#I’m simply a yapper | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

iraot · 3 months ago

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Warnings: M/M intimacy, tooth rotting fluff?, rough sex, knotting, abo dynamics, p in v sex, p in a sex, oral sex, throuple, power dynamics?, play, hair mentioned i think, Pairing: Alpha Zayne x Omega F!reader x Alpha Caleb A/N: this is the last OFFICIAL part of my ABO series, at least until the sixth LI comes out. I am taking drabble requests for any of the relationships so feel free to shoot me a DM and I'll get to it as soon as I can! :3 If you also just wanna yap hit me up too! I'm a chronic yapper. A03

𝟙𝟝 𝕐𝔼𝔸ℝ𝕊 𝔸𝔾𝕆 The summer sun was beginning its lazy descent, painting the sky in shades of amber and violet as the three of them raced through the field behind Linkon University’s faculty housing, where their families worked. The rampantly growing wildflowers swayed in the evening breeze, the scent of earth and grass filling the air as laughter rang out between them.

Caleb was the fastest, always the first to dart ahead, feet barely touching the ground as he bolted through the field. His dark brown hair was a wild mess, violet eyes bright with excitement as he whooped and called over his shoulder, “Come on, slowpokes! Last one to the tree has to carry the backpacks home!”

She groaned dramatically but pushed forward, her legs burning as she tried to keep up. She wasn’t as wild as Caleb, but she had her own brand of playful competitiveness. “Not fair! You took off before we even started counting!”

Zayne, as always, was more calculated in his approach. He didn’t immediately rush in after Caleb but instead gauged the distance, the lay of the ground, the way his two best friends moved. With a quiet, knowing smirk, he adjusted his pace, waiting for the right moment to surge ahead. “You should know by now that Caleb doesn’t play fair,” he murmured as he passed her, his black hair catching the last of the sunlight.

She huffed, trying not to grin. “And you’re still letting him get away with it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Just as Caleb was about to reach the massive oak tree that marked their usual finish line, Zayne suddenly veered to the right, cutting through the tall grass. Caleb was too caught up in his own momentum to notice until the last second—when Zayne stretched out a hand and tagged the tree first.

“What—? You cheated!” Caleb gaped, hands on his knees as he caught his breath.

Zayne simply leaned against the bark, arms crossed, utterly unbothered. “I played smart.”

She reached the tree a few seconds later, panting but laughing. “Guess that means Caleb’s carrying the backpacks.”

Caleb groaned, falling onto his back with an exaggerated sigh. “You two always gang up on me.”

“We wouldn’t have to if you weren’t always running off,” Zayne pointed out, nudging him with his foot.

She plopped down beside Caleb, staring up at the sky with a contented sigh. “One day, we’ll probably have to start acting our age. Be all proper and responsible.”

Caleb turned his head to look at her, grinning. “Not happening. I’ll make sure of it.”

Zayne shook his head, but there was fondness in his gaze as he sat beside them. “At the very least, I’ll make sure neither of you get into too much trouble.”

She rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. “So, what’s the verdict? Backpacks?”

Caleb groaned again but grabbed one of the bags with a dramatic flourish. “Fine. But only because I’m gracious in defeat.”

She and Zayne exchanged an amused glance before gathering the rest of their things, the three of them falling into an easy rhythm as they made their way home. Even then, before their designations, before their world became infinitely more complicated, they had been something unshakable—three parts of a whole, bound together in a way none of them could fully put into words.

Not yet, anyway.

PRESENT The change in the air was subtle at first—just a shift, something quiet, creeping beneath the surface like a storm waiting to break. But then it thickened, coiled, twisted into something heavy and undeniable, something that seeped into the walls, the sheets, their skin. It was a slow, smoldering burn, creeping into their bones, filling every breath with something sharp, something deep.

Zayne felt it like a pulse beneath his skin, a slow ache spreading through his veins, settling low in his gut, curling tight around the heavy weight of his cock where it lay against his thigh. He exhaled through his nose, trying to stay steady, but even that was a fucking struggle. His body was already turning against him, heat building behind his eyes, muscles going taut, coiling in anticipation. He wasn’t in rut yet, not fully, but it was coming. He could feel it.

Caleb was worse off.

The other Alpha was already shifting where he sat, restless, his hands twitching before curling into fists against the edge of the mattress like he was trying to tether himself. But restraint wasn’t in Caleb’s nature. Never had been. His body knew what it wanted, and it wanted now. It was evident in the way he pressed up against Zayne, broad chest to chest, his scent thick with rut, flooding the space around them. His lips curled, sharp, wicked, as he rolled his hips down in a slow, deliberate grind, dragging against Zayne’s cock just to watch the way his throat bobbed with the effort of restraint.

“Fuck, you’re already holding back?” Caleb murmured, voice rough, teasing, layered with heat that he wasn’t even pretending to hide. His breath ghosted against Zayne’s jaw, lips so fucking close but not touching, not yet, just enough to make it worse.

Zayne let out a low, guttural sound, more growl than breath, his hand snapping up to grip the back of Caleb’s neck, fingers flexing against sweat-damp skin. “We don’t need to do this,” he muttered, but he didn’t pull away.

Caleb huffed out a sharp breath, biting down on his lower lip, dragging it between his teeth before releasing it with a quiet, breathy laugh. He rocked his hips again, grinding down, the friction sending a sharp, burning heat through both of them. “That’s cute,” he rasped. “Like you’re not already fucking soaked in scent.”

Zayne clenched his jaw, trying to ignore the way his cock twitched at the words, the way his body ached for more, craved it, demanded it. Caleb was right—he fucking reeked of rut, the deep, dark spice of it thick in the air, mixing with Caleb’s scent in a way that was fucking dizzying, overwhelming. It curled around them both, binding them together in the worst best way.

Caleb didn’t wait for an answer. He surged forward, closing the space between them, capturing Zayne’s mouth in a kiss that was all heat and teeth, hungry, restless. Zayne let him, let Caleb take, let him press him down against the mattress, let his hands slide down his back, gripping muscle, feeling the way Caleb trembled under his fingers.

The rut hadn’t hit full force yet, but fuck, it was close.

And this—this wasn’t going to be enough.

Zayne barely remembered how they got here, barely remembered shoving off their clothes, the frantic, desperate way their hands tore at fabric, the way Caleb’s nails dug into his shoulders, dragging down his back, leaving angry, red streaks in their wake. But now, Caleb was beneath him, panting, gasping, his face buried in the sheets as Zayne pressed into him, his cock stretching Caleb open, filling him, dragging against the tight, slick heat of him inch by inch.

Caleb shuddered beneath him, his breath catching on a moan, his hands fisting the sheets so tightly his knuckles went white. “Fuck,” he gasped, voice wrecked, body burning, back arching as he tried to push back, to take more, to take all of it.

Zayne gritted his teeth, his fingers digging into the sharp curve of Caleb’s hips, holding him still as he sank deeper, forcing himself to go slow, to drag it out. He wanted to wreck him, to pound him into the mattress until neither of them could fucking breathe, but he knew Caleb—knew the way he liked it, knew the way his body craved the stretch, the ache, the feeling of being taken apart, piece by fucking piece.

The sounds Caleb made—broken, breathless little noises, gasps and moans and desperate little whimpers—sent heat ripping through Zayne’s spine, curling low in his gut, tightening around his cock like a vice. “Fuck,” Zayne grunted, forehead dropping to the sweat-slick expanse of Caleb’s back, his breath coming in ragged, heavy pulls. “You’re—fucking squeezing me.”

Caleb let out a rough, choking sound, body trembling, shuddering around him. “Maybe—” he sucked in a sharp breath, shivering as Zayne pulled back, dragging his cock against the slick, swollen clutch of his body before pressing back in, slow, deep, almost mean. “Maybe I don’t—wanna let you go.”

Zayne groaned, his hips snapping forward, his restraint fraying, shattering. His thrusts picked up, deeper, harder, grinding into him, dragging him closer and closer to the edge. Caleb sobbed out a sound, arching, his hands clawing at the sheets, his body tightening, locking down around him.

It was too much.

Zayne growled, deep and primal, his knot swelling, locking them together, forcing him deep, keeping him buried inside. Caleb gasped, his whole body jerking, tensing, his muscles twitching under Zayne’s hands, his breath coming in sharp, uneven little moans.

Zayne let out a shuddering breath, pressing his forehead to the back of Caleb’s neck, his lips dragging along sweat-damp skin. His hands smoothed down Caleb’s sides, feeling every tremor, every little aftershock still working through him. The scent of rut was still thick in the air, suffocating, clinging to the sheets, to their skin.

They stayed like that for a while, panting, twitching through the last tremors of it, their bodies spent, their muscles locked, shaking.

Zayne’s head snapped up.

The apartment wasn’t silent.

A noise.

Faint.

Something breathy. Unsteady.

Caleb stirred beneath him. “You hear that?”

Zayne’s gut twisted, instincts locking onto something new, something dangerous. His world had been narrowed to Caleb for hours, but now—now that the haze was ebbing, another scent was creeping in, something sweet, thick, suffocating.

Omega. Not just any Omega. Her.

Zayne was moving before he had even fully untied from Caleb, instincts screaming, body demanding action. Caleb cursed behind him, barely managing to catch himself as Zayne pulled free, the knot finally giving way. He groaned, rolling onto his back, but his expression shifted the second he inhaled deep.

“Shit,” Caleb muttered, already moving. “That’s—”

Neither of them wasted time. A quick rinse, scrubbing the worst of their rut from their skin, before shoving on loose clothes, still radiating Alpha heat as they stalked into the hallway.

The scent hit them full-force in the living room.

She was there, curled on the floor, trembling, fingers twitching against the oversized fabric of her hoodie. Her scent was thick, pouring off her in waves, her heat pressing against every inch of the apartment like a fucking siren’s call.

Fuck.

She wasn’t supposed to go into heat for another few weeks.

Caleb exhaled sharply, glancing at Zayne, his violet eyes still dark with leftover rut. “Well,” he muttered, voice tight. “That’s a fucking problem.”

She whimpered when Zayne lifted her, fingers clutching weakly at his hoodie, her heat scent clinging to his skin like a plea. Zayne clenched his jaw. Caleb’s lips pressed into a thin line.

The scent was overwhelming now, worse than before–worse now that she was in their arms–the slick-sweet haze of her heat wrapping around them, sinking into their lungs. She had just been in heat last month. There shouldn’t have been a reason for her to go into heat for several months, but with two Alphas coming into rut at the same time; well, the odds weren’t in her favor.

Zayne exhaled slowly through his nose, tightening his grip around her as he stepped into her room. The space was warm, the air thick with her scent, but what caught his attention was the bed—the carefully arranged pile of blankets, pillows, soft things she'd unconsciously gathered over the past few days.

A nest.

Her nest.

He hadn’t noticed. Neither of them had.

“Fuck,” Caleb muttered under his breath.

Zayne carefully knelt, setting her down at the center of the nest. She let out a breathy sound, rubbing her cheek against the soft fabric, her body instinctively curling into the space she had made for herself. But when he tried to pull back, her hand shot out, clumsy and shaking, grabbing at his wrist.

Her eyes cracked open—barely focused, pupils blown wide. “Don’t—” her voice was small, raw, “don’t leave.”

Zayne swallowed hard.

Caleb ran a hand through his damp hair, exhaling sharply. “Shit.” He dropped to his knees beside the nest, watching as she tried to reach for them again, her body moving on instinct, seeking their warmth, their scent.

Because they did this.

She whined again, softer this time, her fingers flexing weakly as they curled into Zayne’s hoodie. Her scent pulsed in the air—sweet, thick, drowning them in it. It was impossible to ignore, seeping into their skin, into their bones.

Zayne forced himself to breathe slowly, carefully, even as every part of him wanted to sink into her scent, press closer, give her whatever she was begging for.

She didn’t understand what she was asking. Not yet.

Caleb let out a sharp breath beside him, rubbing the back of his neck like it might help clear his head. It wouldn’t. Not with her lying there, heat-flushed and trembling, pupils blown wide as she looked at them.

“Fuck,” Caleb muttered under his breath. He was staring at her like she was the only thing in the world. Then he dragged a hand down his face and sat back on his heels, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “We—shit, we did this to her.”

Zayne swallowed against the tightness in his throat. He knew. The second he smelled her, he knew. Their ruts had thrown her cycle off-balance, pulled her into heat too soon. Her body reacted to them.

Her heat was because of them.

Zayne’s jaw ticked as he reached down, smoothing his palm over the sweat-damp skin of her arm. “We didn’t mean to,” he said, voice low, rough. It felt like a weak excuse.

Caleb huffed out a bitter laugh. “Doesn’t change shit, does it?”

She whimpered softly, shifting in the nest, her thighs rubbing together, seeking friction that wouldn’t satisfy her. The motion sent another wave of scent through the air, and Zayne felt his stomach clench.

Fuck.

Caleb’s whole body went tense beside him. He dragged in a shaky breath, then shoved himself away, back hitting the wall. He tilted his head up, staring at the ceiling like that would help anything.

“This is bad,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “Really, really fucking bad.”

She whimpered again, eyes fluttering open, hazy and unfocused. “Please,” she breathed, fingers twitching toward them.

The sound of her voice sent something deep and primal rolling through Zayne’s chest. His Omega. The thought shouldn’t be there, but it was. Her heat was crying for them, her instincts pulling her toward them. She wanted—needed—

Zayne gritted his teeth. No. She didn’t need them like that. Not when she was like this.

He exhaled through his nose, sharp and controlled. Focus.

She shifted again, her body aching for warmth, for touch. “Too hot,” she mumbled, voice thin. She tugged weakly at her hoodie, but her fingers were uncoordinated, trembling. Her heat was draining her strength fast. Too fast.

Zayne moved before thinking, reaching out to help. But the second his fingers brushed the fabric, she made a sound. A breathy, helpless little whimper.

His vision went red for half a second.

Caleb swore.

“Zayne,” he warned.

Zayne’s breathing was too slow, too careful. His muscles coiled under his skin, his entire body wired tight with restraint. He could feel her heat in his palm, radiating through the hoodie, sinking into him. So soft. So warm. So—

He pulled his hand back like he’d been burned.

Caleb exhaled hard. He was watching, eyes dark, knowing. “That close?” he murmured.

Zayne clenched his jaw. “Shut the fuck up.”

Caleb didn’t push, which meant he wasn’t any better.

The room was silent except for her soft, needy breaths. Zayne could feel the way she was still reaching for them, the way her body was practically singing for them to come closer. His instincts screamed at him to do exactly that.

It was the hardest thing he’d ever done—not touching her.

Caleb let his head drop back against the wall again, breathing in slow, measured drags. “We can’t leave her alone like this.”

Zayne exhaled sharply. “I know.”

“She’s not gonna last long like this, man.” Caleb’s voice was quieter now, but just as strained. “She’s already burning up.”

Zayne looked at her. Her skin was flushed, her lips slightly parted as she panted through the heat pulsing through her body. She needed them. But not like this.

Not like this.

His stomach twisted.

Caleb ran a hand down his face. “I hate this.”

Zayne did too. Every instinct in him wanted to take care of her, to fix this, but fixing it meant crossing a line neither of them were willing to cross.

Instead, he reached for the blankets in her nest, pulling them up around her, tucking them in close, careful not to let his fingers brush her skin again.

She sighed at the warmth, curling deeper into the soft fabric, murmuring something under her breath that neither of them could make out.

Caleb let out a slow breath. “So, what the fuck do we do?”

Zayne stared down at her for a long moment, watching the way her fingers curled weakly around the edge of the blanket, the way her lashes fluttered as she fought against the haze.

“Stay,” he said simply.

Caleb’s brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t argue.

Because as wrong as this situation was, leaving her like this would be worse.

So they stayed.

They stayed.

Time crawled.

Seconds stretched into minutes, minutes into hours.

They stayed.

At first, they’d kept their distance—one on either side of her nest, unmoving, watching her carefully, speaking only when necessary. They kept their hands to themselves. They kept their instincts leashed.

It wasn’t enough.

She was getting worse.

Her breaths were coming too fast now, shallow and desperate. Sweat slicked her skin, dampened her clothes, leaving her overheated, burning alive. She twisted restlessly in her nest, whimpering in pain more than need now. Her body was fighting itself, spiraling deeper into heat at a rate neither of them had ever seen before.

Zayne felt his stomach clench.

“Fuck,” Caleb whispered hoarsely, scrubbing a hand down his face. “This—this isn’t normal, man.”

Zayne’s jaw ticked. “I know.”

They both knew.

This wasn’t like last time. Last time, she’d had a warning. Time to prepare, to take suppressants if she wanted, to lock herself away and ride it out at her pace. This? This was something else.

Her body hadn’t been ready for heat. It had been thrown into it, dragged under like a drowning animal, and it was killing her.

She let out a weak whimper, barely able to move now. Her eyes cracked open—dazed, unfocused.

She didn’t even recognize them anymore.

That was it. That was the line.

Zayne and Caleb locked eyes.

Neither of them spoke at first. They didn’t have to.

They both knew what the other was thinking.

Zayne swallowed, his throat dry. “She’s not gonna make it through this alone.”

Caleb’s face was tight, his whole body rigid. “I know.”

Another whimper from the nest—softer this time, weaker. Her fingers barely twitched where they were curled into the blanket, as if she were trying to reach for something she couldn’t even see anymore.

Zayne clenched his jaw.

Caleb exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for half a second before opening them again. “She’s gonna hate us for this.”

Zayne nodded, a sharp, decisive motion. “Probably.”

Caleb swallowed, his throat working. He hesitated, then exhaled. “I’d rather have her alive and pissed at me than—” His voice caught. He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

Zayne inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the thick, sweetened haze of her heat. His instincts roared, ready, waiting. But his mind was still steady, still clear.

“We do this right,” he said roughly. “Slow. Careful. No claiming.”

Caleb’s nostrils flared, but he nodded.

There was no more debate after that.

The first thing they did was slow her down.

She was panting now, her body trembling violently in her nest, her skin slick with sweat. The fever was burning through her too fast, too hard. She needed more than just their touch—she needed care.

Caleb was already moving, his fingers deft as he reached for the water bottle on her bedside table. He cracked the cap open, shifting closer to where she lay tangled in blankets, barely lucid.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice rough but softer now. He reached for her, cupping the back of her head gently, lifting her just enough to press the bottle to her lips. “Drink for me, yeah?”

She whimpered at the contact, her hands weakly grasping at the front of his shirt. She tried to press herself into him, into his heat, his scent, but he held her steady.

“Not yet,” Caleb murmured, his voice soothing. “C’mon, baby, need you to drink first.”

Her lips parted obediently when he tilted the bottle, and she took slow uneven sips, swallowing between shallow breaths.

Zayne watched, his body tight, his fingers twitching at his sides. He could smell her exhaustion, her frustration. She was running on nothing but need now, instincts taking over, seeking, reaching—pleading.

His gut twisted. She shouldn’t have to beg.

The second Caleb pulled the bottle away, her hands were moving again, small and clumsy, reaching out, seeking them.

Zayne exhaled slowly, leaning down, his palm finally finding the curve of her thigh. She shivered under his touch, a choked sound leaving her lips.

“Easy,” he murmured, fingers stroking slow, measured paths up the length of her thigh, easing her open. “We’ve got you.”

Her breath hitched.

Zayne’s palm dragged higher, so slow, so careful, skimming over damp heated skin. His fingers spread, grazing, teasing, preparing.

Her whole body reacted.

Caleb chuckled, rough and breathless. “That’s what you wanted, huh, sweetheart?”

She whimpered.

Zayne’s gaze flicked up, meeting Caleb’s over the curve of her body. They had her. She was theirs.

Caleb exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair before shifting back down to her. He ran his knuckles along her flushed cheek, his mouth quirking into something almost fond.

“She’s desperate for it,” Caleb murmured.

Zayne hummed. “She’s gonna get it.”

And then he kissed her.

Soft. Slow. Lazy.

Not rushed, not greedy, not taking. Just giving.

Her whimper turned into a shuddering moan against his lips, her body arching into him, for him, melting beneath his hands as he prepared her, opening her up.

Caleb pressed a kiss to her temple, whispering, “We’ve got you, baby. We’ve got you.”

Zayne settled between her thighs, a wall of heat and muscle, pressing her down into the soft tangled mess of blankets beneath them. His body was solid, heavy, unyielding, the sheer size of him a reminder that she was completely at his mercy. She was so small beneath him, so soft, so pliant—her body trembling with exhaustion but still moving, still seeking, still aching for more. The fevered flush of her skin burned against his, sweat-slicked and desperate, her scent thick enough to drown him, coating his tongue, clinging to his lungs. It made his head swim, made his muscles coil tight with the effort of restraint, made his cock throb where it lay heavy between them.

Even now, wrecked and ruined, she was still trying to move, her hips rolling weakly, a slow, pitiful grind against the underside of his length. She was struggling, her body too far gone to manage anything more than pleading little movements, rubbing against him, seeking relief, lost to the hunger of her own heat. She didn’t have to fight for it. She didn’t have to beg.

Zayne had her.

His hands traced over her body, slow, steady, dragging heat in their wake as they mapped over every inch of flushed, fevered skin. He spread her open with easy, effortless strength, holding her still, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. His thumbs pressed into the soft dip of her hips, his fingers gripping the curve of her thighs, steadying her. She was so wet—pulsing, dripping, her slick coating his fingers, her body already preparing itself for him.

For him.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, vibrating through his ribs, sinking deep into the space between them.

She whimpered at the sound, an immediate, instinctive reaction, her body going tense before shuddering apart again, thighs twitching like she wanted to wrap them around his waist, to pull him closer, to lock him in. She was burning up, feverish, overwhelmed, but she still wanted to. Still needed.

Zayne exhaled sharply, dragging his cock through her soaked folds, coating himself in the mess of her slick, feeling the way her body quivered at the contact. The heat of her, the sheer wetness, the way she clenched around nothing—it nearly undid him. His muscles went rigid, his fingers flexing against her skin, restraint hanging by a thread, fraying with every shuddered breath.

“You’re burning up, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice thick, hoarse with the weight of his need. He let the tip of his cock nudge at her entrance, push, press, tease—just enough to make her gasp, just enough to make her squirm—but not enough to give her what she needed. Not yet.

“This what you needed?”

She made a choked, needy sound, her fingers twitching against his biceps, nails barely scratching at his skin, useless and weak but still trying.

Zayne chuckled, low and lazy, but there was something dark beneath it, something possessive, something just a little cruel.

“Gonna take care of you,” he murmured, soothing, promising. “Gonna give you exactly what you need.”

And then he pushed in.

Her gasp broke into a moan, her back arching, her body tightening around him, sucking him in, taking him.

Zayne’s jaw clenched, a growl catching in his throat as he forced himself to go slow, to keep himself steady. She was so fucking wet, her body made to take him, welcoming him, milking him—but she was tight, too tight, scorching around him, squeezing down like she wanted to keep him there forever. His fingers dug into the softness of her thighs, spreading her wider, holding her open, watching the way her face twisted, overwhelmed, undone, lost in the feeling of him.

“That’s it,” he praised, voice rough, gravel-thick. “Takin’ me so well, baby. Fuck.”

She whined, a high, broken sound, her legs finally locking around his waist, ankles hooking behind him, desperate to keep him close, to keep him inside.

As if he was ever going to leave.

Zayne exhaled harshly, pressing his forehead against hers, breathing her in, drowning in her scent. His hips rolled, deep, slow, dragging the full length of him inside her inch by inch, stretching her open, filling her until there was nowhere left to go, until he was buried to the hilt, locked in place by the clutch of her body.

She pulsed around him, clenching, gripping, desperate.

He groaned, his hands dragging up her waist, feeling the way she trembled beneath him, barely able to hold herself together.

“You needed this bad, huh?” he murmured against her ear, his lips brushing her overheated skin, his voice dripping with amusement, with affection.

She whimpered, nodding weakly, helpless.

Zayne’s lips curled.

He pulled back, the thick drag of his cock against her swollen walls making her gasp, before thrusting back in—slow, deep, perfect.

Her whole body shuddered.

From his place at the edge of the nest, Caleb let out a sharp breath, barely more than a muttered, “Shit.”

Zayne ignored him. His focus was on her. Only her.

His rhythm was unhurried, deliberate, every thrust measured, controlled, every roll of his hips drawing a fresh gasp from her throat, a fresh clench of her body around him. Her fingers clung to his back, weak and trembling, like she was afraid he’d pull away, like she was afraid she’d wake up and find herself alone, still aching, still empty.

“That’s it,” Zayne murmured, voice rough, full of praise. His hand slid up, cupping her jaw, tilting her face up, forcing her dazed, heat-fogged eyes to meet his. “Feels good, doesn’t it, sweetheart?”

She moaned, nodding, lips parting like she wanted to answer, but only breathless sounds escaped.

He shushed her, thumb dragging slow over her cheek. “I know, baby. I know.”

His thrusts picked up, deeper, stronger, pushing her higher, pulling her apart.

Her body reacted instantly, her back bowing, her legs squeezing tighter, her cries turning sharper, higher, desperate.

Zayne gritted his teeth, feeling the way she clenched around him, taking him, milking him, her body pulling him in, demanding more. His knot was swelling, stretching, locking him in, binding them together.

She sobbed out a sound, her body tensing, shaking apart beneath him.

Zayne groaned, his lips finding her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. “Almost there, baby,” he murmured against her skin. “Gonna lock you down, keep you so full—”

She cried out, breaking.

Zayne felt it—the way she clenched, trembled, shattered around him, her body spasming with pleasure, dragging him down with her.

It tipped him over the edge, his knot swelling fully, locking them together, forcing him deeper.

He growled, deep and satisfied, pressing her down, keeping her still as he spilled inside her, filling her, marking her in the way her body demanded.

His forehead dropped to hers, his breath ragged.

She whimpered, soft, spent, perfect.

Zayne stroked her cheek, his fingers slow, soothing, grounding. “That’s my girl,” he murmured.

Caleb let out a rough exhale. “She’s still got hours left, man.”

Zayne lifted his head, meeting Caleb’s gaze over her trembling form.

His lips curled.

“Then we’d better take our time.”

The heat was still there, a slow, smoldering burn licking at the edges of her senses, no longer all-consuming but still refusing to fade completely. It coiled deep inside her belly, an ember rather than an inferno, waiting to be stoked back into flames with just the right touch. Her breath came in soft, uneven gasps, her body trembling with the aftershocks, the last echoes of pleasure still ghosting through her nerves. Everything felt raw, sensitive, too much and not enough all at once.

Zayne was still locked inside her, the thick swell of his knot keeping them bound together, his body a solid immovable weight pinning her to the nest. He was heavy in the best way, grounding her, the slow rise and fall of his chest pressing against hers, steady, strong. His warmth seeped into her skin, a contrast to the fever still simmering in her veins. His lips brushed lazily over her temple, the softest of touches, unhurried and absentminded, like he had all the time in the world.

And then there was Caleb.

He sat at the edge of the nest, legs crossed, forearms resting on his knees, one hand running through the mess of his dark hair, fingers gripping like he was trying to steady himself. His sharp violet eyes stayed locked on her, the intensity of his stare sending a different kind of shiver down her spine. He looked wrecked—tense, drawn too tight, like the last few hours had taken a toll on him as well. She didn’t doubt it.

“Hey,” Caleb murmured, voice low and rough, tinged with something unreadable. “You with us, sweetheart?”

She blinked, slow and dazed, the weight of their gazes anchoring her back into herself. She wasn’t floating anymore. She was here, present, body aching but mind clear enough now to think. She shifted slightly, testing, but the moment she tried to move, Zayne’s grip tightened on her waist, holding her still.

“Easy,” he muttered, voice thick with exhaustion, but there was something firm beneath it, something protective.

Her throat felt raw, dry, words catching before she could form them properly. She swallowed, tried again, her voice coming out hoarse and raspy, the edges frayed. “Did you two seriously wait until I was half-dead to do something?”

Caleb exhaled sharply, a sound between a groan and a laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Zayne huffed a quiet breath against her skin, his chest shaking slightly with a low chuckle. “Yeah, she’s back.”

She tried to glare at them, but it was useless. She was still too wrung out, every muscle in her body slack and boneless, wrecked beyond measure. Instead, she just huffed out a breath and shifted again, deliberately, grinding herself against the thick stretch of Zayne’s knot, feeling the deep residual throb still pulsing inside her.

Zayne grunted, fingers digging into her hip, his breath going sharp against her temple. “You keep moving like that, sweetheart, and we’re gonna have a real problem.”

A slow smirk curled across her lips, lazy and teasing. “Maybe I like causing problems.”

Caleb let out a strangled noise, something that sounded dangerously close to actual pain. “Can we not do this right now? Jesus.”

She turned her head slightly, blinking up at him, feigning innocence. “What, jealous?”

Caleb’s jaw clenched, his violet eyes flashing dark with something sharp, something hot. He rolled his eyes, but it was too late—she’d already seen it, already caught the way his fingers twitched where they rested against his knee, like he was fighting the instinct to reach for her.

Zayne chuckled, voice low and rough, full of amusement. “She’s still a menace. Good to know heat doesn’t change that.”

She huffed, shifting again just to test, just to push, just to see how far she could take it. The answering growl that rumbled through Zayne’s chest sent a shiver through her spine.

“You guys gonna help me or what?” she muttered, tilting her chin up defiantly.

Caleb inhaled sharply through his nose, visibly reining himself in before shaking his head. “Not until you drink more water and eat something.”

She groaned, loud and dramatic, throwing her head back against the pillows. “Oh my god, I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Caleb muttered, already reaching for the bottle of water nearby. “You’re not dripping slick out of thin air, princess. You’re gonna dehydrate if we don’t take care of you.”

Zayne’s breath was warm against her ear, the smirk in his voice unmistakable. “See? Bossy little shit.”

Caleb made an annoyed sound before promptly throwing a vitamin packet at Zayne’s head.

Zayne caught it effortlessly with one hand, not even bothering to lift his head.

“Fuck both of you,” Caleb muttered under his breath before tearing open a protein bar, breaking off a piece, and holding it out toward her. “Eat, now.”

She groaned again but took the food, chewing slowly. The burn in her veins hadn’t faded, hadn’t cooled, but the food helped ground her, settled something deep in her gut, something instinctual.

Caleb watched her carefully, eyes tracking her every movement, every little twitch of exhaustion, his expression unreadable. He was always like that, always noticing everything, always seeing too much.

“You scared the shit out of us,” he muttered, quieter now.

Her chewing slowed.

Zayne’s fingers traced slow, absent patterns over her hip, soothing, steady. “Your body wasn’t ready for this heat,” he murmured. “We knew it wasn’t normal, but we didn’t know how bad it was gonna get.”

She swallowed, finally looking at them—really looking.

Caleb exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, his gaze darting away for the first time. “We weren’t gonna do anything, you know.” His voice was rough, strained. “Not without you actually saying you wanted it.”

Zayne hummed against her skin, the sound low, full of unspoken agreement. “But when you stopped recognizing us…” His grip on her hip tightened, just slightly, just enough for her to feel the way his fingers trembled. “We weren’t gonna let you suffer, sweetheart. We weren’t gonna let you—”

He didn’t finish. He didn’t have to.

She knew.

Her chest tightened, something hot and aching blooming behind her ribs, pressing up into her throat.

“You guys are so fucking stupid,” she muttered, her voice quieter now, lacking its usual bite.

Caleb arched a brow, lips pressing into a flat line. “Excuse me?”

She exhaled slowly, shifting just enough to bury her face into the curve of Zayne’s neck, breathing him in. His scent was warm and familiar, something deep in her body recognizing it, settling into it, soothed by it. “Of course I wanted you to help.”

Zayne went still.

Caleb blinked, his entire body tensing.

She sighed, nuzzling closer, her voice muffled against Zayne’s skin. “Like I wouldn’t have picked you two anyway.”

The silence stretched, thick, weighted, something unspoken settling between them.

Then Caleb let out a sharp, exhausted breath, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Zayne huffed a low laugh, his grip on her easing, shifting, turning into something warmer, something softer. “Should’ve said something sooner, sweetheart.”

She scoffed, lips brushing against the side of his throat. “Maybe I wanted to make you work for it.”

Caleb groaned, head tipping back. “You’re literally killing me.”

She grinned. “Not yet.”

Zayne let out a deep, rumbling chuckle, his lips ghosting over her ear. “Then let’s fix that.”

The nest was still thick with the scent of heat and rut, the air charged with something heavy, almost tangible. It clung to them, settled deep in their bones, in their lungs, in the spaces between their bodies. She could feel it, the way it wrapped around her like a second skin, the way it refused to fade even as the worst of the frenzy passed.

Zayne was still inside her, still thick and locked, his cock pulsing faintly with the aftershocks of his release. Every now and then, a slow, lazy throb worked through him, making her whimper softly, body tightening instinctively in response. He smirked against her hair, pressing a slow, teasing kiss to her temple.

“Still sensitive, sweetheart?” His voice was a low murmur, thick with satisfaction, with something else—something deeper.

She wanted to snap at him, to roll her eyes, but the truth was that she was still trembling, her body wrung out but still burning, still hungry, still aching. The heat wasn’t gone. The worst of the desperation had dulled, but her body still thrummed with need, still whispered more, more, more in the back of her mind.

Caleb watched them from where he sat at the edge of the nest, jaw tight, fingers flexing where they rested on his knee. His violet eyes were darker than usual, almost black in the dim light, and she could feel the weight of his stare, could feel the tension coiling in his muscles, sharp and obvious. There was a reason Alpha’s didn’t typically share burning ire for one another usually did it but she had a feeling that the relationship between them wasn’t typical.

It never had been.

She let her gaze drift over him, slow, assessing, deliberate. He wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore. The way he was breathing a little too fast. The way his thighs tensed subtly, like he was holding himself back. The way his fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for her but wouldn’t let himself.

Her lips curled slightly, lazy and knowing.

“Caleb.” Her voice was hoarse, rough from all the moaning, the gasping, the crying out, but she still managed to make it sound teasing, sweet.

His jaw tightened. “What?”

She shifted against Zayne, feeling the stretch of his knot, the way it locked her open, kept her full. She sighed, rolling her hips just slightly, just enough to feel that dull, aching throb of overstimulation, the wet, slick mess between her thighs.

Caleb’s nostrils flared.

She licked her lips, slow. “Are you just gonna sit there and watch all night?”

Zayne made a low noise in his throat, amusement curling at the edges of it. “You’re such a menace.”

She hummed, tilting her head slightly, looking up at Caleb from beneath her lashes. “What’s wrong? Don’t want me anymore?”

His expression darkened, something sharp flashing across his face. “You know that’s not it.”

She did. She could see it. Could smell it, the way his rut was still simmering beneath the surface, the way his restraint was fraying, threadbare and weak.

Zayne chuckled against her skin, his fingers dragging over her waist, possessive, lazy. “You’re really trying to break him, huh?”

She smirked. “Maybe.”

Caleb exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, his shoulders rising and falling with something unsteady, barely contained. “Fuck.” His voice was rough, wrecked. He was losing.

Good.

She held out a hand, palm up, inviting. “Come here, Caleb.”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles going white. He was still hesitating, still fighting against whatever last shred of self-control he had left.

Zayne huffed, amusement thick in his voice. “If you don’t take her up on that, man, I will.”

His breathing was ragged, uneven, his muscles tensed like he was still holding himself back, still fighting not to crush her under the weight of his need.His pupils were blown, his gaze hungry, his body trembling with restraint.

“You sure?” His voice was a growl, low and dangerous.

Her breath hitched, her pulse jumping. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

Something in him changed completely as his mouth crashed against hers, rough, claiming, all teeth and heat and hunger. With his hand cradling her jaw he pulled her closer and sighed into her mouth as she moaned into it, arching, pressing up against him, feeling the hard, unrelenting lines of his body, the way he fit against her like he was always meant to be there.

Zayne let out a deep, satisfied hum against the side of her neck, still lazily grinding his hips against her, still half-hard despite already being locked inside her. “About fucking time,” he muttered.

Caleb ignored him, his grip tightening on her waist, his body pressing against her side and holding her as close as he could. His rut was catching up to him fast, hitting him hard, sending a violent tremor through his muscles. His scent spiked, thick and sharp, making her head swim, making her mouth water.

She could feel him, the hard line of his cock pressing against her outer thigh, heavy and burning hot, so close to where she needed him but not close enough.

She whined softly, shifting, pressing up against him. “Caleb.”

He growled, low and guttural, his hands dragging down her arms, over her ribs, down to her waist, gripping, kneading, feeling. His fingers dug in, possessive, like he was trying to memorize the shape of her, the way she felt under his hands.

Zayne chuckled lazily against her neck, his own hips still shifting in slow, teasing movements, his knot keeping him locked inside her, keeping her stuffed full. "Losing your mind already, huh?" His voice was thick with amusement, with satisfaction.

Caleb growled, low and warning, but it only made Zayne laugh. Tired of waiting to have to pop his knot, but also tired of not having her in his arms.

"Relax," Zayne murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "She can take it. Can't you, sweetheart?" His fingers ghosted over her stomach, slow and teasing, as if to emphasize how absolutely ruined she already was, how full she was stretched between them.

Zayne shifted against her first, the motion sending a dull, aching throb through her body as his knot pulsed inside her, still keeping her stretched around him, still locked in place. He exhaled a low, pleased sound against her neck, his fingers lazily tracing the curve of her waist, possessive and indulgent.

"Fucking perfect," he murmured, lips brushing over her sweat-dampened skin. "Completely wrecked between us, huh?"

She barely managed a sound in response, somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, her body still trembling in the aftermath. Caleb was slumped over her on the other side, his breath coming in slow, and uneven pants, his face buried against the crook of her neck. His hands were still gripping her thighs, still digging into her skin like he wasn’t ready to let go, like the last of his rut was still clinging to him, refusing to let him pull away.

She was utterly trapped between them, pinned by the weight of their bodies, by the thick unyielding knot still keeping her locked, still filling her past the point of sanity.

And god, she loved it.

Zayne chuckled, the sound low and smug as he shifted again, pressing even closer, rubbing his nose along the curve of her jaw. “Still burning up, sweetheart?”

She exhaled shakily, her fingers twitching where they rested against his chest. “It’s not gone yet,” she admitted, her voice raw from moaning, from gasping, from crying out their names until her throat ached.

Caleb groaned against her skin, his hands tightening on her thighs, his breath shuddering. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Of course it’s not.”

Zayne only hummed in amusement, his hand slipping lower, dragging slow, teasing circles over the curve of her belly. “Well,” he mused, his tone deceptively thoughtful. “I suppose that means we’re not done, are we?”

Her breath caught, something molten twisting low in her belly, a new wave of heat licking at her nerves, sparking her body back to life. The thought of more—the thought of being taken again, of being used until there wasn’t a single ounce of heat left in her—made her thighs clench instinctively, made a quiet, needy whimper slip from her throat before she could stop it.

Caleb groaned again, his entire body going tense, the sharp flare of his scent spiking around them like a warning. “You can’t just—fuck, Zayne, don’t start that shit—”

Zayne only laughed, smug as ever, his fingers dipping lower, skating teasingly close to the mess between her thighs, to the place where he was still locked inside her, still keeping her stretched and full.

"Why not?" he murmured, his voice dark and knowing. "She wants it."

Caleb let out a low, warning growl, but he didn’t move. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t stop the way his fingers flexed on her thighs, like he was already losing the battle with himself.

Zayne smirked, dragging his teeth over the shell of her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “Tell him, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Tell him how much you want it. How much you need it.”

She shivered, her body already betraying her, already responding to his words, to the promise laced in his voice.

She swallowed, tilting her head just slightly, her lips barely brushing against Caleb’s ear as she whispered, breathless and sweet—

“Please.”

Zayne’s knot softened first, the pressure inside her easing just enough that she could feel the slow, messy slide of his cock as it withdrew, leaving her gaping, dripping, a wet, obscene heat clinging to every inch of her skin. The absence was unbearable, a sudden, aching emptiness that sent a shudder through her, her body clenching down instinctively, desperate to hold onto the fullness that was slipping away.

A needy whimper broke from her lips, unbidden, her thighs twitching, her breath catching on the loss.

Zayne groaned as he pulled back, his hands gripping her waist for a moment, steadying himself. “Fuck,” he muttered, his voice low and hoarse. “Look at you—still so fucking open for us.”

She couldn’t answer—could barely think—because even before she could process it, before she could do anything but tremble from the loss, Caleb was there. No hesitation. No restraint.

He shoved himself into the space Zayne left behind, filling her in the same instant she lost him, pushing his cock into her slick, and swollen heat with a force that made her cry out, her body arching, her fingers clawing at the sheets beneath her. His rut was still running hot, still burning through his veins, still demanding more, more, more—and he gave in to it completely, burying himself to the hilt, groaning low and wrecked at the feeling of her wrapped tight around him, soaking, stretched, trembling.

His hands gripped her hips hard, pulling her against him, dragging her body up to meet his brutal, claiming thrusts.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice ragged, his forehead pressing against her shoulder. “I can still feel him in you.”

She sobbed at the words, her entire body clenching around him, overstimulated, ruined, and yet—still aching for more. The heat hadn’t faded. It still whispered in the back of her mind, still begged for everything they had to give, still kept her body open, pliant, desperate.

Zayne chuckled somewhere beside her, his hands sliding over her stomach, possessive and slow. “That’s because she’s meant to be filled, Caleb.” His voice was dark, knowing, his fingers ghosting lower, dipping between her thighs where Caleb was already fucking into her, spreading her open all over again.

Caleb snarled, thrusting deeper, harder, chasing his own knot, his body tensing with the sheer force of his need. “I know,” he growled. “I know.”

Where Zayne was gentle and firm, Caleb was ruthless. His thrusts were deep, punishing, merciless. His grip on her hips was bruising, his fingers digging into sweat-slick flesh, holding her in place, making sure she didn’t slip away from him—not even an inch. Not that she could or that she wanted to.

She was wrecked between them, overstimulated, stretched raw, completely lost in the haze of her heat. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. Her body clenched down on Caleb’s cock, demanding more, sobbing for more.

Caleb growled, the sound feral, half-crazed. “So fucking tight,” he bit out, his hips snapping against her, his cock dragging against every sensitive, swollen inch inside her. “Still so fucking wet.”

Zayne chuckled—low, dark, satisfied. He was still close, kneeling beside her, watching where Caleb slid in and out, filthy and slick. His fingers traced absent, possessive patterns over her stomach, teasing at the skin, pressing down just enough that she could feel every thick, throbbing inch of Caleb inside her.

“You feel that, sweetheart?” Zayne murmured against her ear, his voice all dark amusement, all wicked promise. “How deep he is? How perfect you take him?”

She whimpered, ruined, her nails digging into the sheets, her body trembling, helpless beneath them. Caleb’s breath hitched, his pace faltering for a second—just for a second—because he felt it too. Felt the way her body pulled him in, refused to let him go, milked him for every inch, every thrust.

He wasn’t going to last. Not with her like this. Not when she was soaked, stretched, dripping from both of them. His fingers slid down, gripping the backs of her thighs, spreading her wider. He pounded into her, relentless, deep, unyielding.

Zayne hummed, dragging his fingers down lower, brushing over where she and Caleb were joined, slick, messy, obscene. He groaned, shaking his head. “Fuck, Caleb—look at her. She’s taking you so well.”

Caleb swore, shaking, sweat dripping down his spine.

He was close. So fucking close.

His knot was swelling, throbbing, pulsing inside her.

Her broken moans, her slick heat, the way she gasped and whimpered and sobbed for it— it was pushing him over the edge, driving him insane, making it impossible to hold back.

Zayne’s voice was low, knowing. “She’s ready, Caleb.” His lips brushed over her temple, soothing, taunting, unshakable. “Go on. Knot her, I want to see it happen this time,” having been on the receiving end more than once. While it did feel good in its own way, he always wondered just how it looked.

Caleb snapped, thrusts turned brutal, desperate, losing all rhythm. His fingers dug into her thighs, holding her wide, open, his. She sobbed his name, shaking, coming apart, her walls clenching, fluttering, sucking him in deeper, deeper, deeper and then his knot swelled completely, locking them together, sealing him inside her.

He roared, wrecked, trembling, spilling deep, filling her, marking her completely.

Zayne groaned beside them, his hands still dragging slow, teasing circles over her sweat-drenched skin. “Good girl,” he murmured, voice thick, rough with satisfaction. “That’s it. Take it.”

The room was quiet now, the only sound was the steady rhythm of her breathing, the occasional soft sigh as she shifted in her sleep, pressed between them, utterly relaxed. Caleb’s knot had softened, and after a long, slow, careful withdrawal, they’d cleaned her up as best they could. She’d barely stirred, only murmuring softly, nuzzling into Zayne’s chest as he tucked the blanket around her, fingers brushing absently over her spine.

They’d promised to make her shower later, but for now, she needed rest. Zayne leaned back against the headboard, running a hand through his damp hair, exhaling slowly. His body was heavy, exhausted, but his mind was still racing.

Caleb was sitting at the edge of the bed, phone in one hand, ordering food while keeping one eye on her.

“She’s gonna be starving when she wakes up,” he muttered, swiping through the menu. “You know how she gets.”

Zayne huffed out a tired laugh. “Yeah. If she doesn’t eat exactly what she wants, she’s gonna be a menace.”

Caleb’s lips twitched. “So, extra dumplings.”

“Obviously.”

A few more taps, then Caleb put the phone down, rolling his shoulders, stretching his arms behind his head. His body still thrummed with residual heat, but it had eased now, settled. For a while, neither of them spoke. Zayne let his eyes drift to her—curled up, completely wrecked, completely safe. Her scent was still thick, sweet, lingering in the air, mixing with theirs, claiming every inch of the bed.

Something in his chest tightened, Caleb must have noticed, because he exhaled slowly and ran a hand through his hair before finally saying, “So… what the fuck happens now?”

Zayne’s fingers stilled against the sheets. He knew this conversation was coming. Had been waiting for it.

Still, he kept his voice even. “With her?”

Caleb’s jaw tensed. He glanced at her, then at Zayne, then looked away. “With all of us.”

Zayne breathed in deep, then let it out slowly.

They’d been here before. Not exactly here, not tangled up in heat and sweat and exhaustion, but close enough. Close enough that the weight of it pressed against his ribs, something unspoken and old and complicated.

Alpha-on-alpha relationships weren’t easy. They were incredibly misunderstood, people assumed it was all about dominance, about fights and aggression, about who was stronger, who was more in control, that had never been what it was like with them.

Zayne shifted, leaning forward slightly, his forearm resting on his knee. He met Caleb’s gaze head-on. “You tell me,” he said, quiet but steady. “What do you want to happen?”

Caleb’s throat bobbed. He looked away for a second, then back at Zayne, something raw and uncertain flickering behind his eyes.

“I don’t—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t fucking know, man. I just—”

His hand twitched at his side.

Zayne knew him too well to miss the tension in his shoulders, the hesitation that wasn’t really hesitation at all.

Zayne’s voice softened. “Yeah, you do.”

Caleb let out a frustrated sound, raking a hand through his already-ruined hair. “Fuck. Fine. Yeah, I do.” He exhaled, pressing his palms together, elbows on his knees, eyes flicking to her again before settling on Zayne. “I want—” He exhaled sharply. “This. I want this.”

Zayne watched him carefully.

Caleb’s throat worked as he swallowed, his jaw tight, tense, conflicted. “I want her,” he admitted, voice low but unwavering. “And I want you, and it's the only thing I’ve ever wanted for as long as I can remember.”

Something hot and sharp flashed through Zayne’s chest. He should have expected it. Had expected it. But hearing it—hearing it out loud—was different. It shouldn’t have been but it was.

Caleb scrubbed a hand over his face. “I know it’s not fucking normal,” he muttered. “People don’t get it. They don’t get us. They think we’re supposed to—what? Fight it out? Figure out who the ‘real Alpha’ is? Fuck that.”

Zayne’s lips quirked. “We both know you’d lose.”

Caleb let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “Fuck you.”

Zayne huffed a laugh, but it faded quickly because beneath all the teasing, the truth still sat there, heavy between them. This wasn’t a new conversation but it was the first time they’d had it like this. Seriously.

Caleb’s voice dropped, quieter now. More serious. “I don’t want to choose.”

Zayne exhaled slowly.

Caleb shook his head. “I won’t choose.”

Zayne’s chest ached. He understood that. He understood it so fucking well.

And fuck, maybe it was selfish, “I don’t want to, either,” Zayne admitted, the words barely above a murmur. Caleb’s shoulders sagged slightly, something like relief and exhaustion hitting at the same time.

Zayne glanced down at her again—the third piece of this equation, the one who changed everything. He let his fingers brush over her bare shoulder, a silent touch, grounding.

Caleb watched, then reached out, too. His fingers tangled with Zayne’s over her skin. A beat. A breath. A decision made in silence.

Caleb swallowed, his voice quieter now. Surer. “Then we figure it out. Together.”

Zayne nodded. “Yeah.”

No matter how hard it had been or how hard it was going to be or what people would think of them or how Alpha’s were supposed to act. He didn’t care, and neither did Zayne. Because when it came down to facts, they had always been stronger together.

The nest still smelled like her.

Sweet and slick, heat-heavy, soaking into the blankets, into their skin, their bones. But her scent had started to fade just enough that Zayne was aware of something else—something that had been there all along, lurking beneath the haze of instinct and need.

Caleb.

His scent was thicker now, sharper. Not as raw as before, but still simmering, still coiled tight in his muscles, in his breath.

Zayne could feel it.

Could feel him.

The weight of Caleb’s gaze, the restless way he shifted beside him, fingers flexing against the sheets.

They were both still wired, still burning under their skin.

And she was still asleep between them, her soft breaths even, her body completely spent.

Zayne exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair, trying to settle the static under his skin.

Caleb moved before he could react.

A sharp press of lips, firm hands shoving him back.

Zayne barely had a chance to let out a low grunt before his back hit the blankets, Caleb’s body following, pinning, claiming.

Zayne’s lips parted—surprised, breathless, already sinking into it.

He shouldn’t have been surprised.

Not really.

Caleb’s mouth was hot, relentless, bruising, his hands already finding Zayne’s wrists, pinning them above his head, holding him still.

Zayne growled against his lips, pushing up, testing, challenging. Caleb just chuckled darkly, biting at his bottom lip.

“You’re still wound up,” he murmured, breathless, lips dragging along Zayne’s jaw.

Zayne exhaled sharply, fighting the instinct to roll them over, take control. “So are you.”

Caleb smirked against his throat. “Yeah. But I’m the one on top.”

And then he pushed down, grinding their bodies together, their cocks already hard, aching, slick with leftover heat.

Zayne let out a sharp breath through his nose, eyes dark, and hazy. Caleb’s weight was solid, grounding and overwhelming.

Zayne knew how this worked.

Knew that when Caleb wanted to take, he took.

And fuck, maybe Zayne wanted to be taken.

Caleb must have felt his body go still beneath him, because his smirk widened. “Yeah,” he murmured, dragging his tongue along Zayne’s throat, teeth grazing. “You’re gonna let me have you, aren’t you?”

Zayne exhaled, tilting his head back, baring his throat just enough to tell Caleb exactly what he already knew.

“Do it,” Zayne rasped.

Caleb didn’t hesitate.

He shoved Zayne’s legs apart, settling between them, spreading him wide. His grip was tight, unrelenting, keeping Zayne exactly where he wanted him.

And then he pushed inside.

A low, wrecked groan tore from Zayne’s throat, his head falling back against the blankets. Caleb was thick, heavy, deep, stretching him open.

Zayne’s fingers curled into fists, his body tense, taut, barely holding on.

Caleb laughed softly, rough with strain. “So fucking tight,” he muttered, voice thick with heat. “Still trying to fight it, huh?”

Zayne growled, his hips bucking up, trying to take more, trying to challenge.

Caleb let out a sharp, delighted breath—then grabbed Zayne’s wrists again, pinning them hard against the mattress.

“Oh, no,” Caleb murmured, his voice like gravel, smug and knowing. “You’re gonna take it, Zayne,” then he fucked into him, deep, hard, brutal. Zayne gritted his teeth, his whole body jerking with the force of it.

He’d forgotten what it was like—how Caleb took, how he claimed, how he pressed Zayne into the mattress and didn’t let up. Zayne was burning, overwhelmed, gasping through clenched teeth.

Caleb just kept pounding into him, rolling his hips with sharp, perfect precision, one hand still locking Zayne’s wrists down while the other wrapped around his cock, stroking in time with every thrust.

Zayne’s breath stuttered. His hips bucked helplessly into Caleb’s grip, caught between the push and pull of pleasure, nowhere to go, completely trapped.

Caleb’s forehead pressed against his, breath uneven, voice nothing but gravel.

“Come on, baby,” Caleb muttered, filthy, rough. “Come with me.”

Zayne let out a low, broken sound, his body tightening, coiling, trembling. Caleb’s knot swelled, locking them together, keeping him deep. Zayne snarled, body jerking, pleasure ripping through him like a live wire, blinding, unbearable. Caleb groaned against his mouth, spilling deep, marking him completely. Zayne’s head fell back, gasping, spent, owned.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. A small shift. A rustling sound. Zayne’s head snapped to the side. She was awake. Propped up on one elbow, watching them, eyes dark, lips curled into something lazy and knowing. Zayne went still.

Caleb, panting against his throat, still knotted inside him, let out a slow, rough chuckle.

“Well,” Caleb muttered, voice wrecked. “Good morning, sweetheart.” She didn’t look away.

Zayne could feel her gaze on him—dark, knowing, heavy with something he couldn’t name. His lungs still heaved, his body still trembled, still pinned beneath Caleb’s weight, still locked around his knot, still marked, still claimed.

And she had seen all of it.

Heat crawled up his spine, not embarrassment, not quite, but something else—something raw, something vulnerable, something that felt too big to fit in his chest.

Caleb, the bastard, only let out a low, satisfied chuckle.

“Well,” he muttered against Zayne’s throat, voice still wrecked, thick with the last remnants of rut. “Didn’t think we’d have an audience.”

His breath was hot, teasing, his hands still pressing Zayne into the nest, his fingers still firm, still grounding. Zayne clenched his jaw. He felt vulnerable like this, opened up by Caleb’s cock and tied to him being bred in the only way he could be. She was still watching. Zayne turned his head slightly, meeting her gaze fully for the first time since realizing she was awake.

She wasn’t laughing. Wasn’t mocking. Her expression was lazy, slow, something unreadable sitting behind her half-lidded gaze. Her lips were curled just slightly, just enough, but it wasn’t amusement. She looked—comfortable.

Like this was natural. Like watching them was something she was allowed to do. Zayne swallowed, his throat dry, tight. His voice came out lower than intended, rough with something unsteady. “How long?”

She huffed a small breath, amused. “Long enough.” Zayne’s stomach twisted with something uncomfortable, he recognized it as fear though he was certain that Caleb felt the same way. For so long this had been real only for them. He hadn’t had to share this side of himself or Caleb with anyone.

Caleb’s fingers flexed against his wrists, and Zayne flicked his gaze back toward him, only to find those sharp violet eyes watching him closely. Caleb’s lips quirked. Something slow, something knowing. “You look like you just realized something important.”

Zayne exhaled sharply through his nose. Fucker.

Because yeah. He had. There was no fear in her gaze. No hesitation. No confusion. She knew exactly what she was looking at, what they were to each other, what they could be. She’d watched Caleb take him apart. Hadn’t looked away, hadn’t flinched, hadn’t run. And now she was here, still curled in their nest, still tangled up in their scents, still theirs.

Zayne swallowed hard. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, Caleb smirked.

She stretched slightly, slow, languid, satisfied then crawled towards them wanting to be closer to the heat of the nest which was undoubtedly these two. Then she tilted her head at him, something curious, teasing, just a little wicked.

“So,” she murmured, her voice still sleep-rough, still low, still drenched in heat and something thicker. “You gonna kiss me too, or what?”

Zayne forgot how to breathe as Caleb laughed. Low. Rough. Delighted.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Caleb murmured, still knotted deep inside Zayne, grinning like the devil himself. “You have no idea what you just started.”

Three days later, the apartment felt different.

The thick, suffocating weight of heat and rut was gone, finally lifted. The air no longer reeked of desperation, of raw need, of pheromones clinging to every surface. The sheets had been washed, the windows cracked open for fresh air, and for the first time in days, the three of them weren’t tangled together in a nest of blankets and sweat-slick bodies.

But something lingered.

Something heavier.

She sat at the kitchen table, fingers curled around a mug of tea, her posture loose but tense at the same time. She was wearing a hoodie—one of Zayne’s, if the scent was anything to go by—but her bare legs were draped over Caleb’s lap, her body angled toward him instinctively.

Zayne stood at the counter, silent, watching.

Caleb was the one to break it.

“So,” he said, fingers tapping against her thigh, slow, absent, thoughtful. “Are we gonna talk about it?”

She exhaled softly, rolling her mug between her palms. “Yeah,” she murmured. “We should.”

Zayne finally moved, stepping forward, leaning against the table, arms crossed. “Alright,” he said, voice even. “Let’s talk.”

A beat of silence.

Then Caleb huffed out a slow breath. “Look. We all know this isn’t… standard.”

She arched a brow at him. “No shit.”

Caleb’s lips twitched, but the amusement didn’t reach his eyes.

“We’re Alphas,” he continued. “And you’re an Omega. That alone is rare enough these days. But two Alphas bonding an Omega?” He shook his head slightly. “It’s not unheard of, but it’s not exactly easy, either.”

Zayne exhaled through his nose. “Because Alphas aren’t supposed to share.”

Caleb made a displeased sound. “Yeah, well. That’s bullshit.”

She finally looked up, her eyes steady, sharp. “Do you think we can?”

Caleb turned to her, tilting his head slightly. “What?”

“Share,” she said simply.

Zayne’s stomach tightened.

She wasn’t asking in a teasing way, or a playful way. She was looking at them both, expression serious, assessing, waiting.

Because this wasn’t just about them wanting her.

This was about them choosing her. Choosing each other.

Caleb exhaled, rubbing his thumb along the curve of her knee. “Yeah,” he said, quiet but firm. “I think we can.”

Zayne didn’t hesitate. “I know we can.”

She searched their faces for a long moment. Then, slowly, she nodded. Zayne could see it in the way her shoulders relaxed, the way the tension in her spine eased. Not because the conversation was over. But because it was starting.

She shifted slightly, turning more fully toward them. “If we do this,” she said carefully, “it means all three of us. Not just me and one of you. Not just when it’s convenient.”

Caleb nodded. “Of course.”

She met Zayne’s gaze. “And you?”

Zayne held her stare, steady, unwavering. “You’re mine,” he said simply. “But Caleb is, too.”

Caleb blinked, his jaw tightening slightly.

Zayne didn’t back down. “I’m not gonna pretend we’re like every other bond out there. We’re not. But that doesn’t mean we don’t work.” He tilted his head slightly, gaze sharp. “Unless you want something different.”

Caleb scoffed, shaking his head. “Don’t be a fucking idiot.” Zayne smirked slightly.

Caleb sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re right, though. This isn’t gonna be normal.”

Her voice was softer now. “Do you care?”

Caleb huffed out a quiet breath, shaking his head. “No,” he admitted. “I don’t.”

Zayne glanced at her. “Do you?”

She stared down into her mug for a long moment.

Then she sighed. “I think…” She exhaled. “I think the world doesn’t like things it doesn’t understand.”

Zayne watched her carefully.

She looked up, gaze flicking between them. “But I don’t care about the world,” she murmured. “I care about you.”

Something in Zayne’s chest tightened, burned, settled.

Caleb hummed, pleased, satisfied. “Good answer, sweetheart.”

She rolled her eyes, kicking his thigh lightly. “Shut up.”

Caleb chuckled, but then his expression shifted, turning serious again.

“Alright,” he said. “Then let’s talk logistics.”

Zayne lifted a brow. “Logistics?”

Caleb gestured vaguely. “Mating bonds. How we do it. When we do it. How we handle things after.”

She frowned slightly. “What do you mean, ‘handle things after’?”

Caleb met her gaze evenly. “We’re gonna bond you,” he said simply. “Both of us. That’s permanent.”

She nodded. “I know that.”

“Do you?” Caleb’s voice was quiet. “Because it means no backing out. It means our instincts will be locked onto you forever. It means if you get hurt, if you get sick, if something happens—we feel that. It means we’re all tied together for the rest of our fucking lives.” Zayne’s jaw tightened. Not because he disagreed but because it was true. She was silent. Then, slowly, she reached forward, wrapping her fingers around Caleb’s wrist.

“I know,” she said softly.

Caleb stilled. Her grip was firm, steady.

“I wouldn’t be here,” she murmured, “if I didn’t know.”

Caleb exhaled. Then he nodded. Once. Firm. Decisive. Zayne watched them both.

Then, quietly, he murmured, “Then it’s settled.”

#zayne x f!reader #zayne x reader #zayne x caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x freader #lads smut #caleb smut #zayne smut

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icequeenlila · 4 months ago

Text

oblivious Vander x jealous Silco

“See those girls over there? They seem plenty interested”, Silco said, taking another sip from his drink.

He had to switch to beer like half an hour ago, because working in the mines only paid you so much. Vander watched with a chuckle as his friend scrunched his nose at the bitter taste.

“Y’ could probably walk over ‘n simply grab one by the wrist”, Silco slurred, and Vander couldn’t help but huff out a laugh at the way the man’s eyes went a little cross-eyed as he checked the bottom of his empty glass.

It was the weekend and they were both well beyond wasted. They’d come here with Felicia, but as usual the girl had scuttered off to chat up every single person who was willing to listen. She was an extraordinary yapper on a normal day, the alcohol only boosted her confidence.

“Not interested”, Vander said after a brief glance towards the giggely group of girls. “I’m too comfortable here.”

It was true. The booze had warmed up his body and his mind felt comfortably numb. The booth he and Silco were sitting in was cozy, and their legs were entangled beneath the table. His mouth was curled into a constant smile, as usually when he was drunk.

Silco looked up at him with droopy eyes, his chin resting on one hand. He quirked an eyebrow at Vander, the usual sharp expression softened by too much booze. Vander would have to make sure his friend made it home safe, later.

“You’re the only guy I know who’d pass on that”, Silco said, lifting the glass to his lips.

Vander chuckled at the comment, watching as Silco threw back his head to make the last drops of liquor pour into his mouth. He watched Silco’s Adams apple bob up and down, transfixed by the motion.

The cozy warmth that had settled in his body suddenly felt like thrumming heat. Vander tightened the grip on his own drink, unable to look away. Silco’s neck was long and pretty and bared to Vander entirely. If he wanted, he could simply reach across the table and wrap his hand around his friend’s neck. He bet his fingers would encircle it entirely, his thumb placed on Silco’s Adams apple, feeling it work beneath soft skin.

God, he had to lay off the booze.

Vander almost jumped in his seat when Silco suddenly slammed the heavy glass onto the table, letting out a monster of a belch from the depths of his chest, successfully putting an end to the inappropriate daydream he was having.

Instead, Vander felt the muscles in his belly pull tight as he doubled over laughing. He loved this about drunk Silco; past a certain alcohol level, he lost his manners.

“I hate beer”, Silco muttered, frowning at his empty glass. “We need more.”

“I think you’re done for today”, Vander said, his voice still shaky with laughter. He wiped a tear from his eye, leaning back against the cushioned booth. “You just outdid Felicia’s death-belch.”

Silco looked at him, unimpressed. “I bet she would argue with you on that.”

He moved to stand, but Vander hooked his foot behind Silco’s heel beneath the table, making him slip and flop back down into his seat.

Silco blinked at him, then he looked down at the table, then back at him.

Another chuckle escaped Vander. He loved how his friend lost all his elegance after one too many drinks.

“Got a problem, Bozo two?” Silco quirked a brow at him.

Vander shook his head, a fond smile tugging at his lips. “Not at all”, he said. “I just think it’s time to go home.”

Silco cocked his head. “And I think I need another drink.”

Again, he moved to stand, and again, Vander stopped him from doing so.

“That's bullying”, Silco said, tone dry. “I’m gonna tell Felicia.”

Vander was still smiling. “I think she’ll side with me on this one.”

“Really?” Another quirk of Silco’s eyebrow. “You think Queen Booze will agree?”

“In this case, yes”, Vander said, resting his chin in one hand. “Also, other than you, she’s able to hold her liquor.” He reached out, flicking the strand of hair that always hung into Silco’s face. “As much as I like to hold your pretty hair when you need to throw up, I believe you wanna spare yourself the experience.”

Silco crossed his arms, giving him a sarcastic smile.

Vander chuckled at the sight. Silco looked so pretty in the dimmed light of the bar. Of course he looked pretty in every light. Vander really had to lay off the booze.

“You’re such a nanny”, Silco muttered, looking out at the crowd.

Vander grinned at the comment. “Someone has to take care of you.”

He could see Silco roll his eyes, and his smile grew even wider.

His friend had put on eyeliner, like he always did when they were going out. After spending half the night dancing and sweating, it had gotten slightly smudged, drawing a fine black shadow beneath his pretty eyes. It made the pale blue of his eyes pop out even more.

“Your fan club is staring at us again”, Silco muttered. Vander quirked a brow at the displeased tone in his friend's voice.

He followed Silco’s gaze and found the group of girls whispering and giggling to each other, one of them waving over at him. He gave a short acknowledging nod, which was enough to have them cheering in hushed voices and sticking their heads together in excitement.

Vander chuckled at their antics before turning away. He looked back at Silco, finding him in an increasingly bad mood. He could tell by the crinkle between his eyes and the little pout on his lips.

Vander thought he looked cute like that. Again, he reminded himself to quit drinking for today.

Silco wasn’t looking at Vander, his arms still crossed.

“Hey, Bozo one”, Vander teased. “What are you thinking about?”

Silco gave him a short side glance, before looking back at the dancing crowd. “I’m thinking that I need another drink.”

He sounded almost grumpy now. Another thing Vander loved about drunk Silco; no filter.

“What?” Vander tugged at a dark strand. “You're jealous because I have a fan club and you don’t?”

He tugged again, and finally Silco turned to face him. The glare had deepened on his face.

“Sure”, he muttered. “That’s my problem.”

Vander cocked his head at the sarcastic tone in his voice. A down side of himself getting a little too drunk; he grew slow, especially when it came to social interaction.

Silco caught the questioning look on his face, and quickly deflected.

“Usually I have the suitors lining up, and you know it”, he said, holding his nose a little higher. “You’re just scaring them off tonight.”

A chuckle escaped Vander. “What, because I’m not standing behind the bar for once?”

“Exactly”, Silco said with a shrug of his shoulder. “People think I’m here with you.”

Vander frowned. “You are here with me.”

Like he said before; slow.

Silco studied his face, searching for something there.

“Not what I meant”, he said after a while.

Vander frowned harder, and Silco rolled his eyes.

“I have to use the bathroom”, Silco said, detangling his feet from Vander’s. “See you in a few. If you’re still here then.”

“Where would I go?”, Vander asked as he watched his friend stand up.

Silco looked down at him with his pretty, blue eyes, and an expression that said ‘really?’ inside them.

Vander kept staring up in his pretty blues. He realized the booze had gotten to him more than he’d thought in the beginning.

When he still wouldn’t get it, Silco let out a defeated sigh, slipping out of the booth. His eyes caught on that group of girls again. Vander didn’t understand how they bothered him that much. He himself wouldn’t even have noticed them if Silco wouldn't have pointed it out to him.

Their giggling became pretty loud now; another thing Vander wouldn’t have noticed if Silco wasn’t staring at them so intently.

“On second thought”, Silco muttered when he watched one of the girls get up as if to come over. Her fellow friends cheered her on. “Take me home.”

Vander raised his eyebrows. “Huh?”

Silco turned to face him, blue eyes locking on his, and a demanding hand held out to him. “I’ve had enough drinks. Take me home.”

Second Part

Wrote this out of a mood. It ends here bc my sis came in and asked me to play Mario Cart with her.

#vilco #zaundads #silco x vander #vander x silco #vilco fic #young silco #young vander #arcane fic #zaun dads #young zaundads #vanco #idk what else to put

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rimatsu · 3 months ago

Note

Ok convince me to reject caution and embrace delusion. Why are you so hopeful?

the safe bet is definitely caution. but regardless of initial intentions, nothing is ever set in stone in the 911 writing room and that’s reason enough to remain hopeful. still, when people say the chances of a reconciliation are non-zero, i think that’s low-balling it. at the very least, we’re at 10% chance, 90% faith.

granted the interviews i (unwillingly) absorbed via osmosis don't exactly inspire confidence but again: 1) tim is fickle as the wind and writers can change their minds at the drop of a hat, 2) nothing that was directly stated by actors or showrunner contradicts the idea of a makeup arc, 3) if the breakup was intentionally designed as a temporary hurdle they’d imply otherwise anyway (oh god i sound like Them don't i.... this is a cry for help)

the reasons why 8x06 could qualify as a temporary split have been extensively discussed so i’ll try to be brief (spoiler: i failed) before tackling what i’d like to see in 8b. buckle up buttercup, i’m a yapper:

1) the breakup wasn’t written as definitive or unfixable. buck and tommy didn’t part because of irreconcilable differences or because passion/attraction fizzled out. if they wanted that door closed, tommy could’ve simply said he was uninterested in pursuing long term commitment with buck, that they’re not compatible in the long run — there: a clean, uncomplicated break. instead, we’re told that tommy desperately wants to be the person buck settles down with, but he’s convinced buck is propelled by the excitement of novelty, that he suspects buck is latching onto him for the wrong reasons, that he can’t allow himself to merge their home life together in fear he’ll never recover once buck wants out. the implications here being tommy is in love with buck already. for his part, buck came to the realization that he wants a future with tommy and immediately decided to pursue it because that's just the type of man he is: never one to do things by half-measures, seeing no value in waiting once his mind is made up. so there’s no conflicting desire there. they want the same thing: permanence with each other. the next two episodes also paint a strange picture if the goal is a definitive separation. buck bakes excessively in an attempt to cope when he never needed a coping mechanism following a breakup before, and we’re told several times that he wants to reach out — in fact buck was about to reach out until he was physically stopped. in total, 3 tommy mentions so far. usually we get the one and then buck moves on to greener pastures (abby notwithstanding, but she's an exception and not the rule, main character privilege and all). we were even deliberately shown that tommy considered contacting buck on his own. that's establishing regret and a desire for reconnection on both sides of the equation. again, that’s a never seen before: tommy is an outlier. completely unnecessary if the breakup is a done deal. whether they follow it through or not, the aftermath was written in such a way that there’s ground for a reconciliation if needs be

2) this is the first buck break up to happen during the first act of the season, something that’s normally reserved for the finale for maximum impact. why this distinction? strange placement for the end of a romantic storyline if you ask me.

3) they're never going to replicate a LI that checks out as many boxes as tommy does, or recapture the romcom magic that was 7x04-7x06. and it's fine if they don't, not all endgame romances need to be the most memorable of the bunch, but it'd be stupid to let the remaining potential go to waste. it's undeniable, the show is nearing its end, i don't imagine they get renewed past s10. if they go the natalia route again and introduce a LI at the last moment, it's going to pale in comparison to the other viable option, one that has pre-established history and connection to buck/the 118. inadvertently or not, they set up an epic love story of intertwined fate. tommy has literally haunted the narrative since the pilot: one of the very first thing abby reveals is that she’s not over tommy breaking off their (retconned) engagement. as such, tommy has played a pivotal role in shaping buck into the man he is today: if tommy hadn’t transferred out to harbor station, buck wouldn’t have found his family and his life purpose. if tommy hadn’t left abby, buck wouldn’t have realized that emotional intimacy and romantic connection is what he seeks. if tommy hadn’t kissed him, a huge part of buck’s identity would’ve remained buried and unexplored. how are they possibly going to top a red string theory dating back 8 seasons? they can’t. i’m sure they’re aware of that.

4) why bring our attention to tommy’s admiration and envy for a tight-knit unit like the 118, on three separate occasions, if the ultimate goal isn’t to reward him and integrate him into the makeshift family?

5) idk what it's worth, if it's worth anything at all, but there’s been a substantial amount of displeasure voiced over their breakup. tommy is buck’s most well-received LI to date. they took a risk with the Big Bisexual Reveal and it paid off with increased engagement and viewership. if they were still debating a reconciliation, surely they've heard that at least some people will eagerly welcome a makeup arc with open arms.

i'm a broken record so i'm probably repeating myself but here goes my ideal timeline for the rest of the season (not a speculation, not wishful thinking, but a secret third thing):

i'm gonna operate under the assumption that the breakup happened solely so buck could be at his lowest for the kidnapping plot line with a minimal/reduced support system (no boyfriend AND no best friend around when his pregnant sister is abducted). in other words, i don't think buck will be in a place to venture back into the dating world by 8x09-8x10 quite yet (i don’t actually buy the buck-dates-the-serial-killer theory). he's handled the breakup fairly well but now with the kidnapping & eddie gone/in the process of moving, i assume that's when he really starts to spiral.

(if we get a fourth tommy mention here, i'd say it's a promising sign. it’d be a purposeful way to keep him in viewers’ radar after the 4-month break)

i think getting maddie back after a few days of fear and uncertainty will be a breakthrough for buck and he’ll make a conscious decision to move on from his funk by the end of 8x10.

ideally “jumping back into the pond” would take place in 8x11 to 8x13, starting with a comedic montage of buck in a string of various failed dates. this is the part of the season where i expect him to utter the word bisexual, probably when the topic of exes comes into play. every other queer identity in the show gets labeled and stated in no uncertain terms, but bisexuality is ever only vaguely implied (nancy in ls) or shown but not explicitly spoken (buck and eva). it’s frustrating. personally i choose to believe buck’s lackluster reaction to maddie’s questionable “how many men did she turn gay?” joke was intentional on the writers’ part. it was the perfect opportunity to reaffirm his sexuality but buck didn’t bc he's not fully in tune with his queerness yet. yeah he speedran through his coming out but recalibrating your entire identity after 3 decades of presumed heterosexuality is a complex process rifled with ups and downs. i hope it gets explored with more care and depth in future episodes.

supposedly we know two things: the fling is another form of coping mechanism, and it's short-lived. chances are it's going to be a woman, and i'd love for it to be a bi girl bc 1) yay bi4bi m/f representation, 2) he's dating someone who can intimately relate to his experience and can maybe offer some additional clarity where clarity is still needed.

my other preferred scenario is that he meets a guy who immediately clocks that buck is still hung up on his ex and not emotionally available for anything more than casual fun. basically give buck a sex friend who can expose him to the LA gay scene. if my memory serves me right, OS said he'd like to see buck in queer spaces. i would like to see it too (we could’ve had that exploration with tommy but i digress….)

long story short, he eventually meets someone he has chemistry with, but it's still not as easy or companionable or butterfly-inducing as it was with tommy. buck gets back home from the seemingly successful date and he just... starts baking — wordlessly communicating to the audience that he’s still plagued by Tommy Thoughts.

now if i put on my clown shoes, i’d say the bts pictures of the 217 engines suggest an upcoming bucktommy reunion on a call (surely they were made for a reason. right. RIGHT????), ideally in 8x14. i’ve babbled about it here, but the sparknotes version is:

- there's a 5 alarm high-rise fire requiring ground and aerial ops. tommy is tasked with delivering firefighters to the roof, including the 118. the chopper ride to destination is understandably awkward but professional enough

- tommy joins ground ops once he’s completed his maximum hours of flight. he ends up trapped in a pocket of rubbles with buck after a partial structural collapse. that’s when they hash it out. it’s not pretty: they’re on edge and exhausted and full of adrenaline and words aren’t sugarcoated or minced. but they’re honest, and afterward they understand each other’s perspective.

it has been said before, but i don't think buck registered the underlying message of the breakup. we know he doesn't handle rejection well, and it's likely he was so hyperfocused on being told no that he didn’t compute the “no matter how much i want to be (your last)” part. that’d explain the 118’s strange response to the split. if i was told “my boyfriend broke up with me because he thinks i'll eventually break his heart once i figure out he's not who i truly want” i’d strongly advise communication before calling it quit prematurely. but if my friend told me “my boyfriend broke up with me when i asked him to move in bc he doesn't think we'll last bc i don’t know what i want” i would trust that they relayed the correct story and i too would discourage contact.

anyway buck has stated that he doesn’t want to chase after someone who doesn’t want him before, but now he knows that wanting was never the issue with tommy, that the breakup was fueled by insecurities and fears and trauma rather than disinterest. at first, it’s presented as reaching a necessary closure: once the fire is contained, buck and tommy part way with another “see you around, buck. i truly hope you find what you’re looking for” and a bittersweet smile. except now buck has had another breakthrough, he’s full of renewed resolved and clarity, and he’s ready to fight for this relationship, so he shows up at tommy’s doorstep the next night and pleads his case.

in 8x15-8x16, we see them readjust to being a couple except this time, it's with the knowledge that they both want serious in the long run. maybe they discover facets of each other previously kept under wraps for the sake of 'keeping it light and breezy'. also they fuck/fade to black on screen (this is imperative)

the last two episodes are focused on the closing disaster, whatever that might be. in this hypothetical timeline, we get a few more glimpses of domesticity. maybe even establish the setup for a move-in next season when bucktommy discuss buck’s lease.

you can have the helicopter crash as a treat for s9. once they're truly settled with each other and it's bound to be more devastating.

voilà <3 apologies and congratulations for your perseverance if you made it this far. the answer was never supposed to be this lengthy or tangencial oops can you tell i’m obsessed. terminally ill even

#this took me an hour to write i truly need to touch grass #sorry i yapped anon. i’m a certified yapper #bucktommy #rima.txt #s8 speculation

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pearlescentparade · 14 days ago

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"HI PP!! It is so amazing to see you again!! I’m trying to be first come first serve but I hope this doesn’t overwhelm you. I also hope your scholarship stuff went well! Could you possibly do a GRIEFER x Player!Reader but post-Demo 3? (Drabble) Like maybe GRIEFER left the hospital, Reader leaves the haunted manor after getting the Ghostwalker, they bump into each other midway through their travels and then the talking starts. Could start with a bit of angst and ends with lots of fluff, but it’s up to you! Delving deeper into the scenario, maybe it’s possible that GRIEFER and Reader already have an established relationship (platonic or romantical, up for interpretation), so when Reader previously fought GRIEFER in Demo 2, took the Venomshank, and left, it caused some mixed feelings and confusion. Maybe Reader is also hesitant to open up about the Demo 3 events with all of the stuff about Builderman and the 4 main emotions that made their soul “impure” in fears that they won’t be believed or might be seen as “crazy”. The rest is up to you! I’m so happy to see you! - The Angel Anon 🪽 P.S.: Sorry, I’m a big yapper hehe..,, - yes, I made my account based on my anon name,, I like it as a “persona” tbh and I can still be anonymous as long as I don’t spill any big info!!! This is my first time requesting I’m so nervous,, Ily friend /p” - angel anon 🪽

angel anon img onna whoop u for sending this in as a asubmission isntead of an ask /silly /lh @starryessence2

alone together 🎮 griefer x player reader drabble ❤️‍🩹💝

the two of you stand a few feet apart on the road leading to turitopolis, griefer standing in your way of the town.

"...TH3 H3LL 4R3 Y0U D01NG H3R3?!" he staggers to point at you, snarling. you note that he visible winces from the abrupt action, likely in pain from the strain it put on his muscles.

you almost didn't recognize him. he looks more like a walking jungle than a robloxian, what with the various plant stems and leaves twining around his body and sticking out of his skin. but his grating, aggressive voice is identifiable enough. it's a sorry state to be in, though it's better than how you left him when you took the venomshank.

"...get out of the way, brad. i don't have the energy for you." you sigh, no hint of malice present in your tone unlike the other. rather, it's more of exhaustion and mild annoyance.

you're not in that pretty of a state yourself, with prominent dark eyebags weighing your eyes down and a pale face. on your way here, you've had several children scream 'ghost' at the sight of you. but who wouldn't look like that after the draining journey that had to be taken to obtain the ghostwalker? nobody would expect you to look like robloxia's top model after almost surrendering your own consciousness.

and to make matters worse for the capacity of shit you could handle today, you just had to run into him? hopefully a turitopolis vendor can sell you a break, once you get past this jerk of course.

unbothered by his hostility, you trudge on forward, fully intent on simply brushing him off and ignoring him. but griefer continues his fit, stepping directly in your way when you attempt to go around.

"0HH, 1 S33. Y0U TH1NK Y0U'R3 AB0V3 M3, D0N'T Y0U? JUST CUZ Y0U G0T TH3 JUMP 0N M3??" venom weaves its way into his words, the burning scarlet in his eyes painting his fury. "Y0U TH1NK Y0U C4N JUST H0LD M3 1N TH3 P4LM 0F Y0UR H4ND THEN THR0W M3 4W4Y WH3N Y0U G3T WH4T Y0U W4NT-4CK!" his voice cracks at the end right before he keels over coughing, holding his side. his body twitches and shakes violently as he wheezes violently.

you look down at him at your feet, pity swimming in your eyes. your hand almost starts to reach for him, but it retreats. even when he's like this, he insists on acting tough, a destructive habit that you've recognized throughout your relationship with him.

you stoop to his level, holding your knees as you gently speak. "when will you learn your limits, brad? you should know to take it easy when you're ill." the lack of mockery or bite only serves to piss him off even more. you're only proving his point, talking to him in that collected and reasonable voice like you care about him. absolutely and disgustingly patronizing.

he's not the reckless and disorganized fool you think he is, and you're not the perfect savior you think you are.

"...KN0CK 1T 0FF. QU1T 4CT1NG L1KE Y0U'R3 TH3 H3R0." he lifts his head, glaring up at you with a bitter grin that shows off his fangs. "B3C4US3 Y0U'R3 JU5T AS W34K 4S M3." at the look of offense that flashes across your eyes, he laughs, a gravelly and garbled noise. he knows he struck a nerve, because he knows all the ways to get under your skin.

deep down, you really are still the same. even if your clothes, your relationships, and the look in your eyes change, who you are at your core still remains.

you huff, narrowing your eyes at griefer. "i'm not weak. if you knew what i've gone through since i beat you, you wouldn't dare say that to my face."

he raises a brow, an invite, and leans in, a direct challenge. "Y34H? L1KE WH4T?"

"like-! .... like..." you trail off, suddenly realizing the metaphorical corner he's backed you into. for a moment, you're left dumbfoundedly opening and closing your mouth again like a goldfish, as if the words died in your throat and you were releasing their ghosts.

what happened to you in the manor.. are you prepared to say? are you prepared to hear griefer viciously mock you for losing your damn mind because there's no way in hell all of that happened?

are you alone?

"...stuff." you visibly cringe at how small you suddenly sound, in comparison to how big you were talking only moments ago. and griefer capitalizes on it.

"0H Y34, R3334L SP3C1F1C. I C0ULD CRY FR0M H0W S4D Y0UR ST0RY IS. LOL." he balls his fists and brings them to next to his eyes, mimicking crying as he sarcastically sneers at you.

a deep rage boils within you at the taunting, your righteous desire to defend yourself successfully overturning your initial worries of being seen as hysterical. you think you can feel a vein pop in your forehead. curse griefer and his disturbing amount of experience in trolling and trash-talking online.

admitting an exasperated defeat, you throw your hands in the air. "FINE!! gosh, just- promise not to laugh. or call me crazy. or i'll beat you up a second time."

"N0 PR0M1SES."

you roll your eyes, before carefully regaling your tale to griefer. the whole time, you found that your eyes could never quite stay on his face. maybe you were afraid to face him, to face his judgement. even when you could tell he was staring right at you in your peripheral.

griefer knows you. he knows you better than anyone, and he'd fight anyone who claims otherwise. he knows you're not one to lie or make up fables to preserve your reputation. maybe that's why he listens more intently than he planned to, giving you his undivided attention. even if you do sound like a raving lunatic.

"...and i think that's about it. pretty crazy." you shrug, hoping it would alleviate the anxiety weighing on you. it does not.

"S0 Y0U'R3 T3LL1NG M3 Y0UR 0WN 3M0T10NS JUMP3D Y0U."

you sheepishly add on, "...well, i beat them too."

after a drawn out pause that made your heart rate raise with every second, he clicks his tongue. "W0W. 4ND Y0U W3R3 T4LK1NG 4LL TH4T CR4P 4B0UT "L34RN1NG MY L1M1TS", F@#$ING HYP0CR1T3." playfully, he pushes you, firmly enough to convey his annoyance but lightly enough to not actually injure you.

"wh- that's waaaay different!! if i could handle you, i could handle a lot of things." your body fills with warmth again, almost like the clouds of doubt and fear circling your mind cleared for a sun of relief. to the outsider, it may seem strange to feel happy about being cursed out. but to you, it was griefer's unorthodox way of telling you he's worried about you too.

"H4H. G3T A L04D 0F T0UGH GUY H3R3." you sigh as griefer leans back, letting his arms support him as he remains sat on the ground. he seems to be thinking critically, a rare moment for him. "... R3M1NDS M3 0F TH0S3 D4MN V01CES. T4LK1NG A BUNCH OF TR4SH JUST TO S33 Y0U F41L."

you move to sit by his side and finally look at him, smiling a bit. "guess we're both just some weak suckers. but at least we've got each other."

he scoffs, "Y0U'R3 SUCH A S4P, IT'S CR1NG3." but try as he might to pretend he's above all that 'friendship' stuff, you don't miss how he doesn't say anything to deny it. and it makes you giggle.

because unfortunately for him, griefer still cares. unfortunately, he still likes you. and he can be called a 'white knight' or a 'doormat' or a 'simp' or whatever for it.

it's you two versus the world. like it's always been.

(parade postscript: griefer ragebaiting reader so hard that you open up about your problems)

#sfw #griefer x reader #griefer block tales x reader #block tales x reader #griefer x player #roblox x reader

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chrismybouncyhouse · 5 days ago

Text

I don’t like sharing

Warnings: smut, jealous!matt, oral (f!receiving), pet names (pretty girl, mama, baby), (idk what else to put)

Summary: you’ve been close with the triplets for a while now. You��ve always found Matt attractive in ways you know you shouldn’t. After spending the month with them you find out that the fantasies have been mutual

The time has finally come. You get the spend the entire month with your best friends, most importantly.. Matt. But let’s be honest, you were nervous as hell.

You just landed at LAX, finally having connection, you feel your phone vibrate in your hand. Looking down it’s a message from the group chat with the triplets.

YAPPERS✨

Matt💙: be there in 15 kid. Got the other idiots with me so be prepared.

You giggle at the text rolling your eyes playfully before responding.

You: lol okay, just got my bag. I’m under 5F.

As you see the car pull up you can feel your heart race. It wasn’t like you hadn’t spent time with them before but it’s been a while since you’ve seen them. Chris gets out to open the trunk for you and putting your suitcase in the back before bringing you into a hug.

“Damn kid, I missed you!” Chris says rocking side to side. You laugh “I missed you too Chris” before you could even pull away, Nick is yanking Chris back hugging you tighter than ever, “mmph- missed me, huh?” You say laughing breathlessly due to the tight hold he has on you. He laughs letting go “YES! It’s been forever!” You look over his shoulder seeing Matt patiently waiting for his turn. “Hi” you say just above a whisper before you sling your arms over his shoulders engulfing him, in a very obvious flirtatious hug. His hands find there way around your lower back returning the hug “Hey pretty girl”

The ride to their house was fairly quick due to the conversation never dying. “Alright, let’s get your shit inside, Its late and im tired.” Chris says grabbing your bag out the back. Slinging yourself out the backseat you see Matt waiting patiently. “You good, love?” The eye contact was heavy, you could hear your heartbeat loud in your ears. “Yea, just tired, that flight was long and packed” you say, lazily walking in the front door.

“Soo, y/n, you’re sleeping with me. I need my cuddle buddy” Chris says with a big ass grin on his face. Giggling at that big stupid grin, You feel Matt’s eyes on you. Turning to look at him, his expression seems- off? Maybe, jealous? Not thinking any deeper into it, you simply agreed with Chris.

The past couple of nights you’ve been sleeping with Chris. Simply a platonic relationship, filled with cuddles at night. He was always fairly touchy but it never bothered you. But Matt? There was always something different with his touches. The lingering feeling after he has his hand on your waist to scoot you over, or when his hand lingers on your thigh while you all watch movies. Maybe it wasn’t anything, just simply your attraction towards him.

You and Chris were hanging out in the living room, head on his lap while you watched tv and he scrolled through Tik Tok. You had a blanket draped over your bottom half, Matt came in and lifted your legs, sat down and placed your legs on top of his. His hand planted on your thighs, drawing lazy circles with the tips of his fingers. “You sleeping with dick face over here tonight, or can I have my turn with you?” Matt says gripping your thigh causing your breath to hitch. Heart pounding, thighs clenching and avoiding eye contact, you respond. “I was going to but yea, I’ll sleep with you, kid.” He responded with a satisfied hum and continues his small circles on your thighs.

A few hours later you find Chris asleep, hand in your hair from playing with it previously. And you weren’t far behind, slowly dozing. Matt noticed your eyes grow heavy, he stands up, stuffing his phone into his pocket “c’mon sleepy, let’s go to bed” you look up at him slightly huffing, due to you being tired, before standing up to follow him to his room, leaving Chris with the blanket trying not to wake him up. As you both entered the room, Matt closes the door with a soft click and the faint noise of the lock flicking.

You climb into the bed not even bothering to cover up. Matt got in next you, back against the headboard. you look over at him and just then he tilts head slightly to maintain the eye contact. “Come” he pats his lap, eyes flickering from yours to your lips. “What?” Feeling your body heat and your cheeks blush. “Please mama, come sit”. You felt your stomach do a somersault and your core clenching around nothing at his words. “Matt..” you whisper, lifting your body slightly to look at him fully. “Y/N..” matching your tone, shifting ever so slightly in his position. Getting up and shifting to straddle him, he glides his hands up your thighs, watching his own hands, and stopping once he reaches your hips.

“Matt?” Shifting slightly, his grip tightened on your hips. earning the softest groan from him. You can feel the wetness between your legs grow. His eyes finding yours “I really missed you. You’re always sleeping with Chris” your breath catches in your throat “I missed you too, I didn’t know you wanted me to sleep with you. I always sleep with Chris when I’m here” “mm..” worry planted on your face at his response. Just when you were about to respond he grabs your jaw and pulls you down, lips almost touching and your hands planted on his chest.

A small whimper escaped through your lips. Matt removing his hand from your jaw and planting both hands on your hips, guiding you in the way he wants you. Feeling his buldge where you need him most. “Mm- Matt” speaking breathlessly, screwing your eyes shut at the friction. “Look at me, baby” he says in a low growl, and you do as you’re told. “Such a good girl, huh? Do you have any idea how long- mm- I’ve wanted you on me like this?” He grunts between words. “Hate seeing you and Chris all over each other, giving him all your attention.” Grabbing your throat and pulling you down once more lips ghosting your ear as he whispers “I don’t like sharing, baby”

He then planted his lips on yours. Slow, needy- no. Desperate. Tongues dancing together, grinding yourself against him. “I need you Matt.” Just then he flips you over, hand trailing down til he reaches the waistband of your sleep shorts. Looking at you, silently asking for permission. You nod frantically.

Your shorts and panties find their way to the floor, and Matt gets comfortable between your thighs. Planting hungry, wet kisses up your thighs til he finally reaches where you need him most. Hooking your legs over his shoulders, he flattens his tongue over your clit. Your hand immediately finding his soft curls. “Fuck..” breathlessly leaving your lips as your chest rises and falls at every tentative swipe of his tongue.

“You taste so fucking good” moaning against your sopping cunt. The vibration sending a jolt through your body. He brings two fingers to your entrance, slowly slipping them inside you. Pushing them in and out of you, curling his fingers, and his tongues pace never wavering. Earning a loud moan from you “M-Matt.” Your grip tightening in his hair. Grunting against your cunt, he speeds his pace. “I-I’m gonna- fuuuck- cum.” Feeling that band in your lower stomach tighten. “Cum for me baby. Fucking make a mess all over me.” His fingers still fucking into you at a rapid pace, just then the band snaps. a loud pornographic moan escapes you, squirting all over his face and hand. A grunt coming from Matt “Fuck-“ Slowing his pace, guiding you through your orgasm, dragging every last drop out of you.

Slowing pulling his fingers out of your drenched cunt bringing them to his mouth to clean them off. He leans over and kisses you. A soft whimper leaves you as you taste yourself on his tongue.

Feeling his aching cock press against you, you try to reach for the waistband of his pajamas, he stops you. “Next time baby. I got all I needed from you tonight” you nod your head as he gets up to get a wash cloth to clean you up.

“I was serious- about sharing.” Matt spoke after laying down next to you. “I know baby” you say sleepily, draping your leg over him, getting comfortable. His hand finding your waist, kissing you one last time before he drifts off to sleep.

Your best friend just ruined you.

Im sooooo sorry if this is ass. It’s my first fic <3

#christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo smut #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic

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cieloclercs · 18 days ago

Text

𝐢𝐟 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐯𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 — oscar piastri

ch.1 — 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐬 & 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. oscar piastri x fem!oc

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭. 5.9k

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. angst, fluff, sexual themes, bad language, daddy issues AND mommy issues, alcohol abuse, depictions of mental health issues, messy family relationships, MEN (except oscar of course), natasha’s friends suck, a lot of people suck in this actually (rich people core 🤩)

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. angst, fluff (mixed with a bit of angst ofc), probably wayyy too much description (sorry i’m a yapper), sad natasha core, alcohol abuse probably, allusions to suicidal thoughts, fainting, mentions of oxbr*dge (this warning is more for me tbh)

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞. for the tolstoy fans (if you guys exist lol) — spot the war & peace reference! p.s, please like & reblog! <3

masterpost

chapter i , chapter ii (coming soon)

read below the cut

𝟏𝟔 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 𝐕𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐢 𝐅𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐬, 𝐈𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐲 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐀 𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐀𝐍’𝐓 help but worry what Signora Moretti will think when she finds her wine cellar half emptied. She’s only been staying at the quaint little lodge high up in the Italian Dolomites for a few days, but already, if someone asked her how many bottles she’d gone through, she wouldn’t be entirely confident in her answer. Of course, the signora did say she could help herself to whatever she liked, with it being the holiday season and all, but there’s a fine line between festive drinking and straight-up alcoholism. Natasha fears she may be treading that particular tightrope.

In her defence, she has a lot to try and forget about. A part of her wonders if everything seems like it has fallen apart now because her life was so perfect before – it is all about perspective, after all. But, as Natasha’s gaze burns holes into the bottom of her wine glass, she thinks that things weren’t perfect; just easier. Pretending everything was perfect was the simple part, the one constant in her life she became so good at she even tricked herself into believing it. Now the illusion has crashed down all around her. She supposes she should have been more prepared for it.

The storm outside seems to be shaking the very foundations of the lodge; of the earth itself, even. Oddly enough, Natasha finds her brooding is a welcome distraction from it. She’s seen the news – the worst snowstorm in a decade, or so everyone keeps saying. Well of course it’s just her luck that she’s stuck somewhere high up in the mountains, exposed to the elements as if on an open plain with no shelter for miles around. Perhaps it would have been smart to actually check the weather forecast before she booked this impromptu trip; but, in her defence again, she wasn’t exactly in the right frame of mind for such technicalities. Natasha Lowell just needed to escape.

Still, the screeching sound of the wind and the groaning of timber does frighten her a little. She may not speak Italian, but the weather reporters sounded fairly concerned when she flipped over to the news channel earlier. The thought of it is enough to make her stomach drop. Natasha flips open her laptop, against her better judgement, in an attempt to quell the pit of fear in her gut. Rejection stares back at her – the email she received two weeks ago from Magdalen College Oxford telling her she would not be considered for the 2024 Classics PhD program. When she first saw it, she thought it was a joke. She’s an alumnus of Magdalen after all, with First-Class Honours and a perfect academic record; one she’s worked tirelessly her entire life to achieve. Natasha simply can’t understand what more they want from her – what is it that she’s missing?

Suddenly, contemplating her imminent death by snowstorm doesn’t seem so terrible anymore. She snaps her laptop shut with an even larger pit in her stomach, one now occupied by fear and disappointment; that terrible, gnawing feeling she hasn’t been able to shake for weeks – the feeling that somehow, even after years and years of hard work, she’s still not good enough.

The wind rages on.

Time passes, and boredom begins to eat away at her. Absentmindedly, she switches the tiny square television on, frustration bubbling up in her stomach when the picture flashes onto the screen, grainy and flickering. It’s a wonder the signal is still working, really. She waits a few minutes, hoping the picture will miraculously sharpen, but unsurprisingly, it never does. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem – Natasha is far more accustomed to reading on rainy days than watching TV. In her childhood, she would pile up all her blankets on the cosy window seat in her father’s study, one of his old copies of Wuthering Heights or White Nights open in front of her and a mug of hot chocolate balanced precariously on her knee. But now, she doesn’t feel like reading. She doesn’t feel like doing anything. It’s a pit she hasn’t managed to bring herself to climb out of yet.

The sound of the wind shrieking through the tree branches outside breaks her out her thoughts – but that’s not what catches her attention. Over the deafening noise, Natasha swears she hears something thudding against the timber walls of the lodge. Her whole body freezes in anticipation, ears trained: and sure enough, there it is again.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

She springs up, heart racing. It’s just a tree branch, she tries to tell herself. No one is crazy enough to be outside in this weather. All the same, she edges backwards towards the kitchen, and takes a frying pan from the stove, just in case. It would be just her luck if she ends up the victim of a murder in a remote lodge deep in the Italian wilderness – just like every murder mystery cliché ever. Natasha waits with bated breath for a few moments, braced for the sound to resume. Just as she begins to think that she must be going crazy, it comes again:

Thud. Thud. Thud.

It’s more frantic this time. Startled, Natasha jumps to attention, brandishing the frying pan above her head with shaking hands. There’s no possibility of it being a tree branch hitting the wall – that she’s sure of. The thudding is too deliberate, too full of intent; like someone is trying to break down the door. Please don’t be a murderer, she thinks, her pleas now dangerously close to a prayer. Despite herself, she inches forwards, frying pan held in front of her in what she hopes looks like a warning. Even the sound of the shrieking wind and heavy snowfall is drowned out by the blood pumping in her ears, the anticipation coursing through her veins. If it is a murderer trying to break the door down, she’ll be the first to strike.

Suddenly, the door handle is rattling, and Natasha almost screams. Whoever stands behind it is trying desperately to pry their way in, that much she’s sure of. Suddenly, the chance of these moments being her last seems far too much like reality – especially when the lock begins to turn.

Before she even has the chance to cry out, the door flies open. Ice cold wind and a flurry of snowflakes swirl into the room, meeting her skin like a slap to the face. Natasha stumbles back, tripping over the edge of the rug. Somehow, she manages to stay on her feet as a dark figure steps out of the cold. She can just about make out a pair of broad shoulders, and, once the figure has straightened up, a frame that towers over her by a good six inches. Oh, fantastic, Natasha thinks; It’s a man. As if her chances weren’t slim enough already. Her sweaty palms tighten around the handle of the frying pan in preparation.

That’s when the figure looks up. He has soft brown hair stuck up in all sorts of odd angles from the wind, a sharp jawline, and an abnormally thick neck. His eyes lock with hers – a darker brown than his hair – dazed and unfocussed. He steps forward, stumbling on the wooden floorboard like he’s had a few too many glasses of wine to drink. Natasha raises the frying pan higher.

The man raises his hands up in a sign of surrender, the action seeming to use up all of his remaining energy. He manages a small, exhausted smile, before opening his mouth to speak.

“You weren’t planning on fighting me off with that, were you?” He quips, voice hoarse and ragged. Then his soft brown eyes roll back into his head, and he falls forward face-first, landing in a heap at Natasha’s feet.

For a moment, all she can do is stare.

Five minutes ago, she was curled up on the sofa, drinking herself into a familiar oblivion. In the time since then, she’s gone from fearing her imminent death by snowstorm, to facing the possibility of being murdered in a remote winter lodge like she’s the victim in an episode of Columbo, and now to the reality of her potential killer passing out at her feet. Natasha wonders if maybe she has had too much wine – surely these things only happen in dreams, right?

But the man in front of her is very much real.

She’s quick to discard the frying pan on the arm of the sofa, dropping to her knees beside his unconscious form. It takes all her strength to flip him over so he’s lying on his back, head lolled to the side and brown hair plastered to his forehead from a mixture of melted snow and cold sweat. Natasha curses, brushing the stray curls from his forehead in order to press the back of her palm against it. Sure enough, his skin is cold to the touch, and worryingly pale. Her heart flutters in panic as her hands dart to his neck, feeling for a pulse – it’s there, she thinks, but it's weak; almost so weak that she worries she might even have imagined it.

“Please don’t be dead.” She whispers, desperation washing over her in a cold wave. The last thing she wants is to wait out this storm with a dead body at the foot of the sofa.

The stranger, of course, makes no reply. Natasha can see his chest rising and falling just the slightest amount beneath his puffer jacket; shallow and quick, but there – that’s a small comfort, at least. Unsurprisingly, he’s shivering. She’ll need to find a way to get him warm. His clothes are soaked through, clinging to his body like a second skin, and she knows the longer he stays in them the worse he’s going to get. Natasha curses again. How on earth is she meant to lift his dead weight off the floor and onto the sofa, let alone figure out a way to get him out of his wet clothes?

“Alright” she mutters, “Guess I’m doing this myself then.” She shuffles around until she’s kneeling by his head and loops her arms under his broad shoulders. Her muscles strain at the effort of it, but she manages to lift his upper body off the floor and begin dragging him towards the sofa. Unfortunately, that’s the easy part – the difficult thing is getting him on to the sofa. Though he’s not particularly tall, he’s got considerable muscle mass; like that of an athlete, she thinks. Natasha, on the other hand, certainly isn’t one. This is probably the most exercise she’s done in months, and it shows.

Her first effort to haul him onto the sofa is a resounding failure, one that almost results in the both of them collapsing to the floor. Somehow, Natasha manages to maintain her grip under his shoulders, gritting her teeth at the exertion. “A little help would be appreciated.” She mutters, half to the unconscious stranger and half to herself. But still, she tries again. She manages to prop half of his upper body against the sofa arm this time, rejoicing inwardly at the small progress. Natasha moves to loop her arms around his legs, aiming to swing them around to have him lie straight, with his head propped up against the pillows. But, just when she thinks she’s succeeded, his left shoulder slips from its precarious position against the sofa arm. Her expression morphs into one of horror as he begins to fall, seemingly in slow motion. It’s an act of desperation that has her diving forward to catch him, sending them both tumbling to the floor. The stranger lands first with a harsh thud, Natasha following after him, sprawled out against his chest. It’s all she can do to press her face into the soaked front of his puffer jacket, groaning in frustration.

This is not what a relaxing winter retreat is supposed to look like.

Suddenly, Natasha freezes. Beneath her the stranger is moving, a pained groan rumbling from within his chest which she feels through the thick layers of clothes separating them. Her head shoots up, gaze wide with panic as his eyes begin to flutter open, revealing soft, honey-brown irises. The stranger blinks – once, twice, a third time – in an attempt to take in his surroundings, though there’s still the same look of dazed confusion in his eyes that she noticed in the split second before he passed out. Natasha is frozen as his gaze eventually locks onto her, and his brows furrow in confusion. He opens his mouth as if to say something. No sound comes out.

“Are you alright –?” Natasha begins, face still only inches away from his; but before she can finish her sentence, as if the sound of her voice has startled him, the stranger shoots forward. His nose collides with her forehead sharply, and they both cry out in pain. Natasha all but leaps away from him, falling on her backside in her haste to get away. The stranger lets out another groan, sitting up slowly and painfully. His movements are sluggish, unsteady – she needs to get him into some warm clothes, Natasha thinks again.

“Where – where am I?” the stranger speaks, his words slightly slurred, “Who are you?”

She hesitates for a moment – giving her name to a stranger who could still be a murderer? Not a wise idea. Luckily for her, he lets out another pained groan, his questions suddenly forgotten, and she jumps back into action.

“You need to get out of those clothes.” Natasha murmurs, moving towards him slowly. He’s trying – and failing – to get to his feet, the confusion and disorientation in his eyes growing more and more by the moment with each attempt. “Do you need help standing?” she offers, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Miraculously, that seems to calm him, and he nods softly.

Just like before, Natasha loops an arm underneath his shoulder. The stranger gets unsteadily to his feet, swaying a little before she guides him to sit on the edge of the sofa. She glances around briefly, trying to identify if he brought any clothes with him, or if she’ll have to go searching for anything spare Signora Moretti may have left lying around the lodge. To her relief, she spots a discarded suitcase just by the door.

“Can you get out of your clothes alright by yourself?” Natasha speaks up again. The stranger looks down at his soaked puffer jacket and tracksuit bottoms like he’s only just noticed them. When he looks up again, he nods.

“Yeah, I – I can do it.” He croaks out, smiling weakly.

Natasha tries to return it, but falls short.

“Alright.” She breathes shakily, “I’ll get you some spare clothes and some blankets. If you need me, just call.”

She’s turning away towards his suitcase before he has a proper chance to respond – but she hears him mutter a quiet thank you all the same. Natasha’s hands tremor as she works open the zip, finding neatly folded piles of clothes and expertly organised toiletries inside. She takes out a plain white t-shirt, a navy-blue hoodie and joggers to match, a pair of warm looking socks, and a pair of black boxer briefs – she makes a point of ignoring the crimson tint that brings to her face, as she stacks it all neatly beside the suitcase. Behind her, Natasha can hear the stranger shuffling around. His groans of pain are infrequent now, and he seems less unsteady on her feet. But she can’t tell if he’s finished changing yet, not without turning around. Natasha’s skin flushes again, as she chews on the inside of her cheek in frustration.

She’ll just have to bite the bullet.

Natasha stands, the pile of clothes bundled in her arms, and turns around. She makes a point of fixing her gaze on the ground, but that does little to ease the embarrassment that crawls over her skin at the sheer absurdity of this situation. The stranger sits on the edge of the sofa, shirtless and looking just about as awkward as she feels. Natasha places the clothes next to him, then realises with a jolt that he’ll be wanting some privacy to change. She clears her throat awkwardly, shuffling around to the back of the sofa, yet again trying to keep her eyes firmly on the floor. Luckily, there are a couple of blankets discarded on the floor, so Natasha scoops them up quickly and all but flings them in the stranger’s direction, before retreating to the adjoined kitchen.

He mutters a quiet thank you. The reply gets caught in her throat.

Natasha busies herself making him a hot water bottle and a cup of tea. A part of her itches to glance over at him again, curiosity gnawing away at her insides, but she resists the urge. What is he doing here? She can’t help but wonder. And why does he look so familiar? Perhaps he just has one of those familiar faces, or perhaps she does know him from somewhere – school maybe, or even university. Either way, she’s sure she’s seen him before.

It occurs to her then that she doesn’t yet know his name.

The silence even seems to drown out the howling wind outside, which still hasn’t let up. Natasha waits until the sound of the stranger’s shuffling has stopped before approaching him, a mug of tea and a hot water bottle in either hand. He looks up at the soft padding of her footsteps, and smiles again, a little less weakly this time. For whatever reason, Natasha doesn’t think this is the smile of a murderer – quite the opposite actually; like this, with his chin tucked into his hoodie, he looks utterly harmless. So, she allows herself to return the gesture.

“Thank you. For, uh – for helping me.” The stranger speaks up after a pause. His speech is more assured now, she notices – a positive sign, at least. For the first time, she recognises the hint of an Australian accent in his voice. That strange feeling of familiarity creeps up on her again.

“You don’t need to thank me.” Natasha replies softly. He opens his mouth again as if to retort, but before he can, a violent shiver wracks his body instead, almost sending the mug of tea flying out of his hands. She takes it from him quickly.

“You need to wrap up warm.” Natasha pushes. He’s changed into the warmer clothes, but the blankets she left him are still discarded over the back of the sofa. “Here.” She reaches behind his head and drapes the warmest looking of the two around his shoulders. The stranger tenses at first, startled by her sudden closeness, but as soon as he feels the warmth begin to cling to his body again, he relaxes into it, letting out a deep sigh.

“Thank you.” He breathes again, closing his eyes in what looks like pure relief. Outside, the wind goes on howling; but now, it doesn’t feel so daunting as it did before. At least, if she is going to die, she won’t be doing it alone.

“I’m Natasha, by the way.” She speaks up again after a moment. The stranger’s eyes snap open, coming to rest on her as if he’d forgotten she was there.

“Oscar.” He replies.

Piastri, Natasha thinks to herself. She isn’t quite confident to say it aloud, but she’s sure that’s his last name – Oscar Piastri, McLaren Formula 1 driver. Memories flood back to her of earlier in the year, when she would spend what felt like hours sat with her little brother and sister, Petya and Vera, watching the Grand Prix. Natasha never paid a whole lot of attention to it, but she’s certainly been forced to watch enough over the year to remember McLaren’s rookie driver. It all makes sense to her now, why he’s so familiar: the Australian accent, the copious number of orange t-shirts folded up in his suitcase – it all clicks into place. Still, Natasha decides not to bring the matter up, opting for a simple hum and nod of acknowledgement instead. But it is odd – a few short weeks ago, Petya and Vera were cheering for him whenever his car appeared on the TV. Now he’s sat across from her on the sofa, huddled up in her blanket.

What a day, she thinks.

“Do you – uh – do you remember how you got here?” Natasha speaks up again eventually, growing a little restless in the silence that envelops them. Oscar’s brow furrows as he sits up a little straighter, pulling the blanket more firmly around him.

“Yeah.” He answers, “I booked this place out for a couple of days from, uh – Signora Moretti, I think her name was?” he shrugs, “Anyway, the storm hit as I was driving up. My car got stuck in a snowdrift, so I decided to walk the rest of the way.”

Natasha stares at him blankly. “You walked up a mountain in a blizzard?” she says, incredulous. Oscar at least has the decency to look sheepish, reaching around to scratch the back of his neck bashfully.

“In my defence, it would have been further to walk back.” He protests. She merely shakes her head, fighting off the sudden urge to laugh.

“You’re lucky you didn’t freeze to death.” She muses, arching an eyebrow in his direction. Oscar smiles again, a hint of playfulness tugging at his lips this time.

Natasha’s brow furrows suddenly. “Wait, are you sure you got the right date for your booking?” she questions. It’s his turn to frown then, tilting his head at her quizzically. “Because I’m not due to leave for another three days.”

Oscar frowns again, and reaches into the pocket of his navy-blue hoodie to retrieve his phone. She watches him in silence as he taps the screen a few times, presumably searching for the booking confirmation email. Once he’s found it, he turns the screen around for her to glance at. Sure enough, the booking reads: 16 December until 20 December 2023. Natasha’s lifts her gaze to look at him again, a weary sigh slipping past her lips.

“She double booked us.” Oscar nods sheepishly. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter much now, anyway.” She shrugs, glancing around at her surroundings. Her gaze is drawn to the window, where the curtains are drawn tight, yet still the sound of the raging wind and a small, whistling draft pushes its way through into the room. Natasha turns back to Oscar, who is already watching her curiously. “We won’t be leaving anytime soon.”

Right on cue, the wind gives an especially ear-splitting shriek. Natasha glances uneasily up at the timber beams lining the ceiling. Is the roof buckling under the strain of the storm, or is it just her imagination? She prays it is – she can’t imagine being crushed beneath it would be an especially pleasant way to die. But even then, she thinks, when the storm eventually does let up, will they even be safe to leave? Natasha remembers the mountain pass up to the lodge being precarious enough as it was, even before the snow began to come down – she definitely doesn’t fancy her chances now.

As if Oscar can read her mind, he reaches forward to nudge her shoulder, breaking her out of her trance. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He murmurs. Natasha isn’t so sure – and neither is he, if the slight tremor in his voice is anything to go by. But at least she won’t have to face whatever comes next alone.

They lapse into silence for a moment. It’s not awkward, but it’s not comfortable either, and Natasha finds herself picking at the frayed sleeves of her jumper – a habit she picked up as a child and has carried through to adulthood, despite her father’s distaste for it. Oblivious, Oscar sips at his tea, grateful for its warmth. Natasha watches him, taking note of the colour beginning to return to his cheeks, and the way his hands seem to tremble less and less with each passing moment. That’s a good sign – at least she won’t have to deal with him dying of hypothermia on top of everything else.

“Are you feeling any better?” Natasha breaks the silence after a few more moments. Oscar finishes his sip of tea before answering.

“Much better, thanks.” He nods, the corners of his mouth turning up a little into a grateful smile. “How long have you been up here for, then?” he goes on to ask, tilting his head to the side in a show of curiosity.

“A few days.” Natasha responds quickly, fighting off the urge to sigh. “Since the thirteenth I think.” She trails off, glancing over at Oscar warily. His eyes are narrowed ever-so-slightly, as if he’s trying to see past the wall she’s put up around her. A rueful smile makes its way onto her face. “Not my usual Christmas setup, but I kind of like it up here. It’s peaceful.” She admits, though her faint smile is soon replaced by a frown, “Or it was, before this storm hit.”

“Yeah.” Oscar agrees, nodding, “That’s why I’m here too. For a bit of peace.” His gaze locks onto hers, silent understanding passing between them. He sucks in a sharp breath, glancing quickly away, “I had no idea about this storm, though. Probably should have checked the forecast before I booked.”

Natasha can’t help but laugh at that – the first true laugh she’s let out in quite a while. It’s odd enough that she and Oscar have ended up in the same place at the same time by pure coincidence; but it’s even more odd that they both seem to be here for such similar reasons.

“I didn’t check it either.” Natasha admits. She ponders her next works for a moment, considering whether they’re too personal – or too cryptic, perhaps – to reveal to a total stranger. “I was, uh – in too much of a rush to get away.”

The confession is out in the open before she can stop herself. Natasha gaze drops to her hands instinctively, fingers picking at the frayed edges of her jumper once again. She can feel Oscar watching her, though; curiosity and confusion radiating from him like warmth from the sun. Perhaps there’s a little understanding in there too. When Natasha lifts her head, he’s already looking at her, eyes soft. He opens his mouth, to question her further, she thinks, but before the words can materialise on his tongue, everything goes black.

Natasha jumps like she’s been electrocuted, her entire body going rigid as a thunderous crash follows the sudden darkness. Her hand flies out to grasp at the closest thing to her like an anchor, her grip vice-like and harsh. It’s only when Oscar lets out a sharp hiss that she realises it’s his bicep she’s got hold of. Natasha blushes, oddly grateful for the sudden darkness now, and lets go of him with a murmured apology. Yet as soon as she does, Oscar is shuffling closer, close enough to brush against her shoulder, as if he too needs the assurance that he’s not alone.

“What happened?” he whispers into the darkness. Natasha shrugs her shoulders. Her first thought is the huge pine tree planted outside the lodge – the wind is certainly strong enough to uproot a tree, and this one is more than close enough to have collided with the roof if it fell. She lets out a low groan. She can only pray it hasn’t done too much damage.

“Have you got your phone on you?” Natasha whispers back in Oscar’s direction. “I left mine in the kitchen.”

He catches her meaning instantly, fumbling around in the pocket of his joggers for his phone. A few beats pass in silence, and then the room is lit up again. Natasha squints as the harsh, white torch shines directly into her eyes. This time it’s Oscar’s turn to mutter an apology.

“Should I try the lights?” he asks after a moment. She shrugs in response, as if it say, it couldn’t hurt. A nauseous pit in her gut tells her this isn’t just a momentary power outage. She knows where Signora Moretti keeps the generator, and if anything happened to that – well, she doesn’t like to think what that could mean.

Oscar stands from the sofa, leaving Natasha in darkness. She watches the harsh light of his phone torch travel across the room, flickering as he searches around for the light switch. Her breathing grows shallower by the second, her hands clammy – she’s never been afraid of the dark, per se, but there’s something about the stress of this whole situation that has her glancing fitfully over her shoulder, half-expecting another unexpected visitor to creep out from the shadows – one significantly more menacing than Oscar.

“Lights are out.” A voice cuts through the darkness. Natasha whirls around, her heart a flurry of rapid pulses like she’s trapped a dozen butterflies in there, each as desperate as the other to get out. Sensing her uneasiness, Oscar puts his hands up in a calming gesture, moving slowly now as he lowers himself back onto the sofa, so as not to startle her again. He looks concerned. She makes a point of ignoring that.

“Signora Moretti keeps some candles in the back room for emergencies.” Natasha speaks up, tilting her head towards a door at the back of the kitchen. “We’ll have to make do with those for now.”

Oscar is quick to nod, and makes as if to get to his feet again. He pauses for a moment, hands planted on his knees, before glancing sideways at her. There’s a silent question in his eyes, as if he’s asking her permission – or asking himself perhaps. Then, he extends a hand towards her.

“We’ll go together.” He murmurs. Natasha stares down at his open palm for a moment, head spinning ever-so-slightly. “For safety.” Oscar adds hastily. That has her lips twitching upwards in amusement, especially when she notices the faint flush spread across his cheeks at his own forwardness. Nevertheless, Natasha takes his hand gratefully, clinging onto him as he pulls them both to their feet. She thinks she hears him murmur keep hold of me, but over the sound of the howling wind, she can’t be sure.

Sure enough, they find a whole box of candles in the storeroom; more than enough to keep the how lodge almost as well-lit as it had been before. Once they’ve located a lighter to match, they make quick work of setting up the candles – first in the living room and adjoined kitchen, then in the bedroom and en suite. By the time they finish, Natasha’s heartbeat has slowed to a steady rhythm, and the urge to check back over her shoulder every few seconds has all but subsided.

It helps that Oscar doesn’t let go of her hand until the very last candle is lit.

“There.” He breathes, stepping back to admire their handiwork. “Reckon that’s enough?” he turns to Natasha, tilting his head to the side – she’s noticed he tends to do that when waiting for an answer.

“More than enough.” She returns, smiling faintly. They find their way back to the sofa before long, settling back into their seats on either end, a respectable distance between them. Natasha shivers a little, but hides it beneath the thick blanket she’s now wrapped around her shoulders. Oscar takes the other one – the warmer one, though she doesn’t tell him that – pulling it firmly around his shoulders with a sigh of relief. The colour is back in his cheeks for good now, Natasha notes: a healthy, flushed pink. Under the dim candlelight, he looks a little like he’s glowing – the faintest hint of a summer tan peeking through; eyes like pools of liquid honey-brown.

Natasha averts her gaze quickly, as soon as his head begins to turn. Her gaze is drawn back to the window in the corner of the room near the fireplace – the one covered by the maroon curtain, which barely manages to hold the draft in from outside. The candles they’ve placed around it flicker dangerously with each gust of wind. Natasha’s hand drops to pick at the frayed sleeve of her jumper yet again. While their emergency lighting has warded off most of her fears, she still feels uneasy. The storm doesn’t seem like it will be letting up any time soon – if anything, it’s only getting worse.

“I don’t know how we’re supposed to sleep through this.” Oscar speaks up from beside her, and Natasha glances around. He too is watching the flickering candles, a look of apprehension clouding over the warmth of his irises. Natasha bites her lip, anxiety taking hold of her.

“I’m not sure we are.” She murmurs back.

As if in reply, the wind gives another fierce howl, and the entire lodge seems to groan with it. Suddenly, Natasha is tense again, every muscle in her body seeming to tense up as the sound of the storm outside and the blood pounding in her ears drowns out everything else. She doesn’t realise she’s unconsciously shuffled closer to Oscar, nor he to her, until she senses the faint warmth radiating from him and seeping into her own skin. Natasha turns to look at him, slowly, tentatively. His mouth is slightly parted, eyes fixed solely on her. He’s just as nervous about the raging storm as she is, Natasha can sense – he’s just managing to hide it better.

A few beats of silence pass before the tension finally snaps. Oscar inhales sharply, patting at the spot directly next to him in a silent instruction. Natasha doesn’t need to be told twice. She shuffles as close to him as she can without ending up seated on his lap, and tucks her knees up to her chest. Oscar’s side moulds into hers like the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle – shoulders touching, thighs pressed together for both warmth and comfort. He doesn’t put his arm around her, doesn’t take her hand in his again; but the quiet reassurance is still there, steadfast and undeniably soothing. Natasha’s shallow breaths slow to the ordinary rhythm, soon syncing with his own. She focusses on the shared sound, and before long, the shrieking and howling of the wind is all but drowned out.

They exchange no words. The minutes pass by in comfortable silence, punctuated only by each other’s steady, deep breaths. Natasha soon feels her eyelids begin to flutter closed, as the familiar, velvet veil of sleep passes over her. She catches the faint scent of grapefruit and cinnamon, flooding her senses like warm rays of sunlight filtering through the trees in summer. Natasha lets sleep take her with a faint smile on her lips and the vague thought crossing her mind: Strange, she thinks, how in all her life she’s never felt safer than she does now, wrapped up in the warmth of a complete stranger.

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pepperonidk · 4 months ago

Text

ii. the song's about to start (can you feel it?) || to.you

↳ "... i'm about to fall for you.''

Pairing: Jeon Wonwoox gn!Reader Summary: Creative constipation. That's what Wonwoo calls the feeling he gets when he realizes he wants to write about how he feels about you. What exactly does he feel about you? That's... inconclusive, he thinks. Warnings: alcohol mentions, cursing Songs Mentioned: partners in crime - finneas, (only) about love - grentperez, buzz - niki

A/N: I'll be releasing a new chapter every day until Christmas, as a gift. :)

let me know if you'd like to be tagged! comments and rb's are appreciated :)

⏮ previous track || back to playlist || next track ⏭

Mingyu is the worst person to have in the car when all you want to do is think.

The thought popped into Wonwoo’s mind as he swatted at a wandering hand reaching for the volume dial on his dashboard. A groan sounded from beside him and Wonwoo rolled his eyes in return. Mingyu was a regular in the front seat of his car, and to his dismay, felt much too comfortable touching everything he could on the dashboard. His chair was leaned back absurdly far and the vents on the air conditioning seemed pointed in every which direction.

“Wonwoo, I like this song,” he huffed as he reached forward to mess with the volume again. His drunken clumsy hands turned the dial much too far until Wonwoo adjusted it back to a reasonable level. With a sigh Wonwoo gave in and looked forward to his later drive home in silence.

He tapped his fingers against the wheel as Mingyu sang along. Croaked, more like. Mingyu had a melodic singing voice, but that wouldn’t be obvious to anyone hearing him right now. But Wonwoo was used to this, and although he pretended to be annoyed by it, he really didn’t mind. He liked this song too and he hummed along, quiet enough that Mingyu wouldn’t notice.

“You couldn’t look any more like a lover Or a partner in crime Or something of mine”

The song ended and Mingyu reached over to turn the volume down. Wonwoo was thankful, but realized if the radio volume went down, Mingyu’s would have an inverse effect. He looked over at Wonwoo whose eyes were trained on the dark and empty 3 a.m. freeway ahead of him.

“You know,” Mingyu began with a smirk in his voice and Wonwoo tensed, steeling himself for whatever nonsense would escape his friend’s lips. “Seungcheol said he saw you dragging Chan’s friend upstairs earlier.” Wonwoo’s hands grew tighter on the wheel and Mingyu didn’t miss the flush of red that appeared on his cheeks as Wonwoo remembered the brief feeling of your skin on his. He shifted his glasses higher up on his nose bridge. Mingyu’s laugh was grating, Wonwoo thought.

He chose not to say anything. A mistake, really, as now Mingyu, the yapper, had found an opportunity to fill in the blanks with his own speculations.

“Mr. Jeon, I never took you for the frat-party quickie type,” Mingyu continued, laughing to himself. “Especially not with people you write songs about.”

“Shut up,” Wonwoo huffed. “It wasn’t a quickie, I was–”

“Oh so you took your time,” Mingyu cut him off with a playful slap to his shoulder. Somehow he felt his face heat up some more. Wasn’t Mingyu drunk? How was he this perceptive? Thankfully, they weren’t too far from Mingyu’s home.

“We were looking for those two other idiots that hang around Chan,” Wonwoo tried to speak up over the sound of his friend’s guffaws.

“I’m just teasing, you grump,” Mingyu finally relented. He waited a beat before continuing. “But that new song of yours was definitely about them right?”

Wonwoo thought for a second before answering, even though he knew Mingyu already knew what he’d say. He simply nodded in response.

“Knew it,” Mingyu spoke again. The teasing lilt in his voice was soon replaced by something softer. “It’s been a while since you’ve written anything new. It felt new.”

“What do you mean?” Wonwoo asked curiously. He’d always had a particular style when it came to writing songs, and Mingyu had known him long enough to see it become what it was. He didn’t particularly intend to write anything different, he just… wrote as he always did.

Mingyu leaned against the window, thinking to himself. “I’m not really sure myself,” he finally answered after a beat. “It just felt more like you, I guess.”

The last time Wonwoo wrote a new song was when Joshua was still part of their band.

Last spring, right as the trees were beginning to turn into various shades of light pinks and pastels, Joshua asked them all to stay after practice to talk. It was an unusual rehearsal from the start, and Joshua seemed nervous much unlike his usual calm and collected self. His dark hair was ever so slightly disheveled and he wore pajama pants instead of his nicer trousers that he usually wore to save time before heading to his office internship after practice.

Joshua clumsily missed notes that he had never missed before, and Wonwoo was more shocked than anyone else to see the founder of their band fumble around like he’d never held a guitar before. So when it came time for them to talk, Wonwoo was intrigued and surprised again when he finally spoke.

“I’m moving,” Joshua blurted out without his usual level of tact.

“You’re–”

“What–”

“Moving–”

Mingyu, Seungcheol, and Wonwoo all spoke at once and Joshua let out a sigh of relief that melted into a soft laugh, as if a weight had finally been lifted off his shoulders.

“Moving? Where?” Wonwoo asked again.

Joshua nodded with a sheepish smile before explaining. “You’ve all met my girlfr— fiance before. We’re both graduating next semester. She got accepted to a music conservatory overseas and my internship offered me a position at their branch in the same city, it just feels like the stars were aligning. It all feels like a sign.” In the many years he’d made music with Joshua, learned his cues and learned his melodies, he saw that Joshua spoke with a twinkle in his eye that Wonwoo had only ever seen when he spoke about his partner.

“I’m sorry to announce I’m leaving the band like this,” Joshua continued. “But I’ll help you find a replacement before I leave. In fact, I already have someone in mind.”

That’s how they found Chan, a friend of Joshua’s fiance who played in the university orchestra with her. They watched his end-of-year recital and sat through his flawless performance of a cello concerto by Saint-Saëns. It all happened rather quickly after that and without even auditioning, the passionate but impulsive sophomore had become their new bassist.

After going out for a round of drinks at the local pub to celebrate Joshua’s news, Wonwoo found himself outside on the patio, resting his elbows against the railing and thinking about all of this until a voice cut through his thoughts.

“Wonwoo,” Joshua called as he moved to stand beside him. “What’s on your mind?”

He turned around to glance over at his friend. Joshua looked happier now, like he was constantly basking in the glow of something bright, and Wonwoo supposed that in a way, he was. “What does it feel like?” Wonwoo asked vaguely, but Joshua knew what he meant, as he usually did.

“It’s… hard to explain,” Joshua replied with a faraway smile. Wonwoo looked at him and waited for him to continue. “At first, it felt like… well you know, right before a show when we first turn on the amps? There’s a buzz, but it feels electric. It’s a little bit like that, anticipation because you know something good is about to happen.” Wonwoo nodded thoughtfully at Joshua’s response as he continued. “Now it feels so big… like exploring space, if space was safe and warm.”

After a slight chuckle, a wave of silence washed over the two of them until Joshua spoke again. “Are you going to be okay?” Joshua glanced over at his friend.

“I will be,” Wonwoo answered. “Will you?”

Joshua turned around to face the window and smiled to himself as he watched his fiance laugh at something Mingyu and Seungcheol were saying. “I think so,” he said quietly. “But I’m happy to be here right now.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo agreed. “Me too.”

When Wonwoo came home to his apartment that night, he reached for his guitar. He strummed quietly as he felt the familiar wash of inspiration take over him. A soft melody seemed to untangle itself into something that made sense in his head and soon, lyrics came along with it.

“Take my hand and come with me to another place We can walk around the universe tonight.”

He hoped he understood what Joshua had told him. Love as a concept was simple enough to put into an analogy, but difficult to really get, but for his friend, he’d try. He sent Joshua off later that spring with the lyrics and sheet music folded neatly in an envelope, a gift from Wonwoo to the happy couple and felt satisfied leaving it at that between the two of them. And so it was, until Joshua asked him to play it at his wedding six months later. It was his first time singing a song without the rest of the band, but it didn’t feel as scary as he imagined it to be. It was like having a conversation, or writing a letter to his friend. To Joshua.

He hadn’t written a song since then, not until he met you. Mingyu was right and the realization had heat seeping into his cheeks.

“Something something Halloween party,” Mingyu recalled the lyrics to his song, snapping him out of his thoughts. “That line about living in a VHS was pretty cute, what did you say to them to make you think of that one?”

“Nothing,” Wonwoo replied and that was an answer enough on its own.

“Oh Wonwoo,” Mingyu cooed as he ran a hand through his hair and shifted to find a more comfortable way to drift off for the last few minutes of the ride, content to let Wonwoo have a reprieve from the teasing.

After dropping off a drunk Mingyu and driving back to his apartment, he couldn’t decide whether to grab his notebook and pen or his guitar. This was a rather frustrating dilemma to have. Usually, he’d feel something akin to lightning and either a simple line or a melody would come to him and he’d grab whatever vessel he needed to bring it alive.

The song he wrote about you two weeks ago began as lyrics first. He had watched you walk down the sidewalk in your pumpkin costume and groaned to himself as he realized half of your entire conversation was him saying, “cool.” He walked back into the party and through a sea of stupid costumes to find his guitar case and fished out the worn brown leather notebook that he always kept with him and grabbed a pen.

“I want to erase the things I said, but I’ll probably say them again. Wish I could hit rewind and not be so in my head.”

With a few tweaks and a chorus, it had become a song, and Wonwoo was proud of himself. It wasn’t until after he had finally set his pen down and saw he’d written the words “I wouldn’t have let you go leave me,” that he wondered if he really felt that way or if it was just a good line.

At the next party, when you told him you liked the song, the song he wrote about you, he felt something else, and he wondered what to call the flutter he felt in his chest. Attraction, maybe? He learned about the feeling of attraction in class, how the spike in your heart rate and cortisol levels can be read as attraction in the right circumstances… or stress in the wrong ones. With his adrenaline running high after his performance, he decided that the evidence presented was too inconclusive to be labeled one way or another.

Now, he decided to grab his notebook to look back at the page he’d scribbled on, to see if something could give that final push for lightning to strike. He scoured the margins, looking through the various doodles and squiggles and crossed out words. It was incredibly frustrating, Wonwoo thought, to have the desperate urge to write, but not know what to write. It’s probably because he still couldn’t figure out how he felt about you. Anxiety? Attraction? It was something new, but not something he knew how to explain. All he knew was that he wanted to write about you.

Nothing came to him even after flipping through his book, so with a sigh, he gave up and flopped onto his bed. His eyes fluttered shut and hoped inspiration would find him in his dreams.

The next morning, Wonwoo woke up feeling unrested and uninspired. He was expecting to wake up with that familiar whisper of a new melody or a new lyric in his ear, but instead he woke up to the sound of thunder outside. He ran a frustrated hand down his face. Creative constipation, he thought to himself.

Then as he settled into his seat for his psych class, he found himself so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice you call his name. His gaze was fixed on his lyrics notebook in front of him until you reached out and tentatively put your hand on his shoulder. The contact snapped his attention towards you and he felt a haze begin to clear.

“Wonwoo?” The tone in your voice surprised him. It was soft and laced with concern. “You okay? I’ve said your name like three times now.”

“Yeah,” he shook his head as he muttered quickly. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

He watched as you gave him a kind smile, tilting your head. “I hate to break your concentration, but my usual seat has been… taken over.” He watched as you nodded your head towards the row in front where Soonyoung, who was hunched over his laptop, was completely oblivious to the girl in your seat who was leaning toward him with a hopeful, dazed grin. “We’re picking project partners today and I think she’s trying to get Soonyoung to pick her.”

Wonwoo scoffed at the scene in front of him. “She’s wasting her time. I’ve never seen him pay attention to anything in this class that wasn’t a Fortnite stream.”

“Harsh, but accurate,” you agreed with a chuckle. “So can I…?”

“Oh, right, yeah,” he scrambled to move his backpack off the seat so you could settle into it. He watched you sit down and when you smiled at him he suddenly felt his cheeks heat up. He awkwardly tried to bring his gaze back to his notebook, not knowing what to say, but waiting for you to continue the conversation.

After a beat, you continued. “So,” you leaned in conspiratorially. “Think she’ll succeed?”

He thought for a second before answering, his lips twitching as he did. “Not unless she pays him in… Robucks.”

“V-Bucks,” you corrected him with a playful grin.

“Right,” he twirled his pen in his hand, as if needing something to fidget with. “That.”

You chuckled in amusement. “Well, if she steals Soonyoung, I’ll settle for Chan. We’ve been project partners since we were little, so I’m used to picking up his slack.”

Wonwoo raised an eyebrow at you. “And if Chan gets taken?”

You simply shrugged as you smiled at him playfully. “Then I guess I’d be stuck with you.”

His pen slipped out of his fingers and he blinked at you, his glasses sliding down his nose. “Me?” he echoed.

“Yeah, you,” he blushed as you laughed at his surprise. “Unless you’ve already made plans?”

“I don’t know anyone else in class,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Neither do I,” you replied easily. “Looks like we’re a great match already.”

For a beat, Wonwoo caught himself just staring at you, unsure of what to say. The tips of his ears felt red hot, and he looked down at his notebook again, scribbling in the margins. “Sure, a good match,” he repeated.

“So what is it that had you thinking so deeply?” you asked as you pulled your laptop out of your bag.

Wonwoo paused for a beat, wondering how to reply. He wasn’t particularly fond of letting people into his writing process. It felt too intimate. Even Mingyu and Seungcheol had only ever looked into his notebook once and then decided it wasn’t worth being on the receiving end of Wonwoo’s death glare (not to be confused with his usual resting neutral glare). For some reason, he felt as though you wouldn’t be too much of a threat to his creative process.

“I have to write about a feeling,” he began tentatively. “But I can’t really figure out what it is.”

“Oh is this for, like, an essay?” You asked. You tapped on your chin as you thought about what to say.

“Yeah, something like that.” “What’s the feeling?” you continued to ask. Wonwoo found himself intrigued at your willingness to help him, but remembered how quickly you relent to offering your notes to Soonyoung and Chan when they miss something. He figured it’s probably second nature for you.

“Honestly, I’m not too sure myself,” Wonwoo answered honestly but still nervous that you’d see through his flimsy details.

He was aware of how vague his answer was, but this was the closest thing he could tell you without divulging his thoughts. He wasn’t even sure how much of a help you’d actually be. Songwriting, Wonwoo recognized, was not something that everyone could do, but it was something he did well. He had a knack for being able to step into someone else’s shoes and write about their feelings. Like some sort of twisted empath, he could write a damn good love song without ever having been in love. He figured whatever higher being created him thought it would be funny to have such a stoic man only be able to express himself through a melody, like he was in some goddamn musical.

The other members of his band had a bit of experience writing as well, but their styles were different from Wonwoo’s. They had a special knack for writing songs that sounded like them. Mingyu’s songs were always more upbeat and catchy, good for parties, and a little quirky. Seungcheol’s songs were much more focused on the rhythm and had fewer lyrics. Chan, although only having written a couple of songs so far, definitely had a more angsty, grungy vibe. It was only from Joshua’s leadership that they all learned to blend their styles into something cohesive.

Most people outside of the band assumed that the majority of songs were written by Mingyu or Seungcheol or even Chan now that he was part of it. But surprisingly, Wonwoo was the real lyrical mastermind behind No Name, although he never opts to correct anyone who thinks otherwise.

“Just write it down,” you replied as if it was the most simple answer. “Even if the feeling doesn’t have a name, you’ll get the point across.” When you looked over to see Wonwoo eyeing you skeptically, you continued.

“Not all feelings have a name,” you went on. “Like the feeling when you’re about to turn a door handle into a surprise party you knew about, or like when you get the first cup of hot coffee for the season because it’s finally cold enough outside for it. It’s like you know it’s the start of something new, something good.”

Wonwoo could see warmth flashing in your eyes as he watched you list these feelings. It reminded him of Joshua’s words that night. Something about anticipation…

There it was. Lightning. His head shot up as you spoke and you turned to him with wide eyes. You watched as he reached for his notebook and began scribbling into it madly. Before you could ask him more about it, the sound of the professor’s voice filled the room. Wonwoo, however, did not lift his head.

“It’s the feeling of the first coffee run in autumn – can you feel it?”

The last part was a question for himself.

Sure enough, today was the day project partners were being assigned and although Wonwoo spent the majority of the class writing madly into his journal, his ears perked up at the announcement.

“Since you’re all adults and there’s over 60 of you in this class, it’s easier for everyone to just partner up with their current desk partner.” Wonwoo turned and met your eyes and you both let out a sigh of relief. He was glad it was you.

He managed to set his pen down as the professor continued to explain the assignment. “This project is about relationships,” he announced as he walked down the aisle to hand papers out to the class. “For the rest of the semester, you’re going to be getting to know your partner and hopefully yourself, quite well. Hopefully, if nothing else, you can leave the class with a new friend.”

The both of you turned your heads at the sound of Chan groaning as he looked over at Soonyoung. Soonyoung looked wistfully at the girl who stole your seat, finally giving her attention. Unfortunately, she was in a separate desk cluster. Wonwoo was thankful that things worked out the way they did.

Wonwoo watched you stifle a chuckle at the two in front of you and pass him the worksheet. He scanned over the paper. It was mostly blank, save for a few sentences of instructions and two sections of items to note.

Under the first section were three items: First impressions of your partner? Who do you think you are? How do you think others see you?

The second section simply stated: At the end of this project, reflect on your earlier impressions and see how they’ve changed. What’s changed about how you see your partner? How they see you? How you see yourself? What social theories or effects do you believe may have affected this change?

“You get out of this project what you put into it,” the professor stated. “The more time you spend with your partner, the more change you’ll see in any or all of the criteria. However, if you decide not to spend any time with them after the initial meeting, you still have some theories to write about.” He chuckled to himself as he scanned the students’ faces.

He continued on. “There’s no criteria for how much or how you spend time with your partner outside of being safe and respectful. But I suggest you do things together that mean something to you. Be intentional with the time you spend together.”

Wonwoo’s previous feelings of relief had suddenly dissipated as quickly as they came. This was a rather intimate project, and although the questions seemed simple enough, being in this class for the semester taught him nothing was ever psychologically simple. He snuck a quick glance over at you, busy writing your name on the top of your paper and writing down quick reminders to yourself in the margins of your notebook where you had neatly organized your notes from class. Your cheeks were pink, and so were the tips of your ears. He was sure his were too.

He looked down at his own notebook, filled with nothing that could help him on an exam. But he had half a song written down.

It wasn’t until the professor had dismissed the class and Wonwoo was setting his things back in his bag that you finally turned up to look at him with your phone out towards him. “Before you head out, can I get your number?” you asked.

“Sure thing,” Wonwoo reached out for your phone, accidentally brushing his fingers against yours in the process. There was that flutter again, but Wonwoo was ready to chalk this one up to stress. Until he caught a glimpse of your tinted cheeks and suddenly he was at a loss once again. He focused back on the phone long enough to put his number in before handing it back to you, letting his fingers brush yours once again. For research purposes, he had said to himself. Results still inconclusive.

That afternoon, Wonwoo sat at his desk with the worksheet in front of him. The first question seemed easy enough to answer. He didn’t need to think too hard before writing a response.

First impressions of your partner:

He thought back to his first time seeing you in class. Did that even count? All he ever saw was the back of your head and the way you would raise your hands to rub at your temples at the end of class as you slid your notebook for Soonyoung and Chan to take pictures of. He picked up his pen anyway. Begrudgingly kind, he wrote.

The first time he really saw you was that night at the frat party. You were quick to laugh at his jokes, and quicker to add on. And later, he watched as you danced with Soonyoung, who Wonwoo watched get shot down by a girl who was clearly more interested in the girl with her, even in your stupid pumpkin costume that stood out like a sore thumb. There was something about you that drew people in, he realized. Charming, good friend, obnoxious.

He thought about when you finally left that evening to go study. Hard-working, warm.

The next questions were a lot more difficult to answer.

Who do you think you are?

“Annoyed, mostly,” he muttered aloud as he forced himself to try to think. Although he had a knack for writing about other people, he wasn’t a huge fan of introspection. A musician, he wrote simply. I’m good at what I do, and I do what I’m good at. Simple. Blunt. It wasn’t much, but it was enough, he thought.

How do you think others see you?

This was such a dumb question, Wonwoo thought to himself. He never really cared about how other people saw him. Mingyu always said it was one of his charms, especially on stage, and he agreed. His Twitter DMs seemed to agree as well. But a question was a question, and he wasn’t going to hurt his stellar grade over a dumb question. Charismatic, quiet, intense, cold.

He finally set his pen down and picked up his phone to see a text from an unknown number.

Unknown: Hey Wonwoo, are you free this evening?

Before Wonwoo could feel confused at who the hell would be so bold as to message him like this, you quickly sent a follow up text with your name and Wonwoo scoffed. He was amused. He saved your number before replying to you.

Wonwoo: Sure Wonwoo: Did you want to do something?

He didn’t wait long for a response as you quickly texted him an address and a time. The campus cafe, which thankfully was near his apartment, at 7 p.m. so he still had a few hours before he had to meet you. He pulled out his lyrics notebook and looked back at what he’d written during class. It felt like it was coming together and Wonwoo felt content as he grabbed his acoustic and began to strum absentmindedly, trying to figure out what his words sounded like in a melody. It was something simple, but he was happy with it. Mingyu was right, this song felt like him.

For the first time in a long time, he was writing about himself.

When Wonwoo walked into the cafe promptly at 7 p.m., he let out a soft sigh. The smell of pastries, cinnamon, and coffee wrapped around him like a comforting embrace and he took a moment to appreciate the smells of autumn. He scanned around the cafe and found you sitting at a booth by the window, staring out at the street. Now that October had passed, the jack-o-lanterns and skeletons had been replaced with the warm glow of fairy lights and other various holiday decor. As he walked towards you, he found himself catching his breath at the warm glow the lights left on your skin. Pretty, he thought to himself. When you finally turned your head and caught his eye, you smiled at him with a wave. As pretty as he thought you were looking away from him, it had nothing on the way your eyes lit up at the sight of him.

“Hey Wonwoo,” you greeted as he finally made it to your table. He unwrapped his scarf from his neck and slipped out from his coat, setting them both neatly beside him on the leather seat of the booth. “I went ahead and ordered a little bit before you got here. Figured you’d look forward to something warm to fight the cold.” You gestured at the cream colored mugs that sat on the table and Wonwoo cautiously inspected the one in front of him. The steam still rose from its contents and the smell of Earl Grey tea made his shoulders relax. He wasn’t a coffee person.

“Thanks,” Wonwoo replied softly. “How’d you uh, how’d you know I prefer tea?”

You blushed as you looked away. “I was a little nervous,” you began, your attention once again on the sights outside. “I texted Chan on the way here and asked what kind of drink you preferred.”

Wonwoo felt himself blush and was thankful that you weren’t looking directly at him. He scoffed before taking a sip of his tea. Seems like Chan pays attention. “Nervous, huh?” He didn’t mean for it to come out as teasing as it did.

You finally turned your attention back to him. “Yeah,” you chewed your lip. “This is kind of an intimate project. Did you see the questions? It felt like some sort of first date survey.”

He nearly choked on his next sip. You were right, and now that you had pointed it out, Wonwoo couldn’t help but fixate on the idea. A first date, he repeated to himself. He hoped the mug hid his blush.

“We don’t have to think of it that way,” you quickly added. Wonwoo let out a soft chuckle at your panic. “I mean, not that it would be terrible, but this is for class so I think we can keep it professional and then be friends, which I guess would not really be prof-”

“You’re rambling,” Wonwoo cut you off. He felt relieved that he wasn’t the only one who was nervous about all of this, but he also took note of how you said it wouldn’t be terrible for this to be a date. He let out a sigh and set his mug down. “There’s no pressure at all. We can spend as much or as little time together as you’re comfortable with, and how we spend that time doesn’t have to be anything in particular. We could study, talk, or just sit here in silence too, if you wanted.” He hoped of course, that he’d see you more often, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. He knew people saw him as somewhat unapproachable. Even people who scream his name at performances seem to tense up and freeze when they see him on campus. He didn’t want you to be one of them.

To his credit, his words did seem to have an effect on you and he watched your shoulders begin to relax as you reached for your own mug to take a sip. “Thanks,” you began. “Sometimes I get too in my own head. But you’re right. No pressure.”

Glad that you were finally more relaxed, he let a beat of silence sit comfortably between the two of you. When he first met you at that party, you seemed a lot more sure of yourself, not that you seemed unconfident now, but more that you handled interactions with new people in a charming, easy way that he couldn’t. It made him relax knowing he wasn’t the only one who tends to overthink things. He made a mental note to write that down for his assignment later.

It was much easier to just talk after that. Wonwoo felt he had finally redeemed himself after that night where all he could say was “cool.” He was a man of few words… but not that few.

You told Wonwoo about how you’d met Chan, Seungkwan, and Hansol. How Seungkwan had come up to you at recess in elementary school after you had just moved to town and asked about the book you were reading. He was the first to speak to you, and Hansol was the first to drag you along to their adventures. Chan, who was your next door neighbor (and the same age as you), had declared himself your older brother when he found out you didn’t have one. “Everyone should have a big brother,” he had decided at 9 years old.

Wonwoo told you about the band, why it was called No Name in the first place. He and Joshua had started the band in high school with his best friends and kept it going since they somehow ended up at the same university. Mingyu wanted to call themselves The Four-Eyes “because it’s funny. Because you wear glasses.” And when Wonwoo nearly pounced across the table, Seungcheol suggested The Cherry-pops which Wonwoo hated even more. It wasn’t until Joshua broke up the argument and shoved Mingyu back to his seat on the couch that Joshua decided, “If we can’t decide on a name, then we go with No Name.” And that was that.

Wonwoo had found himself smiling at the memory, and chuckled at how long ago that was. Now, somehow, he had become the leader of the band, filling in Joshua’s role as a singer and at times, a mediator.

It was easy to be nostalgic with you, but maybe it was the tea, or the fairy lights that set him up. It wasn’t until both your mugs were halfway empty after a refill that Wonwoo remembered to ask. “So why a cafe?” he asked curiously.

Your eyes lit up as you began to speak. “Oh, right,” you began. “Remember how we were talking earlier about feelings that don’t have a name and I mentioned the first coffee run in autumn?” Wonwoo nodded. “Well, I finally had some time today, and I thought I’d invite you to join me so you could feel it firsthand.”

Now that it was November, it was well past Wonwoo’s first run to the cafe. In fact, he’d been here at least twice a week since September.

“I know that it’s really late into the season,” you spoke again as if you knew what he was thinking. “And I’ve had plenty of coffee since September. But I’d just been so busy that I hadn’t had a chance to actually sit down inside a cafe and enjoy a cup of coffee.” You smiled as you looked down into your mug.

This is nice, Wonwoo thought to himself. “So what are you feeling?” Wonwoo probed as he recalled your words from earlier. Something new, something good. This was definitely that.

“Like life is about to fall into place.”

Later that evening, Wownoo found himself itching for his phone to text you.

It had only been an hour since the two of you parted ways after he walked you to your car, but he already found himself thinking about when he would see you again. You were easy to talk to but you didn’t mind when he only had a few words to say either. It felt easy. He hadn’t been on many first dates but he knew that none of them had him feeling this way afterwards… Not that this was a first date. Right?

Wonwoo: Hey Wonwoo: Are you free tomorrow? We can meet again if you want.

Tomorrow? Wonwoo had sent the message before he could think too hard about it. He shoved his phone under his pillow and walked out to the kitchen of his apartment. He grabbed a glass of water and leaned against the island, running a hand down his face. He took a sip and began to pace back and forth.

Like a phone toss when it’s risky but you hit send.

He ran to his desk, momentarily forgetting about the phone, and wrote down the line. And another one. And another one. Until finally, he had a song. He took a deep breath before reaching under his pillow for his phone.

Coffee Addict (psych): I’m not busy :) where do you want to meet?

He thought for a second before an idea popped into his head.

Wonwoo: You know the music studies building? Meet me on the basement floor.

And so the next day he found himself sitting on the floor across from you in a cramped practice room with his hands clasped on his lap. He’s not really sure what had come over him last night after asking you to meet him, but he can’t say he regretted inviting you either. In fact, he woke up bright and early, feeling that flutter again as he thought of seeing you.

“This is cozy,” you joked as you looked around. The room really was cramped, and with a standing piano against one wall of the room, it made it feel even smaller. He wasn’t used to sharing this space with other people, but he didn’t really mind sharing it with you.

He chuckled and shook his head. “Sorry it’s cramped, I know,” he acknowledged. “I just… I wanted to show you something.”

“Oh?” you asked. “What is it?”

Wonwoo looked up at the piano before standing up and offering his hand out to you. A buzz in his fingertips. A flutter in his stomach. He sat down on the piano bench and patted the space beside him to his right. The bench was wide enough to fit both of you, but Wonwoo didn’t miss the feeling of your leg pressed against his. Before he could overthink himself into a panic, he stretched his fingers over the keys and began to play.

“It’s the anticipation when the amps turn on Just cables and crackle. It’s the first flicker of the neon sign It’s the words stuck in your Adam’s apple.”

He glanced over at you before continuing on to the next verse. Your hands fidgeted in your lap, but you watched as his fingers moved across the keys.

“It’s a bumblebee on a blossom The first coffee shop run in autumn.”

You looked up at him, eyes wide as you recognized your own words.

“The song’s about to start, can you hear it? The door’s about to open, can you feel it? The flower’s about to fruit, can you see it? I’m about to fall for you.”

A buzz. A flutter. He knew what this was.

“About to fall for you.”

A/N: a fun fact about this chapter: Chan knows everyone's favorite drinks. It sounds sweet, but he learned it's an easy way to get on their good sides when he's late for practice.

Also I gave myself butterflies when writing this chapter hehe

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eliza-and-her-monsters · 3 months ago

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the tortured poets department

Info Post

Moodboards

Part I

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Contains/TW: omg lesbians guess what?? WE MADE IT Y’ALL!! this chapter WILL BE NSFW and you should know the drill by now but STILL- MINORS DNI! you are FINALLY getting smut… glorious beautiful wlw lesbian sex 🙏 it IS millie’s first time however she is not infantilized or completely clueless about sex and i’m trying to not make her overly innocent as well. this chapter will also contain some texts in the beginning/smau type shit, brief discussions of self harm/scars, anxiety/panic attacks, and a good old fashioned menty b! also some brief 3rd person/ellie pov at the end of this?? anywaaaaays… hope you enjoy! <3

WC: 5.9k i was a yapper in this soz 😭

Part VII

false god

I was still shaking as I clicked my phone off and peered at my reflection in the mirror. Vi’s shirt was way oversized, the sleeves easily hitting my elbow and the edge easily brushing my mid thigh. Ultimately, I was still mostly covered and I think I would’ve been okay with it. If it weren’t for the fact that she hadn’t seen all the scars yet.

“Ummm… hey Vi?” I questioned, cracking open the door just a mere inch. “D-Do you have a jacket or-?”

“Are you still cold?” She wondered, eyebrows furrowing as I saw her approaching the door. “I turned the heat up for you before we came in, can you not feel it yet?”

“Well, I mean- I can it’s just…” My voice shook as I seemed to trip over every word, barely even able to string them together. But thankfully I didn’t have to do much before I felt her hand slipping around my wrist, and the tiniest instinctive flinch I felt myself do was very telling.

“Baby, you don’t have to hide those in front of me, alright?” Her thumb just barely brushed over the scarred skin as I felt the door to the bathroom naturally swinging open, tracing over the individual lines that were slowly fading yet still clear and raised ever so slightly. “You’ll talk to me first if you ever wanna do this again, right? Or it doesn’t even have to be me… me or Ellie or Caitlyn or Jinx or- literally anyone-“

“Violet, I promise.” I spoke, feeling like her full name would add some sort of strength to it. The stronger a promise the more of a reason I would have to not break it. “I- I promise. I-I haven’t even done it in like a month. There was an incident over the summer after I got out of the hospital but Ellie caught me and hasn’t let me be alone with sharp objects since so… her and Caitlyn definitely have precautions.”

Vi let out a heavy breath and nodded, she didn’t want to linger on the subject or pry but I could tell it scared her. And I hated it. How I even managed to scare somebody like Vi. “I just… I really really- really care about you, Mills.” She spoke, stuttering over her own words like she wanted to choose different ones. Nevertheless though she didn’t bounce back to change them or anything. She just simply placed her hands on the side of my face as she pulled me in to place a firm kiss to my forehead. “I know you don’t need it,” She spoke next, arms slipping around me to pull me back into her. Her arms always feeling like such a safe space now, soft but tight all the same. The way she would hold my head against her chest every single time. It felt like a war could be raging on outside and as long as I was here, wrapped up in her arms, I would be safe. “But I just have this overwhelming urge to want to protect you. You’ve been through enough and I just… I want you to finally not have to worry about any of that shit while you’re here. I- I want you to be happy.”

“I am though.” I stated with softened eyes as I peered upwards at her, lifting a hand to softly lay against her cheek. A curious thumb drifting outwards to trace around her light scattering of freckles across her nose. “I am happy. With you. Right now.”

A light smile tugged on her lips, my heart almost feeling like it was skipping in my chest as I felt her hands sliding around my waist once more. “Promise?” She questioned, closing the already small gap between us as she pressed me to her body. And I caught myself hoping she couldn’t feel my racing heart beneath my ribs.

“Promise.” I felt breathless as I stood up to my tiptoes to place my lips to hers. All of the air sweeping out of my lungs as I encircled my arms around her shoulders, Vi always meeting each kiss with equal or more enthusiasm. And each kiss feeling more and more like the first one all over again. Though this one was stronger. Fiercer. Deeper.

“Are you sure you want this?” She seemed to breathe into me as I felt her hands drifting lower, already bringing up that same frustrated ache in between my legs that had only seemed to fester.

I nodded, barely able to choke out a ‘please’ before her arms encircled around my thighs and she lifted my legs to hoist around her waist with ease. “Vi-“ I stammered out with instinctive nerves as my arms tightened for dear life around her shoulders.

“Shhh, I’ve got you. I won’t drop you.” She whispered in a soothing voice before connecting her lips back to mine. Fingers brushing along my bare thighs almost causing me to whimper before she pressed me to her unmade bed where she crawled over top of me with ease. Her hips fit so effortlessly in between my spread legs finally drawing the softest moan from my lips at even the lightest friction. “Hey,” She halted, gentle eyes peering downwards at me as my trembling hands gripped her shoulders for dear life. “Tell me if you want me to stop, okay? At any point.”

I gulped an anxious lump down my throat with a nod, almost feeling like my thighs were only tightening around her waist at the uncontrollable ache that seemed to form in my lower abdomen. Our bodies almost seemed to mold together as her hard muscles pressed into my own, flexing around me nearly causing me to let out a breathy moan all over again. Her hands gripping my hips and holding them to the mattress below. “You’ve never been touched before?” She whispered against my lips, the statement causing me to tense up in response. Vi’s expression softened, laying a delicate hand against my cheek as her eyes never left mine for a second, “It’s okay, you can tell me.”

I brought an anxious hand up to my lips as if to latch on to one of my nails again as I shook my head in response. “Have you ever touched yourself before?” Another shake of my head as I slipped my nail in between my teeth, cheeks red with embarrassment as I prepared for the absolute worse. Insecurity almost rivaling the unbridled want that seemed to course through every inch of my body. What if she didn’t want this or me? She was so experienced so why on earth would she want me for anything that lasted more than a night? “Hey… Hey, doll, it’s okay.” I heard her soft voice once more, a warm hand brushing underneath my cheekbone just before a small tear could stream down it. “That doesn’t change anything. If you still want this… just tell me. Talk to me.”

The only thing I could hear was the thumping of my heart, the heavy breaths still pushing through my lungs as she stroked my cheek. Her eyes didn’t leave mine for one second, as if searching for any hint of an answer. “I’m just… I-I’m just really scared.” I blew out a long sigh from my tight lungs, leaning into her bruised hand that had never seemed so delicate before. “But I want this- I-I really do I- I want it to be with you.”

“You promise?” She whispered, pressing her forehead to mine as her thumb softly brushed underneath my eyes. “Swear to me?”

“I promise, Vi, on everything, I promise.” I muttered just as I let my arms slip back around her shoulders, answering by pressing my lips to hers once more. I almost whimpered the moment she pressed me back to the bed, her hips slotting perfectly in between my own spread legs. Her hands toying with the hem of my shirt as if asking for silent permission.

My body shivered as I gulped an anxious lump down my throat and nodded. Her eyes were soft as she gingerly lifted the fabric from over my head. On instinct I lifted my quivering hands upwards to my chest as if to cover them until I felt Vi’s careful hands slipping around my wrists. “Let me see you, baby.” She whispered, slowly pulling them away, more silent asks for permission. Giving me the ability to change my mind if I wanted to. But somehow I never wanted to. “So… goddamn… beautiful.” She murmured as her eyes seemed to scan down my body with the look of someone who had never seen the female body before.

“Fuck, doll, you’re way too good for me, you know that?” She spoke with a half smile and a shake of her head before reaching for the back of her wife beater to yank it over her body. I don’t know what I was expecting to be fair, I knew she worked hard on her physique. I could’ve gotten lost just tracing the curves of her muscular arms, her biceps, the darkened lines of her tattoos. But to actually see the entirety of her body, it almost left me choking. The toned markers of her ab muscles and pectoral muscles, the way her back tattoo peeked out from behind her broad shoulders giving way to her hourglass figure. And were those two distinct silver bars poked through her nipples? Her body looked like a work of art itself. Carved and sculpted by only the most talented individuals.

“Ummm, I-I don’t know I- I think you might be too good for me.” I stammered with widened eyes just as I saw her lips lift in a smirk.

“Nah, I think you’re fucking perfect.” She muttered underneath her breath before pressing her bare body to mine as she caught my lips on her own. A soft moan broke through in between kisses, the cool metal of her piercings causing my back to arch against her. Seeking even more of her out as our lips seemed to mold together in a perfect sync. The ache in between my legs only spiraled towards unbearable as my hips bucked upwards, desperate for contact.

Vi let out a low chuckle against my lips before letting her own trail back towards my neck. “Patience, pretty girl, you know I’ll take care of you.” She murmured as I felt the expanse of her hand wrapping around my thigh to give it a faint squeeze.

“It hurts.” I spoke through a quiet whimper, squeezing my arms around her shoulders.

“I know… I know I’ve made you wait too long tonight just hold out for a little bit longer, okay? I wanna savor this.” She whispered, pressing a soft kiss to my pulse point before letting them slowly drift lower. Inching towards my collarbone, down my chest, each kiss I swear making that ache in between my legs get stronger and stronger while my breathing grew heavier and heavier by the moment.

Her lips wrapped around one of my perked out nipples, my jaw dropping with a sharp gasp as she ran her tongue around the sensitive area and her hands worked their way down my squirming body. “Can I, doll?” She whispered, lightly tugging at the flimsy pair of underwear still attached to my body. The only piece of clothing still attached to my body.

“Please… please, Violet.” I answered, finally giving up on my attempt not to beg. But her hand was so close. Carefully slipping it underneath the fragile fabric, a heavy moan spilling from my lips at the overwhelming pleasure that finally hit all at once as she brushed a calloused finger against my clit. My nails sunk into her back as I clutched onto her for dear life, “Vi-”

“You’re so sensitive, princess, I barely even touched you.” She whispered, her hot breath against my sensitive breasts causing my chest to arch against her. “You’re soaked too, doll, is all this for me?” I whined in need, probably nodding like a fucking bobblehead as another hand slipped downwards to delicately caress my hip bone, “You wanna let go of me so I can go down on you, baby?”

My arms seemed to squeeze even tighter around her broad shoulders, barely noticing how I had burrowed my face into the crook of her neck. I was terrified to let go of her, even though it felt like a throbbing wet mess in between my thighs. Even though I needed her so bad… so desperately… so intensely I wasn’t even sure what to do with myself. “I’ll still be right here baby, I’m not going anywhere and if you wanna stop you just tell me, okay?”

“Okay.” I finally let out through a long and airy breath with a nod. “Okay.”

“Atta girl.” Her praise brought about another soft moan as she let her lips trail back down my body, immediately causing me to spring upwards onto my elbows with a loud whimper once they reached my lower stomach. Vi’s expression shifted into a more stern one as she lifted her arm once more to wrap her hand around my chin and press me back towards the bed. Gentle, but still firm all the same. “No, you lay back and relax. Let me take care of you.”

“Okay… o-okay.” I said through the same shaky breaths as she inched the now probably soaked underwear down my legs. All hints of nerves seemed to be replaced with need the moment I felt her soft lips brushing along my inner thighs, her hot breath dancing along my core right where I needed her the most. “Violet.” My hips bucked upwards, a shivering hand stretching downwards as if begging for her to take it.

“Shhh, I’m right here.” Vi whispered, lacing her fingers through mine with a tiny squeeze as she placed a line of kisses up my thighs.

My jaw fell open with a cry of pleasure though as I finally felt the warmth of her tongue running upwards through my wet slit. Lapping at my folds I could already feel a sense of euphoria creeping through me as she sent the vibrations of a moan through my body. “Fuck doll, you taste so fucking good. I don’t know if I’m ever gonna get enough of you.”

Her hand reached for my thigh, wrapping her arm around the circumference to hoist it over her shoulder with ease. A gasp slid from my throat as she pressed her face closer to my core, parting my continuously slick folds with her tongue, mouth seeming to envelop the entirety of my cunt. My moans grew louder, heavier, my hand practically squeezing the life out of hers at her breath on my clit. Soon replaced by the soft tip of her nose nudging it ever so slightly, with the utmost gentleness like she didn’t want to work me up so quickly. However we were already long past that.

“Vi…” I whimpered, a cry of pleasure sounding from my lips at the stimulation to the sensitive area. My hips bucked almost painfully, rolling against her face almost looking like it was causing her eyes to roll back.

“Good girl.” She whispered, the praise covering me in goosebumps as my leg curled around her head. “Keep moving your hips like that, doll.” My hands tangled into sheets below, back arching all over again as her tongue seemed to move in sync with my hips. A sea of pleasure that made my own eyes roll back. My jaw fell open all over, desperate and erotic moans seeming to take over the entirety of my breaths.

The moment I felt her tongue curling around my clit I nearly shot up once more, massaging the bundle of nerves with just the right amount of pressure. Just enough to make me see stars but not enough to rush through it. This wasn’t a matter of her seeing how quickly she could make me finish. This was a matter of her wanting to savor it, take her time, as long as she possibly could. “Vi… V-Violet- oh Violet.” I could barely recognize myself, speaking her name like I knew no other word as she ran a torturously long lick around the circumference of the sensitive bundle of nerves right through my wet folds. A motion that seemed to hit every sweet spot, like she didn’t want to leave an inch of me untouched, untasted. “J-Just like that- o-oh my- just like that, p-please don’t stop.”

“Feels good, baby? Right there?” She whispered, the vibrations of her voice nearly driving me up the wall before diving back in. Increasing the pressure with each lap through, I swear I squeezed her hand so tightly I almost thought it was hurting her. But she didn’t seem to mind, just kept running her thumb along my knuckles in a soothing motion.

“R-Right there… right there… o-oh fuck- Vi!” I practically squealed at the vibrations of her own moans, her soft lips running along my clit that throbbed in pleasure. Another cry of euphoria bursting through my lips as she flattened her tongue against the swollen bundle. Lapping at my center as if she was starving, dying of thirst even.

Closer and closer she drew me towards the edge, my breathing quickening as the pressure in my lower stomach seemed to build to heights I almost couldn’t handle. “Violet… Vi- I- I think I’m gonna cum.” I could barely get the words out at the sensations, the heavy build-up that made tears burn at my eyes.

“Let go for me, baby, just let go. I’m right here.” The high felt neverending, hitting me like a shattered dam as my eyes rolled back for the millionth time. My body felt like it was encased entirely in goosebumps, leaving me nearly breathless. Vi worked me through every bit of it though, lapping up every bit of the mess like it was the sweetest nectar she had ever tasted.

The moans turned into sobs not long afterwards, the pleasure reduced to a racing heart as my entire body seemed to shake in the aftermath. “V-Vi?” I stammered through her name, like my brain had almost completely forgotten she was there until she was right in front of me. Hands cupping the sides of my face, soft powder blue eyes coming into view as she smoothed out my messy hair, strands probably soaked in sweat.

“Right here, doll, I’m right here.” She whispered, her voice a soothing symphony over the roar within my head, and I caught myself curling my trembling hands around her shoulders as if in some attempt to ground myself. I burrowed my face into the crook of her neck while the white noise of her shushes slowly drowned out the feeling of my racing heart. She didn’t pull away until the shaking stopped, soft thumbs stroking my cheeks as she wiped away every bit of the tears.

“You still with me, princess?” She whispered, the softest hand of all time gently curling around my chin and pulling me to face her.

“I- y-yeah, yeah, I’m okay.” I said through a long and heavy breath, almost trying to match them up with Vi’s, making it just the tiniest bit easier to catch my own. “I’m sorry I- I should’ve anticipated that that was gonna happen. Th-That was amazing a-and I don’t want you to feel like it wasn’t-”

“Baby girl, you don’t have anything to apologize for. And you don’t have to explain yourself to me, okay?” She said with a shake of her head, brushing scarred lips against my temple. The weight of her body felt like a warm blanket, a soothing embrace as I wrapped tight arms around her broad shoulders, probably clinging to her like a damn koala. “Do you need me to get you anything, princess? Something to eat maybe? I live with a fuck ton of jocks but I’m sure I could find something you like.”

“I… like you.” I murmured, cheeks as red as roses as I let my pointer finger gently trace along the curve of her jaw.

“Doll, I know, you already have me though. What else can I get you?” She chuckled lightly, pressing her lips to my forehead this time. Sweet little delicate kisses that only made my smile grow. I had definitely thought about what I’d be into during sex, but never really put a ton of thought into what I’d want during aftercare. I guess I always assumed I’d probably be high maintenance due to sensory overload and so on… but with Vi, I found that in a lot of ways her arms were enough. Still, I didn’t want her to think I was too clingy.

“Do you by any chance have a weighted blanket? And can you tie my hair back… maybe?” I questioned, nervously chewing on my bottom lip and hoping it wasn’t too much. Vi only cracked another small smile as she nodded.

“Yeah, I think I can do that, and I’ll see if we have one.”

Moments later after a few more forehead kisses and cleaning myself up in the bathroom, she was gently running a brush through my long hair as my eyelids fluttered with exhaustion. She of course wasn’t very well-versed in hair care. Not in the way that Caitlyn would always braid it in different intricate styles whenever we were growing up and Ellie even being surprisingly good at it whenever we were in the psychiatric program over the summer. I didn’t mind though. It was soothing, feeling her take her time running the brush through the long strands, getting all the knots out.

“Is this your love language? Letting people play with your hair?” She finally spoke up after a moment of comfortable silence.

The corners of my lips quirked upwards in a little chuckle as I felt her twisting the thick strands into a loose ponytail, though I wouldn’t have minded letting her run her fingers through it for a fair bit longer. I guess that answered her question. “Caitlyn started it I guess you could say. I’ve always liked my long hair and felt really pretty with it so I never wanted to cut it short but… sometimes having it down would just make it so much easier for me to get overstimulated. And my parents never had time to, well, do a ton of nurturing stuff like do their daughter’s hair so- Caitlyn learned how. I swear almost every day from year 5 onwards she would do my hair every day before school. She had like a dozen different girls asking her to braid theirs at some point too for like, school dances and formals and stuff.”

I rambled on, my cheeks only heating in response as I fiddled around with the edge of Vi’s shirt that I had slipped back on. “Sorry- i-if I talk about her too much, I know she’s sort of your ex, she’s just- she’s like my best friend, you know?”

“She’s hardly my ex.” Vi almost snickered with a shake of her head. “And I get it, she’s a big part of your life… and in all honesty I can’t blame her for being at least a little bit wary about, you know,” She took in a deep breath as she lounged back against her bed, arms stretching upwards to rest her hands behind her head. A moment of hesitation passing, as if she was afraid to say the words. “Us.”

Something felt like it was blooming in my chest as she said those words. A deep flush creeping back up into my cheeks that I ultimately tried to ignore as I cautiously moved to lay next to her. “How come?” I wondered, curling up onto my side as I watched her eyes sweep over to meet mine.

“You really wanna see the good in everybody, don’t you, doll?” She questioned, the dodge of the question causing my chest to tighten for a brief moment.

“Not always.” I muttered with a tiny shrug, “I’ve found that humans are vastly complicated beings. They’re rarely entirely evil, and even then… we rarely actually think we’re entirely evil, and then whenever we do- it’s rarely true.”

“You sure you’re not a philosophy major?” She questioned with a lifted brow, a tiny giggle breaking through my lips as I let myself inch closer to her warmth.

“Definitely not, but I am an english lit major which is… kind of the same thing.” I suggested with another shy shrug as I curled up to her side, immediately feeling her muscular arm sliding around my shoulders to pull me into her chest. Surprisingly soft, those same damn pheromones drawing my eyes shut as I draped my other arm around her body.

I barely even noticed it at first, my fingers accidentally brushing against the lines of a few slightly raised scars etched onto her side. Though I almost jumped whenever I heard Vi’s breath hitch and her hand wrap around my wrist to pull it from the area, instead letting it settle against her chest. “I-I’m sorry.” I stammered, shoulders tucking inwards in an instinctual wince.

“No, it’s okay, doll… it’s just a sensitive spot, you didn’t know.” Her hand loosened on my wrist at the reaction, brushing a soft thumb along my knuckles as she did so. “I’m sorry if I scared you.” She added with a slightly guilty sigh as she lifted my hand upwards to brush her lips to my knuckles next.

“I feel like-” I began, cautiously tossing the words around in my head as I rested my cheek back on her chest. Weighing them in my head, still approaching each interaction with caution. Because I was raised in an environment where asking questions was seen as an act of defiance. “You know everything about me but I don’t know anything about you.”

“You know everything that matters.” She spoke with a sigh that almost sounded exasperated, brushing her fingers underneath my chin to tilt my head upwards to meet her eyes. Still gentle, still careful, but firm in her stance nonetheless. “I’ll tell you more eventually, okay doll? But for now I really need you to get some rest, alright? I’ll be here whenever you wake up.”

I caught my bottom lip in between my teeth, fighting back my stubborn and anxious protests with a nod. “Promise?” I muttered, finally drawing another tiny smile from her lips, nearly causing me to sigh in relief at the sight. She isn’t angry, she isn’t angry at you. You’re fine.

“I promise.” She answered, brushing a soft pair of lips against my forehead before I could snuggle back into her chest.

I almost wished I could say sleep came more difficult that night, in a new environment wrapped up in the arms of someone who clearly wasn’t just a friend. I wished I could’ve said that so I could convince myself I wasn’t falling too hard too impossibly fast. But it came so easy… and I was clearly well and truly past the point of just falling.

The empty locker room after the break of dawn was usually the best place to breakdown in private. Especially with Jinx being a known snooper, Ellie being a known introvert, and Jinx also not being the best person to wake up without landing yourself a black eye. And in Ellie’s defense, it’s not like she could sleep. So she had originally drug herself to the 24-hour gym attached to the hockey rink first to blow off some steam which later… of course- resulted in her breaking down where she was today. Her face buried into her knees, sketchbook open in front of her and headphones latched over top of her head playing music that absolutely was not going to make her feel better.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had cried to this extent. Certainly not while she had been here, and if she had she couldn’t remember. But this wasn’t a cry she could easily forget. It was one that made her entire head ache, and even more so the space behind her red eyes. The type of cry that you could feel in your chest, a crushing ache that almost made you think your heart was actually physically breaking.

It was ultimately a selfish reason to cry, brought on by her own co-dependency. And maybe partially a feeling she wasn’t quite ready to admit yet.

The feeling of someone tugging at her headphones nearly made her jump out of skin. Probably letting out a supremely embarrassing squeal as she dropped them around her neck. “Geez? Crying alone in the locker room? Not even the lounge? You must be on some serious self-deprecating shit.”

“Jesus Abby! A warning would’ve been nice!” Ellie huffed as she immediately dug at her eyes with the heels of her hands in some attempt to hopefully dry it all up before she could make a fool of herself even more than she already had.

“I said your name like 5 times and snapped in front of your face. This was a last ditch effort.” Abby said with a shake of her head before whirling around to face her locker. “You look like shit, what’s up with you? Boy trouble? Girl trouble? Whatever you’re into trouble?”

“Definitely not boy trouble.” Ellie whispered, bringing out her phone to pause the song still raging in her headphones.

“I figured but- didn’t wanna assume.” Abby said with a shrug, already setting to work with undoing her lock as she shrugged the oversized backpack from her shoulders. “So… girl trouble then?”

“Why are you acting like you care?” A slight crack crept into Ellie’s voice as she peered over at her, and she hated herself for it.

“Oh… I don’t- don’t flatter yourself. Sometimes that’s easier though… talking about it with somebody who doesn’t care.” Abby added casually as she began to unpack, shooting another nonchalant look Ellie’s way with another simple shrug. “Up to you. You can of course let it fester if you want, seem like an expert at doing that anyways.”

“I don’t let things fester I- not anymore. I just can’t talk to people about this.”

“You mean you can’t talk to Amelia about this.” It wasn’t even phased as a question because she already knew. Ellie was easier to read than she liked to let on. In fact whenever she was in the hospital one of the first things she was called out for was her ‘resting sad face’. Whenever it was blotchy and tear-stained it probably didn’t make it any better.

“She would hate me.” She muttered to herself, not even knowing why she was even talking to Abby about this. But regardless she was. “I would blindside her… right whenever she’s finally happy. Right whenever she’s finally making connections with somebody who isn’t me. I can’t- I can’t do that to her. I would look so fucking selfish!”

“My god, you’re such an opposite of a piece of shit it drives me crazy.” Abby huffed as she dropped the remainder of her backpack load in the locker before whipping around to face her. “Do you hear yourself right now? You’re bawling your eyes out to Taylor Swift alone in a locker room at 6:30 in the morning, currently spilling your guts out to your bully instead of any of your actual friends because you’re worried about how your pain affects other people. Do you not realize how ridiculous that sounds, Williams?”

“Because I don’t want my pain to be the cause of other people’s pain because I don’t know how to control it, Abby! I’ve spent 20 years of my life being a piece of shit and not being able to control myself and you wanna know how the universe responded? By giving me a fucking gun!” Her voice cracked as she flew up to her feet, eyes burning and blurring with incessant tears and fury chipping away at every single bit of sanity she had worked so hard to finally develop. “I can’t- I- I’m sorry. I-I should go.” She sniffled, lifting a shaking hand as she quickly shoved the sketchbook back into her backpack. She barely could understand the words that came out of her own mouth, the tremble seeming to take over her entire body.

Fuck, what had happened to her? She was unstoppable in the army, her gun like an extension of her hand. And there she was, the youngest person in her platoon yet simultaneously the best shot her lieutenant had seen in a while. But now, here she was, breaking down alone in a locker room, overtaken by the shakes.

She had become so weak. So defenseless. So everything she promised herself she’d never be.

“It’s a shame.” Abby spoke up with a carefree sigh and a shrug, “We were finally starting to get somewhere.”

“Listen, Abby-” Ellie huffed as she hoisted her backpack onto her back before whirling around to face her once more. “I know you think you have me all figured out but respectfully, you really don’t, okay? Wh-Whatever version of me you created in your head… she just isn’t real. I-I’m not a good person, Abby.”

“So ask yourself, is my version of you the one that isn’t real or is it the version of you that you had no choice but to be?” She took a step closer, Ellie’s breath almost hitching in her throat the second she had to tilt her head upwards to meet her eyes. It was only a few inches of a difference, three minuscule tiny inches, but lord did it feel like so much more than that. Her broad frame that felt like it could’ve covered Ellie’s entire figure.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Ellie stammered, arms slipping around herself in a makeshift hug or a shield either one. She didn’t know which one she needed more. “You throw my face into the ice one day and get your shit rocked by Vi trying to defend Amelia’s honor and now you’re talking me down in the locker rooms the next? D-Did she seriously have that much of an impact on you?”

“Vi’s a pretty good mediator believe it or not. She’s not just a dumb jock who only thinks with her fists.” Abby added, taking a step backwards only to start unbuttoning her many layers to protect herself from the cold. And Ellie couldn’t help but to gulp a dry lump down her throat the moment Abby finally stood in not much other than a simple grey wife-beater. Just in time for Abby to glance her way and catch her eye. “Are you just here to ogle now or-”

“In your dreams, Anderson.” She scoffed, quickly turning away from her to grab her half-drank water bottle. “I’m not into ‘roided out mascs.”

“Your blush says differently but go off, Williams.” Abby stated, eyes briefly giving Ellie a once over which only causing her cheeks to burn even more.

“That’s only because it’s cold.” Ellie brushed off, a hand flying upwards to her face as if in some attempt to wipe away the flush. “Anyways umm, I-I should go. Thanks for the pep talk… I think.”

“Oh you absolutely should thank me for the pep talk. Will I see you at training later?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Ellie forced out, almost wincing as she pulled herself from the locker room. Not letting out the frustrated groan she was currently feeling until she was completely out of the building.

A/N: i’m so sorry it’s taking me longer to pump these out 😭 mental health has not been killing it lately but i’m still trying hard to put out good content i just might need a bit of a break occasionally 😅 regardless though i have so much fun shit planned for this story so i hope you enjoy it nonetheless! also… brief hint of ellabs at the end?? thoughts?? 😌

Credits: main divider by @saradika-graphics mdni divider by @adornedwithlight 🤎

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