#chapter five: tipping point | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heartthrobin · 11 months ago

Text

the hate game (1)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 13.3k

warnings: enemies to lovers, so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, super grumpy!oliver, oliver's scottish accent (it's a warning in itself), alcohol consumption, super! duper! cheesy! (sorry not sorry)

an: just survived the worst two weeks of my life, but the fic is finally here! this fic was originally a full 50 chapter fic i had planned for wattpad like three years ago but i found my draft for it recently and decided it needed a revival. so enjoy it, and don't forget to comment and repost to support your favourite writers :)

summary: the only thing more grating than Oliver's foul moods and his permanent scowl, has to be the fact that he's so damn pretty. you fucking hate him for it.

part two/final part

Movies, as is their premise, glamourise plenty of things - high school, politics, tiny Greek islands - but none more than the classic sucker-punch.

The teeth-crunching, blood-spitting moment where skin meets skin in a satisfying thump that sends an unsuspecting victim to the floor. Music plays and the hero grins, grabbing the girl round the waist: dipping low to kiss her.

What’s consistently (conveniently) left out is how bloody painful it is to be on the sending end of that fist.

The first, and only, time you’d ever punched someone was in second year.

It had seemed like a great idea in the moment, quickly succeeded by the mind-numbing pain that shot up your arm where knuckle met face.

You’d aimed for his jaw, but as it turns out: in addition to painful, punching someone wasn’t a particularly accurate sport for a beginner and your slippery skin found a round-tipped nose instead.

A collective gasp and a month’s worth of detention waited for you on the other side of your act of rage.

And sure, while afternoons in Snape’s classroom every Friday sucked: it was all worth it.

Every purple knuckle that throbbed with the slightest brush, the points lost to Hufflepuff, the pages and pages of Hogwarts Does Not Condon Physical Violence you’d been forced to write was worth seeing the trickle of blood running down from Oliver Wood’s nose.

To see that smug fucking look wiped clean from his face. To watch how he doubled over in pain, grappling onto his friend for balance.

“Tyler fancying you? Any bloke would rather snog a goblin.”

His little comment had earned him a broken nose.

It had been the start of a five year long feud.

It’s the reason - now - why the ground is racing up to meet you, the nose of your broomstick pressed down towards it and wind whipping so hard against your face it draws tears. You knock into the ground, catching yourself on wobbly legs. A few feet away, Oliver Wood has done the same.

He’s marching towards you with the same ferocity that’s curdling in your chest:

“Tha’s blatching and you know it!” His accent is ringing, thick and blistering with heat like it always is when he talks to you. At you, rather.

The accusation is crystal clear, and loud despite the echoing din of the quidditch stands above. From the field where you're parked, you can hear the chatter and the cheers and the boos all conglomerating into a fuzzy uproar.

There’s still twelve brooms floating in the air, spewing irritated shouts from players in both yellow and red:

Just let it go, Wood!

Come on, Cap, can we just finish the match please!

You promptly ignore them. Oliver follows suit.

“What?” You scoff, face hot as a kettle on a lit stove. “As if Laurel and Hardy haven’t been elbowing my girls all game!”

It goes without saying that you’re referring to Gryffindor’s red-head twin-set of beaters.

“Bullshit.” He seethes, it’s purposefully quiet enough that McGonagall’s approaching figure doesn’t pick it up.

She, unlike yourself, is less patient and knobby vein-webbed hands come out to knock you both against your chests: widening the gap to a safe enough distance between the opposing captains.

“You two are exhausting.” And she sounds it too. Her glasses tremble at the edge of her nose, sun shining down on her aged face. "If one more match this season is interrupted because you two can't control your tempers, you will both be stripped of captainship and you will not fly until you graduate. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

But Oliver isn't looking at her. His eyes are focused on yours over her cloaked shoulder.

He's taking the predictable route of not replying first.

"Crystal clear, Professor." You resign to speaking first, skewing a grin at his anger-sewn face.

It’s another long boring moment before he cuts his gaze from yours, kicks up a patch of grass and grits through his teeth.

“Yes, professor.”

As can be imagined, things between you and Oliver Wood have been tense since the day he’d hobbled up to the hospital wing with a palm over his face and blood dripping down over his already red tie.

But with age, came ferocity, and what started as passing glares in the corridor melted into anger-drowned faces and sharp words flung with intent to scar.

Things got infinitely worse when you were elected captain of the Hufflepuff quidditch team in the same year Oliver was made captain for Gryffindor. It stoked the already sizzling embers that made moments around him warm and stuffy and hard to breathe.

The murky history swirled with what should be friendly competition, instead frothing into a bubbling pot of annoyed teammates and exasperated teachers and more sessions of detention than you would have ever had if you'd never met the son of a bitch that is Oliver Wood.

It's what puts you in situations like the ones you find yourself in the middle of before you even know how you got yourself there.

"You two," Professor Burbage had never held you in particularly high favour. It was just your luck that Oliver received the same courtesy. "One more word out of either of you and I will be seeing both of you this afternoon for detention in my classroom."

It was even unluckier that she'd sat you two barely three wizards away from one another and one fly-away comment had blown out into another heat-filled exchange. It always does.

"But professor--" you try.

"Right then. I'll see you both at five o' clock."

Oliver sighs, hands running up over his head between chestnut locks: "Fucking perfect. Thanks, big-mouth."

"Would you like to make it two days, Mr Wood?"

He huffs like an angry dog, tightening the grip on his writing-feather but says nothing else.

The end of the lesson doesn't come soon enough and when it does, Oliver is first out of his seat. You're grateful for it.

Cherry bumps you in the shoulder where she throws her bag over it. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

You grin, despite the sunken feeling hollowing your chest with the acknowledgment that you're gonna be spending yet another afternoon at the mercy of an under-paid staff member alongside the hothead that was the Gryffindor captain.

"Come on, that wasn't my fault and you know it."

Her tight red curls dance when she shakes her head. They match her blood red tie. "Somehow it never is."

To your dismay, but not surprise, Enzo shares Cherry's views when he waltzes into step beside you in the corridor between Muggle Studies and Divination. His arm drapes over your shoulders and his tall frame shakes when he laughs.

"You know," his voice is thick and gravelly. "You two are gonna have to fuck it out eventually."

You roll your eyes, shoving him off you with a chuckle. The sentiment isn't anything new. "Oh, shut up."

The day folds blurrily between classes and lunch and greenhouse visits that by the time you look up it's just about five o clock.

Burbage's office door stares down at you.

The corridor is ghostly all the way behind you and it's emptiness means it's easy to make out Oliver's heavy footsteps down the stone floor. They're not slow, in an arrogant strut, neither quick like he has somewhere to be.

He trudges. Like the weight of the world is strapping him to invisible pins in the floor. It's easy to figure that your existence doesn't lighten his load any.

You don't turn. He simply falls into place beside you, keeping a good foot distance between your tightened shoulders.

The door opens.

Charity Burbage is insufferable in the way that she forces you and Oliver to sit almost on top of each other behind a scratched up desk where she can watch you under the curtain of her ratty blond hair.

You inch the chair dramatically away from Oliver's.

She's set a stack of pages by him and a wet stamp. "Stamp these and sign the date."

Additionally, she's dropped a stack of envelopes under your nose. "Tuck and seal. When you're done, you can leave."

You eye the papers. There must be hundreds.

To Whom It May Concern,

Hogwarts would like to remind all parents and guardians that the third-years will require prior permission before being allowed to visit the nearby village of Hogsmeade--

You jump when Oliver's elbow knocks yours (more violently than what was really necessary). He holds the first page out to you silently, face dripping with impatience.

When you take the page, his thumb brushes yours.

The paper is delicate in your fingers where you fold it. You tuck and seal, and by the time you've set it aside Oliver is offering the next page to you again.

His thumb brushes yours for a second time.

You find that it does for every letter that's passed on.

It's hard not to watch him out the corner of your eye. Oliver has this dark brown, nearly black, hair that's thick and almost too long and untamed all over. It's matched by bushy eyebrows and speckled freckles over the bridge of his nose.

If you didn't hate him as much as you did, you might think he was pretty. You might think that anyway.

Time stretches until the sun is setting the classroom afire with golden light and it's boredom that causes it, or possibly a desire to hear his voice at such tight quarters, but you speak.

"You know," it's soft enough that Burbage doesn't look up from her Witch Weekly magazine. "Even if - in some act of God - Scotland qualifies for the semi-finals, Luxembourg is gonna flatten them. I mean, think about it unemotionally, Wood: they have Luca Schmit as seeker. It's really a no brainer--"

"Are y’really just stupid or are you purposefully trynna start another argument?" His gaze flickers up to eye Burbage's desk warily, she still doesn't react.

Maybe it's both. After all, the subject of the Quidditch World Cup had been what put you both there in the first place.

You shrug, unfazed by his scathing remark.

"I'm just trying to make conversation."

"Well don't."

His hand brushes yours again.

Every second Friday, generally at the tail-end of lunch, Hooch's grey barn owl swoops low over your head and drops a smaller-than-average white envelope right into your mashed potatoes. Cherry yelps in surprise every time.

Then you watch the bird drop the same over the Gryffindor, Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables.

Good afternoon,

Reminder of Captain's meeting this afternoon in my office. Six o' clock, don't be late.

Regards,

Madam Hooch.

The letter says the same thing it has since you became captain and it's a wonder you still take the effort to break the seal on the envelope.

But come six o' clock, you're traipsing towards the west end of the castle. Lavender streaks caress the sky under the last impression of sunlight through the ornate stone arch of the corridor windows and an autumn chill creeps up your arms where your sweater isn't thick enough.

Hooch's office is in a quiet alcove, nearly impossible to find if you didn't know where to look, and the lamps are lit. Beyond the door, you can hear voices: you grin.

The door creaks noisily where you push it open. Inside it's cramped and cluttered with shelves of quidditch equipment - broken brooms, punctured quaffles and loose kits draping every open surface - but it's warm and smells like leather and is maybe your favourite little room in the whole castle.

The quidditch legend herself, Rolanda Hooch, has her legs kicked up on her desk and the boys are standing ahead of it locked in animated chatter.

She's laughing at something they said, and smiles when you enter.

"Sorry I'm late, coach."

It's nothing new and she waves you in with a smile. "Come in, poppet."

"Merlin," Marcus' shoulder finds yours and the force of the bump nearly sends you off your feet. "You'd be late to your own funeral hey, Puffers?"

You laugh, shoving him back with as much force as you can muster against the giant brute that is Slytherin captain Marcus Flint. It barely nudges him but he barks out a laugh, rough like tractor tires over crumbly concrete.

"I'm worth the wait." You quip back, leaning around Marcus to wink at Roger Davies. "Isn't that right, Rodger?"

He flirts back, "Always, sweetheart."

Roger is the antithesis of Marcus: all pale skin, blue eyes and short blonde hair. Easy on the eyes.

Oliver lingers just behind him, the tallest of the captains. You catch his eye, face slipping into something more serious, and nod. "Hey, Wood."

He nods in return, curt like how a ministry wizard's might be.

"Right," Hooch sits up straight in her high-back chair. "There are just a couple things we need to get through tonight, we won't be long."

The dynamic between the captains would be easy, if not for Oliver.

You're the only girl and that made for tough beginnings. Marcus is naturally brash and brutish, but - as you found - easy to impress with a couple showy tricks on the broom. A single promise to show him how to pull off a Woollongong Shimmy had him eating out your hand: the favour of a couple Slytherins was generally hard to buy and invaluable to a plushy Hufflepuff such as yourself.

Roger popped out the womb with a wink at the nurse. Impeccably charming and impossibly negotiable. Beyond being slightly dim, it was hard to say a bad thing about the Ravenclaw captain

On the other hand, Oliver was … well, Oliver.

Hooch tapped the sharp end of a writing feather rhythmically at a spot on her desk, eyes roving her clipboard.

"Next week we're doing a clean up of the supply room down by the pitch. I've set you each up on days, the whole team needs to be down to help unless they're excused by a teacher: I want a written letter."

She offers a piece of parchment without looking up.

"As you all know, it's the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw game next week."

You bump your elbow to Marcus'. He looks down and grins a mouthful of crooked teeth before turning to Roger. "Ready, pretty boy?"

Roger rolls crystal blue eyes, but he's smiling too. "Bring it on, tough-shit."

"Oy," Hooch interrupts them with a cool sigh, "The last thing, you all submitted your autumn practice requests for the pitch: Roger, Marcus, you have the days you want--"

They nod. Your shoulders stiffen.

"--Oliver, Y/n. You both want Wednesday afternoons. Monday afternoon is open, I'll let you two decide between each other who is gonna move their practice. I want a decision before tomorrow night."

Marcus is sniggering under his breath. The edges of your mouth sink into a frown, of course he wants the same day as me.

You can feel the heat of Oliver's eyes on the side of your face. You don't indulge him, keeping your gaze settled on Hooch's face.

"We'll figure it out, coach."

"Unlikely." Roger's quip is barely a whisper but you catch it.

"Alright." Hooch doesn't. "You're dismissed, go get some dinner kids."

The office door bounces back off the stone wall where Marcus tosses it carelessly open, echoing all the way down the empty corridor.

Frosty air chases over your face and the boys start down towards the Great Hall. Roger is complaining about a potions essay he hasn't started and Marcus is shrugging him off with a suggestion that includes something along the vein of blackmailing a sixth year into doing it for him but you can't focus long enough to follow.

"Oliver." Irritation is prickling at the surface of your skin. It flares into an almost rash when he stops walking, glancing over his shoulder with an unconcerned expression. "Who's giving Wednesday up?"

His arms fold against his chest. You're working extremely hard not to look down where his biceps stretch the seams on his Hogwarts jumper. "Well, you obviously."

Marcus barks another laugh, he calls down the corridor: "We'll see you kids at dinner."

"Yeah, don't kill each other! It's only practice!"

You huff in disbelief, unconcerned with the running commentary.

"Uh," you mirror Oliver by folding your own arms. "no it's not. Come on, we can negotiate like civil people can't we?"

Thick caterpillar eyebrows disappear beyond the overgrowth hiding his forehead. "Negotiate? I'm the one who wasted three hours of my life in detention last week thanks to your big fat mouth. Wednesday is mine."

"That was a joint effort, twat." You can feel where your throat is flush with rising anger. It wires your jaw tight. "Are you really so bloody difficult that we can't even come to a simple agreement?"

"Difficult?" His arms have shifted from his chest to perch against his hips. "Just because I'm not giving you what you want? Cry me a fucking river, darling. Sorry Puffers, but I'm not your precious Marcus or Roger. I'm not gonna fold just cause you bat yer pretty little eyelashes at me."

Pretty?

You blink in surprise. It's brushed quickly aside for more pressing matters. Your hands scrunch into fists at your side:

"Well. I'm not giving it up. I want Wednesday."

"Neither am I."

"Fuck you."

"In your dreams."

Oliver collapses loudly into the open spot at the Gryffindor dining table. His callousness knocks Archie's goblet of pumpkin juice across the shiny wooden surface between dishes of sausages and peas and roast potatoes.

"Bloody hell, what's got you in a mood?" He's patting down the table with a serviette, transforming it into a orange lump under his palm.

Shaking his head, as if it would joggle the thought of you loose, Oliver stabs a chicken drumstick from the top of a nearby pile with his fork. He doesn't respond.

"Wait, let me guess." Archie presses the elbows of his red jumper into the still wet surface beside his plate. "Something to do with your little Hufflepuff sweetheart?"

Oliver grunted around a mouthful, looking annoyed. "Not mine and not a sweetheart. A fucking brat."

Archie seems to find something funny, leaning back on the bench with a haughty laugh. "Right. What she do this time?"

"Wants the pitch the same day as me for practice." He's mumbling around a mouthful of chicken, tipping forward to shove a spoon teetering with peas alongside it. "Refuses to give in, despite the fact that she put me in detention last week with Burbage."

Shifting to the edge of his seat, Archie leans around Oliver's frame to find your figure across the Hall at the yellow-lined table. He nods, seemingly finding you. "Yeah, she don't look too happy either."

"I don't care."

Oliver is trying very hard not to give into the itch to look back.

"Whatever," Archie's gaze finds his again. "in better news ... I spoke to the twins just before dinner. They're still on for tomorrow."

He's twitching in his seat, eyebrows dancing and grinning around his words like a kid who's found a matchbox.

Right. The twins.

Specifically, Daisy and Delilah Dawson: two Ravenclaw sisters a year below Oliver.

They're peng, Archie had reasoned, you need a little fling to get your mind off quidditch. You're too strung up, mate.

And sure, they were, but Oliver had more important things to do than gallivant across Hogsmeade attached to the hip of some sixth year who just wants to earn her I Kissed The Quidditch Captain! badge.

He'd groaned and whined and glowered at the prospect. Was it petulant? Naturally, but spending five sickles on subpar hot chocolate and making false conversation with some Ravenclaw was a waste of precious time in Oliver's humble opinion.

His priorities are, as they've always been, crystal clear in his mind.

1. Win Gryffindor the Quidditch Cup 2. Refer to point (1)

There was little wiggle room for the introduction of girls into any spot on that list.

You're the only one who came almost close to the tight list. Only because if there had to be a third priority, "shove winning the cup in Hufflepuff's face" might just crack it. He thought about you significantly more than any other girl in the castle and maybe that might mean something if he thought about too long about it, but fortunately, he refused to.

Regardless, Archie was adamant and more than a little pathetic when he mentioned that Daisy only agreed to see him if he had a date for Delilah. It was all settled very quickly.

And it's in this show of loyalty to his dearest friend that Oliver finds himself walking the cobblestone path down into Hogsmeade on a crisp Saturday morning.

The little village is bustling with students - it normally is - and the crowd has him knocking shoulders with Delilah who's walking in step beside him.

He's uncomfortable to find that she's staring dreamily up at the underside of his jaw.

On Oliver's other side: Archie is talking Daisy's ear off, making another pitiful attempt at holding her hand. He doesn't quite manage it and Oliver can't tell whether it's because she genuinely doesn't notice or she just can't be arsed.

"So," Delilah's voice is light and sweet. Delicate. "You mentioned that you take Arithmancy? I've heard it's tough."

Oliver nods airily. "Yeah ... yeah, it's difficult."

He tightens his jacket closer over his frame. The wind is whipping between their bodies and he thinks that maybe she didn't hear him over it's howling if her confused expression is anything to go by. He finds he's not bothered enough to repeat it.

The entrance of Madam Puddifoot's comes into view at the end of the walkway.

Oliver’s relieved. It's freezing out here and maybe he'll be more in the mood for flirtatious conversation once he's gotten some food in his stomach (Archie had insisted they skip breakfast: we have to order something to eat, so we can sit longer).

There's a jingle of a bell overhead when Archie pushes the door open, standing awkwardly aside to let the ladies in first.

Inside the shop, it's more than busy: powdery blue walls barely visible beyond the sea of Hogwarts couples crammed around tiny circle tables and waiters in red uniform knocking the back of their chairs with wobbling trays.

There's music coming from ... somewhere, it sounds like The Weird Sisters and at the sound, Oliver can't imagine how this morning could possibly go any worse.

Oh wait, yes he can.

You could be sitting at a table right by the door across a too-small-table knocking knees with some Slytherin prick. Like you are right there right now.

Delilah tugs on his wrist, it's gentle and he almost doesn't feel where he's being lead between tables towards an open booth across the room. He falls unceremoniously down against the torn leather, eyes never leaving your table.

You haven't noticed his presence, he knows because your lips are stretching around a giggle he can't hear but can already imagine. You don't smile around him, that's for sure.

Oliver's stomach is frothing and bubbling and he's trying really hard to tune back in where Archie's knocking a menu into his hand.

Of course you're there. To ruin his mood and his day, because you're just bloody perfect at it.

"So, am I seeing you girls at the Quidditch match on Saturday?" Archie's voice carries somewhere over his head.

Delilah laughs. Or maybe it's Daisy, Oliver doesn't look.

"Maybe," she says, "Depends if Oliver's gonna be there. You're gonna be there, right?"

He feels a hand nudge at his forearm. Definitely Delilah.

His gaze floats back over the table to offer a fraction of eye contact, he nods. "Oh, uh ... yeah. Sure, definitely."

Archie saves him by speaking again and your table finds Oliver's attention just in time for him to watch the boy sitting across from you swipe away a smudge of hot chocolate over your cheek. You smile, looking bashful and a little bit flushed.

A suffocating, searing heat rushes from the soles of Oliver's feet up between his every organ and over every tendril of hair on his head. His jaw tightens.

Of course he recognises the pratt across you.

Ryo Yoshida.

Every girl in the castle's wet dream, if the rumours he's heard are anything to go by. With his fucking sleek black hair and his Japanese accent that had witches flocking to him in the dozens.

He doesn't wonder why you're here with him.

Oliver is a proud man, but even he could admit that you're beautiful. Albeit reluctantly.

With your wide wet eyes that make him a little sick in a way that turns his stomach warm and the way you do your hair and those fucking dangly earrings that clink when you loose your cool on him.

That's without even mentioning the sound of your laugh - the one he only ever overhears - and your legs in the school uniform skirt and the way you look when you're diving on your broom under the light of a sunny day.

Alright, maybe he couldn't admit to all of it ... but you were okay.

Okay enough to crack a date with Ryo Yoshida or any other schmuck in the castle if you wanted.

"Anything good to eat here, Oliver?"

He pretends he doesn't hear her at first, but the kick at his shin under the table is harder to ignore.

Archie is glaring at him across the table. Dude, don't fuck this up for me.

Oliver's eyes find Delilah. She's scooted up close under his elbow and, to be fair to the poor girl, she was pretty too. Red lipstick smeared across her smiling lips, painted nails edging closer to his arm and perfectly styled hair sitting over her shoulder.

He nods, reaching for the menu: "Yeah. Actually, last time I had the Merlin Meal and it was pretty good."

She perks up, cherry red smile widening at his reply. "Oh, I thought that looked good!"

Training his eyes on the menu, Oliver wills himself not to look back at you. You're already souring his mood and you haven't even said a bloody word.

It's just what you do. What you do to him: infuriating him with the threat of an argument around any and every corner.

The waiter comes by and Oliver finds himself generous enough to gift Delilah with an arm draped over the back of her seat. She giggles and he pretends he doesn't notice when she mouths something that looked suspiciously like 'he's so hot' to her sister across the table.

Archie seems pleased too. Daisy has granted him, finally, her hand and his arm bends at an awkward angle to maintain the grip in hers under the table. He's positively beaming.

But despite Oliver’s best efforts to stay engaged, he still catches himself - only when it's too late - and his eyes are already glued to watching the way your jeans are hugging your thighs where you shift in your seat.

Your table is sat by the door. The chime of the bell calls for his gaze every time it tolls and every time he finds you let off a violent shiver in your seat as the autumn crisp rolls over your shoulders.

The door shuts again and you still.

Oliver can feel where the tips of his ears are burning red and his bones are itching: Ryo’s black suede coat is hanging over the back of his chair.

You’re still talking - hands rubbing together, fighting for warmth - he’s leaned over with his chin in palm to listen and his jacket sits unused behind his shoulders while you fucking shiver in the breeze.

It’s pathetic, really. He’s not sure whether he’s referring to himself or you: but Oliver is still looking and you’re still shaking like a leaf and he’s halfway to flipping tables to get to you and just give you his own fucking coat so you’ll stop shaking and stop annoying him—

“Oliver was just telling me about wanting to join the Hogwarts Choir.” He turns again to find Archie waiting with an expectant face, it's laced in a little bit of smugness: caught you. "Weren't you, mate?"

When he looks back you’re gone.

There's a short pile of sickles abandoned on the table and he hopes that Ryo at least had the good sense to pay for your drink after forcing you to sit in the freezing cold.

He shakes the thought off. Who cares.

In fact, he hopes you catch a cold.

The day passes like swimming through molasses: slow and sticky and exhausting.

It's nearly seven when Oliver presses a sympathy kiss into Delilah's cheek - Daisy allows for no such thing from Archie - and the two sisters skip off down the west wing corridor with a wiggle of their fingers over their shoulders at the boys.

"I think that went well." Archie's grinning, hands on his hip and glasses edging down his brown nose.

It's the first thing that genuinely brings a jolt of life out of Oliver all day. He teeters back on his heels, hands gripping his stomach where he laughs. Laughs like a madman.

"I think you need to get yer fucking head checked, mate."

The tail end of his outburst is simmering down, now barely a breathy chuckle, when a voice washes over him from down the other end of the corridor. "Wood!"

He'd recognise that voice anywhere. From the dead of sleep or the depth of the ocean.

He's slow when he turns on his heel, the remnants of his smile dripping all the way off the edge of his jaw until he's nearly frowning.

You're jogging, scarf bouncing at your shoulder with the movement, and coming to a stop right under his chin.

"What?"

There's a sharp edge to his tone - there always is - but he really hopes you haven't noticed how the syllable wobbled at the end. Now that you're right beneath his frame and not across the room, it's harder to ignore the lashes kissing at the corner of your eyes. You're wearing lip gloss and he knows it's for Ryo.

His stomach is churning and your face is twisting into something he is struggling to recognise.

"I--" your hands wring, eyes flickering behind to where Archie's watching curiously (you wave awkwardly). "You ... you can have Wednesday."

It's not what Oliver is anticipating. He almost takes a full step back in surprise.

"Why?"

Your eyes roll in a comfortably familiar way, "Because Hooch wants an answer tonight and one of us had to be the bigger person."

His brow tightens, eyes roving down the stitching of your sweater. It's cute. He's quiet.

"You not gonna argue?" You throw your words quickly, snatching them back before he can answer: "Perfect. I'll send her an owl before bed."

You're marching back down the corridor before he has chance to say anything else and he's watching your retreating figure with the hope - that he’s not gonna address - you’re not going to cozy up somewhere in the Slytherin dorm room.

“Well.” Archie’s running a hand over his thick black curls. “That was unexpected.”

Oliver huffs. “It’s been a weird day.”

An uneasy air has settled over Hogwarts.

It came in like a storm front, drifting in on the wind that dropped the article at the door of the castle.

The same copy of The Daily Prophet has been doing the rounds between dormitories and class rooms all week: Sirius Black, Azkaban’s most infamous prisoner and recent escapee, has been sighted in Dufftown by an astute Muggle, The Daily Prophet reports.

Dufftown. A barely twenty minute ride by carriage from Hogwarts bridge.

It’s got the castle on edge, it’s got you on edge. Creeping around the castle like Sirius Black is gonna jump out from around any corner.

Dumbledore stationing dementors at the edges of the castle was the tipping point for the cold drip of trickling fear in your chest that's become easy to ignore in daylight - when Cherry and Enzo are flittering around you between classes - but in moments like these, like now, when you’re on the tail end of a quidditch practice, grow like a poisonous black vine up around every nerve in your body. A Monday night, the team’s kit weighing heavy in your arms - broomstick tucked precariously in the bend of one elbow - and following the siren call of the dormitory showers.

You’d promised the team you’d get them to the house elves before the upcoming match on Saturday. The match against Gryffindor.

But for tonight, they’re gonna live in a pile at the end of your bed.

You’re exhausted: calves burning, sweat sticking loose hairs to your forehead and probably smelling like wet socks and broomstick polish.

The touch of night is suffocating the flicker of the corridor lamps. It’s long past the recently set curfew and you know that if McGonagall finds you out you’re likely in deep enough trouble to get you off Saturday’s match roster.

Despite the prospect, you don’t dwell on it. You find you’re more worried about escaped Azkaban convicts: the echo of your own footsteps setting you further on edge.

You’ve craned your neck over your shoulder enough times to form a knot there. Each time you’re relieved to find that Sirius Black hasn’t crept up behind you.

Suddenly, the squeak of your boots against the stone floor are un-alone.

Someone is marching and right in your direction. Your heart bangs wildly on the inside of your ribcage - blood turning to an icy slurry in your veins, but you don’t move.

The corner is sharp when the figure turns into the corridor you stand and the scream is halfway out your throat when your eyes find his face.

Absent is the matted black hair and sunken eyes you’re anticipating. Instead, warm brown rings reflect the fire of the lit torches.

Your broomstick clutters to the floor, warm relief flooding down to your fingertips. “Fucking hell, Wood.”

He looks just as surprised as you. Only for a moment, though, before his gaze is tightening in annoyance again.

“I thought you were Sirius Black.“

“Well that’s stupid isn’t it.”

You huff, shifting the weight of the team’s robes precariously between your arms: squatting to try scoop up your broomstick off the floor again. You’re halfway successful when it clatters loudly back against the stone floor.

“What are you even doin’ out here so late? You know curfew is passed, don’t you?” His voice curls with something that might be mistaken for concern if you didn’t know who you were talking to.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

You’re reaching down again. A robe on the top of the pile slips off, landing beside the broomstick.

“Aye right. Whatever, goodnight.”

He’s brushing past you.

In a movement neither of you anticipated, driven by the fear shooting up your spine again, your hand finds his wrist. “Wait—“

Oliver freezes: eyes dropping to where you’re connected. You rip your hand back, as if scalded.

“I …” the words mash and wrestle at the back of your throat. “Could …”

You glance down the darkened corridor awaiting you in the journey back to your dorm before meeting his face again. It’s unreadable.

His brow scrunches. “Yes?"

"Could you want me to walk my common room?”

Embarrassment sears at your cheeks. On a normal day, you’d sooner go dancing naked under the Whomping Willow before asking Oliver Wood a favour but that was before the image of Sirius Black swum behind your eyes everywhere you looked.

Oliver would be fairly useless if faced with the criminal, naturally, but at least you wouldn’t die alone.

“Please?” Your voice is quiet and you think it’s the gentlest word you’ve ever said to him.

There’s a long stretch of quiet. His eyes flicker between your face and the broomstick on the floor. It’s quickly stretching past the blurring boundaries of an appropriate time for consideration.

You’re practically melting in embarrassment now, electing to make the decision for him.

“Never mind.” You squat again, successful this time in sticking the broomstick back under your arm. The dropped robe is more difficult but you manage to replace it. “Forget I asked.”

Oliver’s moving before you’re stood straight up again. He’s reaching for your broomstick, you instinctively yank it back but he sticks you with a firm look and his thumb is unexpectedly soft where it caresses over your knuckle wrapped around the handle.

Your grip loosens and he perches the broomstick over his shoulder with ease. He surprises you again by taking half the load of laundry in your arms into his own.

“C’mon, before someone catches us out here. I’m not doing any more detention because of you.”

He’s already three feet ahead when blood rushes down to your legs, prompting them to chase after his figure. The movement is easier, lightened by Oliver’s surprise act of kindness.

You fall into step beside him, half-tempted to comment on his willingness to share your burden, but knowing him, one wrong word and he’d dump it all back into your arms.

It’s quiet.

You don’t make a move to talk and Oliver doesn’t look your way. It dawns on you that Gryffindor dormitory is in the other direction and you’re still deciding whether to feel guilty or flattered over the fact when Oliver speaks.

“Why’re you out here alone?”

You look, met with the side of his face: it’s still like he hadn’t said anything at all. There’s a tugging instinct to snap at him.

Why do you care?

But his tone is perceptibly gentle enough that you think maybe, just this once, it won’t end in an argument. You test the tepid waters.

“Uh …” your head knocks sideways, tilted as you speak. “I let the team come up early while I sorted the quaffles in the sports closet by the pitch. Didn’t want them walking up in the dark.”

You’re tempted to mention that it was his team last week that left it in such a mess. You don’t.

"And now you’re walking in the dark yourself? Smart move, princess."

Your breath hitches.

It’s not the first time he’s called you that. Princess. A couple times over the years, usually in the heat of a spiraling argument, but never so benign. While still ungentle, the tone is soft enough that it rings in your ears.

You choose not to succumb to the antagonization of his reply. Humming, you shrug. "Rather me than them."

His eyes flicker, almost barely, to the high apple of your cheek. You notice in the corner of your eye how his jaw twitches, like he wants to say something.

He seemingly decides otherwise because he focuses his eyes ahead of him and stays silent.

The overhanging ceiling art is sloping down, air going sticky with the scents of the kitchen the further you go: it’s the trademark of the approaching Hufflepuff common room.

Another two turns and it will be the end of your little journey with Oliver Wood.

"‘M surprised Ryo didn’t walk you up."

You're more surprised than you've been since finding him, eyes widening in confusion. He grants you another look out the side of his eye.

"How do you know about that?"

Oliver shrugs, shifting your broomstick to the other shoulder.

"The whole world saw your little date down at Madam Puddifoot's the other day."

Of course. Word travels faster through seventh year than a new Firebolt.

"Yeah. Well." You hum. "That's not gonna be happening again anytime soon.”

It had all been good and well. The rush of having Ryo Yoshida, Hogwart's most eligible bachelor, ask you out and - to be fair - the date had been fine. Ryo was funny and made good conversation but nothing near thrilling enough to daydream over and you'd allowed yourself to brush over a couple red flags because of it, until Cherry came bursting into your dormitory less than a day after your date relaying how he'd caught her between classes to ask her out to the same spot.

"Why's that?"

You're confused now, why Oliver cares or how he'd become curious enough to actually ask. You're even more confused as to why you decide to answer him. You shrug, "He asked Cherry out the very next day. She said no, obviously, but that was enough to let the whole thing go."

You expect him to say something malicious, quip something spiteful about What you did you think would happen? You're nowhere near in his league.

He doesn't.

"He's an idiot."

Not for the first time in the last five minutes, you're not sure what to say. You think this is the longest a conversation has gone without an argument. You sigh, "Yeah."

The stack-up of barrels comes into view. You dig into you the deep pocket on the inside of your robe, emerging with your wand.

Oliver stops, eyes flickering between the barrels and his shining black boots.

You step ahead, tapping the barrels in the rhythm that's become second-nature and the entryway opens.

Turning to him, you offer out an arm and he sets the robes back into your hands. The awkwardness is stifling. He leans forward, tucking the broomstick under your arm, hand wavering to make sure it doesn't fall again. The gesture makes the hold in your knees wobbly.

He nods. "Right. Goodnight."

You nod back, so quickly that you hear your earrings jingle. "Yeah, g'night."

Oliver turns, marching back the way you came and you watch him: biting your bottom lip so hard you're half expecting to draw blood.

"Thank you!" It leaps from your mouth before you have you moment to let it marinate on your tongue. You wince immediately.

He pauses, turning halfway on his heel. He smiles, it's not wide enough for teeth, but definitely wide enough to have your heart falling through your stomach. He nods again and then he's gone.

Saturday arrives gloomy and dripping.

It makes for good quidditch conditions, but the chill in the air is still hard to ignore when you step out into mushy grass under stadium lights. The roar of the crowd nearly deafens you, but it'll only take a couple minutes in the air for it to burn down to a soft hum.

In the middle of the stadium floor: Hooch is standing with a whistle to her lips, her figure blurred by the drizzle. Oliver stands beside her, and behind you, your team is clambering onto their brooms and rising into the air with the freshly washed kit over their backs.

You go to walk, but the icy glance Oliver is sending your way convinces you into a jog. He's always impatient before a game, itchy, antsy.

"On time as usual." Hooch hums when you land beside her.

"Got the whole bloody school waiting on her." Oliver mutters but Hooch shrugs him off, pulling the game coin out from inside her robes.

"Perfect." She positions it so we can see, "Gryffindor?"

Oliver straightens out, chest swelling: "Heads."

Hooch nods and before you can suck in another breath, the coin is in the air. She catches it with a skilled hand, flipping and revealing it to the set of captains.

"Hufflepuff, first ball!" She shouts loud enough that the floating players can hear. They nod, some groaning.

The coach turns back on the captains, "I want a fair game kids, no fighting."

"Me and Ollie? Fight?" You smile, "Never, coach."

Oliver rolls his eyes. "Yes, coach."

Suddenly you're above the pitch, sucking in breaths of wet air and struck with that familiar feeling like you could conquer the world on just your broomstick.

The quaffle flies and you stoop to catch it, twisting around Alicia Spinnet to snatch the ball before she's even noticed you're there.

Rain pelts on heads and the game goes on.

Oliver is shouting like a madman from his place in front of the goals behind you - you’ve long learnt to drown it out. He does it half to annoy his own team and half to distract yours.

You're spinning, flying, swooping and - as you predicted - the crowd has become a distant call, a blurring sight of yellow and red.

An hour passes and the game is already halfway into the next when there's a rise in the crowd. It's not the normal yells and whoops and hollers, but you still don't look up: you're calling over to Jane and Wyatt, your beaters.

“Get between the twins, and stay there!”

Below, Harry Potter and your own seeker, Cedric Diggory, are flying in circles around each other. The call of Cedric's name is on the tip of your tongue when there’s another ripple of sound off the crowd and this one draws your eyes. It’s there for a second before you find the army of figures descending on the pitch.

Your breath catches in your throat, freezing solid so you can’t swallow.

The dementors are even more ghostly this close. You'd never seen so many.

A darkness is permeating the air, the sight of the supporters in the stand dissipating into black. They’re floating in from every corner, drifting at a pace that’s too fast for you to make a move in any direction.

There’s a scream and your gaze finds the body falling through the sky: it’s Harry.

The ground is racing up to meet him and adrenaline drives your hand to tip your broom, to chase after his quickly disappearing shape when a blurry figure blocks your way.

Someone yells your name but you don’t hear it.

You’d never imagined examining a dementor, much less this up close, but even if you had: nothing your imagination could conjure up would ever come close to the harrowing darkness of its empty eye-sockets.

Its silhouette spreads over every corner of your vision, black like night and blocking the view of the sky. Your nose is so close you could tip forward and meet it's silken cloak.

A cold washes over your body like you've never felt, like you're freezing over: ice creeping up your fingertips, shoulders and face.

Your brain looses all grip on thought, replaced with a seeping dread. It barely acknowledges where a scabbed, decomposing hand is reaching out to you.

Charcoal fingertips brush your cheek when you're tugged back, all the way off your broomstick.

There's not even a last coherent thought to panic when you're engulfed in a warm chest, a hand stabilising around your waist onto a new broomstick. It dips and the green grass is reaching up to you.

The new heat engulfs you through to your bones. You grasp blindly for the expanse of a thick veined neck, wrapping yourself around him.

Digging your face into his shoulder, it takes one glance at the scarlet robes to know who it is. Oliver's panting, one hand holding you against him while the other steers the broomstick down to the floor.

You're trembling, no thought occupying any space beyond Oliver, Oliver, Oliver, Oliver--

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

The voice is distant, said against your temple but echoing as if from the end of a long corridor. You don't register where hot tears are wetting your cheeks, erupting over your face without being called.

His words prompt you closer: a tight arm furling over his shoulders and wrapping around him like a vine around an old tree.

"O-Oliver ..."

The hand over your waist tightens. "Sh ... it's fine. You're fine."

The broomstick lands shakily, Oliver's boots squelching into muddy grass. You barely realise you're back on ground when another hand is tugging you off, but you cling tighter to the sweaty red neck: shaking your wet face against his well-pressed robes.

"C'mon, princess ..." His calloused hands pry you from him, gently like you're a piece of china sitting on the very edge of a high shelf. "It's Pomfrey, she's gonna look after you."

You think you feel a kiss press into your hairline before you're being scooped up into a new set of arms. Madam Pomfrey is warm too, smelling like antiseptic and maple syrup.

There's another swell of noise erupting from the supporters above and you're being lead away.

Oliver watches your figure, slumped against the school nurse until you've disappeared into the medical tent.

His heart is going wild, slamming against the walls of his ribcage. Beside him his hands are shaking and he's sucking in thick gulps of air, he finds it still isn't enough oxygen.

There's another splatter where Angelina has landed a few feet behind him. She's panting too, tugging on the edge of his robes and pointing up into the sky.

"Wood!" She's frantic, "They won, Cedric caught the snitch!"

His mouth is dry when he swallows. Rain catches in his eye when he looks up, half the Hufflepuff team is no longer in the sky and the Gryffindors are all on their way down.

"I ..." feeling is returning to his fingertips, "is ... where's Harry?"

Angelina points in the direction of the medical tent. Above, the pitch is engulfed in a bright white light and Oliver catches the wispy end of a shining phoenix chasing between disappearing Dementors. It's a patronus. Dumbledore's, Oliver figures somewhere in his muddy brain.

"Is everyone else okay?"

Angelina nods. Her eyes flicker to the medical tent then back at him. "Is she?"

The image returns to him: the mass of darkness engulfing your figure in the sky. The terror that ripped through him like he was being torn apart from the inside, the whistle of the wind that stung over his ears and how it blocked out his mutterings of please, please, please--

He shakes his head. "She's too tough for her own good. She'll ... she'll be fine."

But it comes out like he's trying to convince himself more than Angelina.

Oliver doesn't see you for a few days.

Two, to be exact, and his skin itches the entire time. A deep itch, like it's coming from his bones.

It's only on Monday evening at dinner, with the Hufflepuff table whooping, that you come strolling back into the light of his eyes.

Your head is down, flushed with all the attention, and when you sit, kids are rising from their seats to tackle you into side hugs. He can tell you're embarrassed but he can't gather himself enough to care: the warm rush of relief flooding his stomach so much so that if he dared open his mouth it would all come rushing out.

You look fine. All limbs attached and smiling, it settles him.

He doesn't snap at Archie when he knocks his shoulder with a "you're staring" and his dinner suddenly looks more appetising when he peels his eyes off your figure down to his plate. He finds that he doesn't care as much as he usually does where Enzo's lanky arm is strung over your shoulder.

The week passes in a flurry.

While you share several classes, Oliver doesn't share a single word with you. It's hard not to notice that you're working very hard not to interact with him.

In Muggle Studies, you arrive late and keep your nose tucked deep into the pages of a textbook he knows you couldn't care less about. You're up and out of the classroom before he's even zipped up his bag. It's the same in Potions and Arithmacy.

While going days without talking to each other is not unusual, this time he can tell it’s on purpose. He pretends that he doesn't care.

The rain has cleared and when Friday arrives the sunset is red and orange and purple, granting Oliver with a rare enchanting view out his bedroom window where it's setting behind the East tower.

It's in this quiet, peaceful moment that Archie comes bouncing in with some news of a party happening in the Ravenclaw dormitory.

He's indifferent but Archie is nothing if not convincing.

"Come on, dude. You're literally a hermit crab." He sighs, falling back against his own poster bed across Oliver's. "There will be girls."

"There's girls everywhere, Arch."

His eyebrows wiggle, "And alcohol."

It takes a bit more pestering and the Weasley twins rushing in after him with the same news (and a far less patient approach) to get him up off his bed.

He digs in his cupboard for the last pair of clean jeans and a somewhat suitable purple jumper, tugging them on with a grumble, before he's being dragged by both arms - a twin on each side - across the castle to the West tower wherein resides the Ravenclaw population.

The common room is bustling with seventh years, he recognises them from all houses, and a table set up to the side with some trays of food. He's barely made himself comfortable when Katie Bell is shoving a red solo cup into his hand:

"It's Angelina's brew." She informs him.

He can believe that. The liquid is strong, burning down his throat followed by the barely there after-taste of pumpkin juice. Oliver downs the whole thing in one go.

The music swells louder and he's three cups of Angelina's concoction deep when you come tumbling through the entrance portal.

You're drunk yourself, he can tell by the way you're giggling and half leaning on Cherry Stretton. Bumping through people, not passing without leaning back to apologise to them tipsily, you head straight into the arms of Angelina and Alicia Spinnet. They smile in surprise, engulfing you in their arms.

Despite his and your long-held rivalry, it had done nothing to stop the rest of his team from sweetening up to you. The twins called you their favourite yellow tie at regular intervals and the girls found you nothing less than endearing. Oliver could lie and say he hated it.

Instead, he wrestles his way to where Katie is situated with more to drink, filling his cup and downing it.

The room is twisting in a flurry of colours and faces and it's the lightest you've felt in almost a week. You giggle against Enzo, his dreads tucked safely back in a bun while Cedric sets a Dragon-Barrel Brandy shot on fire and hands it carefully over.

Enzo's head knocks back, slipping the burning liquid down his throat with a wince. There's a cheer at his accomplishment, and suddenly Cedric's knocking your elbow: "you're next, Cap!"

After the match-gone-wrong, Madam Pomfrey had held you down in the infirmary until Monday morning. You were fed copious amounts of chocolate - in the form of bars and drinks and cakes and ice creams. By Saturday night you were - surely a couple kilograms heavier - and feeling fine, but Pomfrey was nothing if not paranoid:

"That was no light ordeal you went through, dear. I'm not letting you out of my sight until I'm happy with you."

In all honesty, you'd prefer if the whole school forgot it ever happened.

If Pomfrey didn't fret and your friends didn't come by every meal time and your team stopped sending you get better! letters and nobody mentioned it ever again.

More than anyone, you wished Oliver would forget. The ordeal, or maybe just you as a person.

You'd made a stupid decision under the heat of stadium lights and the influence of racing adrenaline, trying to chase for Harry, and he'd made a stupider decision coming to save you from yourself.

When it got quiet in the infirmary past dusk and Harry's shadowy figure was long since snoring in the bed across yours, you could feel Oliver's touch. Could feel it's strong hold wrapped around your waist and the voice against you the back of your neck and the lips at your temple.

You never reminisced long: for with his touch came the writhing, scalding fear burrowing a hole in your chest.

He could tease you, he will tease you.

Oliver had saved you from the clutches of a dementor moments from your soul being sucked out your body and you'd cried in his chest the whole time, refused to let him go in front of the whole school. It was a mortification you would never live down. And if Oliver decided he was going to use it against you, even once, you were sure you'd melt into the floor in shame.

It's what's made the Firewhiskey and Lemon squash concoction Cherry had handed you back in her room so easy to toss back. It stung and steam rose out your mouth where you'd panted for air. There was another ... and another, they went down the same.

The walk across the castle to reach the Ravenclaw Tower had been wobbly and you'd laughed with your friends loud enough to wake up the whole castle you're sure, but it dissolved the fear that clung to your bones. The fear that he was here, lingering between the people in the crowded blue common room.

Now the liquor is fading. Numbing to a dull buzz and you decline Cedric's offer at a burning shot, thinking about how proud you'll be of yourself when you wake up tomorrow morning in bed rather than wrapped around a toilet seat and hauling up guts into the bowl.

The party, not unlike yourself, is dimming.

Students are crawling away into all corners, each with their own excuse. I have a potions essay to do or No, dude, I'm too drunk for this or Flint wants us down at the pitch for drills at eight tomorrow morning, I gotta head to bed.

The crowd, though thinning, is beginning to clump into respective circles across the room. You glance annoyed at the fireplace where the flames crack merrily. Even with your short skirt and thin satin top, the heat of the common room is stifling.

Enzo is on his fourth burning shot, it's lost it's appeal to the crowd but he seems undeterred, knocking Cedric in the shoulder with the empty shot glass motioning: another! You yawn, playing mindlessly with the ruffled sleeve of your shirt.

"Oh no," A harsh tug at your hand draws you from the lure of sleep that's fogging your mind. "The night is young, no yawning!"

Cherry has your wrist in her grip, Enzo's in the other. He blinks blearily down at his friends.

"Huh?"

"Come on," Cherry's brown eyes roll far back in her head. "Fred says they're starting Seven Minutes In Heaven. Let's go join--"

"Seven minutes--?" you laugh between words, "Cher, are you mad?"

She whines, pouting like a kicked dog. "It'll be fun. Besides, when last did you have a good fucking snog? Too long, I say!"

Somehow, you're not only convinced across the room into a spot onto the floor in a circle of a couple others, but a drink has ended up in your hand and its contents quickly down your gullet.

For the nerves, you assure yourself.

Before you know it, Angelina - who's conveniently settled beside you - is topping up your plastic cup with a nearly empty bottle of Daisyroot Draught. "This is the good stuff. Katie stashed it in, her sister works at a brewery."

You smile nervously, nod, and take a tentative sip. The pre-existing buzz in your head convinces you it's not so bad.

In the circle is a couple Gryffindors you recognise, some giggling Slytherin girls, a Ravenclaw you can't name and three members of your quidditch team. There's an open spot on the side you don't take note of.

That is until Archie Kumar is steering a grumpy, visibly drunk Oliver Wood into the open place and collapsing beside him.

Your breath catches in your throat, heart sinking into your stomach like a stone. You're halfway off the floor, suddenly desperate for the loo, when Cherry - on your left side - drags you back down to the floor.

Maybe it's Katie's sister's brew, but you tumble too easily back onto your bum.

"Relax. Just don't look at him, okay?"

You suck in another breath, eyes trained on the white moon outline sewn into the rug. "Yeah ... okay."

It doesn't hold long and when you find the Gryffindor captain again, his gaze is trained on your face. It's stone cold. You gasp quietly and look away.

"Right!" George Weasley is on his feet, setting an empty Firewhisky bottle into the centre. "Who's first?"

Alicia shuffles forward on her knees, the first of the group to move, and the bottle goes spinning. It lands on the Ravenclaw boy. He grins and she does too: Fred wolf-whistles when they stand.

The "heaven" in question is a tall oak cabinet leaning against the back wall of the common room. The pair disappear into its depths and conversation rises again as the circle waits.

You sip your drink in large gulps, trying to hold conversation with Angelina against Oliver's hot gaze that's burning a hole through the side of your face. It's difficult: the Gryffindor girl is so drunk that she's talking with her eyes closed.

Seven minutes later, there's a chorus of "time's up!", Alicia and the boy emerge another ten seconds later. They're rearranging their clothes and Alicia is as scarlet as her quidditch robes. The boy is grinning like the cat who caught the canary. You're suddenly struck with the violent urge to throw up.

The game goes on like that, round after round. Lee Jordan and Jane Emmet (your beater), Katie and Wyatt (your other beater), Cherry and a pretty Slytherin girl you don't know - she's especially chuffed when she returns, red lipstick smeared over her chin.

You're working very hard not to look at Oliver, much less think about him, but it's proving difficult. Every time the bottle takes its spin, your stomach churns.

It had occurred to you during the time that Alicia and that boy were in the closet that there was a very real chance that Oliver could be called up when one of those pretty Slytherins take their turn at the bottle. The thought had made you down the last of your drink and immediately want to vomit it all back up into your cup.

The image of their slender arms curling around his criminally wide-set shoulders, Oliver pushing them back against the inside wall of the grand closet. Would he make noise? Would he sigh or groan against their lips or whisper something about how beautiful they looked tonight in their ears--

"Ollie, you're up mate."

You can't remember who said it, but the words stripped your gaze off Angelina and straight into the pooling brown eyes you'd been avoiding all week long.

He sighed, grumbling under his breath and only with a less-than-gentle nudge from Archie, did he lean up on thighs that flexed unfairly -- bloody hell, stop it! -- and wrap his hand over the neck of the bottle: it went spinning.

The only sound you could hear was the twist of the glass against the woven rug and the hum of your own blood rushing past your ears. It stopped.

"No fucking ways." Enzo cracked from two people down.

A hand landed on your shoulder, shaking you half off your arse: Angelina. "You're up, babe! Go!"

The bottle was pointing irrefutably at your little spot in the circle.

Oliver's face was as white as you'd ever seen it when you dared look up.

"I-I'm not going in with him--" It was the first thing that came to your mind and went spluttering out your mouth.

George was laughing so hard that he'd fallen all the way onto his back. The roar of the group was ear-splitting.

"There's no ways I'm going in with her!"

"Let's end this feud once and for all," Katie bellowed over their heads. "Captain versus captain!"

You're being knocked from all sides, hands crawling under your arms and lifting you off the floor. Across the circle, Oliver is experiencing the same and before you know it: the wooden doors of the cabinet are creaking open.

"Go on!" Lee's finger is piercing your side.

Oliver is beside you but you won't look. You take one last look over your shoulder at Cherry back on the floor, she does nothing but offer a sympathetic shrug and mouths "sorry, dear".

Your hand reaches before Oliver's, flinging the door open with maybe a little too much force. It bangs against the wall behind it.

"Let's get this over with." You mumble, only half concerned that he heard you.

You slouch climbing in, the top is low and the space is even more cramped than what you assumed. To your surprise, Oliver is stepping in after you. He takes his turn at slamming the door, shutting it this time.

It's dark inside, but not enough that you can't see. Light is peaking in through the cracks and he's leaned back against the opposite wall to you.

In the narrow space, your legs are twisting around each other to stand: his one knee situated between yours. In the dimness, he folds his arms and you notice for the first time the jumper he's wearing. The purple one, you recognise it as the one he's had for years. Time has taken its toll where the jumper is clinging to life around his frame, Oliver having grown at least three times wider while the jumper has remained the same size.

"Go on, Wood, give her a kiss!"

The voice is unrecognisable but it knocks your tongue back into your mouth where you'd been ogling at his torso.

His arms are folded, proffering you with a glare that could cut through steel. He makes no visible sign that he'd heard the shout at all. You mirror him, folding your own arms.

"I'm not kissing you."

His head cocks. "Oh, so you're talking to me now?"

You suck in a sharp breath. It's not the response you're anticipating. "What?"

"So we're playing dumb?" He leans just a fraction closer. You can smell the linger of alcohol on his breath, but it doesn't work hard enough to drown out the smell of peppermint that follows him around. "Doesn't suit you, princess."

"I'm not playing anything. I don't know what you're talking about." You double down. It's probably not sustainable but the heat of his body almost against yours and the thrum of liquor in your blood makes the decision for you.

"Y've been avoiding me all week."

"I haven't"

"You're a bad liar."

You swallow hard. Embarrassment is rising again, making your head spin. Oliver's chest is puffed up in anger, you can tell because you've had five years to learn the look like the back of your hand. Except, now - as it has been for a longer time than you care to admit - it's harder to focus on the waves of fury reflecting off of him when his face is just so ... beautiful. Nose scrunched and lips pulled tight into a grimace.

It's what makes you change tactics, you think.

"So what if I was? Why does it matter?"

His arms unfold, eyes rolling so far that his head knocks back against the wood of the cupboard.

"Why?" you press, "Did you miss me, Wood?"

"Maybe I did."

He's looking at you again. For what feels like the hundredth time just tonight, your breath escapes you in a rush and your lungs struggle to grasp back at it. Your face softens without meaning to.

You blink at him.

"You did?" It's a whisper.

His arms are still folded but something clement passes like a shadow over his features.

"No."

His face betrays his words, eyes soft and lip daring to curl up at the edge.

The air in the tight space goes cold. Or maybe it's your blood. It's more likely the look on Oliver's face: like he hasn't just turned your organs to slush. You're all the way sober now.

"I'm not kissing you." You repeat dumbly, but it's gentle.

Merlin, you want to kiss him so fucking badly.

"You mentioned." He's almost, almost, smiling. It's gentle too.

The space between you falls quiet. You're suddenly overly focused on the brush of his knee between yours. His swirling brown eyes catch on the split of light creeping in past the hinge on the door.

It stays like that until your voice creeps nervously out. "I was embarrassed. Am, I am embarrassed."

A thick brow tightens in confusion. "Why?"

You huff, almost annoyed. Your eyes train on a dark spot by your intertwined feet. "Come on, Wood."

"What, about the match?" The alcohol thickens his accent.

Your silence seems to answer his question. The apples of your cheeks are warming again.

"What was I supposed to do, leave you to have you bloody soul sucked out yer body?" His voice is rising, "No, princess, I'm not apologising for that."

It's an outpour that you're not expecting. Oliver's clearly in the mood to shock and surprise tonight.

Your lips tighten around the words that are all fighting for the spot at the tip of your tongue. Silence reigns while they argue, he's still watching you with exasperation set into the lines of his face.

"Princess." You settle.

His expression twists again. "What?"

"You always call me that. Why?" It's a question that you buried long ago. But his proximity, in conjunction with the night you've had, unearths it.

It's his turn to look surprised. He grumbles some indiscernable Scottish blabber before-- "It's because y'are a princess. Spoilt and bratty. Always gets her way."

There's no malice to his response, you find. It draws a chuckle from the depths of your chest.

"Aye, right." You mimic his accent and his quip, one he's used many times at you.

He laughs. It's not a sound you hear often and it's setting your whole nervous system alight like a tangled bunch of christmas lights. His whole body's shaking with it, head resting back against the wood again, and you really do think you might grab him and kiss him -- when the door flies open again: seeping his whole body in yellow light.

Alicia's standing at the opening, grin wide as night is wide and clearly expectant on catching you with your tongues down each other's throats.

If she'd given you another three seconds she just might have.

"Oh." She slumps in disappointment, looking back over her shoulder and shaking her head to the expectant crowd. They groan collectively. "Well, love birds, your time is up."

You'd almost forgotten where you were. Oliver clears his throat, the ghost of his laugh impossible to find on his face, and clambers over your legs out into the common room again. He doesn't pass without brushing his hand over yours.

It's nearly three in the morning when Enzo finally lets up.

His long legs are sprawled across the midnight blue couch in the middle of the common room. Fiona, a lovely Ravenclaw girl you'd met just tonight, shrugs at you: "Don't stress it. He can crash here tonight."

The party is long since dead. Seven Minutes In Heaven had looped another three rounds before everyone had gotten their chance in the dusty cupboard and began to grumble in boredom.

You'd avoided Oliver's eyes the whole time again, sure that if you looked he'd be able to read the fondness on your face.

It wasn't long after that the last of the students dissolved in the direction of their respective bedrooms. With your dear friend in good hands with the Ravenclaws, you loop your arm with Cherry - knocking against her side towards the portal.

You've barely pushed it ajar when she breaks off you, "Hold on, I need to get my Transfig notes from Jacob!"

"Cher, it's three in the morning?"

Alcohol is directing her legs in the opposite direction clumsily, "I'll wake him. If I fail another quiz, Mcgee's gonna have my arse."

She's gone before she catches your call: "I'll find you outside!"

The portal creaks where you shove it open again. The corridor is dimly lit and colder than the common room and a shiver chases up your exposed legs.

"Bloody hell." You run a hand over your forearms.

It's quiet too, and empty besides the Gryffindor captain leaning against the stone wall closest to the entrance you've just emerged from.

"Merlin," your eyes find his. "Not you again."

The flush over your cheeks is warding off the chill.

Oliver shrugs. "Me again."

An awkward silence permeates. Against better judgement, you shuffle forward, leaning against the wall beside him. He doesn't react, arms folded and staring into the inky abyss of the corridor leading out to the rest of the castle.

"Why're you out here?" You ask, tucking your hands between your back and the wall.

"Archie." He huffs out, voice wrapped in annoyance. "He's in there with Penelope. I gave him ten minutes."

Ah, Penelope Clearwater. She'd joined the game in the last round. A good thing too because Oliver's friend was looking more crestfallen as the bottle spun again and again, surpassing him each time. Penelope had taken the last turn, ending up with her hair in every direction and Archie's spectacles leaning half off his face when they emerged from the cupboard.

"You?"

The eddy of average conversation is strange, but you find you like it.

"Cherry." You hum. "Something about quiz notes."

He drops his head back against the wall.

"That what they calling it now?"

It startles you, head tilting to stare up at the side of his face with a grin: "oh, Wood’s got jokes now? I didn’t know it was possible for you to make a joke."

His eyes flutter shut, a twinkle of laughter bubbling out of his frame. Tucking his head down to his chest, he shrugs against his own light chuckle. "I have them. I just don’t share them with you."

You giggle back at him. "Right. Well then you better stop smiling there, someone might walk past and think we’re friends."

He shakes his head, the sound of his snicker fading but leaving behind the imprint of a smile. "Nobody’s gonna think that."

You lean back again, eyes drifting over the low ceiling. Quiet falls again - not uncomfortable - and you let it linger for a moment. A thought tugs on a loose string in your mind, not a new one, but one you’ve carefully buried over time.

It comes falling out your mouth. "You ever think about how it might be ... if things were different?"

The question grants you a look out the side of his eye. "Different?"

"Y’know," you shrug, the very last remains of alcohol are ebbing and unsureness is replacing where it stood. "If we … we had—"

"If you hadn’t suckered me in the bloody nose?" His words are unexpectedly fond.

You laugh at him, "If you hadn’t deserved to be suckered in the bloody nose."

He draws in a long breath, not answering. It prompts you.

"We could have been friends." You whisper, more to your chest than to him really.

But he hears it. "We would never be friends."

It stings sharper than it should. Your shoulders go stiff and the corners of your eyes sting inexplicably, turning the corridor blurry. A dying fire revives in your chest, blistering the cave, reminding you why Oliver Wood has been nothing but a stake in your side since you were thirteen years old.

"Of course. How stupid of me, for a minute I forgot what an absolute arsehole you are." You push off the wall, intent in going to dig out Cherry from the depths of the Ravenclaw dormitory. "Goodnight, Wood."

An arm wraps around your waist, not unlike it'd done a week ago in the air of the quidditch pitch, lurching you into him until you're pressed back against the cool stone of the corridor wall.

Oliver looms over you, crouched so that your nose bumps against his. "Don't sulk, princess."

It all happens at once: his hands grab onto the fat of your hips, digging in there like he really does hate you, and lips crash against yours like maybe he doesn't at all.

He stays there, unmoving for a second that feels a year long.

Where the inside of your brain had been buzzing with runaway threads of thought, ribbons streaking out in all directions: they disappear in a sizzling light. Oliver Wood is kissing me.

You melt against him, tipping up onto your toes and latch onto muscled shoulders. He seemingly takes that as his cue, pressing you closer against his body with his arm - lifting you half off the wall.

He tastes like the remnants of Firewhisky and pumpkin juice, the flavour setting every nerve ending in your body on fire. Lips soft but persistent while his hands grip onto you like you'd dissolve into dust if he didn't.

It's aggressive, but familiar in that way. Oliver is nothing if not hot-blooded and his touch, darting between your hips and your face is turning you tipsy again.

"If you want a friend," It's muffled when he speaks, punctuating his words with hot wet kisses, "go be friends with Ryo."

It's only in this moment, with his desperation mirroring in the glimpses of sugar brown irises you catch where he's fluttering his eyes over your face, that it dawns on you.

"Jealous much?"

He growls lowly and it makes you giggle against him, your hands slithering up into the hairs at the base of his neck. Oliver shakes his head against you, still huffing in disbelief.

"Shut up." It's accent-heavy and bleeds a hole through the bottom of your stomach. "You're such a fucking brat."

"And you're a fucking prick."

He huffs lowly, you press harder to him: solidifying the sentiment. Somehow the bickering makes it all sweeter, like you're dissolving cotton candy against your tongue where his swoops over it.

You'd just about forgotten where you were when a creak echoes down the corridor. Halfway to ignoring it in favour of Oliver's touch, your situation dawns on you in the same moment it does him.

Like you'd both licked the end of a live wire, you and Oliver jolt back a foot, hands diving to your respective sides.

Cherry is standing against the light of the common room behind her, a lanky Archie parked beside her. Their eyes are wide and Cherry's hand is against her jaw in shock.

"Oh my god." She mumbles against it.

Blood is rushing to your face and out the corner of your eye, Oliver is running a hand over the hair that's sticking in all directions from the influence of your fingers.

Cherry is laughing breathily, eyes still wide and white in surprise. "Oh my god."

Archie's eyes are flickering between you and Oliver.

"Sorry to interrupt." He says, a smirk curling onto his features.

It jumpstarts your entire system. You step forward, grabbing Cherry by the arm.

"Well," you nod at Archie and at Oliver, not daring to meet his eyes, "goodnight then."

You march with fervour, half-dragging her in the direction of the Hufflepuff common room until your figure disappears behind the next corridor.

Oliver stands with his hands hanging at his side dumbly. He swipes a finger of his bottom lip, still tasting the strawberry lip gloss you'd left there.

"Can't say I didn't see this coming, mate." A hand claps over his shoulder.

He groans, running both hands over his face, and Archie shakes him lightly.

"So ... how was it?"

With another groan, Oliver shoves Archie's hand off of him. "Bloody hell, Arch."

Archie throws his head of curly black hair back, laughing so loud it bounces off the wall. "That good, huh?"

(part two/final part)

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astonmartinii · 5 months ago

Text

other side of the moon - chapter five | formula one imagine

chapter five: enter stage left

pairing: fem retired formula one driver reader x ??? fem retired formula one driver reader x platonic!kimi antonelli

one big car launch with every driver in attendance - what can go wrong?

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR | SERIES MASTERLIST

whatever bright spark decided that formula one needed one big, fancy car launch must want y/n dead. here she stood in one of the many green rooms in a black dress that’s a little too tight and an absolute pain to sit down in.

on one side of the room george sits in his dressing gown being doted on five different people while he talks down the phone in a tone too loud for the crowded room. kimi, on the other hand, sits on the couch on the other side, having waved off all of the people trying to smear yet another cream on his face.

“are you just going to be haunting me all season?” george said as he hung up the phone. glaring at y/n through the mirror.

“if i’m haunting you, does that mean you did something wrong?” y/n gasps, “am i the skeleton in your closet, georgie?”

the mercedes personnel in the green room were still, almost waiting for it to hit boiling point and all spill over. george and y/n stared each other down, waiting for someone to make the next move. george steadily looked y/n up and down, not being subtle at all. y/n raised her eyebrow at the brit.

“i could get used to you in my colours,” george said with a smirk.

“bore off russell, i don’t wear anything for you. these will be seen as kimi’s colours before you know it.”

a knock on the door signalled the start of the show. george stood up and took off his robe, revealing the new mercedes racesuit for the season. the brit made his way to the door but before he left, he turned to y/n and said, “don’t get too comfortable, i have my eye on you”

“oh georgie, you always have,” y/n flirted before schooling her face, “and how has that worked out for you?”

the brit pointed to his racesuit, “better than it has for you.”

that was a low blow, but y/n was prepared to play it that way if that was the game for the season. george looked at her again, as if to challenge her, but y/n stayed silent though her stare was unwavering. she had said a lot worse about herself to herself after the crash.

with that george turned and left, calling out to alex down the corridor.

“i really don’t understand him,” kimi said, “it was only like a week or two ago he was cussing you out in monaco, then today he checks you out but then threatens you like two seconds later?”

“first lesson of the year, kimi. do not trust a word that man says to you.”

the pair linked arms and made their way out of the green room. there was a gaggle of drivers at the end of the corridor, all decked out in their racesuits except the ferrari boys who were in normal suits. the group fell silent as they all turned to see the new arrivals.

“i didn’t know it was bring your mum to work day?” alex called out as they neared the group, smiling as he came to hug her.

a french-accented voice hollered a ‘milf’ from the back of the group, y/n suspected it was pierre, but paid no mind. an offended squeak followed as y/n looked up to see max delivering a slap to the back of his head.

“i’m just dropping him off, i gotta get to my seat before i’m roped into an interview. i had to sneak in this afternoon, i swear sky sports are like stalking me!”

the group watched along as y/n leaned in to whisper into kimi’s ear, “remember what i told you. smile, be likeable and tell jokes. these people are underestimating you, let them. we’ll do our real talking in the car. good luck and try and have some fun.”

the pair did their ‘handshake’, which really was just a pinky promise, and broke apart. y/n looks back at the group one more time, smiles at max and takes her leave. just a couple paces down the corridor, a voice called out her name.

“y/n, hey!” lewis called, catching up to her quickly, “i didn’t think i’d see you back here tonight.”

“i wasn’t planning on it, to be fair. kimi is technically an adult now, but i still didn’t want to leave him on his own here of all places.”

lewis laughed as the pair looked back at the group. kimi had nestled himself next to ollie, quietly talking to each other with esteban looking over both of them. y/n caught the gaze of esteban and the frenchman gave her a quick nod before inserting himself into the conversation. the height difference between kimi and esteban was comical, but y/n was happy knowing esteban would look out for him in places she couldn’t be.

“i didn’t think you would like the whole mentor role, being so young and everything, but you seem to be doing a good job.”

“thank you lewis, but honestly he makes it very easy,” y/n looked at the group again with a fond look on her face.

lewis brought his hand to her face and made her look at him, “i thought i’d never see that look on your face again.”

y/n looked down and blushed, shaking lewis’ hand off. “i am happy. a lot happier than i expected to be, anyway.”

“i’m happy that you’re happy. i’m happy you’re back, i won’t keep my distance this time, even if you’re in the home of the enemy now.”

y/n laughed, “well i thought it was bad going back to your ex, and look at me now. so maybe they’re not as much as an enemy as you think.”

an announcement from further down the corridor cute the conversation there, lewis tries not to look bothered, but y/n can still tell.

“looks like you’re needed elsewhere, superstar,” y/n said with a wink, “try not to let charles outshine you too much.”

“he wishes.”

y/n watched him walk away and was confused. lewis had never expressed interest in her before, platonic or romantic. even when she was a young rookie with stars in her eyes, she was never on his radar. was she now? the visit in london had been weird and the way his eyes had been fixed on her since she arrived today was even weirder.

y/n didn’t really have the time to be grappling with that struggle today, not with everything else going on. the audience seemed like enough distance between her and lando, but after monaco, there was no real knowing what could happen. george was just as confusing as his compatriot, with harsh words but also a glimmer of something else too.

she needed a glass of champagne pronto.

max watched the interaction between y/n and lewis like a hawk, so focused that he didn’t realise that he had formed quite an audience. nico hulkenberg, kimi, ollie and esteban watched him try and conceal his feelings, but his face showed every thought.

“you want to make it any more obvious that you’re jealous?” nico said, nudging max to break him out of his daze.

“i’m not jealous, i just wonder what they actually have to talk about…”

“you’re not jealous you say? you didn’t even glare at him this much during 2021.” esteban chimed in.

max furrowed his brows and forced himself to look away. he already felt guilty for harbouring these feelings for y/n and now he’s faced with a curious look from kimi, making him feel even worse. he did not want to make the same mistake as lando and george had in the past. he meant it when he said he just wanted to exist with her.

“kimi, how would you feel about having max as your dad?” ollie said, hiding slightly behind esteban.

“he’s very good with the cats?”

“thanks, that’s such a glowing recommendation, kimi, thanks!”

kimi held up his hands in surrender but max couldn’t be angry at the italian - plus he did take very good care of his cats and brando. in fact, he had nearly thrown his back out, much to red bull’s chagrin, building a new cat tower so brando could watch the birds from his preferred spot. the cat had settled in well in his place in monaco while y/n had been staying, the dutchman didn’t want to think too much about what it could mean, but it was on his mind.

“i just mean i caught you googling how to make sure your cat is getting enough vitamin d because you were worried about how cloudy it’s been in monaco?”

kimi tried to backpedal, but his anecdote was overheard by more drivers, bringing them into the conversation.

“are you being for real? vitamins are just pseudoscience dude,” pierre said but isack popped his head into the circle to say, “vitamins are real? and vitamin d deficiency is actually a really huge problem.”

“thank you isack!”

“as if i’m taking health advice from a rookie,” pierre laughed. yuki took his turn to pipe up next, “i saw you eat a whole jar of peanut butter in one sitting last winter break? what do you know about health?”

“why is it gang up on pierre hour? why aren’t we focusing on the real issue here? like how pathetic max is about y/n?”

max sputtered as even more drivers joined the conversation.

“i am not pathetic. brando is practically my son. kimi back me up, doesn’t he love me?”

“he does -” kimi started defending max before charles butted in with a: “calling for help from the other son? we see how it is verstappen.”

this was a losing battle. max just hoped it stayed this light hearted but he saw lando and george approaching the group.

“max is not my dad, but i wouldn’t mind. he drove all the way to nice to pick up my parcel because i didn’t understand monaco postal charges!”

poor kimi was trying to help, but he was just making it inadvertently worse.

“this is making your pseudoadoption last year look like child’s play, oscar,” alex said, earning him a whack from charles.

“kimi is not my son, but that doesn’t mean i won’t look out for him. this is a horrible place to come when you’re already disliked. some people, not naming names, have made it clear they have a problem with him and y/n, so it’s simply my moral duty to look out for him.”

the group quietened down, looking amongst each other.

“why am i so out of the loop, who is bullying this literal child?” nico said, pulling kimi into his chest, the italian letting out a squeak as the german petted him. “so? do tell.”

for two people who were very eager to call y/n and kimi every name under the sun just a week ago, they were very silent in that moment.

“oh! we’re talking about the lovely cocktail party i threw that was ruined by lando and george!” charles blurted out, he grabbed fernando’s hand, “it was so nice, i even brought olives, but they came in spouting all this shit about y/n and kimi and seduction and older women?”

both brits scratched the backs of their necks. the cocktail party drama was not a good move from them, especially so close to the start of the season.

“it wasn’t quite like that?” george hurried out.

“you accused y/n of trying to sleep with me?” oscar said.

“you said that i was going the max verstappen route of getting with an older ‘problematic’ woman?” kimi added from nico’s side.

“you also kinda implicated yourself in y/n’s crash?” alex heaped on for good measure.

“alex!?” george and lando shouted, “whose side are you meant to be on?”

“i’m not on a “side” because i’m not fucking five, but i will point out hypocrisy and stupidity and that’s both of you. come on, it’s 2025 and you guys are still stuck in like 2017.”

“right, i feel really stupid because what the fuck are you people talking about and why wasn’t i invited to this party?” fernando said, a confused look on his face.

“lando and george are still hung up on y/n years later even though she never actually expressed interest in them, max has the best odds on actually sealing the deal and i don’t know, kimi is getting shit because he brought her back and none of them can actually regulate their emotions!” charles said, exasperated, “keep up grandpa, you’ve been here the whole time!”

“i do not have the ‘best odds’ because y/n isn’t a horse, you don’t bet on women?” max bit back.

“actually i bet on women all the time,” yuki said but when he saw how the group were looking at him he added, “ufc, duh!”

even as they were herded towards the backstage, the group continued bickering like children.

“all i’m saying is that your crush is super obvious and you need to be careful! y/n will know and will use it against you, just look at what happened with me and george!” lando hissed at max.

the dutchman glared at the brit, this really had gone too far. “can you like actually give me an example of where she ‘led you on’ i am genuinely curious,” max snipped, “quickly.”

lando immediately looked at the floor and bit his lip. max began tapping his foot with an impatient look.

“well she would be super flirty with me in the videos the team would make us film?” lando didn’t sound convinced, and max didn’t buy a single second of it.

“if that’s what you think flirting is i feel sorry for all of your ex girlfriends, you must be a horrible boyfriend - ouch!” charles was cut off by a shove from george.

“stay out of this charles!”

“i won’t stay out of this, y/n is actually a friend of mine. yeah that’s right she doesn’t hate me because i don’t assume that any girl who is fractionally nice to me is in love with me.”

“lando you basically tortured that girl her entire formula one career, do you need to do it now as well?” max said, “i think this season will be a lot easier for you if you drop this now.”

“is that a threat?”

“it’s a promise.”

all the bickering surrounding the pair ceased, tension rising in the air. the call for the mclaren boys drew lando out of his stare down with max. the brit joined oscar at the front of the queue and painted on his PR smile.

y/n had found her way to her seat, flanked by natalie pinkham on one side and jenson button on the other. there goes her plans for a quiet evening.

“so the rumours are true,” jenson said before jumping up to give her a hug, “i’ve missed you, rocky”

y/n flushed at the nickname. since her first ever race in formula one, jenson had crowned her his ‘pocket rocket’ which had eventually been worn down to just rocky. she hadn’t heard it in so long, jenson’s appearances being relegated to messages via sara or flowers that only gave away his identity with the use of rocky.

“did sky set up this seating arrangement? are you going to ambush me for an interview?”

“i can’t believe you’d think so low of me,” jenson clutched at his imaginary pearls, “and as if you can say no to me anyway.”

the pair took their seats as the show started. natalie handed her a glass of champagne and whispered in her ear, “you might need this.” well that doesn’t bode well.

the two mclaren drivers made their way out onto stage, joined by zak and andrea. y/n leaned into jenson, “i don’t understand why he insists on being everywhere, have we not suffered enough?”

jenson tried to stifle his laugh, “are you sure you don’t want to work in commentary?”

“i think it’s best i keep my opinion on these men to myself.”

the mclaren spiel followed the closely the same scripts they used when y/n still raced for them, though a healthy dose of constructors champions boasting had been added. a second questionable decision from formula one reared it’s head when nico rosberg asked his first unscripted question:

“so boys, how do you feel about the return of former mclaren driver y/n y/ln to the paddock? excited to see her?”

y/n swore she could see lando’s eye twitch from her front row seat. there was an awkward pause and y/n could feel the rest of the audience tense. even though the general public didn’t know the ins and outs of the fall out, there was definitely rising suspicion.

nico found y/n in the audience and gave her such a shit-eating grin that she almost didn’t care about the situation he just put her in.

“we’re of course over the moon to see her back in the paddock. i know i’ve harboured a lot of guilt as to how i ended up with my seat, so i’m happy that y/n can see me in action and hopefully i can continue to make her proud!” oscar said with a genuine smile, the only convincing one from the men clad in orange.

“continue to?” nico asked, “have you had confirmation of this?”

y/n’s eyes snapped to oscar who despite receiving glares from his boss, continued on.

“we spoke at charles’ cocktail party. i’ve always been a fan of hers and it was great to finally set the record straight. she was a lot more graceful than i would’ve been in her position. to be honest i was a bit of a weepy mess, but she was very supportive. i’m only slightly jealous of kimi…”

“very nice. did you get any insight on her opinion on hungary?” nico pushed, only to be cut off by zak.

“if you so desperately want her opinion on everything, you can wait until you’re on sky’s dime. this is a car launch, no? we’re confident in our car for this season and intend on winning both championships. and do you know how we’re going to do that? with the two drivers on stage right now, not one who was a flash in the pan four years ago.”

you could hear a pin drop in the venue. even lando had a shocked look on his face as he and oscar exchanged a look.

“that’s fighting talk from the man who ended her career, but what do i know?” nico said sharply but then turned to the audience, “ladies and gentlemen, mclaren!”

there was tentative applause from crowd and when y/n and oscar made eye contact she gave him a small smile. this was only the first team…

nico looked for y/n in the front row and gave her a thumbs up to which she shook her head violently. jenson burst out laughing, “well, i don’t think we’ll be having this as the car launch format again.”

“i don’t know about you but i’m throughly entertained,” natalie said, “if nico was like that with mclaren, i can’t wait for ferrari!”

the next few teams were decidedly less dramatic. y/n could see kimi and george lining up next to come on stage and she hoped the italian remembered her advice.

george walked on stage with confident strides, followed by toto and finally kimi. the italian looked out at the audience, squinting from the harsh lights but calming his features when he saw y/n. she gave him a thumbs up and got a smile in return.

“you’re loving this mum role aren’t you?” jenson said.

“you’re making me feel old, stop. but yes i would kill myself if anything happened to him, so i guess so.”

back on stage, nico had started his interview. first toto was being grilled about the hopes for the season and how life at mercedes would be without lewis hamilton. the german was clearly trying to bait his former boss into giving him a juicy soundbite.

“kimi, let’s come to you now. you’re first season in formula one and you’ve already brought in the big guns? y/n y/ln as your mentor, that’s a big statement.”

kimi looked startled and his eyes snapped to meet y/n’s. she nodded to him, urging him to answer.

“why wouldn’t i want a legend of the sport like her as my mentor? she still knows what she’s doing, and if it ruffles some feathers in the paddock at the same time, what’s the harm?”

she was so proud of her protégé. jenson choked on his champagne at kimi’s answer, “kids got balls.”

“well, well, well. you’re not beating around the bush are you? but do tell me, kimi, what’s so special about you that y/n would come out of retirement?”

“i’ll save that answer for australia, nico,” kimi said, surprised by the laughs from the audience, “but maybe i’ve just got a charm the rest of the grid doesn’t?”

“holy shit,” natalie said, “was this the strategy, y/n?”

“i told him to make them like him? are you not entertained?”

nico, for once, was speechless on stage. george huffed next to toto, waiting for his turn to talk. the german clocked onto this and a devilish smile broke out on his face.

“so george, you and y/n grew up together… do you not have charm? as far as we can tell, you haven’t spoken to y/n in years?”

y/n’s mouth dropped open. jenson was right, there’s no way this format, at least with nico hosting, was ever happening again.

“i have more than enough charm, thank you nico. are you going to ask us anymore questions about the season or is it all just tabloid questions from you tonight?”

“tabloid?! well, now that makes me think you’ve got something to hide… but as for your 2025 season, are you afraid that you might lose to an 18-year-old rookie?”

george sputtered in response, “i have no fear of losing, i just beat a seven time world champion, a rookie, no offence, has no bearing on my season.”

“that’s a big claim, george. you better hope you stick to it. it’ll be your sixth season in formula one, do you think you’ll finally be able to claim the number one driver role?”

george’s face was getting redder and redder as he tried to remain calm. he made eye contact with y/n briefly, giving her the subtlest glare he could.

“i think i made a very good case for myself for the last two seasons and toto has faith in me to lead this team back to where they should be.”

nico had a wolfish grin on his face, he was enjoying this psychological torture a little too much.

“you don’t think toto has more faith in kimi, a driver he allowed to skip an entire step on the junior ladder and is giving his formula one debut at just 18? and straight into a mercedes rather than say… a williams?”

george’s shiny mask was starting to slip. this was meant to be a fun event for fans but had descended into a nico rosberg masterclass of making everyone suffer - and for once y/n was enjoying it.

“classy as always, nico,” george said.

“it’s what i do best,” nico laughed to himself, “back to you kimi, are you intimidated at all by your senior teammate? do you think you can make a case for yourself as the number one driver?”

the italian paused for a moment, thinking to y/n’s advice - he needed people to like him.

“i’m more than happy to play a team game to bring mercedes back to the top,” he smiled to toto, “but make no mistake i’m here to win and i won’t just step aside without good reason.”

“well, this is a duo i’ll be watching closely this season. mercedes!”

the trio shuffled off of stage and y/n let out a sigh of relief, she could throw back as much champagne as she wanted now.

another couple of teams made their way past nico’s questioning, but as nico hulkenberg and gabriel bortoleto made their way off of the stage the audience held their breath. next was ferrari.

charles, lewis and fred vasseur made their way on stage, and as has become classic fashion, lewis situated himself as far from nico as possible.

“welcome, welcome. a different line up this year and much to think about, do you think you can finally bring the championship back to italy?”

fred started on what was likely a pre-written script and y/n tuned out for a second. the ferrari boys looked nothing short of glamorous in their tailored black suits with the yellow of the ferrari logo popping on the left breast. both men looked assured, no nerves, just pure confidence - the type of confidence that draws you to a person.

y/n caught lewis’ eye and he gave her a quick wink, something that did not go unnoticed by jenson beside her.

“what was that all about, rocky?” jenson whispered. y/n kept looking forward, ignoring jenson’s stare burning into the side of her head. the brit kept poking her, “i’m not going to stop until you answer me!”

y/n batted his hand away, “i don’t know what you’re talking about old man, leave me alone!”

“i saw that, hell, the whole place saw that! you are aware that is a man 14 years your senior!”

y/n downed her champagne and whispered to jenson, “listen, i don’t know what the fuck is happening! he came to my apartment and he’s being really nice? i don’t know?!”

jenson looked between the two and grabbed his own champagne. “i was teammates with that guy! you might be a grown up now but he’s really old!”

y/n slapped a hand over her mouth to stop her laughing out loud. jenson did have a point. was lewis actually flirting with her or was he just being nice? was she falling into the same headspace that lando and george were in with her?

“i am not going to get with lewis, jens. he’s just being nice, that’s all. now shut up i want to see if nico makes the brocedes breakup all of our problem.”

nico had finished his interrogation of charles and set his sights on his former teammate. y/n grabbed jenson’s hand in anticipation.

“so lewis, new team, new you? how do you feel coming into a team where charles has dominated for the last five years?”

lewis gives nico a forced smile, “i am excited for the challenge. there’s a lot of changes coming into this season, people leaving and new faces. it’s best to face a challenge head on rather than running.”

“you didn’t run from mercedes? you didn’t want to stick it out and retire with the team that gave you so much success?”

“you’d know all about running wouldn’t you nico?”

y/n dropped her glass of champagne and the rest of the audience gasped but nico did not look phased at all.

“i am happy with my decision, time will tell if you’ll be happy with yours. charles dealt with sebastian, don’t think he’ll roll over for you.”

charles looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but on stage and fred’s face would tell you he’s at the gallows rather than a car launch.

“was in your brief today to make the vibes in here as rancid as possible? as i said i am excited for the season ahead and nothing you can say today will change that.”

lewis took the lead and left the stage, leaving nico alone with a pleased look on his face. the german found y/n’s gaze again and wiggled his eyebrows. if there was ever a man you need to take the heat off of you, he was the one.

there was one final team to go and this entire nightmare of a night would be over. the final team was none other than red bull - nothing could possibly go wrong here could they?

christian, like the other team principals, started with a long-winded spiel that said a whole lot of nothing. y/n smiled widely when she caught max’s eye and he responded with an eye roll directed at christian’s rambling. the dutchman, for a second, had forgotten he was in fact on stage in front of thousands. the pair stare at each other and bite their lips to keep the laughs in.

jenson leaned in again, “not to keep questioning you, but what is happening here? and don’t lie, i know he’s the only one you kept in contact with and who you have been staying with in monaco.”

“it’s nothing! it’s something? i don’t know what it is? we’re just existing together. i think romance in the paddock is the worst thing for me right now. i need to be fully focused on kimi.”

“first of all - we’re exisiting together? that’s so fucking gross. and two - you’re still allowed to have fun?” jenson wiggled his eyebrows.

“not everyone can be the playboy of formula one, stud.”

“true. i’m not sure you have the devilishly good looks to be a playboy - hey”

y/n snatched his glass of champagne and turned back towards the stage just as max took to the microphone.

“so max, do you think there’s a chance of a fifth title in a row?”

max laughed in his signature way, “here i thought you’d gotten all of your aggression out with lewis. we’ll have to see how we line up against the other teams, but you always have to believe you can win every single race, so that’s what i’ll continue to do.”

a quick glance from nico told y/n that her peaceful night hadn’t started just yet.

“you’ll finally have your best friend back in the paddock, are you still excited even though she’ll be in mercedes uniform?”

“i think toto has another thing coming if he thinks she’ll be wearing that ugly uniform,” max said, “but it makes no difference to me what garage y/n is in, we’re like magnets, you can’t keep us a part for long.”

nico hummed, “is that why you were the only one she kept in contact with after the crash?”

“yes? it’s mostly because we’re best friends but also because i’m a decent human being.”

oh fuck.

“how do you mean, max?”

christian tried to butt in, “i don’t think we need to go into that here.”

“oh i’m more than happy to, and nico has been stirring all night, what’s just a little more to add to the pot?”

you could almost hear the audience shuffling to the edge of their seats and for the first time that evening, y/n felt some of the cameras on her. she gave them a small wave and hoped they would pan back to the actual action.

“all i’m saying is that there are a lot of victim complexes in the paddock, it’s full of people who would rather say ‘i don’t know why she doesn’t talk to me?’ rather than do some actual introspection. y/n will talk to you if you’re not an asshole, just as kimi.”

“so you’re saying there’s a truth to the rumours?”

“which rumours? you know, since your employers like to report on so many?”

nico chuckled, “well, the rumours that perhaps the brits in the paddock didn’t get on as well as we were led to believe?”

max smiled, “well, that’s not my story to tell, but i’ve found that if you ask them, they’re more than happy to give you the scoop.”

for a moment, y/n’s heart stopped, fearing that nico would take this as the chance to bring her into the fray. max seemed to sense this as well and added, “but as for me, i’m just happy she’s back in any capacity. i’ve missed my partner in crime.”

“have you spoken about formula one in her break at all? you won all four of your titles in that time?”

“i know she watched it, but we haven’t spoken about it. i respected her boundaries at the time, but i knew she was watching based on some suspiciously timed texts.”

nico laughed, “i’m not sure we can ever stay away from this sport for long.”

“i’m glad that is the case,” max said, more to himself than anyone else.

the red bull boys were ushered off of the stage as nico delivered his closing remarks and announced the musical guests.

“he’s glad that’s the case? oh he’s in deep,” jenson gasped, “you can’t tell me that’s nothing, i rebuke it right this second.”

y/n sighed, standing and heading to the backstage bar. “i really don’t want to think about it jenson.”

“but you’re staying at his house, he’s building shit for your cat and gushing about you on stage!”

“i am well aware, but i don’t really know what you want me to do about that?”

“i want you to get your man and let him treat you how you’re supposed to be!”

y/n picked up another glass of champagne, talking the biggest sip before replying to jenson.

“you’re just as bad as the girls on twitter sometimes.”

kimi bursts through the doors, back in his comfy clothes, and rushes over to y/n. she wraps the italian into a hug.

“i’m so proud of you!”

kimi blushes, rocking back and forth on his feet, “thank you, y/n! i’m so glad we’ve got this out of the way i’m ready to race now!”

jenson laughed along side them, “an eager one, this one. i remember when i had that much energy.”

the rest of the drivers flooded into the room, grabbing drinks or just taking a seat. max, much like kimi, made his way straight to y/n, also pulling her into his chest. he whispered in her ear, “i’m sorry i got carried away talking about you, i just can’t help myself.”

y/n can’t help but feel the butterflies in her stomach at the confession. she was really trying to keep her feelings out of her return to formula one, but seeing max like this was putting a real spanner in the works. the dutchman’s protective nature along side his intense respect for her made her feel special for the first time since the crash.

“i take no offence, maxy. i’ll never say no to a compliment, especially from you.”

the group moves away from the bar and as they settle into their seats backstage, max’s arm wraps around her waist. y/n knew she shouldn’t do it, not here in front of everyone but that’s what her heart wanted. the first few weeks into her return and all the drama was wearing on her and they hadn’t even made it to the paddock yet. she snuggled into max’s side, letting the dutchman brush her hair out of her face.

“y/n?” kimi said from the other side of her, “i’m really happy you’re here, and i hope you’ll let yourself have this,” kimi motioned to max, who was deep in conversation with jenson.

“don’t you worry about that, kimi.”

“you’ve punished yourself for years, please don’t keep telling yourself that you’re not allowed this. also don’t wait up for me, i’m going to crash at ollie’s”

kimi said as his departing gift as he went to catch up with ollie and watch some of the music. y/n let herself relax back into max’s hold and her eyes close, all of the pent up stress of the evening rushing out.

“are we really that boring?” jenson asked.

“do you want to get out of here, y/n?” max asked, when y/n flopped further onto him, he took that as his answer.

grabbing her bag, max took y/n’s hand in his and pulled her from the seat. the pair exchanged hugs with jenson and made a quiet exit from backstage. they tried to be as subtle as possible, but nothing is ever secret in formula one.

jenson slid in beside lewis at the bar.

“you want to tell me what your plan is with her?”

lewis looked at his former teammate in confusion.

“i saw that wink and i know you were flirting with her when you went to her apartment. what’s the plan, you’re 14 years older than her?”

“i don’t have a plan? i felt bad about how i was when she was in formula one, i’m just trying to make her feel welcome again.”

“and winking at her at a televised event is definitely going to help?”

lewis scoffed, “i don’t really like what you’re implying.”

“i’m implying that you need to watch your step, seriously. the vultures are just waiting for her to make one wrong step, don’t give them an excuse to call her a gold digger or anything along those lines.”

“and what if i said i did like her?”

“i’d ask you if you actually know her? you didn’t speak to her after the crash, you didn’t speak to her when she was in the sport so i’m confused to where this would have come from?”

“you can drop the dad act jenson, i’m just being friendly. it looks like max got in there first anyway.”

jenson hummed, “not everything is a competition.”

y/n and max climbed into max’s hire car for the weekend and finally let themselves breathe.

“that was a lot,” y/n said, slipping off her heels, “nico really was out for blood.”

“i found it entertaining, but that usually is a death wish for anything in formula one.”

the pair laughed, and as max turned the ignition, y/n’s taylor swift playlist crackled into life.

“are you heading back to your hotel or do you want to crash at mine?” y/n asked as she put her address into the gps, despite max knowing nearly every route across london to her apartment.

“a chance to avoid team duties for as long as possible? count me in!”

“so you don’t want to spend more time with me? just want to avoid your team?”

max placed his hand on her thigh, “you know i always want to spend more time with you.”

the streets were relatively clear at this time with the event still in swing. max weaved through traffic as they entered west london. the dutchman nestled his car in y/n’s spot for her pink cadillac that was still in monaco. y/n started to fiddle with her heels to put them back on, but max stopped her.

he walked round to her side of the car and picked up her up bridal style. y/n giggled and wrapped her arms around max’s neck. the pair made their way up to her apartment as fast as possible, but made sure to say hi to frank who not so subtlety gave y/n a thumbs up and a wink.

the apartment was quiet without the meows of brando who was also back in monaco with jimmy and sassy. max stopped in the kitchen to pour two glasses of water but y/n went ahead to the bathroom to wash off the grime of the event.

she slipped into bed dressed in her pjamas that consisted of some old gym shorts and one of max’s toro rosso shirts. the dutchman knocked on her door.

“come in, maxy.”

max made his way into the room, placing the glass of water on her beside table. he sat on the edge of the bed, “good night, try not to dream of me too much.” the dutchman leaned down to give her a kiss on the forehead before moving back towards the door.

“max?”

“yes?”

“will you stay with me?”

“always.”

max got under the covers and tentatively reached out to her. sensing the apprehension, y/n turned over and tucked herself under max’s chin. his arms snuck around her waist and for the first time in three years, y/n finally slept peacefully without the images of her crash.

fin.

note: sorry this took so long, i've been a bit of a writing rut but i'm back!

taglist: @folkloresreputation @hc-dutch @shimmermotorsport @96mcobo @eclipsedcherry @formulaal @czennieszn @gothicwidowsworld @emily-b @suns3treading @henna006 @kazgirl20 @anotherapollokid @littlegrapejuice @daemyratwst @annimausi @yawn-zi @lulu-1998 @xsilkesworld @justaf1girl @daddyslittlevillain @evans-dejong @abq654 @elizamoe133 @wierdflowerpower @t1nkerbel1 @okcurran @raizelchrysanderoctavius @skepvids @multilovebot @fernandoalonso14 @jules-kup-172 @m4xgirlie @rorabelle15 @minkyungseokie @formula1-motogpfan @peterholland04 @miureiz @freyathehuntress @lighttsoutlewis @aleatorio1234 @chaosandevelyn@blueberry648579@dog-and-cat-person230@fastandcurious16@obxstiles@cosmicwintr@becca388510@savagittariuspy@tibadi @thisbitxhs-blog @finn-dot-com @scenesofobx @moofilms @alilstressyandlotdepressy @nana-love-bugzzz @mayax2o07 @obsessed-fan-alert @1-queenofpotatoes-1 @jajouska @poppysrin @mimimarvelingmarvel @jiyumie @heeseungthel0ml

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 #f1 social media au #max verstappen #charles leclerc #kimi antonelli #ollie bearman #jenson button #lewis hamilton #george russell #alex albon #pierre gasly #yuki tsunoda #nico rosberg

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smutoperator · 7 months ago

Text

Home Run

Myoi Mina, Hirai Momo x Male Reader

Kinkvember Chapter 8

Main kinks: competition, cumplay, condoms, magical girls, cloning, sex with a fan

Word count: 6595.

Seoul, South Korea, October 20th, 2024

Attending a Twice fanmeet is only for the strongest. The presence of nine sexy girls in the room playing with each other makes their fans always flirting with a heart attack, but the best thing is always the secret draws they always perform for their superfans.

That day, you were one of the nine lucky guys that won the draw. The girls then spun the wheel with their names to see who you were going to get. It landed on Mina's name.

"So Minari, what are you going to do with this fan?" Nayeon asked as she and Sana had just kissed each other. "We are going to play some baseball," she answered. The girls blushed, knowing what that actually meant. "But first I need to get a competitor; let's spin it again," she said.

The second spin of the wheel landed on Momo's name. The blonde bombshell licked her chops. "Let's compete, Minaring; you go first. Whoever scores the most points wins," Momo said. "Deal," Mina answered as she invited you backstage. Momo stayed entertaining other fans as she would wait for her turn.

Mina took you to a secret room, pinning you against the wall and kissing you. "I thought we were going to play baseball," you said to her. "Well, we're going to play a different version of it: the more home runs you score on me, the more likely I am to win," she said, taking your jacket off.

Mina pushed you into a bed and sat her big ass on top of you as she quickly unbuttoned your shirt. "Let's score some points," she said, leaning on top of your body. You giggle, unable to process what was going on. But enjoying it regardless. Mina just kept teasing you, touching your body, and kissing you. She licked your torso, sending shivers down your spine as her tongue touched your sensitive skin.

Mina kept massaging and touching your body as she increased the intensity of her moves, putting a finger up your tongue. "I think you're ready for more now," she said, running her hands down your pants now. Mina then turned around, searching for something in her bag as she gave you a privileged view of her big ass that her short skirt could barely contain.

"There it is," she said, showing you a pack of condoms. Wow, looks like you were really going to have sex with one of your biases. Even if it was with protection, just the thought of entering any of Mina's tight holes already made you go crazy. She started opening the pack, counting the number of condoms. "One, two, three, four, five," she said in Japanese.

"We are going to play basecum today," she said, making a wordplay. "Each condom you help me fill will be one point, then Momo will come in and get her turn," Mina said. "There are the rules of the game," she continued, taking your pants off in one go and smiling as your already throbbing cock popped out of it. "I hope it's ready to cum a lot for me, because I want to win this game," she said.

Mina grabbed your cock, making you instantly groan. She touched it softly, licking her chops as you leaked some precum from the get-go. Suddenly, she put her mouth on the tip of it, catching you off-guard. "Slow, please," you begged as she kissed the tip of your penis and then started performing some slow licks that quickly made your body contort. "Ohhhhh," you groaned as she licked the sides of your shaft now.

"Looks like I'm going to score a lot of points tonight," Mina said, increasing the pace of her blowjob. One pack of condoms covered your eyes as a blindfold. "OHHHHHHH," you groaned hard as Mina bobbed her head on your cock much faster now, getting sloppier and softly stroking it with both hands; your cock throbbed as if it had its own life. "The tip of your cock is so tasty," she said, focusing her attention on it.

"Can you take some pictures of it for me to send to Momo?" Mina asked, picking up her phone from the bag. "Of course," you answered as she handed you the phone and you took pics of her sucking your cock. "Show it to me," Mina said. "Perfect," she continued, looking at the pic of your cock in her mouth, grabbing the phone to then take a selca of herself performing it. "I look so pretty sucking that big cock," she said, taking a few more pics.

Mina kept moving with the blowjobs and the selfies, enjoying how beautiful she looks with that big cock in her mouth. She licked and massaged your balls next, kissing it and licking it. "There is a lot of cum ready to burst for me in there," she said as she let you take more pics of her. She took your cock deeper in her throat. "Ohhhhhh," you kept groaning. "Looks like I'm gonna open the score soon," Mina said, bobbing her head like crazy and jerking your cock really hard.

You couldn't contain yourself anymore, ejaculating right inside Mina's sexy mouth. "Come see your work, good boy," Mina said, sticking her tongue full of cum out. She opened one of the condoms and spat the cum right on it. "This is the opening score," she said, admiring your milky white semen inside the condom, even letting you wrap it up. "Momo and I are going to use the condoms as proof of our points," Mina said as she put it right in her bra, resuming the massage on your body, now with some cock jerkoff as well.

Mina started lifting her skirt, showing her red thong. "I'm going to be team red tonight; Momo will be team blue," she said, then pulling it to the side and teasing your cock around the entrance of her pussy. "AHHHHH," you groaned as Mina dropped down on your cock, letting you feel the warmth of her pussy in full display, you having to contain yourself not to cum again.

Mina quickly bounced on your cock, making you scream each time she got all the way down it. To her it was just another walk in the park; to you it was a struggle to resist the warmth of her holes. She then turned around, showing you her big fat ass. "Tell me, this is what you wanted to see the most," she said. "Yes," you said.

You pulled Mina's thong to the side in her buttock area and let her twerk on your cock. Her asshole winked at you as her pussy obliterated your cock. You started having flashes of her performing "7 Rings" on stage and bouncing that perfect big ass in front of those massive stadium crowds. But this time, you were the only lucky guy to witness it. "Ahhh, ahhhh, fuck, fuck," Mina moaned as you could tell she had practiced this move a lot, hitting your cock perfectly with very fast bounces. You grabbed her ass cheeks, but that only made Mina move faster as she wrapped the condom in the string of her thong. "I know more of it will join it soon," she said.

Mina now rode you at full speed; your efforts to make her slow down were futile; once she's on top of a cock, she only stops when she makes them cum. And this was her signature move; everybody knows it, and she knows it better than anyone else. "Ahhhh, ahhhhh, ahhhh, I need that cum," she said, moaning and then switching to a more violent bouncing, letting her ass hit your crotch nonstop. "OHHHHHH," you screamed again. Mina knew it was just a matter of time.

"Give it to me," Mina said as she went for another round of twerking. You were resisting as much as possible. But even the strongest fan can't resist for long getting his cock destroyed by Mina's bouncy big ass. She wanted it; she got it.

"Take a picture of it, baby; you deserve that memory, your idol bouncing her big ass on your cock," Mina said, handing you the phone. But the dream of cumming inside her would be delayed, as Mina wrapped a condom around it and started jerking your cock off. "Film it; I'm gonna fill it up, ahhhh, ahhhh, ahhhh, ahhhh," she moaned, getting back to twerking on your cock.

"AHHHHH, AHHHHHH, AHHHHHHH," both you and Mina screamed together as your cock pulsated inside the condom. Mina pulled out and showed the filled condom to you. "That's two points for team red," she bragged, spinning the condom with her hands and hitting it on your body, also putting it in the strings of her thong. "I bet this condom belt will grow much larger," she said, picking up a new condom to put on your cock.

Mina used her magical powers to get your erection back up with just the touch of her finger. "This cock looks so nice inside that condom," she said, jerking it off as she slowly put it inside it. Mina got on her knees on the bed, shaking her big ass for you. "Wanna fuck it next?" she asked, bending herself and getting on all fours.

You couldn't resist such an offer and quickly slid your cock inside Mina's butthole. "AHHHH," she moaned as her magical powers had made it bigger for her tighter hole. You were truly living in the dream, fucking your bias's big fat ass in a dominating position, grabbing Mina's butt and thrusting inside her asshole as fast and hard as possible.

"Let's go, pound that ass, fuck, AHHHHHHH," Mina demanded, suddenly screaming when you gave her exactly what she wanted. "Give it to me, AHHHHH, AHHHHH, AHHHHHH," Mina begged as you showed relentless intensity to do what every TWICE male fan secretly dreams of: fucking Mina's big fat ass all the way deep.

Going so hard on Mina quickly exhausted you, as you let her bounce her ass on your cock too, before taking back control. Her butthole was truly one of the best, squeezing your cock at every opportunity and making you push harder and harder to reach the full depths of it.

"Let's go, baby, give me more cum, AHHHHH, AHHHHH, AHHHHHHH," Mina said as you kept a relentless pace of ass-fucking, growing more and more addicted to it; her walls smashed your cock like crazy, and you grabbed her butt for better grip before Mina decided to turn things up a notch, bouncing her ass up and down and letting her anal walls hit your cock from the side. That slut is amazing, as she was able to twerk that ass even in a submissive position.

You stop thrusting into Mina's ass and just let her perform another insane twerking session as she keeps moaning hard. "AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH, AHHHH," she said. Mina ramped up the challenge, getting herself back on her feet and letting you pin her against the wall as you now fucked her ass in a standing doggy position. Mina loved the recoil of her ass from each thrust you gave her, enjoying the blissful sensation of your big cock fully stretching her butthole.

You lifted Mina's leg and kept pounding her ass, trying new positions and taking advantage of her ballerina's body flexibility. "Perfect, fuck my ass like that," she commanded, her perky tits jiggling with your thrusts. You then put her legs back down, letting Minari move her ass on your shaft and unleash her twerking, slutty self once again, her soft skin rubbing against yours, making you unable to resist and start pounding her hard again, groping her tits as you gave her ass fast poundings that she loved.

"AHHHHH, AHHHHHH, AHHHHHH, I'M CUMMING," Mina screamed. Her anal walls clenching as she reached her orgasm were enough for you to bust for a third time. Mina slowly pulled out, looking at your deflated cock as your cum hung on the extremities of the condom. "Three points for me already," she celebrated, taking it out and pushing you back onto the bed, adding it into the condom belt forming around her thong. She quickly grinded on your cock, the contact with her folds getting you hard instantly as she opened another condom and enveloped your cock in it.

Mina gave you a blowjob with the condom on, then teased you by touching the tip of your cock against it. She reached into her bag and picked up her Hitachi vibrator. Facing you this time, she got your cock back in her pussy. "Ready for another ride?" she asked, pressing her hands against your chest and bouncing on your cock.

Mina looked really beautiful as the sexy facial expressions she made while riding your cock and moaning and her cute tits bouncing drove you insane. She picked the Hitachi and put it to massage her cunt. "OHHHHHH," but it was your cock who felt the vibration the most. Mina placed it right at her clit and gave your cock a couple short and fast bounces before stopping and trying to prove she could make you cum with as little effort as possible.

But Mina just couldn't resist being a slutty ballerina, twerking on your cock once again as she pressed the Hitachi between your shaft and her clit. "FUCKKKK," you screamed, already on the edge. Mina sexily moaned, her beautiful hair covering her face and getting messier. She giggled, going with short but fast-paced rides as she increased the vibration in the Hitachi.

Mina then got up as she started to squirt, her cold juices hitting your condom and making you groan even further, even with your cock completely out of her pussy now. Now she just wanted to show she could make you cum in every possible way, squirting all over your body, then finishing you off by grinding on your cock and giving you just enough of a ride to make you cum for the fourth time. You reacted, pushing your cock upwards into her pussy and giving exactly what she needed.

"There it goes," Mina announced with a lot of excitement as she managed to fill another condom with your semen. You could barely breathe, Mina milking you dry as her condom belt got another piece for her to ornate it. But Mina wasn't done; she was already back on third base and wanted another easy score, grabbing your cock and jerking it off hard. "AHHHHHH," you screamed as she opened another condom while her phone beeped.

"Hello," Mina said. "You've been there for a while. When is it going to be my turn?" Momo asked on the phone. "Well, you'll have to wait a bit," Mina says, flashing your cock to Momo on the phone and making her hear your groans. Mina hangs up the phone and goes back to masturbate your cock, searching for one final dose of cum. "AHHHHHHHH," you scream as she picks up the pace, but your balls are just drained, and time has expired. "Well, four points is a good lead; let's see how Momo does," Mina says, getting dressed as she leaves the room.

The minutes keep passing; you get yourself dressed back and wait for Momo. She doesn't arrive, and you start thinking it's just a prank and your fan meet fun was over. You decide to take a nap in that bed, until a tingling feeling between your legs suddenly wakes you up.

"Hi," a short-haired blonde girl introduces herself. If Mina likes to tease, Momo is very straightforward, already greeting you with her tongue licking your cock. She knows she's got some work to do, trying to erase the four-score lead from her groupmate, savoring your cock right from the get-go with a sloppy blowjob as she licks your tip and then dives hard.

"Oh my God, you caught me really off guard," you say to Momo as she keeps masturbating your shaft. "OHHHHH," more groans come from your mouth as Momo shows no signs of slowing down, bobbing her head on your cock without needing to use her hands. She spits on your cock and giggles as your body keeps twisting while she picks up the intensity.

"Let me see the power of that cock," Momo says. She jerks you off so hard you can't do anything but suddenly explode and get her hands full of cum. Momo is shocked but pleasantly surprised by the amount of sperm that comes out of your cock. "Looks like we're going to have a great night; I barely did much and already scored," she says, bragging.

Momo shows you her hands full of cum, opening a condom to put some on it. She teases you now by opening her undersized jacket, letting you take a look at her fantastic abs and big tits ready to bust from that white bra, letting you lick some of your own cum that's still in her hands.

Momo strips you naked at the same quick pace as Mina, sitting her big ass right on top of your cock. She takes her jacket off and starts titfucking your cock with her bra still on, giving it an amazing sensation as your shaft rubs against the fabric of it. As she feels your cock throbbing harder and harder, she increases the pace, your cock completely squeezed between her bra and her sexy pair of momos.

Reaching into her bag, Momo picks a few condoms. She licks and spits on your tip before inserting one in your cock while keeping it stuck between her big tits. As she takes it out of her udders, Momo pulls her jeans down, showing off her black panties that were peeking out from her jeans, and then pulling it from the side as she puts your cock straight inside her asshole.

Momo bounces on your cock with no issue, living up to her anal queen reputation. Her bounces are very straightforward, Momo using her core strength to put maximum pressure on your cock. "You like the way I bounce my fat ass in it? Is it better than Mina's?" she asks, clapping her cheeks hard against your crotch and sexily moaning. "AHHHHHH, GIVE IT TO ME," she says, doing a little grinding on your cock that already puts you on the edge.

"AHHHHH, AHHHHHH, AHHHHH, GIVE ME THAT CUM," Momo already showcases her intentions, leaving you out of breath with very fast-paced bounces. Her asshole is amazingly tight even after taking countless cocks over the course of her career, as she takes on your cock as if it were just a regular dance practice for her. Momo squeezes it hard as you reach to grab her bouncy ass and massage it, making her giggle.

"FUCK FUCK FUCK, ISN'T THAT ASS PERFECT?" Momo says as she moans hard. More grinding follows; the way she smiles while destroying your cock is just amazing. Few bitches love anal sex as much as this Japanese whore; her being named after peaches was truly a foresight of the amazing backside she would grow over the years.

You're another one of the many fans that quickly succumbs to Momo's peach, just letting her bounce as fast as she can until you coat that condom full of cum. "AHHHHHHH," you scream as your cock pulsates, squeezed by her butthole. "Ohh, I love it, so thick," Momo says as she pulls out of your cock, taking the condom as a trophy. "Second score for team blue," she says, impressed with the way you completely filled the condom and then rotated it and slapped it on your body, having a lot of fun feeling proud of her work.

"You want that pussy next, don't you?" Momo says as she lies on the bed and spreads her legs for you to worship her meaty cunt, grabbing her head as you eat her out marvelously, getting very sloppy around her clit while her feet massage your back. "Ahhhh, ahhhh, ahhh," she moans as you spread the lips of her pussy and start putting your finger in it. "I see those filthy hands in my pussy; hope you get that big cock inside it too," Momo says.

This time, you open the condom yourself and put it on your cock, ready to fulfill her wishes as you put it in her pussy. Thrusting fast and hard from the beginning, you grope Momo's still-clothed tits. "Fuck me hard, baby," she begs, enjoying the way your cock bulges under her fit abs. You slowly pull her bra to the side and start groping her tits. "Come here, baby, show me how much you enjoy those momos," she says as you dive to suck them while still keeping the pace and pounding her pussy.

Momo quickly drives you insane, as you can't resist the urge to pound her pussy harder and harder. The way she's built as a perfect fucktoy to be used like crazy marvels you, as you hit deeper and deeper in her pussy while your mouth stays glued to her massive boobs. "AHHHH, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, MAKE ME CUM," Momo screams using her aegyo voice as she squirts all over your cock, pushing it out of her pussy. You use that break as a little relief as Momo picks up her phone before you come with even more force to pound her pussy.

Momo films herself getting pounded like a sex doll, her big tits jiggling massively now as you grab her slim waist and pound her at a frantic rhythm. You finger her clit, hoping for more squirt from her as her sexy body bounces and the bed creaks with your hard thrusts deep in her cunt. You start losing her breath, ready to cum for a third time. You put her feet in your mouth as your cock attacks her pussy really fast. Momo turned into a jiggling toy as she admiired her bouncy boobs on the phone.

You put Momo on a mating press, ready to deliver the final blows to her cunt. She starts spinning the condom you filled following her anal ride, and that quickly makes you burst again. "OHHHHH, OHHHHH, FUCK," you groan, putting Momo just one score behind Mina with another massive cumshot courtesy of her tight cunt, giving her a few extra thrusts to fill the condom further before pulling out.

"Let me see," Momo says, giggling as another cum-filled condom is hanging on your shaft. "Let's tie this game up; I'll let you pick the hole you're gonna use to cum next time," she says. "I want your ass," you promptly answer. "Then take it, fuck me like your little toy," she says.

Momo takes your condom off and, with her magic touch, puts your cock back up again. She gets her face down and ass up as you quickly dive to lick her butthole. "Wait, I didn't tell you you can," she then gives you the green light. you could do it," she says. "Now you can," she then gives you the green light.

You waste no second and dive into licking and sniffing Momo's dirty butthole. Your tongue reaches all the way deep into the cavities of her anus, Momo loving the way she's being tongued. It doesn't take long for you to shove your cock back inside it. Momo makes the first move, bouncing on it before you tame her, grabbing her fat ass and thrusting with a lot of intensity. She moans and spins two of your cum-filled condoms in her hands.

"Show me how much you love that fat ass baby; fuck it hard, all the way deep," Momo demands. Your grip on her body is very intense, as you use Momo the way she's meant to be used. Holding her as hard as you can, you pump Momo with really fast poundings. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," she screams as her body can't stop jiggling, her big tits bounce like pinballs. You only get rougher on her, reaching to squeeze her boobs as you clap her cheeks with full speed.

You're exhausted now, but your lust for Momo beats everything. She bounces on your cock a little, but you don't let her breathe, smashing her cheeks and watching her ass recoil hard. You fully remove Momo's bra, letting her bounce her milky udders in full glory, but not for long, as you can't resist the urge of massaging them while you keep pounding her ass. You bring Momo's hot body close to yours, fucking her from behind as both of you get on your knees and kiss each other, you never losing sight of her big tits and keeping your hands on them at all times.

Momo and you fuck like animals. "GIVE IT TO ME, AHHHH, AHHHHH, AHHHHH," Momo screams as her big tits bounce. But she quickly flips the script, using her strength to get herself back on top and ride you with her pussy now. Spinning her condoms, she bounces on your cock, giving you a perfect view of her jiggly tits. You reach into her clit, making her walls clench. "Let's go. I want you to cum. Cum for me," she says, slapping you with the condoms. You push your cock up her pussy, ready to burst at any second as Momo enjoys the ride and puts the cum-filled condoms in your torso.

Momo takes some pics of her pussy and the condoms as she picks up the phone to call Mina. "I'm about to tie this game already, and I did it much faster than you," she brags, grinding on your cock like a crazy slut, just waiting for the cum that will inevitably arrive. She moves really fast and moans really sexily, using her dancer skills as she spins on your cock. "Come on, baby boy, don't disappoint me; fill me with your cum," she says. But before she can continue, the doorbell rings, and Mina is soon sneaking back inside the room.

As Mina starts bickering with her, Momo remains unfazed. "I'm going to tie this game first," she says, remaining focused on riding you until you finally fill another condom. "Ohhhh," Mina says, looking at all the cum Momo milked from you. "Are you ready to compete with me, Minaring?" Momo asks. "Absolutely," Mina answers.

"Then, let's use our powers to get twice the fun," Momo says.

Both Momo and Mina press your body hard with their hands. An uneasy sensation starts to fill your body as you get cloned into two as Momo and Mina use their magical powers. Now you're going to feel the pleasure from both girls taking on you as you get split into a left side and a right side body. Both sides of you look at each other, still trying to comprehend what happened. But there is not much time for thinking.

Mina and Momo return to the room, now wearing just a microthong with their colors: red for Mina and blue for Momo. "Hi, are you ready for more?" they asked you together, spinning the condoms and wrapping them around their tiny thongs. They brought new packs on their hands, Momo taking on your left side and Mina on your right side. Sitting their big asses on your cocks, they toyed with your cum on both sides, jerking your cocks off in preparation, Momo getting extra horny as she rubbed your tip against her nipples and gave your left side a nice titfucking, then rubbed her condoms against that cock and made it throb even harder before finally bringing a wheel to spin to see what would be the challenges they would undertake.

"Hmmm, facesitting, blowjob, then anal ride," Mina said, very excited. "This should be a tough competition; may the best prevail," Momo replied. "Ready to print our big asses on this face?" Momo asked. "Absolutely," Mina answered.

Both girls climbed on top of the bed where your two bodies lay, each one sitting their fat asses on their respective side's face. Mina went first, quickly smothering your right side with her big butt, but it was Momo who made the first giggles. Both girls stayed put, letting both your sides sniff their asses before they started twerking. You quickly got addicted to the sexy smell of their booties, as Momo rode your left side while Mina even crossed sides, sitting on your right side face but sucking your left side cock.

Getting yourself duplicated and having two hot girls share both your bodies felt like those ASMR stimulations where each ear is hearing a different thing. But the stimulation was two big Japanese asses bouncing on your face in many different ways, the sideways moving of Momo contrasting with Mina's frantic twerking.

As both girls moved to suck your cocks, the contrast continued; Momo was sloppier, focusing a lot on your tip and jerking your left side cock off. Mina, meanwhile, took your right side dick very slowly, savoring it like an ice cream. "Hmmm, so tasty," Mina said after popping it out of your mouth. Momo was getting really nasty, spitting all over that cock as Mina picked up the pace and started massaging your balls, keeping both hands wrapped around it while Momo bobbed her head without using her hands.

Your cum was going to decide the winner of the round as Mina and Momo moved to the final phase. Mina got off to a stronger start, opening her condom first as she was already bouncing on your right side cock, while Momo faced issues that delayed the start of her ride.

Mina started twerking on your cock, but then gave Momo some time to catch up. "OHHHHH," both sides groaned as you could feel the tightness of both their assholes. Momo opted for a more straight bounce, pushing her butt a little sideways while Mina did her signature twerking. Regardless of style, both girls were putting you on the edge of your seat, both of your sides now grabbing their asses and moving them to bounce even harder on your cock. Momo increased her speed, moaning hard as her ass kept hitting your crotch with very strong bounces. Mina's twerk, on the other hand, was very gracious, the slutty ballerina moving perfectly to the sound of "7 Rings" once again.

Both girls kept ramping up the pace, searching for that thick cum. Which side was gonna win? You didn't know it yourself, as both their big asses bounced and got crazier and crazier, each girl trying multiple motions that squeezed your cock to the maximum. "OHHHHHHH, OHHHHHH," you started groaning as Momo came out on top, getting your left side to ejaculate first and taking the lead in the competition.

"That's not fair; she was already very warm before I came to the room," Mina said as she soon made your right side cum as well. "Well, Minari, we didn't say anything about fairness; the first to cum wins, plain and simple," Momo replied.

"Well, let's go to the next challenge," Mina said. "One, two, three," both girls said together. "Vaginal cowgirl," the wheel landed on it as each girl cleaned their respective cocks and inserted new condoms on it, both girls jerking each cock really fast before putting it in their pussies.

Momo went first as she grinded on your left side cock and let her big tits freely bounce, leaving Mina way behind as she was still preparing your right side shaft with a condom while Momo was already entertaining herself with another sexy ride that showcased the sexiness of her boobs. Momo grinded hard on your cock while Mina took it rather slow, going for a more methodical approach and betting less would be more this time, while Momo stuck to what worked the first time, the very strong bounces as she leaned forward to kiss your left side body, while Mina remained at a straightened position.

Momo was now getting plowed hard, while Mina just spun sideways on your right side cock. But in the end, it was Momo's approach that paid off, as she milked you first once again, letting Mina take a picture of it full of cum. Mina was now in a deep hole, deeper than her asshole, as she had to erase a two-score deficit to Momo. Could the ballerina answer?

Missionary would be the next challenge. Momo liked her odds, holding the six condoms that gave her the lead compared to Mina's four. The ballerina moaned as your right side cock found her pussy first, pounding it hard. Momo didn't gall behind, letting your left side body pound her as hard as possible and making her big tits bounce. "Let's go," Mina said, masturbating herself a lot while enjoying the massive bulge your right side provided her. Meanwhile, Momo was getting drilled so hard and getting her tits groped so badly she was nearly falling out of bed, as your left side grabbed her thighs and bounced her to oblivion.

"AHHHHHHH," Mina screamed as your right side cock pounded on a mating press, her legs twisted as she started orgasming but kept moving her walls around your cock. Momo got really loud as your other side drilled her cunt and tried to match the way your opposite cock fucked Mina, but this time it was too late.

"I'M CUMMING, I'M CUMMING, I'M CUMMING," Mina screamed as one of your cocks went hard in her cunt. "Take it, take it, take it," you told her as you were on the verge of cumming, and this time, even with Momo fully opening her legs, Mina won the round by just a split second, getting back in the game.

Mina tied the condom of her winning effort into her condom belt, and so did Momo to hers. Mina opened another one and spun the wheel, which landed on doggy anal this time. Another category both girls were masters at, with no clear favorite between Momo's fit butt versus Mina's fat booty.

Mina gets a head start as your right side body pounds her fat ass. Momo jiggles her big booty and starts bouncing on your other cock, but Mina is just at a whole level now, twerking her ass hard and searching for that cum that will make her tie the game. The relentless speed of Minari drives your right side to the edge, grabbing her ass hard. Momo pushes her cum-filled condoms into your sight, trying to motivate your left side. But Mina is on a whole new level, her ass recoiling as you pound her fast and hard.

Both girls kiss each other, driving both of your sides mad and pushing harder to fuck them. Their asses are just wonderful, taking your poundings with ease. Both sides of your body grab their waists as both girls scream hard with their buttholes getting stretched out. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK," they scream. Your right side grabs Mina's arm and ties it behind her back while your left side gropes Momo's big momos as you thrust hard into her.

Momo moves her hips as her big tits jiggle a lot; meanwhile, Mina just keeps getting drilled hard, their screams filling the whole room. Both girls then move to a standing position, facing each other eye to eye as each of your bodies gets back inside their assholes. Momo and Mina hug their sexy bodies together for more anal penetration, Mina already twerking the moment she gets put in a standing doggy position, both girls riding your cocks with you completely unable to stop them, their hips just moving at full speed as you grope both their tits and they kiss each other.

Mina grabs the cum-filled condom from your right side, flaunting about it being filled to the brim as she ties the game. "You came in too late," Momo scolds your left side as she hits it with the condom. "So, what is the next round?" Mina asks. "Let's do some grinding," Momo says.

Momo starts first, grinding the left side cock of yours against her folds; Mina soon follows suit, both girls rubbing their cunts against those shafts, laughing as their tits bounce a lot. You're so sensitive it barely takes a couple of minutes for you to cum now, Momo prevailing and retaking the lead.

"Well, I concede, looks like Momo won our little bascum game," Mina says. "It's no big deal, Minaring; you were a great competitor," Momo answers. "Well, I'm glad Sana isn't here; she's such a sex machine we would have gotten no points against her," Mina says.

"How about we play some extra innings?" Momo asks Mina. "Of course," the ballerina answers as both girls now focus on your left side body, Momo teasing it with kisses while Mina sucks your cock. "No condoms this time; which hole do you want to cum inside?" Momo asks. "I want to cum on both those big fat asses," you tell them.

Momo and Mina jerk your cock off in anticipation. Both girls play with each other and give the tip of your cock a kiss. Soon enough, Momo is bouncing her big ass on it while Mina sits hers on your face. You're very sensitive now, barely resisting the way her cheeks hit your hips. Momo quickly picks up the pace while Mina squirts all over your face. You bury your face in Mina's squirting cunt while Momo keeps going with her hard bounces. Your right side returns to the scene, and Mina starts it while Momo prepares to milk your left side. "AHHHHH, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, I NEED THAT CUM IN MY ASS," she screams.

Both girls bounce their asses on your cocks as hard as they can, hitting your hips really hard. You can barely breathe with such intense anal rides, your left side pushing up into Momo's butt while Mina keeps twerking on your right side. Soon your left side strikes to shake and bursts hard inside Momo's asshole. Both girls are elated, loving that white semen comes out of Momo's butthole. Mina wants it to herself and twerks even harder on your right side now. You grab her fat ass, and soon your right side starts to tremble, ejaculating hard in her anus and finishing this perfect fan meet.

Or so you thought.

Mina and Momo turn around and switch your cocks into their pussies. You're so overwhelmed at this point that it takes less than a minute for you to cum inside their breeding holes. The girls high-five each other, grabbing the condoms from their thongs and spreading your cum all over their bodies with both of your sides licking it. What a fanmeet it was; you would never expect such a thing.

As you were expecting them to restore your body into a single unit, someone appeared at the door. It's Sana.

"So I see you two had a lot of fun tonight," she says. "Momo was so eager she even used her cloning powers," she continued.

"Indeed, that was a lot of fun, and cum too," Mina says.

"Well, can you keep him split in two? I think those cocks are perfect for a DP, and I'm eager to do it tonight," Sana says.

"Sure," Momo answers.

Sana touches the cocks from both sides of your body, getting them instantly hard again with her magic touch.

"You thought the night was over, not so fast, naughty boy," she says.

#mina smut #momo smut #twice smut #female idol smut #girl group smut #kpop smut #male reader smut

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mononijikayu · 10 months ago

Text

amnesia — ryomen sukuna.

“Are you… are you playing a joke on me?” Sukuna’s voice wavered slightly as he tried to comprehend the situation. “It’s me. Sukuna. We… we know each other.” You shook your head slowly, an apologetic smile tugging at your lips. “I’m really sorry, but I don’t remember you. I had a really bad accident a few years ago, and… well, I lost my memories. Amnesia. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

GENRE: alternate universe - modern au!;

WARNING/S: sfw, fluff, angst, romance, hurt/ comfort, post - break up, amnesia, hurt, physical touch, memory loss, sadness, pain, pining, slowly getting back together, light-hearted, happy ending, getting back together, depictions of amnesia, depiction of pining, mention of grief, mention of accident, mention of pining, ex-boyfriend! sukuna, amnesiac! ex-girlfriend! reader, domestic uncle sukuna!, nephew!yuji;

WORD COUNT: 9.9k words

NOTE: the entire chapter is a sequel to drunk tonight and is set five years later. sukuna won second place at the poll again and i feel like this is my apology for sukuna for always making him an angst main lead. this was inspired by a filipino film called amnesia girl and its a funny drama-romcom. its available on youtube, but i dont know if there's subtitles!!! anyway, i hope you enjoy this and i hope you know how much i love yall 🫶🫶🫶

ADDENDUM: so......so long sukuna??? (manga readers iykyk)

masterlist

kayu's playlist - side 1000;

if you want to, tip!

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HE LIKED TO THINK HE COUNTED THE HOW LONG IT HAS BEEN WELL. Five long and painful years ago, you and Sukuna parted ways in what felt like an explosion of unresolved emotions and unmet expectations. Your relationship had been a tempestuous blend of fiery passion and constant turbulence, a rollercoaster of intense highs and devastating lows. From the beginning, it was clear that both of you had strong personalities, often clashing in ways that seemed impossible to reconcile.

The reasons for the breakup were numerous and complex. There was the perpetual danger that came with Sukuna's world, a constant reminder that you were living on the edge, with no guarantee of safety or stability. His life was fraught with peril, and the reality of that danger had taken its toll on both of you. You both knew that living under such stress was unsustainable, and it began to fray the bonds that had once held you together.

Your expectations, too, weighed heavily on the relationship. You had dreams and aspirations that seemed at odds with the life you were leading alongside Sukuna. The demands of his world often overshadowed your own needs, leading to a sense of neglect and disillusionment. It felt as though you were always putting yourself second, trying to accommodate the chaos that was Sukuna's life while struggling to maintain your own sense of self.

Despite the chaos and the inevitable breakdown, there was an undeniable connection between you—a bond that neither of you could completely sever. It was a connection that defied logic, a thread that seemed to pull you back together despite all efforts to move on. Both of you had tried to let go, to walk away and start anew, but the lingering feelings and shared history made it nearly impossible to fully break free.

Sukuna, in his own way, struggled with this as well. Even though the relationship had reached its breaking point, he found himself unable to completely let go of what you had shared. He was deeply aware of the toll that the relationship had taken on you, and he knew that you needed to prioritize yourself, your own well-being, and your own path forward. It was a painful realization, one that left him feeling hollow and lost, but he was determined not to be the reason you couldn't move forward.

In his mind, letting you go was the only way to truly show his love for you—to give you the space you needed to heal and grow. Even if it meant enduring his own misery, he accepted that it was a sacrifice he had to make. He knew that holding on would only serve to drag you both down further, and he wasn't willing to be the obstacle in your pursuit of happiness.

So, as time passed and the separation became a part of your history, Sukuna endured his own internal struggle. He remained in the shadows of your life, silently wishing for your happiness while grappling with his own feelings of loss and regret. He respected your decision and tried to move forward, even as he kept a part of himself tied to the memories of what once was.

But even then, you were truly something that made his life more than it was. You were the blossoms of his youth, the hope and vibrancy that had once colored his world. Your presence had breathed life into the mundane, transforming his days from mere existence into something filled with possibility and wonder.

His elder brother Jin had seen it all those years ago, recognizing the profound impact you had on Sukuna. Jin had often remarked on how you were a beacon of hope, a light that guided Sukuna through the darkest corners of his life. Your influence was undeniable, a force that had shaped him in ways he could hardly articulate.

Yet despite the depth of his feelings and the significance of what you had shared, Sukuna couldn’t escape the gnawing belief that he had ultimately failed you. He carried with him the heavy burden of the notion that he wasn’t good enough—never had been, never would be. The weight of this conviction was a constant companion, a shadow that loomed over every thought and action.

He remembered the countless moments of doubt, the times when he felt that his flaws, his imperfections, and the dangers of his world were too great a burden for you to bear. It was a painful realization, one that left him grappling with feelings of inadequacy. He wanted to be the person who could give you everything you deserved—love, stability, safety. But he feared that he fell short, that he could never truly be the partner you needed.

Even as he watched you move forward, find your own path, and build a life without him, he was haunted by the belief that he had let you down. He was acutely aware of all the ways he had failed to meet your expectations, to protect you from the chaos that had once defined your life together. He thought that perhaps he had been too caught up in his own struggles, too consumed by the demands of his world to fully appreciate what he had with you.

In his quieter moments, Sukuna wrestled with the idea that he would never be good enough for you, that he would never be able to offer you the kind of love and life you truly deserved. This belief became a part of him, shaping how he viewed himself and how he measured his worth. He felt that he had lost you not because of any one mistake or shortcoming, but because he was fundamentally flawed, incapable of providing the kind of relationship you needed.

And so, even as he grappled with his own pain and regrets, he couldn’t shake the feeling that you were better off without him. The memory of what you had shared lingered like a bittersweet echo, a reminder of what could have been and what was lost. He had to come to terms with the fact that he might never be able to offer you the life you deserved, and that acceptance was a hard, painful lesson he had to learn.

Sukuna's struggle with these feelings was a testament to the depth of his love for you, a love that, despite its imperfections and its failures, had once been a source of profound meaning and transformation in his life. Even as he moved forward, he carried the weight of this truth with him—a reminder of what you had meant to him and the painful realization that, perhaps, he would never truly be good enough to have you back.

Sukuna sat in the corner of the room, a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand, as he listened to his friend's banter. The atmosphere was lighter than it had been in years. Gojo, with his usual grin, was recounting some ridiculous tale of his latest escapade, while Uraume, ever the quiet observer, occasionally chimed in with dry comments that had the others laughing.

But Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t really paying attention. His mind kept drifting back to you—to the way your eyes had softened when you told him you wanted to give “us” a real chance, to the way you’d leaned into him, trusting and vulnerable in a way that made his chest tighten.

“Oi, Sukuna. You’re….” Gojo’s voice cut through his thoughts. “You’re awfully quiet tonight, bud. What's got you all broody, huh?”

Sukuna blinked, realizing he’d been staring into his glass for who knows how long. He knows he spaces out when he’s thinking, but when he’s thinking of you — he suppose the time can go on and he wouldn’t even notice. He looked up to find Gojo’s bright blue eyes fixed on him, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. Uraume was watching him too, their expression unreadable but attentive.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Sukuna muttered, taking a sip of his drink. “Just thinking.”

“That’s a first from you, hm.” Uraume teased, earning a snort from Gojo.

“Come on, spill it!” Gojo pressed, leaning forward with that infuriatingly playful grin. “Is it a girl? I don’t mind if it’s a guy, I know you swing that way too! Oh, wait… don’t tell me it’s the girl.”

Sukuna’s dark scarlet eyes narrowed at him. “What are you talking about?”

Gojo’s grin widened. “The one you’ve been moping about for the last five years. Don’t think I didn’t notice, Sukuna. You’ve been different at work lately—quieter, more… I don’t know, introspective.”

“Gojo–san’s right, Sukuna–san.” Uraume added, their tone softer. “You’ve changed. It’s like you’re finally letting go of whatever it was that had you so wound up.”

Sukuna leaned back in his chair, feeling the weight of their words settle over him. He wasn’t used to being the one on the receiving end of their scrutiny, and he didn’t like it. But he also knew they weren’t wrong.

“Yeah, well……” Sukuna began, his voice rough, “I haven't seen her in a long while.. Five years, I think. But I heard…I heard she’s been around. She’s moved around town.”

Uraume raised their eyebrows. “Five years? That’s a long time, Sukuna–san.”

“Yeah. We were together throughout our senior high school and college. Then we broke up after we graduated.” Sukuna sighed, taking a long sip of his drink. The alcohol burned as it slid down his throat, but it did little to ease the ache that had settled in his chest. “It’s been a long time, but… hearing that she’s moved here just brings back a lot.”

Gojo’s eyes widened in surprise. “Was that breakup really that bad?” His usual grin faded, replaced by a look of concern as he sensed the gravity of Sukuna’s words. “What happened?”

Sukuna nodded, his gaze drifting away from Gojo’s intense stare. The room seemed to grow quieter as he delved into the past, the weight of his memories heavy in his voice. “We had multiple breakups. It wasn’t just one—there were several. But the last one was particularly rough. We both cried a lot, said things we didn’t mean. It was messy.”

Gojo leaned in, his curiosity piqued. “Why was it so difficult?”

Sukuna’s face tightened as he struggled to find the right words. “If I’m being honest, it’s my fault. I wasn’t secure in myself. I was jealous, possessive. I couldn’t handle the idea of her moving forward or being happy without me. And that jealousy, that insecurity—it hurt her more than I realized.”

There was a long pause as Sukuna’s confession hung in the air. Gojo’s usual bravado was replaced by a rare, contemplative silence. He took a moment to process Sukuna’s admission, trying to reconcile the man he knew with the vulnerability being revealed.

“That’s a lot to carry,” Gojo said finally, his voice softer than usual. “But it sounds like you’re taking responsibility, which is more than a lot of people do.”

Sukuna’s expression was a mix of regret and acceptance. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t change the past. I know I hurt her, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make up for that fully. But seeing her again… it’s brought everything back. The pain, the regret, and the memories of what we had.”

Uraume, who had been quietly listening, spoke up, their tone gentle. “It’s clear you’re still affected by this. Maybe it’s a chance for you to make things right, or at least find some closure. People change, and sometimes, revisiting the past can help us understand ourselves better.”

Sukuna nodded, though his expression remained somber. “Maybe. I’m not sure what will come of this. I just know that seeing her again made me realize how much I still care, how much I’ve changed, and how much I wish things could have been different.”

Gojo leaned back, his eyes thoughtful. “It sounds like you’ve been through a lot, and maybe this is a chance for you to show her the person you’ve become. It might not fix everything, but it could be a step toward healing—for both of you.”

Sukuna’s gaze softened, a flicker of hope in his eyes. “Yeah, maybe. It’s worth a shot.”

The room fell silent, the playful atmosphere dissolving as the weight of Sukuna's words sank in. Even Gojo, who was usually quick with a joke or a teasing remark, seemed at a loss for what to say. His usual bravado was replaced with something more thoughtful, almost solemn, as he processed what Sukuna had just revealed.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the soft clink of ice in Sukuna's glass as he set it down on the table. He could feel the eyes of his friends on him, but he kept his gaze fixed on the drink, not ready to meet their concerned looks just yet. The silence stretched on, thick with unspoken emotions.

“I hope the best for you, man.” Gojo finally muttered, leaning back in his chair as he exhaled slowly. His tone was softer than usual, lacking its typical teasing edge. “You deserve to be happy too.”

Sukuna snickered. “You must be drunk being this nice to me.”

“Hey! I am nice at all times.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that.”

Uraume, who had been listening quietly, leaned forward slightly, their expression gentle and understanding. They had always been more in tune with Sukuna's moods, more aware of the nuances in his behavior than Gojo, who often masked his own sensitivity with humor.

“If you bump into her again, though….” Uraume asked, their tone devoid of judgment, only curiosity and concern. “Would you try and talk to her, then?”

Sukuna finally looked up, meeting Uraume’s gaze. There was a hesitance in his eyes, as if he was still grappling with the reality of it all. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low, almost as if admitting it aloud made it more real. “I would. In a drop of a hat.”

The confession hung in the air, heavy with the weight of all the unspoken feelings that had built up over the years. It wasn’t just the fact that you had come back into his life; it was the realization that despite everything, despite the time and distance, Ryomen Sukuna had never really let go of you. He had buried those feelings deep, tried to move on, but now that you were here again, they had all come rushing back to the surface.

Gojo watched Sukuna carefully, his usual smirk gone, replaced with a rare expression of empathy. He knew Sukuna better than most, knew how much pride had always driven him, how hard it had been for him to admit his feelings even when things were good between the two of you. For Sukuna to open up like this now, it meant that whatever he was feeling ran deep.

“I get it.” Gojo said, his voice unusually quiet. “I mean, you guys were… well, you were everything to each other. It makes sense that she’s still on your mind.”

Uraume nodded in agreement. “It’s not surprising that you still think about her, Sukuna–san. What you had wasn’t just something you can forget, even if you wanted to.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, staring off into the distance as if trying to collect his thoughts. “It’s just… weird.” he finally said, his voice thick with the frustration he’d been holding back. “I’ve been trying to move on, to put all of that behind me. But I just….I want to see her again. Even just one more time.”

Gojo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he regarded Sukuna with a serious expression. “Maybe you’re not supposed to forget, man. Maybe this is your chance to figure out what you really want, to make things right.”

Uraume added quietly, “It’s not too late to change the narrative, Sukuna. If you still care about her, if she’s still on your mind after all this time, maybe there’s something there worth exploring.”

Sukuna closed his eyes for a moment, taking in their words. There was truth in what they were saying, and he knew it. He had spent so long trying to bury his feelings, convincing himself that it was over and done with. But the truth was, he had never truly moved on. And now, with you back in his life, even in this new, unfamiliar way, he couldn’t ignore the pull he felt toward you.

When he opened his eyes, there was a resolve in them that hadn’t been there before. “You’re probably right.” he admitted, his voice steady. “I’ve been running from this for too long. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I need to see this through. I owe it to myself, and… to her.”

Gojo’s grin returned, but it was softer, more genuine. “That’s the spirit, man. You’ve got this. Just… don’t screw it up this time, okay?”

Sukuna let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’ll try not to.”

Uraume smiled softly, a rare display of emotion from them. “We’re here for you, Sukuna–san. Whatever you need, just say the word.”

Sukuna nodded, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he wasn’t alone in this. With Gojo and Uraume by his side, he knew he could face whatever came next, even if it meant confronting the feelings he had buried for so long.

One more drink and the conversation shifted back to lighter topics, the tension that had hung in the air slowly dissipated. But the resolve in Sukuna’s heart remained, stronger than ever. He knew what he had to do, and for the first time in years, he felt ready to face it head-on,

As the night wore on, Sukuna couldn’t help but think about the future—about what it would be like to build something real with you this time, something lasting. The thought scared him, but it also excited him in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

Maybe, just maybe, this time he could get it right. And with Gojo and Uraume by his side, he knew he wouldn’t have to do it alone. But the hour is late. And they’ve got things going on in their lives too. So they pay their bills and wave him goodbye.

As he watches his comrades pair off, he is forced to confront a painful truth. Despite years of searching, no one has been able to replace you. The women he's met, the flings he's had—they were all distractions, mere shadows compared to what he had with you. Each time he tries to move forward, your memory pulls him back, the echo of your laughter, the way you challenged him like no one else ever did, and the warmth you once brought into his life, all refuse to fade.

In quiet moments, when he's alone, Ryomen Sukuna wrestles with the possibility that his true love, the one person who could truly understand and match his intensity, might have been you all along. The very thought frustrates and angers him, but deep down, he knows it's true. The idea that you could be happy with someone else, that you could have moved on, is a bitter pill to swallow.

But what can he do? Could he really go back to you after all this time, after all the hurt and pride that kept you apart? The thought of reaching out, of admitting that he hasn't been able to stop thinking about you, is terrifying in its vulnerability. Yet, the more he tries to resist, the more he finds himself wanting you back in his life.

Sukuna has always been a man of action, but this...this is different. It's not about power or control; it's about something far more fragile—his heart, his pride, and the chance of losing you all over again. The question that haunts him now is whether he can swallow that pride and take the risk, whether he can open himself up to the possibility that, just maybe, what he’s been searching for all these years was right in front of him all along.

And that possibility, terrifying as it may be, is the only thing that has ever truly scared him.

Sukuna's inner turmoil grows as the days pass. The world around him, once filled with the thrill of battles and the allure of endless conquests, now feels hollow and cold. He notices how his friends look at him, their eyes reflecting pity and concern. They know him too well, aware that behind his sharp words and defiant attitude, something is eating away at him.

He tries to brush it off, burying himself in work, in fights, in anything that will distract him. But no matter how hard he tries, his thoughts keep circling back to you. The memories come unbidden—your smile, the way you used to tease him, the way you understood him in a way no one else ever did. It's maddening, the way you haunt him, and yet he can't bring himself to let you go.

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IT WAS UNEXPECTED. It was that sort of day once again. Sukuna found himself in charge of his energetic nephew, Yuji, who had just been picked up from school. With his brother Jin and sister-in-law Kaori and Choso tied up with commitments for the weekend, Sukuna was left to manage Yuji. Given that he didn’t have to hit the gym or deal with work obligations that day, it seemed like a manageable task.

Ryomen Sukuna’s house was usually a quiet refuge from his chaotic world, but today it felt oddly empty. He doesn’t really like decorating that much, mostly because he has no time and mostly because he really doesn’t feel like it. But his nephew doesn’t seem to mind it every time he’s here. If there was something to distract the brat, then he doesn’t pay attention to everything else. Well, that and food. As he settled Yuji into the living room, Yuji’s curiosity quickly turned to hunger.

“Uncle Sukuna, I’m starving.” Yuji announced, making a beeline for the kitchen. “Do you have any natto? I could really go for some.”

Sukuna blinked, momentarily confused. “Natto? I don’t think I have any. Let me check.”

He shuffled into the kitchen, opening the fridge and peering inside. His search yielded nothing but a few cans of expired beans and a half-eaten pizza box. Sukuna eats out most of the time, because of work. If he does buy anything, it would be from the last time Yuji was here. And that was….a while ago. And just as much, there was no natto in sight.

“Uh, brat, I think we’re out of natto.” Sukuna said, returning to the living room with a sheepish grin. “And it looks like the rest of the fridge is pretty bare.”

Yuji’s eyes widened in disappointment. “But I was really looking forward to it!”

Sukuna rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. Looks like we’ll need to go out for groceries. How about we make it an adventure?”

Yuji’s face lit up at the prospect of an outing. “Okay! Can we get some ice cream too?”

Sukuna chuckled, relieved that Yuji’s mood had brightened. “Sure, ice cream it is. Let’s get going before your hunger turns into a full-blown meltdown, brat.”

As they left the house, Sukuna and Yuji made their way to the nearby supermarket. Yuji’s excitement was palpable, his small hands gripping the shopping cart handle as he eagerly pointed out various items he wanted to add to the list. Sukuna, trying to keep up, found himself both amused and exasperated by Yuji’s relentless energy and enthusiasm.

In the aisles of the supermarket, Sukuna pushed the cart while Yuji darted from one section to another, collecting snacks, fruits, and—of course—several packs of natto. Sukuna grabbed a few essentials and, true to his word, added some ice cream to the cart.

As they approached the checkout line, Sukuna glanced at Yuji, who was happily munching on a sample cookie from the store. The small bit of chocolate on Yuji’s cheek made him look even more cherubic and endearing. Sukuna’s lips twitched into a small smile, a rare moment of warmth slipping through his usually stoic facade.

“You know, I think I might need to keep a better stock of food for next time,” Sukuna said, his tone light.

Yuji, still with cookie crumbs on his face, grinned up at him. “And more natto!”

Sukuna couldn’t help but chuckle. The idea of having to stockpile natto just to keep his nephew happy was a new one, but it seemed like a worthwhile endeavor. He ruffled Yuji’s hair affectionately, feeling a soft, genuine affection for the boy.

“You’ve got it, brat. More natto it is.” Sukuna agreed, a rare, relaxed smile on his face.

As they loaded their groceries onto the conveyor belt, Sukuna glanced around, realizing how normal and mundane the experience was compared to the high-stakes, dangerous life he usually led. The simplicity of shopping for food and sharing a lighthearted moment with Yuji was both refreshing and oddly comforting.

Yuji, ever the energetic child, started pointing out items in the store with increasing enthusiasm. “Uncle Sukuna, look! They have those gummy candies you like!”

Sukuna gave a half-hearted, amused shrug. “Sure, toss them in. I guess I can indulge a bit today.”

As they made their way through the aisles, Yuji chatted away, filling the silence with stories about school and his friends. Sukuna wasn’t really paying attention, his mind elsewhere, when something—or rather, someone—caught his eye.

There, at the end of the aisle, stood a familiar figure. The sight stopped Sukuna in his tracks, his eyes widening in disbelief. It was you.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. He watched as you browsed through the shelves, seemingly lost in thought. Your presence, once a distant memory, felt so strikingly real that Sukuna’s heart skipped a beat. The years seemed to melt away as he took in the sight of you.

At first, he didn’t recognize you. It was just a fleeting glimpse, the way your hair caught the light, the familiar way you moved. But then, as you reached for something on a high shelf, he saw your face, and his heart stopped.

It was you.

He couldn’t believe it at first. He thought maybe it was someone who just looked like you, or perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him, dredging up memories he’d tried so hard to bury. But the more he stared, the more certain he became. It was you.

Yuji, noticing Sukuna’s sudden pause, looked up. “Uncle Sukuna, what’s wrong?”

Sukuna swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure. “Uh, nothing, brat. Let’s just finish up here.”

But his gaze was fixed on you, unable to look away. You hadn’t noticed him yet, and Sukuna fought with the urge to approach you, unsure of what to say or do. The familiar mix of excitement and anxiety churned within him, a reminder of the past he had tried so hard to reconcile.

Yuji, still unaware of the significance of the moment, tugged on Sukuna’s sleeve. “Uncle Sukuna, can we go over there? I want to check if they have those chocolates I like!”

Sukuna nodded absently, allowing Yuji to lead him towards the end of the aisle where you stood. As they drew closer, Sukuna braced himself, trying to steady his racing heart. He needed to act normal, to approach you calmly despite the flood of emotions.

Without thinking, he handed the shopping basket to Yuji and began walking toward you. The world around him seemed to blur, the noise of the supermarket fading into the background. It was just you and him, the years that had passed suddenly meaningless.

When he reached you, he hesitated, unsure of what to say. His mind raced, a thousand questions and emotions fighting for dominance. He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t prepared for the possibility of seeing you again. But now that you were right in front of him, he couldn’t just walk away.

“Is that you?” He finally said it. He finally said your name. He could feel his entire body shake from nervousness. He didn’t notice until he said it that his voice was rougher than he intended.

You turned to him, blinking in confusion. Your eyes met his, and for a brief, electrifying moment, Sukuna saw the spark of recognition. It was fleeting, but it was there—an almost imperceptible flicker that hinted at a shared past. But then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by a polite, detached expression.

“I’m sorry, but…” you began, your voice soft and apologetic. “Do I know you?”

The words hit Sukuna like a punch to the gut. The confusion on your face made no sense to him; how could you not remember him? The realization was like a cold wave crashing over him. He scanned your face more closely, noting the faint scar near your temple and the way your eyes seemed to search his face for something familiar but found nothing.

“Are you… are you playing a joke on me?” Sukuna’s voice wavered slightly as he tried to comprehend the situation. “It’s me. Sukuna. We… we know each other.”

You shook your head slowly, an apologetic smile tugging at your lips. “I’m really sorry, but I don’t remember you. I had a really bad accident a few years ago, and… well, I lost my memories. Amnesia. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Amnesia. The word hit him like a ton of bricks. All the anger, hurt, and regret that had simmered in him for years suddenly evaporated, replaced by something he couldn’t quite name. You didn’t remember him. You didn’t remember anything about your life together, the love you shared, or the pain that had driven you apart. He stared at you, struggling to process what you’d just told him. The person he’d spent years trying to forget had forgotten him completely. And it hurts. It burns. It…it kills him.

Sukuna’s heart sank as he struggled to process your words. The memories of the past, the shared moments, the intense connection—everything seemed to blur together in a confusing haze. He tried to hold onto the hope that maybe, somehow, there was a chance you might remember him later, but the reality of your situation was clear. You had no recollection of your time together.

“Right…” Sukuna muttered, his voice thick with emotions he didn’t quite know how to handle. “No, it’s… it’s fine.”

“I just… I feel like I’ve upset you,” you mumbled back, your eyes filled with sincere regret. “It’s been like this for a while. I’m really sorry.”

“No, no… it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. It was my fault,” Sukuna said, shaking his head, though the words felt hollow against the weight of his feelings.

You nodded, your gaze sympathetic. “No, please. It’s not. I understand. It must be hard to run into someone who doesn’t remember you. I’m truly sorry.”

There was a quiet moment between you, the weight of lost memories hanging heavily in the air. Sukuna, feeling the sting of both your absence and the reality of your condition, struggled to find the right words. He wanted to bridge the gap between what had been and what was now, but he found himself at a loss.

Before you could turn away, Sukuna took a deep breath, summoning the courage to speak. “Um… could I… could I have your number? Maybe… maybe we could talk sometime. If you’re okay with that.”

You looked at him, a flicker of surprise crossing your face. For a moment, you seemed to weigh his request, and then you nodded slowly. “Sure. I can give you my number. I’d like that.”

As you exchanged contact information, Sukuna felt a mixture of hope and apprehension. The act of sharing numbers was a small step, but it felt significant. It was a bridge to the possibility of rebuilding a connection, even if the past was shadowed by the uncertainty of your memory.

“Thank you,” Sukuna said quietly, his voice carrying a note of genuine gratitude. “I appreciate it.”

You gave him a warm, understanding smile. “Of course. I’ll be happy to talk whenever you’re ready. It’s… nice to have some help with my memories, even if it’s just a little.”

Before he could speak, Yuji tugged at Sukuna’s sleeve. “Uncle Sukuna, can we go home now? I’m tired.”

Sukuna glanced down at Yuji and then back at you, his heart heavy. “Yeah, Yuji. Let’s head out.”

As Sukuna began to walk away, he felt your gaze on him. The pain of seeing you again, only to find that you had no memory of their shared past, was almost too much to bear. The bittersweet encounter left him with a mix of longing and resignation. You smiled at Yuji and then to him. Yuji grinned back at you and waved back.

“Take care.” you called softly as he left the store with Yuji. Sukuna gave a small, subdued wave in response, his mind reeling from the encounter.

Once outside, he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Yuji, noticing his uncle’s somber mood, looked up with concern. “Uncle Sukuna, are you okay?”

Sukuna forced a reassuring smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, Yuji. I’m fine. Just… a little surprised. Let’s get home.”

As they drove back, Sukuna’s thoughts were filled with the echoes of the past and the present reality. The encounter had stirred up old feelings, and the realization that you had lost your memories of him was both heartbreaking and profoundly unsettling. Yet, despite the pain, there was a strange sense of closure, as if seeing you again, even under these circumstances, had helped him come to terms with the unresolved aspects of their past.

As you walked away, Sukuna stood there, frozen in place, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Yuji came up beside him, his eyes wide with concern.

“Uncle Sukuna, are you okay? Who was that?”

Sukuna glanced at Yuji, then back at the aisle where you’d disappeared. He didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t know how to explain that the person he’d never been able to forget had forgotten him entirely.

“That,” Sukuna finally said, his voice hollow, “was someone I used to know.”

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HE DOESN’T REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED AFTER. The days that followed were a blur for Sukuna. But he couldn’t help it. Your encounter in the supermarket had shaken him in a way he hadn’t expected. He tried to push it aside, tell himself that it didn’t matter, that you were just a part of his past. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face, the way you looked at him with no recognition, no anger, no pain—just blank politeness. It haunted him.

Yet, fate seemed determined to keep throwing the two of you together. A few days later, he saw you again, this time at a coffee shop. You were sitting by the window, a book in hand, oblivious to the world around you. Sukuna hesitated, debating whether to approach you, but before he could decide, you looked up and caught his eye. There was that same polite smile, and he found himself walking over to you before he could think better of it.

“Hi again.” you said, looking up at him with that same soft, apologetic expression. “We keep running into each other, don’t we?”

“Yeah…..” he replied, his voice rough. He wasn’t sure what to say. The awkwardness between you was palpable, the weight of the past pressing down on him in a way you couldn’t feel. But you didn’t know that, couldn’t know that, so you just smiled and gestured to the seat across from you.

“Would you like to join me?” you asked, your voice gentle, offering a small, tentative smile as you gestured to a nearby café table.

Sukuna hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. He wasn’t sure what he was doing or why he was putting himself through this, but there was something about being near you, even if you didn’t remember him, that soothed the ache in his chest.

“If you wouldn’t mind.” he finally said, his voice betraying the mix of emotions swirling inside him. He sat down across from you, the familiarity of the scene almost too much to bear. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away.

You giggled. “I don’t mind. Not at all.”

As you both settled in, the air between you was filled with an odd mix of tension and familiarity. You began to talk—small, inconsequential things at first. You mentioned how you liked the café’s atmosphere, how it had become one of your favorite spots since you moved here. Sukuna nodded along, trying to focus on the present moment rather than the flood of memories threatening to overwhelm him.

“You know….. “ you said after a moment, stirring your coffee absentmindedly, “it’s strange. I feel… comfortable with you. Like I’ve known you for a long time, even if I can’t remember it.”

Sukuna’s breath caught in his throat. He wanted to tell you everything—to pour out the years of pain, regret, and longing he had carried since you’d been apart. But he knew it wouldn’t be fair to burden you with memories you didn’t share anymore. So instead, he offered a small, wistful smile.

“Maybe it’s just one of those thing.” he said softly, his eyes searching for yours. “Some people just click, I guess.”

You nodded, your gaze lingering on his face as if you were trying to piece together a puzzle. “Maybe. But still, it feels nice. Like I can trust you.”

Sukuna swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep his emotions in check. “I’m glad,” he said quietly, his voice betraying the depth of his feelings despite his best efforts. “I’d like to be someone you can trust.”

The conversation shifted to lighter topics after that, and the tension slowly eased. You talked about your life, your work, and the things you enjoyed. Sukuna listened intently, hanging on to every word, savoring the sound of your voice even if the stories were new to him.

As the minutes turned into an hour, Sukuna found himself relaxing. The ache in his chest dulled, replaced by a warmth that he hadn’t felt in years. It was as if, for the first time since you had parted ways, he could breathe a little easier. There was no rush, no pressure to define what this was or what it could become. Just the simple pleasure of being in your company again, however different it might be from the past.

When you finally stood up to leave, Ryomen Sukuna felt a pang of reluctance, but he knew this wasn’t the end. You had exchanged numbers, after all, and there was a possibility that this could lead to something more.

“I’m really glad we ran into each other.” you said, giving him a sincere smile. “I hope we can do this again sometime.”

“Me too.” Sukuna replied, his voice thick with emotion. “I’d like that.”

As you walked away, Sukuna remained seated for a moment, staring at the now-empty chair across from him. Despite the uncertainty of the future, he couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this was his chance to make things right—to show you the kind of love and care he should have given you all those years ago. And as he left the café, he found himself smiling, a feeling of lightness in his chest that he hadn’t felt in far too long.

Like the wind, the days brushed by into weeks, these accidental meetings became more frequent. He’d see you at the park, at the grocery store, at the small bookstore you frequented. Each time, you greeted him with the same warmth, and each time, he felt the walls he’d built around his heart start to crumble a little more.

It was during one of these encounters, when you were sitting together on a bench at the park, that Sukuna realized something had changed. He wasn’t just dwelling on the past anymore. He wasn’t just seeing you as the woman he used to love, the one who’d left him behind. You were still that person, but you were also someone new, someone who’d been through their own struggles, their own pain.

And he’d changed too. He wasn’t the same man you’d walked away from five years ago. The anger, the recklessness, the pride that had once driven you apart had mellowed. He’d grown, learned from his mistakes, and now, sitting beside you, he realized that he wanted to make things right.

There was one afternoon where after you’d both finished your coffees at that familiar café, Sukuna finally found himself gathered the courage to speak again. He’d been thinking about this for days, the words tumbling over and over in his mind until they felt like second nature.

“Hey….” he began, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant, “I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

You looked at him, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “What is it?”

“I know you don’t remember me, or anything about… us, but I want you to know that I’m not the same person I was back then. I’ve changed. And I want to try again.” He paused, searching for the right words. “I want to make things right for you.”

There was a long silence as you absorbed his words. He could see the confusion in your eyes, the way you were trying to piece together something that felt like a missing puzzle in your mind. You wanted to know what it was. How to be complete, and yet you didn’t know how. Not even if your past thought he was what complete was. Finally, you spoke.

“Sukuna, I… I don’t know what to say. I don’t remember anything about us, about our past. But I can see that this means a lot to you, and that you’ve been carrying it with you for a long time.”

You paused, looking down at your hands, and then back at him. “I don’t know if I can ever get those memories back. But I do know that I enjoy spending time with you, that I feel comfortable around you. And maybe… maybe that’s a good place to start.”

His heart leapt at your words, hope flickering to life in a way it hadn’t in years. This was a second chance, an opportunity to rewrite the story that had once ended in heartbreak. He didn’t know what the future held, or if you would ever remember what you once had, but for the first time in a long time, he felt something close to peace.

Sukuna reached out, his hand brushing against yours, and you didn’t pull away. “Then let’s start there, hm?” he said quietly. “No pressure, no expectations. Just… us.”

You smiled, a genuine, warm smile that sent a wave of relief through him. “Just us,” you agreed.

And for the first time in five years, Sukuna felt like he was finally on the path to something real, something lasting. It wouldn’t be easy, but he was determined to prove that he could love you the way you deserved—this time, the right way.

As the weeks turned into months, Sukuna and you continued to meet, slowly rebuilding a connection that had once been lost. Each encounter felt like a tentative step forward, a cautious yet hopeful attempt to bridge the gap that had formed between you over the years. Yet, instead of the intense and sometimes overwhelming passion that had defined your past relationship, there was a newfound sense of calm and understanding between you both.

There was an ease between you now, a natural rhythm that felt different from the intense, almost chaotic bond you’d shared in the past. In the beginning, it was subtle—a shared smile over a mundane joke, the comfortable silence that fell between you as you walked side by side, the way your conversations flowed without the need to fill every gap with words. The pressure that once loomed over your relationship, demanding definitions and clarity, had dissipated, leaving space for something more genuine and unforced.

You found yourselves slipping into each other’s lives in small, almost imperceptible ways. Sukuna would pick up your favorite coffee without being asked, remembering the way you liked it just by heart. You’d invite him to a quiet dinner at your place, cooking together in the kitchen as you talked about everything and nothing. There were no grand gestures or declarations, just a quiet, steady presence that felt reassuring and right.

This time, there was no rush, no urgency to define what you were to each other. It was as if both of you understood that whatever this was, it needed to grow at its own pace. You’d learned from the past, from the way things had unraveled before, and there was an unspoken agreement that you wouldn’t make the same mistakes again. You allowed the relationship to unfold naturally, letting each moment build upon the last, like carefully stacking stones into a tower that could withstand the test of time.

Sukuna, too, had changed. The man who once wore his emotions like armor, who had always been so guarded and intense, was different now. There was a softness to him that hadn’t been there before—a willingness to listen, to be patient, to let things unfold without forcing them into place. He no longer felt the need to control every aspect of his life, and that included his relationship with you. He had learned to let go, to trust that if this was meant to be, it would be.

And in that trust, something beautiful began to grow. Your conversations deepened, moving beyond the surface-level topics that had once dominated your interactions. You talked about your dreams, your fears, the things that kept you awake at night. Sukuna shared pieces of himself that he had kept hidden for so long, opening up in ways he never had before. And you, in turn, felt safe enough to do the same.

There were moments when the past would resurface, like shadows lingering at the edges of your newfound connection. Memories of heated arguments, of painful goodbyes, would flicker in your minds, reminding you of how things had once gone wrong. But instead of letting those memories drag you down, you faced them together, acknowledging the hurt while choosing to move forward.

It wasn’t always easy. There were still days when doubts crept in, when the fear of repeating past mistakes threatened to pull you apart. But each time, you chose to stay, to work through it rather than run away. And with each challenge you faced, the bond between you grew stronger, more resilient.

Sukuna, who had once been so afraid of vulnerability, found himself looking forward to the moments he spent with you. The walls he had built around himself slowly crumbled, replaced by a quiet confidence in what you were building together. He no longer needed to prove himself, to assert control over his emotions or over you. Instead, he allowed himself to simply be—with you, in the present, without the burden of past regrets or future expectations.

You, too, noticed the change in yourself. The tension that had once gnawed at your heart, the constant questioning of whether you were enough or if this was right, had eased. You felt more secure, more at peace with where you were and where you were going. You trusted Sukuna in a way you hadn’t before, not just because he had changed, but because you had changed too.

As the months passed, the connection between you deepened, solidified by the quiet moments of understanding and the shared experiences that had brought you closer together. There was a sense of contentment that neither of you had anticipated—a feeling that, for the first time in a long time, you were exactly where you were meant to be.

And so, you continued to meet, to grow together, allowing whatever this was to take shape in its own time. There was no rush, no urgency, only the quiet certainty that what you were building was worth the patience and the effort. You both knew that the past would always be a part of you, but it no longer defined you. Instead, it had become a foundation upon which you could build something new, something lasting.

In each other’s presence, you found a kind of peace that had once seemed elusive, and in that peace, you discovered the possibility of a future that was not just better than the past, but truly, deeply right.

Sukuna found himself looking forward to your meetings, the mundane moments that had once seemed trivial now holding a new significance. Whether it was a simple walk in the park, browsing through books together, or sharing a meal, these moments began to stitch together a new story between you, one that was quieter, more deliberate, and infinitely more meaningful.

But beneath the surface, Sukuna wrestled with his own emotions. The more time he spent with you, the more he realized just how much he had missed you—how much he had missed being close to someone who truly understood him. Yet, there was also the constant reminder that you didn’t remember him, that the memories of your past were locked away, possibly forever.

One afternoon, after you’d both finished a long walk along the river, you sat together on a bench, watching the water ripple in the sunlight. The conversation had lulled into a comfortable silence, and for a moment, Sukuna just watched you, taking in the way the light caught your hair, the serene expression on your face.

“Can I ask you something?” Sukuna finally said, breaking the silence.

You turned to him, nodding. “Of course.”

“Do you ever… feel like something’s missing? Like there’s a part of you that’s still out there, waiting to be found?”

You considered his question carefully before responding. “Sometimes.” you admitted. “There are moments when I feel like I’m on the edge of remembering something important, something that’s just out of reach. But I’ve learned to let go of the frustration. I’ve had to accept that those memories might never come back.”

Sukuna’s heart clenched at your words, the weight of your shared history pressing down on him. He wanted to tell you everything—to pour out the story of your love, the highs and lows, the way you had been everything to each other and how it had all fallen apart. But he held back, knowing that it wasn’t his place to force those memories on you.

Instead, he reached out and took your hand in his. “I don’t want to push you more than I already did.” he said quietly. “I just want you to know that I’m here, whatever happens. I’m not going anywhere this time.”

You squeezed his hand, offering him a gentle smile. “I know, Sukuna. And I appreciate that. I’ve come to trust you, even if I don’t remember our past. What matters to me now is the person you are today, the one I’m getting to know all over again.”

Those words gave Sukuna a sense of hope he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time. He was no longer the man who had let his pride and anger destroy something precious. He had grown, learned from his mistakes, and now, he had a chance to show you that.

As the days passed, he became more intentional in his efforts to be there for you, to support you in ways he hadn’t before. He listened when you spoke, offered comfort when you needed it, and gave you space when you needed to process your thoughts. There was a quiet strength in the bond you were forming, a steady foundation that was being built brick by brick.

One evening, after you’d invited him over for dinner, you sat together on your couch, a comfortable silence settling between you after a long day. Sukuna glanced at you, his heart full of things he wanted to say but didn’t know how to put into words.

“I’ve been thinking….a lot.” you said suddenly, turning to face him. “About us.”

His breath caught in his throat, but he stayed quiet, waiting for you to continue. He could feel his heart pounding, the silence between you filled with unspoken tension. You looked at him tenderly, and those eyes—those eyes he had once loved so fiercely—held a warmth that stirred something deep within him. But this time, there was something different in your gaze, something he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t the same love he remembered, the love that had once consumed both of you. It was softer, more distant, as if it had been tempered by time and the loss of memories.

Sukuna wasn’t sure what that look meant, but he longed for the days when your eyes had been filled with nothing but love for him. He yearned for the intensity, the passion that had once been theirs. But deep down, he knew those days were gone, that you had changed, just as he had. And even though he wished for the impossible, he understood that the love you had once shared might never return in the way it had before.

And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from hoping, from wanting you to look at him like that again, to feel that love again. But he knew, with a sinking certainty, that it was unlikely. Maybe this was his punishment, the price he had to pay for the mistakes he had made, for the years he had spent without you. Maybe fate was just that cruel, giving him a second chance only to remind him of what he had lost.

“I don’t remember our past, Sukuna.” you said softly, breaking the silence. Your voice was gentle, but there was a sincerity in it that made Sukuna’s chest tighten. “But I do know that I feel something when I’m with you. It’s not just comfort or friendship… it’s more. I don’t know how to explain it, but it feels right, being with you.”

Sukuna’s heart swelled with emotion, a mix of relief and longing coursing through him. He had waited so long to hear those words, to know that there was still something between you, even if it wasn’t exactly what he had expected. It wasn’t the grand declaration of love he had secretly hoped for, but it was something—a spark, a glimmer of the connection that had once bound you together.

He searched your face, looking for any sign of the emotions he had once known so well. But all he found was that same tender expression, tinged with a hint of uncertainty. It wasn’t love, not yet. But it was something. And for now, that was enough.

“I’m glad you feel that way.” he said, his voice thick with the emotions he was struggling to keep in check. “I don’t want to rush things, or push you to remember something that might never come back. I just… I want to be here with you, whatever that means.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I want that too, Sukuna. I don’t know what the future holds, but I’d like to find out—together.”

He felt a weight lift off his shoulders, the heavy burden of his regrets and fears easing, if only a little. This was far from the ending he had imagined, but it was a beginning, a chance to rebuild what had been lost. And maybe, just maybe, if he was patient and if he allowed things to unfold naturally, there could be something new between you, something that was just as meaningful as what you had once shared.

As you both stood there, the world around you fading into the background, Sukuna couldn’t help but think that perhaps fate wasn’t as cruel as he had feared. Maybe this was his second chance—not to reclaim the past, but to create something new, something even better than what had been before. And for the first time in years, he allowed himself to hope that this time, he wouldn’t let it slip through his fingers.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

epilogue

A few weeks after your heartfelt conversation with Sukuna, you find yourself at a park on a sunny afternoon. Sukuna had asked you to meet him there, mentioning that his nephew, Yuji, would be joining. You had heard a lot about Yuji from Sukuna—how the kid was full of energy, always getting into something, and how Sukuna had taken on a sort of protective role in his life. You were curious to see this side of Sukuna, the man who had once been all sharp edges and intensity.

As you approach the park, you spot Sukuna first, sitting on a bench with a somewhat exasperated look on his face. Beside him is a young boy, who is clearly trying to balance on the back of the bench with one foot, arms outstretched like he’s performing some kind of circus act.

“Careful, you brat.” Sukuna warns, his tone stern but not unkind. “You’re going to break your neck.”

Yuji, grinning from ear to ear, just laughs and hops down with a flourish. “I’m invincible, Uncle Sukuna!”

“Yeah, well, let’s not test that theory.” Sukuna mutters, but there’s a fondness in his voice that catches you off guard. “Your mom and dad will kill me.”

You approach them, smiling as Yuji notices you and waves enthusiastically. “Hi! You must be the one Uncle Sukuna’s always talking about!”

“Yuji!” Sukuna snaps, looking mortified. “I do not—”

Yuji doesn’t miss a beat, cutting him off. “He totally does! He’s always like, ‘I wonder if she’s gonna remember me today,’ or ‘Maybe she’ll cook something nice again.’”

Sukuna groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Kid, do you ever stop talking?”

You can’t help but laugh at the exchange, and Sukuna’s embarrassment only makes it funnier. “Nice to meet you, Yuji!” you say, crouching down to his level. “Your uncle’s right, though. You should be careful on that bench.”

Yuji shrugs, his smile never fading. “Uncle Sukuna’s always careful too, even though he acts all tough. But he’s really soft, especially when I get hurt. You should see him panic when I stub my toe.”

“Yuji!” Sukuna’s voice is a mix of frustration and resignation, clearly regretting bringing his nephew along.

You stand up, grinning at Sukuna. “I see you’ve got a little soft spot, huh?”

“Don’t listen to him.” Sukuna mutters, glaring at Yuji, who just laughs and runs off toward the playground. “He’s a menace.”

“Sure, sure.” you tease, nudging Sukuna lightly. “But you love it.”

Sukuna sighs, watching Yuji with an expression that’s a mix of exasperation and affection. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep him out of trouble.”

You slip your hand into Sukuna’s, squeezing it gently. “You’re doing a great job, Uncle Sukuna.”

He gives you a sidelong glance, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “Don’t start calling me that too.”

“No promises.” you reply, laughing as you both watch Yuji play, his laughter filling the air. It’s a side of Sukuna you never expected to see, and you find yourself growing more and more fond of the man who, despite his rough edges, is soft in all the right places.

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basicallyreigenarataka · 1 month ago

Text

Sun-kissed lovin’!

Lads x reader

you finally forced yourself to take a much needed vacation after your excruciatingly long and disastrous semester. you expected to relax, to soak up some sun and forget about your stupidly hard major, but fate had other plans for you! now you’re stuck in some odd love… hexagon?! how could you have possibly made five boys fall for you in such little time!

pairings: xavier x reader, zayne x reader, rafayel x reader, sylus x reader, caleb x reader

content: MDNI, fem!reader, modern au, college au, fluff, embarrassment, jealousy, caleb is down horrendously bad, caleb focused chapter the other boys aren’t here yet BUT are foreshadowed/mentioned teehee, some outfit inspo to show off the cutesy tootsie outfit you’ve got on!! on a mannequin so u can imagine urself wearing it, basically just an intro chapter to get u into the vibe of the fic! next chapter is xavier… 🤤

masterlist

Chapter One

College has been a drag. You endured five long years of this bullshit assignments, sleepless nights, and absolute academic hell. But finally, you only have one year left before you’re running off that stage with a diploma in hand! You could practically taste the freedom- sweet and delicious right on the tip of your tongue. You’re never turning back to that shitty campus once you’re finally off it’s grounds, you promised yourself.

You told yourself you needed a vacation- no, you deserved one! Five long years of dedicating yourself to your stupidly vigorous major and you were absolutely beat! you need a vacation- and a reward!

After some back and forth with yourself, some researching, and some planning, you booked a summer-long vacation at some cheesy rental in an even cheesier beach town - Seaside Point. You snorted when you read the name, totally a tourist trap, you thought with a giggle.

Despite renting the place for a long two month stay, the place was actually pretty cheap! The house was big enough to house up to two people, with each having their own side. So, only renting for one, it only costed about half of what it usually costs. What a deal! You immediately booked and paid that sucker before booking your airplane tickets and all other necessities.

That was three months ago, now, you were standing right outside the rental house, numerous amounts of suitcases laid by your feet, fresh out of the Uber that drove you straight here from the airport. The salty breeze hit your face just right, the sound of the crashing waves in the distance like music to your ears, and that’s when you knew you were finally free.

The rental was gorgeous. It was spacious, just a stroll away from the cute little tourists town, and (possibly your favorite part of the whole place) right by the shore! You didn’t want to buy a rental car, and with everything in walking distance, this was the best possible setup! You mentally congratulated yourself for scoring such a great place before walking up the porch, punching in the code the owners sent you to unlock the house, letting yourself in.

Just like the listing said, the house was big enough for two people. The house was split by two doors on opposite sides of the foyer, lockable from the inside, effectively creating a private, separated living space. The foyer was the only shared area, intended for each guest to come in and out as they pleased. You smiled, despite sharing the rental with someone, there was a lot of privacy! The likelihood of you meeting the other guest in the foyer was super low, anyways. Besides, judging by the silence, it seemed like the other guest wasn’t even here yet, either! You clapped your hands together happily, relieved you wouldn’t have to interact in any unnecessary situations.

With a satisfied smile, you began to drag your luggage to your side of the house. It was time for you to finally settle in!

It took three trips to get all your bags inside. You had to pack a lot! You were staying for two months- that’s no joke! There was no way you weren’t about to show off every outfit and swim suit in your wardrobe. Plus, the essentials! Hygiene products, multiple so you wouldn’t have to buy shitty ones from those tacky tourist markets, all your makeup and skincare products, at least three chargers for your phone and laptop incase any broke, bedding, cleaning products, and two first aid kits, just in case, and random products or necessities here and there, each and every bag stuffed to the brim.

It took you about two hours to unpack everything. You hung up all your clothes neatly in the closet, the poor thing overflowing with shirts, pants, skirts, and dresses. You put your variety of swim suits, bras, panties, socks, and whatever else you may need in the dresser drawers, not before cleaning them, of course. You never know what freaky stuff other guests have been up to… You shuddered at the thought, face scrunching up in disgust as you shoved the rest of your bikinis into a drawer and slammed it shut.

After you had finished unpacking and making the bed, you let yourself flop right on top of the fluffy sheets with a dramatic sigh. You closed your eyes, perfectly content with falling asleep right now from how soft the mattress and pillows were, but the sound of your growling stomach perked you right up.

I guess I am pretty hungry… Last I ate was at the airport… You thought with a hum, sliding off the bed and picking up your purse, rummaging through for your phone and wallet.

You made sure to bring plenty cash, you had been saving up for at least a year for this trip! It wouldn’t hurt to go out and get yourself a bite to eat. You wanted to walk around the charming town, anyways.

And with that, you giddily hopped over to the overstuffed closet you had just organized. Better put these clothes to good use!

Despite the growing hunger pain, you still took your sweet ole time to construct the cutest outfit possible.

It took you a good thirty minutes of trying on clothes, disliking them, and trying on even more before you finally constructed a simple, cutesy outfit that looked just right on you! You slipped into a blue corset top that hugged your chest and waist just perfectly, accentuating all the right places. To match the delicate white lace of the top and white pearls you wore around your neck, you wore a ruffled white skirt that just barely covered your ass. You were on vacation- who cares if you’re showing a little too much! That was the point!

You checked yourself out in the mirror, an appreciative hum leaving your lips.

“Gosh, I am so hot.”

You have yourself a happy little twirl, admiring the cute outfit on your even cuter self. Oh, thank God you had the best fashion sense on Earth! You were so ready to show it off, even if it was just at a nearby restaurant.

With that, you slipped on some simple white sandals and made your way out of the house, ready to enjoy yourself for the foreseeable future.

You tilted your head curiously when you noticed no noise coming from the other side of the house as you entered the foyer, hand on the front door. Maybe no one was renting that side after all?

You skipped out of the house joyfully, bright smile on your face. You knew exactly where you wanted to go.

In preparation to your big vacation, you made sure to research the town and its little shops. Turns out, there’s this super cute TikTok famous cafe nearby! You have been dying to try a latte from the place, and a little dessert.

You knew this wasn’t exactly smart. If you were hungry, you should go buy real food. But nope! You’re stubborn, and you are determined to get your hands on a sugar packed pastry.

The cafe was only a good fifteen minutes away in walking distance. It was totally doable, especially with a calming walk like this. The sea breeze felt amazing against your warm skin, cooling you off from the unforgiving sun that blazed down on the cute town.

The sea air was a bit funky, but more nostalgic than anything! It reminded you of your days as a kid, going to the beach with your family and your best friend, Caleb’s family.

You mentally noted how long it’s been since you last spoke to Caleb. The two of you made sure to stay in contact even when you went separate ways in college, but you haven’t seen each other in ages! Plus, your texts have been looking a little dry. You’ve both been so busy with school.

You debated sending him a little text, asking him what’s up and how his own schooling is going. After a long moments thought, you decided you better should! Maybe after this cafe run, though.

You arrived to the cafe just a few minutes later, skipping down the sidewalk with little care. You were just happy to finally be free from the clutches of shitty professors.

You stepped into the cafe, awing at the selection of baked goods, drool pooling at the corner of your lips as you stared. You wiped your mouth quickly, looking back and forth to make sure nobody saw you drooling over pastries like a little kid.

But then, your eyes fell onto a man.

A man who looked way too similar to caleb.

Like, he could be his twin, similar.

You blinked, staring at the man unconsciously. Gosh, he looked just like him! What a coincidence!

You were about to turn away, when the man turned to face you and suddenly made eye contact.

You immediately jumped back, eyes widening as you spun right around on your heel. Oh man, he totally caught me staring. Totally thinks I’m a creep. You thought as you scrunched up your nose in embarrassment, a faint blush creeping up your cheeks as you prayed he hadn’t noticed-

“Pipsqueak?”

Huh?

You spun right around. Eyes still wide as you took in the familiar nickname. What did this guy just call you? There was actually no way this was-

“Caleb?” You spoke with uncertainty, voice small as you were left frozen in place as you stared at the familiar man.

Oh, you were so fucking dumb. The guy who looked like Caleb’s twin was Caleb!

“Oh my gosh- pipsqueak! It really is you!”

Caleb lit up the moment he saw you, the conversation he was having with someone unfamiliar to you totally forgotten. Without hesitation, he instantly bounded towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist almost possessively and lifting you right off the ground like you weighed nothing. You let out a surprised squeak that turned into a lighthearted giggle as he spun you around happily, like this was the end to some cheesy disney film.

“I can’t believe it’s you! How have you been, pips? School treating you well? Are you on vacation? How long are you staying for? Are you-”

Gosh, he acted like such a puppy sometimes. A cute puppy, but a very overwhelming puppy.

“Caleb, one question at a time!” You said with a breathless laugh, slapping his arm lightly. Not enough to hurt him, but enough to cut him out of his endless questioning.

Caleb blinked, his own face flushing when he realized how overbearing he may seem- and how pretty you’ve gotten. He rambled apologies before setting you back down, the height difference between you two was laughable.

“I’ve missed you so much, Caleb! Let me just buy a latte and something to eat first,” you told him, eyeing a delicious looking eclair, “then I’ll answer every question you’ve got for me!” You didn’t wait for a response, already spinning around to inspect the treats before ordering.

He nodded firmly, though his focus was already drifting. His gaze dropped down to finally take in your revealing outfit. He was glad you had your back turned to him, too busy studying the pastry selection to notice the way he was checking you out. Not just because he’s rather die than get caught staring shamelessly, but also because he had an incredible view of that way too short skirt you were wearing.

She should not be wearing something that short. He thought with a grumble, eyes narrowing and lips forming into an angry pout. Yet he continued to stare shamelessly, chin propped on his hand as he took in your figure, licking his lips unconsciously. You, completely oblivious to his not-so-bestfriendish-thoughts, was busy ordering some stupidly overpriced latte and ridiculously fancy slice of black forest cake.

When you finally returned to the table, Caleb immediately jumped at the opportunity to question you, again. He smiled innocently, gaze returning to your face as if he wasn’t just staring at your perfect bust and thinking dangerous things due to your ass barely covered from that short skirt.

“So, pips, it’s been like, I don’t even know how long since we’ve last seen each other! What a coincidence we bumped here,” he chuckled as he snagged a bite of your black forest cake, earning a loud whine from you. That sound alone almost had him mentally spiraling. He choked on a cough as he continued, looking anywhere but your face. “So… What exactly are you doing here?”

You shot him a glare, tugging the plate closer to you so he couldn’t steal another bite. “Uh, vacation. Duh. Classes have absolutely ruined me! I needed a break. I’ve been planning this for like, the past year! I’m staying for the next two months. I actually just landed today.” You took another bite of your cake, humming in approval as you washed it down with the latte.

“How about you? I haven’t seen you in ages, Ca!”

Caleb was fighting back every voice that mentally screamed at him to reach over the table and kiss you silly. Admittedly, he’s always had a thing for you. Since middle school, probably. But seeing you like this- all dolled up and practically moaning from a few bites of cake, it was doing things to his poor brain. He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, still looking away as a means to hide his blushing face. “Sorry, classes been super busy. I didn’t mean to not text you as much… I’m really sorry.” His expression softened sadly, realizing how much they’ve drifted over the past year. He never intended for that to happen, in fact you’re the last person he wanted to lose.

You frowned looking at Caleb’s saddening expression. Oh, he looked like a hurt puppy! The sight made your heart clench.

You reached out and rested your hand over his, offering a comforting squeeze. His eyes widened instantly, and you swore you could see him blushing.

“Aw, Ca… Don’t blame yourself. Both of us got busy, it neither of our faults.”

You offered him a soft smile, one that could light up a room. He could feel his face getting hot, his hands getting clammy. God, it was like high school all over again. He wasn’t ready to come to terms with his attraction to you, it felt so… wrong. Like it was a sin. Like he shouldn’t like you- wasn’t allowed to like you because of your bond since childhood.

“Thanks, y/n…” He spoke, voice still small with his own worries, but his pout was turning into a small smile. “Truthfully, I’m here because a friend tagged me along. He’s interning at the nearby clinic over the summer. He’s my roommate.”

You nodded, humming as your eyes lit up, “oh, that’s awesome! Do I get to meet him?” You giggled cheekily, batting your eyelashes at him playfully.

Your question and attitude seemed to have upset Caleb, because his expression immediately faltered. He got this look to him, the same look he got in high school when some loser tried to ask you out to some stupid dance. His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes were narrowed, and his brows were furrowed impossibly together. You swore you could even see his eye twitch. But as quick as his face tensed, it returned to normal.

The whole thing was bizarre. You were about to ask him if he was okay, apologize for the question thinking it may have been personal. But before you could, he cut off your thoughts with his borderline jealous tone.

“Um. I’m not sure…” Caleb trailed off, refusing to maintain eye contact. Now it was your turn to narrow your eyes, confused by Caleb’s sudden shift in demeanor.

“Huh?” You asked, head tilted to the side in confusion. “Why not? He’s your friend, right? We could all go down to the beach or something-”

“No.”

Caleb’s voice was firm, with a harsh and mean edge to it that left you flinching. He’s never spoken to you with this tone.

Your lips parted, but no words escaped your lips. You didn’t know how to respond to him.

“You don’t need to meet him,” Caleb finally grumbled, arms crossed as he stared at anything but you. His tone got lighter, as if he noticed you flinch and he felt guilty. But it still had that edge to it that left you with goosebumps. Something about it was so… primal, possessive.

You blinked, ready to ask him another question, but he cut you off once more.

“I just… I think we haven’t seen each other in a while, and I want it to be just us.” His words were much softer now, more aware of your feelings. It had an almost bashful undertone to it, so boyishly charming it made you blush.

You wanted to tease him, call him jealous and watch him get flustered and whine. But you didn’t. You just nodded along, cheeks red from how honest he sounded.

Caleb finally stood up, looming over your still sitting form at the dainty cafe table. You’d just now noticed how tall, how muscular Caleb had gotten. How did he even fit in that small chair? And how have you never noticed?

Caleb leaned down slightly, gently brushing some stray hair from your face. His touch was impossibly gentle for such large hands, like he believed he could break you with just a touch. “I gotta head back,” he said, a soft smile on his face as he stared into your eyes. “But text me if you need anything. I’m serious.”

You nodded, a little surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “O-of course. You text me, too.” You huffed.

Caleb chuckled at your defiant huff, standing back up and away from your face, much to your disappointment.

He turned around, ready to head out, but not before sliding a crisp twenty dollar bill beside your now empty plate.

“For the food.” He spoke, not turning back around to face you. “I don’t want you paying when I’m around. See ya.”

You didn’t even get the chance to decline the offer- to shove the move back in his face. He had already left the store!

“Determined bastard…” You muttered, shoving the now crumpled bill into your purse.

You stood up, cleaning up your spot at the cafe table before heading out, eager to spend some time on the beach before you headed off to sleep.

dividers by @/h-aewo and @/anitalenia

taglist

@just-a-deriva @simplyscrewed @godoffuckedupcats

@booklover99988755421 @yuenriie @liz9898

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xoxosierralane · 2 months ago

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| ᴏғғɪᴄᴇ ʜᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴʟʏ |

✎ from sierra: hello hi there, my first time posting a fic on tumblr let’s hope i did this good..! and i also hope you guys enjoy this little chapter and lmk if you would like another, im also open to any ideas and writing tips. also ty to @sierrale8ne @thaatdigitaldiary & @bueckersbitch for some tips when i asked they def helped, you guys are lovely also check them out 🌺

✎ synopsis: when an overworked pre-med student wakes up late for class, the last thing she expects—aside from the existential spiral mid-lecture—is to be roped into tutoring UConn’s star point guard, Paige Bueckers. Paige is charismatic, cocky, and somehow always talking. The reader is sleep-deprived, sarcastic, and trying desperately to avoid any and all distractions. But when tutoring sessions turn into unexpected walks home, avoiding Paige becomes impossible. She’s not just a classmate—she’s a slow, sneaky problem. And worse? She lives next door.

✎ warnings: language

There are few sounds in this world more horrifying than your alarm going off thirty-five minutes after your class already started.

The second my eyes fly open, I know something is wrong. It’s that eerie, sun-too-bright, birds-too-loud kind of wrong. That creeping, soul-leaving-my-body realization as I blink at my phone screen and see the time:

9:53 AM.

Class started at nine. I should be halfway through pretending to understand biochem pathways by now, not halfway to a heart attack in bed.

I launch out of my sheets like a woman possessed, nearly tripping over the half-folded pile of laundry on my floor and banging my shin on the corner of my desk. (Why do dorm room desks always have the sharpest edges known to man?)

“Okay, okay, it’s fine,” I mutter to myself, pulling on the first pair of jeans I can find and a hoodie that may or may not have toothpaste stains on it. “You’re only, like, an hour late. People have survived worse.”

My hair’s still in the braids I did last night, thank God, because if I had to fight edge control and lateness at the same time, I would’ve just dropped out on the spot. I grab my bag, shove in a half-closed notebook, and toss a granola bar in my pocket like it’s some kind of sacrificial offering.

By the time I get to the lecture hall, I’m fully out of breath and lightly sweating. Cute. Nothing says “serious STEM major” like showing up late and looking like you just ran a 5K.

I try to sneak in, pulling the door open as quietly as possible (which means it creaks like it hasn’t been used since the Civil War), and immediately feel a hundred pairs of eyes swing in my direction. My professor pauses mid-slide.

“Nice of you to join us,” he says dryly, not even bothering to hide his smile.

“Sorry,” I mumble, keeping my head down as I scurry to the only open seat in the second row, of course. Because the back row? The safety zone? Taken. God has favorites, and I’m clearly not one of them.

I sink into the seat and pretend I didn’t just make a grand entrance. The girl next to me—blonde, tall, looks suspiciously like someone who could dunk on me if given the chance—glances over with a raised brow and the tiniest smirk.

“Rough morning?” she asks, her voice warm, a little teasing. It’s got that slightly drawn-out edge to it, like she grew up saying “pop” instead of “soda.”

I shoot her a look. “Don’t.”

She puts her hands up in mock defense but doesn’t stop smiling. Great. A morning person with cheekbones. Just what I needed.

I turn back to the lecture, trying to catch up on whatever enzyme he’s ranting about. Paige—yes, Paige Bueckers, UConn’s golden girl, sitting next to me like this is her seat or something—keeps glancing over at me every few minutes, like I’m the entertainment for the day.

Which, fine. I probably am. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

The lecture drones on, a blur of chemical structures and way too many acronyms. My brain’s already in fight-or-flight mode, and I’m trying to copy notes from the slide like my future depends on it—which it kinda does, because if I bomb this class, there goes med school, and if I don’t go to med school, then what? Sell overpriced vitamins on TikTok? Start a podcast about burnout?

I sink lower in my seat, hoping to disappear entirely.

“Alright,” the professor says, tapping his remote like it owes him money. “Can anyone explain the mechanism here?”

Silence. Beautiful, holy silence. For a second, I think we might all get away with it.

Then—

“Maya?”

I freeze. My neck actually creaks when I turn my head up to look at him. “Sorry?”

He smiles like this is fun for him. “The mechanism. For the rate-limiting step of glycolysis.”

Of course it’s glycolysis. Of course it’s this unit. I glance down at my notes, which may as well be scribbled in a dead language, and I swear my soul briefly exits my body.

Okay. Think. You’ve studied this. You’ve done flashcards at 2 a.m. like a responsible, sleep-deprived adult. You can do this.

“…Hexokinase?” I offer, which I immediately realize is wrong because his eyebrow twitches.

“Not quite,” he says. “Anyone else?”

I want to melt into the floor. I want the Earth to crack open beneath me and swallow me whole like a Greek tragedy. Why would you call on someone who was just 50 minutes late and visibly unwell?

I drop my gaze to my notebook, which now has a sad little doodle of a frowning mitochondrion in the margin, and let myself mentally spiral.

Maybe this is a sign. Maybe the universe is trying to tell me to give up and open a dog café somewhere in Portland. Maybe academic success is a capitalist scam designed to break me emotionally, physically, and spiritually. Maybe—

“You were close,” a voice whispers next to me, low enough that only I can hear. “It’s phosphofructokinase.” I glance over. Paige’s lips are twitching like she’s trying not to laugh.

Oh. So she’s not only annoying and smug—she’s smart, too. Fantastic.

I give her a blank look, then scribble it in the margin like I knew it all along. I don’t thank her. I’m not that gracious yet.

The professor moves on. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and slouch back into my seat.

I don’t even know how Paige knows that answer. I swear she’s never said a single academic thing in class before—usually just nods like she’s vibing through the lecture, and now suddenly she’s a glycolysis expert?

I glance at her again. She’s leaned back in her chair like she doesn’t have a single worry in the world. Her hoodie sleeves are pulled over her hands and she’s tapping a pencil against her notebook, looking out the window like she’s half-listening, half daydreaming.

God, I hate her.

Not really. Just enough to feel mildly personally attacked by her existence.

By the time the professor finally wraps up, my brain feels like someone stuck it in a microwave on defrost. Half-melted, barely functioning, and emitting a faint hum of defeat.

I’m already halfway through mentally mapping my route to the dining hall—food, nap, forget this day ever happened—when I hear the worst possible words.

“Maya, could you stay back for a second?”

I freeze with my laptop halfway into my bag. No. No. Please no. My stomach drops, already bracing for the we’re concerned about your academic performance speech. Or maybe he’s just gonna roast me for being late. Publicly. Again.

Next to me, Paige doesn’t move. Which is weird because usually she’s the first one out the door, bouncing off to whatever practice or photoshoot or press interview she’s contractually obligated to pretend she enjoys.

“You too, Paige,” the professor adds casually.

Ah. So it’s a group scolding. Cute.

I glance at her. She shrugs, and somehow even her shrug is smug. Like she already knows what this is about and I’m the one being dragged into something against my will.

Once everyone else filters out, the room goes quiet in that awkward way classrooms do when it’s just you, your mistakes, and the person paid to evaluate them.

The professor folds his arms. “I’m going to get right to it,” he says, eyes flicking between us. “Paige has been… struggling a bit to keep up.”

I blink. Paige?

She doesn’t even flinch. Just shifts her weight to one leg and tilts her head like, yeah, and?

“She came to me earlier,” he continues, “asking for extra support. And I mentioned you, Maya.”

My brain short-circuits. “Me?”

“Yes.” He gestures vaguely, like this makes perfect sense. “You’ve got one of the top quiz averages in the class. And I know you don’t have a lot of free time, but I thought you might be willing to help.”

I open my mouth to respond, and nothing comes out except a confused squeak.

Paige, meanwhile, is suddenly all charm and dimples. “Only if it’s not too much trouble,” she says sweetly, looking at me like I’m the answer to her prayers instead of the barely-holding-it-together girl who almost cried during a glycolysis question.

I stare at her. Then the professor. Then back at her. This is a setup. Has to be.

“I mean,” I say slowly, “I guess I could… help out. A little.”

The professor claps his hands once, like this was the easiest part of his day. “Great. Work out whatever schedule makes sense. Maybe start after the next lecture?”

“Sounds perfect,” Paige says, and I swear there’s a glint in her eye. Mischievous. Knowing.

I nod numbly, the weight of this decision already settling on my shoulders like a second backpack full of regrets.

As I head for the door, I mutter under my breath, “This is going to end badly.”

“Sorry?” Paige pipes up behind me.

“Nothing,” I lie, faster than a reflex. “See you later.”

She grins, following me out with way too much pep for someone allegedly struggling. “Can’t wait.”

And I suddenly remember: this is the same girl who walked in late the first week, said “yo, do we need the textbook for this?” in front of the whole class, and then somehow got a laugh out of the professor.

God help me.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing in the library, clutching three textbooks and a syllabus I plan to set on fire. This day has already been long enough, now apparently, Paige “needs a little help” with some of the material. And apparently, I am just the student for the job.

I hate when people say “it’ll be good experience.” It always means work I don’t want to do for free.

The librarian waves at me as I step in—Ms. Marie, always with the peach-colored cardigans and peppermint candies. “Back again?”

“Like a bad habit,” I mumble, shooting her a smile. “Just grabbing some stuff for tutoring.”

“Ooh. Teaching now?”

“Trying not to cry in public,” I answer, and she laughs like I’ve said something adorable instead of tragic.

I spend way too long in the aisles, gathering books and stalling. Mostly thinking about how good I’m gonna sleep when I get back to my apartment. Seriously. The second my cheek hits the pillow? Instant peace. Probably coma-level sleep. I should be studied for science. Sleep is my love language. Sleep is the one thing in my life that hasn’t betrayed me.

I’m still mentally composing a love letter to my bed when I round a corner and see her—Paige, standing near the checkout desk, talking to one of the guys from the men’s team. He’s smiling like he thinks he has a chance. Good luck with that. Paige Bueckers is gay as fuck.

I snort before I can stop myself, just a short, soft laugh—but she hears it. Her head turns. Our eyes meet.

Oh.

She looks surprised. Not mad, not even curious, just… like she wasn’t expecting me.

And now I’ve made eye contact. Like a dumbass. I quickly duck back behind the shelf, gripping a biochem book like it’s a shield.

Great. Just great. Nothing says “competent tutor” like spying on your student and laughing at her across the library.

—

I give it a minute before circling around the long way and heading to the study room Hanes booked for us. Small, quiet, lots of windows. I stake out the seat closest to the door in case I need to make a dramatic escape.

Paige walks in a few minutes later, all long legs and blonde hair and that basketball-player stride—like she owns the space without trying to. She doesn’t say anything at first, just drops her bag and slides into the seat next to me.

I brace myself. Here we go.

She pulls out a notebook, then a pen. Then nothing. Just sits there.

I glance at her, waiting for her to do… something. Say something. Start. Breathe.

“Are you gonna, like… open the textbook, or…”

“I was letting you do your thing first,” she says, like I’m the one who showed up five minutes late and smelled like citrus gum and lavender hand cream. Her voice has that easy, confident rhythm to it—Minnesota smooth with a little edge, like she grew up chirping boys on the blacktop.

I give her a look. “My ‘thing’ is desperately trying not to cry while re-reading the same paragraph seven times.”

She smiles, wide and real. “Relatable.”

There’s a pause. Not awkward exactly, but quiet enough to make me weirdly self-aware of how close our chairs are. I pull out my laptop to have something to do with my hands.

“So,” I say, flipping to the study guide, “Professor Hanes said you’re struggling with the last few sections. You’ve looked at the review packet?”

Paige shrugs, leaning back in her chair a little too casually. “Kind of. I just—I don’t know. I get the gist, but some stuff doesn’t stick.”

“That’s usually how it works when you don’t study.”

She raises a brow at me like she wasn’t expecting me to have teeth. “I do study.”

I raise mine right back. “Instagram Reels don’t count.”

Her mouth twitches. It’s either amusement or offense. Could go either way with girls like her.

“You always this friendly?”

“No,” I deadpan. “Usually I’m meaner.”

That gets a laugh out of her—low and genuine, like it surprised her. She leans in slightly, chin propped on her hand.

“So why’d you agree to help me?”

“I didn’t,” I reply, flipping a page. “Hanes kind of voluntold me. Said it would be ‘good practice.’”

“Bet you were thrilled.”

“Overjoyed. I love giving up my one free evening to explain gen chem to someone who probably uses Gatorade as a chaser.”

Another smile from her. This one lasts a little longer.

“You always this funny?”

“I’m not trying to be funny,” I mutter, but my mouth won’t quite stop twitching.

We get into the material slowly—me talking through concepts, her asking questions here and there. She’s actually more focused than I expected. Still fidgety, still Paige Bueckers in all her tall, confident, knows-people-are-watching energy—but she’s trying. I can give her that.

Halfway through, she lets out a sigh and scrubs a hand over her face. “Okay, but why are there so many exceptions to every rule? Like, who made these up?”

“Science,” I reply. “Also colonialism.”

She tilts her head. “You’re not wrong.”

Another beat of silence. Then she asks, “What’s your major?”

“Pre-med. Bio track.”

She whistles, low. “Damn. That’s sick.”

I shrug. “It’s fine. If you enjoy stress-induced migraines and disappointing your family.”

Paige grins. “Bet your mom’s proud of you.”

“She is,” I admit, softer now. “But I also think she thinks I sleep more than I do.”

Paige’s voice is light when she says, “You don’t strike me as a slacker.”

“I’m not,” I say, yawning. “But if I had one wish? It would be to sleep for a solid twelve hours. Maybe fourteen. Maybe forever. I love sleep. Like, I would marry it. I’d elope with sleep to another country and never text anyone back.”

Paige chuckles. “That’s dramatic.”

“That’s survival,” I correct, grabbing a pen to tap against her notes. “Now stop stalling and write that formula down before I cry.”

She leans in again, not writing yet. Just watching me. “You kinda mean.”

“You’re kind of loud.”

“Touché.”

We keep working, but the space between us softens just a little. There’s something about the way she shifts a little closer when I’m showing her something, or how she asks questions like she actually wants to know the answer. She’s still full of herself, but in a way that makes me want to roll my eyes and pay attention.

And then there’s the eye contact. God. Paige Bueckers and her Olympic-level commitment to staring directly into my soul.

Like—I’m trying to explain the electron configuration of potassium, and she’s looking at me like I might be the answer to something she’s been trying to solve for years. Icy blue eyes, lashes curled to the heavens, a little swipe of mascara like she knew she’d be making people nervous today.

And by people, I mean me. Specifically me.

It’s honestly kind of rude. Intimidating. Possibly illegal. There should be a warning label or something: DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH PAIGE BUECKERS UNLESS YOU ARE READY TO BE HYPER-ANALYZED AND POSSIBLY SEDUCED.

Because I swear—I swear—the way she looks at me? It’s not just eye contact. It’s eye-to-future-entanglement contact. Like she’s trying to hypnotize me out of my panties with just her stare and that stupid smirk she keeps trying to hide behind her hand.

Focus. I need to focus. This is chemistry. Not chemistry-chemistry. I’m not gonna be another gay kid that fails a class because I couldn’t stop thinking about some pretty basketball player with really good hair.

No offense to everyone else who’s fallen into that trap. (none taken)

“Okay,” I say, tapping my pen against my notebook and not looking at her eyes again, “that’s ionic bonding, which means we’re finally done with chapter four.”

Paige stretches her arms above her head with a small groan, the hem of her hoodie lifting just enough to flash a sliver of skin. I look away instantly, like a respectable person. Like someone not currently battling the urge to spiral into a gay panic over five seconds of midriff.

“Thank God,” she sighs dramatically, flopping back in her chair like she just ran drills for two hours. “You know, I think I actually learned something.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You say that like you’re surprised.”

“I am surprised,” she grins, tugging at the sleeve of her hoodie. “You’re kinda scary-smart.”

I blink. “Scary?”

“In a good way,” she adds quickly. “Like, in a ‘you could probably build a robot army and take over the world but choose not to’ kind of way.”

“…Thanks?”

She smiles like she means it. Like maybe that was a compliment in her language. And for some reason, it sticks with me.

I start gathering my things, stuffing pens and half-crumpled notes into my backpack like the burnt-out academic I am. “Well, we’re scheduled again next Thursday unless your Coach pulls you for something.”

Paige doesn’t move to leave. She leans back in her chair, arms folded behind her head, watching me with that same annoyingly intense gaze.

“You always study here?” she asks casually, like she didn’t just spend two hours fighting for her life over basic chem.

“Sometimes,” I reply, zipping up my bag. “It’s quiet. And the librarian doesn’t hate me.”

“That’s a plus.”

“You?”

She shrugs. “Ehh usually with the team. Or, like, wherever has food.”

I hum, trying to keep the conversation from stretching too long. I’m not great at lingering—especially not with people like her. The kind of person who walks into a room and owns it without even trying.

I sling my bag over my shoulder, already planning my post-study nap in vivid, loving detail, but before I can escape—

“You wanna walk out together?”

I pause, blinking at her.

Not because it’s weird. But because I hadn’t expected it. Most athletes don’t even remember the names of their TAs, much less offer to walk them out of the library like it’s some sort of… soft exit interview.

I glance at the clock. It’s getting late. But also, she’s looking at me like I’m someone worth lingering around.

“Sure,” I say. Casually. Like my heart isn’t already doing cartwheels.

She grins, standing to her full height (good holy 6ft..), and my only thought as we walk side by side toward the doors is God help me, I might be in trouble.

Because Paige Bueckers is something else.

And apparently, she’s not going anywhere.

—

The night air hits us as we step out of the library, and it’s just cold enough to make me regret not grabbing a hoodie. Of course, Paige doesn’t seem bothered at all. She walks like she’s immune to weather. Or like the wind parts just for her. Probably both.

For a moment, it’s quiet. Awkwardly so. My favorite kind.

Then, Paige starts talking.

And when I say talking, I mean talking. Like she hasn’t spoken to another human being all day and I just unlocked the floodgates.

“So, like, I’ve had the same pair of slides since I was fifteen, right?” she says, hands in the front pocket of her hoodie. “They’re disgusting. Like, actually offensive. I think they’ve developed their own bacteria strain at this point. But I can’t get rid of them. They’re like emotional support shoes. You ever have something like that?”

I blink. “Uh…”

She barrels right past my lack of response. “And then Aaliyah tried to throw them out once when we were on the road and I almost tackled her in the hotel hallway. She was like, ‘Paige, they smell like shit.’ But they don’t. They smell like loyalty.”

She grins at her own joke. I say nothing.

Not because I don’t want to. But mostly because what?

I nod along, mostly to be polite. Or maybe out of shock. I’m not really sure.

She keeps going. “Also, can I ask you a question? Why do all chemistry textbooks weigh as much as small toddlers? Like, what are they putting in there? Guilt? Disappointment?”

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it, which unfortunately only fuels her further.

She talks about basketball. Then her best friend’s dog. Then how she’s still mad Chipotle took her favorite salsa off the menu. She has opinions on everything from cafeteria chicken to the superiority of Apple Music over Spotify (she’s wrong, but I let her have it).

And the weirdest part?

It’s not annoying.

It should be. But it’s not.

I listen. Mostly because I’m stunned by how easily she fills the space between us, how her voice softens when she gets excited and how, even when she’s rambling, she makes it feel like you’re part of the story.

It’s… unsettling.

I don’t do people like her. I don’t get people like her.

And yet here she is. Walking next to me. Talking like we’ve done this a thousand times before.

And then, as if this night couldn’t get any weirder, she slows down in front of my building.

I stop too.

Paige pauses, looking at the entrance. Then looks at me. “Wait—you live here?”

“Yeah,” I say slowly, pointing to the left. “Top floor.”

She blinks. “Shut up.”

“I will not.”

She grins, pointing to the right. “That’s my building.”

I stare at her for a second. Then glance up. Then back at her.

This cannot be real life.

“You’re telling me we’ve lived next to each other this whole time and this is the first time I’m finding out?”

I sigh. “This is just great.”

“Great?” she echoes, clearly amused.

“Yeah. Fantastic. Love this for me.”

She’s still smiling like this is the best coincidence to ever happen. Like fate just personally delivered her a win.

I just shake my head, digging my keys out of my pocket. “Well. Thanks for the walk. And the verbal TED Talk.”

She bows slightly. “Anytime.”

I turn to head inside, pausing with my hand on the door.

“Hey,” she calls.

I look back.

“Same time Thursday right?”

I nod once. “Sure.”

She salutes me with two fingers, still grinning, then turns and jogs up the steps to her building.

I stand there for a moment, key still in hand, trying to process everything. The tutoring. The talking. The proximity.

This is going to be a nightmare.

I let myself into the building, already craving sleep and silence and maybe a three-day nap. But even as I make it upstairs and fall face-first onto my bed, one thought keeps bouncing around my head like it’s got a key to the place:

Paige Bueckers is going to be a problem.

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #dallas wings #paige x reader #wbb fic #sierrassweets #sierrasworks 🌺

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vampishnes · 1 month ago

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Sanguine Hunger: About Time

Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four, Chapter five, Chapter six, Chapter seven, Chapter eight, Chapter nine, Chapter ten. Pairings: Platonic!Thunderbolts & Fem!Reader, Bob x FemThunderbolts!ExAvenger!Reader Summary: Movie night with the Thunderbolts leads to old memories. Tags: No use of ‘Y/N’. Female reader. Slow burn! Found family, 'slice of life', Hurt/Comfort Warnings: Graphic depictions of a panic attack, vague descriptions of vomiting, references to past trauma. Word count: 2.4k A/N: There is now a chapter count for this work. There will be 10 chapters in total. Thank you for all the love on this; it means the world to me.

The common area couch was large enough to fit all of you, but somehow never felt spacious enough when everyone squeezed together. That was how you found yourself on the floor in front of the couch instead. Your shoulders were crushed between Bob and Walker; your back slumped uncomfortably on Bucky's knee. He was lucky enough to grab a spot on the couch first.

Yelena’s bleached blonde hair obscured your view of the screen slightly. You stifled a sigh; mentioning it started another bickering session.

“What are we watching?” Bucky asked, his leg dug further into you. The remote lay abandoned on the couch’s arm, waiting for someone to claim it. Alexi reached for it before anyone else could grab it.

“Hand it over,” Walker demanded, setting his plate down and lunging across you and Bucky. Alexi yanked the remote away, holding it out of reach. “Please, you’re gonna make us watch some old Russian movie.”

You used one hand to lift Walker’s elbow away from your plate and the other to stuff a bite of food into your mouth. Your left side dug into Bob as John fell further atop you. You hissed in discomfort, your body twisted awkwardly to avoid Walker’s armpit.

“Children, please,” Bucky grumbled, yanking the remote from Alexi’s grasp. “Let’s just see what they have.” Walker reluctantly sat back, dropping his hand from your knee, which he had used as leverage. Bucky flicked through titles with the intensity of someone personally offended by bad movie covers.

“Jesus, can you just pick something?” you spat, dipping your soft taco in sauce. Bucky kicked you in reply, just enough to annoy, not hurt. “Fine. What if we close our eyes and see what we land on?” you suggested, placing your empty plate down. Surprisingly, the room went silent.

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Yelena said, flopping her head back and covering her eyes. One by one, the rest of the group followed suit, mostly begrudgingly and with heavy sighs.

“Ava, count to ten, then Bucky hits select,” you directed, slapping a hand over your own eyes. Ava began counting, theatrically slow at first, until ten seconds suddenly felt too long. Her voice sped up until—“Now.” A soft click followed, and you opened your eyes to see what fate had chosen.

“About Time,” Bucky announced, his tone confused. The title screen appeared, the Netflix ‘bad-dum’ barely audible over the team’s collective groan.

“No way,” Walker protested, immediately reaching for the remote. Yelena smacked his hand down before he could start another wrestling match.

“Rules are rules, Walker. We agreed to this system.”

“I’ve never seen it,” Bob admitted, his body relaxing beside you. You tilted your head toward him, close enough that your whisper wouldn’t carry.

“Me neither. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Bob tipped his fries your way with a smile. You grinned and grabbed a handful. “If it’s not, though, it’ll be good to point and laugh at.”

“Shut up,” Ava hushed, surprising you with her sudden interest. “I can’t hear it.” You raised your eyebrows in amusement before settling your eyes on the screen.

As the movie progressed, the team's reactions went from protest to enthusiastic engagement, filled with the occasional chime in from someone asking ‘why doesn’t she just kill him?’ or ‘I hate this man,’ which was immediately met with a unanimous hush. It wasn't until the credits rolled that the trance seemed to break.

Alexi was sniffling, desperately trying to hide his face behind a throw pillow. No one spoke; the room was blanketed in a thick cover of sad tension.

“That was…” Ava began, scratching her head as she tried to think of the right words. Bucky nodded beside her, head settled low.

“Terrible.” Walker finished, his voice trembling despite the clenched effort to steady it. Yelena furrowed her eyebrows upon hearing him, snapping her head around.

“You’re literally crying.”

“There’s something in my eyes.” Walker swiped at his face with a rough, hurried gesture.

“Yeah, tears.” You added, turning to the side to see Walker's reddened cheeks.

You were just as affected; love had never been kind to you. Before the snap, when the Avengers still felt like home, there were more chances. You had been so close to Bucky for the few years you spent together in Wakanda that if Thanos never erased everything you once knew, a fragile almost could’ve bloomed.

Those five years alone transformed you, hollowed you out entirely. You swore never to kill again after the night your powers first manifested. Fate had other plans, and you found yourself covered in blood, clawing animalistically at anything that got in your way: alien gore and sweat sticking to your tainted skin.

Maybe if you had won the battle, you could have justified what you did, who you’d become. Then Bucky crumpled to dust in your arms, and whatever remained of your old self went with him.

You tried to reconcile after the final battle with Thanos. You held Bucky so tightly that your nails dug their own crevices into his skin, carved out where home used to be. But watching Tony, the only father you had left, sacrifice himself for the betterment of the world solidified the truth into you: you were always meant to be this.

Bile swarmed in your cheeks as the thoughts poured out of you, from the deepest pits you shoved them down. You jolted up, standing shakily like a newborn deer. You placed one foot in front of the other, tiptoeing through the symphony of limbs.

Bob lightly tugged at your arm, and you found yourself leaning into it, but the comfort itself was what terrified you. How easily you could depend on it. How easily it could be taken away. You jerked away with more vigour than intended, immediately regretting it when hurt flickered across Bob's face. How could you explain that you were terrified of the possibility of loss that came with caring?

“You ok?” he asked, his blue eyes piercing into yours. He looked so small on the floor, body huddled into himself, as if trying to curl himself into a tiny ball no one would notice. You nodded, mouth tightly wound together. You stumbled out of the room, hardly noticed by anyone else now that conversations had started again, but you could feel his eyes still following you.

The room spun around you, and blood pounded in your ears. You could feel your heart drumming beneath your ribcage, as if begging to be let out. You gripped tightly at your shirt, hand shaking relentlessly; your heart continued pounding painfully against you. Am I dying? You thought, vision narrowing as you stumbled down the stairs. I must be dying.

A drop of sweat crept down your spine; the air blew against it, and the clash of heat and cold stung painfully. You didn’t know where you were going, only that you needed to leave. You continued down the empty hallway, hands stumbling for anything to ground yourself. You clutched against the door handle for the bathroom, pushing it in with the rest of your body. You pulled yourself up against the bathroom sink, facing your bitter reflection in the mirror.

Acid crawled up your throat again, and you couldn’t stop the influx of sickness that washed over you, a wave of shame and rot. You could hear his voice in your ears, Tony's voice. You wound your eyes tight; you could almost see the blue hologram playing in front of you, his voice clawing at your skull.

‘You’re not the monster they made you.’ The thought slipped from your grip as you hurled yourself over the sink, lungs spasming as you heaved, body violently punching each breath from you. Warm tears slipped down your face, creating a rhythmic tapping against the porcelain sink.

Your fingers gripped the edge of the sink, knuckles white. You could taste the faintness of blood and were unsure if it was yours or just the memory of it. A soft knock on the door broke through your thoughts. “Hey,” you tried to respond, but your throat constricted. The tears came faster now, and you pressed your palms against your eyes. Another knock, this one more insistent. “Can I come in?”

You turned on the sink, letting the cold water shock your system; you splashed your face once, then twice, until the reflection in front of you didn’t look so wrecked. Your eyes were still red, bloodshot. How many times had you seen this face staring back at you? How many nights had you spent washing blood from your hands, wondering if you'd ever be clean again?

“I’m fine,” you said, voice cracking in a telltale quiver. Not even an idiot would believe you. Your knees crumbled from beneath you; you fell down into a squat, using the sink to keep your weight up.

You couldn’t face Bob. You knew he’d see right through you. There was no reply other than silence, a part of you was relieved, but that familiar sting of loneliness nipped at you. Your brain ached, a sharp headache furrowing its way into your skull. You took a deep breath, holding the heavy air in until it burst out of you like a dam. With shaking hands, you quickly tugged the door open.

Bob stood across from you; when he saw you, he didn't crowd you. He just remained there, offering you the choice to come closer. You stood in front of the closed bathroom door, arms crossed. Your legs gave way beneath you, and you slid down the door, crumpling to your knees with a humiliating surrender.

Bob surged forward, hands outstretched to catch you, but you stopped him with a trembling hand. Unable to lift your head, your body folded in on itself, and you sank further to the floor, the bottom half of your back pressed against the cold bathroom door. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked, stepping back and slinking back onto the wall in front of you. You shook your head, waving your hand vaguely.

“I’m fine.” You swallowed hard, throwing your head back, resting it against the wall. You felt the steady thrum of your pulse begin to calm. He gave you a closed-mouth smile, one that said, ‘I don’t believe you.’ “I don’t need your pity.” You spat, rolling your eyes. You pushed your hand against your forehead, trying to will the headache away.

“It’s not pity.” The words came slowly. “I’m not good at this. Saying the right thing, finding the right words.” He took a shaky breath. “But you, you’ve been there for me, even when I hurt you. You still chose to save me, so let me do this. Let me care.” His words lay heavy between you, a desperate plea—no, a vow.

“It’s stupid.” The silence stretched, your hands trembling as you pressed them firmly into your lap.

“It’s not stupid,” Bob said gently. “It’s not stupid if it hurts.” You let out a hollow laugh.

“That’s the problem, isn’t it? I’m not supposed to be hurt. I’m supposed to be stronger than this. I’ve been alive for a century, but I can’t handle a stupid movie?” Bob watched you with those gentle eyes of his, peeling back every lie you’d told.

“It wasn’t about the movie, was it?”

“Tony. It made me think of Tony.” The name felt foreign on your tongue. “And Bucky. And everything I lost. Everyone.” Bob nodded, giving you the space to continue. “That whole time during the Snap, I…” Your voice cracked, and you cleared your throat. “I became someone I swore I’d never be again. I killed, Bob. I killed so many. I hunted them down like animals.” Bob’s gaze didn’t waver.

“You were lost.”

“Stop,” you shook your head, words tearing out of you. “No. I had a choice. I could have stayed with the Avengers. I could have helped people. But I was so angry, so empty.” You ran a trembling hand through your hair.

Your fingernails dug into your palms, anchoring you to the present as the past threatened to drag you under. Your jaw ached from clenching it so tightly. Bob shifted his weight, the soft rustle of fabric against the wall echoing in the empty corridor. His patience was another form of torture, giving you time to reveal the inhumanity hiding beneath your skin. You shut your eyes. Faces flickered. Strangers. People you’d ended because Valentina pointed and said guilty. Because you’d stopped asking why.

“I mean… we all suck.” Bob said, voice low. Your eyes snapped to his. “But we’re trying.” The hallway light flickered above, casting shadows across his face.

You’d seen it personally: his regrets, his past, all the cruel truths that made him who he was now. You could still feel the way his skin felt gripping tightly on your throat, how the floor felt as your body collapsed on it. Now those same hands dried the dishes beside you, offered you comfort and warmth when you needed it most.

Those hands weren’t the Sentry’s, nor were they the Void’s. They were Bob’s, cracked and scarred. Just like the rest of you were.

You’d all killed; none of you denied it. None of you had the luxury of pretending to be anything other than what you were: broken things trying to be better. You both sat in comfortable silence, the Tower quiet around you except for the distant sounds of the team still gathered in the common area. “We should go back,” you said, though you made no move to stand.

“We could,” Bob agreed, equally still. Somewhere above, a muffled crash echoed. “Or we could just… not.” Another beat of silence passed before you spoke again.

“We’re starting the garden.” He hummed, gaze drifting to the dust swirling in a sunbeam. “Is there anything else you wanted to do?” Bob thought for a moment.

“Yeah.” He admitted, a small smirk flickering. “I’ve never been camping. I’ve been homeless, though, so yeah… I’d probably hate it.”

“Glamping, then?” You offered. “Or a remote cabin, make it a bonding exercise with the rest of the team.”

“That sounds amazing, but we’d never have the time.” He snorted, but his eyes softened.

“You’d be surprised.” You pushed yourself up from the floor, offering a hand to help Bob. He took it, his grip solid and warm. For a heartbeat longer than necessary, you held on, feeling the rough calluses of his palm against yours.

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ellieinink · 4 months ago

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Code Blue, Heart Stolen

Baek Kang-hyuk x Reader

Genre: Slow Burn, Humor, Medical Drama, Fluff, Light Angst, Social Media AU

Warnings: Medical emergencies, hospital setting, occasional strong language

Synopsis: You’re a trauma center resident trying to survive under the infamous Baek Kang-hyuk. Between chaotic ER shifts, teasing coworkers, and life-or-death situations, you never expected your biggest challenge would be dealing with Kang-hyuk himself. As rumors spread and tension builds, one question remains—are you just another one of his underlings, or is there something more?

MASTERLIST

Chapter 1: Initiation by Fire

Chapter 2: Diagnosed with Trouble

Chapter 3: Flatline or Falling?

Chapter 4: Diagnosis — Denial

Chapter 5: Vital Signs — Unstable

Chapter 6: Breaking Point?

Chapter 7: Cracks in the Armor

Chapter 8: Close Enough to Break

Chapter 9: Denial is a Losing Game

Chapter 10: The Worst Kept Secret

Chapter 11: A Not-So-Secret Date

Chapter 12: Kiss and Tell (Or Don’t)

Chapter 13: Denial is Futile

Chapter 14: The (Not-So-Secret) Secret

Chapter 15: The Slip-Up

Chapter 16: The Aftermath

Chapter 17: Denial is a Losing Battle

Chapter 18: The Breaking Point Pt. 2

Chapter 19: The Tease and the Tipping Point

Chapter 20: Cracks in the Armor 2.0

Chapter 21: Denial is a River in Egypt

Chapter 22: The Five Stages of Falling for Baek Kang-hyuk

Chapter 23: The Great Collapse

Chapter 24: The Great Escape (Failed)

Chapter 25: The Walls Are Closing In

Chapter 26: The Aftermath of a Rooftop Confession

Chapter 27: Game Over

Chapter 28: …Dinner?

Chapter 29: The Date… or So They Thought

Chapter 30: ???

#baek kang hyuk #trauma code: heroes on call #baek kang hyuk x reader #baek kang hyuk x you #baek kang-hyuk #kdrama #ju ji hoon #ju ji-hoon #ju jihoon #ju jihoon x reader #baek kang hyuk smau #baek kang-hyuk smau #baek kang-hyuk x reader

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leighsartworks216 · 9 months ago

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One More Chapter

Sylus x gn!Reader

This is the shorter of two fics I want to get out tonight, but it makes me really soft. Just imagine his really deep, quiet voice speaking in a low rumble.

Warnings: teasing, pet names, fluff

Word Count: 623

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

“How many more times will you yawn before you finally go to bed?” Sylus mused, turning a page in his book. “Let’s count, shall we?”

You sigh. If there’s one thing Sylus excelled at, it was finding the perfect way to prod at your nerves. Unfortunately, you were too drained to snap back.

The page scratches uncomfortably as you flip it, shooting uncomfortable goosebumps down your arm. “Once I finish this chapter, I’ll go to bed.”

He hummed nonchalantly. “This wouldn’t happen to be the same chapter you were on the last time you made that promise, now, would it?”

You glared at him over the edge of your book. He knew very well it wasn’t. It’s not your fault the last chapter left on a cliffhanger. You just needed to find out what happened next, and then you could go to bed! Just one more chapter-

You covered your mouth with your hand to stifle your yawn.

“One.”

You grab the sides of your book with more force than necessary and bury your face in its pages. The words were a little blurry, forcing you to strain more to read them. Sentences were slower to process, especially when it came to deciphering how they connected to the plot. Who did and said what got mixed up more times than you want to admit. But you got through a page through sheer determination to spite the Onychinus leader.

“Two.”

Every time he spoke, you bristled. And yet every time you looked up at him, he couldn’t seem to be bothered to take any interest in you, engrossed in his own book. You wouldn’t be surprised if it was a novel on unique torture methods.

By the time Sylus counted to five, you couldn’t read the words anymore. Your vision was fuzzy no matter how many times you rubbed your eyes. Even if you could glimpse a word or two, the synapses in your brain couldn’t even begin to conceive of registering them.

A hand grabbed the book, thumb resting at the center of the pages as it was removed from your grasp. You couldn’t even think of snatching it back. The piece of paper you were using as a bookmark was picked up by another hand and slipped into your story, safely marking your place, before it was shut.

With nothing to distract yourself, your exhaustion caught up with you in an instant. Your body sagged into the sofa, eyes closing even as you fought to open them again.

“Come on, sweetie. Let’s get you to bed.”

Strong arms slipped under your knees and behind your back, lifting you effortlessly from the plush cushions. The movement startled you, rocketing your tired brain into a panic as you grabbed onto him. His arms tipped you further into his chest, your head landing solidly against his shoulder. The quick beating of his heart resonated in your ear.

“I won’t drop you.”

You watched him carry you through the halls of the mansion, counting the bars on the handrail as he began ascending the stairs. You sighed as you curled up further into Sylus’s arms, letting your eyes fall shut once more. “You better not…”

He chuckled. You felt it in your own chest.

The next moments are a haze. You remember the welcome embrace of a bed. Cool sheets, warm blankets, all holding you in a big hug. Your body had a mind of its own as it stretched out, toes pointing and back arching, before curling into a ball. When you reached out blindly, unsure yourself what you could be reaching for, a soft plushie made its way into your arms.

A warm hand brushed your hair back from your face. “Sleep tight, kitten.”

#fanfic #fanfiction #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace #lads #lads sylus #fluff #gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gn reader #x gender neutral reader

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stygiansauce · 1 month ago

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Okay I know I've been a little spammy today, but I wrote this and NEED to share it.

LIKE!!!!!! THEM!

#margin of error #chapter five wip #Tipping point my beloved the second half of you is so good

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januaryembrs · 11 months ago

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WHO'S AFRAID OF LITTLE OLD ME? | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [10]

description: the one with Cat Adams + the one where she tells him.

length: 13k

warnings: literally just watch 11x11, mention of vomit, blood, alcoholism. mention of pregnant wives??

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

‘who’s afraid of little old me?

you should be,’

She remembered when she was little when she would wake up so early even the birds hadn’t uttered a morning chirp, her stomach grumbling because she usually hated the fancy stuff they had for dinner and ended up leaving it on her plate. She remembered thinking her mother would be no use, that Elizabeth would tell her to go straight back to bed, even if she whined and cried that she wanted breakfast, remembered thinking Louise, the au pair that usually took the morning shift, wouldn’t be in for another hour or so, and she certainly wasn’t tall enough to reach the cabinets yet.

Which left her with Emily.

Nineteen year old Emily, who was already in and out of the house with college, her hair a box dyed black, singed from all the crimping and hair spray. Emily, who liked to take her to the park even if she pretended she was too old, who played Barbies with her and helped her cut all their hair off probably because she figured that was better than her constant urge to do whacky things with her own locks. Emily, who had never wanted a little sister really until Elizabeth had brought home the carrier and suddenly she had never loved ten chubby fingers and toes so much.

She remembered waking Emily up, usually by pulling herself up onto her sister’s Mötley Crüe themed bedding and prodding at the girl’s shoulder until she stirred, how Emily would lead her down the long, ornate hallway into the kitchen, when the only sound in the house would be their bare feet padding along the cold tiles. How Emily would yank two bowls out of the cupboard, tipping a generous dose of coco pops in each of them, back when they were full of sugar and real chocolate, not the healthy crap they sold nowadays.

It would just be the two of them at the breakfast table, crunching on their spoons, five year old Bugsy no doubt dribbling the brown milk down her chin and pyjama top, but she was happy. Because she had her big sister.

She stared down at the dregs of cocoa that whirled into the white milk as the cereal sat there longer, because she was only picking at it really, and it had nothing to do with the fact she was almost certain they had changed the recipe since she was little.

“I was thinking,” She said after a moment or so, while Spencer pottered around the kitchen, fixing them both a pot of coffee that she usually was usually bouncing over to grab at this point in the morning. Except today she felt sluggish, lost in that maze of thoughts that only Spencer could really unpick, and the second she’d started speaking his head whipped over the counter to where she idly stirred her breakfast, “About what you said when Gideon… We could probably afford to start looking at buying a house soon, what with the mortgage rates dropping,”

She looked up at him hopefully, hoping he couldn’t sense the hesitation on her breath because he usually knew what she was thinking before she said anything, and for once she wished he didn’t have that crazy ability to read her mind, only to see him with a small if not saddened smile.

When Gideon had passed, Spencer had gotten in his head that they needed to leave the apartment, that if the Jason Gideon could have been caught unaware, then they weren’t safe either. Of course he hadn’t meant it, at least not entirely, but Gideon passing had spun the logic half of his brain that spouted the statistics that they were no more in danger now than they were before he’d gone, but still it was something he’d been thinking about. A house meant more space; more space meant they could stop tripping over each other's laundry, meant they could get the bigger shower they’d always talked about, maybe even a tub. A house meant the garden he knew he always wanted Niko and Sergio to have now they were grey around the whiskers and couldn’t run so fast.

“I think that’s a great idea,” Spencer said, picking up their mugs of steaming hot goodness and carefully stepping towards her, gently sliding the drink over to her as the liquid sloshed and threatened to dip over the edge, “Is there any place you want to look?”

He left his own mug in favour of circling his arms around her shoulders and pulling her in for a soft hug, her head falling beneath his chin where she sat on the barstool.

Kissing her hairline gently, she heard him inhale her shampoo scent, and she plonked her spoon back in the bowl to wrap her arms around his waist, squeezing herself into every crevice that they weren’t already touching.

“I don’t care,” She said, tilting her head to look up at him with love sick eyes, only to see him already besottedly gazing at her, and she guessed by the way his lips draw up at the corners that he didn’t realise he was still smiling, “Anywhere with you is good enough for me,”

He looked down at her in that way he usually did, expression soft and sweet and entranced, but she saw the traces of worry in his gaze, “You feeling okay? Today is going to be… hard,”

Bugsy’s expression faltered slightly, and she turned away to push her face into his stomach so he wouldn’t see the doubt lingering in her eyes. She nodded anyway, even though she knew he would catch her in the lie.

After Scratch, Hotch had ordered her to take three months off for a psych evaluation, had granted Spencer at least a month of holiday to watch over her because he knew Reid’s head would be all over the place with worry if he’d returned to work without her. It was like asking Garcia to leave her computers and fluffy pens at home; it just wouldn’t work.

By the time she was cleared to come back, despite the recurring nightmares of that day still eating away at her sleep, Hotch had set her up to work solely from the office, strictly no field work.

He liked to think it was for her own safety, for her own good since he saw the way she pounded coffee like it was juice while Spencer lingered around her with a worried stare. But if he had to be honest with himself, Hotch couldn’t get away from the things Scratch had made him see just as much as she couldn’t. He couldn’t escape seeing her throat slit like she was a lamb for slaughter, the life leaving her eyes as she faded away. And it was the thought of her carotid artery spraying over his boots that made him want to lock her up in bubble wrap and never let her go.

But that was feasible in their job, not really. So desk duty it was.

“You don’t have to go with us into the field, you can always stay with Hotch and Garcia,” He offered, stroking her hair behind her ear and tempting her to look back up at him with gentle fingertips under her chin, and when she saw the unease in the muddy hues, she squeezed him tighter, knowing the past five months had been just as hard on him.

“No, I want to,” She protested gently, her hands weaselling under his shirt and onto the warm, soft skin of his back, pawing at him like a cat trying to settle. “If you’re being made this woman’s number one target, I want to be there on stand by,”

And he couldn’t really argue. Because no matter what frame of mind he was in, even if it had been him captured and tortured, he would never let her go out as bait and not be there breathing down her neck.

He sighed, the urge to protest stuck in his throat and all he could think to do was bring his lips to hers gently in a soft kiss, because his resistance to her being put in the line of danger would only be futile.

She hummed into the kiss, his hands skirting over her back and she swore she would be content if the rest of her life was spent in Spencer’s arms, in the warm mornings at their kitchen table just the two of them, and the idea of that last part spun her stomach into turmoil all over again.

What if he freaked out? No, scratch that, he was definitely going to freak out. Spencer hated change, hated having things dropped on him, and Diana was already getting worse with the symptoms of Alzheimers she had begun presenting. He had more than enough on his plate as it was, and she knew she was the only thing that could keep his head from exploding with the worry, even if she was sometimes the cause of it. He’s always been a worrier, and part of her despised herself for the fact that he had shot out of bed every single night she’d been in the midst of a night terror, when the room spun and Peter Lewis seemed so real and so close and she woke up screaming. Because she’d brought him enough stress and trouble, and now she had an extra helping of it dished up and ready.

It wasn’t one of those things she could keep to herself, not even if she so desperately wanted to sit on it and mull it over for a few months. She needed to tell him soon.

Spencer looked down at her eyes, the way they’d glazed over slightly, and he wished he could crawl into the space where her thoughts bounced between one another if it meant he could figure out what had gotten her so twisted up the past few weeks. She hadn’t been herself entirely since Scratch, but she had been getting better. She’d started getting more sleep, seemed less jumpy when they were in the quiet of their apartment, and part of him thought maybe that was why she wanted to look at houses. A fresh start. And yet overnight, she’d had this guilty look in her eye like she was suddenly a million miles away, and he hated it. Bugsy had never been distant, which seemed odd to think considering she was burying her hands and face into him like she had no intention of letting him leave. But there was something in the depths of her brilliantly big mind that seemed to hold her tongue for her.

He kissed her again, hoping it was all in his head, hoping she wouldn’t keep things from him because it was them and they always told each other everything. Even if it was gross and weird and inappropriate, everything.

And he thought maybe it was because he was going on a date with another woman, using himself as live bait to flirt and charm and seduce an assassin in order to take her into custody without fuss. Yeah, that was probably it. He couldn’t say he would be all too pleased if it had been the other way around and he would be watching her ravish another man even if it was just for the job.

That was definitely it. There couldn’t be anything else.

“You know I love you,” He said as a statement, yet she nodded as though it was a question, and he kissed her again because he’d regretted not doing it a hundred times a day the second he’d seen her in that closet, regretted not seeing the fact she was more than likely uncomfortable with her boyfriend of two years wining and dining a murderer. “Whatever I say when I’m there with her, you know I love you, more than I could ever love anything else,”

He seemed so sincere, his eyes turning into that soft puppy like frown, and it only served to drive the knife in deeper as she nodded, her hands wrapping into his hair and pulling him down to kiss her again, this time just a little harder like his lips could wipe away the pit in her stomach. Because it was Spencer, and she was lying by omission, and god did she need him to know how much she loved him before things went wrong and they changed and-

“We have a little time right?” She said, his hands taking the hint as they pulled her to her feet gently, cereal long forgotten in a chocolate slush, and his hands reached down to cup her ass in the way he was more than used to doing now. Didn’t stop him from blushing however.

“Y-yeah we have time,” He said, and she barely let him finish his sentence before she’d claimed his mouth again, not that he was complaining. She looped her fingers through his belt buckle, stepping backwards with his guidance towards their bedroom, and he hummed through a moan when he felt her run the other hand through his already messy bedhead, tugging on the ends of his curls gently.

“Good,” She responded, with a drop of that natural Bugsy cheekiness he was used to, and the sound of it made him smile. Maybe it was just the job after all, “I think I need a demonstration on just how much you don’t mean whatever you need to say to her,”

He smirked, because she was more like herself than she had been in days, and god was she pretty when she smiled at him before they had sex, like she knew what was coming, like she knew what she did to him. He wouldn’t be surprised if she could hear his heart thumping in her ears just as clearly as he could.

“I think you’ll need multiple demonstrations,” He said, his fingers looping in between her buttons on her trousers and popping them apart softly because they’d done this before, rushed it so they weren’t late for work, and ended up ripping good jeans, “Gather multiple sets of data before you draw a conclusion,”

He kissed down her neck and her small laugh became a moan, “I think it’s pretty much the only way, Doctor Reid,”

He laughed, and she felt it against her pulse, the sound of it making her shiver as he shoved the door open with little remorse for the way it slammed into the wall. And she made a promise to herself that once they’d caught their UnSub, she would tell him, even if it meant all of this would change.

–

He arrived at the restaurant five minutes early, his suit steamed and neat, a single red rose in his hand. His skin was already crawling at the idea of flirting with another woman, but Spencer knew none of it was real, knew he was just doing his job. Still it didn’t diminish the desire to glance where Bugsy and Rossi were sat in a booth, because he’d seen her in that red dress a thousand times before, and yet it still made his jaw drop the second he saw her in it.

The brief had been black tie, something to fit in with the five star restaurant, and god had she delivered. He ought to have protested, told her that she was too distracting and maybe insisted she stayed in the office if she looked so striking, but then again she could have worn a bin bag for all he cared, he would still be fighting the urge to look over at her.

He chose the seat with Bugsy at his back as to eliminate his urge to stare at her, because Dave could keep her safe, the rest of his team could watch her, he had to trust that.

He lay the rose on the other side of the table, fiddling with the other parts of the cutlery to make sure everything looked perfect, even though in his mind he was thinking of all the things Bugsy would have been saying if she was his date tonight. She probably would have made a comment on his suit (she already had before they’d even stepped out the hotel, just as he’d given her arse a quick squeeze with cheeks even more crimson than her dress because she looked divine), probably would have offered to go to the in-and-out down the street instead because she never cared about splashing out on dates, just being with him was enough.

Adjusting his jacket a little, he waited, trying to keep his head far away from his girlfriend, although that was much easier said than done. He couldn’t remember what his brain was like before it was filled with thoughts of her.

The ring sat in his sock drawer, buried in one of his older pairs that he hoped she wouldn’t go after since he’d made the mistake of putting it in with his boxers and almost got caught within a day when she went to steal some ready for bed and he’d chided himself for the sloppy work. He knew he wanted to ask her, thought he might even bring her to a fancy place like this, maybe prepare a small speech that attempted to tell her how much she meant to him even though he knew there wasn’t enough words for such a thing. Would he hide it in the cake? No that would be cheesy, she found cheesy overdone. Would she even like it done in public? No, she would hate that, he would wait until they got home, maybe even try that thing she’d wanted to do in bed for a few weeks, and then when they were done-

“Spencer?” A woman appeared at the table, a woman who by all accounts was objectively pretty, yet he felt that small kick of victory when he recognised her from the FBI database.

Cat Adams. Assassin. Mastermind. UnSub.

“Cat?” He said with practised naivety, and this time he forced all thoughts of his loving girlfriend from his head like they were about to be tainted by the woman standing in front of him, “Hi,”

“Hi,” She replied, her grin too bright and sparkly for anyone to ever guess she was a killer though he supposed that was the point,

“Hello, it’s nice to finally-” He cut himself off when she leaned up to hug him, her face drawing closer to his suddenly and she looked like she was gearing up for a peck on the lips. Forward. Much more forward than he’d given her credit for, and his stomach flipped in discomfort as he leaned away, “Oh s-sorry, I have kind of a germ thing,” He excused, which wasn’t a total lie.

Also my girlfriend is sat ten feet away and I can already hear her clenching a fork ready to ball your eyes out like a melon, he wanted to say, though he kept his snark to himself.

“Oh, sorry,” Cat said, holding her hands up in surrender, and looking up at him with what he knew to be false innocence. But he played along, because the sooner they caught her, the sooner he could be done with the entire thing.

“I’m kinda weird with hugs,” He explained, his face boyish as he gestured her to take a seat, because at least then he could put some distance between them, “Please, sit down,”

She smiled dizzily, slipping her jacket off to reveal a blue dress that accentuated her pixie short hair, her collar bones that could cut glass, her small, sleek figure, and she adjusted her straps as an excuse to divert his attention to her breasts.

“That’s like the oldest trick in the book, get some new material, bitch,” Bugsy mumbled under her breath, drowning her venom in sparkling apple juice disguised as champagne from where they sat in a dark corner booth and Rossi chuckled, shaking his head.

“I wouldn’t worry about boy genius having a wandering eye, kid. Reid is more devout than my mother on Easter Sunday,” He said, picking at the starter they’d ordered as a way to seem busy. She hummed, diverting her attention into her chicken salad, making sure she wasn’t looking at the happy couple for too long as they talked awkwardly, “Do you think you could take her?”

“I know I could take her,” Bugsy responded in a clipped tone, and Rossi sniggered, and they heard Tara and Derek do the same down their earpieces.

“It was a joke,” Cat said, to something they hadn’t quite caught, though by the looks of it they were still just making small talk, “A bad joke,”

“No, no, it was funny,” Spencer said reassuringly, and he chuckled, though Bugsy knew off the bat it was fake because she loved making him laugh and it sounded nothing like that. They fell into an awkward silence and she could hear Spencer scrambling for things to talk about because if she walked away their lead to the other assassin went right with her.

“Can we start over? Hi, I’m Cat,” The woman said, fixing her skirt with a shy smile. She certainly didn’t seem like a killer, Bugsy thought, where she glanced at her in her peripheral. She certainly was pretty, spritely even. A little too eager to kiss a guy she just met.

“Hi, I’m Spencer,” He replied, in that nervous tone he usually got when she flustered him.

“Is it true you have three PHDs?” Cat asked with, well, cat-like eyes flicking between sly and seductive, and Bugsy could see how any man who wasn’t as smart as her boyfriend would fall for the act.

“Yes, that’s true. I do have three PHDs,”

“What’s your favourite book you read last year?” She pressed and Bugsy sipped her juice to stop herself from answering for him.

“I’ve honestly never read a book I haven’t loved,” He said, deflecting the subject, while his girlfriend smirked into her almost empty plate.

Demons by Fydor Dostoevsky, she corrected to herself because she knew he’d gone back to it more than a handful of times.

“Tell me about your wife,” Cat went in for the kill, her timid smile morphing into something wicked as she watched Spencer squirm.

And the second she’d said it something had reared its ugly head inside him. Because try as hard as he might, all he could think about was Bugsy’s face and that damn ring.

“If you don’t mind, I’d er…” He cleared his throat, wondering why it was so difficult to get through a single conversation when they’d ran through the plan a million times. He knew she would ask, and yet all he could do was get defensive thinking about Cat damn Adams setting her hands on the woman he wanted desperately to marry, “I’d rather not talk about her,”

“Might as well get it out in the open right? I mean, it’s why we’re here,” She said smugly, like that innocent bounce in her step had wiped right away, revealing the murderess underneath, “How long have you been married?”

“Four years,” He lied, though he thought back to JJ’s wedding that same amount of time ago and how beautiful she looked in her dress and her cast and how he’d wished it was theirs.

“When is she due to give birth?” Cat’s eyes narrowed at the man, pushing her hair behind her ear in a playful manner.

Bugsy stopped, licking her lips and hoping Rossi wasn’t watching her as she finished off the last of her sparkling juice, raising a hand to a passing waiter to order a second round.

“You having another one, Grandpa?” She said innocently, despite the stink eye he gave her and nodding to the non-alcoholic beer he’d ordered.

“Watch yourself,” He said as the waiter retreated, and she snickered into her meal, “Grandpa will knock you on your ass,”

“You would never, Hotch would hate that kind of paperwork,” She said setting her cutlery on the side of her plate to signal she was done, “HR would have a field day,”

“I wanna hear you say it,” The line crackled in their ear as Bugsy’s drink arrived at the table, and she couldn’t help but think the woman’s seductive voice could easily pass for a call girl. She chanced a quick look over at their table, her heart rate spiking when she saw the woman all but eye fucking Spencer with a bit of her lip, like the thrill of the chase was half the fun for her, and Bugsy felt the disgust settle in her stomach.

“To have her killed,” Spence replied, and she looked away then, the bitterness settling on her bottom lip in a sneer. She didn’t think for one second that Spencer would think the woman was alluring, it didn’t make him flirting any easier to watch.

The UnSub smiled wryly, looking down at his arm, “Let me see your ring,”

Spencer froze, holding his hand out hesitantly, the feeling of the gold band entirely alien on his finger even though he was trying to get used to it for the sake of the case. Cat’s hand shot out like a snake striking, holding his ring in between her perfectly manicured fingers, her eyes roving over the jewel.

“You know what that is?” She said with contempt, shaking her head, “A noose, only it doesn't kill you all at once it kills you slowly, day by day,”

And he couldn’t have disagreed more, in fact the only thing that was killing him was the fact he had been dumb enough to wait so long to propose to the woman he loved more than life itself.

Spencer Reid, dumb and in love.

“You ever feel that way?” She said, ripping him out of his thoughts, and he nodded wordlessly, sighing for effect.

“I feel that way all the time” Except his every day was spent wondering just how he ever got so lucky, how he managed to fall in love with the same woman who gave him apple cake when he couldn’t remember the last real meal he’d had because he was three months deep in an opioid addiction and having her look at him like he hung the damn cosmos.

“Take it off,” She ordered, and Spencer tried flashing her a surprised if not charmed smile, though his hackles were slightly raised, “As a sign of your commitment. To me,”

He bit his cheek, knowing better than to argue back if he was playing the part of the down beaten husband, and began twisting the gold ring off his wedding finger, handing it over to her expectant palm.

“If she sticks to the pattern, she’ll take him to a secondary location and then kill him.” JJ observed, sipping on her mocktail in her own fancy, ruffled dress, shooting Tara and Derek a look where they played the part of a sweet couple on a date.

“I’d like to see the bitch try,” Bugsy said through a wide fake smile, her face showing no symptoms of anger except the flash of teeth.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, we’re not letting it get that far,” Rossi added, and the two of them clinked their drinks together in a ringing chink, “Hotch, do you two have a visual?”

Penelope confirmed with a few taps of her keyboard, and Hotch nodded as Spencer confirmed with a small flick of his eyes he could hear the feed, ”Alright, all agents stand by. Dr Reid will give the green light, don’t move until we have it,”

“Twenty four carats?” Cat asked, twisting the ring in between her fingers with a smug grin like she already knew the answer.

“Yeah,” Spencer replied, looking down at the band and back up the soulless dark hues of the black widow woman.

“Twenty four k times… four years. Means this ring should be dinged and nicked, but,” She huffed, reaching into her purse under the table, and Bugsy damn near spat out her juice when she heard a gun load through the mic, “This sucker is brand new. You’re not married.”

“What was that, was that what I think it was?” Penelope’s stressed tone rushed through the ear piece, and the sound of it plus the smell of the chicken she’d just eaten made Bugsy’s stomach turn again.

Except this time she felt it coming up into her throat, the same way she’d found herself feeling queasy for a few days. Spencer had thought she had a stomach bug, had tried to get her to stay home with some mint tea, but this was more than the last few times. It was like her anxiety clenched her gut in a tight grip and twisted painfully, and she lurched forward, slapping a hand over her mouth.

“Kid?” Rossi said, his brows frowning at the expression on her face, and she immediately began untucking her napkin from her chest.

She needed to make it to the bathroom now, hoped on everything that the sudden movement didn’t distract where Cat held a gun to Spencer’s midriff beneath the table.

“What is she doing?” Morgan hissed into the mic, while Hotch and Penelope began barking protests.

“Oh, good lord, Bug, stay down, you don’t know what that psycho is going to do!” Penelope squealed, watching Bugsy rush out of the booth seat, a hand firmly over her lips, and Aaron brought a hand to his head, a splitting headache forming at the sight of the youngest agent rushing for the bathroom.

“Prentiss, what are you doing, you could blow your cover,” He snapped, though there was no anger there, and she could only switch her mic off for what was about to happen, knowing the team had much bigger things to worry about.

Bursting the doors open, she dived for the nearest stall and fell to her knees, head in the bowl before she could hock up her guts over the floor, and then came a horrid retching sound.

Spencer’s eyes widened at the table, hearing his team yelling out orders at the one person he couldn’t keep track of, and it took everything in him not to turn in his seat to investigate for himself what happened for her to flee the safety of the table, or go after her even. Because even if he wanted to, even if he needed nothing more than to make sure she was okay, he couldn’t move an inch. Not with the gun being pointed at all of his important organs by the experienced killer with a smile.

“Do you know why I’m so good at my job?” Cat asked in a sweet tone, her eyes cold and calculating as she cocked the gun beneath the seat.

“Because you kill without compunction or remorse,” Spencer bit, the flirty look in his expression long gone the second he’d heard the rest of his team calling for his girlfriend. He needed to keep his head, Bugsy was safe so long as she was far away from the woman pointing the gun at him. Having the weapon aiming for him he could deal with.

“That only gets a girl so far in life,” Cat agreed with a nod, her jaw setting in a hard clench, “No, it’s because I think through every possible outcome and then I plan accordingly,”

And Bugsy’s stomach seized hearing her voice so cold and viscous, and she would give anything to hear her partner flirting with that bitch of a woman if it meant she knew he was safe. She emptied her stomach again right as she heard their UnSub speak once more.

“You see, I didn’t walk into your trap. You walked into mine,”

And with that Bugsy gave another hurl.

–

“Spencer, why did you take time off from the FBI?” Cat insisted, her voice nails on a chalkboard, and he felt the apathy on his face flick into slight annoyance.

Bugsy. Because Bugsy had been ill, because she hadn’t been sleeping, because she hadn’t been herself for a few months, because his mom had gotten worse, because they needed him.

Spencer would take the bullet before he ever told her about Bugsy, because he knew for a woman who loved male attention, telling her about the girl he loved most in the world would only draw a big target on her back, and he would never dare to put her at risk. Never again.

Not a single hair on her head, he’d promised. Not even a scratch.

“You can ask me as many times as you want but I’m still not going to tell you,” He snipped, making sure to keep his face expressionless if he really wanted to sell the deal that she was a nobody to him.

Her mouth tightened in frustration, “Then you’re cheating, and I don’t like cheaters,”

“You don’t get everything you want just because you’re pointing a gun at me under the table.” He stated blankly, his team waiting on bated breath to see if they needed to send in their back up since JJ’s cover had already been blown. “You’re not the first killer to point a gun at me, you’re not even the first woman to point a gun at me. Sorry.”

Cat’s smile shifted into something akin to a snarl, and she leaned forward on her elbows, and Spencer matched her challenge with cool ease. “You’re really gonna take this all the way, aren’t you?”

And Spencer smiled wryly, because her composure was collapsing beneath her, “Yeah,”

“So am I,”

“Dave, go,” Hotch ordered, and Rossi drew his gun beneath a napkin, shuffling to his feet, “Prentiss, where the hell are you?”

And she knew she was wasting time, but her stomach had picked the worst time to flip. Perhaps it was the anxiety, or the pressure of a gun being pointed at her love, or maybe it was bad chicken. Either way her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, her legs weak where she’d crouched on the floor, and she chided herself for not being able to pull it together when Spencer needed her.

And as if her nerves weren’t rattled enough, she heard Spencer’s mic mute out, and she knew then that the time for sticking her head in the bowl and screaming at herself to get up was over. Spencer was in trouble. Two of their agents' cover was blown. With Tara and Derek sitting the opposite end of the restaurant, he was alone if Cat Adams decided to pull that trigger.

Spitting the rancid taste from her mouth into the toilet, she reached up for the flush, wiping her mouth with a handful of toilet paper.

“Hotch,” She tuned in, and she heard the sighs of relief as he and Penelope seemed to both ease slightly at hearing her voice, “I’m back, how’s Rossi?”

“His cover’s blown, he’s heading out to find JJ,” Hotch responded, his heart rate in his throat the second he’d heard her sound through. He knew it would be unfair if he pulled her from field work for another three months, but the second she’d disappeared from their screens, he’d already began thinking of the excuse he could give if it meant he knew she was kept out of harm’s way, “Where are you, are you hurt?”

“No, no, just,” She cleared her throat, leaving the stall and heading for the sinks, “Bad chicken I guess,”

Taking a handful of cold water up to her mouth, she swilled the liquid around to try freshen herself up, sputtering it back into the sink and running the back of her hand over her lips.

“Do you need to get out of there?” Hotch asked, the concern thick in his tone, almost as clear as it was on his brow as he leaned in to Penelope’s monitor, “Lewis and Morgan have got eyes-”

“No, I’m not leaving him out there,” She protested, leaning over the sink with an exhausted huff, “I can’t head back to the table, she’ll know I was with Rossi,”

And as if she had spoken a plea to the universe, one of the waitresses waltzed through the bathroom door carrying glass cleaner and a bunch of fresh toilet paper under her arm, smiling sweetly at Bugsy who seemed like any other patron of their restaurant.

Her eyes snapped over the girl’s body, figuring she was about the same size, perhaps a tiny bit bigger than herself, she almost audibly heard the click of the idea and before she knew it she had reached out to grab the girl’s attention.

She just hoped it worked, because otherwise the scolding she was going to receive from Hotch wouldn’t be worth it in the slightest.

“Here’s what I’m gonna do, I’m gonna penalise you by adding ten minutes because I actually did learn something important.” Cat said with a smirk, her finger flicking over the clock on his phone as she prolonged the countdown, and Spencer squirmed where she shuffled closer to him, close enough that their knees were touching and he could feel where the toe of her heels were teasingly stroking up his calf, like threatening him and his team for information was getting her off. He felt filthy, like he’d need a dozen showers before he fell into his girlfriend’s arms, and part of him considered skipping the whole dinner and speech, asking her the second he saw her again if she would be his wife.

Because this, having another woman so close, was making him sick.

“Oh really? What’s that?” He snapped, his patience wearing thin as his lips pressed in a straight line.

“Your back up, I flushed them out,” She replied with a smirk, looking around the room with an arrogance Spencer wished he could wipe right off of her face, “It’s just me and you now,”

“Hi, how are we all doing this wonderful evening?” A chirpy voice came from the end of the table, slamming two menus down between them hard enough that their attention snapped to her immediately. Spencer felt his eyes morph into horror, though he fought hard to hide it, as he saw a familiar face, the same one that had been running through his mind since, well, forever. Her red dress was gone, replaced with a maroon shirt and a black pencil skirt, her hair tied back in a neat bun and she had a pen pushed behind her ear for good measure as she smiled at them tightly.

Bugsy had really done it this time.

“My name is Emily and I’ll be your waitress. Can I get you started with some drinks?”

–

“Prentiss, what in god’s name have you done?” Hotch barked, as she waltzed behind the bar, ignoring the looks from the barman that clearly had never seen her working there before.

“I’m making sure Spencer has back up if she decides to get trigger happy,” She bit back, snagging a pitcher of water from the fridge and two crystalline glasses, placing them on an upturned tray.

“And what happens if she gets trigger happy towards the waitress that won’t leave them alone?” Morgan snipped, shooting her a look where their table faced the long, walnut coloured bar that wrapped around the back of the establishment.

“Well then, I guess we pray there’s a doctor in the house that isn't Spencer,” She huffed, plastering a fake smile on her lips, and carefully shuffling the tray onto her palm, “You’re going to have to take me out yourselves if you think I’m leaving him there alone,”

And they huffed, Hotch running a hand through his hair. Because they knew she wasn’t kidding. God help the man who tried to stop Bugsy when she had her mind to something.

And with that resounding silence, she listened to Spencer’s mic, hoping to catch a foot in to the conversation.

“You should have seen right through me the moment you walked in, but you didn’t,” He said, and she didn’t need to take a glance at Cat’s face to know she was getting more than riled up. Why was she here? What happened to staying with Rossi where it was safe? It was her first day back in the field, what was she doing? He didn’t think he’d ever been so angry, though he knew if he scratched the surface of the feeling he’d find it was fear. And unfortunately for the woman sat opposite him, he’d stopped pulling his punches because of it. “You couldn’t. Because you can’t get to the man you really want to hurt, so you need to hurt every man who reminds you of him,”

Cat’s face flashed with what he could have sworn was hurt, before her eyes steeled back over and she shrugged nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t hit straight home, “That’s kind of boiler plate psychology, isn’t it? I’m just another girl with daddy issues,”

“You’d be surprised how many killers do what they do because of their parents,” He snapped back, because he couldn’t dare take his eyes from their UnSub, no matter how desperately his gut told him to check on Bugsy. “If it’s so boilerplate, let's test that theory. How hard did you look for him?”

Her mouth screwed up in bitterness, “Very hard,”

“And how disappointed were you when you realised you will never find him?” Spencer drove the knife in deeper, watching Cat’s resolve fade under his hateful stare, “You needed some other outlet for your rage and for a while this worked, but it also tripped you up,”

And Bugsy stopped, because Spencer always had a way of saying the exact right thing that made her brain tick into genius, like everything about him made her the best version of herself even if he didn’t mean to. That was what tripped her up. Her father.

“Hotch, it’s her dad,” She murmured, flashing a couple of customers an easy smile as she took the plates off their table, because Cat would catch on way too fast if she seemed to be the only person not be doing a job, “That’s what she wants, that’s her endgame,”

And there was only a single second between them, before Hotch caught up to that wonderfully big brain of hers, “Serial killers with an endgame will do anything to get to them, even if it means taking themselves down with it,”

“Why would I make you sit here for thirty minutes?” Cat’s voice crawled down her ear piece as she burst through the kitchen doors, dumping the plates at the pot wash and looking to where JJ and Rossi were talking with the manager.

“Because you’re stalling,” Spencer said, though he didn’t have that usual tone that told her he was sure of himself, and she knew from the direction it was going that something was missing. They’d missed something, otherwise they’d have Cat in cuffs by now.

“Then you don’t know me at all,” She hissed back, and Bugsy shook her nerves out through her fingers, peeking at where they were sat through the thin glass pane on the door, “Do you think I would show up here without an escape plan. Or is that just what another girl with daddy issues would do? Maybe if you hadn’t fallen victim to your own gender bias, and yes all men have gender bias, even you Dr Reid, you would have recognized that your entire strategy was based on one faulty detail. Can you see it?”

Spencer paused, his frown shifting on his face, “You’re not here alone,”

“And my partner? Less paranoid than you think,” She said, and by the sounds of it the smirk was back on her face, and Bugsy fought the sneer twitching at her lips.

“You planted a bomb in the building,” Came Spencer's response, the grave realisation setting all three agents into motion. JJ’s head whirled to where their youngest stood by the door, her eyes widening at her partner’s words.

And for a second she wanted to beg Bugsy to take cover outside, to get out while she still could, because it had been a miracle the last time a building had exploded around her and she’d only broken a few bones. JJ didn’t think she could stand to grieve her for good, not the girl who had already gone through so much for them. All because they had missed it.

But she knew better, knew Bugsy would fight tooth and nail to stay if Spencer was still in the building. Knew that that argument would only be futile, a waste of time, because the Prentiss girl was not leaving.

“We’ll go check it out, you stay put,” JJ ordered, drawing her gun to her side as Rossi did the same and Bugsy nodded, “Don’t do anything stupid, don’t draw attention to yourself, Spencer knows what he’s doing,”

And Bugsy paused before she answered, choosing to give them a slow nod because she already had a good idea of what her next move would be, and it absolutely did not involve staying put.

Like hell she would stay put while he was there.

With that, JJ and Rossi turned on their heel to head for the stairs leading underneath the building, and Bugsy picked the tray back up, right as Lewis burst through the revolving doors, a serious look on her primped face.

“We need to evacuate,” Tara said, and Bugsy nodded, flicking a look behind her to where the rest of the kitchen seemed to be waiting on their order, because the second JJ had flashed the FBI badge, they had frozen.

“You get the customers out safely, I’m going to buy us some time,” Bugsy said, and Tara watched her slip through into the restaurant, the tray pressed against her stomach.

This was stupid. Stupider than she’d ever been, but her thoughts struggled to make sense whenever Spencer was in trouble. And it was like she saw the splash of his brains against the table, the same way she’d seen it in Lewis’s house all on the ceiling, like she could see now just what his organs would look like when Adams shot him however many time in the abdomen.

She couldn’t think like that. They would be okay, they would figure it out together, they always did. They always managed to put their heads together when they were in trouble.

Being in danger together seemed like a much better bet than having to watch the love of her life killed in the middle of this damn restaurant because she hadn’t done anything. She wanted to do everything with him for the rest of her sorry life, and if that meant sitting at the nozzle end of a pistol with him, then so be it.

She just hoped he would forgive her quickly.

“All we want to do is-” She heard Spencer begin, the other waiters filtering out of the kitchen with shaken looks on their faces, as they carefully slipped their patrons the bill that had already paid off, asking them to leave calmly and quietly.

“Minimise collateral damage, I get it, I’m not mad,” Cat snapped back, rolling her eyes, “It’ll give me the cover I need to slip out. I just need to know it’s clear, so do me a favour and tell your boss that nobody leaves until its safe for me to do so,”

Spencer chewed his tongue. He couldn’t let her leave, not when they had her so close, not when they were pursuing Penelope, not when they were so close to catching the woman responsible for so many kills.

Spencer hated losing, he hated knowing that she was about to get away because he had been too wrapped up in his overwhelming thoughts to figure out her plan, too busy fretting over the two women who meant the most to him to think ten steps ahead like he usually did.

He’d been sloppy, even though he knew he should cut himself some slack. His fiancee, girlfriend, had been tortured, his mother facing a different kind of terror in her mind altogether. He hadn’t been thinking about work, he’d been thinking of the house they were going to buy with the picket fence and the porch swing and the mortgage, and the damn ring-

“Well?” Cat’s goading voice ripped him out of his reverie, and he huffed in defeat, “Spencer?”

“You can leave,” He murmured, the agitation scratching at his skin because he was struggling to think of a final card to play. He was usually so good at games, usually won every single one of them. But his head couldn’t settle when Bugsy wasn’t near, when he couldn’t make sure she was safe.

Cat shuffled out of the side of the booth, her eyes flicking across the restaurant for her contact, and Spencer had barely opened his mouth in protest before he watched the UnSub walk straight into a waitress, a false smile slipping on her face as to not raise alarm.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was-” And yet his breath hitched when he spotted the hair he’d ran his fingers through just that morning yanked into a bun, the lips he could kiss for an entire lifetime curled in disdain, the body he worshipped refusing to move out of the way for the woman in a hurry.

And it seemed Cat only realised that the woman who had brought them water wasn’t a waitress at all, despite her plain face that had faded into the background, despite the fact Spencer hadn’t given her a second glance; Only when she heard a gun cocking behind the serving tray at her stomach did the fake smile drop from Cat Adams face.

Because she hadn’t flushed out Spencer’s back up. Not while Bugsy was still alive and breathing.

“Sit back down,” Bugsy growled, keeping her tone low but with enough bite that Cat’s eyes narrowed to hide the surprise.

“Well, well, seems I hadn’t planned for everything, I thought a pretty face like you would know better than to pull a gun on a woman with her finger on the big red button,” Cat said wryly, though Bugsy caught her eyeing up her chest as if to be checking for a bullet vest, “Move out the way, sweetheart. You don’t want this to get ugly,”

Spencer’s jaw flexed as he ground his teeth, though he kept his breathing even. What was she doing?

He didn’t care that he had no more power over her than anyone else on the team, he wanted to drag her out of the room himself if it meant she would stop throwing herself in the way of danger.

“Unfortunately, sweetheart, that’s not happening.” Bugsy snapped back, her expression melting into something rogue, something teasing as she leaned towards Cat with a challenge in her eyes. “You’re going to sit back down, and I’m going to show you exactly why you should have accounted for a pretty face like me,”

“You’re stalling,” Cat snickered, trying to push past the waitress, who wasn’t a waitress at all but an FBI agent, only for her hand to shoot out and grab her wrist, tossing the tray on the table.

Spencer felt his heart lurch into his throat as he saw both of them pull their guns to waist height, a blink and you’d miss it kind of movement, and it was like he’d seen the game set and matched then and there.

Bugsy wasn’t backing down. And neither was Cat.

“I make it a habit of knowing what kind of women are going on dates with my boyfriend,” Bugsy’s hand tightened around her wrist, watching the surprise flicker in the woman’s eyes, and she scoffed, “What? You really thought all that flirting and nervous glances were real?”

And the woman said nothing, her ego clearly a little hurt, though Bugsy was just sticking to the profile, and the profile said she revelled in male attention.

“Cat got your tongue?” Bugsy snipped through a grin, even if her chest was pounding at the feeling of the gun pointing at her abdomen, “Well, lucky for you I have a present for you. On the condition you sit back down and play my game,”

“You think I’m going to fall for that shit?” Cat seethed. It was one thing to outsmart a man, that was fair game, that was easy pickings for a woman like her. But a woman, a woman who seemed to love playing with her food as much as she did. That was different, “What is it, a reduced sentence? The good TV in my two by four cell? You can keep dreaming, I don’t want your worthless promises,”

“I’d hardly call your daddy dearest worthless,” Bugsy mused, and she watched Cat’s expression falter, “A dead beat drunk maybe, but worthless? A little harsh considering you waited so long to meet him,”

Cat paused, eyes flicking over the woman’s face for any signs of a lie, “You have my father?”

And Bugsy smirked, “Do I look like I’m bluffing?” But her face was set in stone, and Cat hated to admit she seemed too confident to be lying, “Why don’t you make this a little easier for everyone and sit back down. I’m not done with you yet,”

The murderess scowled, her shoulders straightening as she ripped her wrist out of Bugsy’s grip and retreated back to the booth.

And it was only then that Bugsy looked at Spencer, his eyes wide in a horrid mix of terror and rage, and it was a sight she swore she never wanted directed at her again. But she couldn’t leave him, he had to understand that. Because if all the bets were off, if all the cards were dealt, she knew he would need to be dragged screaming from the building before he left her to deal with a hostile UnSub alone.

And Spencer knew that too, of course he knew that. Yet it didn’t diminish the sickening worry bubbling up in his chest as the women sat down at the table, and their game had a playing field.

“So, I take it this is the darling wife you wanted killed,” Cat sneered, and Spencer didn’t dare take his eyes off the woman with the gun, even if Bugsy did have one pointed right back at her, “I don’t blame you, I’d want to be rid of her too,”

And they both knew it was a dig, a stab in the interest of getting them both riled up. But it wouldn’t go far. Because despite the anger Spencer felt dwindling in his chest, he always worked better with her. Like a puzzle piece in the tangle of his mind had clicked into place, and suddenly they were a team again, and she seemed more like herself than she had in months, an ease about the way she leaned back in the plush seat despite the fact her finger was resting on the trigger.

“Have you ever played Cat’s cradle?” Bugsy asked her, knocking her knee against his as if she’d heard his thoughts. They were together in this. Together. Even if the building went up in flames and bullets and the plan went to shit. Just the two of them, the way they’d always been.

And he felt himself ease back too, something akin to security shifting over him. They always were safer together.

Cat’s eyebrows raised as Bugsy dodged her comment, “What, do you want to braid my hair like sixth graders, too? What about it?”

Bugsy shrugged, reaching over with her free hand to the glass of water she’d set down for the two of them, “The way I see it, Cat, you have got those little paws caught in yarn and are scrambling to get out of it,” She chuckled, taking a quick sip, “Now, if we were to let you go, you’d end up walking out of here scot free, and who knows, might even blow up the whole building anyway. But, if we help you out of this little tangle you’ve got us all in, then maybe we cut a deal that doesn’t involve all of us going out in a ball of flames and champagne. Sounds good right?”

The woman’s lips pursed tightly, her head tilting in annoyance, “Alright. Get on with it, no one likes a show off. How did you find my father?”

Bugsy smirked, “Well that was pretty easy once you have access to the files we have. We traced your birth record to a Daniel Adams, who did in fact leave the country in 1987 but returned in 2012. Based on confidential records in rehabs and sober living houses, which in turn pointed us to flophouses and soup kitchens.”

The brunette’s eye twitched, like the girl had just spat in her face, which was what it felt like, and she felt the taste of her own medicine was just as sour as she’d always presumed.

“He couldn’t put twenty four hours together sober, sweetheart,” Bugsy summarised, shrugging her shoulders as if it was no big deal to her, just another bum on the street, “You can probably imagine our surprise to find that he lives here in DC,”

“Where?” Cat hissed, and Bugsy snickered, shaking her head and taking another sip of her water.

“I’m an agent, not a miracle worker. It wasn’t that simple,” She replied, boredly tracing her finger over the restaurants emblem they had printed on the napkin, “I found him on the street, showed him your picture and said I’d like to ask him some questions about his darling daughter,”

Cat’s lip pulled down in annoyance, her matt red lipstick smudging with her pout, “And?”

And perhaps Bugsy was being cruel. Perhaps she was playing into the profile that indicated Cat needed someone to match her wit and zeal if she was going to listen. Men, she could squash like bugs. Bugsy, ironically, not so much.

Perhaps she was thinking about how she’d reached into Spencer's pants to retrieve his gun, and wanted some of what she was saying to hurt.

“He didn’t even know he had a daughter,” Bugsy said simply, with a small shrug of her shoulders, and she watched the woman’s onyx brown eyes glisten with unshed tears as the realisation crashed on her, "Didn't really seem to care,"

“He-he didn’t remember me?” Cat asked, the tease that had been there half an hour ago wiped clear from her tone, and Bugsy shook her head.

“Nope,” She said, popping the last syllable, “Alcoholism really rocks your brain. Sorry, honey,”

Adams scoffed, shaking her head with venom, “You’re not sorry. Sorry is what people say when they don’t understand,”

And Bugsy’s brows raised, a bitter empathy flicking in her gaze. Quick, but not so quick that Cat didn’t catch it, and she shuffled in her seat.

“Oh,” Their UnSub paused, the trodden down look on her face rekindling with interest, “But you understand, don’t you? What, does your father like a good beer or ten, princess?”

Bugsy snickered emptily, “Ofcourse I understand,” She said, leaning over the table to hold the woman’s glare, because like hell would she back down just because Cat was treading on home ground, “I haven’t spoken to my father in five years. He picked the hot wife and holidays to Aruba over his little girl and he thought a new pony or two would make up for all the times he forgot Christmas. I can’t even remember the last time he sent me a birthday card on time, and yeah he was a bit of a mean bastard once he'd had a whiskey,” She shook her head with contempt, and she felt Spencer knock his knee against hers gently, but she only watched the viper woman with careful eyes. And to her shock, Cat seemed like she understood her, like she had some kind of respect for her telling the truth. “Don’t look so surprised. I’m very good at making sure old guys like that get what’s coming to them. Or is that just what another girl with daddy issues would do?”

Cat’s face seemed to shrivel in frustration when she heard her words repeated back to her, “Is that really why you came here today? To help me?” And Bugsy tilted her head, knowing their UnSub was running out of time, that her window of opportunity was closing with the patrons of the restaurant getting antsy to leave. “Do you know how many men have told me they want to help me?”

Letting her expression smooth into empathy, she leaned forward, her tone dropping into a hushed murmur, “That may well be true, sweetheart, but from where I’m sitting, I’m not a man,”

And Cat paused, something like regret drifting over her face, before she spoke again, “Do you want to know how that worked out for them?”

And with that, JJ and Rossi watched the C4 charge’s switch to green, indicating their line was live and ready to blow.

“Hotch, she just armed the bomb,”

Bugsy’s expression dropped an inch, the sight of it making Cat’s lips curl into a cheshire smile.

“You’re not the only one with a loyal partner, honey,”

But the Prentiss woman was quick on her heels, watching Morgan and Tara rise from their place at another booth, heading towards a woman sitting at the bar on her phone, and she forced her lips together to stop herself from looking too smug to cause suspicion.

“It seems so,” Bugsy agreed with a nod, handing her gun off to Spencer beneath the table.

If he was confused, he didn’t show it, probably because he trusted that big brain of hers with everything in him, even if he was mad enough he could feel the annoyance oozing from his hot cheekbones. Yet to the rest of the restaurant, Cat Adams, included she hadn’t moved an inch.

“But, there is one thing I can guarantee about this partner of yours,” She said, leaning over to pour herself another glass of water casually.

Cat hummed in content, “Oh, right? What’s that?”

And Bugsy smirked, barely raising the glass to her lips as Morgan pounced on the Bomber, ripping the phone out of her hands and causing the patrons around her to yelp, “She’s sure as shit not as clever as me and my husband,”

Cat’s head whirlled around to see her partner’s face slamming into the hard wood of the bar, Tara yanking the cuffs from her belt, and she barely had time to flick back to the two agents facing her before a pitcher of ice cold water was thrown in her eyes, her thick mascara running down her cheeks and blurring her vision. Spencer dove over the table and grabbed her gun from her grasp as Bugsy ripped her out of the booth with rough hands.

She threw her to the ground in the few seconds she was disorientated, her hands tightening around her wrists as make shift cuffs, and she saw Spencer hurrying to grab the real things from his pockets.

“That was a cheap shot, you’re a cheater, you said you’d play fair,” Cat barked, her cheeks pressing against the rough carpet as the agents cuffed her, ignoring her protests and shoves.

“Honey, this is me playing fair,” Bugsy snapped with a cruel smirk, “You threatened my friends, you stuck your hand in my boyfriend’s pants, and pointed a gun at him. Believe me I could have done so much worse,”

And with that Cat Adams was hauled off the ground by the two of them, as they led her out to the police van waiting outside the restaurant.

–

The doors pulled open, empty, and Cat’s face dropped, because her only silver lining on the entire outcome had been that she’d be able to meet the dead beat dad that ran out on her.

That agent’s face had been so genuine as she’d said it. It had seemed so real, and yet…

“You lied to me,” She said as Bugsy set her down on the bench, Spencer pulling another set of handcuffs from his belt and the two of them looked up at her, her lashes lining with disappointment.

“If it helps, we really did try to look for him.” Spencer said, his tone blunt because she had a crazed look in her eye he didn’t like one bit the second she stared at his girlfriend.

And even though she was the one in chains, heading for prison for a twenty year sentence at the minimum, she laughed. Cackled.

“It doesn't matter anyway, I still won,” She said, that venomous gaze turning to Spencer because she had learned atleast two thing in the time she’d been sat with the two agents that ruined her life.

One. Spencer’s mother had Alzheimers, that he hadn’t been lying about. That she was sure was too real to be a story he’d pulled out his ass.

Two. The girl wasn’t phased by insults or bites or cruel words directed towards her. Yet when it was at Spencer…

“How do you figure that one?” Bugsy said, her brow furrowing as she shook her head at the woman.

“In ten years, Mommy dearest won’t remember anyone’s name,” Bugsy’s head shot up at that, her lips curling into a snarl, and she forced her fingertips into her palm to stop herself from throwing a slap at the woman’s face, “But I’ll remember yours,”

Bugsy daren’t react, no matter if her chest boiled in anger at the woman’s callous words. Spencer had to give that information up, give a small bit of his soft underbelly to get the woman to trust him enough not to shoot.

And she couldn’t exactly blame him when he rose to his feet, darting out of the van with a clenched jaw, because the day had been an entire shit show, and she knew by the growl of annoyance he let out that their was a big conversation looming over her head, one she could only see ending in a fight.

It was just the two of them in the van, Cat entirely bound to her seat, and her painted lips had pulled into a grin the second he’d stormed off, her sleek eyes snapping to Bugsy who looked ready to slit her throat.

“Oh, come on Princess, it was tit for tat,” Cat shrugged as if she didn’t seem destroyed, “You took my dad from me, I guess I had to do the same for that hubby of yours,”

Bugsy looked down at her, swallowing her rage with a purse of her lips, feeling her breath rattle with unfiltered animosity.

“You’d make a shit profiler, for what it’s worth. What you profiled about him was all off,” She snarled, stepping away from the woman and looking down at her as if she was shit on the bottom of her shoe, “At least he’s going to make a better father than the bum who would rather sleep on concrete than know you,”

And with that she slammed the doors closed behind her, darting off on Spencer’s heel.

+1. The one where she tells him.

She saw his stress lines, the way the day’s events had weighed heavy on him. He sat on the sofa, his shoes thrown by the door after a tense drive home, and she'd found a space on the coffee table in front of him.

He was quiet, he had never been quiet with her, not in the years since they’d kissed that first time in her room. He wasn’t one for the silent treatment, she knew that much. Yet he was just that. Silent.

“Are you mad at me?” She asked, her voice that of a child as her brows scrunched together in worry. She felt the words bubbling in her throat, the thing she’d needed to tell him for a week gnawing at her tongue, crawling it’s way out, only she worried that after what she had done, he might just be ten times more annoyed at her throwing herself in the line of danger.

He stayed quiet for a moment, and she thought this might turn into their first real fight in the two and bit years they’d been together. Her skin went cold at the words that loomed over them, and she knew by the way he sighed alone he was pissed.

“You can’t do that,” He said, his voice a restrained bite, and he shook his head for good measure, “You can’t put yourself in the way of danger again, I can’t do that again, not after Scratch.”

Her throat closed up with tears, and she glanced at him, her fingers itching to take his warm hands in her own, her body begging to preen into him, have him kiss her and tell her he wasn’t mad, that he still loved her, that everything was okay. But he wouldn’t. Not because he didn’t feel any of that, of course he still loved her, but the wet that lined his lashes told her all she needed to know. That seeing what Scratch had done to her had scared him enough that even the idea of her coming close to a hostile UnSub with a loaded gun, that straying from the plan that was designed to keep everyone safe, had tipped him into a grey area that had him both wanting to hold her close and never let her go whilst yelling at her in that broken cadence to show her just how hurt he was.

“I’m sorry, I just-” She choked, her eyes becoming watery and pathetic and she hated crying during arguments, not wanting to look weak but that was exactly how she felt. Weak. Like she had no backbone to lean on because she knew she shouldn’t have intervened, but the snake-like woman undressing her boyfriend with her eyes while cocking a weapon at him had pushed her over the edge.

“Oh, you’re sorry, that makes it much better,” Spencer shook his head, furrowing his brows and it was only when he leaned forward that the salty hot tears dribbled down his cheek. “You- you can’t just do that, Bugsy, you know that right?”

She nodded, the words building in her trachea like word vomit, like she wanted to scream the confession at him that she should have given him the second she’d found out. “I know, I’m sorry,” She said again, her words entirely warbled with guilt because she’d never seen him so distraught, and she thought back to the horror that had spread on his face when she’d sat down.

“You can’t do that to me, sweetheart, do you understand?” His tone had shifted, something a little softer and he grabbed her hands tightly when her shoulders hunched together, and she leaned forward to try to hide her cries in her lap, sitting silently like a scolded child, “What were you thinking? You just got back into the field today, you could have been hurt, you could have gotten someone else hurt-”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” She sniffled, her expression truly guilty, because everything he was saying was exactly true, she could have gotten him shot. “I didn’t think, I wasn’t thinking, I just was worried that…” She trailed off, her heart rate spiking when the words almost slipped from her tongue. She couldn’t tell him, not like this.

“What?” Spencer pressed, because he didn’t like the look of whatever had just passed over her face, and she shook her head in denial, “Bug, tell me,”

“No, I can’t,” Her breath clogged in her chest, coming out in a shaky rattle, and it was then that he leaned forward even more, trying to dip his head down to catch her eye, "Not like this,"

“Please tell me,” He begged, his eyes still stinging where another wave of tears threatened to burst at the seam when she shook her head again, her chin pressing down into her chest because he hated this. He hated arguing with her. “I’m sorry I yelled, I didn’t mean to, honey, I just got- worried.”

“I know,” She said quietly through another sniffle, rubbing her cheek on her shoulder to dry it, “I know, I’m sorry I didn’t think it through I just,” She took a deep breath, because she knew she needed to tell him, knew there was no more running from it.

He lifted a palm to her cheek, his thumb skirting under her eyelashes, and he forced himself together because he could never stand to see her cry, not when it was partially his fault, “What?”

“I just can’t do this without you,” She murmured, her heart in her throat, and it only made it difficult to swallow. She chanced a look at Spencer, his eyes wet and red and worried as she continued, “I can’t be the one to tell this kid their dad died because I didn’t do anything,”

“What..” He started, his brows immediately falling into a frown as he looked at her. She swore she could hear every single contraction of her heart muscles in her ears, the blood rushing through her veins making it sound like waves crashing on a shore right in her eardrum.

“It’s still fixable,” She jumped in, before he could say anything, like she needed to justify immediately what she’d said, or even just talk to fill the silence because she hated not knowing what he was thinking, “It’s only five weeks along, I still have time to… fix it-”

“Five weeks- you-you’re pregnant?” Spencer’s eyes were wide, with horror or shock she had no idea, nor did she want to find out judging by the way he had turned pale, reading between the lines, “W-What- fix it? Is that what you want to do?”

She stopped, because he seemed to be keeping a lid on his emotions, trying his hardest to sound calm and somehow that made it all the more worse. Because she would rather him get angry, or get frustrated and tell her this was too soon, or tell her there was no way he was ready to be a father, because at least then the pressure of it wasn’t on her back to decide for both of them.

But he would never, and she didn’t know why she’d ever second guessed him. He wasn’t yelling, or turning away, or leaving her the second things got tough, because it was Spencer. And Spencer would never. Spencer gave her the choice of what she wanted to do.

She stopped, her lungs suddenly feeling just that bit tighter, as she shrugged pitifully, and she thought this was perhaps not the most ideal way to tell someone you’re pregnant, “I-I don’t know, I think…” She stopped, because what did she think? She’d been so wrapped up in worrying about what Spencer would think, worrying about his mom and her nightmares and Cat God Damn Adams that she hadn’t even let herself entertain the thought of a little them.

But if she said she didn’t like the idea of a little boy with Spencer’s hair and glasses and smile, if she said she couldn’t see the photo album his mom had handed her full of pictures of their kids butt naked and watering the flower beds, she would be a liar.

“I think… it would take a lot of work, I mean it’s a baby for christ sakes, Bugsy, of course it’ll take work,” He nodded slowly as she chided herself, but she felt his hands tighten on hers, and the tiny gesture gave her the encouragement she needed. She took another breath, that boy with brown curls and her eyes in a jedi costume flashing through her head, “But.. I think having a mini you is everything I could have ever wished for,”

His lip quivered for a minute, and she worried she’d said the wrong thing. And then…

He smiled, wider than she’d ever seen him, like she could count every single one of his teeth, and she copied him despite the way a frog leapt into her throat, and she saw his eyes line with a fresh set of tears.

“Really, we’re really doing this?” Spencer asked, quietly, like someone could hear them, or perhaps he couldn’t believe himself even as he said it. He thought his chest was about to explode, thought his heart could never love someone so much as he loved her, thought it would never beat the same way again as it had before he’d been told he was going to have a baby with the woman he’d been in love with for nearly nine years. She nodded, her shy smile turning into something happy, maybe even excited as he pulled her in for an achingly sweet kiss, his hands cupping her cheeks as he kissed her lips over and over and over again, ignoring the salt that trapped in her skin, and he realised then he had started crying just as much as she had. Two wailing saps sitting in their living room, happier than they’d ever dreamed they were allowed to be. “I love you, I love you, I love you more than anything, I was so stupid, I’m so sorry I shouted-”

She chuckled, shaking her head, and drawing him back in for a long, silencing kiss, “I was stupid, very stupid.” Bugsy said, the weight lifting off her chest like a dumbbell had been moved, and she could breath again. Because Spencer kissed her like he wanted to merge their bodies into one, like he didn’t care for breath anymore as long as he had her lips on his, and she couldn’t help think if that was what he thought of her too, “No more being stupid from either of us. Kid’s got to have at least one smart parent,“

He smiled, enough joy in his eyes to make her think she was handing him the universe. And yet that was exactly how he felt. Like everything he dreamt of as a kid, when he was in his room wishing his dad had stayed because sometimes looking after his mom was tough on a twelve year old, or when he’d held Henry for the first time and thought maybe he wouldn’t be terrible at it by the time it was his turn.

He looked at Bugsy, the idea of their kid growing inside her, about the size of a petit pois pea at five weeks, and Spencer damn near felt like he’d won the lottery.

And all thoughts of Cat Adams were gone from both of their minds, the viper woman she wished she had gotten a good right hook to when she’d had the chance entirely unimportant now.

Because they were going to be a family, more so than they already were. And Bugsy felt as though she couldn’t love Spencer any more than she already did, but she could love his baby more than she’d ever thought possible.

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#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #matthew gray gubler x reader #i love bugsy & spence #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #matthew grey gubler x reader

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godmadeaterribleerror · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter 2 - Burial

Main Masterlist - Mini-Series Masterlist

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Sam Winchester/Reader (platonic), angst, very light fluff, mutual pining, time loop!

Summary/Warnings: You have a talk with Sam, and try to figure out what the hell is going on with this time loop. Usual Warnings.

Author's Note: Gotta love a montage episode. Enjoy!

Word Count: 5.6k

Read on A03!

Chapter 1 - Chapter 3

“And this is-“ Sam shakes his head, rubbing his forehead as he frowns into the air. “How many loops did you say you’d gone through-“

“Five.” You mutter, kicking a rock with the tip of your shoe. “This is number five.”

Sam gives you an apologetic sigh. “I mean, that’s not half bad. I did mine like, a hundred times.”

“Yeah, but-“

“And you said yours doesn’t have a reset point?”

You swallow, and kick another rock. This one bounces a little further. “You’re gonna have to explain that again.”

“Most time loops have a reset point-“

You give him a flat look. “Most time loops?”

Sam winces, running a hand through his hair. “In movies.”

“So we’re going off of movies-“

“I’ve only lived through one time loop,” Sam mutters your name with a grimace. “And it had a reset point. Every time loop movie has a reset point. Unless you know anyone else-“

“No.” You sigh. Third rock. All the way into the gutter of the road. “Sorry, it’s just- Long five days.”

He nods, and there’s a moment of silence, the only sounds in the world birds and the distant rush of cars as you and Sam sit on the curb of the highway.

You’ve been here almost an hour. Soon Dean is going to notice that you’re both missing, and that the last thing he’d seen of you was a blur and shout sprinting past him and leaving without explanation. He’ll send Cas to find you, if you’re not careful. Or worse, he’ll track you down himself.

“Reset point?” Sam prompts, and you sigh, frowning at the pavement.

“It’s- I don’t remember-“

“In a lot of time loops it’s only falling asleep.” He offers. “But sometimes it’s like- an event. Mine was Dean dying.”

You blink at him, and pray he can’t see the obvious panic eating up your throat. “I- did he always die-“

“Every fucking time.”

“Oh.”

“It’s- that was supposed to be the lesson. That I couldn’t save him.” The last word is a little choked, and you hug your knees to your chest as the silence stretches on.

You could have it worse.

This isn’t great, but you could really have it worse.

“Is Dean a part of your reset point?”

You shake your head, keeping your eyes set on the ground. Fourth rock, lost somewhere in the grass.

“But- do you have one-“

“Someone will- I’ll be told a secret,” you mumble. “Or a lie, or something. Then it will reset.”

Sam frowns at you. “Or something?”

“It’s only loop five, Sam, I haven’t been taking notes.”

“Fair. Will, uh- If I tell you secret, will it reset?”

You shrug. You’re going to have to come up with a better lie next time.

Or you could tell Sam the truth. That every reset point is a very specific person, telling you a very specific secret.

But you’re already exhausted. And Sam will want to talk about it.

The truth is something that can be saved for loop one hundred. Dire last resorts.

Right now, you don’t really know what it means yourself, and you’d rather not have the I may be in love with Dean, and that might be having consequences conversation right now. You don’t want to think about how Dean’s I love you’s are all probably part of this horrible, twisted prank from the universe, and if you say it back, you’ll be saying it to a ghost. You’ll mean it. He won’t.

You don’t hate yourself enough to break your cardinal rule of don’t think about it, don’t entertain it, and never tell Dean just because you’re suddenly caught in a time loop.

“Probably not.“ You mutter. “It’s- I don’t know. Hard to explain.”

Sam just nods, frowning at the air as he wrings his hands, his words slow and careful. “The best gamble I have for this is a trickster, but- I don’t understand why he’d target you.”

You tilt your head at him. “I mean- Hasn’t Gabriel been dead for years-“

“I don’t think death has ever really stuck to the people we know.” Sam mutters, his voice dry. “And there might be multiple tricksters. I found mine because he was the only thing that ever changed, but- It took a while. You might be here,” He gestures around to the air. “For a… while.”

“Awesome.” You mutter. Fifth rock. Gutter again. “So just wait for someone to change?”

Sam nods. “How many people did you see, on the first day?”

“You. Dean. Cas.” You frown, counting off on your fingers. “I went to the grocery store on the first loop, but that was pretty much it. And the third loop I went to get Dean from a bar-“

Sam makes an odd face. “Why was Dean at a- Did you guys fight?”

You blink at him. “No, we didn’t- It’s Dean, why wouldn’t he be at a bar?”

“When was the last time you saw him go to bar,” Sam says your name, his expression making you think there’s something obvious that you’re being stupid for missing. “I mean- I knew he wanted to talk to you-“

“Talk to me?” Your voice is a squeak, and you think your nails are going to leave a mark on your skin. “I- Why would he-“

“It’s, uh-“ Sam swallows, giving you an apologetic look before returning his gaze to the ground. “I can’t tell you. It’s a Dean conversation.”

You’re about to push it further, ask what the fuck a Dean conversation is, but Sam moves on, and your mouth snaps shut.

“We should head back soon, or Dean might tear up the state looking for us. You might just have to ride it out, but-“ Sam runs a hand through his hair, glancing down the road as if Dean might appear, storming towards you with a shout.

He won’t.

But Cas might.

“If you need me,” Sam gives you a weak, toothless smile. “Tell me, uh, it’s been a long Tuesday, and I’ll understand.”

You nod wearily, and a shout of your name breaks through the air.

Dean didn’t send Cas.

“What the hell are you two doing?” He’s storming down the road, shotgun in hand as he scans over you and Sam on the curb, obviously assessing you for injuries. “Just running out of the bunker, not telling me where you’re going, then vanishing for two goddamn hours-“

“We’re fine, Dean-“

“Shut it, Sam. Something could’ve happened to you, we don’t know what’s in these woods-“

You raise your brows at him. “A crazy man with a shotgun?”

Sam snorts, and Dean looks like he’s going to strangle you. It was a low blow. You’re going to need to work on patience a little bit more, if Sam is right.

At this pace, you’ll have stabbed someone, or gotten stabbed yourself, before loop seventy-five.

“You think you’re funny,” Dean snaps your name, his grip on the gun white-knuckled. “But we’ve hunted fucking vamps and wolves out here, kid-“

“Don’t call me kid-“

“Then don’t run off in the middle of the goddamn night like one-“

“It’s noon!” You gape at him. “I- Sam is with me-“

Dean rolls his eyes, his voice only a grunt. “Should’ve taken me to your secret little meeting-“

“Our- What is going on with you-“

“You were gone for hours!” He snaps, and Sam only sighs, as if he’s been waiting for whatever this is to snap. “I- I was fucking worried-“

“Why-“

“Because I love you! And I don’t want you to get fucking hurt,” Dean shouts your name, and you think you physically deflate.

Fuck.

“You- I can’t not worry when I-“

“Yeah, you love me.” You run a hand over your face, and there’s the light. If this is a trickster, you’re going to need have a serious conversation with them—involving a lot of guns and knives—about what constitutes a joke, and how this is more of a Sisyphean-like torture, vaulting you up to heaven, only for you to know you’ll always crash right back down. “I know. See you guys tomorrow.”

Everything fades to black, but you can still see Dean staring at you, looking as if you’d shot him right through the chest.

——————

You’ve been here before.

You’re going to be here a while. Staring at the ceiling, tangled in blankets but without sheets, listening to Dean sing down the hallway and counting down the seconds until-

“Son of a bitch!”

Take six.

Sam said to find the Trickster. That he’d be the only thing that changed.

But things have changed. Not the set you’ve been plunged into—a cruel, mocking twist of your life where everything seems designed to torture you, entrapping you in a vicious cycle of your favorite dream, made into a nightmare—but the script. They always come back to the same lines, but you’d found ways to pry new things out of them.

You’re not really sure what that means.

You’re going to have to figure it out.

You wander into the kitchen a little later than usual, and Dean has already cleaned up his breakfast mess. He’s scowling at the fridge, and before he can greet you, and you take the cereal out of the cabinet to place it on the counter.

“I’m going grocery shopping with Cas later,” you tell him, grabbing your apple and dropping onto a stool. “Ice your hand, Winchester.”

“I, uh-“ Dean glances down at his palm, then back to you with a frown. “How’d you-“

“I heard the pan fall. And you forgot the cleaner wipes.” You nod to the floor, where little bits of bacon are still scattered across the tile. “I know you’re better at cleaning than that, Dean.”

He shrugs, moving to sit at your side. “Didn’t know where they were-“

“Liar.” You block him with a hand, narrowing your eyes. “Ice.”

“It’s alright, sweetheart, I’m fine-“

“That’s a second-degree burn, dumbass. Ice.”

He scans over you with a slight frown, but gives in all the same.

Dean ices his burn. Sam returns from his run, and Dean looks like a keyed car but that’s a simile, not a metaphor, and they fight about running as a concept. Ten miles, and Sam needs a shower. Dean would tear a hamstring.

“I’m not going to run with you, Sam.” You turn your apple core in your hand, and you already sound exhausted. “You were gone for like, seven hours. That’s too long.”

Sam shrugs. “I’d call it impressive-“

“That’s because you’re insane.”

“See, Sammy? Some of us got priorities.” Dean grins, and squeezes your thigh. “That’s my girl.”

Sparks. Sunlight. Open wound.

This is going to suck.

You throw up when Cas transports you to the grocery store, and you really need to just stop fucking eating that apple.

Cas is stuck on the Oreos. You try to direct him from the mint to the vanilla, but he seems entranced by the mint and double-stuffed for Cas reasons, and you end up with a box of both. Dean will take drastic measures for bacon. You get cherry pie instead of pumpkin, Cas gets honey, and you decide to buy two tubs of ice because you’re having a shit fucking day.

“Forgive me if I am overstepping.” Cas says at the checkout line, and you sigh, focusing your attention on the different flavors of gum on display. “But I am… more perceptive than most-“

“I know I have feelings for Dean.” You cut him off with a flat voice. “I’m not going to tell him.”

Cas frowns. “I firmly believe that it would be to both your benefits to have a conversation-“

“Drop it, Cas. I’m serious.”

He drops it.

You get back to the bunker, throw up, and bring Dean the pie this time, passing it to him without a word before dropping in your chair.

“You’re an angel, sweetheart.” He whispers, and when you look up, he’s gaping at you the same way he did in the kitchen, two loops ago. Like you’re priceless, and he’s afraid of that. “You know that?”

“No,” you mumble, pulling a book into your lap. “He’s putting the food away.”

Dean doesn’t snort this time. He just keeps staring at you, leaning forward in his chair as if his body isn’t fully in control.

Fuck.

“I love you,” he says it like it’s a weapon. Like he’s trying to wield the words best he can to convince you. “You gotta know that, right? You’re an angel, and I fuckin’ love you.”

You give him a soft smile, and let out a long breath.

The light clicks off.

“Yeah. I know.”

Everything fades to black.

——————

You’ve been here before.

“Son of a bitch!”

Cleaner. You manage to dodge the squeeze of your thigh when you step over Dean on the floor, but barely. Cereal and marshmallows. Burn and ice and running, similes and metaphors, and you don’t eat the apple, but when you get to the grocery store you still end up talking about Oreos, and Cas is more perceptive than most.

Dean will take drastic measures for bacon.

You get apple pie instead of cherry. It doesn’t change anything.

You’re an angel, sweetheart, you know that?

No, he’s putting the pie away.

Sam comes in, then leaves.

You still seeing that guy from the city?

Small, strange fight. Dean storms off, and calls you in five hours.

You go for him this time, but you call him and make him find his own way to the car. It strains at your heart as he stumbles into the parking lot—you want him to lean over you and mumble in your ear, to call you baby and walk you back to a wall and kiss you until you’re moaning and stupid—but you’ve played out going inside before.

And none of this will matter when you’re back here in a few loops anyway. You’ll let yourself go inside them.

Dean leans in the window, a wide, sloppy grin over his face as he slurs out your name. “You’re- Shit, you’re so fuckin’ pretty-“

“I know, Dean.” You sigh, nodding to the passenger’s seat. “Get in the car.”

He shakes his head, a large hand reaching inside the car to hold your chin, angling it to force your gaze onto his drunken, glossed-over eyes. “No, ya’ don’t. Don’t get it. More than pretty, baby- I gotta- needed to tell you something-“

“Dean-“

He slams his lips to yours, and you almost go slack. He still tastes like whiskey, and this time you can smell the evergreen of his aftershave, and it’s all somehow better than the first time. He’s more desperate, and impossibly less controlled. Biting at your lower lip and all but shoving his tongue down your throat before starting to kiss and suck a line over your jaw, humming when you whimper and smirking against your skin.

When he pulls back, there’s the blown-out adoration and affection all over his face once more.

And he just leaves. Stands up, stumbles his way around the car, and drops in the passenger’s seat with a wide, toothy, dazed grin.

You swallow, and start the car.

Maybe you’ll make it to the end of the night without an incident. Maybe you won’t get to come back to the bar, because you’d somehow tamed whatever had come over Dean in all the past loops, and he’d kissed you without saying the thing, so you were free-

Dean’s hand finds your thigh, and he squeezes. Sparks and sunlight and raw and fuck-

“I love you.” He says your name, and when you glance at him, he’s watching you with the priceless expression. “You’re- Yeah. Love you.”

You can’t say anything. The light is turning off, but your words are stuck in your throat.

You just tangle your fingers with his, squeeze his hand three times, and everything fades to black.

——————

You’ve been here before.

You don’t make it out of the kitchen this time. You get out of bed in time to see Dean drop the pan, and you’re grabbing the ice before he can even greet you.

It’s alright, sweetheart, I’m fine-

You mumble the words along with him as you grab his hand, trace your fingers lighting over the thin, blistering mark, and press the ice right over his hand.

Holding it there.

Right until you look up, and he’s looking at you like you’re priceless.

This kiss is slower. More careful. His free hand moves to cup your face, and his lips are cautious on yours, like he’s afraid he’ll set off some sort of bomb.

“I love you.” He mummers against your lips, and you ignore it, just deepening the kiss as the light turns off.

You’ll hear him say it again tomorrow.

The taste of coffee and smell of evergreen stick to your mind long after everything fades to black.

——————

You’ve been here before.

You almost glide through it this time, because maybe playing it through right will be what this calls for.

The kitchen. Eat the apple then throw it up. Oreos and pie and honey, shut down Cas in the checkout line and make a horrible joke when Dean calls you an angel—it hurts more this time, and you think it might build up to something that turns your whole body to stone, not just your heart—then have a stupid fight about the Suit from the City.

When Dean calls you, send Cas. When he returns, help him to bed and ignore how he’s calling you pretty.

You haven’t done this part since the first time.

You’d forgotten how hard it was.

“Dean, you’re holding me really tight-“

“Gotta hold you. You’re gonna leave.”

You sigh, combing your finger through his hair. “I’d never leave you, Dean. Never.”

You don’t think you said leave you last time.

That’s probably why things move just an inch faster.

“Good. Can’t do it… Don’t- you need to be here, baby. Need you.” He hums, and you shiver, but his voice is softer than the first time.

Here it comes.

“Love you.”

“I know.” You whisper, and the light goes off. “Go to sleep, Dean.”

The first snore tears through the air, and everything fades to black.

——————

You’ve been here before.

You’ve made no progress towards leaving.

Son of a bitch!

You need to avoid him. If you’re going to find the trickster in here, you priority can’t be thinking about Dean, and when he’ll say it, and if he’ll kiss you again this time.

The only places you see other people are at the grocery store and the bar.

You eat the apple and throw it up—for consistency—and no one changes or gives a sign that they’re in on this.

Instead of sitting with Dean in the library, you hide in your room, hoping you’ll be able to check out the bar and still manage to avoid him.

Dean ends up at the bar anyway.

When you go to get him, you realize your mistake the second you see him.

He doesn’t wait until you’ve paid his tab this time. He pulls you right between his legs, picks you up, and sets you on the bar as he kisses you. Going until the room is spinning, right before shouting that he loves you for the whole bar to hear.

The light goes off as you let out a heavy breath, drop your head onto his chest and cling to his shoulders as he presses a kiss to your brow and repeats the words.

Quieter. Only for you to hear.

It’s the first time he’s said it twice.

Everything fades to black.

——————

You’ve been here before.

This time you make Cas get Dean, and then go investigate the bar yourself.

Nothing’s changed, and before you can leave Dean pops in front of you—Cas at his side, giving you an apologetic look—and hauls you into his arms, shouting about your safety the same as he had on the curb with Sam.

“Dean-“

“You can’t just fucking vanish like that,” he snaps at you, his anger seeming to have sobered him up in half a heartbeat. “I- You freaked me the hell out-“

“I’m fine-“

“But what if you weren’t.”

“But I am.”

“But-“

You sigh, dropping your head onto his shoulder. You’re too tired to fight, and he’s big and warm, and you don’t really like this loop enough to drag it on. “Why do you care.” You mutter, try to draw it out of him, so you can wake up semi-rested, in your bed without sheets. “It’s not like I’m a child-“

“No, but I-“ He cuts himself off, and now he’s reluctant to say it. “It doesn’t matter.“

You’re so tired. “Pussy.”

His steps freeze, his voice dropping to almost a growl. “Excuse me?”

“Just say it, Dean, you fucking pussy.” You lean back, holding his glare with your own. This is cruel, but you just want to start over. You’d avoided him all day for nothing, and now he’s mad and you feel like stone and you just want it to be over. “Say it.”

“Say what-“

“Why the fuck do you care what I do or don’t do-“

“Because you’re my- You-“ He sets you down on the roof of a random car, running a hand over his face. “Sweetheart, what the hell are you trying to-“

“Why are you getting so fucking drunk, Dean. Why do you care if I’m fucking the suit from the city?!”

His eyes widen. “You’re-“

“Yeah, I’m fucking him. What are you going to do about it, you fucking-“

Kiss. Rough, bruising, angry kiss that’s like a shot of heroine to your bloodstream, and big, rough hands tugging at your hair as you moan down his throat.

“I love you, you fucking brat. I’m going to fuck you so good you never even think about anyone else.” Dean shoves his knee between your thighs, drawing out a high whine from your lips. “You got that?”

“Yeah. I do.” You smile against his lips, and the light goes off. “Thank you.”

Everything fades to black.

——————

You’ve been here before.

Blanket. No sheets. You mouth son of a bitch right as Dean shouts it, and you’ve really gotten the hang of this.

Dean needs to ice his hand, and when he says it’s alright, sweetheart, I’m fine, you say it at the exact same time, dropping your voice to mimic his.

He stares at you. “How’d you-“

You shrug, and point to the fridge. “Ice. And there’s cereal in the cabinet, but no milk. I-“

You pause, glancing at the apples on the counter. You’re hungry.

Maybe you won’t go shopping today.

“I’ll give you a list to go shopping later.” You grab the apple—the fucker is going to stay in your stomach, this time around—and sit down at the counter. “Take Cas, he can carry more things.”

Dean frowns. “I can carry things-“

“I know you can, Dean. Cas can carry more. Ice your fucking hand.”

He stares at you, making no effort to move to the freezer. “You feeling okay? You’re- you seem a bit, I dunno, touchy-“

“I’m fine-“

Dean shakes his head, dropping down next you and placing his hand on your thigh. Sparks. Sunlight.

This is going to kill you.

“Look,” he says your name carefully, and you might end up throwing up without Cas. “You know you can, I dunno, talk to me, right? About anything, even if it’s really freakin’ dumb?”

You let out a long breath, burying your face in your hands as your heart turns back to that tight stone. “Yeah, I know. It’s Lucky Charms in the cabinet, Dean. Hand,” you poke him right over the burn, and he winces. “Then you can eat your marshmallows.”

He’s staring at you again. It’s the expression. The one that’s warning you what’s coming, and-

“Dude, what’s wrong with you.” Sam walks into the kitchen, and Dean scowls. “You look like a keyed car.”

“It’s a simile,” you tell Dean, before anything can get away from you. “Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s been a long Tuesday.”

Sam’s eyes flash, his mouth opening and closing, and it worked.

“You- uh, you’re sure-“

“Positive.” You mumble, and Dean coughs, saying your name slowly.

“It’s a Friday-“

You frown at him, shaking your head. “It’s Saturday-“

“No, Dean’s right.” Sam gives you an odd look. “It’s Friday.”

You blink between them, and pull out your phone.

It is Friday.

You could’ve sworn it was Saturday. This whole time, you’ve been certain it was Saturday.

Sam clears his throat. “Dean, uh- You should go get the groceries.”

Dean shakes his head. “You freakin’ do it, I’m-“

“You’re not busy.” Sam rolls his eyes, moving further into the kitchen. “And I just ran ten miles, dude. I need a shower.”

You tune out the rest of the conversation. You’ve heard it before. Hamstrings and junk food, and when Sam finally gets Dean to go find Cas for food—texting him the list instead—you remember at the last second to add a second text to Cas, telling him to get cherry pie instead of pumpkin.

“You’re- uh.” Sam scratches the back of his neck once you’re alone, watching you carefully. “Time loop, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“And this is-“ Sam shakes his head, rubbing his brow as he frowns into the air. “How many-“

“Lost count.” You mutter. “Can’t find a trickster, by the way. I kept getting-“ You cut yourself off with a sigh, a hundred Dean’s saying love you echoing around in your head like the most beautifully horrible chorus in the world. “Never mind. You wanna watch a movie?”

Sam blinks at you. “A- What?”

“I know Dean has some time loop movies.” You glance out to the hall, letting out a long breath. “You told me that’s all we had to go off of-“

“I did?” Sam frowns. “When did I-“

“Time loop, Sam.”

“Oh, uh- Right.” He gives you an apologetic look. “Sorry. Kind of forgot-“

“’S fine. I don’t care. Movies?”

“Yeah, uh, sure.” Sam doesn’t try to stand, just staring at you with a slight frown. “Do you know your- Did I tell you about reset points-“

You nod, swallowing down a lump in your throat. You’re too tired to lie, this time around. “I have one. It’s- Dean tells me a secret.”

Sam raises his brows. “A secret? Is it- Did he talk to you.”

“He talks to me all the time, Sam-“

Sam says your name, his voice flat. “You know that’s not what I meant. Did he? Talk to you, I mean-“

“Yeah.” You sigh. “He did. Does. Every time. And then,” you snap your fingers, grimacing slightly, and Sam frowns.

“Do you, uh, what have you said back?”

You’ve never said anything back.

You really don’t want to talk about it.

“Can we please just watch the movies?” You look up with a pleading expression before Sam can answer. “Please.”

Sam sighs, but nods, and follows you to the Dean Cave without another word.

Dean doesn’t have as many time loop movies as you’d thought, so you start to look online while Sam makes popcorn. Dean’s out getting groceries with Cas. He won’t be home for a few hours, and that’s all the more time before you’re in danger of him finding you and saying it. Before the reset point hits, and you have to explain everything to Sam again.

You get through two and half movies, scratching likely useless notes on a piece of paper, avoiding Sam’s pointed looks when the answer on the screen is confront your flaws.

Telling Dean you love him won’t help. Even if it’s not a trickster, you’re still pretty certain it’s not real. This is Dean. He’s not good with his emotions, let alone being vulnerable with them, and—even if he really did feel something for you, out there in the real world—you think he’d eat a bullet before he’d just say he loves you.

Even if Sam keeps claiming he was going to talk to you, that might just be another part of the loop that isn’t real.

The first time you’d drifted through this day, Dean hadn’t said the thing. The only real time you’d woken up in a bed without sheets, you’d put Dean to bed and left him there without another word.

So love isn’t the answer here. Not when it’s not even real.

And Sam isn’t being helpful, with all those fucking looks. He’s barely even paying attention the movies—he keeps trying to talk to you about the next case, vamps, but you don’t really care—watching them like they’re the most boring thing he’s ever seen whenever his eyes flick up.

And Dean is Dean.

So when he bursts into the room with a tub of ice cream—the same ice cream you’d gotten with Cas on your grocery runs—he’s immediately dropping at your side, kicking his feet up and grinning at you like you’re the only thing in the world.

“You know, it’s pretty freakin’ rude to watch my movies without me, sweetheart-“

You shrug, giving him a half-apologetic smile. “You were out-“

“Coulda waited for me. I love- Uh-“ He looks back to the screen with a small frown. “What movie is this?”

You snort. “Happy Death Day.”

“I didn’t know I owned that one-“

“You don’t. I rented it.” Sam cuts in from his chair, not looking up from his laptop. “Hey, Dean, have you ever heard of the any vamps that-“

Dean turn the volume all the way up, shooting you a wink and passing the ice cream into your hands.

“Got this for you. And I’d share my pie, but it’s, uh-“

You give him a soft smile. “You ate it all, didn’t you.”

“You know me so well.” He grins at you for another, long second, and turns back to the TV.

Four more movies. Almost all of them end by either finding the person who put them there—you’d tried that, hadn’t worked—or finding the right thing to do, and doing it.

That won’t work here either.

“Are we only gonna watch these time loop movies-“

“Yes.”

Dean sighs, tipping his head back to rest on the couch. “Alright. Can I get some beer?”

You give him an amused look. “What are you gonna do if I say no?”

“Uh- Get it anyway?”

You raise your brows, and he rolls his eyes.

“Shut up, kid.”

You shrug, looking back to the TV and ignoring the stone over your heart. “I didn’t say anything, buddy.”

“Don’t-“ Dean cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “Sammy, you want a beer?”

“Sure. You, uh-“ He glances up to Dean with a frown, lowing his voice as if you won’t still be able to hear it. “You gonna do the-“

“Beer.” Dean claps his hands together, pushing off the couch and ignoring Sam entirely. “Be right-“

You grab his wrist, and he seems to freeze under your touch.

“I- uh-“

“Do I not get a beer?” You ask, and his shoulders visibly relax as a half-smirk tugs at his lips.

“Not after last night, sweetheart.”

You frown at him. “Last- Huh?”

His smirk grows. “You don’t remember it, do you?”

You release his wrist. “I- remember-“

“You got wasted last night, sweetheart.” He scans you over, the smirk only growing. “You threw up on Sammy.”

“And the floor. And her bed.” Sam mutters from his seat, shooting you a grimacing look of apology. “Don’t feel bad, Dean just wasn’t fast enough.”

Your head is spinning, starting to cloud over with that fog from the first few loops. Like a hazy veil is covered purposefully and carefully over your eyes. “I- Dean?”

“I was fast, man,” he snaps, glaring at Sam. “you were in the way-“

“Dean.” You squeeze his hand, trying to steady yourself or check he’s real or something, and he blinks at you. “What did I do?”

“You’re a lightweight, sweetheart-“

“No- I-“ You frown at him. “No, I’m not-“

“With absinthe you are.” Sam shrugs, and you gape at him.

“Absinthe?” You half-squeak. “Who gave me-“

Dean snort. “You gave you absinthe. You stole it from Cas.”

“I- Oh.”

That does sound like you.

“Did I- I meant like, did I do anything stupid.” You mumble, releasing Dean’s wrist and staring at your hands. “Or just vomit on Sam.”

“You were- Nothing you do is stupid.” Dean says that like it’s fact, and you’re going to maybe get drunk on nothing at all. “You just got all rambly and touchy. Nothing worse than normal.”

“Dean had to put you to bed.”

“Sam-“

“You did?” You cut Dean off with soft words, and he lets out a long breath, running a hand over his face. “De-“

“Yeah, I did.” He mutters. “Got you into your room, cleaned you up and changed you, but, uh- I kept my eyes off the goods-“

He gestures to your chest, Sam snorts, and you both elect to ignore him.

Nothing else is really more important than Dean right now. Looking at you. Into you. Right to your pounding heart, and still talking.

“You kinda vomited on the sheets, so I put them in the wash. Tried to offer you my bed but you, uh-“ His whole face is red. You wish Sam would fucking leave the room. “You said not like that and then passed out. So I found some non-contaminated blankets and, yeah.”

“Why?” Your voice is barely a breath, and Dean just shrugs, never breaking your gaze.

“Because I love you.”

Something bright and cool washes over you as Dean just stares at you. He’d taken care of you. Before you were trapped in here, he’d been taking care of you, and that didn’t feel like something a trickster had made him do. You know, somewhere in your gut, that it was just Dean.

Caring for you.

The light goes off, but something clear is blooming over your ribs.

You open your mouth, ready scream it right back to him, but everything fades to black.

——————

You’ve been here before.

And this time, maybe—if you do this right, and movies are as a reliable a source as Sam claims—you won’t have to be here again.

End Note: Someone show Cas that Dropout Brennan Lee Mulligan Oreo video right now.

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kkochigomi · 1 month ago

Text

the ultimate guide to f***ing nomin

part one | part two

PAIRING: reader x jeno + jaemin

GENRE: smut, angst

SERIES WC: 35k

PART ONE WC: 13.7k

SYNOPSIS: DJ Juliette is over just being a DJ. She misses being a producer and working with artists but no one is biting anymore. She's living from paycheck to paycheck, so when MC receives a pink business card from that company, she should take it. But her fellow SHAWOLs are screaming at her and she knows better. So they send in the heavy arsenal wrapped in head-to-toe Chanel. This woman, named Lindsay Liu, knows she can talk her into it.

WARNINGS: dom!Jeno, switch!Jaemin & mc, PIV, DVP, cunnilingus, thigh humping, spit play, pussyjob, lots of sloppy kissing, deepthroating, rough sex, large... sizes, bisex, very strong language, threesomes, one reference to slight racism/xenophobia (very small inclusion, that character sucks, doesn't go into detail), CONVOLUTED AND CONFUSING AS SHIT, slight language barriers, hella campy/maybe even bad, mc is described as American and having a midsized body, explicit language and descriptions of sex, working at SM Entertainment, mc has a "stage name", Juliette isn't her actual name, let me know what I missed! (had to split this into two parts or Tumblr wouldn't let me post it)

+ dialogue and text messages italicized in their entirety means MC is translating them from Korean!

CHAPTER SIXˋ°•*⁀➷

You couldn’t sleep at all. You wanted desperately to hump your hand, but it seemed too inappropriate and pitiful. So you sulk and stare at the wall, making it so that all three of you are faced away from each other.

You weren’t seeing things. They definitely left on worse terms than they came. You peaked through your cracked eyelids to avoid an awkward goodbye as they gathered their things at 4 am. They didn’t speak a word to each other, and Jeno left out the door first and closed it behind him. Jaemin stumbles back a bit before sighing in annoyance, rubbing his brow aggressively and swinging the door open.

The door shuts softly as you sit up from your bed.

What the fuck were you going to do? What were you going to prioritize? All you know for certain is that you have work tomorrow, and that’s not even confirmed. You reflect over everything the guys told you, recalling what you said right after grabbing beer from your fridge.

“I think I’m gonna quit, this is just too much.” You don’t even try to conceal your exhaustion. You felt less bad about exposing your true thoughts after all three of you took turns trauma dumping. “I don’t care if I have to sue or who I have to sue… I just can’t do it anymore.”

“Absolutely not. I just met you and I can already tell you’re reckless. You’re choosing to possibly lose a lot of money when you can just stay and save up.” Jeno gestured at you with the beer before cracking it open and tipping it back.

Your grip tightened around your can as you resist the urge to glare at Jeno. “You say that as if you weren’t the one to push him to the ground. And money isn’t worth this. This… this is gross. And Lindsay is just making things worse.”

“I’ve had to deal with that asshole for a lot longer than you. If that’s how easily you’ll crack, you’ll have a hard time in this industry. There are a million Mr. Myeongs.” He said after wincing and recovering from chugging the beer. “No… you gotta keep that contract intact and rebel. Smartly.” It sounded pointed, that last part. You rolled your eyes.

“That’s how you get back at them and stop yourself from losing your mind. You have to play the game and get the money and pursue your dreams– er…” Jeno stopped and shrugged. “Pursue a mangled, disfigured version of your dream.” He tipped the beer back again and your eyes flitted away as your mind drifted. You supposed if you were a singer or a dancer, being an idol wouldn’t be your first choice.

Even the next day, heading to work at five-thirty a.m., his words permeate in your mind. Rebel. Smartly.

No manager or Chris messaged you, so you assumed you weren’t fired. You were still on the schedule as well. That doesn’t settle your stomach, though. You take a deep breath, taking a brief moment as you tap your badge against the sensor. You open the door.

As you make your way down the hall you notice everyone seems to be staring at you. It makes sense, but it doesn’t make you feel any better. You prepare to decompress in the staff room. Take extra long to put your things away. Is that smart enough for you, Jeno?

However, that wasn’t going to happen because there was a huddle in there. As soon as you walk in, everyone stops talking and stares at you. However, what follows isn’t scowls. They are big smiles.

“Hey! Jeno and Jaemin took you home on Saturday, right?” A female coworker asks. Before you could deny, a male coworker answered for you.

“I told you they did. I saw them when I went out the back.”

“Oh my gosh!”

“Were they nice?”

“Did you get their numbers?”

“What happened at the party?”

“Guys shut up! Are you and Jeno dating?”

“I’m guessing you’re following the guide.” Another female coworker stops the onslaught with that contribution. You gape at her, thinking she can’t be referring to what you think she is. But you look down and notice your cropped graphic tee and jeans. You bristle, wanting to give her a piece of your mind, but you can’t when you’re not 100% sure if you’re doing it organically. You shut your eyes tight, forcing that entire thought process away.

“You saw wrong.” You say to the male coworker. “I didn’t leave with them. I took the bus home like I do every day.” You shove your stuff in your locker before slamming the door and turning on your heels to leave, but you stop. You turn back around with one last bit of input.

“And I’m aware that even people who claim to hate gossip do so anyway, but there’s a limit before you become destructive.”

You let out a long exhale as you make your way to your first session. Before you even get halfway there, someone calls your name. You tighten your fists at your side before you force a smile and turn around. You aren’t surprised to see Chris, but you are a little fearful.

What is surprising is that Chris offers to take you away from the building to a nearby bistro during your break. He picks something from the menu for you, insisting that you need to try it. You push past the gall of this man to just get through whatever this is. You sit at a small table with him, watching impatiently as he immediately digs in. Once he gets his craving quelled, he finally gets on with it.

“So we spoke with Myeong Dongkyu…”

Your chest tightens unexpectedly. Are you really dreading this? This is what you wanted, right? Images of Saturday night flash through your mind. You’re by no means a virgin, but you’ve never felt this way about any man. It’s like being a teenager again times ten. More than that, you dread not being able to hang out with Yizhuo in person anymore.

And it pains you to say it, but the money is nice. Even if you’re not being paid as much as Rouge or any other experienced producer. You’re playing right into their hand.

“And we came to a decision after much deliberation. Myeong Dongkyu apologizes and has decided to retire.”

Your eyes widen before you look up from your sandwich. Chris seems to pat his own back in response to your shock.

“Yup! If you ever have problems with any A&R Managers, please never hesitate to speak with me about it.” Chris smiles. You smile back.

As if.

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

Any off time you have is spent on your phone. Smartly.

Liu Betting.

Just as Jeno said, there was a company none of the articles on Lindsay mentioned. Maybe it was too new or too sneaky.

“Sports betting is incredibly regulated and you get taxed. Plus, Lindsay hates sports. What she loves, though, are idols. Though I doubt she’s ever even listened to the music, she knew idols more than anyone else. So not only could she do music betting, she could barter off her intel for money or something else she wants from them. Then she got the website made and got any rich person that would listen to buy in.”

What Jeno didn’t mention was the sheer amount of categories. Streams, album sales, photocard rarity (whatever that means), member popularity, the list goes on.

Under streams and album sales, you see that dearALICE is doing fine. But you assume not good enough to win Lindsay her bet. So she tinkered with things behind the scenes. Convinced SM to consider cheap, desperate labor. That’s what you assume. You know it’s stupid to ask, but did she ever even think your production was good?

You close the site, feeling sick from the grossness of it all. You immediately click on one of Lindsay many messages, planning to go do what you should have done a long time ago. Before you can click on her contact to block her, a message stops you in your tracks.

Lindsay I see you’ve started seeking Nomin out ;) I know they can be a little difficult, so I gave you a few more tips

Lindsay you guys*

Something else that is overdue is showing Jeno and Jaemin these dehumanizing ‘tips’. You go straight to the app to do just that. You screenshot the initial tips before searching for the new ones.

Lindsay Liu꒰੭

Tip Four: - I’m hearing you guys I’m hearing you! I never said it would be easy! You can’t force them, and I don’t condone any of you guys being aggressive. But I’m hearing the same thing from all of you. Jaemin is an angel and Jeno is his guard dog. Well, that’s my fourth tip. You have to get through Jeno to get anything started. He’s all bark, no bite. Trust me, I know.

That ending boils your blood. You can’t believe it took you this long to see how horrible she is when she’s this brazen.

Tip Five: - Reveal your freaky side organically. Don’t come out immediately talking about your porn addiction or how often you flick the bean. Maybe wait ‘til all three of you are drunk and make out with someone else. Maybe… another girl? Make them think their attraction to you is their idea. Tip Six: - Getting to first base with Jaemin is easy. Doesn’t really mean anything. If you kiss Jeno? You’re in. But you’re not entirely done. Push and pull, guys. Make sure they miss you. Nothing wrong with being easy, that’s just going after what you want. But you want them to be loyal to you. This is a race and a competition. The first to get Nomin to find you irresistible, wins! :D

While you’re grimacing at the screen, a text from NingNing appears at the top of your screen.

NingNing okay yeah she’s really weird.

yeah…. we have a lot to catch up on lol

NingNing oh??? Are you down to post it in the 00-04z gc?

not yet…

Unfortunately you don’t trust telling anything to that group chat after seeing yet another text Lindsay sent.

Lindsay You’re going on vacation this Dec? I might come! Also it seems like Jaemin likes you >_>

There’s a mole.

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

Jaemin Can we come over at 4pm?

You were initially confused why they were coming to your cramped apartment again, but then you realize it’s one of the few places they can go to get away. You don’t know why they don’t have other idol friends who they can turn to, but you don’t pry.

When you invite them in, you notice that Jeno is still cagey. He barely greets you as he comes in. Jaemin, however, pulls you into a tight hug that has a smile tugging at your lips. He gives you one last squeeze before he makes his way in. The two of them seemed to have resolved whatever they were going through last time. Both of them settle onto the folded up futon, waiting for you to shut the door and settle back in.

As you sit on your bed, Jeno immediately gets into it.

“Why didn’t you tell us about this on Saturday?” Jeno wastes no time grilling you, not that you’re surprised.

“I was thinking about a lot of other things that day. To be honest I don’t go into that app often. You guys know this. Well,” you nod your head at Jeno, “I guess you wouldn’t know, but Jaemin does. If you’re worried about me changing things about myself to match the tips, I suspect she made these just to send a message to me. I already dressed like this. I never intended to…”

The fact that you’re talking about this directly to their faces and that everyone in this room remembers the drunken make out session makes this conversation unbearable.

“Hm. I don’t know. But um… thanks for showing us anyway.” He mumbles the last part. You would be annoyed if one thing wasn’t true.

“You shouldn’t be thanking me.”

You hear Jaemin chuckle, and you suppose the sight of you and Jeno mirroring each other’s mild annoyance was a bit funny.

“Anyway, we’re here to celebrate–” There’s a knock at the door and Jaemin reacts to it much too fast for comfort. Jeno backs out of the eyeshot from the door and Jaemin thinks fast and conceals his face with an envelope on your counter. Jaemin fumbles blindly for the door and accepts a food delivery for “Kwangseok”.

As soon as the door closes, it’s like nothing confusing had happened. Jeno peels away from the wall and Jaemin puts the envelope back. He presents the bag of hot food with unadulterated glee on his face, like the food will answer every question your expression raises.

Jeno hums amusedly to your left and you look at him. He grins to himself before glancing at you and raising his eyebrows.

“Mr. Myeong was fired.” He reveals as he grins wider. Your confusion increases before excitement takes its place and stretches your own lips into a smile.

“No way…” You say, dumbfounded as you let yourself be seated by Jaemin as Jeno takes the bag and unpacks the food.

“Yes way!” Jaemin answers enthusiastically before settling next to you on the folded up futon. “Our manager decided he wasn’t angry after the outcome and told us all about the spectacle.”

You only had a measly fold out table, so the three of you had to eat each dish in shifts. It felt like fine dining with the news you were learning.

“He said Mr. Myeong was shouting at everyone in the room, throwing things, cursing up a storm and then Chris walked in.” Jaemin takes another bite of his veggie tempura as he and Jeno look at each other mischievously.

“And then the CEOs walked in.” They announce at the same time before falling into hysterics. You frantically look between them in excitement.

“What?!”

“H… He started apologizing and got on his knees. Mr. Jang didn’t even curse him out, he just laughed at him–” Jeno can barely catch his breath.

“– And Mr. Jang just said–” Jaemin starts, excited to get to what seems to be their favorite part.

“‘You’re not even that high up at the company, why are you acting like this?’” They speak in unison again, Jaemin petering out sooner than Jeno as the laughter overtakes him. You can’t help laughing, yourself, tears pricking at your eyes and stomach aching. Jaemin’s legs spread wide until they’re firm against yours. Jeno’s hand on your shoulder as he tries to recover allows you no time to recover. The lust is numbing, the amusement is long gone as your mind is locked in to imagining them touching you more.

Unfortunately, the two couldn’t get drunk this time, and you didn’t want to drink alone. That means you wouldn’t have the courage to try. Especially after showing them what Lindsay’s been up to.

Long after the three of you had settled down, Jeno is laser focused on your attire.

“... You sure you’re not following the guide?”

You can’t help it. Every time your clothes are mentioned, you look at them as if anything other than what you put on would be there. You look at him incredulously, unable to immediately defend yourself with cheeks full of rice cakes. Jeno pops one in his own mouth before pointing at you with his chopsticks, not even bothering to look at your face.

“Now that I think about it… it makes too much sense.”

“Bro, she said Lindsay made it like that to target her specifically.” Jaemin moves you back with his arm to look directly at Jeno. You tilt your head up to speak but it ends up gargled. You frustratedly try to get your mouth clear faster.

“So you don’t want to fuck us?” Jeno is looking at you now. You expect to see annoyance or disdain on his face, but he’s instead looking at you like he’s anticipating an answer. An answer he already knows. You finally swallow the food as you stare back, dumbly.

“She never said that.” Jaemin says, pulling the arm away that you forgot was there. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you tear your eyes away.

“Me not answering isn’t confirming or denying, I just refuse to play your games.” You start, shooting him a glare. “But why are you focusing on me? I just came here to produce and get paid well. That’s all! I didn’t know Lindsay would be this screwed up!”

Jeno holds your gaze for an agonizing amount of time before finally relenting. “I guess you’re right. We should be focusing on Lindsay.” Jeno is very reluctant to agree with you.

“Or we could just forget about it.” Jaemin interjects.

“Are you saying that because you don’t want us to waste anymore time on a nut job or because you want to protect her from consequences?” The way Jaemin tensed at the phrase ‘nut job’ was all Jeno needed to see. Jeno stands abruptly from the futon.

“Whatever, man. She’s gonna get what's coming to her sooner or later. It’s not a matter of who, it’s a matter of when. Besides, I bet she wants to get her revenge as well.”

There’s only one she that would make sense here. You attempt to simultaneously scold Jeno and comfort Jaemin with your eyes as you look between them.

“I…” You begin cautiously, pausing longer than you intended. What do you want? Your life previously was saccharine without substance. You were out of school, you didn’t have a schedule, and you did whatever you wanted most of the time. But you couldn’t do much with how little you made. You found yourself feeling numb most days. Not happy, but not upset. Maybe that’s why you signed that stupid contract.

Here, you have a lot to be upset about. And the turbulence has been overwhelming. Life here would be perfectly fine in normal circumstances, though.

“I just want to be left alone, okay?” You’re not just saying it to them. You say it with the intention of sending a ripple through the universe to fix all this. The worst part is that Lindsay somehow caught on to the degenerate you are. Was it a guess based off of your favorite otome game, or did she sniff that out somehow as well?

You never joined any kink-positive or BDSM communities because it was too much of a slog to find one. The truth is that you yearn to let your freak flag fly but only attract the most vanilla, self serving men on Earth. But these two, the one whose leg is pressed against yours and the one with that expression that makes your blood boil… if they constantly have threesomes–

“You have to get through to me to “get anything started”, right?”

Jeno pipes up with infuriating timing. Just when you’re imagining being pressed between them, he asks you this? You want to get angry at him but you’re more focused on what’s wrong with you.

“So then help me with Lindsay.”

“I’m not following the guide!” You stand and shout immediately after he speaks, more distressed than angry. “I would never do it, it’s dehumanizing and icky and– just stop saying it!”

You stomp to your bathroom, not caring that you bump his shoulder on the way. You immediately turn on the cold water and put your hands under it. Your body temperature is soaring, the water feels glacial. It’s almost uncomfortable, but it’s working.

You hear a knock at the door.

“WHAT?!” You snap unexpectedly. You hear him chuckle behind the door and start to seethe further.

“Lindsay is breaking the law.”

CHAPTER SEVENˋ°•*⁀➷

As the weather gets colder, your excitement for the ski trip grows. You haven’t been on vacation since you were a child. And you’ve never gone skiing. You’re going to eat shit but you don’t even care. You’re more focused on the luxury ski chalet and a motherfucking break. One of the A&R managers tried to subtly talk you out of calling off for two weeks. If you’re not allowed to break the terms of your contract, you won’t let them do it either. Not even for a second. You’re starting to get what Jeno means.

He has only emphasized his advice more after you finally caved.

“I don’t want this to blow up in my face.” You told him the first time the two of you met up at your place. You took the chance to ask why your house and if the paparazzi would start following them at a certain point. He pointed out the obvious, that they can’t get past the gate to get near these complexes. You also learned that there are a lot of producers with home studios here, so celebrities can record in peace. The paparazzi do follow them here, and did publish a story about him and Jaemin releasing a project separate from NCT. Still not ideal, but better.

“You want to know more about Lindsay, you want to be left alone, you don’t want this to blow up in your face. I’m sick of hearing about what you want.” Jeno mutters as he pries his laptop open atop your wobbly fold-up. You look at him, waiting for him to see you questioning his audacity but he never looks back at you.

“Her dad is a billionaire. Not a millionaire, a billionaire. We don’t know the extent of his or her connections or if they have the police on their side–”

“Okay, well, Lindsay’s dad hates her. And so does the general public. And a handful of idols, higher ups at SM, et cetera, et cetera. She’s not as well connected as you think. Also, this wouldn’t be her first run in with the police.”

Finding yourself comfortable with whipping your phone out at work now, you take the opportunity to look into Jeno’s claims. Sure enough, this wouldn’t be her first run in. Or second. Or fourth. She’s been arrested for a DUI, a scam, assaulting someone, and petty theft. You had to read it over and over before you believed it. She just stole makeup at Sephora that she could absolutely afford. Went on record saying she ‘just wanted to try it’. You wish you were surprised or blind sighted. But the red flags were there and you ignored them for SHINee.

An A&R manager, Ms. Alice Lee, bursts through the door of the staff room. You nearly drop your phone at the sound. She smiles smugly at you, eyes then focusing on your phone. You exhale frustratedly as you stuff it in your pocket. Ms. Lee was recently promoted after Mr. Myeong’s departure. Previously one of the people scowling at you for your reputation, she now channels all that malice into micro-management.

“How long is your break for?” She asks with her nasally SoCal affect. You mirror her pinched, snotty expression. You flick away your sleeve dramatically before checking the time.

“I have five more minutes.” You answer carefully, as if speaking to a child.

“Good! Then we can have a chat.” You watch in horror as she clacks over to the table and pulls a chair. You expected her to be on her way but now she’s going to use your break time to “chat”? God you hate this place.

“Yes ma’am.” Your tone is short, a little too frustrated for your liking but you couldn’t catch yourself.

“A little birdie told me that an idol invited you to go on vacation with them?”

Your stomach drops at the same time her light hearted expression does. The fucking mole.

“Just ignore them. The idols can be very silly sometimes. I mean, isn’t that just hilarious?” She asks, but doesn’t wait for your confirmation to laugh. She slaps the table as she comes down with a sloping sigh. “I’ll give them a stern talking to.”

“They’re not bothering me.” You respond immediately. “I thought it was a nice gesture–”

“Just! Ignore them.” She interrupts with her brows raised and a small smile. You slide your hand off the table to ball it tight. You grit your teeth, the smile struggling to stay on your face.

“Don’t scold them.” You ask plainly. “I was never going.”

“Good! Even though… the time you requested off– I hope you don’t mind I checked– aligns with the date they’re going.” She slips her phone from her slacks and opens the app with the schedule on it. “Here. December 14th to the 27th.”

“Yes, that’s correct.” You confirm brazenly. That still doesn’t prove anything.

“And you do know that it’s outlined in your contract that staff and idols are not to engage in any inappropriate relationships, right? Even if it’s a friendly outing, it’s not organized by the company and it will be unmonitored. It’s too risky. You understand, right?”

“So, what? Do you want me to cancel my requested days off?”

“Just to be safe.” She speaks like she’s doing you a huge favor. “Oh! and you can always schedule them to a different date!”

The smile officially dissipates and you have no intention of bringing it back. You glance at your watch, bristling even more at the fact that your break was over. You shoot up from the table, struggling to contain your anger.

“I already uprooted here to help you guys out–”

“Excuse me?” Her true self comes out in the form of complete and utter contempt. She joins you in standing. “Helped us? I’m sorry, was you helping us accepting a job when you were barely getting work.”

Your heart constricts with exasperation as you gape at the woman. For her to say it so plainly feels like a slap in the face.

“No. Me helping you was filling in for DJ Rouge after he realized his worth and left your sorry asses.” You hold your glare, watching her build up to her tantrum before storming past her.

“Hey! Have you lost your fucking mind.” She shouts after you, screaming and following you halfway to your next session. Everyone looks on in shock and annoyance at you, whispering not-so-quietly about how you’re already bumping heads with Mr. Myeong’s replacement.

Jay Park⓪② Heol…

Yoon Keeho⓪① I’ll say it. She kind of sounds like a cunt.

She IS a cunt

Lee Donghyuck⓪⓪ Make your own fckn group chat if you’re gonna speak English

Zhou Xinyu⓪② ugh… we should party that stress off, girl! And you should wear something sexy when we do

Yoon Sangah⓪② I’m down. Karaoke?

Oh Haewon⓪③ How about we go to Lindsay’s place? She has a karaoke machine.

Ning Yizhuo⓪② NO!

Lee Jeno⓪⓪ HELL no

we can’t

Oh Haewon⓪③ … Why not?

Your gut is screaming at you. It would be stupid to ignore it after all you’ve put yourself through, but it feels risky to accuse her with so little to go off of.

she’s not even in this country lol

Oh Haewon⓪③ So? I have a key to this mansion.

Oh god…

Nakamura Kazuha⓪③ What?!

Oh Haewon⓪③ Ya, She said I can go and do whatever I want, the help would cater to us

Nakamura Kazuha⓪③ no way… lucky!

Yoon Sanha⓪⓪ she gave you a key?!?

Han Chowon⓪② you’re lying…

Baek Jiheon⓪③ KYAAAA I’VE NEVER BEEN TO HER MANSION!

Han Jisung⓪⓪ oh I’m am going to get fucked up

You switch to imessage frantically.

guys, it’s Haewon. She’s got to be the mole, right?

NingNing Lindsay told me herself that she only had one extra key made

NingNing But I guess she is a bit of a liar… you don’t have to explain it again

Jaemin I think it’s very possible

Asshole oh yeah, it’s definitely her

Asshole Lindsay just texted me to get over my grudge. She must have texted her about me saying hell no to going to a crazy person’s mansion

Haewon doesn’t know, but she ignited a fire underneath Jeno. He barely speaks when he comes in now, just chews on the inside of his cheek while setting up. It’s awkward, but only for a moment.

“D’you want to know what she did?” He snaps as if he’s been resisting the urge. You agree, but his stories usually just make you sad. Why won’t she just go away? Become interested in J-pop or C-pop idols?

“Yeah…” He laughs indignantly. “I’m a guard dog. But I’m not the problem. Jaemin is horny is shit but gets infatuated and trusts too easily. It’s not a good combination. But she noticed she’d get more intel if she pretended to like him.”

Your eyebrows pinch as a new sensation runs through you. Your heart aches for Jaemin, yes, but…

“What did she do?” You have an inkling, but you’re suddenly restless.

“They would go on dates, kiss, hold hands, everything a couple would do. She would make sure he was separated from me as much as possible so I couldn’t talk sense into him. One day I went to his apartment and he had it decorated with rose petals and candles, had music playing. He told me I needed to leave because Lindsay would be there soon. It was their anniversary or some shit. I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was the day the article came out.”

You cover your mouth when you look at him, but it’s not for the reasons you usually do. Disbelief was the first thing you felt, but that feeling was intensifying. Like you wanted to scream. Throw up?

“We talked about this, but it’s not like we needed to. It was everywhere, but he was too busy doing all of that to know. I stayed as long as I could. Mostly because I wanted to confront her and make her tell him. But also to finally talk to him myself. It turned into a heated argument. It was my fault, I refused to tell him because I didn’t want to hurt him but I took it too far. I tore down the banner he put up. It felt right at the time, he was embarrassing himself. I still refused to leave and he started throwing things. He kept getting hysterical because time kept passing and Lindsay was nowhere to be seen. He just channeled that anger at me. We fought.”

You run your hands over your jeans, trying to focus on the fabric rubbing against your palms. Why couldn’t you calm down?

“I-I’m sorry– are you guys… together?” It wasn’t meant to be the first thought you vocalized but your brain screamed for the verification. Jeno looks at you, suspicious as always. He just rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

“It’s not like that. We’re… he’s my soulmate but I don’t… have those feelings. Like, at all.” His voice is quiet, it’s been quiet for a while now. The anger has dissipated in favor of something more tender. You guys have officially swapped places. You fist your jeans.

“Still! Did she really have to get in between you guys for her stupid fucking plan? It’s so stupid! I don’t even know if there’s been a difference!”

“There has.” He says regrettably. “I don’t know if the quality’s better, but I do know that it’s more productive. Songs are being pumped out faster and regardless of that, SM has more creative control without needing to listen to the producer’s input. Less friction equals even faster production.”

You shoot up from the futon, you don’t know why. You can’t listen to this. You ball your shaking hands. Why are you this angry?

“Did she ever come?” You swing around to look at him, stupidly hopeful. He looks up at you, his face all the confirmation you need.

You remember the day that article dropped. You weren’t even in the fandom by then, but you heard about Heechul cheating on his girlfriend of one year with a billionaire heiress with pictures to boot. So many pictures… pictures of those two sucking face, pictures of both Heechul and Momo crying during their activities. And now you’ve learned there was a whole other layer of cruelty. Not only did Lindsay absolutely know about their public relationship, but she broke Jaemin’s heart in the same instance.

That’s all you can think about as you clutch your binder to your chest is how long this has gone on. That was in 2021. How the hell did that relationship last?

There is another presentation in the theater today, and you brought the bare minimum. You’re prepared to ask one surface level question so they can’t bitch at you in good faith. Ironically, they’re presenting about the SM formula and why their style is so important to their music. You know it’s not pointed at you this time because you relented a long time ago. They win, your dream is theirs now.

You settle in just before the presentation started so you had a choice in who you were sitting next to– nobody. You zone out, catching crumbs of information. They brought a few SM senior idols on stage and played a few songs.

“Okay, now feel free to ask questions! A staff member will be around with a mic.”

You sit up, shaking away the drowsiness. You watch as she makes her way up the hall, handing to mic to different try-hards that judge you for not being a proud kiss ass. Kang Seojin cracks open his thousand-page encyclopedia and asks a question that wows the presenter. Wu Zixin submits an entry to the colon-cleaning olympics by framing his adoration for SM in a question. Two men who openly gossip about you with the intention of you hearing it. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, waiting for her to get closer to the back so you can get this over with. Finally, you’re able to flag her down and ask your question that has the presenter stammering.

“Is that it?” He laughs, igniting laughter all around the room. You feign franticness and flip through your binder.

“I could ask another if you’d like!” You copy the tone of your coworkers, hoping you sound eager to please.

“No, no. That’s fine. Key, would you like to answer?”

Key smiles and kicks his leg over the other before raising the mic. Your heart pulses at the sight of him. It’s your first time seeing him in person.

“Of course.” He says your name to confirm he’s got it right. You stammer, looking around like you’re looking for clarification. Key knows your name? It is such a Lindsay move to lie about everything else but this. You nod before confirming into the mic. He answers your simple question and all of a sudden you’re embarrassed at the simplicity of it. Because of that, the interaction is brief, applause rings out around you and you sit down in shock.

The rest of the presentation is a blur. You’re focused on it ending so you can flag him down. You have to know if it’s real. Did he really listen to your old demos?

Could he help?

The minute the presenter thanks everyone for listening, you’re up out of your chair. You try to look casual as you speed toward the side of the stage Key is leaving at.

“Hey!” You say excitedly. He turns around, confused initially before a look of realization washes over him. This is your first time seeing him up close. You clutch your binder to your chest again, except now you probably look like a silly school girl.

“Hey! I bet you’re confused about why I know your name.” He laughs awkwardly and you nod like an idiot, hoping you’ll get the information you seek.

“Well, I bet you know who Lindsay is.” Key’s voice is light as he begins his explanation, not knowing your world just tipped off its axis. He’s heard it.

“You listened to Mark My Words?”

The silence that lingers is excruciating as he looks at you blankly. Key gives you a confused look that is warped into a sinister, mocking expression by your mind. He laughs, and it feels like a knife in your gut.

“To what?”

You stammer again, hoping to clarify and keep your sanity. He did listen to it, he just doesn’t remember the name.

“Nah… Lindsay just told me you were a big fan. And I hear that you’re… a troublemaker. You made Mr. Myeong quit? He’s been here since I was a trainee.”

His tone is indisputable. He’s looking down on you. He views you the same as all your coworkers view you.

The switch has been completed. Jeno seems to have gotten what was bothering him off his chest with the borderline therapy sessions, and you’re now silent. But he prods at you, waving his hand in front of your face and calling out to you like you’re blind or deaf. You don’t respond though.

“Ooookay? Well I just learned a bombshell–”

“We’re going to that bitch’s house.” You snap, breaking your silence. After meeting Key, you checked your texts from Lindsay. She had given up at some point, but you notice she’s gotten less cheery. Her messages are short and curt. Then there’s a gap where she doesn’t text. Then you see it.

Lindsay fine

Lindsay this is ideal, thank GOD

Lindsay I won’t text you anymore, in fact, if you’re reading this you’re blocked. you are one of the most frustrating people I’ve had to deal with. you americans are so fucking lazy and such delicate snowflakes that you can’t handle any sort of conflict or minor critique. you’re gonna quit because your boss hurt your feewings ;((? grow the fuck up. you’re getting paid more than you ever would have without my help. without me, you would have been locked in the lower class, dying before you manage to crawl out like so many of you do. you can keep bitching and crying but just know we’re all laughing at you. ALL of us. but just know that if you try to fuck around you will learn the hard way to keep your fucking head down and work.

Hot tears gush from your eyes from sheer frustration and awe. You ball your fist tight until they start to ache.

“We’re going to that bitches house and we’re going to fuck shit up.” You grit your teeth in an attempt to contain the unbridled anger about to overcome you. Your lip quivers.

“What? What are you saying? Are you okay?”

… delicate snowflakes…

… so many of you do…

… can’t handle…

… without me…

…ALL of us.

keep your

fucking head down

and

work.

Your legs move on their own as you march over to your cabinet and swing it open. You swipe out its contents onto the counter and floor, a cacophony of glass crashing fills the room. Jeno shoots to his feet, the sound like a trigger. You grab more glasses and launch them at the wall with a shriek. Jeno hurriedly gathers your arms and you thrash to get away from him. He doesn’t know why he says it, he doesn’t know what to say.

“Stop! What is your problem?!”

“If you’re just going to scold me like everyone else, get the fuck out!” The words deflate along with the anger as exhaustion overtakes it. What is your problem?

“You did more! You shoved him to the ground, I…” Your head droops, your attempts to tear away from him dwindling in power as you pathetically flail. “Why won’t you just leave me alone?” You say it to everyone. Why couldn’t they have found another failing, pathetic producer to torture. Why did Lindsay have to wring out every drop of fight you had in you.

“Let me go!” You look up, revealing your face wrecked with tears.

Jeno doesn’t know why this happens. He always thought he was broken. He was surrounded by so many beautiful people for so much of his life, but he never felt how his peers did. When said beautiful people would confess to him, he doesn’t know why he didn’t feel anything. When he caved and finally accepted one, he didn’t understand why everyone else was distraught by her cheating instead of him. He jokes that the wires got crossed somehow, and now he does stupid shit like this. The stupid shit that kept Lindsay in his bed for so long.

“Let me go!” You scream and he does. But only in favor of grabbing your face and mashing his lips to yours. It’s finally peaceful for a moment. Neither of you even react to a neighbor banging on your door. Your eyes flutter closed. You grab both his wrists, your lips moving on their own. You’re both sucking in large gusts of air through your nose as you intensify the kiss. Your legs stumble backward until your back hits the cabinet. The knob smacked against your back, a hollow ache spreading throughout. But you ignore it as his hands push up toward your hair. His palms cup your ears as his fingers tangle in the messy nest atop your head. Your head swims as the muffled sounds of panting and gasping fills the serene air.

His tongue pushing past your lips earns him a salacious moan as you move your hands to his neck to pull him closer. You had every intention to get drunk when you got home, but this is so much better. The delicious head rush you feel as his lips meld against yours is heavenly. For a moment this feels like heaven. The sickly lights are more like a heavenly glow in the moment, his retrained moans are a chorus of angels.

When he shoves his knee between your legs you gasp and pull away. The sensation is so strong it scares you. You watch each other carefully with hooded eyes as you cautiously grind on his thigh. Your legs tingle so intensely you release a shuddering breath. You fist his shirt as you begin humping his legs feverishly, a bomb of pleasure exploding all over you. You throw your head back, unabashed moans spilling from your swollen lips. Your legs shake so violently, the only thing keeping you upright is his leg shoved into your cunt. Jeno leans forward and cages you in with his arms. His eyes are hungry as he watches your face intently. You roll your hips over his leg desperately. Jolts of pleasure shoot up your legs. The sensation is too strong but too perfect. You want this to never end. The urge to edge yourself and prolong the pleasure and to get to your climax already are waging war in your mind.

He shoves his leg further, watching you unravel as lust tints his puppy-like dark brown eyes black. The look on his face is so intense it sends shock waves through you. His black hair hangs forward, allowing you to see his thick brows knitted together in utter focus. The trembling hits a crescendo and you can barely keep your eyes on him or your head straight. You tug him forward by his shirt as your moans get more whiny.

He leans forward with his lips coasting your ear and making your shiver.

“Do it.” He says encouragingly, almost as if to challenge you. You gasp sharply and let go of his shirt. You almost fall back but grasp his face. You both look each other in the eyes as you come undone. Your vision whites out as you toss your head back, a guttural moan erupting from your chest. You unintentionally claw at the skin on his neck and jaw as the orgasm leaves your ears ringing. When you finally come to, your breathing is reduced to brief huffs. The pleasure is still burning hot as your hips jerk against his thigh.

Minutes go by with you slack-jawed with your head against his chest. He moves his leg away finally and you whimper, still craving the friction. The two of you finally pull away and you feel the uncomfortable wetness against your core and upper thighs. You look first at the wet spot on your khakis, then the wet spot on his jeans where you had been humping him like a dog. Lastly, you see the angry red scratches on his face and neck. All you can do is gape, humiliated at how much you lost control. You look away and swallow, failing to placate your dry throat.

“I’m sorry.”

You both say at the same time. One looks at the other in confusion, asking what they could be sorry for. You watch as a tiny bead of blood forms at one of the scratches.

“I-I’ll get something for your neck.” You say before rushing toward the bathroom. Jeno grabs your arm and pulls you back to face him. The look on his face is gravely serious, and you feel a pit in your stomach.

“Don’t ever let her get you like that.” He says weakly before looking away.

CHAPTER EIGHTˋ°•*⁀➷

“I see you still haven’t changed your vacation days.”

You swirl the punch in your cup as you watch the chaos unfold before you. The music is deafening, groups of guys are standing on Lindsay’s dining room table and shouting. There’s an orgy waiting to happen moving to a bedroom. Someone broke her glass coffee table and someone else managed to swing from the chandelier.

Haewon is pacing, looking around in horror as she phones someone. You smile to yourself.

Yesterday, Ms. Lee was tapping her foot impatiently waiting to hear why your vacation days were still the same.

“My mother is sick.” You lie, picking at your salad.

“Oh yeah? Did she schedule her sickness for December 14th?”

“No but her surgery is scheduled for December 18th and no one will be there to help her recover. Would you like to speak on the phone with her and grill her on why her surgery date is so convenient?” You slam the lid over your food and openly challenge your superior. She grits her teeth.

“If I find out you went on that goddamn trip you’ll have hell to pay.” She spins and stomps away.

“You have a nice day as well! Thanks for wishing my mom well, too!”

She slams the door and you feel the bitterness fester.

It’s Saturday, the day you all agreed to go to Lindsay’s. Lindsay, who claimed to block you, texted you to remind you not to fuck around. It was too late.

Your eyes follow Haewon as she spots something and marches toward it. The wall half obscures her laying into someone. Curious, you follow her until Jeno is unobscured, yelling back at Haewon. Haewon reaches toward him and you rush over to pull her away.

“What the hell is going on?!” You scream, looking solely at her.

“Of course you’re defending him! You two are ungrateful assholes!” She cries out, eyes welling with tears.

“Ungrateful?” Jeno immediately clocks your body language after you say that and moves to holding you back. “Ungrateful how?”

“You wouldn’t even be here without her! You would still be broke and miserable!” She shouts, clenching her eyes shut. You slip from Jeno’s grasp for a split second and your hand thunders against Haewon’s cheek. Jeno pulls you back even further, screaming at you to cut it out. You shout obscenities at her that you’re not even sure she understands as Jeno hauls you, kicking and screaming, into a bedroom. He slams the door shut and immediately shushes your protests.

“What’re you doing? You’re gonna ruin it!” Jeno urges, restraining your flailing arms to your sides. You calm a little, realizing what he means.

“Whatever. She’ll be alright.” You brush him off and he pinches his nose bridge. “It was just a little slap! She’ll shake it off.”

“I’m gonna go back out there, you stay here since you can’t be trusted.” He mutters, keeping his eye on you as he walks back out the door. You curse him and make faces as soon as he leaves. You sit on the bed, not entirely upset that you’ve been banned from leaving. The music was starting to give you a headache, and though it was your doing, the amount of people there was overwhelming. You lie back, relishing in the softness of the bed. Maybe you should steal the mattress or something.

You quickly lean forward as the door opens, a shocked Jaemin in the doorway.

“Oh, sorry. I’m looking for the bathroom but I’ve never been here before.” Jaemin remarks bitterly. You immediately stand up, sensing something is wrong.

“No, it’s okay. I can show you to the bathroom.” You cup his shoulder, your delicate tone ruined by the volume you have to speak at with the door open. He shakes his head and closes the door.

“No, I just wanted a moment to think.”

“I feel you, come sit down.” You guide him to the bed, noting the weary look in his eyes. “This was a bad idea to come here, wasn’t it.”

“No. I actually just got done talking to Heechul outside. He lifted the screenshot detection and I got the pics. So that’s one objective down.” Jaemin takes out your phone from his pocket, showing you what he got as evidence.

The “bombshell” that Jeno didn’t get the chance to tell you was that Heechul, the creator of SCR, was fucked over by Lindsay during that debacle. In an attempt to save face after being called a homewrecker all around the world and to make good with Jaemin, she lied. She spoke to the press dressed in black and crying saying that she was drunk that night and that she’s always been a big Super Junior fan. Told them she wasn’t thinking straight and just adored him as an idol so much. Insinuating that she was taken advantage of one or two ways that night. It wasn’t as big as the initial scandal, but it was enough to do damage to Heechul.

Jeno reached out to Heechul, assuming he wanted to either clear that blemish on his reputation or get back at her at the very least. It turns out neither party was drunk. He also doubles as another testimonial. The screenshots are damning, most of them from the Gossip Girls group chat. Her full name being assigned to each message wasn’t enough, but good thing she would constantly send pictures of herself you couldn’t find anywhere else.

Jeno comes back in, eyes wide. That means he also has something to show for. He shuts the door and locks it.

“Haewon already called Lindsay about what was happening and Lindsay barely cared. She was just annoyed with Haewon and told her to fix it somehow. She of course blamed it on me, but that didn’t help since she had the key. So I was able to convince her to lie to save face. It worked.” A smile spreads on Jeno’s face so wide, wider than you’ve ever seen him smile.

“Lindsay put in a police report. She’s flying back to Korea.”

You feel Jaemin stiffen beside you and you rub his back. Jeno rushes over and pulls Jaemin up off the bed and into a bear hug. He reaches for you and you hesitantly stand to join them. You give a bewildered look to Jeno as he pulls you in.

“Be careful.” Jaemin says, voice strained by the strength of Jeno’s hold. “Whenever he feels a really strong emotion he–”

“Hey!” Jeno pulls away, almost looking betrayed as he gawks at Jaemin. Jaemin just smirks back mischievously.

“He might kiss and/or fuck you.” Jaemin rushes out and Jeno shoves him playfully.

“I do n…” He trails off when he realizes he can’t lie. Not after he proved this to be true that night. Then you both lock eyes. He wants you not to connect the dots and you don’t want Jaemin to know. The silence, however, is too long.

“What is going on? Why are you two looking at each other like that?”

But you can’t tear your eyes away from the lust slowly consuming his. He feels his groin start to ache and he wants to stop himself. It’s not too late! He can leave the room and prevent this from happening. Jaemin is the first one to move, though.

“Ah. It’s happening. Just get it over with.” He places his hands on your backs and pushes you closer. He tells the two of you to kiss like he’s playing with dolls. “Go ahead. Kissy kissy.”

“W-what!” You squeak, peering over at Jaemin while moving as little as possible. You can smell Jeno from this distance. His cologne is utterly intoxicating. The moment you turn back, nearly brushing his nose with yours, Jeno closes the distance. Losing the fight.

You moan in surprise, hips bucking into his. His slutty tongue licks into your mouth right away, muffling your pitiful moans. You feel a hand on your ass and you flinch slightly. How such a small touch feels so good, you’ll never understand. You felt like you were in heat while kissing them individually, but with Jeno’s lips commingling with yours and Jaemin’s ghosting behind your ear, you feel like a shaken up soda can.

“We can finally finish what we started.” Jaemin whispers into your ear before pressing his lips against it, softly. Both their lips are cushiony soft as they glide over different parts of your body. Jeno grabs a handful of your breast and squeezes harshly. Your jaw drops open and he takes the opportunity to suck on your tongue. Jaemin finds your sweet spot and you tell him by reaching over to cup his waist with a gasp. You feel him smile against your skin before sucking against the spot.

You’re useless at this point, craning your head back as moans leap from your throat. Jeno’s lips move lower, trailing down your jaw to your neck to your chest. You thread your fingers through his hair, urging him lower. He pulls your hands away, a scolding gaze thrown your way. Jaemin tsks to your right.

“Be a good girl, hm?” His hot breath fans against your cheek. “Be patient.” He whispers. His hand snakes up to your neck, giving it a light squeeze. Your eyes roll back and he squeezes harder with a chuckle.

“You like that?”

“She likes that.” Jeno growls, watching you closely. His tongue lulls out of his mouth, running over your clothed nipple. You attempt to throw your head back but you can’t in Jaemin’s grip. Jeno flicks the hardened, sensitive bud, his eyes intense. Jaemin’s hand slips up further to cup your jaw, forcing you to face him. He makes quick work of kissing you sloppily. Licking your bottom lip into his mouth and sucking on it. Your lips roll over each other, wet tongues laving messily. Jaemin is much nastier and looser than Jeno, who feels more controlled. Even as his tongue creates a wet spot over both your nipples. Each time he nips at you, you moan into Jaemin’s mouth. Jaemin mirrors every moan, like he’s feeling just as much pleasure.

You squeeze your thighs together desperately, whimpering in need. Jeno hums against your nipple. He reaches down and cruelly spreads them apart. You squeeze Jeno’s shoulder in frustration. He rises, hand on your throat.

“Can’t be patient, huh?” His eyes are fierce as he squeezes until your brain feels fuzzy. “Open your fucking mouth.”

Your mouth drops open, your tongue lolling forward with drool dripping from the tip. He leans in, spitting onto your tongue. Before you can react, Jaemin wraps his hand around Jeno’s. Your face feels hotter, you blink slowly. Jaemin dives forward and sucks the spit off your tongue. You let out a strangled moan, going to kiss back until he pulls away again and spits on your tongue. This time Jeno dives in, kissing you feverishly. When he pulls away, there are thick strings of saliva drooping between you two. They take turns spitting into your mouth and on your face, Jeno keeping his other hand on your thigh to keep you from any semblance of friction. Jeno finally releases you and you gasp for air, only for Jaemin to steal it. He tugs your head back by your hair and initiates the filthiest kiss of the night.

Jeno watches your tongues fight as he unbuckles his jeans. He frees himself and strokes lazily, biting his lip when Jaemin tongue kisses your chin. He looks down at your now ruined shirt with your poor nipples poking through. You don’t even notice him approaching, not when Jaemin is squeezing your upper thigh. He squeezes again and again until he reaches your soaked mound under your skirt. You hum pleasantly at the sensation. The serenity is brief when Jeno slips his hand under your shirt and cups your breast. You inhale shakily, eyes wide open as you grip Jaemin’s forearm for dear life. The dream that has been the source of your pleasure every night is suddenly so vivid. You go still, legs locking up around Jaemin’s hand. It’s all too sudden, the speed at which it hits you. Your orgasm crashes over you and it’s debilitating. You lock your thighs around Jaemin’s hand. The sensation just started and it’s already about to end.

“N-no!” You yelp, cut short by a downright despondent moan as you gush through your underwear. You don’t want it to end, you really don’t, but the waves of fire subside against your will. Left in its wake, your legs turn to jelly and you collapse to your knees. You clench your eyes shut, wanting to relive the dream being so vivid after so long. Jeno cupping your chin makes you open them. A long, stiff rod hangs over your face, sticking straight out with heat radiating from it.

“Happy you got to cum early? Open up.” Jeno pushes your cheeks in with his fingers, forcing your mouth open. Jaemin grabs your hair to crane your head back while Jeno lines his cock up with your mouth.

As soon as his smooth tip hits your tongue, Jaemin is shoving you forward with a “good girl.”

Jaemin bobs your head over Jeno's cock. If you had a gag reflex, you’d be in big trouble. Jaemin has your face shoved against Jeno’s firm torso, pressed flat and making it hard to breathe. You wouldn’t have it any other way. The moment you saw his cock, you knew it was all you wanted to taste and smell until your body gave out. Jeno’s slutty moans harmonize with Jaemin’s praise and it has arousal dripping down your thigh.

“Fuck you suck good cock.” Jaemin coos as he pulls you back so you can gasp for air.

“She was fucking made to suck cock.” Jeno adds, adding his own hand to your hair and pulling you back on. Long and thick. Your lips are stretched wide to compensate him. Jeno’s moans are poorly restrained, breaking free each time your tongue stretches lower and laves over his ball sack. Jaemin leans forward to capture his lips and swallow his moans.

His hands move from your hair to Jaemin’s, forcing him to his knees. Jaemin’s hand falls away from your hair and you take the break to breathe and observe the shifted dynamic. The occasional flash of lightning from the window mixes with the warm light seeping under the door. It illuminates his wide, glassy eyes. So wide, you’ve never seen him look like this. It’s his turn to be used like a fleshlight as Jeno’s fist tightens in his hair and shoves his forward. Poor Jaemin has a gag reflex, gagging and gargling around Jeno’s cock. Jeno ignores his struggles, relentless as he keeps his cock shoved deep down his throat. Jaemin never lets his big eyes leave Jeno.

You can’t help but stroke his head and coo. He’s focused and damn is he hardworking. You’re impressed and proud, and suddenly you understand how he felt earlier.

“Good boy.” You coo before kissing and licking at his jaw and ear. You’re hyper focused on him until Jeno takes you by the hair and shoves your head into his crotch. Your lips squish against his balls and your cheek is pressed into Jaemin who’s finally had enough. He breaks away, sputtering and coughing. Jeno leans over slightly to slap Jaemin across the face. He slaps and slaps until Jaemin’s slobber-ridden face is splotched with red. He takes you by the throat next, giving you the same treatment.

“Who told either of you to stop?” Slap. “Hm?” He switches back to Jaemin. The sensation stings so good, you wish he’d spank you all over your body. You arch your body forward, craning your head higher to better receive it. Jeno laughs dryly. “You even like this?”

You nod emphatically and he laughs again, tickled and pleased. “Good, now get back.”

Jeno moves Jaemin back on to his cock, leaving room for you to lick and suck at the side of his shaft. You wrap your lips around the base of his shaft, moaning in delight each time Jaemin’s lips brush yours. The teamwork means Jaemin is no longer struggling around Jeno’s dick, just slurping and sucking. Jeno’s mouth hangs open, his husky groans plentiful. He can barely keep his eyes on both of you slobbering all over his dick. Your obedient eyes watch him and it makes it harder for him to look away. He desperately fists both of your now messy hair for dear life. His eyes flit to you and his stomach caves. Your blissed-out eyes are sparkling so innocently as you suck at his shaft. The sheer amount of joy in your eyes to taste his cock brings him close.

He shoves the two of you away and you both immediately scramble back to your knees. Jaemin waits patiently for the next instruction while you caress his muscular thighs, eyeing his cock intently.

“Get her clothes off.”

Within seconds, Jaemin is grabbing your shirt and peeling it off of you. You barely get your arms up in time before it’s pulled over your head. He goes for your skirt next, pulling it to your knees in short yanks. Your hands drop to the floor as he lifts your legs up to get it off. It feels so fast, your head is spinning, but it must not be fast enough. Jeno grabs you by the arm to pull you to your feet. He grabs the front of your panties and rips them off your hips. He tosses the tattered fabric before delivering his next instruction.

“Bend her over the bed.”

Jaemin’s body presses firmly to your back as he urges you to the bed, folding over it with you. You can feel his bulge prodding at your bare ass as he grinds into you. His lips litter kisses all over your neck and shoulder before he makes his way down. The closer he gets to your core, the more your lower abdomen clenches with excitement and need. You’ve never been eaten out before. His nose prods against your anus, his breath hot against your lips. You squirm, trying to push closely, but you feel two pairs of hands hold your hips still.

“Patience.” Jaemin warns, voice muffled against your mound. He inhales a hissing breath before parting his lips and laying his tongue flat against your mound. You flinch, adjusting to the peculiar sensation. His wet, hot tongue prods at your clit. Liquid pleasure pools in your lower abdomen the more he flicks and circles his tongue. Light moans float from your lips at the feeling. Wet and hot… you never thought it would feel like this, or that those two sensations could feel this good. You can’t help it, you wiggle against them. The urge to shove his face deeper is so great.

His firm and slimy muscle slides up your slit, parting you open. He pushes it deeper, teasing your hole. Every movement causes a deep ache in your gut. A cloying need that is met when he gets more passionate. He begins slurping at your clit.

“Oh~” You breathe, pleasantly surprised by how good it feels. He switches between slurping and flicking and the liquid pools more and more in your gut, feeling like molten lava. You hear soft moans from both of them behind you, especially when Jeno’s searing cock starts pressing against your ass. His hips roll slow, gently working his member against you. Jaemin hums questioningly against you, the vibrations go straight to your core.

“I-I don’t know what’s come over me man.”

Jaemin hums again, this time like he’s come to understand something. Jaemin rubs your stiff bud back and forth until your moans gain more body. By now your moans have transitioned to desperate sobs as you try and fail to reach back for him. You should’ve enjoyed it while it lasted, because you feel a sudden coldness as Jaemin is pulled away. You push up onto your forearms, attempting to look back and protest when you’re pushed back onto your stomach. Jeno stands behind you as he says something to Jaemin. You whimper and whine, hoping a tongue will go back to pleasuring you.

You hear a zipper when Jeno prods his tip against you. You gasp, trying to keep still so he’ll fill you up faster.

“Please, please, please…” You chant under your breath.

“Sit up.” Jaemin commands as he positions himself next to you on the bed. You lean back, slowly positioning yourself onto your knees. Jaemin slips under you, placing his legs on either side of you. He opens his arms, raising his brows at you with a smile. You blink slowly, trying to piece together what’s about to happen. Your desperation cancels that out, and you just opt for leaning forward. From behind, Jeno grabs Jaemin’s cock– to which Jaemin groans– and positions it between your legs. It nestles perfectly into your slit, especially when Jaemin presses your legs together with his thighs. Your eyes flutter closed as you press your face into his chest.

You feel a second cock slide between your slick upper thighs. You push up, whimpering in fear as you look back at Jeno. Jaemin shushes you and pets your hair.

“Shhh, it’s okay. We’ll take it slow.”

“I-It’s been almost a year since I had sex last. I don’t know if I can take it.”

Jaemin reaches up and caresses your waist. He gives you a reassuring look and you sigh, attempting to relax.

“We’ll use a safe word.” Jeno snakes his hands over your shoulders, giving them an earnest squeeze. You relax further. “If we’re gonna… you know. Do this more often, I wanna make sure you’re completely comfortable.”

His hands are firm and confident on your shoulders, but when you turn to look at him, he looks nervous. His eyes carefully inch up your face until they meet yours. You can see that he’s pushing away all the teasing and snarky comments to let you know he means it. Something potent swells in your heart and you can tell he feels the same when he grabs your face and kisses you with new intensity.

You all settle on a safe word but it doesn’t matter what it is in the moment. Jaemin’s hands fist your ass, pushing you closer as his dick slides between your lips. Jeno’s cock slides right next to his, his knees now on the bed. His weight pushes you further into Jaemin and all you can think about is wanting to be cocooned in their heat and scent forever. You have one hand in Jaemin’s hair and the other reaching back to grip Jeno’s forearm. It escapes you that this can go further, that you could feel even better. With their cocks slick with your juices and slipping between your legs and against your clit, it’s all you care about.

Jeno draws his hips back until his tip catches on your entrance. He sinks in slowly, the stretch creating a deep ache. Every ridge his cock brushes over as he spreads you open fuels the fire in your gut. It burns hotter and hotter until you're biting Jaemin’s shoulder to muffle your mewls. He settles there for a moment, grinding his hips in until you’ve adjusted. Then he pulls all the way out, leaving your cunt to slowly shrink and clench around nothing only for him to shove it back in. You let out a harsh yelp, your body propelling forward with each thrust. Jaemin holds you steady so you’re not inching up the bed.

Jeno has one foot on the bed now, delivering punishing thrust after punishing thrust. You can tell they’re both getting worked up. Jaemin keeps praising you and Jeno. Variations of him telling you you take his cock so well and telling him how good he’s fucking you. Jeno’s even getting a little verbal. Little curses here and there, slapping your ass.

“Take this fucking cock.” Jeno grunts. His skin slapping against yours is so loud you’re convinced the people outside can hear it through the music. Jaemin lifts you up and lets his cock slap against his stomach. He lowers you back down, your clit landing right on his shaft. Jeno’s thrusts jostle your body back and forth, rubbing your throbbing clit on Jaemin’s cock. Your jaw drops open as a strong sensation overtakes you. Salacious moans unleash from your throat against your will.

“O-oh my– god!” You cry out, the fire in your stomach raging. You hear Jeno laugh behind you and Jaemin laugh against your shoulder.

“So cute.” Jaemin says with fondness dripping from his voice.

“Oh my god?” Jeno mocks, smacking your ass again. “Just like in porn.” Him and Jaemin laugh harder and you can’t bring yourself to sass them. Not with the raging inferno overtaking your body. You push up from Jaemin right into Jeno, arms shaking in the process. Your eyes roll back as you let the pleasure overtake you. It’s so strong it’s startling as it hits its peak. Fluid shoots out from your cunt as a keen moan is ripped from your body. You slam back into Jaemin, humping his cock as your orgasm subsides.

“Goood girl.” Jaemin grabs his cock from under you to slap against your sensitive pussy. You jump from the sensitivity. “Get it nice and wet.”

“You first.” Jeno says. You can hear him stroking his cock soaked with your cum. Jaemin slips in easily to your pussy, all the way in so you can feel what you hadn’t noticed until now. Jaemin is thin, but he is long. Extremely long. A sharp gasp is drawn from you.

“You okay? Do you need a minute?” Jaemin asks, full of worry. Probably well aware of what effect his cock has on people. A minute won’t fix the way his tip is prodding against your cervix. So you shake your head, opting to take it like the good girl he’s been counting on you to be. His thrusting is slow and deep, punctuated each time with a kiss from his tip to your cervix. It’s painful, but you don’t want it to stop. The more it happens, the more you crave the feeling. You cup his thigh and he grabs your face, lifting it so you face him.

“Are you sure?”

You run your tongue over your bottom lip.

“Fuck me harder.”

Jaemin’s hips buck involuntarily at that, sending your eyes to the back of your skull. He does just that, showing that there’s no shift in dynamic from being fucked by Jeno. If anything, Jaemin’s thrusts are more wild and aggressive. He lifts your ass slightly to fuck you more efficiently. Each pound deep into your cunt has you seeing stars. It hurts so good. The pain is addictive.

“So much fucking dick.” Your voice is fragmented, each word cut short by a damning thrust.

“Holy fuck.” Jeno growls, slapping your ass and adding to that delicious pain. You can’t stop the sounds from pouring out of you. “Stop, stop.” Jeno taps Jaemin’s leg. Jaemin pauses, lowering you back down. Though the thrusting has stopped, him being nestled so deep within you is still so overwhelming. However, you didn’t understand what overwhelming could mean until Jeno’s tip breaches your hole and joins Jaemin’s monster.

The stretch is unfathomable, you almost think you can’t compensate. But you do, and Jeno is nestled deep within you as well. You muffle your sounds in the pit of Jaemin’s neck, lifting only to say ‘more’ to their check-ins. Only Jeno can pound into you with Jaemin pressed flat to the bed, but it’s more than enough. Jeno grips your ass with both his hands and he pounds into you with renewed vigor. Even Jaemin’s restricted thrusts still hit deep. Your senses are clouded with varied euphoria from all angles.

You’re rendered speechless, noises coming to a halt with the debilitating assault to your cunt. Every time you try you’re reduced to syllables and squeaks. Jeno checks in one more time, asking if he should go slower or stop altogether. You finally find your voice.

“Fuck me!” You shout.

Jeno replies with a harsh slap to your ass. You can hear his balls slapping against Jaemin’s cock as he delivers his fierce thrusts. He slaps your ass over and over, backhand and forehand until it’s hot and raw. Jaemin lifts you slightly by your throat. It’s clear on his face that he’s also being overtaken by pleasure.

“You like it like that, huh?” He slaps you across the face. “You like it hard and rough?”

“I fucking love it.” You grit, earning you another slap. They both continue their slapping until your tongue is hanging out, drool dripping from it so you look like the dirty slut they’re making you out to be.

“Good fucking girl.” Jaemin grunts, running his nails up your back.

“Best fucking girl.” Jeno corrects. An onslaught of slaps punctuate their praise.

Jeno’s thrusts don’t stop when you feel yourself gush with no warning. You throw your head back, moaning in shock as an orgasm overtakes you.

“Did you cum? Hm? You came again?” Jeno snatches you by your hair and you clench around them as much as you can manage.

“Oh… oh fuck!” Jaemin digs his nails into your sides as he bucks brutally into you, giving your cervix one final beating as his cum spurts into you.

You’re completely limp atop Jaemin as Jeno chases his own high. Stuttering thrusts signal his eventual orgasm, filling you to the brim with each of their cum.

The next time your eyes blink open, your core is being wiped clean. After that, it’s Jeno carrying you and sitting you on the toilet after you mutter about having to pee. You’re awake by then, showering as you stare blankly at the wall. An impish smile slowly spreads on your face. You turn your face up, letting the water from Lindsay’s infinity shower pour over you.

Jeno and Jaemin are dressed and outside the room by the time you’re finished. When you go out into the hall, no one is left at the party except the core players in your plan. They're bloody and bruised, smiling like idiots.

“Okay, so what do we do next?”

“Take pictures of your injuries. I’ll text Haewon and make sure she has her story straight. Make sure you have yours straight too. Haewon invited you because you trained together when someone broke into the very calm! Party.” Jeno explains slowly.

“Right! And then we tell them that they fucked us up and were yelling about some gambling thing?”

“Right.” Jeno confirms, nodding his head and crossing his arms. Their eyes moving to you makes both Jeno and Jaemin look back at you. They sport the same wolfish smile as you move closer. Once stood next to him, Jaemin immediately goes to grab your ass, checking under your skirt to confirm that yes, you couldn’t be wearing panties right now. You swat him away, not wanting to get dirty all over again.

EPILOGUEˋ°•*⁀➷

The backlash was swift. First everyone was sympathetic in reaction to the news of the break in, then more of the details came to light. Lindsay being a celebrity all over East and Southeast Asia bit her in the ass. Everyone was talking about the break in and the gambling. All eyes were on her and all keyboards were typing her name into search engines. It was the perfect time to drop the second bomb.

“Ten accusers, six being anonymous, come out against the heiress. They state that she had scammed them, caused them mental or emotional harm and even made bets on their success..”

You shake your head at the TV, tsking to yourself and NingNing who was on speaker phone.

“Omg, look!” NingNing shouts. Footage of Lindsay Liu being detained appears on screen. She is thrashing and screaming at the police and the reporters.

“Oh here it comes.” You wince, recoiling from the screen. Lindsay rattles off some less than savory words, revealing her true self to the world for the first time. She curses everyone, naming specific ethnicities and nationalities while doing so. Mostly the ones belonging to her core fanbase. If the allegations and prison time don’t end her, this certainly will.

“Liu has been arrested on several accounts of tax fraud and general fraud. She could earn up to fifteen years in prison. Liu’s father, Liu Jian, publicly renounced his daughter. Saying that he doesn’t agree with his daughter’s actions, and that he’s appalled by her behavior. Liu Jian retired early this winter, passing Orchid Oasis on to the former COO.”

The newscaster switches to a new story and you shut the TV off.

“Well… after seeing that, any pity for her is completely gone.” NingNing announces. The two of you eagerly discuss what just transpired. You still feel a bit unsettled, as if Lindsay’s shadow hasn’t stopped looming over you yet. Will everything be better after this? Would people find out what you all planned?

You pick at your cuticles, checking your group chat with only Jeno and Jaemin and wondering why they haven’t texted you yet. Is Jaemin okay? An hour would pass before you got your answer. You hear the beeps of someone entering a code into your door and snap your head toward it.

“I’llCallYouBackBye.” You rush out before hanging up on NingNing. You shoot up from your bed, standing before the door. The minute Jeno’s face peeks through the door, he throws it open and rushes toward you. You giggle with anticipation as he grabs your face and mashes his lips to yours. You both collapse onto the bed. Only then does it hit you that you guys did it.

As for Jaemin, her rant as she was detained immediately turned him off to her. He was honest, stating it hurt a bit that everyone was right about her but it was telegraphed pretty explicitly. Heechul shut down Gossip Girls and even considered taking the whole app down, claiming that he feels like Lindsay tainted it. And in a way, she did. People keep rallying for her release, mostly people with a financial incentive. Then Heechul just realized he could boot them from the app. More people came out against Lindsay, something none of you had any part of.

You feel somewhat vindicated, like you weren’t as sensitive as you thought in regards to Lindsay.

🥀 𐮙 🐻ˋ°•*⁀➷

You’ve never experienced that new car smell, especially not while being served expensive wine. This trip to Switzerland in the Global 7500 was sponsored mostly by the members in the group from Stray Kids and NCT. Reddish brown lacquered wood accented the beige walls of the private jet. You settle into one of the cream-white seats between Jaemin and Jeno, across from NingNing and her members. You didn’t mind the thirteen hour flight with these seats and great alcohol and food. And Jaemin’s hand on your thigh.

It’s Jeno, though, that carts you off to the surprisingly spacious bathroom. It looks more luxurious than any bathroom from places you’ve lived. The sloppiness of the kiss alerts you to how strongly he’s feeling right now. You’ll admit that the luxurious nature of this plane has you all hot and bothered as well. You try to be as quiet as you can while sitting on the counter with Jeno pounding into you.

You all pull on your coats, hats, and gloves as the jet lands, extremely groggy. Most of you head right to bed as soon as you get into the high-end ski chalet. You do the same, mostly excited to see how soft the beds are. You plop backward onto the bed, pleasantly surprised. It might even be better than Lindsay’s. Before you could even think of getting undressed and ready to sleep, Jaemin is grabbing your legs and pulling you to the edge of the bed. You want to protest, but sex before sleeping in this bed sounds like a dream.

Even more of a dream is both Jeno and Jaemin lapping at your slit while peering up at you. You clench their hair, watching in awe as they get utterly pussy drunk. Licking each other’s cheeks and chins by accident here and there. You’re disappointed by how quickly you cum, wanting to prolong this moment forever.

However, you hate to admit that snuggling up with them under the warm covers is slightly better. Only slightly. After discussing, the three of you decided not to put a label on whatever this was. Especially since talking to Jeno and realizing a lot of what he feels makes too much sense. It isn’t romance, it’s secure co-existence.

Members of the now defunct Gossip Girls message you after some pictures of you, Jeno, and Jaemin drunkenly kissing during the trip are posted to SCR. You usually send a shrug emoji, but you briefly entertain the thought of your own guide. You don’t think what you wore or how you acted really mattered. Just that you had a common enemy.

LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED! `⎚⩊⎚´ -✧

◉ proofread cycle 1 ⃝ proofread cycle 2

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paige1722 · 2 months ago

Text

An Offering | Ch. 5 |

Pairing: Sleep Token x Reader

Summary: Cryptid, inhuman beings have spent their whole lives in Eden serving their deity, Sleep. What happens when one day you show up and no one can figure out why Sleep has delivered you to them? Should you stay with them or will you do whatever it takes to find your way back home?

Warnings: self-deprecating thoughts, some angst, Gore, injuries, poorly done medical treatment (Please, let me know if I missed any.)

Word Count: 9.1k

masterlist | ch.1 | ch.2 | ch.3 | ch.4 |

Chapter Five:

You feel yourself relax in his embrace; it’s been a while since so many people treated you so warmly. Therefore, no one can blame you for wanting to bask in this feeling for just a little bit longer, probably longer than is deemed appropriate. Your head tucked in the corner of iv’s neck, his scent invading your nostrils.

Vessel and ii continue walking back inside the cathedral, sensing that you need a moment alone with iii and iv, allowing you three to have a moment together without any distractions. The sounds of their footsteps and soft conversation faded into the distance as they disappeared into the threshold.

You have to force yourself to pull away from iv, not wanting to seem weird or desperate for physical touch in front of everyone. Even though you untangle yourself from him, he remains close to your side, his hand playing idly with the hem of your sleeve.

“I am sorry for running away like I did. Like I told Vessel earlier, I should have listened to you, to begin with,” you mutter shyly, swaying awkwardly, feeling ashamed at your earlier actions.

iii shakes his head urgently, “No, you have nothing to apologize for. We understand how confusing it is to wake up here without any answers.” He runs a hand through his bright red locks, untangling the knots in his hair. “We could be to blame as well, not really telling you much information to begin with. It’s just we were scared too.”

You feel iv’s hand move from playing with your sleeve to wrapping around your wrist, his index finger resting against your pulse, feeling the steady beat of your heart. The warmth of his hand reassures you, as your mind replays the last part of iii’s sentence over again.

Your eyebrows pull together in confusion. You ask, “Why were you scared, too?”

iii stares at your wrist in iv’s grip, a strange look in his eyes. He lets out a shaky breath before answering, “I can’t tell you, it’s too soon.”

You feel anger igniting under your skin, protests on the tip of your tongue, about to call him out for the hypocrisy of the situation, when he suddenly drops to his knees, resting his hands on your hips, squeezing the flesh in his hands.

Any rebuttal or shouts of anger escape you immediately at the sudden and unexpected actions from the man holding onto you as if you could disappear any second. You watch his shoulders stutter slightly, his hands trembling against your skin.

His mask buried against your stomach, his voice muffled, “Please, you have to trust us. Please, I can’t.” He pulls his head back slightly enough to make eye contact with you, his once-happy eyes filled with tears. “We can’t lose you again.”

Every thought you just had about yelling at them and demanding answers dissolves immediately at the sight before you. A soft whine from beside you from iv causes you to look at him, seeing him with the same distraught expression filling his eyes from beneath his mask. You didn’t think you were running away and disappearing with ii for such a short amount of time would affect them like this so much.

“No, I’m sorry. It’s okay. I trust you all. Please don’t cry.” Seeing the two men like this tears at your heartstrings. You aren't sure how to offer comfort to them, as this outburst was unexpected and not what you thought would happen when you returned.

iii sniffles slightly, nodding his head solemnly, his grip bordering on the point of becoming bruising. Using your free hand, you grab one of his, pulling him back to his feet. You give them a small, hopeful smile as they both stand side by side in front of you.

“I will wait until you are all ready to give me the answers. I trust you. Just promise me that someone will tell me everything soon, with no more secrets or riddles?”

You can see iv nodding out of the corner of your eye as iii answers with a meek, “I promise.” He uses his right hand to make an ‘x’ motion over his chest.

iii turns, leading the way back to the entrance of the cathedral that you were running from a few hours earlier. You wish that your reunion with the two men had been different. Reducing them both to tears and frantically begging for you to trust them left a sour taste in your mouth.

Of course, you trust them, you trust all of them, even though you will admit when you first woke up, you were a little suspicious of them, but to be honest, who wouldn’t be? Everything was pointing toward a cult looking for its next sacrifice! They quickly proved you wrong at every turn, constantly saving you from not only the monsters that lurk here, but also from yourself.

iv tugs on your wrist as you pass through the doorframe, the doors clicking shut behind you. He pulls you towards the opposite hallway you went down for your discussion with Sleep. Everything looked the same as when you left, not that it was really surprising, though the table was now clean of food, only the intricate tablecloth remained.

You have yet to see any signs of Vessel or ii, though a sneaking thought tells you they are wherever iv and iii are leading you. This hallway was much more inviting than the other one; familiar tapestries similar to the ones you remember seeing in iv’s cave lined the walls. The difference between these, though, was that they were more colorful, green and white, both with flowers depicting different weapons in the center.

The sounds of your group's footsteps thudding against the marble floor alert Vessel and ii to your arrival. The door is already open as if awaiting your presence inside. You enter the room behind iii, stepping to the side to take in your new surroundings.

iv let’s go of your sleeve, opting to embrace ii, who sat in the back of the room on a rather comfortable-looking couch, his shadow cast behind him flowing softly swirling in the limelight. iv slides into the open space beside ii, who wraps his arms around the other’s shoulder, pulling him into his side. The two men basking in each other's company, like two lovers who are finally reunited after many years apart.

IV begins signing his hands, becoming a blur of movement as you are still not able to make out completely what he is trying to say. Ii has no problem understanding him as he carries along in conversation with him, whispering his reply softly. Their discussion is too far away for you to make out what is being said, though the fond look in each other's eyes says a thousand words.

Ripping your stare from the two men, not wanting to intrude on their moment together, you take the opportunity to look around the room. Out of all the rooms and places you have been in here, you think this place is your favorite so far. The atmosphere here feels more homely and lived-in than the rest.

The comfortable couch rests against the back wall, and large bookshelves are filled to the brim with old, well-worn texts and scrolls. The bramble covers the outer wood of the shelves and twists along the open spaces in the wall leading to the ceiling, adding a naturalistic video to the room. A table to your left is covered in miscellaneous papers, ink jars, and quills.

Vessel sits in a wooden chair at this table, engrossed in the large scroll unraveled before him. He pauses momentarily to address you, smiling warmly at you, his lips pulled back exposing his sharp canines. The light from the window behind him shrouded him in sunlight, a mesmerizing halo surrounding him.

iii has since joined Vessel at the table, sitting in the seat to the right, kicking up his feet on the edge of the table, earning him an unamused look from the other man. iii leans his slender form back into the seat, reaching back to the bookshelves situated behind him, grabbing a hardcover book that has seen its fair share of wear and tear. iii makes himself comfortable, resting his head against the edge of the bookshelf, opening the book to a marked page, and silently continues reading.

On the right of the door, the decor was different. Instead of the tall bookcases, it was mainly blank, save for four familiar masks encased in glass display cases. Undoubtedly, they were placed with care inside to preserve them from all manner of things.

You tentatively take a few steps closer to the glass cases, just close enough to get a better look but not too close, as you do not want to do anything without permission and accidentally end up doing something wrong. From what you can see, the masks are all similar in nature to each other, along with the one that sits upon Vessel’s face.

As your eyes travel down the line, you notice it seems they become more open and revealing with time. The bottom portion of the mask slowly recedes, allowing the wearer's mouth and jaw to be seen. The final mask greatly mirrors the one Vessel wears currently. The biggest difference, of course, was the red on this one instead of the green and gold shown on the one currently on his face.

You are curious about these masks and their purpose and significance, especially since they are displayed so proudly like fragments of who he used to be, gone but not forgotten. Stepping back slightly, you notice a difference beneath your feet; instead of the cold marble floors, a fluffy woven rug covers the floor. This room feels more and more like the heart of the entire cathedral, the place where everyone comes to talk, laugh, or simply bask in the presence of the others.

Here you are standing in the midst of it, but you don’t feel as if you are invading their privacy or their safe space. Instead, you get the uncanny impression that you’ve been here before. Now that you’re back standing amongst the group, it’s like the final puzzle piece sliding into place.

Everywhere you go and with everyone you meet, you cannot seem to shake that feeling, the deja vu tingling in the back of your mind. But it’s not possible, is it? You think you would recall ever being here before with all the unusual wildlife, plants, gods, and people. Perhaps you are simply reminded of a dream you had or a book you read when you were younger.

“You do not have to stand there. Come join us here.” Vessel's alluring voice beckoned your attention, as he gestured to the open seat at his left.

You shuffle to the awaiting seat, sitting down, placing your hands in your lap. Looking around at the assortment of notes covering the table. Most of it was illegible to you, the runes you have become so accustomed to seeing lining the papers. Others seemed to be music sheets, lyrics, and music notes scattered about aimlessly.

The huge scroll in the middle catches your attention as you recognize the writing, well, more like the fact that you are able to actually understand some of the words written on it.

You turn your head to get a better look at the scroll, trying to decipher what is written, but you have to admit it was a little difficult. The writing was done hastily, as if whoever wrote it was in a hurry. The only thing you can make out are small phrases and words. The most noticeable were the words ‘emergence’ and ‘apparition.’

Vessel, who was watching you closely for any signs of recognition on your face, but seeing none, though he was not surprised, he knew very well that this was always a possibility.

He ran his palm along the scroll, flattening it out more. “I try to study any and all offerings that are found amongst the garden, though some of the knowledge in them remains a mystery.”

“What does this one mean?” You ask, pointing at the scroll.

“For what little I am about to discern, it speaks of warnings but also a rebirth of sorts. My cypher is still incomplete. Therefore, nothing is certain yet.”

You would offer to help him, but since everything is in a different language that you don’t speak or know how to read, you wouldn’t be able to offer much assistance and would probably only end up slowing him down.

You are very curious about it. Undoubtedly, these types of puzzles always interest you. Little clues and hints are hidden away in different pieces, waiting to be solved. They are difficult to understand at first, but once all the pieces fall into place, they unlock something greater.

Vessel rolls his shoulders back uncomfortably, his jaw clenching in slight pain as he grunts softly. Your attention quickly drifts from the papers to his, and concern bubbles for his well-being. iii looks over the top of his book at Vessel, a look of guilt shines in his eyes.

The red-haired man questions, “Is the pain worse today?”

Vessel throws his hand up in a placating motion, sitting up straighter, trying to alleviate the pain shooting through the top of his back. “Yes, I think we will be granted rain again sometime today.”

You look out the window just over your left shoulder, up at the sky, and see nothing but the bright blue sky and sun. There are no clouds in the vicinity, and it surely doesn’t look to you like it will rain today, but then again, you are a weather person.

You heard the old wives' tale growing up that some people can always tell when it is going to rain because old injuries start hurting again. You don’t recall seeing any old scars or injuries on him, so maybe they are hidden.

Lost in thought, you continue peering contently out of the window. You take notice of how it overlooks a massive garden and nursery. One side is filled to the brim with various vegetables and fruits flourishing in the sun, the other covered in various plants and herbs. Eden was certainly a beautiful place, there was not a doubt in your mind about that fact.

It makes the creatures lurking around all the more frightening, making you wonder just what else hides in the darkness, waiting to strike. You’ve seen two different monstrosities, there is no telling how many more there are and what they are truly capable of. You can only hope that you are truly safe here in Vessel’s sanctuary.

Somehow, the dots connect inside your mind, perhaps this has something to do with the vertical lines you recall seeing sewn on the back of his robe. His mentions of pain focused mainly on his back, how everyone else seems deathly scared of the creatures, if not more than you, depicting that they all know exactly what the creatures are truly capable of.

You nervously begin picking at your nails, unsure how to ask the question on the tip of your tongue. Figuring it was probably best to just come out and ask was the best approach, nothing ever comes out of beating around the bush anyway.

“What happened?”

The light murmur of chatter for iv and ii stops in its tracks, all attention now on you and Vessel. Everyone is waiting to see what he will do and how he will react to your question.

You feel his stare behind the many eyeholes in his mask. If you really look close, you can barely make out the outline of his eyes. He heaves a heavy sigh, like he was expecting this conversation to come up sooner or later, but he hoped it would have been later.

“I suppose it is about time you got some answers and learn more about Eden. I will tell you all that I can for now about how this place started to change and where it all went wrong.”

———-—————

When Vessel woke up this morning, an unsettling knot sat in the bottom of his stomach. Ignoring it, he carried on about his day, hoping whatever it was would go away, thinking it was probably just his anxiety playing tricks on him.

Vessel stares at his reflection in the skewed mirror hanging in his room. He takes in the sight before him, a little voice in the back of his head telling him that by the end of the day, the person who stares back at him will no longer be the same as the current face in the mirror. Vessel takes in his appearance carefully, an activity he doesn’t make a habit of.

The full-coverage white mask, with a red line down the middle and a squiggly line intersecting it, covers his face. His eyes trace over the black hood stapled over his head, creating an ominous shadow over his face.

Behind him in the mirror, massive black wings protrude from his back, twitching subtly with unease. He rolls his shoulders back, stretching his wings out behind him, the muscles in his wings and back finally receiving relief at the movement.

Vessel’s covered eyes filter over his wings in the mirror. The soft glow of the candlelight in his room casts an eerie glow upon him. As he stares at his reflection, he is reminded of how Sleep told him upon his creation many moons ago that he was created in the image of an angel.

But the longer he looks at himself, the glass of the mirror slowly distorting his image, the more Vessel thinks that maybe Sleep was playing a joke on him, making him look more like a devil than an angel.

Scoffing, Vessel rips his gaze from the mirror, no longer able to stare upon his features, throwing the old, worn-out black fabric back over the mirror where it belongs.

Small slivers of the mirror can still be seen where parts of the fabric have started to unravel from the seams. He makes a mental note to ask iv about making him another tapestry.

Vessel lets out a muffled sigh from beneath his mask, shaking his head, trying to rid himself of the dark thoughts daring to penetrate his psyche once again.

He leaves his room, making a beeline for the front doors of his cathedral, wanting to feel the warmth of the sun on him again. Ever since he was created, he has found great solace in the rays of the sun, seemingly healing all wounds and purging any unwanted feelings and ideas out of his mind.

As he walks through the garden, the gentle, warm breeze rustles the feathers on his back, creating a welcoming tingling feeling. Vessel remembers how it took him some getting used to in the beginning, learning to navigate the new world he is in with huge, powerful wings on his back.

Vessel took great care of his wings, seeing as they were a gift given to him by Sleep. He made sure not to let them drag on the ground behind him, even if it would lessen the immense pain in his back and shoulders at the end of every day.

He will admit it has been a lot easier to clean and manage his wings with the help of the others. Ever since they arrived, everything has felt complete here. Well, almost everything, but with time, Vessel knows that they will eventually join them all as well.

A warm smile finds its way onto his face as his beloved nursery comes into view. Being a fae, Vessel has a strong connection to the nature surrounding him, but there is something about the crops, trees, and flowers that grow here that he feels even more of an attachment to.

All of his plants are thriving, looking more beautiful than ever in the sunlight. This is a sight that Vessel takes great pride in. The food that grows here is what helps keep all of them alive and healthy.

So, he has also become a little protective of this area in return. Large threaded vines of bramble create barriers around the different varieties of life growing here, protecting it all from any unwanted pests looking for a snack.

Laughter and running footsteps can be heard heading his way. Turning around, Vessel sees iii running wildly towards him with a wet and annoyed-looking ii flickering closely behind.

iii sprints behind Vessel, giggling loudly, slightly out of breath, using Vessel as a shield to hide from ii’s wrath. He peeks his head out over Vessel’s shoulder, resting his chin in the crook of the fae’s neck.

Out of instinct, Vessel’s wings naturally wrap slightly around iii’s body, and the soft puffs of air coming from underneath iii’s mask cause chills to go down his winged back.

“Don’t let him hurt me, Vess, I didn’t even do anything to him!” Laughs iii’s pointing a shaky finger at ii.

ii stands in front of the two men, absolutely drenched from head to toe, a small puddle forming at his feet as the water slowly drips down to the ground. ii’s bright blue eyes burn with the promise of revenge, his eyebrows pulled tight underneath his mask.

Vessel senses the rage building within the shorter man’s body. He holds his hands out in a placating manner, trying to lessen the growing tension.

“What happened?” Asks Vessel, his head tilting to the side, thinking this situation reeks of iii trying to play pranks on others again.

ii huffs angrily, folding his arms across his chest. The squelch of the water-filled clothes causes iii to throw his head back in a fit of laughter. His eyes are closed, and one hand is on his stomach, with the other now gripping loosely on Vessel’s shoulder for stability.

Taking the opportunity to strike, ii uses one of his shadows to reach out and wrap itself tightly around iii’s legs, pulling him to the ground. Causing the man to let out a startled yelp at the unexpected movement.

Now lying on his back staring up at an incredibly angry ii, who now has iii completely at his mercy thanks to the flickering tendrils of smoke that are now coiled around his body, not allowing for escape.

“He thought it would be a good idea to ambush me, inside his cave, and push me into the water as a joke. But now it’s my turn,”

A loud, piercing scream caused all three men to cover their ears in pain. Turning to look in the direction the screams came from, they felt fear fill them. There was only one person in the garden from whom the scream could have come.

Without wasting a second, Vessel takes off his wings, spread out flapping powerfully, propelling himself up and out of the tree line. He quickly dodges the hanging branches, breaching the last of the limbs, and soaring high above in the sky.

He looks around trying to see or sense any disturbances in the garden. To his right, near the small sanctuary iv often resides in, Vessel notices smoke rising to the sky a large burst of flames scorching the area. He swears he can feel the heat from here.

Another screams tears through the air this time sounding more painful than the last, Vessel can practically hear iv’s vocal chords straining in protest. Fearing the worst Vessel charges straight for the flames, his mind full of the worst possibilities.

The most terrible of all was that he would be too late to save his companion. The air was whipping against his bare chest painfully, but he ignored it, pushing himself to go faster. His wings were rhythmically flapping, the sound louder than ever before.

The closer he gets, the more unbearable the smoke becomes, filling his lungs and making his eyes water. The smell of burning plants and foliage burns his nose.

Vessel swears he can feel his connection with the garden faltering ever so slightly, the more the massive flames tear through everything, leaving nothing but ash and destruction in its wake. His heart is pounding so loudly, he can hear it in his ears. He refuses to be too late, not again, he can’t lose anyone else.

Amongst the rising smoke and flames, a large blurry figure can be seen towering over a slumped form struggling to crawl away. This version of the creature is something Vessel has only ever seen in his nightmares, stands over a badly injured iv, blood caked around his mouth and throat, soaking into the fabric of his clothes.

Granite stands tall and deformed, looking more different than Vessel has ever seen them before, like pure evil has infected them to their very core. The golden square helmet glimmers in the light of the flames, the amour dripping with blood and gore. He can do it, Vessel thinks to himself. He can make it in time, just a little bit farther, and he can save him.

Vessel can feel the ligaments and joints in his wings protest in pain as he urges himself to go even faster. Just as Granite lifts up his arm, wielding the colossal battle axe above their head, planning to strike down iv, who has not made much progress at trying to get away, instead seems to accept the fate before him and closes his eyes cowering down covering his head with his arms in a feeble attempt to protect himself.

Granite rolls his shoulder back unnaturally before swinging the weapon with all of his might towards iv.

“NO” screeches Vessel from the very depths of his soul, as he dives down to pull iv out of harm's way.

Vessel’s voice catches iv’s attention, he rips his head up just in time to witness Vessel appearing before him, ripping him off of the ground before they both go barreling into a nearby tree, flame-covered leaves and limbs now falling around the two men at the sudden collision.

iv stares wildly at Vessel, his eyes full of disbelief, despite the injury done to his vocal cords and no matter how much pain it caused him, he croaked out to the best of his ability, “What did you do?”

Vessel furrows his eyebrows in confusion, not understanding why iv would be questioning why he would save him. Of course, he would save him, no matter what. Vessel will do whatever it takes to help and save all of them.

That’s when Vessel realizes that iv is not looking at him, but rather behind him, when a wave of searching hot pain erupts from Vessel’s back. He crumbles to the ground screaming in agony, he reaches his right hand back to feel where the pain was coming from, but instead of being met with wings, a dark, wet liquid covers his hand.

Blood, he realizes, my blood. When he dove in front of Granite’s swing to save iv, he must have been a bit slower than he thought he was going because his left wing now lies lifeless and bloodied at the feet of the creature who tilts its head curiously.

No matter how hard Vessel tries, he can’t seem to move, the pain is too much for him to bear. Even breathing was beginning to be too much, at this rate, he fears that he will succumb to the darkness soon.

Iv sits frozen in fear and shock at the sight of his strong and powerful leader hurt and bleeding out because of him. He watches as Vessel’s blood pours at an alarming pace out of him and seeps into the ground, disappearing beneath the burnt grass and soil.

Granite throws its head back, grunting, twisting its body in abnormal movements, before stepping forward, crushing Vessel’s lost wings under its heavy boot. Walking towards where both men lay now completely at the mercy of the creature. With every pounding footstep signaling their death like a bell tolls to announce their ascent into the next world.

iv comes to his senses when the creature’s shadow casts over them both, he knows that he can’t scream, not again, it made sure of that nearly ripping out his throat the last time he tried that. All he can do is use his own body as a shield to protect Vessel from the oncoming wrath, just as he had done mere moments before.

Granite seems to sense this, raising up both battle axes and quickly and efficiently using the weapons to pin iv to the base of the tree at his back, the blade cutting deep into his sides. iv is powerless, and not knowing what else to do, he begins to pray to Sleep, begging for salvation.

The creature lets out a horrible grating noise, that iv soon realize that it’s laughing, mocking him as he is unable to do anything against it to protect anymore or anything.

Granite reaches down, grabbing Vessel around the throat, suspending him in the air, as he limply tries to free himself from its grasp, but to no use, he has lost too much blood.

Using his other hand, it coils its fingers around Vessel’s remaining wing on the base where it is connected near his shoulder blade. It starts to rip the wing from Vessel’s body, slowly and painfully.

Vessel screams out in agony, the ground shaking in protest as if nature itself were trying to save him. Bramble starts protruding from the ground, wrapping itself around the creature, trying to stop its onslaught.

But it's no use, Vessel is too weak, his powers are fading, slipping through his fingers the more blood he loses. At least he was able to save his companion from death, maybe it will be satisfied with me and let iv go free, Vessel thinks to himself, hoping that the pain he is experiencing will not await iv in the future.

Sickening pops and sounds of tearing flesh are all iv can seem to focus on, as he is forced to watch as the ligaments, bone, and muscle give away and rip from Vessel’s back.

The sight of blood, sinew, and bone is not something he thinks he will ever forget. He struggles in vain against the weapons keeping him pinned to the tree. Only succeeding in causing the sharp blades to dig further into his skin.

He wishes he could scream out, do anything to save Vessel, but he can’t, not without hurting Vessel further, plus with the state they both are in, there isn’t a doubt in his mind that it would surely result in death for the both of them.

The sounds of tearing flesh stops, as the remaining skin connecting the wing to his back relents, tearing off completely. The pain burning on Vessel’s back is unlike anything he has ever felt before, even the air hitting the exposed wound and torn flesh causes immense flashes of pain.

His teeth are clenched so tightly together that he wouldn’t be surprised if a few teeth are now broken. He can barely keep his eyes open. The darkness is beginning to cloud his vision, everything seems so distant, and the loud whooshing of his heartbeat is all he can hear anymore.

As Vessel succumbs to the darkness pulling him in, his last thought is that is iv and the others' safety, hoping the creature got what it wanted.

Vessel’s head lolls back, his breathing laboured and shallow. Granite drops the discarded wing to the ground, and it hits the blood-covered grass with a sickening thump. It pulls Vessel’s unconscious body closer to its covered head like it were inspecting him. The hand wrapped around Vessel, tightening, but before it can do anything else to harm Vessel iii and ii emerge.

They both froze at the gruesome sight. Seeing their beloved Vessel and iv in such a state sent them into a frenzy. Uncontrollable shadows and tendrils seeped from ii, flailing wildly. Without looking at iii, he growled out through gritted teeth, “Help, iv. I will get Vessel back.”

iii swallows hard, he has never seen ii like this before, but then again, none of them have even been hurt or treated like this before. He immediately takes the opportunity to run towards iv, trying to pry the giant axes out of the tree and free him.

Pure rage shines in ii’s eyes as his body twitches unnaturally, shifting quickly between shadow and his physical form.

Granite’s head turns lazily watching ii’s fast approach. It unceremoniously drops Vessel to the ground, his body hitting the ground harshly, causing the bottom half of his mask to crack, snapping off, revealing the side of his face contorted in agony, sweat dripping down his face, looking pale.

ii rushes forward, wrapping his smokey tendrils around the creature before it has time to react. Its arms are bound tightly to its side, its legs fare no differently, and around its neck and helmet, the tendrils are getting tighter and tighter, unrelenting.

Finally, using all of his strength, iii was able to free iv from his confines. His injured body slumped forward, and he tried vainly to crawl towards Vessel. Quickly, iii takes off his belt, securing it tightly around iv’s middle, trying to create a makeshift tourniquet.

Painful gasps leaving iv’s mouth, his tears falling down his mask, mixing with the dried blood that came from his mouth. Using all his strength iv weakly grabs iii’s shoulder and pushes him towards the spot where Vessel lies in a pool of his own blood and flesh.

iii quickly understood, and seeing as Granite was distracted and immobile at the moment, he took the opportunity to go to Vessel’s side. He carefully lifted him up and into his arms, trying to be mindful of the two huge gaping wounds on his back.

iii placed his shaking hand on Vessel’s throat, trying to find a pulse with bated breath. It was very faint, but it was there nonetheless. He can feel the tears threatening to form, but he can’t cry, not right now.

They all still have to get out of here alive and together. As quickly and carefully as he can, iii lifts Vessel to his chest, picking him up off the ground. He turns as he hears the loud cracking of the armor and metal covering Granite.

The tendrils wrapped tightly around the creature were literally squeezing the life out of it. The metal helmet was slowly dented, caving in at the seams, with strange grunts and wailing echoing inside.

Despite the massive height difference between the two, ii stands in front of the creature, seeming to tower over it, staring into its decrepit soul.

“ii, I can’t carry them both. We have to get out of here! They won’t last much longer, please.” iii shouts over the roar of the flames and all the other chaos happening, hoping ii hears his frantic pleas for help.

ii glances out of the corner of his eye, making eye contact with iii. He looks down at Vessel, snapping him out of his act of revenge. Still keeping the creature in his grasp, ii steps towards iv, wrapping him carefully in his tendrils, lifting him from the ground.

ii nods his head at iii before doing the same to him and Vessel. Once everyone was safe in his hold, he used all his might to propel them away from the creature. His grasp around it releases, and it crumples to the ground, engulfed in flame.

Now, as he carries them all through the garden back to the safety of Vessel’s cathedral, he can hear just how faint Vessel’s breathing really is. iv has already gone limp in his hold due to blood loss, and the adrenaline from the fight is quickly leaving him.

iii tries in vain to stop the blood pouring from Vessel’s back, using the tattered remains of his cloak to put pressure on the wounds to no avail. The blood seems never-ending, the warm metallic liquid quickly soaking through the material and dripping down his painted arms.

At this rate, Vessel is going to bleed out before they get anywhere near the cathedral unless he can figure out some way to help him. It’s up to iii right now. ii’s already done so much for Vessel and iv, fighting off Granite and now carrying them all to safety, while he has done nothing but watch fearfully from the sidelines.

Helplessness courses through him as he stares down at the uncovered half of his companion’s face, watching as the sweat drips down his face. Blood is just a thicker version of water in a weird, twisted way, right? So, maybe he can stop the bleeding.

iii removed the blood-soaked fabric from Vessel’s back, moving him around in his hold, being mindful of the tendrils keeping them both from falling. He places a hand where each wing used to be, the blood oozing between his fingers.

Controlling water is as easy as breathing to me, iii thinks to himself, I can do this. He takes a deep breath, trying to focus on the water within the blood, hoping that he can get the blood to clot. Within seconds, the amount of blood flowing down his arms lessens significantly. There is still some that leaks through, but nowhere near the amount it was previously.

A relieved sigh leaves iii’s lips, his shoulders dropping, but he knows the battle is far from over. There is still a long road ahead of them to save the two injured, they are not out of the woods just yet. But still, this small victory does give him a small bit of hope where there previously was none.

He wishes that he could do the same to help iv. The makeshift tourniquet did not help all that much, but it was still better than nothing. Plus, it is taking all of his concentration to stop the bleeding on Vessel. He doubts he would be able to do the same to both of them at the same time, not without messing something up.

Seconds feel like hours, the garden feels unending as ii continues flickering in and out of the trees, pushing himself as hard as he can. The guilt of being so late to get to there to help them gnawed heavily at him. Three minutes was all it took, for that damned demon to cause all this damage, ripping the wings off Vessel like it was nothing, crushing iv’s vocal chords almost cutting him in half.

If they had been there even just a minute sooner, he could have saved them from this terrible fate. The cathedral’s stone comes into view, just a little farther, and everything is going to be okay. Everyone is going to be fine.

ii slams the door open, a loud bang echoing throughout the empty room. He rushes over the stone altar frantically, clearing off the offerings on it. Not caring as the food, scrolls, and herbs clatter to the floor. He brings forth Vessel, who is still in iii’s hold, doing his all to keep him alive.

Vessel is laid carefully on the altar, iii keeps his hands pressed firmly to his back, looking up at ii, “Place iv on the table over there, “ he motions with his head to the table they use when dining together, now about to be turned into a medical bed.

Wanting to keep them close together, it stretches out a tendril, wrapping it around the leg of the table, noisily dragging it next to the altar before placing iv’s unconscious form on it.

“Keep doing what you’re doing, I am going to find something to help us!” ii exclaims voice cracking as he is finally able to get a good look at them. He tears his eyes from them before running off towards Vessel’s room, hoping to find anything of use.

There are already two large basins in the main room. They can fill them with water to help clean the wounds, so all he really needs to find is some bandages, medicines, and maybe something to sew up the lesions.

Entering the room, he makes a beeline for the apothecary cabinet situated next to the covered mirror. He desperately starts ransacking the cabinet, throwing open the small drawers, trying to find anything that would help them. He uses his tendrils to help him look as quietly as he possibly can.

In the smaller draw near the top, he found some needle and thread. They were not exactly what you would normally use for medical care, but they did not have many options. He grabbed them and continued looking. He knew Vessel keeps all different sorts of herbs here, so there must be something that can help.

Nearly all of the drawers are opened, and he haphazardly throws them to the ground in his haste, but still nothing, until he rips open a medium-sized drawer near the bottom to see two sealed jars. One is filled with small white flowers labeled Achillea millefolium, and the other has orangish-yellow flowers labeled Calendula.

ii could almost start crying tears of joy at the sight of the two jars, thankful to Vessel for constantly teaching them small facts and tips about the plants he grows in his garden. He picks up the two jars and turns to go back to the main room where iii was still waiting for him.

As he runs out of the room, his arm brushes against the cloth, causing it to slip from atop the mirror, cascading down onto the ground. A strange ripple covers the mirror, but he pays it no mind, hurrying to help save his friends.

“I found these herbs, Vessel mentioned once this one is good for stopping bleeding,” ii exclaims breathlessly, holding up the jar of white flowers before doing the same to the other jar, continuing, “and this is supposed to help promote healing on wounds and reduce inflammation!”

ii stops on the other side of the altar, staring down at iii’s blood-soaked hands, he swallows loudly, putting down the jars.

“I also found some thread and needle.”

Both men stare at each other, unsure of what to do next. Time is of the essence, though, so iii shakes his head, trying to focus on doing whatever is necessary to save Vessel and iv. They are both badly injured, but there is only him and ii. What should they do?

Work on patching up one at a time, no that would take too long and whoever they aren’t working on could get worse, plus iv hasn’t had the luxury of him stopping the bloodloss so he definitely needs to be sewed up then again if they don’t sew up Vessel he will die too. The only option is for him and ii, to each take one and do what we can.

“I will work on Vessel, you help iv.”

ii nods his head, turning and walking to the table iv is on. He uses his tendrils to pull the two large basins over. He places one next to Iii and the other beside him. They still need something to use for bandages. ii pauses, looking around the room before pausing at the large tapestry hanging on the wall.

It will have to do, and iv will just have to understand they had no other choice, he thinks as he rips the tapestry off the wall, using all of his strength to rip it into strips for bandages, enough for both injured parties, and a makeshift washcloth.

One of his tendrils gives some of the strips to iii. He looks down at iv, even with the mask on from the bits of his face that are uncovered is discolored and clammy.

ii carefully removes the tourniquet wrapped tightly around iv’s midsection before doing the same to his torn and bloodied shirt, letting it drop to the floor with a wet squelch to be taken care of later.

Now he was able to clearly see the two large gashes on both sides in the area between iv’s ribs and hips. Luckily, neither cut looks too deep, so he doubts that he needs to sew them up. Cleaning the wounds, putting some medicine on them, and wrapping them should be enough.

He still isn’t sure on how to help with the injuries he sustained to his throat and vocal cords, which is probably something his body will just have to do on its own, and hopefully, with him being a banshee, it will heal in no time at all.

ii grabbed one of the pieces of fabric and dipped it into the water basin, soaking it before using his tendril to hold iv down in place just in case his body starts reacting to him cleaning the wounds. Even through his smoke, he could feel how cold iv’s body had become.

Letting out a deep breath, he brought the rag over the cut, squeezing some of the water out, letting the water wash away some of the blood and any dirt that may have made its way inside.

He continues this several more times, then moves on to carefully wiping everything clean. Once ii feels like the wounds are clean, a tendril collects some of the herbs from both jars while still being mindful to leave enough for Vessel.

He crushes the herbs slightly in his grip, then he begins to pack the wounds as best he can, just like Vessel demonstrated to his many moons ago.

Now that the hard parts are done, all he has left to do is wrap the bandages around his sides to keep the herbs in place, and then he can help iii with Vessel. ii moves to the head of the table, sliding his arms underneath iv’s shoulder, lifting his upper body off the table, and he uses two of his tendrils to securely wrap the bandages.

He lowers iv back down onto the table as he stares down at the masked face, realizing that the mask probably isn’t helping make breathing any easier. So, iv unhooks the mask from around his head and places it beside his head.

ii takes the time to brush some of the hair sticking to iv’s face back. He leans over, grabbing one of the remaining pieces of cloth, dipping it into the cool water just enough to dampen the fabric, and placing it delicately on iv’s forehead.

“You are going to be ok. You both are,” ii whispers, squeezing his shoulder.

Vessel’s agonized screams pierce through the air. iii is desperately trying to hold Vessel still at the waist, attempting to coax him into calming down to no avail.

“It hurts, please,” Vessel cries out, his maskless face flush and contorted in pain, tears and other bodily fluids flowing down his face.

“I know, I am sorry. I’m trying, Vessel. Please stop moving.” iii pleads desperately while trying to keep him from getting up and doing any more damage to himself.

ii rushes over, standing above Vessel’s head, pushing down on his shoulders, noticing how iii had managed to completely sew up one side and was halfway done with the other when he woke up.

If Vessel tore the stitches, it would only end up causing him more pain, so they had to somehow put him back to sleep. Yet, without one of them leaving the room to look for sedatives, there’s nothing they can do.

Vessel’s guttural screams and flailing are getting worse, the sight of it all was beginning to make iii and ii sick to their stomachs.

ii leans down, trying to get closer, in hopes Vessel will be able to hear him over the sounds of his own pained shouts: " Just hold on a little longer. We need to finish seeing you up, please.” His voice wavers with every word.

“What do we do?” iii asks, helplessly looking at ii for the answer.

Glances back at the still open wound, and then to the bloodied needle and thread, ii summons more smoke tendrils using them to hold all Vessel down, halting all of his attempts to break free.

“I’ll hold him down, you finish sewing him up. Then we can put the herbs on the wounds, and maybe that will help with the pain.”

iii nods his head in return, removing his hands from Vessel’s waist, grabbing the needle and thread, his hands shaking tremendously.

He takes a deep breath, willing the tears that threaten to form to go away, he doesn’t need to obscure his vision and make this any harder on himself.

Stealing his hands to the best of his ability iii continues to sew up the remaining portion of the slash. As he ties the last knot, Vessel’s body goes limp against the altar, causing iii’s heart to skip a beat, fearing the worst.

“I think he just passed out again from the pain,” ii whispers, slowly retracting his smoke.

Wordlessly iii grabs the remaining herbs, placing them on top of the stitches as ii holds up Vessel’s upper body, handing some of the bandages to iii to begin wrapping the wound.

They work in silence, the events of the day taking its toll on them both. Tying the wraps into place and lowering Vessel back down onto his stomach, ii moves beside iii and places a hand on his shoulder.

iii jerks at the sudden contact before immediately collapsing into the shorter man's hold, shoving his face into the space between his neck and shoulder. His arms wrapped tightly around ii’s middle.

iii returns the embrace, placing his arms over iii’s shoulders, pulling him in closer, and gently rubbing his back. Sobbing and labored breathing can be heard from both of them. They can only hope that their efforts will not be in vain and that their companions will make it through this.

——————————————————————

You sit there listening to the heart-wrenching tale, not understanding how Vessel can go through so much and still be so strong. How could anyone or anything do something to intentionally hurt one of them?

iii makes eye contact with you, the horrors he witnessed that day flashing in his mind on repeat, “it took them both over a month before they were out of danger from their injuries. It was a very trying time for all of us.”

Your breath catches in your throat, not being able to imagine how tough and heartbreaking it was to have to sit there and watch two of the people you love most suffering and not knowing if they will even make it to see the sun rising the next day.

“I am so sorry that happened to you all.” You whisper, not really knowing how to respond to such a tragic story, but still wanting to express your concern for them.

Vessel tilts his head to the side, looking over at you, seeing your forlorn face. A small smile is on his lips, and you can practically feel the warm gaze of his eyes on you.

“It is in the past. There’s nothing that can be done about any of it now, except learn from it and continue on.”

You bring your hand up to your temple, rubbing it slightly, astonished how he can be so nonchalant and philosophical about such a traumatic event.

“But…it took your wings?!? You aren’t upset about that?” You asked probably a little more harshly than you meant to.

He lost a huge part of himself, it was gruesomely torn away from him, so how in the world is he able to smile and continue on like it never even happened?

Even with your small outburst, the smile never left his face, “I am more than my wings.” Vessel raises one of his hands and gestures around the room, then places the same hand over yours, his warmth invading your senses.

“Plus, it helps to know that I am not alone. I have all of you that care for me, just as we all care for you.”

You stare down at the hand resting atop of yours, letting his words sink in. They have all been able to withstand all the horrors thrown at them because they had each other to fall back on.

Now they want to include you in the mix as well. You still aren’t sure that you are worthy of their affection and care, but you do know that you want to be with them.

So, it really doesn’t matter if Sleep or the little demons standing on your shoulder constantly whispering and filling your mind with depreciating thoughts tell you how you don’t matter and that you are unwanted by anyone.

Because you have four incredible, otherworldly beings that want you. You just hope you can live up to their expectations of you. You know there is still a lot of progress that you need to make within yourself, yet you are willing to try if it means being able to stay here with them.

There is so much you want to say to Vessel to all of them, really, but you aren’t sure how to say it. Everything is still so unknown to you, and so much still doesn’t make sense about this place and why you're here.

Instead, you look up and glance around the room, making eye contact with iv and ii, who still lounge on the couch in the corner, then with iii, who stares at you with knowing eyes, and then finally with Vessel, who looks at you with a full smile now showing his teeth.

With how they all look at you, you swear it’s like they can practically read your mind.

Vessel pats your hand softly. " There is still so much to tell you, but we have plenty of time for that. Don’t you agree?”

You nod your head in response. Between the storytime revelation and this new conversation, your mind is reeling. Every time he speaks, it is almost like there’s a hidden meaning behind his words, and you just can’t seem to decode it.

iii slaps the table lightly, letting out a loud, exaggerated groan as he rises to his feet and extends his arms above his head.

He places his hands on his hips, staring down at you, his eyes shining with mischievousness. " Well, now. What do you say we have some fun?”

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