed which she only left to sink underneath the soapy water of a warm bath. there were several evenings where sevika would stumble home, slightly drunk but coherent enough to check on ambessa and yank her from the bottom of the bath.

“no,” she rasped, her hand tight on ambessa’s thick wrist. “you face it.”

and you?

well, eventually you realized that the world would continue to move on. blessedly, your breakdown hadn’t hit the headlines or social media platforms. you knew this had to be the work of them, but it was the least you deserved. you cut all arrangements you had leftover. the gifts were boxed up and put into storage.

despite your dramatics, you reminded yourself to not be stupid. all cash you had kept was deposited into your bank account, in increments so it wasn’t flagged as suspicious. you had well over thousands, so you broke your lease and found a block several miles from where you used to be.

you’d invited clleo to live with you, but she’d refused citing her current suitor as her preferred living situation. she felt that he was the one, that they would marry. you felt your bitterness rise up, but you shot it right in the middle of its scaled head. you were happy for her, you said instead of “he doesn’t mean it. please don’t believe him.”

please send an invite.

she’d cupped your face and kissed your cheek. of course. you’ve been with me through everything.

so, you broke another lease and left the city.

ACT IV: REVIVAL.

true to her word, clleo did get married, and she did more than invite you. you were her maid of honor; the only bridesmaid at that. this meant that you were captured into a lavish gown that showed more skin than you thought would be appropriate.

“we can’t forget where we came from,” clleo had said coquettishly, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. she treated you so fragilely now, and you clung to it. you were pretending it was something else.

the wedding was a spectacle of opulence—ivory drapes cascading from every corner of the venue, chandeliers dripping crystal tears, and flowers so fragrant they felt like an embrace. the air buzzed with the cloying sweetness of a celebration meant to declare love eternal. you floated through it all, a wraith in your own right, bound by duty and the magnetic pull of clleo’s joy. you wore the dress she picked for you: black satin that crushed in on itself like paper whenever you moved and clung like sin, with lace so delicate it felt like a secret. it revealed too much and not enough all at once. you wondered if she’d done it on purpose, if she’d wanted you to stand out or to feel exposed. to embarrass you.

no, this was clleo. you were simply…paranoid now.

the ceremony was a blur, a kaleidoscope of vows and veils, of clleo’s radiant smile and the way her hand trembled in her husband’s. you caught the bouquet because she’d aimed it at you, her laugh like champagne bubbles bursting in the air. it was later, during the reception, that you felt it—that electric hum at the back of your neck, the awareness of being watched. you turned, and there they were.

ambessa and sevika.

they stood together, an impenetrable force against the crowd. ambessa’s gaze was as sharp as ever, her golden gown gleaming meanly, a study in power and restraint. sevika, beside her, had the air of someone caught between worlds, her hand resting on a glass of something dark, her eyes locked on you. they hadn’t been invited. you knew this because clleo would have warned you. yet here they were, as if summoned by the threads of some cruel, cosmic joke.

your stomach tightened, but you refused to look away. instead, you tilted your chin, the soft wave of your hair catching the light, and took a slow sip of wine. if they wanted to haunt you, they would have to work for it.

it didn’t take long. ambessa approached first, her steps deliberate, her presence cutting through the crowd like a blade. “you look beautiful,” she said, her voice low enough that it felt like a secret. you hated how your skin warmed under her gaze.

“you shouldn’t be here,” you replied, though the edge in your voice felt dull, worn down by something deeper.

sevika joined her then, her expression inscrutable but her proximity unnerving. “we needed to see you,” she said, her voice rougher, as if it cost her something to speak.

“at a wedding? how romantic.” you let the words hang, your lips curving into a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “good thing it’s not mine.”

sevika’s lips twitched, and you scowled. your pain was not for her amusement.

“[name], we made mistakes,” ambessa said, and for the first time, there was something fragile in her tone, a crack in the glass. it distracted you from your ire. “but we haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

you set your glass down, your fingers trembling against the crystal stem. “i don’t think this is the time or place.”

“when is?” sevika countered, her voice steady but her eyes revealing something raw. “you’ve been avoiding us.”

“i said i never wanted to speak to either one of you again and yet, here you are,” you said, your voice sharper now, cutting through the haze of alcohol and longing. “do you think crashing a wedding will fix what you broke?”

ambessa’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t look away. “we’re not here to fix it. we’re here because we can’t let it end like this. and it’s not crashing if the groom extends an invite at the behest of the bride.”

your heart stuttered, and for a moment, the noise of the reception faded into a dull roar. clleo’s laughter rang out from somewhere behind you, a reminder of where you were, of what you’d tried so hard to rebuild. why did everyone betray you?

“i can’t do this,” you whispered, stepping back. the movement felt like tearing yourself in two.

“baby girl,” sevika said, her voice low, almost pleading. “look at me. this isn’t some big scheme, okay? let’s talk. we don’t even have to do it here. we can go anywhere you fucking want. just like before, mama.”

you shook your head, the weight of their words pressing against the fragile walls you’d built around yourself. “i need air,” you said, your voice barely audible, and before they could respond, you turned and slipped into the crowd.

“[name!]” ambessa called.

fuck being the tiger's bride, you were the tiger. you stood your ground, kept walking.

🥩 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚𓃔

the gardens were quiet, the air cool against your skin as you leaned against the wrought-iron railing. the night sky stretched endlessly above you, an intricate canvas of stars that felt too indifferent to your pain. but the world wasn’t responsible for soothing you.

you’d thought the distance would help, that the cool air would clear your head, but instead, it only magnified the ache in your chest.

you heard them before you saw them, the soft crunch of gravel underfoot. you didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge their presence, but you felt it—that charge, that unbearable pull that had slaughtered you repeatedly since the beginning.

“i didn’t ask you to follow me.”

“we’re not asking for forgiveness,” ambessa said, her voice soft but firm. “we are willing—we’re willing to take what we can get. we want to make this right.”

you turned then, your eyes meeting hers, and for the first time, you saw it—the vulnerability, the regret. sevika stood slightly behind her, her expression shadowed but her eyes fixed on you with the same intensity.

“and what does that look like?” you asked, your voice breaking despite yourself. “what could you possibly do to undo the damage?”

ambessa stepped closer, her hand hovering near yours but not quite touching. “we can’t undo it,” she admitted. “but we can promise to be better. to show you that you’re the only thing that matters.”

“you’re both so good with words. but words don’t mean anything if they’re not backed by action.” you laughed then, a bitter sound that cut through the stillness. “you always made me feel like i mattered. that’s why it hurt so much. i have no place between you.

sevika finally spoke, her voice quieter but no less resolute. “then let us prove it. on your terms.”

“you’re not good for me.”

ambessa glided forward, caught your chin inbetween her thumb and index finger.

“nothing in this world that we want with so much intensity will ever be good for us.”

you looked between them, your heart a battlefield between desire and self-preservation. the silence stretched, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. finally, you broke out of her grasp, a small, tentative gesture that felt like stepping off a cliff.

“i have no place between you,” you said again, your voice barely more than a whisper.

sevika's shoulders sagged with disappointment, but ambessa’s lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. she was like a bloodhound with weakness.

“is that what you want, lamb?” you looked up at her, sensing a shift in the air. “you want to be between us? coddled, warm, and safe?”

“ambessa—” sevika began, but the other woman held up a hand.

“you would’ve been fine if you had know that we were married from the beginning, hmm? is that it? your conscience would’ve been sated, right? because it’s not homewrecking or infidelity if the partners are aware of the others transgressions.”

“that’s not fair,” you snapped.

“mmm, well life isn’t. besides, you must be stupid if you think every client you’ve been with hasn’t once had someone waiting at home. this is your life, little lamb. your permanent affliction,” ambessa sneered. “i think you like it.”

you knew this game well. she pushed you, said the best things to make you act your worst. if you gave in, she won.

“fuck you, ambessa.”

“gladly,” she said with a small smile.

you scoffed, irritated beyond belief and moved to storm past her. by doing so, you gave her what she wanted. as you made an effort to leave, she cinched your waist with her arm and pulled you back into her chest. you could feel her breasts against your back, full and ripe like fruit.

“what are you doing?” you asked incredulously.

she didn’t answer, only hiked your dress up to press a ringed hand to your cunt. she held it there, groping the warmth of you until you were leaking in response. you let out a strangled squeal, legs kicking to no avail.

“see? you want us so badly. it’s like an instinct.”

you glanced at sevika, hoping for some fucking common sense but found her gazing at your lace-clad panties with something unfathomly angry lurking across her face.

“who the fuck gave you those?” she said quietly.

you stopped struggling, looking at her fully now. her stormy gaze lifted, piercing you like a spear through weak flesh.

“it wasn’t me, and ambessa never gifted you shit like this.”

“i had—i had other clients,” you answered and she rolled her shoulders, skulking forward. “but i bought these myself. i don’t see anyone else anymore. i can’t—i couldn’t. it was hard.”

her face softened at that, and she came closer. her large body covered the front of you, shielding your exposed body from any prying eyes. this meant that ambessa could slide the fabric to the side and dip a finger into your cunt. the slide was slick due to your drooling arousal, but the pain still startled you.

she was large, almost too much, but it seemed to burst a part of you that had been straining at its locks. you let loose a silent cry, shuddering desperately in her grasp as she explored you tenderly. sevika cooed, claiming your mouth in a bruising kiss.

“hold on,” she murmured into your mouth and you clutched onto her, gripping tighter as ambessa gave you over.

sevika walked you over to a small alcove, expertly hidden from immediate vision and grunted as she held you up with one arm—removing her jacket with the other. once the concrete floor was covered appropriately, she lowered you on top of it carefully.

you released her, but barely had a moment to thank her before she was on you. your first thought was that it was like before: relentless, tender, and crushing. her hands slid up your thighs until they grasped at your hips. you rocked into her, moaning softly as she squeezed the soft meat of your stomach. your breath came fast, labored and fueled by aching.

“it’s okay, baby. ‘m right here,” sevika said, her voice low and firm.

she pulled back, spreading your legs till the pink of your pussy was revealed to her hungry gaze. it winked at her, clenching around nothing the longer she looked.

“jesus, i’ve missed this,” she murmured.

you flushed, body pulsing hot with flame. from the side of you, ambessa came prowling. she lowered herself to her knees, back arching neatly as she crawled into the apex of your thighs. her mouth descended upon you with a fervor, her lips closing around your clit and sucking. your back bowed until you were practically hunched over her, hands in her thick hair.

she only adjusted herself so that she could better lick into you, her tongue lapping at every crevice of your cunt. you were dripping all over her face, hips bucking as you fucked forward onto her tongue. her hands came to cup the peach of your ass, squeezing and tugging until you felt like nothing more than a piece of meat. after a moment, ambessa pulled back and laughed as you tried to follow.

“sorry, little lamb, but i need to know if i’m doing a good job” she watched you, eyes sharp. “i know you are.”

you shivered at that, and she smiled. impatiently, you further opened your legs and pushed your sopping pussy toward her.

“c’mon. please.” when nothing happened, you let out a groan. “you’re doing a good job.”

“who’s doing a good job?” ambessa asked, moving closer.

you shivered again, your brain beginning to mottle and smear.

“you are, mommy.”

“fuck,” sevika groaned.

satisfied, ambessa suctioned her lips back over you. you let out a high moan, pushing your chest out. sevika reached over, tugging the bust down and exposing your tits. your nipples were straining toward her, so she dragged one in between your teeth. with a cry of surprise, you slammed your thighs closed around ambessa’s bobbing head. she did nothing to open them herself, only slapped a hand on your inner thigh to get you to correct yourself.

“yes, fuck,” you cried. “fuck, please. please. ohhhh.”

ambessa shook her head back and forth, letting herself get messy as she pushed her face deeper inside of your pussy. you were fully fucking her face now, your clit engorged and begging. whatever filter you’d had before was gone now; your mouth ran like water from a faucet.

“yeah. yeah, mommy, like that. eat your baby’s cunt. lick your girl’s pink little pussy.”

ambessa moaned, her nails digging into the skin of your ass. you bounced as much as you could, that warmth coiling deep inside your stomach. sevika was still teasing your tits, but she had a hand inside of herslef now—her pants pushed down for better access.

when you realized she was trying to rub one out, you came with a primal grunt. ambessa attempted to pull back but you kept her where she was with a firm hand at the nape of her neck. breathlessly, you coaxed sevika up for a kiss and then pulled her away by her hair.

“i want you to touch her,” you instructed. your voice was shaky as you edged toward your second orgasm.

it took her a minute to register what you meant and you watched her cheeks darken, her eyes flickering toward ambessa’s rippling back inbetween your legs and then back to you.

“i know you want to, sevi,” you murmured.

your mind was almost gone now; you were so close to heaven.

you could see her warring with herself, but you also knew her love for you would win out. with a curt nod, she moved until she was behind ambessa and lifted her dress until she was face to face with her naked ass. with an efficent movement, sevika pushed ambessa’s legs open so she could smell the musk of her large cunt. there was a moment where you weren’t sure if she would obey, but then she dived in—licking a large stripe between ambessa’s folds. you seized around ambessa’s tongue as she squealed in surprise, your orgasm pouring from you like honey.

you puhsed her off of you and crawled onto all fours, squatting slightly to make the push of your fingers easier as you entered yourself. despite not pleasuring you anymore, ambessa made no effort to move as sevika slapped a hand on her ass as she slurped at her pussy.

“holy shit,” ambessa muttered and you grinned.

“have you—have you touched each other like this before?” you asked, voice breaking as you reached that spot long your walls. “did you fuck when i left to try to stave the guilt?”

there was no answer, but ambessa stiffened. you laughed, bright and a little unhinged. it was confirmation that they’d thought about, but had never actually followed through. you were in a squatting position now, positioning your hips as you rode your own fingers. you wrist twinged in discomfort, but you were more determined to cum for a third time.

faster and faster, you rode. your head was turned up toward the ceiling of the alcove, your tits bouncing as you began to crest that wave. you closed your eyes, focusing on the shaky inhales of ambessa and the wet squelches of sevika feasting on her.

there was a pause, so you opened your eyes and found sevika flipping ambessa over so that the bigger woman sat on her face. like this, she was even more insatiable. she rocked ambessa back and forth on her face, spreading her own thighs weakly as heat cascaded through her.

you weren’t sure what did it: sevika’s newfound desperation to actually fuck her wife, ambessa’s unrelenting eye contact as she came, or the high whine sevika released when ambessa leaned back to fuck two fingers into her frantically pulsing cunt.

but whatever it was ravaged you. you screamed as you came for the third time, legs trembling as you squirted all over yourself and sevika’s suit jacket. the comedown was impossible. you were incoherent, moaning wildly as the pleasure possessed you.

you heard them both scrambling to move toward you, but you held a hand out. your neck bent, your body settling onto all fours like a lame animal as you let your cunt flutter and clench through the remnants of your orgasm. your chest heaved frantically, but you were euphoric. you’d done it, reached Heaven and taken control.

you glanced up at them and know from the look on their faces, you’ve never been this beautiful. if this was what the french called a little death, you wanted to die forever.

“this is your place,” ambessa said hoarsely. “you belong right in the center. you are the only one who understands. you are our center.”

sevika lay next to her, and she said nothing for a long while. then her face turned toward you. you met her gaze unflinching.

“baby girl, please. please.”

you thought you were the loser.

“it has to be different,” you finally said. the two women broke into identical smiles. “it has to be. i want you to be transparent with me. i’m not a little child.”

you thought you were down for the count.

“like you said,” you continued, staring right at them. “you are my life. this is my life.”

but here you were, the last woman standing.

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