#GAVE UP MY YOUTH FOR MY FUTURE??

[baby-yongbok]

BRB just gonna listen to Social Path for the rest of my life. 🫠

[thecasualfkfan]

Social Path- Stray kids ft LiSA is out now!!!🔥🔥

[h3ll3vator]

𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐜 𝐌𝐜𝐋𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐧

Personaje canon | 15-30s | Heterosexual | Harry Potter 2da Gen | nacido en  Cambridge Inglaterra | sangre pura / Gryffindor / Jugador de Quidditch (Guardián de los Tornados de Tutshill) / Pro-Orden | reside en Londres Inglaterra | personaje abierto | fc: Christopher Bahng

[whore-ibly-hot]

"What it takes to lead."

Yan!Dictator x Fem!Reader x Yan!Next in line.

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Non-con, mentions of violence, fascism, groping, p-in-v sex, sexism, questionable father son Dynamics, power dynamics, leather play.

AN: I recently began reading @yanderedrabbles works and they broke my brain, so when I saw they had a Yan!Dictator planned it inspired me. This is... meh.

You don't know how this could've happened.

It was supposed to be a routine visit. Your father was a well off oil baron, owning one of the largest refineries in America, not counting his export deals. You had gone with him, unaware of the tense political state of Dela Marina.

Admittedly, the American government was somewhat aware of the rulers less than conventional methods of maintaining control. Camps, strict surveillance, and a cutting off of outside media aside from those approved by the Dela Marina Media council, but for America's political interests, and more importantly your father's bank, the warnings signs went ignored.

It started off as just a nice, tropical vacation. White sand beaches, exotic meals, and a blaring tan from the sun. However, something soon seemed a bit off. The leader, El presidente Ramon Ballesteros, gave you chills. He said nice things, talked about his vision for Dela Marina, how he would shape the land and people to 'true culture'. It would be inspiring, if his faze didn't feel so dark, so imposing. It was as if hew was analyzing everything, every move you made.

Still, Féliz calmed you a bit. The son of Ramon, as close to a prince as you could be in this 'democracy'. He was nothing like his father. Quiet, more subdued, though just as analytical. His father takes thing in while he speaks, but Feliz stays behind, letting his father do the talking.

"Hello there, señorita." Feliz had approached you the night of the welcome dinner, a lavish affair with Del Marina's finest chefs on hand. "My father wanted me to welcome you personally, we are both youths, uh, leader of the future, he says. Your countries, and mine." He seems awkward repeating his father propaganda. Despite this, you like him. He's funny, he tells you about growing up in Del Marina, about the culture, the people. "You have to go to the beach with me, there all white sand. Is beautiful, and if we go early enough, we can see the starfish beach." You took him up on all his outings, you could tell he was deeply alone, at his core.

"Feliz?" You had asked once. "Do you... get out much? I mean, I'm one for decadence. Whole point of having a daddy with money is spending it." You laugh. You were privileged. You knew it, you embraced it. You had never had to worry about anything, never had a reason to loop beyond at the suffering of the others. Why focus on all that?

"No, I don't. It's tense, in Del Marina. Their are Terroristas, rebels. Mis padre would rather me be here, where its safer. Besides, partying isn't for me. I have to learn how to lead, to study and to help people. My people." He'd explained, fiddling with the white pressed uniform he so often wore, a less refined and adorned version of his fathers. "Loosen up." You had suggested. "We can have some fun, we're friends now, yeah? Let's go party!" Feliz had never wanted really to go to a club, to spend time with the privileged people while he knew others, those being exploitated, were suffering. But you were so, so pretty, and the only friend he felt he had. You made him feel special, not for bring the son of the president, or 'Del Marina's future'. You made him feel special for being him. He agreed.

He was terrified when you both snuck out, naturally it didn't take long for the guards to drag the both of you back to the palace, you kicked and yelled while he went quietly. He feared his father would turn his anger to you, he was ready to take the brunt of the anger. However, his father seems amused. You laugh along with his dad, not sensing the chilling undertone.

"Your son, and the american girl, Presidente." A guard said, bowing, hand over hid chest. "They were seen heading to a club on the north side."

"Ah, let them go." Ramon grins, waving a hand as the guards back off. "Kids, ey? Even at twenty, they still can't help.but wander off. It's good, independence. To think, to have fun. Kids behave this way, it's expected. Dismissed." The guards leave, and he steps down to you. "I ought to thank you, you know? No one has ever gotten my son quite so out of his shell. Feliz, I've tried to inspire that boldness in you, I suppose I didn't realize it would take such a lovely young lady to do so." Felix goes red, looking down. He knows this is a facade, and still can sense the danger in the room. Ramon takes your hand, kissing it. "But i should have known, he is his fathers son, and we are both red blooded men, yes?" He chuckles to himself.

"I didn't mean any harm, I just wanted to have some fun. And I thought maybe Feliz needed a friend." You mumble, heels scuffing the floor awkwardly. Still; you aren't sorry. "He needed a break. To live."

The president goes silent, but then nods, laughing with his arms going. "Of course! Dis boy of mine, always with the working, he wants to be like his papa. It's honorable, but a young man still needs to let loose while he's young. Next time, all I ask is you take an escort. These terroristas planning Del Marina won't care about your intentions, just the message hurting you would send." His gaze grows serious, and you gulps.

"Ah, y-yeah. I'll keep that in mind." You look down, stepping away. "I'll probably go to bed, I've had enough fun. Goodnight, Presidente." He smiles, watching as you turn to Feliz. The tan boy looks through his dark locks, trying to hide his obvious flush from his father. You didn't need any reason to be made to stay here, and he knew his dad. "Night, Feliz." You call, and he just sends you a weak wave. Worried you upset him, you scurry off. The moment you slip out of the heavy wooden door of the presidente's office; his happy and jovial expression falls, mask melting away.

"Why this sudden change in you?" "Papa, please, I didn't mean anything by it, it was all my idea-" His fathers raised hand silences him. "Enough, Feliz." Ramon sighs, strolling to his desk cabinets, hand running across the mahogany surface as he opens up a velvet box, pulling out a bottle of scotch. "I didn’t lie to you, I'm not angry. I wish that your judgment had not been blinded and you had simply brought a guard-" He pours to crystal glasses, the brown liquid filling the clear, ornate glasses. "But I'm proud none the less. You made a choice, a bold one. Hm, we drink, you're becoming a man!"

Feliz winces at the glass sliding towards him, but knows his father won't take no gore an answer. "It was nothing, Papa. Just a quick outing, she was bored and I went with."

"Oh-ho, it was more than that, my son. It's okay, I'm older, but I'm still a man. I'm not immune to the charms of a woman. She is beautiful, no?" Ramon takes a sip, relishing in the burn of the drink. "This is the real infatuation you've had, isn't it."

"Its not an infatuation, she's a friend and-" His father glares, he knows he hates liars. "I... I like her, of course. But its nothing serious, no more than a crush."

"Even a crush is serious for a stoic, quiet man like you, Feliz." His dad leans forward to lift his chin up a bit. "I've never seen you take to anyone like this, that's what makes it serious." Harshly patting the young man's cheek, he leans back. "Her Father is a great ally, a man willing to buy the vast amount of oil our country has. It would be incredible for Del Marina to seal a deal like this, to lock something down. And Feliz, I know you want what's best for the country." Once again, hisbfather cold demeanor returns, shifting from joviality frighteningly fast. "So, I tell you to pursue it."

"I don't even know if she feels that way about me, a-and I couldn't ask her to stay in some foreign country!" Feliz is spouting every excuse he can think of, to push you away, push his fathers implications away, to keep you safe from the truth. The dangers of Del Marina, of his father government and more importantly, his father. Another withering look makes him nod. "I'll... ask her out. See if she'll accompany me to the press gala." He mumbles obediently.

"Good boy. Go, get some rest." He pats his sons shoulder. "And remember, Feliz,-" He chides, turning away and taking another sip, back to the future of Del Marina. "Ballesteros's take what they want."

Lying in bed, the grandness of his room feels imposing. As cold and lonely as ever, his own oil portrait staring back at him. He never liked the commissioned piece. It felt... fake. An image of his, posed by a map, in his uniform, looking like his father. Just. Like. His. Father. The sound of a creaking door makes him sit-up, and he only feels the discomfort in his stomach grow as he sees your form slipping into his room, clad only in pajamas that cling to you. Despite the terror he feels, the pulse of arousal in his gut is prominent too. He grabs his silk pillow, covering up a growing problem as he sees you approach.

"You can't be here, w-what are you doing?" He asks.

You just shake your head and laugh. "Please, it's fine. Your dad made it clear he likes me, and I wanted to check on you." You plop down unceremoniously, groaning at the feeling of the luxurious sheets on your body. "Shit, that's good."

"Go, you have to go-"

"Are you mad at me?" You ask, pouting as you turn to face him. Hes cute when he's nervous, brows furrowed and dark hair tousled. His hands grip the sheets. "Cmon. I'm sorry if I upset you, I just wanted to have fun!"

"I know, I know." he shakes his head. "I'm not mad at you, I was excited. It's just that you don't know my papa like I do. He always has a plan, a motive, for anything he does. And i don't want you getting caught up in something you shouldn't."

You frown, but ignore his warning. "Nah, he likes me, it's fine. I'm not scared of some politician, no different than my dad-"

"No." Hes dead serious, seeing the soft, sweet man so serious makes you pale, gulping. "You have no idea what he's like. What our country is really like, I-" He puts a fist over his mouth, rubbing at his face. "Please. Just try to keep your head down. Okay?" Nodding, and cold at the severity of his sudden change, you scoot closer.

"Okay, okay." You put your hands up in mock defense. "I'm sorry, I'll keep in line. I just wanted to check on you." I pat his arm. "Didn't want you mad at me."

He relaxes at the feeling of your slumped, warm weight against him. "No, I couldn't be mad at you, amiga. You're one of the... few friends I have, even in the short time I've known you. I just don't want you hurt."

"I like you too, Feliz." You murmur, and the simple admission is enough to make his heart palpitate. He grips the sheets, before slowly putting a hand on you. "Go, you should get back to your room. I'll see you tomorrow."

Watching as you pad across the floor, he coughs. "And... there's a gala, coming up. A media event for father and yours to be shown getting along. If you... if you wanted to go. With me."

"Who else would I go with, Feliz?" You tease, making him just look down, nodding.

So how did it end up as this? You're stuck up in the room given to you at the Presidente's estate, it had once felt so grand but now felt suffocatingly small. A deal had been struck, something went wrong when you had been seen at the gala. Media went wild, rumors flew about the pretty new girl spotted alongside Dela Marina's darling prince. And Ramon approached your father with an offer. You don't know what it was, or why he'd agree to it, but it culminated in your father jetting off; leaving you behind.

"Please, please- I don't understand-" You whine, hands shaking and skin slicked with nervous sweat as you see guards sealing up the doors of your room. Trapped. "Presidente Ramon-"

"Shh." His gloved hand pressing a finger to your lips silences you, eyes wide. It is now you are beginning to see the side of the Dela Marina presidente you had heard of. Calculated, cruel. "There's no need to panic, little American darling. It's not like your losing any luxuries you had back home, perhaps you are even gaining some. Both me and your father think this is best, a joining of powers. Now, he was hesitant." Ramon rolls his eyes. "But you are a fierce little thing, and I told him you'd get a bit more discipline here. I doubt he was strict enough in your upbringing. Not that a spark isn't amusing, señora. It's charming at times." His smirk is that of a lion looking over it pray.

"You see," he intertwines his fingers together as he sits down at the foot of the four poster bed beside you. "My son. He loves you. He'll say it's a crush, but a father knows his son. He's always been good, my boy. Never asked for things, never taken what he wanted like he should. This is a push in the right direction for him. To make him make a move. I expect you like him as much?"

"I mean, I don't, I don't know-" You're stammering, hands shaking. It's all crashing down, overwhelming. The feeling of absolution in his town, of finality, is bone chilling. "He's my friend?"

"Ah, well, that's only his own fault. He has trouble taking initiative, and I dont fault you either." He sits up straighter. "Im a traditionalist, like my father and his before him. Of course it should be the man who propositions the young lady, but my son-" he waves his hand. "Has this idea in his head, silly notions about the changing of culture. I am fine with most of it, but a wife and children? Being the man for your family, for your country. No, that I will never budge on."

"Papa!" The heavy door slams open, with a frantic Feliz standing in the now open doorway. "What are you doing, why is she here-"

"Ah, my boy. Come, sit. Me and your friends father had been talking, she'll be staying for a bit. Good news, ay? Now, I'm sure you've got something you'd like to say-"

"Y-you can't do this, she doesn't belong here, papa-" Feliz juts his hands forward to help you, to try and think of a way out of this. "Are you okay? Did your father leave-"

"Feliz!" Ramon's voice booms across the room, causing both of you to still like deers caught in headlights. "Calm yourself, I'm helping you along in making a decision you are unable to make yourself. You will be grateful, and apologize."

It's shocking to see how Feliz shrinks, to see how his dad treats him behind closed doors. "I- I'm sorry, Papa. I just didn't want her in distress. I didn't want her feeling confused." He mutters, head down like an obedient hound.

"Of course, and that's admirable, but you should put more trust in your father to know I’ve already explained the situation. Now come here, come." He waves his son over, and the pair stand near you on the bed. "Tell her. Of your feelings, take charge."

"I-" Theyoung man is trying not to hyperventilate, hands gripping his white uniform short like he's staving off a seizure. "I like you, you know this. I feel emotions for you that no one else had made me feel, and-and if you'd have me-" he sounds like he's ready from a script, eyes clenched shut.

"Not if. Be assertive." His father hisses. "Tell her she is to be yours. Tell her your feelings are strong enough you won't be denied. Tell her what you can provide given your status." He's glaring like a schoolteacher scolding a naughty pupil, and the shaking boy nods.

"When- when you decide I am right for you, I'll provide what you need. Our country has vast resources, and wealth for you to enjoy. You would want for nothing." Its monotone, like an audio book, like it's pre-recorded. Seeing his fathers fist clench, he moves to kiss you lightly. As he approaches, he whispers a soft "I'm so sorry-" as he places warm, slightly chapped lips onto yours. Shocked, but to afraid to not play along, you kiss back. It's soft, it would be intoxicating if the sense of impending doom didn't weigh so heavy, being moved like dolls in a dollhouse.

"That was nice, Feliz." You can think only to reassure him, hand landlord on his neatly pressed shirt. "Very nice, I like you too, of course." You tuck his hair behind his ear, seeing the way his lip wobbles, his eyes water. He's so guilty, he never should have spoken to you.

"Wonderful." His body is jolted by a slap to the back, his father laughing. "Good man, now, shall I leave you kids alone? I'm sure you'll want time to yourself. Son, you understand what a man must take from his woman, yes?"

"I... our relationship is new, papa. I can't. I-I-" He pauses. "I won't, I won't do it. I can't, I wouldn't know how and I dont want her to do anything she doesn't want."

Ramon scoffs. "She's agreed to be yours son, go on! Of course she wants it, don't you, pequeña?" Ramon gestures to where you're laid, looking at you expectantly. When you say nothing, he raises his brows in suprise. "Unbelievable. I set the two of you up for every opportunity and you can't do that. Son," he grabs Feliz's shoulder roughly. "We are men. Conquerors, rulers. We take what we want, lions from lambs. How can you expect to lead, to protect this great country from terroristas if you cannot ask your woman for what all hot-blooded men desire!" He's growing angry, truly mad, his usual cool annoyance heating up. "You have to learn if you don't take what you want, someone else will. Your land, your power, your woman."

"Papa, please-"

"No. I have to do everything my self with you. I'm going to show you what happens if you don't take the first step." He changes his eyes to you, your cowering form. "Strip, girl." You're eyes widen, head shaking on instincts.

"What, no, no, I'm not going to-"

"The choice is not yours. I've got guards outside, you're in my country. In my home." He comes to the bedside, leaning down so he's practically nose to nose with you, dark brown eyes feel like a pool you're drowning in, swallowed whole. "The only thing you are in control of now is how gentle I am, sí?" You're still frozen, just shaking your head over and over again, resulting in him sighing. It's a minor annoyance to him, like he's not violating you but rather just dealing with a disobedient pup. "Everything by myself." He repeats.

Gloved hands brush across your collarbone, cool leather causing a trail of goosebumps to blossom on your skin. He jerks his hand back, tearing the buttons on your dress. The front pops open, buttons clattering to the floor with a 'tink-tink'. Feliz winces, hand to his mouth in horror.

"Papa, please, please don't..." He begs, voice as soft and light as he can make it. He was a good father when he was little. Doting, he'd comfort him when he cried, take him on little outings. A part of Feliz hopes that softer voice would remind him of the boy he once was, that he'd give in.

"This is what happens son, you don't take initiative, someone gets there before you." Ramon feels you squirm a bit and tightens the grip he's got on your left arm, gaze never leaving his son as he warns you. "Don't squirm, girl." He warns. "You're a lady, not some groveling worm, hold still, I'll get to you in a moment."

"Can I talk her through it?" Feliz asks. "Let me be by her side, or at least... I don't know!" He begs. Ramon tilts his head, then nods. "Alright. Second best option is getting in where you can. Rising through the ranks, get over here." Feliz scrambles to get to your other side. "Now, let's get this off." Ramon grabs the blade he keeps on his waistband at his side, pressing the cold still to your pretty skin while he cuts the lace straps of your bra off. "Aw, beautiful. Shame to hide such beautiful breasts away, without a man to reveal them." He coos. Rough lips place a kiss to your left nipple, making you whimper. "Just beautiful. Feliz, take it in. Your first woman."

Feliz is staring, both horrified at his biological reaction and awe struck at the sight of your newly revealed breasts. He'd stared many a time when they were covered, to see them exposed in front of him was a new feelings entirely. He reaches out, letting a breath he didn't know he was holding escape as he gropes your left tit.

"There we go, it's good, yeah? A woman's body is a miraculous thing." Groaning, he leans down and kisses up and down softly the nape of your neck. "Don't stay quiet, let me hear those pretty noises, girl." He whispers

"I don't, this can't happen, presidente. I don't want this." You whisper, and he just chuckles, looking up at you from his place on your chest. "Ah, amor, but you will."

A sudden pressure on your ass makes you squeak, his hands groping the meat of your ass firmly, sure to leave bruises. "Don't speak back to me, ey? Lay back and enjoy what a man in power can offer you, girl. And call me Ramone." He grins. "There's no need for formalities when I'm going to have you speared on my cock."

Feliz grimaces at the way your eyes water, so afraid. But not only can he not help, he's so horrendously turned on. Your heaving breasts, wide eyes and flushed cheeks. You're a picture of eroticism, and the hardening in his shorts is a clear sign that the part of him desiring you is winning him over. He watches his father roll you over, gloved fist kneading the cheeks of your ass.

"Just a short reminder to not talk back. To behave."

A sharp pain makes you yelps, a harsh slap to your ass. Immediately after delivering the blow, his gloved hand massages to red mark. "See? Even when in the throws of sex, you should exercise your control, my boy. Let her know you are in charge, regardless of their pleasure she is providing you." He scoots aside, petting half while looking at Feliz. Feliz swallows harshly, but hovers his hand lightly over your plump rear. Another squeak, as he delivers a softer, albeit still harsh spank. "Make sure she's okay now. A firm hand, not a cruel one."

Feliz shaky hand gently rubs the mark, mimicking Ramon's actions, and he leans down to whisper in your ear. "Not too much, right? It wasn't too much? You-" He's trying to justify himself, why he feels so aroused by all this, by you. "You liked it, right?"

You're shocked, but as you shake your head no, another slap. The gentle kneading afterwards does little to relieve the pain. You know not to protest. "It's fine." You whisper.

Feliz wouldn't normally believe you, he'd hear the pain in your voice, the tremble. He'd want to sooth you, but he was so unbelievably needy in those moment, for for relief and to believe you were happy with him. That this was a good, intimate moment between the two of you, without his fathers direction, without force. Thid was the moment he trusted himself, his virginity to you. He just smiles weakly at your statement that it's okay.

"So pretty, let's get these off of you, huh?" You can feel the gloves leather, once cool, now hot against your skin he snaps your pantie strap against your hip, making you flinch. "Hm, I bet you've had plenty of men. A rich privileged American girl, spending your papas money. Does he know, know that your a slut, or is he too busy?"

"I've only been with a few guys..." you weakly protest. "From... club and stuff."

"A few too many. If any proper man had had you, he'd be sure you only ever took his cock, allowed him inside of you." Once again grabbing that knife, he slides the blade across the strap he had previously snapped, the fabric tearing and loosening. "Beautiful..." he runs his finger over the lips of your pussy, puffy from arousal. He lets you feel each wrinkle in the leather of his gloves, before spreading your lips apart, strings of slick snapping.

Feliz feels his mouth is watering, your mouth watering, your most bare part vulnerable for him. He can't stop himself from cupping your mound, letting his fingers curiously trail up to your clit. You let out a reluctant moan at the feeling; and he just leans down to kiss your cheek. "You're so pretty. A-and you're doing so well..." Making sure his father is distracted, he whispers in your ear. "Im sorry our first time together had to be like this, but... its still nice, right?" He's still in denial about the horrors of his actions. "You still get to feel good, and you get to be with me. This... this is what we both want..."

"Feliz..." You whimper, but he just shakes his head. "No, don't tell me it's not. I can't handle that right now." Despite his good nature, Feliz has always been given what he wanted. He cant help but feel selfish, ask you not to hurt his feelings or overwhelm him while your the one being violated. He'll reflect on that later. His lips, slightly chapped, press hot against yours, once, then twice. "That was my first." He admits. "Wouldn't want it to be anyone but you."

Suddenly, his father grabs his collar, pulling me back a bit. "Come now, boy. Clear out, I need my time now."

Feliz pales. "Papa?" He's visibly confused. "You said... take what I want, be a leader, not a follower. I thought you'd be giving her to me, that I'd be having sex with her! You said a man should let his woman be only with him from the moment he decides he wants her?" His tan hands are shaking, flushed face a mix of embarrassment and frustration. All he wants is to tenderly relieve the pressure in his shorts with you, and as he sees his father let out a 'tsk', his frustration increases.

"But that doesn't apply, does it? She's had other men before, and she's not a true, proper woman of our country. If nothing else, it's better I be sure she's even worth it. It's not simply sex, this could be the woman you choose to lead alongside, boy." His father cold glare makes him shrink back, sliding off the bed.

"But, isn't it a test of my leadership that I take her first-"

"You wouldn't question your papa?" Ramom hisses, and Feliz wilts. He can't make eye contact with you as he leaves the room. When it's him violating you, he can at least pretend you feel safer because it's him, that you like it. But its his father, a ruthless dictator, and stranger. As he leaves and makes his way down the hall, he's determined to be ready to cater for you when it's all over.

Back in the room, you remain a trembling mess, watching the much older man removing his belt with a practiced speed. "Please don't, sir-" You ask. "I don't feel comfortable, I don't-"

"You should feel grateful." He reminds. "To have both the attentions of a leader and his son. I understand it might be frightening, you know the kind of man I am. How i stay in power, I've tricked your father but I've no doubt that boy of mine has admitted some things to you." As he removes white dress pants and dispenses of his gloves on the nightstand, he grips your chin with now-bare fingers. Calloused; from years of clawing his way to the top. "You aren't stupid. That's one of the things I admire about you, girl. Smart, if a bit spoiled. That's fine, respect can be taught, a place can be taught. Natural intelligence can be harder to develop."

"Why me?" You blurt. "Why are you forcing me into this, you could have any woman, I'm not even close to your age, a-and Feliz, Feliz likes me!" You hope to garner even a bit of sympathy for his son in this moment, hoping it would prevent him going all the way.

"He does not 'like' you, he loves you." He says matter-of-factly. "Which is precisely why this has to be done. You will be in the public eye, the first lady of this great country. I need to know you can be submissive, can provide as a wife should. But... I also need to know you can be taught, can take orders. My boy, he is-" Ramon shakes his head. "Meeker than I would like, despite my efforts. I need to know even with his less than firm hand that he can ensure you behave. And ones true colors come out in the bedroom, I find."

He pounces, baring down rather suddenly, grip on your jaw near crushing as his free hand strokes once, then twice over his cock; brown with a curve to it and a purple tip. "But, I am also not a liar. I admit the idea of having a beautiful young woman around my manhood isn't-" he nips are your ear, breath hot yet making you feel frigid with fear. "Intoxicating."

"It's been a long time." You whisper, and he feigns a caring pout. "Ah, I'm sure. Don't worry, I won't let you hurt. But remember, this is about taking orders. First, take me in your hands. I doubt you're inexperienced in this, so don't feign naivety." His voice is low, threatening. Despite the churning feeling of sickness, you take his length in one shaky hand, wrapping round the erect shaft, and refusing to meet his gaze.

"Good. Go on now, kiss it, just the tip. I want to see you practice restraint, just because you don't want this doesn't mean I will rush." He warns. Your plush lips gently press the bulbous tip, you can feel a shiver run up him as you do. Testing the waters and desperate to get it over with, you slowly slip in the tip, tongue pressing against the vein under his cock. He doesn't thrust, not allowing you to take hin in fully; but the clenching in his jaw shows the effect it's having.

"Wonderful..." He groans. "Very good, take a little more, yes? I know you can, shit-" He rolls his hips, the salty flavor of skin filling your mouth further as you take him in deeper. "Good, suckle. Suck the cock of El presidente-" He's beginning to get a bit lost in his praise of himself more than you.

Sloppy, wet sounds fill your ears, eyes screwed shut as a few tears slip from them. Ramon grunts, whispering another moan of pleasure before noticing and sighing. He wipes some tears with his thumb, licking up the salty water to your shock. "Don't cry, cariño. I'm not being cruel. I'm being rather gentle with your pretty mouth; no damaged goods here." He reminds. You can hear his grunts increasing in frequency, his cock twitching in your mouth, when he roughly threads his fingers in your hair and yanks you off his cock.

"Hands and knees, face away." He demands. "Don't make me wait." Your knees dig into the silk of the bed, assuming an easily mountable position. Once again, you make a final plea. "Please-" Your voice sounds as though it could shatter. "Don't hurt me."

To your suprise, you can feel him freezing behind you, and hear a deep sigh. You scre your eyes tight as you feel him assume position behind you, leaky cock pressing against your folds as his chest, still clad in his white dress shirt, presses against your bare spine. One hand holds himself up, while the other takes your chin from behind, gentler than his initially grip. He places a few small kisses mixed with nibbles against the flushed shell of your ear.

"Being a leader-" he begins, "Is not easy. Being the wife of one, even more so. There is danger, societal expectations, and constant decisions that must be made. But know this, my touch is not something you need to fear, cariño." He's uncharacteristically tender now, and that frightens you more.

He finishes his speech with a kiss to the back of your neck, before sighing as he eases his tip into your wet folds.

"Ah-" You whine, it's thick, but it doesn't fully hurt. He's tender, he kept his promise. "Feel that? The stretch of a true Dela Marinan man?" He asks, working his way in a bit deeper. His balls, heavy, slowly crawl closer to the lips of your cunt as he further enters, groaning.

"Beautiful. Mmph, you don't have the makings of a first lady." He firstly pulls out, before sheathing fully again. "You're practically sucking me in, girl. You were made to take a Dela Marinan man, god-" His pace increases, gripping your hips as the thrusts.

"Are you close?" He asks. "Can you feel that coil of pleasure within you? Go on, release. Cum when the man controlling you demands."

Letting out a final mewl mixed with a sob, you can feel yourself beginning to spasm, walls twitching as a gush of fluids coats his cock. In a display of impressive control, though not surprising for the cold blooded president, he removes his angry cock without finishing. Quickly tucking himself away, back into his boxers, he towels the sweat from his brows as he appraises your fucked-out form. "You have the makings of a good wife. There is more to teach certainly, but there will be time for that. Though-" He tilts his head as if in deep contemplation, before leaning down to press a rather full kiss to your sweat-soaked form. It's passionate, surprisingly so, and he had held back from something that intimate so far. "As much as I love that boy of mine, I wonder if he is man enough to deserve a woman like you." He whispers, before pulling away and rather curtly leaving.

You can hear what sounds like voices in the hall, and soon two female attendants come to wipe you up. You're took sore to protest, and as they scurry out, the hurried footsteps of Feliz replace the noise they made. A look of worry fades slowly when he sees you, looking tired but mostly unharmed. He's got a glass of water in hand, a piece of chocolate, and other random medicine cabinet items. It's clear he was unsure what a woman would need for aftercare, and just took everything.

"I'm here, it's okay now." You can't even bring yourself to tale comfort in the words of your friend. You wanted him to have saved you, yet the most emotion he showed during the ordeal was learning he couldn't have you first. You just lay silent, still. He lays down beside you, fully clothed, curling into your side like a child seeking their mother's comfort. He pulls the sheets over you, kissing your forehead before closing his eyes.

"It'll be better next time." He promises. "It'll be me." That hardly soothes the pain.

[linoguy]

lee know always knows to use his hair to impact the dancing and i thank him every day for it

[minkkumaz]

SOCIAL PATH IS FOR OVERACHEIVERS!!!!!

[cherrychapati]

is the social path going to be one of my fav skz songs... oh my god... literally i have had it on loop for like 20 minutes the japanese comebacks literally never miss

[h109zone]

mess with my woman? mess with me—headcanon

synopsis. you were invited to an event and you brought your boyfriend with you. entrusting your boyfriend's social skills, you branched off to catch up with your best friend, tara. this motion, however, ended up going against your favor.

pairing. multi (seperate) x reader

words. 4.7k

warning. objectification, sexism, some mentions of body parts (ass and boobs) but it is never super specific, threat of violence, mentions of weapons, suggestive (xavier and caleb), use of evol (zayne and caleb), psychological torture, public humiliation, creatively uncreative insults towards a male colleague, implied death, open ending, slight ooc, not proofread**

requested. anon

a/n. my first request (˶ˆᗜˆ˵) i hope i did it justice, and did as told !!! i kinda went overboard, with some having a dark ending, but regardless hope you enjoy it.

minors do not interact. re-read the warnings before reading, as after clicking “keep reading”, i am not responsible for the media you consume.

You and your boyfriend step out of the vehicle as you arrive at the annual ceremony that is held by the Hunters’ Association. It is a highly prestigious and acclaimed event, and you two were dressed to the nines with your elegant long dress and his sharp suit, armored with accessories and hidden weapons, and arms wrapped around each other’s midriff to signify the status of your relationship. 

You were both greeted with a welcoming champagne, which you two gleefully took, and casual salutations from guests who knew you specifically. The ball was extravagant, with high-contrast elegance emanating in the room. You hear chattering, pompous chuckles, and rumblings of clinking glasses—a mere opposite environment of that of your workplace. 

You flaunted your boyfriend like he was a human version of a one-of-a-kind vintage car—you would feel bad for the objectification, if only for the fact that girls and some guys tend to flock to them to get to know this mysterious man in your arms. Luckily for you, but unfortunately for them, he only has eyes for you, and he pays no mind to others who don’t carry your essence. 

After the slight cordial exchange with acquaintances, you spotted Tara from afar, her youthful smile brightened as she jauntily waved her arms signaling for your arrival. You smiled back and nodded at her before you turned your attention towards your boyfriend and your male colleague, whom you happened to stumble upon. 

“Hey, babe, Tara’s calling out for me, you don’t mind if I step away?” Your request was a rhetorical one, as you knew he trusted you with his life. He gave his affirmative answer and nodded before you planted a chaste kiss on his cheek and parted ways. 

His eyes were on you as you walked up to Tara, ecstatically greeting each other. The male colleague in question looks at your boyfriend with a scoffing expression. The endearing and caring eyes shifted into a scowling confusion as he looked back at the man next to him. 

“Is there a problem?” He asked pointedly. The man held your boyfriend’s shoulder as he began chuckling. 

“Oh, no, my good man, there is none at all,” The man babbled before he chugged the remainder of his drink. The drunken state is very prevalent, if not in expression, then in his wording. “I’m just wondering how a distinguished gentleman like yourself bagged her? I know you can’t handle all of that juicy ass…”

Rafayel.

Rafayel choked on his drink after he heard the astonishing yet abhorrent language your male colleague had uttered. 

“Excuse me?!” Rafayel exclaimed after coughing up the last drink, looking at him with distaste, but clearly, the man still hadn’t gotten the memo. 

“Oh, please, we both know you got with her because of how hot she is!“

“Stop! Stop!” Rafayel roared while lifting his hand at the man’s face to signal him to stop talking. He cannot believe the words he is hearing, a male colleague, someone whom you work with, speaking about you—his muse, his future wife, his future mother of his children—in this shallow fashion. 

“What gives you the right to speak about her right to my, her boyfriend, may I add, face?!” Rafayel inquired avertingly, eyes reddened in fury. The usually smiley and soft artist has turned into a protective lion ready to attack at any moment. 

“Look, I presume you’re fresh meat right now and you don’t deal with her on the daily, but I’ll have you know that if it weren’t for that 10 out of 10 face and ass, you wouldn’t bat an eyelash at her.” This man has gotten himself a death sentence. Rafayel slammed his glass onto the table, causing a domino of heads turning towards him and the human scum in front of him jolted in his place.

“You motherfucker—”

“Hey, Rafy!” You barged in between, almost in cue, before his outbursts took over. The tension rose, and it was evident by your colleague’s petrified yet defensive stance that your usually calm and collected boyfriend snapped. 

“Is everything alright?” you asked, concern laced in your tone, paying mind only to your boyfriend. Rafayel could only do a languid yet short breathing exercise before smiling at you, anger still written in his face. 

“Yeah, fabulous, I was just getting to know your colleague,” his smile looking painful and petrifying. He wanted to escort you and not witness his wrath, however, his conscious was gnawing at him. He refuses to allow this brain-eating amoeba to roam around this prestigious hall contentedly, without paying his dues.  

“Hey, my absolute goddess, and anyone willing to weigh in on the gossip, preferably a boss or higher-up,” Rafayel dramatically announced while wrapping his arm around your waist. You looked at him, brows scrunched in confusion at Rafayel’s sudden behavior. What on earth is this man doing? 

“Do you know what this scum has been saying behind your back?” Rafayel pointed at the man who cowardly shrank himself, “You will not believe the absolute filth he has uttered in the short second I’ve dealt with him…”

And there, Rafayel turned the affluent event into a one-sided roast session, your jaw dropped, both in awe and disgust, whilst everyone let out a string of appalled gasps and whispers. Rafayel ripped him a new one while the man tried his best to defend himself. 

“It was a joke! I-I didn’t mean to!” The colleague stammered before looking at you in sheer patheticness to save face, not an ounce of remorse, “Please, Ms. (l/n), you know I was only—”

The gasp from the audience got louder as his deplorable voice was replaced by a slap from you. Rafayel could only scowl and hold you closer as you both watched the pathetic man stumble from the hit. 

You tugged on Rafayel’s arms and pointed at the door, “Let’s go, Rafy.”

“Let’s go, cutie,” He said, his sweet voice directed to your ears contrasted with the threatening eyes directed towards your male colleague, potentially ex, before turning around and departing from the party. 

The rest of the night spent with the two of you laughing at the entirety of the situation, poking fun at the man and your boyfriend’s love for the theatrics. Rafayel assured you that the claims that the man has stated were utter bullshit and that his love and enamor towards you goes beyond looks and bed skills, meanwhile you assured him that you were never close to that specific colleague. 

It was a fun time, and Rafayel could not wait for the updates to come when you return to work.

Xavier

Xavier’s polite smile has never dropped so quickly until now. 

He has been aware of this specific colleague since he also encounters him every now and then, and has seen you interact with him. He doesn’t like how he tries to get close to you, however, you always told Xavier to tone down his jealousy in the work field as the relationship is strictly business, and that your eyes are reserved towards him and him only. He believes you one hundred percent, yet he wishes he had done things to get that colleague away from you. 

“I beg your pardon?” Xavier’s words were as sharp as a knife, as his eyes painted a displeasing anger that was hidden beneath the surface. The drunken man in front of him paid no mind and began rambling. 

“C’mon, you can be honest with me,” The man slurred as he leaned in and whispered with a devious smirk, “She had a tight one and was a good fuck, am I right?”

The vulgar words sent shockwaves to Xavier, resulting in him pushing the man in front of him, causing the brain-eating amoeba of a man to stumble back into the table nearby, making everyone gasp and look at the commotion. You turned away from Tara and ran up to Xavier as you spotted him wielding his sword. 

“Xavier!” You called out as your boyfriend walked up to the cowardly man below him, threateningly. You stood between the two men, but you fully faced Xavier as you placed your hands on his arms to prevent him from hurting himself, the man, and possibly others. 

“Apologize to her,” Xavier said, pointedly and terrifyingly calm. You glanced at the man before looking back at your lover, “What are you talking about?” 

The man stood up as he lifted his hand, defensively before opening his mouth, “I just told him how it is, but your man is a pussy.”

Xavier clenched his fists, ready to charge, yet you stopped him by simply glancing at him. You had that power with him; he could have all the weapons and defenses, but nothing’s more potent than your expressions and glances. You squinted your eyes in suspicion before crossing your arms. 

“And what is it that you’ve said that got him like this?!” You coldly said, knowing your boyfriend has his moments of irrationality, but he’s not one to always resort to violence—he doesn’t act this way unless his and/or your life has been threatened. Xavier stood behind you as he held your hip, silently reminding you that he had your back, even if you don’t need it. 

“That he was with you for a good fuck,” He said in a “matter-of-fact” manner. 

The entire audience was flabbergasted by the confession, how callous he seemed, as if he had just uttered a common fact. Xavier was embarrassed on your behalf; he was ready to charge at him, and he couldn’t stand how you were stopping him. However, you showed him something that is possibly more brutal than Xavier’s sword covered with that scum’s blood.

You wheezed. 

You let out a hysterical laugh, leaving everyone, including your boyfriend and the colleague, confused. The colleague scowled at your laughing outburst. 

“Why are you laughing?!” He exclaimed angrily, fist clenched at the sudden reaction. You proceeded to laugh before you wiped your tears as you attempted to catch your breath.

“Is that what it is?” You spoke, the smile you’re showing on your face was that of menace, “you’re mad that he’s with me for a good fuck and not you?” 

Your voice heightened like you were baby talking, which caught everyone off guard, “are you mad that I get to fuck your coworker and have me call out his name instead of yours? Mad that you aren’t in his position?”

Xavier turned red, unexpecting your bold moves, but you kept going with your speech.

“Mad that he gets to see me at my full glory while you’re only limited to my uniform? Mad that he gets to use his hands to make me feel good while you can only use one hand for yourself?” You carried on taunting while the colleague began seething as you kept going, a smirk still exhibited on your face.

“That’s it!” He exclaimed before attempting to lunge at you. Xavier stood up straight on defense almost immediately, yet you fearlessly caught the man on time and proceeded to kick him in the balls. The dirtbag let out a painful groan and crouched down before falling while everyone, minus you and Xavier, in the hall let out their winced “oohs”. 

You and your lover looked down at the pained man with a mirrored, cold glower, your glares threatening him to stay away from the two of you. Xavier absent-mindedly held your hand, dragging you away from the commotion as you held him even closer to you.

You two left the hall, going down the steps of the building hand-in-hand. Xavier took notice of your sudden quiet demeanor, making his eyebrows knit in wonder.

“You’re quiet…” Xavier softly spoke as you two walked up the parking lot, “How ironic, after the stunt you’ve done, I wouldn’t guess that this would be the aftermath.”

You sighed, “I’m sorry for airing out our private life in front of our entire coworkers—”

Your apologetic speech was interrupted by Xavier pulling you in for a kiss. The kiss was filled with fervent reassurance as his arm was tightly wrapped around your midriff while he slightly nipped at your bottom lip. He pulled away, his body still close to yours as his hand caressed your cheek, his soft features created an oxymoron with the devious smirk. 

“Don’t apologize, now everyone knows not to mess with you…” He pulls away as he walks to the car.

You were sure you were going to give him the best night of his life to salvage the disastrous night.

Zayne

He simply blinked at him with an expressionless face. His eyebrows knitted in utter bemusement, his neutral expression juxtaposed with his agitated inner psyche.

 Zayne prayed that what he had just heard was a figment of his imagination and it’s that his possessive side deluded him into thinking that your male colleague said the most objectifying statement he has ever heard about his lover, and he was a young doctor whose no stranger with people from patients to receptionists to even interns and medical students attempting to seduce him for their own greater good, so he knows a thing or two about this subject matter—which is nothing and slightly less worrying than your case.

“I see you’re a man of a few words, don’t worry, I can see your intentions right through you,” the man confidently—wrongly as well—gloated, “Now, I know (y/n) for some time and lemme tell ya, her hunting skills may not be all that, but those cherries of her’s make it all up” 

Zayne wished he were deluding himself right now, and the words the man was saying weren’t real. He maintained with the stoic stance, disgust started to crack behind the mask, as the man proceeded to say the most awful thing any human being has ever uttered. 

“I mean, you’re one lucky bastard for bagging her, because having a girl with tits like that? Phew, got me acting up…” 

For someone who can’t handle alcohol, Zayne cursed himself for not being able to get drunk and forget this abhorrent exchange. While he remained motionless, his hand started to shake in fury as he brought his drink to his lips. The douchebag still proceeds in his demeaning and depersonalizing speech, while your boyfriend averted his eyes away from him. He was getting annoyed, and he thought that enough was enough. 

Mid-speech, the pig disguised human began shivering all of a sudden. He started to rub himself to keep himself warm, while Zayne was unbothered by his reaction. 

“Phew, is it cold in here? I didn’t think it’d get this cold,” Energy sucker of a human shuddered with his words as he looks at the towering doctor, almost looking for any struggle. He simply shrugged and swirled his remaining drink.

“I don’t think it’s cold.” Zayne finally spoke up for the first time, letting his ominously calming voice be heard. It is unknown if it was the temperature of the room or his voice, but the man next to Zayne started feeling severely shivery. 

“H-hey, i-it’s g-getting s-sup-per c-c-cold now,” the shiver in his body and voice turned into a rapid quiver as the man attempts to warm himself by rubbing his arm up, fails miserably. Zayne once again shrugged and paid no mind. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I don’t feel cold.”

Zayne smirked as he sensed the man’s body begin to whiten from the cold. The mole rat began groaning as icy surfaces began to protrude out of his neck as he knelt in agony, while the ice evol holder could only look down with him, apathy drawn in his face. If he weren’t in a public area, he’d have icicles penetrating his skin, but he knows that won’t be appropriate. 

However, the show must go on, as everyone took notice of the man’s aching state, so the empathetic doctor was brought back. As Zayne kneeled and pretended to tend to him, you ran over to the two individuals on the ground, and you noticed your boyfriend’s antics. To a stranger’s eyes, they simply think it’s just an off-duty doctor tending to a struggling victim, but to you, you see Zayne’s purposeful languid motions and his icy gaze that mirrored his evol, which was evidently in use as he tortured the man in front of him. You walked through the crowd up to them and crouched down to their level.

“What happened?” You asked, shocked written in your face. Zayne gave you a small knowing smile, “Nothing, just an injured drunkard, get in the car, we’ll go home after this.”

Straight to the point, yet vague. You knew he was lying, and you knew that he wouldn’t say anything in front of everyone, so you obliged and left. ‘He better have a good explanation for this,’ you thought to yourself. 

As soon as your figure was gone and the crowd scattered, Zayne roughly held the struggling man by the collar as he huskily whispered in his ears.

“Listen here, because I won’t repeat this. If you so ever talk about my girlfriend, or any girl at that, in this fashion, I promise you, your visit to hell will be sooner than expected, are we clear?” His calm tone sent shivers down the scum’s spine in fear as Zayne’s threats were sounding more like promise than a threat. 

Zayne pulled away, his glacial gaze waiting for a response. The man beneath him vigorously and cowardly nodded before Zayne let go of his collar and dusted himself off.

“You seem to have a mild hypothermia, based on your lower than normal body temperature, I suggest you go home, having something warm and rest with a heater on, so you’ll rejuvinate yourself… for future events” Zayne announced the diagnosis like he didn’t just threatened his life… as if his diagnosis isn’t any less menacing.

Needless to say, you have to thank Zayne for expelling bugs from your job.

Sylus

His brows raised in astonishment. Is this the work environment that you dare to gloat over him for? A man who can just objectify and reduce women to sex objects? Sylus was not a man of high morality and ethics, but even he knows his limits and disdain towards certain ideologies, and it’s the poor excuses of humans like him that will always leave a bad taste in Sylus’s mouth. 

“Hm,” Sylus mutters as his face sours while cocking his head to the side. Despite the disinterest shown in the towering white-haired man, the blobfish proceeded in his objectifying tirade. 

“I mean, what does a man of high status like yours need a girl like (y/n)? She is nothing but a pretty face and body, I would know, I work along with her,” The man obnoxiously laughed and hit Sylus’s side, making the red-eyed man grimace even further. 

This man has a certain death wish, and Sylus is not afraid to fulfill it, but, infuriatingly, patience is the best tool to execute this, and he knows this all too well. He can’t be too rash with his decision, especially when he’s Skye right now, a man who runs a family business selling fruits, not Onichynus, the leader of the N109 Zone and the most feared man. 

It’s a good thing that you’ve convinced him that Mephisto should be within your radar, because as soon as he gives the signal to the mechanical crow to bring in Luke and Kiean, it's go time and brings out his love for art and theatrics. 

“Oh, is that what you think?” His face shifted instantly, a smirk crossing his arms. The man was too excited to affirm his statement with how quickly he nodded, which seethed Sylus, but he could never showcase it right now. As the man carried on ranting, Sylus nodded before tapping on his ear as a form of discreet scratching.

That maneuver triggered the hidden earpiece you and Sylus had, and there you can hear Sylus’s torturous and abhorrent conversation with your colleague, whom you have foolishly praised. You have aided him in multiple missions and provided resources for him to better himself in the field, and now this is thanks you get? If you’re a nagging bitch, then you’ll show him what a nagging bitch would do.

Tara was absentmindedly ranting, before you interrupted her and gave her an excuse that “Skye” needed to go back home urgently. Tara said her farewells, and you two exchanged hugs before you said goodbye to the rest of the group. 

You already knew what Sylus was going to do, he didn't have to tell you his plan. you already had him memorized like a book of incantation, just as he is to you, and with the way he intentionally turned on his earpiece to make you listen to the horseshit your so-called “trusted colleague,” you knew he was done for. 

“Hey, Skye,” You gleefully returned as you wrapped your arms around your boyfriend’s midriff, resulting in his automatic hold on you while his gaze falls on you with wonder in his eyes—this was not an act, the action of having you physically close to him can make him falter into his knees for his adoration is bigger than what the universe can carry, hence the impromptu mission at hand.  

“Oh, hey, sweetie, such perfect timing, we were having such a riveting and intellectually stimulating conversation, isn’t that right?” Sylus said with his iconic smirk, discreetly sarcastic. He had placed the man in front of you in an uncomfortable position, with his tight-lipped smile and slight nod. Oh, how funny sexist pigs can be. 

“Oh, is that so? What were you talking about?” You feigned innocence and curiosity as you looked at the two men.

The man stiffened as he nervously stammered, “oh, there’s no need to know, it’s, y’know… men stuff.”

You nodded with a squint as you held Sylus closer, silently signifying to him that it’s done and the cue to be leaving, but you weren’t going to leave in silence.

“Yeah, I’m sure talking about me being a nagging bitch is peak masculinity.” You sneered before you turned your back, dragging Sylus, and you two departed. The pig’s colors melting away from his face was priceless, which both of you fought hard not to laugh and ruin the image you two tried to maintain until both of you’re out of sight.

“You’re not a bad actress, Miss Hunter,” Sylus left a teasing yet genuine comment as you two walked on the sidewalk. Sylus purposely parked his car away for anonymity and safety, so it is a bit of a walk. 

You chuckled, “You’re not so bad yourself, I was almost convinced that you agreed with everything he said with how you kept egging him on,” you teased back, making Sylus visibly cringe at the thought. 

“Please, it was more torturous listening to his voice, let alone pretending to hear him out,” He spat while rolling his eyes, making you chuckle before you wrapped your arms around his muscular biceps. Despite everything, the lengths that Sylus takes to keep you safe and protected make you fall for him, and after knowing what he’ll do to that guy after he takes you home, it’s safe to say that Sylus is the only man you’ll put your 100% trust in.

Caleb 

He could’ve sworn he heard a record scratch being played because of what he just heard. No, no, that was the chip acting up, there are side effects with the chip, he could’ve possibly misheard—

“Yeah, and I bet that pussy is tight,” Your colleague paused to sigh, “How does it feel to bag a baddies and manage to nuzzle yourself in that?”

Oh, he has chosen death, for sure. Caleb felt his eye twitch as he noticed the man eyeing you like a predator would a prey. This has to be some cruel prank made by you; THIS poor excuse of a human is your trusted colleague? The one you once mentioned that you trust him with your drinks after him? This scum was almost placed at a same level as him—your devoted, loving boyfriend. Caleb doesn’t know if he should get offended that you’ve placed this nobody at the same level as him, or direct his entire anger at him. 

He figured the forth should be dealt with later and handle the latter firsthand.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Caleb switched off his charismatic and sociable persona and placed his cold colonel side up to the surface with the bluntness of his tone. The cuntleague jolted in his place, noticing the unsatisfactory reaction coming from the colonel.

“C’mon, Caleb was? You know I was fucking aro—”

“It’s Colonel Caleb to you,” He sternly spoke, “And I don’t want you jeering around, talking about my girlfriend this way.”

The man in front of him didn’t take him seriously, laughing straight at Caleb’s unrelenting stance. Oh, he’s sealed his deal; he better not, god forbid, have any loved ones. 

“Alright, Colonel Caleb, whatever you say, buddy—” The heckler wanted to give your boyfriend a pat on the shoulder, only for it to levitate above the broad shoulder. The man notices the odd phenomenon, trying to pull away but to no avail, he struggles as he tries to get his hand back to its natural position. Caleb could only scornfully look at him as blue and red rays emanated around him like an aura, his lips curled in disgust.  

The man began pleading with the colonel to let go of his hand, anticipating his mercy of his hand. Caleb waited as he stared down, before elevating his hand away just slightly, only for the man’s hand to remain static in front of his face. 

“Hey, what are you doing—” His mouth shut due to the pressure of his jaw shutting him, thanks to Caleb’s evol, and then dragged him far away from the crowd. What occurs next makes the man regret what he uttered; the psychological and physical torment that Caleb inflicted on him was beyond cruel. But can he be blamed? He has heard your fantasy in the eradication of incels, and this colleague of yours is no less than that—it’s just you didn’t know that. Now, this man is paying his dues, hoping he never talked to Caleb, or disrespected him, or talked about you in a vulgar manner. 

You’ve noticed that Caleb was nowhere in sight, you were getting tired and wanted to call him to let him know of your state, only for him to appear behind you, wrapping his arm around your waist. You jumped in surprise before turning to him, making you laugh. 

“Oh, my god, Caleb, you scared me,” you spoke through chuckles before wrapping your arms around his neck, “where have you been? I went to talk to Tara real quick, only for you to disappear.”

Caleb pouted before leaning to kiss your cheek, “I’m sorry, pipsqueak, I went to the bathroom, I didn’t make you worry about me, did I?” He cooed, eyes glimmering in puppy-like state. You caressed his cheek while shaking your head.

“No, no, I just wanted to tell you that I want to go home now,” You said.

“Yeah, I think so too, I want to go home too,” Caleb hushes before he leans in to paint your skin with kisses and love bites, while his hands begin roaming down your body, ignoring that you were in public. You gasped at his sudden yet bold public display of affection as you gripped his arm when he began attacking your neck. 

“Caleb!” You whined through your shocked chuckles, “What has gotten into you? There are people around, you can’t have missed me this much.”

Caleb still left trails of kisses before pulling away with a devious smirk, revealing to you a flushed face, “You have no idea… let’s get out of here…” Caleb huskily spoke before he carried you bridal style, making you yelp with astonished, widened eyes. 

Caleb proceeds to drag you away from his sins and crimes, but is it criminal for wanting to take care of an uncomfortable situation his way? Is it a crime if the crime has disappeared into thin air? Caleb took you on a ride that opposes the idea of what your male colleague has gone through. You were rolling in the fields of pleasure and bliss, meanwhile your colleague held uncertainty and mystery. He was last seen at the event, never to be seen again.

Caleb just wanted to protect you from evil, and he can expel it if you tell him so.

ⓒ 2025 all works done by H109zone do not repost, translate, modify, or plagiarize my work.

[mellosdrawings]

The Princes

Ten years later. When marrying a Prince turns a Queen and a Servant into actual Royalties.

Because Vil deserves a real crown and Jamil deserves to be treated better.

NOW I'M GONNA RANT ABOUT MY CHARA DESIGNS CHOICES AND ALL THE DISCOVERIES I MADE WHILE LOOKING FOR REFS! If you only care about art and funny doodles, you can scroll down for a handful of slices of life.

(Don't worry if you can't read my notes, I'm repeating myself better right under this)

Leona

-Lion: As you may know, one of my grievances with Leona is how his hair doesn't look like an actual mane despite being a lion. While I don't want to stray too far from the canon design with the usual drawings, that's the occasion for me to have some fun with a future version. Give that lion a beard and voluminous hair!

-Hair: First, get those bangs out of his face. Despite Leona being very confident, he still has bangs covering his scarred eye. I wanted him to finally own the aspects of him that may be scary to others (his UM, his scar, etc). I actually went with bangs framing his face similar to the ones he had during his Overblot. I wasn't sure whether to give him dreadlocks or curly hair, but I ended up choosing the free curls decorated with some atebas and braids so that Vil could have more fun styling them.

-Eye: Thanks @aria-faye for the idea, I decided to have his eye gradually lose its capacities with time. From a headcanon that, while the eye wasn't directly touched by whatever attack scarred him, the process of healing still had an impact on it and he gradually lost sight in his left eye years after years.

-Body: Not giving him a dad bod (yet, maybe in another ten years), but definitely giving him more voluminous yet casual muscles. Practical muscles with a healthy dose of fat and tissues. Also giving him two full sleeves of tattoos because I decided he should have much more than just his lion tattoo.

-Clothes: Went full Maasai dressing and Kenyan fabrics and beadworks. If you're not familiar with it, please go check it out, it's GORGEOUS!! Crown is beadwork too. He also has one Arabic styled foot jewellery.

Jamil

-Hair: My first order was to remove his double-faced hairstyle and also remove his bangs from his eye. Make him confident enough to show his whole face. Unlike Leona and Vil, he doesn't really want a crown though (he still feels weird about becoming royalty) so instead he uses a braid as crown. Also gave him a little goatee because I like facial hair and Jafar has a beard too.

-Body: He grew up! While he didn't quite catch up with Leona and Vil, he is now closer to their sizes than before, sitting at around 180cm. He kept his breakdancer/martial artist lean muscles but developed a bit of shoulders.

-Clothes: Went full Arabic dressing and fabrics (once more, go check the fabrics, they are pieces of arts). I gave him floral motifs instead of his usual fire/snake motifs (though he does have a snake earring and a fangs necklace) to symbolise his rebirth/blooming. Like Leona, he has one piece of jewellery that is beadwork.

Vil

-Hair: Here it was a bit tricky. Considering Vil's work, he likely changes hairstyles a lot, going from long to short for his roles instead of his wants. So I leaned into the little things he could add to his hair despite their constant changes, mostly jewelleries, beadworks and wool decorations he stole from his husbands. He also cares a bit less about them looking perfect and is allowing himself to be more natural. He doesn't have any facial hair (yet), keeping a youthful appearance for as long as he can. In another ten years though, he might start looking more and more like his father, beard included.

-Clothes: For Leona and Jamil's mental states, the three of them most likely started living in Sunset Savanna so they wouldn't freeze to death. Vil is well traveled so he can handle most temperatures without trouble, and he is used to dressing up in the local get ups. Here I decided to give him both African dress and Arabic fabric, and likewise both beadwork and golden jewellery. I gave him crown and heart motifs so he can keep being himself despite borrowing a lot from his husbands.

There, I'm done rambling. Here's some doodles, followed by some random headcanons.

-Vil does his husbands hair every morning and keeps giving them more and more intricate hairstyles. He developed a whole haircare and beard-care products set for them.

-When Vil is away for a movie, Jamil keeps his hair mostly down save for a few accessories.

-Jamil and Falena get along surprisingly well (to Leona's despair). Vil gets along very well with Falena's wife.

-Jamil acts as a Scalding Sands ambassador and still is the one to care for Kalim when he comes to visit, though this time he's doing it because he wants to and not because he has to.

-Vil got used to his new title immediately but Jamil struggles with it a lot. He still has a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that he is no longer a servant.

-The servants at the palace love Jamil because he always makes their job easier.

-Leona finally decided to put his wits to good use and became Falena's advisor. He still fights a lot with Kifaji about the direction to take with the country, but he managed to make some of his ideas heard to help with the staggering inequalities in the country.

That's all for now!

[hellyeahscarleteen]

NEW: A Letter To The Trans Teen Thinking About Giving Up

The SCOTUS decision on U.S. v. Skrmetti was devastating. This decision does massive harm just by existing, and will absolutely do harm to many young #trans people in the United States. But please don't interpret this decision as a death sentence, or believe anyone who tells you that without the government's support, you or all young trans people in the United States will die. As Andy Izerson explains in this deeply caring and thoughtful letter for trans teens, trans people have always existed and survived without the government's help, and you can exist and survive yourself now without it if you must (you shouldn't have to, but you can), because we always have each other. "I really wish that the circumstances were different and I was writing you this letter to say, “Great news friend! The supreme court gave us a break today!” or to say, “Guess what, here’s how to run your endocrine system on manual without having to ask anybody’s permission!” or to say, “The state has given up on trying to destroy us!” From the bottom⁠ of my heart, I’m so sorry that this sucks so bad. I wouldn’t blame you if you feel scared, because I’m scared, too. But listen: there’s a story of the future that has you in it. That story has some scary parts and some parts that hurt, but it also has some beautiful parts. There’s a future you who is surrounded by meaning and connection and beauty, and who has people around them that will catch them when they stumble and hug them when they get up. There’s a future you who doesn’t depend on the state for anything because they are seen and held and loved by community, who can reach out their own hand to the next generations of queer and trans people and pass along some of this stuff to them, just like I’m passing⁠ it to you now. There’s a future you who is living a life that’s cooler than you can even imagine in the present, and who doesn’t feel the way you feel in the wake of this decision. And I am determined to meet that person and high five them." You'll find the letter here:

And don't forget: we're some of that community you can always reach out to for help and support <3

[logansdoll]

all the time in the world

part two of "37"

CW: heavily suggestive, profanity, fluffy fluff, takes place during the events of Days Future Past, Logan's down bad for you, you're down bad for him, it's a whole thing, etc.

Logan groaned as he felt something stir beside him, the sun spilling in through the windows and bathing the room in golden light.

'The hell...'

His power had already come into affect, the metal bars Magneto impaled him with, along with the water in his drowning lungs, completely gone.

Sitting up, he rested a hand on his side of his head.

And that's when it all came back to him.

Hank.

Charles.

Mystique.

With a roar, Logan shot out of bed, claws drawn and chest heaving as he snapped his head around, looking for the direction of the fight.

But instead, he found a bedroom, which had plants growing from every nook and cranny, the flowers blooming awake along with another in the room.

"Baby?" your soft voice broke through his frenzy, calming him almost instantly.

Quickly, Logan turned around, shoulders sinking as he caught sight of you sliding out of bed, still wearing the same silky robe.

Of course, it looked a little more worn, but it still did its job, and made you look just as beautiful as the day he left.

"(n/n)?"

You looked exactly the same, save for the few gray streaks in your hair, and now had the air of a woman seasoned in life's trials and tribulations, yet still glowing with youth.

It reminded him of how astronomically lucky he was that you even gave him the time of day—past, present, or otherwise.

As you drew closer, slowly, his claws retracted, and he watched you approach with eyes that made it seem like he was seeing you for the first time.

"You alright?" you asked, hands cupping his cheeks and smoothing over his cheekbones, before sliding down to rest over his chest. "You haven't had one this bad in a long time..."

Eyes flicking up to his face, your worries increased tenfold to see no change in his expression.

The man was just staring at you.

"Honey, is everything okay—"

He didn't even let you finish the sentence before he grabbed you by the waist, pulling you flush against him and nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

And, despite the initial shock, you eased into him, arms finding home around his neck as you pulled him closer, resting your head against his pounding heartbeat.

"While I'm loving all this early morning attention... you're starting to scare me," you chuckled, dryly, lifting your head to look up at him. "Wanna tell me what's goin' on?"

He took in a deep, slow breath, trying to find the words.

"Remember that day in 1973..." he started in a low voice, one hand squeezing your hip, "When I told you to wait until I find my way back..."

You swallowed thickly, biting back a question as you nodded in confirmation.

He took a moment, scanning your face for any sort of reluctance, happy to find none.

"Well... I found it..."

His eyes landed on yours, and the way you looked up at him made his chest roar.

You weren't making this easy for him.

He was already holding himself back on a thread of sanity, and now he had to deal with the fact that you looked like a goddamn supermodel, and smelled like cocoa butter and vanilla.

Your curves were curvier, your hips were dippier, and you now had an extra ounce of unspoken confidence that could bring any man to his knees.

Him included.

Your hands found his face, holding him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

Because he was to you, and now he all parts of him were back in your arms.

You chuckled, eyes misty as you smiled up at him, resting your forehead against his.

"Looks like my husband's whole again."

Record scratch.

"Husband?" he asked, eyes widening as he crackled a small smile.

You nodded, proudly holding up your hand to show off the gold wedding band sitting pretty on your ring finger.

"Mhmm," you hummed, amused by his shocked expression. "You put a ring on it fifteen years ago today... so don't think I'm gonna let you run out on me again."

He chuckled, fingers tucking under your chin and softly caressing your jaw.

"Wouldn't dream of it, doll."

Without a moment's hesitation, he pressed his lips against yours, hard, unloading well over fifty year's worth of pining.

You sank into it almost immediately, matching his fervor as you rested your hands on his chest, grabbing him by his shirt and pulling him even closer.

The two of you moved together in perfect sync, fitting each other like puzzle pieces, as you kept up with his rhythm.

He grasped you by the small of your back, pressing you further into him and giving your hips a little squeeze, earning a quiet squeak.

Close wasn't close enough.

He wanted you even closer than that.

He wanted you so much, every part of him in contact with you want on fire.

But, alas, you two were human (not really), and air would be needed eventually.

The two of you separated with a gasp, cheeks flushed and foreheads resting against each other.

"I don't think you know how long I've been waitin' to do that," he smirked, catching his breath.

You smiled, sliding your hands up from his chest to his shoulders.

"Come show me," you purred, staring at him with those sparkling, (e/c) eyes of yours.

'Goddamn...'

He leaned in closer, about to say something else when, of course, he was interrupted.

"Hey, you two better be up and ready," Scott's voice cut through the air, the two of you quietly groaning at the intervention. "You both have got classes in five minutes."

You and Logan separated, albeit reluctantly, straightening yourselves out a bit.

"I'm a teacher now?" he asked, raising a brow.

"Self defense," you answered, teasingly, "Some things never change."

Suddenly, he took your hand in his, holding it firmly as a serious look came over his face.

"I'm gonna talk to the professor. See if he can get my memories back," he stated, reassuringly. "I don't want you to feel like we have to start from scratch... or our years have gone to waste."

That took you by surprise.

"Is that what you think?" you asked, concerned, as you turned to him. "Baby, I could care less whether you remember or not. It would be nice, but it would never make me believe that the years we've spent together have gone to waste."

You smiled, your hand sliding up to cup his cheek.

"Through thick and thin, it's you and me, Logan... If you're lost, I'll find you. If you forget, I'll remind you... we have all the time in the world."

Goddamnit.

You were getting him choked up.

Misty eyed, he pulled you closer, looking down at you like you were the only damn thing in the entire universe.

"What did I do to deserve you?" he smiled, thankfully.

You shrugged, teasingly, placing a quick peck on his cheek before heading toward your shared bathroom.

"Beats me."

[cosmiclily]

hihihi

would you pretty please write vi x fem reader in a high school au with the slowest slow burn ever? like i want a GUT WRETCHING slow burn that will make me be so impatient like istg GET TOGETHER

anyways thanks 😛

teenage dream - vi x f!reader

wc: 13.8k

notes: this kinda feels like a romcom lol, idk if i like it 100% but i gave it my best 🫡 hope you enjoy it !!!

Senior year was supposed to feel like a clean slate—a final era. Your last shot. You’d promised yourself that this year, everything would be different. Not just different from any other year—different from the last three. You were done wasting weekends locked in your room, scrolling through your phone, or playing board games with Ekko while the rest of the world seemed to actually be living.

No more hiding. No more being the background characters of your own lives.

Ekko had made you swear to it. Sitting on the curb outside the corner store, sharing a bag of chips, legs stretched out into the street like the world could wait for you. He nudged your shoulder and said, “We’re not doing that again. No more hermit mode. No more wasting time. Senior year, we actually live.”

You knew it was corny, but it felt necessary.

So you woke up two hours early.

Yeah, ridiculous. But you needed the time. You stood in front of the mirror longer than you’d ever admit—curling the pieces of hair that refused to behave, wiping and redoing your eyeliner until the wings were almost symmetrical. You cycled through at least four outfits, standing there like your closet held the keys to the future, before settling on something that said—I’ve changed. I’m different now.

By 7:30 a.m., you were sitting at the dining table, chewing toast on autopilot while your parents flipped through their phones and sipped coffee like this was just another monday.

“So,” your dad said, lowering his paper just enough to peek at you, “you ready for your last first day?”

“Yeah!” you said—too fast, too bright. “I mean... it’s still the same people, but... I don’t know. I just don’t want this year to be like the last three, y’know? No more spending every weekend locked in my room or playing board games with Ekko like we’re retired.”

Your parents exchanged the look. That classic ‘Ah, youth’ meets ‘You’ll learn’ kind of glance. Equal parts nostalgia and amusement, probably betting how long your sudden burst of optimism would last.

“Well,” your mom said, pouring coffee into her mug without looking up, “just remember—no recreational drugs, and protection is non-negotiable.”

“MOM.” You nearly launched your toast across the table. “Oh my God.”

Your dad choked on his coffee, sputtering into his mug. “Honey... maybe... maybe don’t start with that.”

“What? I’m being realistic.”

“Oh my God.”

Before either of them could permanently scar your psyche, a car horn beeped twice outside. Your head snapped up—Ekko. Right on time.

You shoved back your chair, snatching your backpack like it was a parachute. “Gotta go! Love you, BYE!”

“Make good choices!” your mom called.

“Text me if you need bail money!” your dad added.

“STOP!!”

The front door slammed behind you.

Ekko was already waiting in his dad’s ancient death-trap of a car, elbow slung over the steering wheel, passenger door popped open for you like always.

“Damn,” he said as you climbed in, giving you a once-over. “Look at you. All grown up.”

“Ugh, thanks. Took me forever. I redid my eyeliner, like... four times.”

“Worth it.” He pulled out of the driveway, throwing you a reckless grin. “This is it. Senior year. We actually live this time.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, half to him, half to yourself. “We live.”

And you believed it.

Right up until the second you walked into homeroom... and saw her.

Slouched in the back row, furthest from the teacher’s desk. One leg kicked lazily over the other. Leather jacket half-zipped over her uniform like the rules were more of a suggestion. Scuffed boots tapping against the chair leg. Her hair tied back just enough to stay out of her face but messy enough to scream I don’t care.

Sharp jaw. Bruised knuckles. That cocky grin—the kind that could ruin a life without even trying.

You didn’t know her. Definitely not. No way. You’d remember someone like her. No one forgot someone like her. But somehow, despite being new, she already had half the class orbiting her like gravity itself bent toward her.

And she didn’t even seem to care. She looked at them like she was doing them a favor just by existing.

She seemed exactly like the kind of girl your parents would warn you about.

And yet...

Your fingers twitched, shoving deep into your pockets.

Nope. Nope. Not doing this. Not today. This is supposed to be my year. My fresh start. I’m not getting distracted by reckless, dangerous, beautiful—

“Hey.”

The voice was low. Lazy. Too close.

You blinked.

She was looking directly at you. Head tilted. One brow arched. A knowing smirk tugging at her mouth—like she’d caught you staring (which, fine, you were) and was absolutely waiting to see what you were gonna do about it.

And just like that—boom.

Your brain blue-screened. Fully fried. Your heart cartwheeled straight into your ribs, then backflipped again for good measure. Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.

Her smirk widened, sharp as a blade. “You gonna stand there all day, or...?”

Panic. Full-body panic. You fumbled for words—any words—but your brain handed you nothing.

“Uh—I mean—yeah—no—I just—uh.”

Real smooth. Stunning work. A masterclass.

Behind you, Ekko let out the loudest, most audible snort, barely covering it behind his hand.

Her eyes dragged down your body, then back up. Quick. Calculating. Like she was deciding whether you were worth her time... or just another face in the crowd.

Then, just as fast as she locked on, she leaned back in her chair. Kicked her foot up on the desk. Looked away.

Ignoring you.

Like you were nothing.

Like you hadn’t just suffered a full cardiac event because of a girl who looked like she belonged on the cover of some underground punk magazine.

Ekko elbowed you so hard you nearly tipped over. “Oh, dude,” he wheezed, “you are so screwed.”

And you knew.

This... this was gonna be a problem.

A massive problem.

──────────────────────

By third period, you already knew her name — Violet Lane, Vi. And by lunchtime, there were already rumors swirling. Not just about her, but about her entire family.

Because, of course, this was high school. New kid? Instant investigation. Gossip was practically its own elective.

Ekko — obviously — had wasted no time collecting intel. By the time you sat down at your usual lunch spot, he was practically vibrating with how much he’d dug up.

“She’s got three siblings,” he started, leaning in like this was classified information. “One girl, two boys. She’s the oldest.”

You raised a brow, poking half-heartedly at your mystery meat masquerading as lunch. “Okay... and?”

“And,” he said, eyes lighting up like he was about to drop the most dramatic plot twist of the century, “they all live with their dad? I didn’t get the full story. And apparently—get this—she’s already been arrested.”

Your head snapped up. “Seriously?”

He nodded, grinning like a cat who just stole an entire rotisserie chicken. “Dead serious. Some kid from bio said his cousin’s neighbor’s sister saw it go down. Or something like that.”

You groaned, half laughing, half horrified. “Oh my God, Ekko. You’ve known about her for — what? — a couple of hours? And you already have her whole life story? Get a hobby. Touch grass. Something.”

“This is my hobby,” he shot back, smirking as he popped a fry into his mouth. “Besides, it’s not like she’s making it hard. You saw her. It’s like she’s asking to be talked about.”

You hated that he wasn’t wrong.

Your eyes involuntarily drifted across the cafeteria to where Vi was sitting — or more like sprawled. She was laughing at something one of the guys next to her said — head tossed back, grin sharp enough to cut glass. Every time someone passed her table, they either tried too hard not to look... or flat-out stared.

You shoved a piece of bread in your mouth and chewed like it was the only thing tethering you to earth.

“Yeah,” you muttered, half to yourself. “Problem. Huge problem.”

──────────────────────

You really weren’t trying to get into Vi’s line of sight. You weren’t trying to befriend her. You weren’t trying anything.

But it didn’t matter.

Because it felt like she was everywhere.

Chemistry. English. Biology. Even your stupid electives. No matter where you went, there she was — like the universe itself had decided to make her impossible to avoid.

You tried. You really, truly tried not to sit anywhere near her. You mastered the art of strategic seat selection, ducking behind taller classmates, pretending to be busy tying your shoe while everyone else picked their spots. But deep down, you knew it was only a matter of time before the odds turned against you.

Apparently... today was that day.

You’d spent the entire week pretending — and failing — not to think about her. Yes, she was pretty. Fine. Yes, she had the kind of magnetic, ice-blue eyes that made your stomach drop and your brain misfire. Whatever. But you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t go there. You couldn’t go there. This was supposed to be your year. Your fresh start. Your last shot before graduation.

And yet...

Friday. Last period. You were itching to go home, to put this cursed week behind you. Of course — because life hated you — you were running late. You half-jogged down the hallway, backpack slamming against your spine, rounding the corner just as the bell shrieked its last warning.

And when you slid into the doorway — panting, flustered — you instantly saw it.

The only empty seat.

Right next to her.

You froze. Completely. Feet planted, backpack straps clenched in white-knuckled fists.

Mr. Heimerdinger’s head snapped toward you, those huge, unsettlingly round glasses magnifying his already too-large eyes until it felt like you were being X-rayed.

“Ms. Y/N,” he said, blinking slowly, voice overly polite in that ‘I’m two seconds away from losing my patience’ way. “Would you please join us?”

You swallowed hard. Loudly.

Your eyes flicked to Vi, who was already leaned back in her chair like she owned the whole back row. One brow raised. A knowing smirk tugging at her lips. She didn't say anything — but her eyes followed you, like she was already guessing exactly how uncomfortable this was making you.

You forced your feet to move. One step. Then another. Backpack thudding as you crossed the room, each step heavier than the last.

Don’t trip. Don’t trip. Don’t trip.

You slid into the seat beside her, trying to make yourself as small as possible, pulling your stuff onto your desk with a shaky sigh.

“Hey, princess” Vi murmured under her breath, voice low enough that only you could hear it.

You whipped your head toward her, wide-eyed. “What?” you squeaked.

She shrugged, looking far too pleased with herself. “Nothin’. Just... didn’t think I’d get to annoy you again so soon.”

Your heart slammed so hard against your ribs you were genuinely concerned the entire class could hear it.

This is fine, you told yourself, staring straight ahead, willing your face not to burst into flames. This is perfectly fine. Totally normal. Absolutely not a complete disaster.

──────────────────────

It was not fine. Actually, it was the complete opposite of fine. It was catastrophic.

You couldn’t hear a single word Mr. Heimerdinger was saying. Not one. You were so focused on pretending Vi didn’t exist that all your brain managed to do was... obsessively catalog everything about her.

Like how, halfway through the class, she started bouncing her leg under the desk. Restless. How the silver ring on her middle finger clicked rhythmically against her pen as she tapped it — over and over and over. How she scribbled messy, half-legible notes on her notebook, pausing every so often like she couldn’t decide whether to care or not.

And then there was... her smell.

Sweet. Soft. Something vaguely warm, like vanilla mixed with something sharper — citrusy, maybe? Definitely not what you expected. Not that you had ever sat around imagining what she smelled like — except apparently you had, because some dumb part of your brain was half-expecting punching bags, cigarette smoke, and... prison cells? Which wasn’t even a real smell. What were you thinking??

You squeezed your eyes shut. Stop. Stop thinking. Stop existing.

“Ms. Y/N?”

A voice. Distant.

“Ms. Y/N.”

“Ms. Y/N!”

You practically launched out of your chair, heart slamming against your ribs. “Huh — what — I mean — yes?”

Half the class turned to look at you. Vi included — brows raised, very obviously trying not to laugh.

Mr. Heimerdinger frowned, adjusting his comically huge glasses. “I asked you a question.”

You blinked. “...Could you maybe repeat it?”

His sigh was long. Painfully long. “What is the molar mass of sodium chloride?”

Your brain completely stalled.

Sodium chloride... sodium... salt. Salt. SALT. Your neurons were firing blanks.

“Fifty-eight point four” Vi whispered from next to you, her voice low, lazy — like she wasn’t even trying, like it cost her nothing to know this.

You blinked. That... that couldn’t be right. Could it?

Was she actually smart?

No way. No way. She didn’t look like someone who paid attention. But then again, neither did you right now.

Still, at this rate, you had no other choice. You swallowed hard. “...Fifty-eight point four?” you repeated, voice way more unsure than you wanted it to be.

For a split second, you braced for impact — expecting disappointment, maybe even an exasperated lecture.

But Mr. Heimerdinger just adjusted his glasses, nodded once, and offered a pleased smile. “Excellent, young child. You were paying more attention than I thought, after all.”

Your jaw nearly hit the floor.

As he turned back to the board, rambling about how beautiful, fragile, and ridiculously expensive the universe was, you slowly turned toward Vi. She was leaning back in her chair, arms crossed, looking way too pleased with herself.

That smug little grin tugging at her lips like she’d just won something.

“Thanks” you muttered, trying — and failing — to sound cool about it.

She tipped her head, all faux innocence. “Anytime.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Didn’t think you were... you know. Someone who paid attention.”

Her grin curved sharper. “Yeah? Didn’t think you were someone who spaced out so bad they forgot what salt was.”

Your face burned. “I did not forget what salt was.”

She raised a brow, clearly fighting a laugh. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

You huffed, turning back toward the board, pretending to care deeply about Heimerdinger’s tangent about molecular bonds, but it was useless — you were hyper-aware of Vi. Of her presence. Of the way her knee barely brushed against yours when she shifted. Of how even that tiny contact had your heart acting like it had no idea how to do its job.

──────────────────────

After that little interaction in chemistry, it was like Vi had made it her personal mission to embarrass you at every possible opportunity.

Anytime she could squeeze in a snarky comment, a teasing remark, or an infuriating smirk—she absolutely did.

Caught you rambling to yourself in the library while rewriting your notes for the third time?

“Didn’t realize you were giving a TED Talk” she’d quip, leaning against the bookshelf like she had nowhere else in the world to be.

Used the wrong pronunciation in French?

There she was, right next to you, snorting quietly, whispering through a giggle, “It’s ‘voilà,’ not ‘voilaay,’ genius.”

Oh—and another thing? She now sat next to you. In. Every. Single. Class.

Even when Ekko was supposed to be your buffer, your safe space, your emotional support best friend—Vi somehow managed to kick him out of his seat just to take his place.

No warning. No shame. Just a lazy, “Scoot, dude,” and Ekko would sigh dramatically but move anyway, like this was some sitcom he’d willingly subscribed to.

“Seriously,” you groaned one morning as Ekko drove you to school, arms crossed tight over your chest. “You have to stop letting her do that. I thought you were my friend.”

“I am your friend,” he grinned, fiddling with the radio until he found some indie playlist that sounded just pretentious enough. “But I also think it’s the funniest thing in the world how red she makes you.”

You smacked his arm. “Traitor.”

“Look,” he said, laughing, “she’s obviously messing with you because you give her the best reactions. You go full tomato mode, and she eats that up. If you acted like you didn’t care, she’d probably get bored.”

“Yeah. Except I do care. And I can’t act cool. Have you met me?”

“Valid point.” Ekko flicked on his blinker. “But also... maybe you secretly like it.”

Your mouth dropped open. “I do not.”

He just grinned wider. “Sure.”

You wanted to argue. You really did. But the fact that your face was heating up again kind of ruined any defense you could’ve possibly made.

And when Ekko pulled into the parking lot and you saw Vi leaning against the wall near the entrance—jacket slung over her shoulder, pink hair catching in the breeze, grinning the second she spotted you—you realized...

Yeah.

This was going to be the slowest, most painful emotional death known to mankind.

──────────────────────

By the time Friday was over, you were fully, completely, and emotionally destroyed.

You’d barely survived an entire week of Vi relentlessly tormenting you with her stupid smirks, her shameless teasing, her... existence. It was exhausting—being hyper-aware of someone’s every move, every glance, every brush of their knee against yours. You felt like you’d been holding your breath since Monday.

And yet, apparently, the universe wasn’t done torturing you.

Because besides Vi... there was a whole lot of nothing going on in your life.

You didn’t know what you expected senior year to feel like, but it definitely wasn’t this.

You expected freedom, maybe. Some kind of movie-magic glow. The year where you’d finally be that girl—the one who had it together. Carrie Bradshaw voiceovers narrating your life while you strutted through the hallways in fabulous outfits, balancing friendships, a thriving social life, and the occasional romantic entanglement. (You probably should stop binge watching Sex and The City.)

But no.

It was just... essays.

Essays. Group projects. Labs. Quizzes. College applications breathing down your neck. Stress acne appearing in places you didn’t even know could get acne. And a very unglamorous amount of existential dread.

There was no whimsical montage. No soulful jazz in the background. Just the sound of your laptop fan threatening to explode as you stared at a blank Google Doc titled “The Impact of Industrialization on Modern Society.”

“This is not what the movies promised me,” you grumbled, slamming your forehead onto your desk. “Carrie Bradshaw never had to write a five-page analysis on the French Revolution.”

Ekko, sprawled out on your bed flipping through a textbook, snorted. “Yeah, well, she also never had to figure out the square root of disappointment, but here we are.”

You groaned louder, pushing your chair back and pacing your room like moving would somehow convince your brain to start functioning. “I thought this year was supposed to be... different. You know? Last year. Bucket list. Memories. Parties. Something. Anything. Instead, it’s just me drowning in homework, applying to colleges I can’t afford, and—”

You caught yourself. Cut the sentence off before her name could tumble out.

But Ekko caught it anyway. His eyes flicked toward you, one brow lifting, waiting.

“Nope,” you said quickly, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t. Not doing this.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he said, deadpan. But the shit-eating grin tugging at the corner of his mouth said otherwise.

“Didn’t have to.” You groaned and flopped dramatically onto the floor, staring up at the ceiling like maybe—just maybe—the meaning of life was written there. “This year is actually trying to kill me.”

“Same,” Ekko sighed, sliding off the bed to lie next to you on the floor. “But hey... at least you’re not totally alone in the dumpster fire.”

“Yeah,” you muttered. “Nothing says ‘senior year memories’ like joint academic suffering.”

For a moment, the two of you just laid there in silence. But no matter how hard you tried to focus on the French Revolution, college deadlines, or literally anything else... your mind kept drifting. Right back to a certain pink-haired menace. And how, somehow, she was the only part of this year that didn’t fit the script.

You eventually sat up, dragging yourself back to your desk, fingers hovering over the keyboard, pretending to care about how the French revolutionized—whatever—a million years ago. But your brain was having none of it.

A groan ripped from your throat. “The semester’s halfway over, and we haven’t been to a single party.” You turned to Ekko, dead serious. “Do you know how much of a loser you have to be to not get invited to anything?”

Ekko flipped another page of the massive history book he’d borrowed from the library and shrugged. “Well... you’re a loser, and I’m always with you, so that just makes me a loser by association.”

You gasped, grabbing the nearest pillow and hurling it at his face. “I’m not the physics nerd here, nerd!”

He caught the pillow with one hand, deadpan. “Wow. Riveting. Such clever insults.” He tossed it back at you. “Inspirational, really.”

“Shut up.” You laughed, shaking your head.

Ekko shut the book with a dramatic thud and leaned back. “Y’know what? No. We’re not doing this. I’m gonna find us a party. I don’t care how. It’s happening.”

You blinked. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.” He pulled out his phone, already scrolling. “We are not ending senior year as the weird shut-ins who spent every Friday night crying over AP assignments and eating instant noodles.”

A grin tugged at your lips despite the gloom. “Godspeed, soldier.”

“You’ll thank me later.” He shot you a finger gun without looking up. “Or blame me. Either way, it’ll be entertaining.”

──────────────────────

After spending the rest of your weekend (trying to) finish your schoolwork, Monday hit you like a truck.

The second Ekko left your house, you dove headfirst into the mountain of projects still waiting for you—which, unsurprisingly, consumed the rest of your weekend... and then some.

By the time you dragged yourself to school, you looked like a complete disaster. So much for “looking your best” this year. Your gray hoodie had a suspicious stain you couldn’t remember getting, your coffee was roughly 80% espresso, and your backpack felt like it contained the entire French Revolution itself.

By second period, you were one minor inconvenience away from crumbling into dust. You flopped into your usual seat, pulled out your laptop, and pretended to care about whatever class this was—chemistry? Geometry? Who even knew anymore—while your mind spiraled through the same exhausting loop:

Deadlines. Stress. Coffee.

Deadlines. Stress. Vi.

Deadlines. Stress. Vi, Vi, Vi.

Because, of course, there she was again—sliding into the seat next to you like she belonged there, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Vi.

Wearing a red hoodie, pink hair perfectly disheveled in that “I don’t care, but somehow I still look stupidly good” kind of way.

“Morning, princess,” she greeted, her voice lower than usual, a little scratchy like she hadn’t fully woken up yet. She stretched her arms above her head, and just enough of her hoodie lifted for you to catch a glimpse of the tattoo inked along her back—

You yanked your gaze back to your screen like it had personally wronged you. “Don’t call me that.”

“Relax,” she chuckled, nudging your shoe with hers under the desk. “You look tense. Didn’t get your beauty sleep?”

“Not everyone spends their weekend drinking and flirting.” You shot her a glare, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose. “Some of us were actually being responsible.”

“Mhm.” Vi rested her chin in her palm, her smirk lazy and far too self-satisfied. “You mean rewriting your French Revolution essay three times... while binge-watching Sex and the City?”

Your jaw dropped. “How the hell do you know that?”

She tapped the side of her head, all smug. “I’ve got my ways.”

You groaned, sinking lower into your seat, already mentally drafting Ekko’s obituary. It was definitely him. It had to be him. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Her grin widened, the kind that could ruin a person if they weren’t careful. “Face it, sunshine... you’d be bored without me.”

The worst part? She was probably right.

The class dragged on forever—an endless stream of equations or chemical reactions or maybe both; you weren’t sure—but eventually, finally, the bell rang.

As students shuffled out, Vi leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “Hey... wanna grab coffee after school? I promise I won’t make you write any essays.”

For a second, you hesitated. You really shouldn’t. Not with the avalanche of homework waiting for you and your mental stability hanging by a thread.

But then again... maybe a break wouldn’t hurt. Maybe dealing with Vi was slightly less exhausting than dealing with your own brain.

“Fine,” you blurted before your common sense could stop you.

Her grin stretched instantly—cocky, victorious, like she’d just won some invisible game you didn’t even know you were playing. “That’s the spirit.”

As you shoved your laptop back into your bag, a creeping realization settled over you like a bad omen. Was getting coffee with Vi actually a good idea? Probably not.

Maybe it was dangerous. Maybe this—whatever this was—wasn’t just casual teasing anymore. Maybe it was something bigger. Something scarier. Something with the potential to pull you under so fast there’d be no crawling back out.

Not that you were thinking about that, of course. Definitely not. Totally fine. Totally normal.

Absolutely. Totally. Fine.

──────────────────────

By lunch, your internal panic spiral hadn’t stopped.

Ekko sat across from you, rambling about something—maybe a new indie album, maybe a game update—but truth be told, you weren’t hearing a word. Your brain was too busy catastrophizing:

What did Vi even mean by coffee? Was it just coffee? Was it a peace treaty? A trap? Would it be weird? Would it be—

“...and then I pulled out a gun and shot myself in the head.”

Your head snapped up. “What?!”

Ekko deadpanned, holding his fork mid-air. “Oh, so now you’re listening. Cool. Just making sure you hadn’t actually flatlined.”

You blinked. “Sorry. I... zoned out.”

“Zoned out?” Ekko blinked at you. “You’ve been staring into space like a Victorian ghost for the last ten minutes. What’s going on?” His eyes narrowed, suspicious. “Wait... let me guess. Vi?”

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “I hate that you know me this well.”

“Oh my God. What did she do now?”

“I...” You sighed, sinking further into the table. “I accidentally agreed to get coffee with her after school.”

Ekko blinked. “...Accidentally?”

“Yes. Shut up.”

A grin spread across his face like wildfire. “So let me get this straight. You got a date with Ms. Criminal Record herself?”

“It’s not a date.”

“Sure. Totally. Not a date.” He wiggled his eyebrows like he was physically incapable of controlling himself.

You groaned louder, shoving a french fry into your mouth just to avoid having to answer.

──────────────────────

You stood outside the little coffee shop two blocks from school, hands shoved deep into your hoodie pocket, already questioning every decision that had led you to this exact moment.

You could still back out. Just make up some excuse tomorrow. Maybe something tragic. Like... your poor dog suddenly died. (Not that anyone would believe that. You didn’t even have a dog. But... she didn’t know that.)

Before you could spiral any further, a familiar voice snapped you out of it.

“Well, look who showed.

You turned—and there she was.

Leaning against the wall like she was posing for some effortlessly cool magazine cover. Pink hair windswept and messier than usual, a few loose strands falling over her face. Her red hoodie hanging a little loose on her frame, but that stupid, infuriating smirk? Oh, that was very much still there—the one that made it impossible to tell whether she was about to flirt with you or ruin your entire life. Probably both.

“You actually came” she added, pushing off the wall with her boot.

“I said I would” you muttered, trying—failing—to sound casual.

She grinned, holding the door open with an exaggerated bow. “After you, sunshine.”

“Stop calling me that” you grumbled, stepping inside.

The place was small but cozy—dim string lights hanging along the ceiling, the faint smell of roasted coffee beans mixing with cinnamon, and some random indie song playing softly in the background. Mismatched chairs, hand-painted tables, and customers pretending to study while actually scrolling through their phones completed the aesthetic.

Vi ordered an iced coffee with two extra espresso shots (because of course she did), while you went with something safer, something warm and without any caffeine. You were already anxious enough without turbo-charging (more) your nervous system.

As you waited, the silence between you felt... weird. Not awkward, exactly. More like... charged. Heavy in a way that made your skin buzz.

When you sat down, she stretched her legs out under the table, and her boot knocked against yours. You weren’t sure if it was an accident. (It wasn’t.)

Vi drummed her fingers against the table. “Didn’t think you’d actually say yes.”

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, stirring your drink unnecessarily. “Didn’t think you’d actually ask.”

Vi laughed, head tipping back slightly, a few strands of pink falling over her eyes. “Fair.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. You stared at your drink like it might offer you answers. She stared at you like you were the answer.

“So...” you started, voice coming out a little tighter than you intended. “What is this? Some new form of torture?”

Vi tilted her head, smirk softening just slightly. “Nah. Just... wanted to hang out. You’re fun.”

You blinked. “You have a really weird definition of fun.”

She grinned wider. “Maybe. Or maybe you just don’t know how to loosen up.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Oh yeah? And you’re gonna teach me how to... what? Break the law? Get arrested?”

Vi actually laughed at that. A real one. Loud, full, and genuine—like you’d just told her the funniest joke in the world. It caught you off guard. The corners of her eyes crinkled in a way that made your stupid heart squeeze in your chest.

“You know that’s not actually true, right?” she said between chuckles.

“It’s not?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No!” she snorted, shaking her head. “Where the hell do you people get this stuff from?”

“Oh, I don’t know...” You gestured vaguely, feigning deep thought. “The seventeen detentions... the rumors... the fact that you’ve been in a fistfight like, what? Twice this semester?”

“Pfft.” Vi waved a hand dismissively. “Okay, first off, one of those wasn’t my fault. That guy walked into my fist. Totally different situation.”

You blinked. “Right. Sure. Completely believable.” You crossed your arms, leaning back in your chair. “Besides, someone’s friend’s cousin’s neighbor —or something, saw it happen.”

Vi raised a brow, her grin sharpening. “Oh yeah? And does someone’s friend’s cousin’s neighbor have a name?”

You squinted at her. “What? Why? What are you gonna do—beat them up too?”

She laughed, taking a sip of her iced coffee like she hadn’t just casually confessed to semi-accidental assault ten seconds ago. “Relax, sunshine. I’m not that bad. I just... have a reputation. Doesn’t mean it’s all true.”

You rested your chin in your palm, narrowing your eyes like you were studying her under a microscope. “So what you’re telling me is... you’re secretly... what? Misunderstood?”

Vi tilted her head, smile softening around the edges. “Maybe.” She shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “Guess you’ll have to figure that one out for yourself.”

The air between you shifted—just slightly. Less banter, more... something else. Something heavier. Something that made your heart do that annoying stutter thing it had absolutely no right doing.

And that was terrifying. Because you realized—maybe for the first time—that under all the teasing, the cocky grins, and the reckless energy... there was an actual person sitting in front of you. Someone complicated. Someone interesting. Someone who was starting to feel even more like a bad idea.

“Yeah...” you muttered, taking a sip of your drink. “Not sure if that’s a good thing or a terrible thing.”

Vi smirked, tapping her boot against yours again. “Guess we’ll find out.”

──────────────────────

The second you stepped out of the coffee shop you fumbled your phone out of your hoodie pocket with shaking hands.

Your thumbs moved before your brain could catch up.

YOU: 🆘🆘🆘 EMERGENCY. CALL 911.

EKKO: what now 💀

YOU: I JUST GOT OUT OF THE COFFEE SHOP WITH VI. SHE WAS. NICE???

EKKO: hold on nice??? vi? pink-haired menace vi?

YOU: YES. SHE WAS ACTUALLY NICE. OR LIKE... FAKE NICE?? IDK. SHE SMILED. NOT THE "IM GONNA BULLY YOU" SMILE. THE OTHER ONE. THE... SOFT ONE.

EKKO: oh no. ur doomed. rip.

YOU: THIS IS NOT FUNNY. IM PANICKING. WHAT IF I LIKE HER. 😭😭😭

EKKO: lmao u’ve BEEN liked her. ur just now realizing?

YOU: SHUT UP. IM SERIOUS. WHAT DO I DO????

EKKO: idk. maybe stop fighting it?? 🤷🏽‍♂️ get ur little enemies-to-something arc going.

YOU: NOT HELPING.

EKKO: ok fine. step 1: breathe. step 2: admit u wanna kiss her. step 3: idk figure it out.

YOU: IM BLOCKING YOU.

EKKO: no u won’t. ur too busy spiraling over vi

You groaned, aggressively locking your phone and shoving it back into your hoodie pocket like that would somehow mute your own brain—and more specifically, your heart—that was now screaming in seventeen different languages.

Nope. Not dealing with this right now.

You decided to power through it. Focus. You had enough problems as it was. Adding "possibly liking Vi" to the pile? Yeah, no. Not happening.

You tugged your hoodie tighter around you as you walked home, headphones in, trying to drown out your own thoughts with music. But it didn’t work. Your brain kept spiraling back to the same stupid question:

What happens now?

Would she treat you the same? Were things going to be weird? Did she think it was weird? Was this a one-time thing, or…?

By the time you unlocked your front door, your head hurt more than your overstuffed backpack. You threw it onto your bed with a dramatic sigh, flopped next to it, and buried your face in the pillow.

Bzzzt.

Your phone lit up. A text from an unknown number.

Unknown Number: got home safe?

You blinked. Sat up. Stared at it.

You: ??

You: who is this?

Unknown Number: the love of your life, sunshine.

Your stomach dropped—and flipped—and caught fire all at once.

You: vi??

Unknown Number: ding ding ding 🏆

You stared at the screen, jaw slack, brain buffering.

How the hell did she even get your number??

Another text popped up before you could even process:

Vi: relax. i bribed ekko with gummy worms. not my proudest moment.

Vi: worth it tho.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, completely useless. No thoughts. Head empty. Just static and panic and... butterflies.

You: you’re unbelievable.

Vi: yeah yeah. but admit it... you missed me already.

You flopped back onto the bed, phone to your chest, letting out the loudest, most dramatic groan the universe had ever heard.

It was pathetic, but the actual truth was that you kinda did.

──────────────────────

By the time morning rolled around, you were running on approximately three hours of sleep, sheer panic, and the lingering chaos of that text conversation. You had stared at your phone way longer than you should’ve last night, reading and rereading her messages, debating whether each one was a joke, flirting, or some strange Vi-brand mix of both.

Needless to say, you looked like death. Again.

Slam.

Your locker door shut louder than intended, making you jump. And of course—because the universe loved making your life worse—there she was.

Vi.

Leaning casually against the locker next to yours like she lived there now. Hands stuffed into her red jacket pocket, head tilted.

“Morning, sunshine.” The smirk was back in full force. “Sleep well?”

You deadpanned. “Absolutely not.”

She chuckled. “Weird. Wonder why.”

“Oh, gee, yeah, I wonder,” you shot back, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “It’s almost like someone decided to text me stupid stuff until midnight.”

Vi grinned, walking in step with you down the hallway. “Midnight? Weak. I could’ve gone longer.”

“God, you’re exhausting.”

“And yet,” she bumped your shoulder lightly with hers, “here you are. Still showing up.”

You side-eyed her, heat creeping up your neck despite your best efforts. “Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta supervise you before you get arrested for... I don’t know... breathing wrong.”

Vi laughed. That warm, genuine kind of laugh that made something in your chest tangle into a knot.

As you rounded the corner toward class, a familiar voice cut through—

“Well, well, well,” Ekko drawled, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. “Look who’s become... inseparable.”

Your face practically caught fire. “Shut up.”

Vi just raised a brow, grinning. “What, jealous?”

Ekko scoffed. “Please. I don’t have the emotional energy to handle two of you.”

You shoved past both of them. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be throwing myself into the nearest garbage can.”

“Oh, we know,” Ekko called after you. “We absolutely know.”

Vi just laughed again, falling into step beside you. Like she belonged there. Like this was... normal now.

And the scary part? You kinda wanted it to be.

Then days turned into a week. Then two.

And somehow... Vi didn’t go away.

She started showing up more. Sliding into the seat next to you like it was her God-given right. Stealing your fries at lunch without asking. Sending you dumb texts late at night—things like, “Are sandwiches technically tacos?” followed by, “No, but seriously, I have evidence. Prepare yourself.”

She was... just there now. In your space. In your routine. In your head.

And God help you... you liked it. Way more than you should.

But the more time passed, the more this uncomfortable little thought started gnawing at your brain like a rat in the walls:

Maybe that coffee “date” wasn’t actually a date.

You were the one who read it wrong. Of course you were. It was Vi. Vi flirted like she breathed—effortless, constant, automatic. With everyone.

This was probably just... a game to her. A joke. Maybe she liked seeing you flustered. Maybe you were just something fun to mess with—a puzzle, a toy, a distraction from her own boredom.

So you didn’t say anything. You shoved it down. Bit your tongue every time she called you sunshine, or princess, or sweetheart with that infuriating, devastating little grin.

Because what if you asked—“What is this? What are we?”—and she laughed? What if she said, “Relax. Don’t take it so seriously.”? What if you ruined everything?

Because as exhausting as it was, as much as your brain scrambled every time her knee brushed yours under the cafeteria table, or she slung her arm around your shoulder like it meant nothing... you didn’t want her to go away.

You liked this.

You liked her.

Even if it hurt a little.

Even if it meant pretending you were totally fine with being “just friends.”

Even if it meant ignoring the fact that every time she smiled at you, your heart felt like it was trying to jailbreak out of your ribs.

And as you lay sprawled out on your bedroom rug—half-heartedly scrolling through social media, half-staring at the ceiling—you found yourself thinking:

What would Carrie Bradshaw do?

Probably something chaotic and self-destructive. Probably humiliate herself so Big would stay with her... and then cry about it to her friends over overpriced brunch.

Unfortunately, you weren’t a successful writer in your mid-thirties with a nicotine addiction and a talent for making terrible life decisions look glamorous.

Before you could spiral any further, a voice interrupted from your doorway.

“God, you look awful.”

You sat up to see Ekko leaning against the doorframe, a box of pizza on his hands.

“Thanks,” you deadpanned, dragging yourself off the floor. “Nice to see you too.”

“Who died?”

“My dignity.”

Ekko snorted, kicking the door shut behind him. “Again? Damn. How many lives does that thing have left?” He put the box on your bed and sat down on your desk chair. “Brought you pizza. Though honestly, I figured you were dead since I didn’t hear from you.”

You opened the box with a groan. “You weren’t wrong.”

“About?”

“She doesn’t actually like me,” you mumbled around a bite of pizza. “She’s just... being Vi. Y’know. Flirts with everyone. Makes stupid jokes. Drives me insane.”

Ekko gave you a long, unimpressed look. “I don’t know if this helps, but... she doesn’t flirt with everyone. She’s actually kinda rude most of the time.”

You snorted, nearly choking. “Wow. Thanks, I feel so much better now.”

Grabbing a slice for himself, Ekko leaned back against the chair. “But the real question is... do you actually like her?”

Your silence was deafening.

“Right,” he sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, well, if you’re gonna keep wallowing like a sad Victorian ghost, I’m officially dragging you out of this pit before you start writing love letters by candlelight or—God forbid—buying a typewriter for aesthetic purposes.”

You squinted at him. “...What?”

“If you actually read the texts I sent you, you’d know I found us a party.” He gave you a look that screamed “Yes, I’m awesome. Worship me.” “It’s next Saturday.”

You groaned, flopping back onto your bed like the dramatic mess you were.

Because somewhere between promising yourself you’d actually live this year—and whatever the hell living even meant—came the inevitable downside: socializing.

A thing you categorically hated.

“I have plans next Saturday,” you tried, weakly.

“You’re going to the party. Not up for debate,” Ekko shot back, already calling you out with zero mercy. “And no, rewatching Sex and the City for the hundredth time does not count as plans.”

You scowled, hugging a throw pillow to your chest. “I’m not in the mood to socialize, okay? I’m one hundred percent sure Vi’s gonna be there, and I am not emotionally prepared to watch her flirt with other girls.”

“God, I hate her,” you muttered.

“Sure you do,” Ekko snorted, spinning lazily in your desk chair. “You hate her so much that you’ve memorized the exact shade of her stupid eyes.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You groaned. “Seriously, Ekko, I cannot deal with her right now. I just... I need a break. A Vi detox.”

“Tough luck,” he shrugged, propping his feet up on your desk. “Last week you were practically begging me to find us a party, and guess what? I delivered. So you’re coming.”

You sighed dramatically. “Why does the universe hate me?”

“It doesn’t. You just have a crush.” He grinned like the menace he was. “And if you don’t go, it’s like... letting her win.”

You blinked. “Win what?”

“Your sanity. Your dignity. Your spot in the food chain. I don’t know. Something important.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

And annoyingly… he was right.

That’s how you found yourself being dragged into a house you didn’t even know the owner of on Saturday night.

The second you stepped through the door, the overwhelming smell hit you like a brick wall—a chaotic cocktail of cheap beer, weed, sweat, and the unmistakable stench of too many underage boys crammed into one place. Whoever’s house this was clearly had no concept of fire codes, personal space, or carpet maintenance.

Music blared from a speaker that was definitely not designed to handle bass that heavy. The floor vibrated under your shoes. Bodies were everywhere—crammed into corners, perched on countertops, lounging on beat-up couches, or tangled together on the stairs. Half of them you’d never even seen before in your life.

Were these people even from your school? Where did they come from? Did someone open a portal to the next town over?

You tugged your sleeves down over your hands, already regretting every life decision that led to this moment.

“I feel like I’ve walked straight into hell,” you muttered, glaring as someone stumbled past holding a bottle of something that was absolutely not soda.

“C’mon,” Ekko grinned, annoyingly chipper about all of this. “Let’s get something to drink.” Without waiting for your consent, he hooked his arm around yours and practically dragged you toward the kitchen.

You wove through the crowd, sidestepping sweaty bodies, dodging two girls aggressively making out against a wall, and narrowly avoiding being collateral damage in an increasingly hostile beer pong argument.

The kitchen wasn’t much better—just slightly less packed. The counters were a crime scene of half-empty bottles, red Solo cups, discarded bags of chips, and mysterious sticky puddles you decided not to investigate.

Ekko let go of your arm long enough to rummage through the chaos. “Alright, what’s your poison? Mystery punch that’ll probably kill us, or…” He picked up a bottle, sniffed it, and immediately recoiled. “...something that smells like nail polish remover.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Tempting.”

“Yeah, we love a choice between food poisoning and gasoline.”

Still, you grabbed a cup—more to have something to fidget with than any real desire to drink it—pointedly ignoring the suspicious floating things in the punch. “Remind me why I let you talk me into this?”

“Character development,” Ekko smirked. “Also... senior year. We’re supposed to make bad decisions. It’s, like, a rule.”

You sighed, leaning against the counter, tapping your cup but not drinking yet. Your eyes scanned the crowd—half on autopilot, half on edge—until, like clockwork…

There she was.

Leaning against the doorway to the living room, one boot casually kicked back against the frame. Vi’s signature leather jacket was—surprisingly—nowhere in sight, abandoned for the night. Pink hair pulled back just enough to show off the sharp undercut, with a few loose strands falling perfectly (and infuriatingly) over her forehead.

A half-empty beer bottle dangled lazily from her fingertips as she laughed at something the girl next to her said—a pretty brunette with a red streak in her hair and a hand resting just a little too comfortably on Vi’s arm.

Like gravity itself had shifted, every nerve in your body zeroed in on her. Of course she was here. Of course she looked stupidly, unfairly cool. Of course she had that cocky, heartbreaker grin tugging at the corner of her mouth like she owned the house.

Ekko followed your gaze, groaned, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh no. Don’t do it. Don’t even start.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you shot back, defensive. “I’m literally just standing here.”

“Mmhmm. Sure.”

Then, because betrayal runs deep, Ekko mumbled something about “blue hair” and promptly vanished into the crowd. So much for ‘Yeah, I won’t leave your side. I’m your emotional support human.’

“Traitor” you muttered under your breath.

With a sigh, you glanced back toward the doorway—because you were weak and apparently a glutton for pain—but... she was gone.

Vi was no longer there.

The brunette she’d been talking to was still standing there, frowning and glancing around like she hadn’t expected her conversation partner to ghost her either.

For one brief, ridiculous moment, you actually wondered if you’d hallucinated her. Maybe the combination of party fumes and emotional damage had finally fried your brain.

“Cool. Awesome. I’m officially losing it,” you muttered, pressing your palm to your face.

“Miss me, sunshine?”

Her voice—low, smug, dangerously close—purred into your ear.

You jolted so hard you nearly flung your drink. Whipping around, you came face-to-face with her.

She was standing way too close. Hands shoved into the back pockets of her ripped jeans like she hadn’t just scared you half to death. Her cropped tank showed off toned arms and tattoos that curled out from beneath the fabric.

“Not really,” you shot back, trying—and failing—to sound casual.

Vi grinned, tilting her head. “Liar.” Her eyes flicked over you, softer now, almost fond. “Didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

“Didn’t know you’d be here either,” you mumbled, instantly hating how breathless you sounded.

“Oh please.” She bumped your shoulder lightly with hers. “It’s me. Of course I’m here.” Her grin softened just a fraction. “Glad you showed up though.”

You blinked. “Wait... really?”

“Yeah.” Her smile was lazy but genuine. “Parties are boring without you.”

And before you could even begin to figure out what the hell that meant, a voice from the living room yelled over the music, “SPIN THE BOTTLE! LIVING ROOM. NOW.”

Vi’s eyes lit up instantly. “Wanna play?”

You looked between her excited face and the drink going warm in your cup. “Screw it.”

You tipped the cup back, downing the whole thing in one go. It didn’t taste as bad as you expected—but it wasn’t good either. Wincing, you wiped your mouth. “Let’s play.”

Vi grinned wide, her fingers curling gently around your wrist. With a playful tug, she pulled you toward the living room. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

You knew—you just knew—you were gonna regret this. But with her looking at you like that, and the growing crowd surging in the same direction, any resistance felt... pointless.

Senior year was made for bad choices, wasn’t it?

A circle had already formed on the floor—red solo cups, empty bottles, and shoes scattered around like landmines. Someone shoved an empty beer bottle into the center, laying out the rules with a drunken grin: spin the bottle, kiss whoever it lands on. No chicken-outs. No take-backs.

Hovering awkwardly at the edge, you felt whatever flimsy bravado you’d gathered start to crumble. But Vi didn’t let go of your wrist. Instead, she tugged you down next to her, thigh pressed firmly against yours, anchoring you to the spot.

She nudged your shoulder, smirking. “Relax. It’s just a dumb game.” Her voice softened, losing some of that usual cocky edge. “If it lands on someone weird, we can just pretend it was rigged. I’ve got your back, sunshine.”

...God, why was she being nice? Friendly. Sweet, even. This wasn’t fair. She wasn’t allowed to be hot and considerate. It was emotional terrorism.

The bottle spun a few times—cheers, groans, awkward laughter as strangers kissed. Your nerves shot through the roof every time it started slowing down.

Then someone nudged the bottle toward Vi. “Your turn, Pinky.”

Vi rolled her eyes but smirked, leaning forward and giving the bottle a lazy flick of her wrist. It spun wildly, clattering against the floor as the whole circle leaned in to watch.

Your stomach dropped.

The bottle slowed... slowed... then—

It landed on you.

A stunned beat of silence. Then someone let out a sharp whistle. Another voice gasped, “No freaking way.”

Your entire face went up in flames. You swore you could feel the heat radiating off your skin.

Vi blinked, like she hadn’t expected it either. But then her grin stretched wider—less cocky, more... mischievous. A softness tugged at the corners of her mouth.

She scooted in closer, her voice low enough that only you could hear. “Wanna skip? Or...” Her gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes, softer now. “...Or do you want me to kiss you?”

You swallowed. “It’s... it’s the game, isn’t it?” you mumbled, trying—failing—to hide how badly you wanted to say yesjust because it was her.

Vi didn’t say anything. Instead, her hand slid up, fingers finding the side of your neck, warm and gentle. Her nose brushed yours as she leaned in, close enough that you could feel her breath, hot and uneven against your mouth.

Then she kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, or rough, or showy like you expected. Neither of you fought for dominance. None of the dumb clichés. It was... soft. Warm. Her lips moved against yours like it was the most natural thing in the world—like you were something delicate, something meant to be held like this.

It made your head spin. Your fingers twitched uselessly against the fabric of your jeans, torn between gripping onto her or pushing her away before you fell any deeper into whatever trap this was.

When she pulled back—just barely—her forehead lingered against yours, her breath mingling with yours. Her thumb brushed lightly at your cheek, absent, casual... like muscle memory. Like this wasn’t a big deal to her. Like it was nothing.

And that’s when the crack split straight through your chest.

Because as much as you wanted to believe—God, you wanted to believe—that this meant something, you knew better.

This was just Vi being Vi. Flirty. Charming. Sweet when it suited her. A kiss for the sake of a game. A moment that meant absolutely nothing to her while it meant way too much to you.

You weren’t special. You were just the person the bottle landed on.

Of course she didn’t really want you. Not like that. Not really.

“Excuse me” you muttered, barely able to get the words out before the lump in your throat suffocated you.

You scrambled to your feet, ignoring the laughter and the teasing whistles from the crowd. Your chest felt too tight. The walls too close. The air thick like smoke.

“Hey—wait—” you heard Vi start, but you were already pushing through the bodies, practically shoving your way toward the front door.

The cold air outside hit you like a slap the second you stepped out. You gulped it down like you’d been drowning, wrapping your arms around yourself as you paced toward the curb, trying to make the knot in your chest unclench.

“Damn it,” you hissed under your breath. “Damn it, damn it, damn it.”

“Hey. Hey—wait.”

The door creaked open behind you, and heavy boots clattered down the porch steps.

You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

“Sunshine, what the hell?” Her voice was a mix of confusion and something—something almost guilty. “Why’d you run off?”

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your back to her. “Go back inside, Vi.”

“What? No.” Her boots crunched against the gravel as she stepped closer. “Are you—what’s wrong?” Her voice softened, worried now. “Did I… did I do something wrong?”

You shook your head quickly, biting the inside of your cheek until it hurt. Because talking to her—hearing her voice that soft, that close, that worried—when you knew it was probably just more of the same sweet nothings would break you.

“It’s… It’s nothing,” you managed, voice shaking. You wiped at your eyes with your long sleeves, trying—failing—to stop the sting of tears. “I’m just… I’m being stupid. You didn’t do anything.”

Vi huffed, trying to laugh it off, like it might fix something. “Was the kiss that bad?” she joked, a crooked smile tugging at her lips. “C’mon, sunshine... I didn’t think I was that bad.”

Your stomach twisted.

It’s a joke to her.

God. Of course it was.

“Jesus, Violet.” You spun around, not caring that your eyelashes were wet or that your voice was barely holding steady. “Is this all a joke to you? Is that what this is?”

Her smirk faltered, confusion knitting her brows. “What?”

“You—” Your hands flew up, gesturing wildly between the two of you. “You tease me. You flirt with me. You ask me to get coffee. You make me—” your voice cracked, sharp and bitter, “—you make me like you. You make me think maybe... maybe this means something.”

You shoved your hands into your hair, tugging at the strands like it might ground you. “And for what? For a laugh? For fun? Some experiment? Am I just—what—a game to you, Vi?”

Her face fell, eyes widening. “What? No. No—no.” She stepped forward, hands half-raised like she wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if she was allowed. “That’s not—God, that’s not what this is. I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean what, exactly?” Your voice was sharp now, brittle and trembling. “Didn’t mean to lead me on? Didn’t mean to kiss me like I was—like I was something more than just another one of the girls you flirt with?”

“I never—” Vi’s breath caught. Her jaw clenched, and for a second, her eyes softened like she was about to say something real—something honest. But the words got stuck. “It wasn’t supposed to—Shit.”

Before she could untangle herself, another voice cut through the tense silence.

“Hey.”

You turned, breath still ragged, to see Ekko jogging up from down the sidewalk. His eyes scanned the scene—your tear-streaked face, Vi standing frozen, guilt and frustration painted across her features.

“The hell happened?” Ekko asked, glancing between the two of you, then settling his gaze on you. His entire face softened. “You good?”

“I’m fine,” you lied, wiping at your face again. “Can you—can you just take me home?”

“Yeah. Yeah, c’mere.” Without waiting for permission, Ekko shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over your shoulders like a shield. He shot a glare at Vi, jaw tight. “You seriously upset her this bad? What the hell, Vi?”

“I didn’t—” Vi started, reaching out, but you flinched away before she could touch you. Her hand froze midair, hovering like even she didn’t know what to do with it anymore. “It’s not what it looks like, I just—”

You stepped back, hugging Ekko’s jacket tighter around yourself. You looked her dead in the eyes, knowing exactly how exhausted, hurt, and done you must have looked—hating how your voice trembled, but pushing through it anyway.

“I just… need some time.”

Vi’s lips parted like she wanted to argue—wanted to explain, to fight for whatever this was—but no words came out. Her hands balled into fists, then relaxed, then balled again, as if even her own body couldn’t decide whether to hold on or let go. She just stood there, helpless, watching as you finally turned your back on her.

Ekko’s arm slipped around your shoulders, firm and grounding. “C’mon,” he murmured. “Let’s get you home.”

You let him lead you away—away from the party, from Vi, from the chaos. And not once did you look back.

If you did…

You were afraid you might break completely.

──────────────────────

The drive was quiet. The only sounds were your soft sniffles and the low, rattling hum of the old engine in Ekko’s beat-up car.

He didn’t say anything at first—just drove, hands steady on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road like he knew you needed the silence.

Eventually, he broke it. “You wanna talk about it?” His tone was gentle. Careful. He didn’t push—you could either dump everything out or let it stay bottled. Your choice.

You let out a shaky breath, staring out the window like the night sky might have answers. “I’m so stupid, Ekko.” Your voice cracked, raw. “I don’t know what I was thinking. We were talking and... she was being so nice. Saying she was glad I came. Acting like... like she actually cared.” Your fingers curled tighter around the fabric of his jacket. “And then suddenly, we’re sitting in a spin the bottle circle—like, seriously, what are we, fifteen?”

You scrubbed at your face aggressively, frustrated with yourself for crying, for feeling. “And because the universe hates me, it was her turn. And the bottle just—of course—had to stop on me.”

Ekko’s hands tightened slightly on the steering wheel. “Did she… do something you didn’t want?” His voice was careful now. Protective. Ready to fight if he needed to.

“No,” you blurted out quickly. “No. Nothing like that. She... she kissed me. And it was... God, it was good. It was soft, and warm, and... she was being so... careful. Like she actually cared.” Your throat tightened. “And that’s exactly why I had to get out of there.”

Ekko glanced over, brow furrowed. “Okay… but I still don’t get how it went from that to... you crying in the middle of the street.”

You sighed hard, leaning your head back against the seat. “She made a joke. A stupid, dumbass joke about not thinking the kiss was that bad. Like—like it was just... funny. Like it was nothing to her. And I just—” You let out a bitter laugh that didn’t sound like you. “I realized I’m a joke. I’m the joke.”

“I don’t—” Ekko started, but you cut him off, voice rising.

“She flirts, she teases, she calls herself ‘the love of my life’ like it’s some punchline. And then what? Nothing. Nothing ever comes of it. Who the hell does she think she is?” You threw your hands up in frustration. “She kisses me like it means something, like it’s real, like—like I’m not just the idiot who watched her flirt with some random girl the second I walked into that party.”

Ekko pulled into your driveway, shifting the car into park. He leaned back, raising an eyebrow as he looked over at you. “Okay, so... do you want my opinion? Or should I just sit here and nod like an enabler?”

You sniffed, wiping your face with the sleeve of his jacket. “Go ahead. Let’s hear it.”

He pointed a finger at you. “First off... I think this? This is more about you than her.” You opened your mouth to argue, but he held a hand up. “No. Uh-uh. Let me finish.”

“She’s single. She can flirt with whoever the hell she wants.” He gave you a look—firm but not unkind. “And also... she doesn’t know you like her.” His head tilted. “Like, actually like her. Until a month ago, you would’ve rather eaten glass than admit you didn’t hate her. Hell, you probably still wouldn’t admit it.”

He gestured between the two of you. “You think everyone’s a mind reader? Not everyone’s mentally connected to you like I am.”

You opened your mouth to fire something back... but nothing came out. Because he wasn’t wrong. Not even a little bit.

Ekko sighed, softer this time. “And look... I’m not saying you don’t have a right to be upset. You do. If she really likes you—like likes you—she could’ve been clearer. She could’ve handled this way better.” His hands tapped the wheel absently. “But you both? You’ve been dancing around each other for months. Pretending. Poking. Flirting. Fighting. And neither of you wants to admit it’s real unless the other says it first.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight, heart heavier than before—but not in the same way.

“I think,” Ekko continued, glancing over, “you both need some time. To figure your shit out. And then you need to sit down, talk it over... and actually talk.” He nudged your arm with his elbow. “Without yelling. Without storming out. Like actual functioning humans.”

You stared at the dashboard, then sighed. “I hate feelings.”

Ekko grinned. “Yeah. I know.”

──────────────────────

The week that followed the absolute disaster of that party was, without a doubt, one of the weirdest weeks of your life.

Vi gave you the time you’d asked for. Completely. No texts. No teasing. No dumb flirty comments. Not even that annoying smirk she always threw your way when she passed you in the hall. Nothing. It was radio silence.

And God... it felt awful.

You felt empty.

How could someone who’d only been in your life for a few months leave a void this massive? It didn’t make sense. It shouldn’t make sense. But it did.

Everywhere you went, there were things that reminded you of her. A song playing in someone’s car that you knew was on her playlist. A broken vending machine that still had the dent she put in it after punching it last month. Even stupid little things—like seeing strawberry gum at the corner store and immediately thinking of her.

More times than you wanted to admit, your thumb hovered over her name in your contacts. Ready to text. To send a dumb picture. Or ask if she still wanted her hoodie back. Or say... something. Anything.

And every single time... you locked your phone, shoved it back into your pocket, and told yourself you needed to get your head on straight. That if you were going to talk to her, it needed to be for real. Not another half-baked argument. Not another awkward almost-conversation.

You didn’t see her at lunch. You didn’t catch her between classes. It was like she was a ghost—everywhere and nowhere all at once. You couldn’t tell if she was actively avoiding you or if the universe was just being cruel.

“Can you not look for her every five seconds?” Ekko’s voice dragged you out of your thoughts. He was halfway through annihilating the saddest excuse for a cafeteria chicken sandwich you’d ever seen. “Seriously. Either do something... or stop torturing yourself.”

You sighed, slumping forward, poking half-heartedly at the fries on your tray. “I’m not—”

“You are.” He pointed at you with a fry. “You keep pretending you’re not, but every time someone walks past that door, you flinch like it’s her.” He chewed, swallowed, then added, “It’s getting sad, dude.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I know... I know. I just... I don’t know what to say to her.”

“Try ‘hey.’ Or ‘can we talk?’ Or, I don’t know, literally any words that exist in the English language.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Look, I get it. You don’t wanna screw it up. You wanna do this the right way.” He paused, looking at you seriously. “But avoiding her isn’t the right way either.”

“I’m not avoiding her,” you muttered, though you knew it was a lie.

Ekko snorted. “Yeah. Sure. That’s why you nearly dove behind the vending machine this morning when you saw her coming.”

You winced. “That was... situational.”

“Sure, bro.” He popped the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth. “Totally situational.”

You sighed, letting your head thunk against the table.

You were miserable. And this wasn’t fixing anything.

You missed her.

God, you missed her so bad it physically hurt.

And maybe... maybe it was time to stop running from that.

For the rest of lunch, you sat in silence, pretending to care about Ekko’s ongoing rant about how cafeteria pizza should be a crime against humanity. But your mind wasn’t really there.

It circled the same thought, over and over like a broken record:

“Talk to her. Just… talk to her.”

Easier said than done.

Your knee bounced under the table as the anxiety built. You were so deep in your own head that you didn’t even realize lunch had ended until Ekko snapped his fingers in front of your face.

“Earth to emotionally constipated lesbian.” He stood, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “You good?”

You nodded. Sort of. “Yeah... yeah. I’m gonna do it.”

Ekko’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah. I mean... I have to.” You shoved your tray aside, gripping the strap of your bag like it was some kind of life preserver. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending like it didn’t happen. Like none of it meant anything.” You swallowed hard. “Even if it’s just to get closure... I need to know.”

“Okay, yeah!” Ekko grinned, clapping you hard on the back. “Now we’re talking! So... what’s the plan?”

You stared at him blankly. “I have... absolutely no fucking idea.”

He groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face like this was somehow his problem too. “Damn. Why do I always gotta do everything around here?”

You snorted. “Tragic, really.”

Rubbing his eyes like you were physically exhausting him, he muttered, “Alright, first of all—you cannot ask me how I know this.”

You squinted. “That’s... very suspicious.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waved you off. “Look, I’ll text you her address. You still have her hoodie, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“Cool. Use that as your excuse. Tell her it’s her favorite hoodie and she’ll literally die without it. I don’t know. Be creative. Improvise. Lie a little.”

You blinked at him. “...I don’t know how you got her address, and I don’t think I wanna know. But you’re a lifesaver.”

“Damn right I am.”

The rest of the school day was a blur—an endless loop of your brain spiraling between panic and regret. You barely heard anything your teachers said, your leg bouncing under your desk the entire time as you worked yourself into a mental breakdown over:

How the hell were you going to explain knowing where she lived without sounding like a stalker?

What the hell were you even going to say when you got there?

“Hey, sorry I accused you of using me in front of half the party.”

“Hey, my bad for melting down after you kissed me in front of everyone.”

“Hey, I think I might actually be in love with you and it scares the absolute shit out of me.”

No. Nope. Absolutely not that last one. Not even under threat of death.

By the time school ended, you had worked yourself up so badly that your hands were actually shaking as you punched the address into your phone.

The walk there felt longer than it probably was. Every step sounded like a countdown to your own execution. You stopped a few houses away, took a deep breath, and before you chickened out completely, you fired a quick text to Ekko:

You: just got here. if i die tell my mom it was self-inflicted.

Ekko: 🫡 soldier’s death. respect.

You stared at the door. You could still back out. Run. Pretend you got lost. Fake a kidnapping. Anything.

But no. You were here. You owed it to yourself to face this.

You raised your fist and knocked.

A few seconds later, the door swung open, revealing a girl with long blue hair and sharp eyes. She looked vaguely familiar, but you couldn’t quite place where you’d seen her before.

“Uh... hi.” You tried your best not to sound like you were about to have a stroke. “Is Vi home?”

The girl blinked at you, unimpressed. “Yeah? Who’s asking?”

“It’s... uh... Y/N. I’m one of her classmates.” Your voice was way too shaky for your liking.

The moment your name left your mouth, her bored expression morphed into something far more interested. Her eyebrows shot up. “Ohhhh. You’re Y/N?” Her lips curled into a mischievous grin. “Damn. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Your stomach flipped. “...Is that... good?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. “Fat Hands is upstairs. Second door on the left.” She jerked her thumb toward the stairway behind her. “You can go up.”

“...Fat Hands?” you echoed, confused.

“Yeah.” The girl smirked. “It’s a long story. You should ask her about it sometime.”

You didn’t know whether to be concerned or amused. Probably both.

Clutching Vi’s hoodie to your chest like it was some kind of emotional shield, you nodded. “Uh... thanks.”

“Good luck,” she added, a little too cheerfully. “You’re gonna need it.”

You gulped and stepped inside, every nerve in your body screaming.

Each step up the stairs felt like climbing a mountain. Second door on the left. Second door on the left. You hovered in front of it, fist raised but frozen midair. Your heart was hammering so hard you could feel it in your teeth.

This is so stupid. This is so stupid. Why am I like this?

But before you could talk yourself out of it... you knocked.

From the other side, her voice came through—groggy, surprised, and a little confused.

“Yeah? What—?”

The door creaked open.

Vi stood there, in an oversized t-shirt, hair messier than you'd ever seen it, one eyebrow raised the second her eyes landed on you. Her lips parted slightly, caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief.

“...Y/N?”

You swallowed, throat dry. “...Hey.”

Her expression shifted—surprise first, then caution, then something softer that she quickly tried to mask behind a casual lean against the doorframe. Her arms crossed, like she was bracing herself.

“I brought you this.” You held out the hoodie—hers—the one you'd conveniently “forgotten” to return. Every speech and rehearsed line you’d come up with vanished from your head like smoke.

“...Okay...” Vi took the hoodie slowly, like she wasn’t sure if it was a gift, a trap, or both. “Why are you... I mean... what are you doing here?”

You shifted awkwardly on your feet. “Can I... come in?”

For a second, she didn’t answer. Her mouth opened like she was about to say something, then closed again. Then quietly, almost hesitant—

“...Yeah. Yeah, okay. C’mon in.”

She stepped back, letting you into her room.

It was... surprisingly clean. Organized chaos. Posters covered the walls—bands, old boxing matches, graffiti art. A few half-built mechanical things sat scattered across her desk, alongside a screwdriver and a pair of welding goggles. The air smelled faintly of citrus, metal... and Vi.

You stood there awkwardly, not sure whether to sit, stand, or bolt out the door. The silence between you was suffocating.

“Uh, I...” you tried, but nothing made sense anymore. “I had this whole speech, about how this is your favorite hoodie and you really needed it back, and how I’m an idiot for not returning it sooner and—”

Vi sighed, dragging both hands over her face. “Look... if you’re here to yell at me again, just get it over with. I swear, I still have no idea what the hell I did that night.”

You inhaled sharply. “That’s... that’s the thing.” Your gaze dropped to the floor, then back up to meet hers. “You didn’t really do anything. Not... not technically.”

Her brow furrowed. “Then why...?”

“Because...” You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing the words out. “Because you drive me insane, Vi.” Your voice cracked. “You flirt. You joke. You act like it’s all fun and games. You kiss me like it means something, and then... the second I walked into that party, you were flirting with someone else.” Your throat tightened. “And I didn’t want to care. I really didn’t. But I do. I care way more than I should. And it scared the hell out of me because... because I thought it was just a game to you.”

Vi’s face softened instantly. “Hey... no. No, Y/N...” She stepped toward you, then paused like she wasn’t sure if getting closer was allowed. “It wasn’t a game. Not to me. Not... not with you.”

“Then why do you act like it is?” your voice broke—thick with frustration and something dangerously close to heartbreak. “Why do you call me every pet name in the book and keep proclaiming you’re the love of my life like it’s some kind of joke? Like I’m supposed to just laugh it off and pretend it doesn’t mean anything?”

Vi flinched, like the words physically hit her. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out for a second. Then finally—

“Because that’s... that’s how I am, Y/N. That’s how I’ve always been. Joking’s easier. Safer. I didn’t think you’d... I didn’t think you’d ever actually... care.” Her voice softened, breaking. “I didn’t think I was allowed to hope you would.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

You blinked, stunned. “...Wait. What?”

Vi dragged a hand through her hair, pacing a few steps like she couldn’t sit still with everything bubbling out of her. “Yeah. Yeah. Look, you think I was messing around? God, Y/N, I’ve been terrified. You’re...” she shook her head, laughing bitterly. “You’re smart, you’re gorgeous, you’ve got your shit together... I never thought I had a chance. So yeah, I flirt. I joke. That’s what I do. But that kiss?” Her voice dropped, raw, trembling. “That wasn’t a joke. That wasn’t a bit. That was... real. And I’ve been losing my mind ever since.”

She stopped pacing, turning to face you fully, breathing like it physically hurt. “I wanted to kiss you. I wanted it so bad. And then you ran, and I... I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to make it worse.”

Your breath caught. The tension between you was like a live wire—crackling, fragile, dangerous.

Vi bit her bottom lip, then let out a shaky laugh, almost self-deprecating. “...I really fucked this up, huh?”

You stared at her. “...You kinda did.” You crossed your arms. “But it’s okay... because I kinda fucked this up too.”

She winced, then smiled—soft, lopsided, and so Vi it hurt. “Yeah. Fair.”

And God... seeing Vi— reckless, cocky, unbothered Vi—standing there looking vulnerable, nervous, uncertain... it tugged at something deep in your chest.

You exhaled a shaky breath. “...So what the hell do we do now?”

Vi blinked at you, surprised for a second, then grinned—tentative but real. “I don’t know. But... maybe we stop running from it.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper when she added, “From... this. From us.”

Your heart stuttered. “...Yeah. Maybe we do.”

Vi stared at you like she was waiting for permission. Like if she even breathed wrong, you might vanish. Her fingers twitched at her sides—like she wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if she was allowed to.

And you were tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of fighting it. Tired of holding yourself together like you weren’t seconds from falling apart every time she looked at you like that.

“Vi...” you started, but the words barely made it past your lips.

Her gaze dropped to your mouth. Her tongue darted out, nervously wetting her bottom lip, and that—God, that—snapped something inside of you.

“Screw it,” you whispered.

You stepped forward at the same time she did, like gravity itself finally gave up pretending you two weren’t being pulled together. Her hands cupped your face, tentative at first, but the second she felt you lean into her touch—like you needed it—her grip tightened.

And then she kissed you.

Not like the playful teasing at the party. Not like something for show, or a joke, or a dare. This was different. This was desperate, and clumsy, and real. Her lips were soft but firm against yours, a little shaky, a little frantic, like she’d been thinking about this every second since the last time and had no idea if she’d ever get to do it again.

Your hands fisted in the front of her shirt, pulling her closer, like you could physically make up for all the distance and the hurt and the confusion that had built between you. Her arms wrapped around your waist, holding you like something precious—like she was terrified of letting go.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, both of you were gasping like you’d just surfaced from underwater.

“...Okay,” Vi rasped, smiling so softly it hurt. “Okay. Yeah. We’re really doing this, huh?”

A laugh bubbled out of you, watery and real. “Yeah... I think we are.”

Her thumb brushed your cheek, gentler than you’d ever thought Vi could be. “I meant it, you know... what I said. None of this was ever a joke. Not you. Not... us.”

Your hands slid up, cupping her jaw, your thumbs tracing the line of her cheekbone. “I know. I... I didn’t want to believe it at first. But... I do now.”

Vi grinned, but it was softer than her usual cocky smile—almost shy. “Guess that means you’re stuck with me now, huh?”

You pretended to think. “Hmm... yeah. Guess I am. What a nightmare.”

She chuckled, dipping her head to kiss you again—softer this time, slower, like she wasn’t in a rush anymore. Like she had all the time in the world now that you weren’t running from each other.

──────────────────────

The next morning felt... weird. But the good kind of weird. The kind that made your stomach flutter every time you remembered how Vi had kissed you, how her hand fit perfectly in yours, how the two of you had talked until way too late—about everything. About the party, about the feelings neither of you had been brave enough to say out loud until now. About you. About her.

So when your phone buzzed with a text from Vi that read:

“Get ready. I’m picking you up for school. No arguments.”

—you couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed.

And true to her word, ten minutes before you were supposed to leave, a loud, familiar motorcycle engine rumbled outside your house. You peeked through the window to see Vi leaning against her bike, looking all cocky like she wasn’t absolutely whipped.

Your heart did a stupid little flip.

By the time you grabbed your bag and stepped outside, she was grinning. “Mornin’, princess.”

“Morning,” you said, trying not to smile like an idiot.

She handed you a helmet, waiting for you to strap it on before sliding onto the bike. The second you wrapped your arms around her waist, she squeezed your hand against her stomach like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

The ride to school was a blur of wind, adrenaline, and the kind of giddy happiness you hadn’t felt in a long time.

Meanwhile Ekko who had stood on your front porch, and knocked for longer than he had to, was calling you like no tomorrow. His brows furrowed. “Hello? You alive? Where the fuck are you?”

He was ready to call your parents when the distant sound of a motorcycle made him glance toward the street.

His eyes squinted. “No. No way.”

Sure enough, he watched as a very familiar red motorcycle pulled into the school parking lot... with you sitting on the back of it. Arms around Vi. Laughing.

And then—oh.

Vi parked, kicked the stand down, and helped you off like it was the most normal thing in the world. And when you slid your helmet off, she took it from you, casually threading her fingers through yours as the two of you started walking toward the school entrance.

Hand in hand.

Ekko blinked. Stared. Looked down at his phone like it might be lying to him. Looked back up and shook his head, snorting under his breath as he shoved his phone back in his pocket. “About damn time.”

As he caught up to you two, he didn’t even bother hiding his smirk. “Wow. Look who finally figured it out.”

Vi shot him a grin. “Took some elbow grease, but yeah. We got there.”

You rolled your eyes, blushing. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely starting.” Ekko wiggled his eyebrows. “I’m milking this for weeks.”

Vi threw an arm around your shoulders. “Let him. He earned it.”

And for once, walking into school didn’t feel heavy. It didn’t feel complicated. It felt... kinda perfect.

──────────────────────

masterlist

[kiwriteswords]

Our Secret Moments in Crowded Rooms [Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader] *

Ki2k Masterlist||MainMasterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 2.5k|| AN: Combined a little thirsty thursday smut with 5+1 weekend prompt for one of my last Ki2k fics! ||Requests are still open for Ki2k!!

Tags/Warnings: female reader, sexting, nudes, 5+1, mdni, smutty themes, sexual themes, bau!reader, lingerie, implied age gap

Summary: Five times you send Aaron Hotchner a dirty text message, and the one time he sends you one.

The first time you did it was in the bustling conference room, everyone’s attention had been squarely focused on Erin Strauss, who was remotely detailing the future financial directions for the BAU.

Hotch sat with his usual impeccable posture at the head of the table, a fortress of professionalism. 

The entire team--Rossi, Derek, Emily, JJ, Penelope, and Spencer--were present, occasionally exchanging weary glances or stifled yawns. The atmosphere was stifling with budget talk and strategic projections.

You, well aware of how mundane these meetings could be, decided to add a spark of excitement. 

From across the table, you could see Hotch’s phone next to his notepad, the screen innocently dark. Remembering the daring photo you had snapped the night before--just a little something in very revealing lingerie--you couldn’t resist.

Quietly, with a mischievous smile, you selected the photo and sent it to him, your heart thumping with a mix of nervousness and thrill.

The moment the phone buzzed, Hotch’s hand moved reflexively to check it, a motion masked by the table. His expression, typically unreadable, faltered for a split second as he viewed the message. His eyes widened imperceptibly, a flush creeping up his neck--an uncommon sight. He locked the phone quickly, placing it face down with more force than necessary, his fingers tensing around the edges.

Rossi, sitting beside him, noticed the subtle change. Leaning closer under the guise of discussing the budget, he whispered with a hint of amusement, "Rough numbers, Aaron?"

Hotch, catching himself, gave Rossi a small nod and a wry, controlled smile, "Something like that," before turning his attention back to Strauss.

From the corner, Derek watched the exchange with a raised eyebrow, leaning back in his chair as he murmured to Emily, "Seems like the budget's more interesting than we thought." Emily covered a chuckle with her hand, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Penelope, ever the sleuth for gossip, shot you a knowing look from across the table, her interest clearly piqued. Spencer, on the other hand, looked from one person to another, confused by the sudden shift in dynamics but deciding it was just another quirk of team interactions he'd yet to understand.

As the meeting wrapped up, Hotch stood, adjusting his suit jacket with a nervous energy. Passing by you, he murmured low enough for only you to hear, "Nice photo," a stern look on his face but his tone warm with appreciation.

The second time, with a sly smile, you observed Hotch through the glass window of his office, his face etched with stress as he furiously penned down reports. The deep lines on his forehead spoke volumes of the pressure he was under. Inspired to ease his burden and inject a spark of youthfulness into his day, you knew just the trick to divert his attention and perhaps elicit a more relaxed expression.

Pulling out your phone, you crafted a risqué text, teasing and bold: 

"If I were there right now, those reports wouldn't be the only thing spread out on your desk..." 

Your fingers hesitated only a moment before sending it, your heart fluttering with a mix of anticipation and mischief. You then fixed your gaze on him, watching as his intense focus on the reports was interrupted by the buzz of his phone.

Hotch paused, his hand reaching automatically for the device. He read your message, and for a moment, he seemed frozen; the pen halted mid-air. Then, slowly, a smile creased his usually stern face, and he shook his head in disbelief at your audacity. The stress lines seemed to smooth as his eyes lit up with a mix of amusement and something more intense, more fiery.

After a brief moment, his fingers began to move rapidly over the screen. You waited, curious and a bit nervous about what his reply might entail. The phone buzzed in your hand, and you glanced down to read his response. The words on the screen were shockingly bold and flirtatious: 

“Promise to handle me with more care than those reports? Because that’s an offer I’d hate to file away for later.” 

Hotch was playing along, stepping up to your challenge with a surprising flair.

Looking up, you caught his gaze through the window. He was watching you, a smug smirk replacing the usual stoic expression. His eyes twinkled with mischief, clearly pleased with the exchange. The atmosphere between you, charged with a playful yet palpable tension, promised more daring banter and perhaps some interesting developments once the workday ended.

The third time, the BAU team was scattered across hotel rooms, weary from a long day on a challenging case. With the set protocol firmly in place, you and Hotch had separate rooms to maintain professionalism while on duty. But knowing the kind of pressure Hotch was under, especially after the particularly tough day he'd had, you felt a compassionate urge to offer him a bit of a reprieve--even if it was a bold move given your agreement.

As you settled into the solitude of your room, you remembered Hotch’s tense expression earlier that evening; his jaw set firm, his eyes shadowed with the weight of the day. The image spurred a mischievous yet caring idea. 

With a quiet resolve, you decided to take a daring step to ease his stress. You took a moment to set the scene in your dimly lit room, ensuring the ambiance was just right, subtle yet inviting. Then, with a deep breath, you snapped a tasteful yet undeniably sexy nude photo of yourself, one that accentuated your curves and held an artistic flair.

You hesitated for a moment, considering the implications, but your desire to lighten his mood won out. You sent the photo to Hotch with a simple, flirty message attached: 

“Wish you were here...”

Minutes ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last as you awaited his response. Finally, your phone buzzed. Hotch’s reply was succinct, yet it carried a depth of emotion that was rare for him to express in words: 

“Thank you, that means a lot right now. We *definitely* need to discuss vacation plans soon.”

Though brief, his message conveyed a warmth and appreciation that reassured you. It was clear your gesture had touched him, perhaps more because of the sentiment behind it than the photo itself. It was a small, intimate exchange, but it reinforced the deep connection between you, straddling the line between professional boundaries and personal support.

The fourth time, was after a fight. 

If you were asked what even started the fight, you’re not sure you could remember. It was that silly. 

As the tension from the silly argument lingered in the air of your shared apartment, you could feel the heaviness of Hotch's aggravation from the other room. Despite the trivial nature of the disagreement, his mood had soured, a rare occurrence that left the atmosphere charged with a silent stiffness. 

Knowing you had already moved past the disagreement and sensing that the prolonged silence was doing neither of you any favors, you decided it was time to lighten the mood and mend fences in a way that would catch him off-guard yet remind him of the deeper bond you shared.

With a playful resolution, you typed out a message from the comfort of the living room while he remained secluded in the study. Your fingers danced over the phone’s keyboard with a flirty intention: 

“Truce? I’m wearing the smile you gave me...and not much else. Come and make sure it stays on?”

You hit send, a small smile playing on your lips as you anticipated his reaction, hoping to dissolve the remnants of his frustration. 

It didn’t take long for the sound of shifting furniture to reach your ears, followed by the soft but rapid footsteps approaching. The door creaked open, and Hotch stood there, a slight smile breaking through his earlier demeanor. His eyes softened, humor mixed with affection warming his gaze as he took in your playful stance.

“I suppose that’s an offer too good to ignore,” he responded, the tension melting away as he stepped into the room, extending his hand in a peace offering and a promise of a heartfelt reconciliation.

The fifth time was a present of sorts--a prelude to the actual gift. 

For Hotch’s birthday, you had planned something extra special to end the day on a memorable note. Knowing he would be in the office later than usual due to a crucial meeting, you seized the opportunity to prepare a surprise that was sure to delight him. 

After slipping out of work a bit early, you ventured to a boutique and selected a stunning piece of lingerie, intricately designed and bold, perfect for the occasion.

Once home, you carefully arranged the lingerie, adorning yourself as if you were a gift needing unwrapping. The silky fabric felt luxurious against your skin, and you couldn’t help but feel a mix of nerves and excitement at the thought of his reaction. 

However, as time ticked by and Hotch’s meeting dragged on longer than you expected, the initial thrill began to wane, replaced by impatient anticipation.

To regain the spark and signal to Hotch the evening awaiting him, you positioned yourself in front of the bedroom mirror. The reflection that stared back at you was enticing--a playful yet irresistible invitation. 

You snapped a suggestive photo, the angle and lighting accentuating the curves and contours hugged by the lace and silk. Attaching a flirty message, you sent it to him: 

“Hurry home...your birthday present is waiting to be unwrapped.”

 Moments later, your phone buzzed with his response, his words fueling your anticipation further: 

“That’s the best motivation to end this meeting early. Save me some wrapping to tear into when I get there.” 

His message, a perfect blend of tease and affection, reassured you that the evening would be as thrilling as you had envisioned. 

Now, all that was left was the waiting, each minute stretching out with the promise of the celebration to come.

Your fingers raced over the phone’s keyboard, your tone playful and a bit teasing. Deciding to cross the line even further, you hoped this would be good motivation to hurry up and get here: 

"I might start without you...Can’t promise I’ll be patient much longer."

You were surprised when you saw the next message come in just as soon as you sent yours, meaning he was watching and waiting for your next move. 

"Now, that would be a crime. Give me 20 minutes. I'm leaving now."

Now, this could be fun. You chuckled softly, the excitement tingling through you as you typed another message, hinting at the evening's impending delights.

"20 minutes? I guess I’ll just have to find some way to occupy myself...Maybe I’ll start with the ribbon."

Twenty minutes? You knew very well the apartment was more-like thirty minutes away and Mister-I-Don’t-Go-That-Much-Above-The-Speed-Limit wouldn’t test that tonight. 

"Hold off on that ribbon. I want the full experience of unwrapping my gift. Consider it an order from your unit chief."

The reply was quick, infused with affection and a hint of mischief. You toyed with the edge of the lingerie, truly wishing time travel was a thing right now. You took a deep, shuttering breath and decided to be patient. It was his birthday, after all. 

“Yes, sir! I’ll be here...waiting and ready for inspection."

Poking the buttons had seemed to become your specialty. You knew if you wanted him here quicker, you might as well stop texting, but this game was far too fun. 

"Stay just like that. I’m rushing home. And, just so you know, you’ve already made this the best birthday yet."

Although you had already made the unknowing promise to fulfill his birthday dreams tonight, you knew now to amp it up a little--following through with that best birthday ever.

And then there was the one time that Aaron Hotchner truly---yes, truly, surprised you. 

He always surprised you, to be fair. His intelligence, his thoughtfulness, his quick-wit...all of it. 

But his ability to adapt to sexting? At work?! Now, this was a surprise.

It was a slow afternoon at the office, and the BAU team had just wrapped up a case. You were busily organizing files at your desk when your phone vibrated subtly beside your keyboard. 

Expecting a mundane work-related message or perhaps a reminder, you were surprised to see Hotch's name lighting up the screen. Curiosity piqued, you swiped open the message, your eyebrows rising in surprise at the content.

"Thinking about last night...can't get it out of my mind. How do you manage to do that?"

Flashbacks of last night passed by in your brain. It was a great night, you can’t deny that. A day of tension that turned into some perfect stress relief--stress relief that went on for quite a long time, mind you. 

You glanced around to ensure no one was peering over your shoulder before replying:

"I could ask you the same. But I’m glad it's stuck with you. Keeps the day interesting, doesn't it?"

There was a short pause during which you continued your work, albeit with a slightly distracted air. Soon, your phone vibrated again. 

You couldn’t believe your eyes; he was truly sexting you. 

In the middle of the workday. 

In the middle of the BAU. 

"Very interesting...and speaking of interesting, what if I told you I’m looking forward to more? Might even have a surprise for you tonight."

The vague hint at something more made your heart skip a beat. The tension between your legs began to grow too, suddenly wanting--needing some friction. 

You tapped out a response, your fingers moving swiftly over the phone’s keypad:

“Now you’ve made me curious...and a little impatient. Should I be preparing anything?"

And horny. You wanted to reply. 

"Just yourself. Maybe wear that necklace I like--and nothing else."

Holy shit. You looked around and life was funny this way. The rest of the world continuing on as if you weren’t sitting here ready to run up and fuck Aaron Hotchner in the middle of the work day. You knew you couldn’t, but the idea...the idea kept crossing your mind. Just like you crossed your legs in hopes it would help with the sudden ache that sat there. 

"Consider it done. I’m counting the minutes until I can see what you’ve planned."

You could almost hear his deep, even tone through the text, serious yet playful. The conversation was uncharacteristically bold for Hotch, especially during work hours, showing a side of him that rarely came out in the open. This unexpected twist in your routine day made the hours seem to drag as anticipation built.

"Count faster. I’ll be home by seven."

You were sure that sexting with Hotch was by far your new favorite thing. 

[bodybaggage]

The Dan-Tastic Disaster

When the JL is stuck on babysitting duty until Danny shows up

———

It started like any other Justice League meeting, with Batman brooding in the corner, Superman standing confidently at the head of the table, and Wonder Woman calmly preparing for the mission briefing. What none of them expected was to be dealing with a de-aged, ghostly child with the potential to end worlds.

"Are you sure this is safe?" Superman asked, glancing down at the toddler perched on the conference table, currently gnawing on a metal batarang like it was a teething ring.

"Safe?" Batman muttered, rubbing his temples. "No. Manageable? Hopefully."

Dan Phantom—or what was left of him in his current toddler form—looked innocent enough at first glance. Bright green eyes, tiny fists gripping onto Batman’s cape like a security blanket, a cute little tuft of white hair curling above his head. But the Justice League had been briefed on his true nature. He was Danny Phantom’s evil future self, de-aged through some cosmic mishap. And now, thanks to fate or terrible luck, they were babysitting.

"Up! Up!" Dan suddenly demanded, lifting his tiny hands towards Superman.

Superman, always the gentle giant, smiled softly. “Okay, little guy. Let’s—OW!”

The moment Superman picked him up, Dan burst into green flames, scorching Superman's red cape and singeing his hair. The Kryptonian tried to gently pat out the fire, but Dan just giggled mischievously and floated upwards, still burning, as Superman’s cape disintegrated into ashes.

“I’ll just… get another cape,” Superman mumbled, resigned.

Wonder Woman knelt down, observing the floating toddler with the curiosity of someone about to embark on an epic quest. “He reminds me of the young warriors of Themyscira,” she said, a glimmer of fondness in her eyes. “Strong, brave, and full of fire.” Literally.

She offered him a soft smile. “Little one, let me tell you a tale from my youth, of the Amazons and their triumph over the beasts of the land.”

Dan floated down toward her, his eyes glowing with interest for all of three seconds before he grabbed her lasso and swung from it like a child on a tire swing. "Wheeeeee!"

Wonder Woman blinked. “He is… very enthusiastic.”

Meanwhile, Batman was in the corner, already furiously texting Danny Phantom on his encrypted Bat-phone. URGENT: Toddler version of evil future self setting things on fire. Please advise.

Danny’s response pinged back almost immediately: Good luck! Don’t let him touch anything sharp or made of explosives. Be there soon-ish.

Batman scowled at the "soon-ish." The last thing they needed was “soon-ish.” They needed now.

"Uh, Bruce," Superman said, nervously eyeing Dan, who had now decided that the perfect place to hide was inside a control panel. "He’s touching the lasers."

Batman swiveled around just in time to see the Watchtower's interior light up in bright neon green flashes. Every screen blinked with static, and the alarm system activated. Dan was just... pressing buttons. Randomly. While humming a tune and still floating lazily around, now wearing Wonder Woman’s tiara on his head.

"Dan," Batman said in the tone reserved for criminals, children, and now, apparently, demonic ghost toddlers. "Get out of there."

Dan paused, looking Batman straight in the eye, and gave the kind of evil grin only a future supervillain could pull off. He slammed his tiny fist into the panel, causing every door in the Watchtower to open and close in a chaotic frenzy. Somewhere, the coffee machine exploded.

“Great Hera,” Wonder Woman murmured, eyeing the scene with wide-eyed awe. “He is... relentless.”

“He’s a menace,” Batman grumbled, already trying to recalibrate the systems on his wrist computer.

Superman, ever the optimist, decided to take a different approach. "Dan, how about we go play somewhere that isn’t full of very important and dangerous equipment?"

Dan looked at Superman for a long moment, then reached out and ignited Superman’s other cape. Superman sighed. “I don’t know why I thought that would work.”

Before Batman could further escalate into his “silent looming” tactic (which, thus far, had only led to Dan giggling and calling him “funny bat man”), Danny Phantom finally phased through the wall. He was panting, his hair tousled, clearly in a hurry.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Danny said, hands up. “I had to deal with this whole thing with the Ghost Zone and—oh, wow. He’s already set things on fire? That was fast.”

Batman gave him a look. The kind that promised revenge if Danny didn’t take care of this immediately.

“Oh yeah, he’s... a handful,” Danny said, scooping up the toddler, who immediately stopped causing chaos and instead tugged at Danny’s hoodie. “I told Clockwork it was a bad idea to leave him with you guys, but you know how he is.”

Batman raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling me Clockwork is responsible for this?”

“Yeah,” Danny replied, casually flipping Dan upside down, which somehow made the toddler laugh instead of scream. “Said it would ‘build character’ or something. No idea what that means.”

Wonder Woman glanced between the now-quiet Dan and the previously-chaotic Watchtower, eyebrow raised. “And what, exactly, are we meant to learn from this?”

Danny shrugged, adjusting Dan like a backpack. “Patience? Endurance? Definitely not fire safety, though.”

Superman, cape now a pile of ash on the floor, simply chuckled. “Well, it was... eventful.”

“I’m just glad the Watchtower is still standing,” Batman muttered, already mentally drafting the report about the damage.

Danny grinned, patting Batman on the back. “You did great! You didn’t even let him explode anything. That’s a win in my book.”

As Danny started phasing through the walls with a happy toddler on his back, Wonder Woman watched them go, a soft smile on her face. “He truly has a way with him, doesn’t he?”

Superman nodded, glancing down at the remains of his cape. “Yeah. But next time, he’s babysitting.”

Batman, deadpan as ever, just sighed. "There won't be a next time."