#SOMEONE MAKE THIS PLEASE IM NOT TALENTED ENOUGH

[bucketbueckers]

RECKLESS DRIVING

CHAPTER FOUR

content: language, dijonai is making sure that it's clocking to everyone that she's standing on business, n*tre d*me, mental health issues, mentioned injury, cam roman lore 😍....cam roman lore ☹️💔

wc: 6.7k

notes: sooo this was supposed to include both preseason games but i decided to omit it because there was already a ton of development in this chapter and i feel like writing so many games would get super repetitive. if you're personally saddened by that, then. well. im sorry. but im pretty happy with how this one ends and how it turns out (: as always please let me know what y'all think (and live reacts are so encouraged like im begging on my knees at this point!!! they'll make me write faster, i promise) and i hope you all enjoy 🫶

tags: @cowboybueckers @indigo491 @wnba-scotland @volleyballgirlsblog @sillystarv @middyprincess @intoblonde6ftwbbplayers @user1269 @fivest4rbuecks @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @lilpaigeyherbo @simp4panos

The conclusion of training camp welcomes the beginning of the official preseason. The Wings were taking on the Las Vegas Aces at Purcell Pavillion in Notre Dame, home of the Leprechauns and the Fighting Irish. While Cam does have to concede to the fact that her alumnus mascot was (unofficially) a tree, there’s just something about representing a leprechaun that she just can’t get behind.

Either way, their first preseason match was intended to be a welcome home thing for Arike, Jewell, and Jackie, so the last thing Cam was going to do was bitch about a preseason venue.

Their second preseason game was against the Toyota Antelopes at home, a professional basketball team based in Japan. Considering that Mai Yamamoto, one of the Wings guards, plays for the Antelopes in Japan, it was also supposed to be a reunion game of sorts for her and her teammates.

As far as preseason matches went, Cam stopped feeling nervous about them after her first year. They served as the final chance to prove that you deserved a spot on the team if training camp didn’t solidify it. They were more important for rookies and newcomers on the team – and, sure, while they were the first “real” games of the season and gave them a chance to put their chemistry and skills to the test against people who were out for a win and not just to do their job as practice players, Cam knew that preseason standings didn’t really mean anything.

The important part of preseason games wasn’t necessarily the box score, nor was it the number that reflected in the win column. The important part was determining how well players worked with one another, if they showed considerable hustle, if they demonstrated just how badly they wanted to stay on the team in the limited amount of time they were afforded on the court. 

Nobody was playing anymore than thirty minutes; in fact, twenty five was pushing it. Compared to the Aces, the Wings had a lot more roster decisions to make and not nearly enough time to make them. Cam knew that their rotations and lineups would be a crime against basketball, which probably also meant there wouldn’t be a number in the win column as much as there would be one in the loss column. The Aces had made it far into the playoffs last season and were the champions the season prior. They retained a lot of that championship core and had a coach that was considerably more qualified.

That was always the really depressing part about the preseason. Not the unquestionable loss because your first match was against a team that had proven themselves time and time again. It was the fact that there was a chance – no matter how hard you worked – to get waived purely because you didn’t have the time to grow into your role and prove that you could make a difference. That was the depressing thing about the league as a whole, actually. Unless a team was truly committed to a long term rebuild, you had to come in perfect. Ready to play. Ready to grind and hustle. Talent or skill or ambition isn’t always what defines someone’s career in the W. It’s time.

Training camp had been informative. All things considered, the Wings had a really good rookie class. Paige was obviously Paige – she already had undeniable chemistry with a lot of people on the court. She behaves like she’s DiJonai’s annoying little sister, or at the very least, like she’s DiJonai and NaLyssa’s bad ass child who’s constantly testing how much she can get away with. She’s got an easy relationship with Maddy, which surprises Cam a little seeing how much Paige hates Villanova. She connects instantly with the rookies, especially Aziaha and JJ, who showed out the entire week and were itching to claim a roster spot.

It wasn’t just the rookies who came in with something to prove. NaLyssa and DiJonai showed out, impacting majorly on both ends of the court. Ty was lethal, bringing in a sort of veteran guard play that Cam was excited to run with this season. Myisha also brought in some invaluable vet experience, even though everyone all around was confused when Chris started going on about how he wanted Myisha to be more active in bringing the ball up.

Cam wasn’t sure how to voice that opinion – about having their team play out of position like that. She gets what Chris is trying to say about a player-run team, she really does, but there’s roles to play on the court for a reason. When Myisha’s main role is to play at the four or the five, she shouldn’t be expected – let alone coached – to initiate the offense like she’s the starting point guard.

For all of Cam’s experience and time in the league, she just didn’t know how to bring that up to Chris without sounding like she’s discrediting him as a coach, because that would quickly be a surefire way to make things awkward in the locker room. And for as much as he preaches about it being a player-run team, it’s only player-run in the sense that he wants his bigs to shoot threes like they’re prime Curry and to make decisions about offensive sets that he should be making decisions about.

So Cam did what any self-respecting veteran on a team with a questionable coach would do. She put aside her and Nola’s (nonexistent) Unrivaled beef and explained that she just wasn’t confident in how this was being handled. Between Chris’s mandatory morning meditation, his youth pastor sermons, and the fact that he (on multiple occasions) called for his starting point guard (read: number one draft pick, Nancy Lieberman award winning, NPOY as a freshman, national championship winning starting point guard Paige Bueckers) to play off-ball because he’s running a play to get Myisha an open three like she’s Kamilla Cardoso in the final seconds of the SEC semifinals against Tennessee, Cam just thought that maybe someone should step in and let Chris know that his players aren’t really sold on whatever the fuck this is.

And, well, Nola tried. They’d had a lengthy conversation for a while during warm ups that Cam sensed he wasn’t really listening to. Seriously – she was watching them from the corner of her eyes, Nola’s arms gesturing from the passion of her argument, and Chris just stared unblinkingly with his arms crossed. He didn’t say much. Clearly, he didn’t have to.

It wasn’t the whole running-plays-to-get-Myisha-open thing. If she can knock them down, she can, and that’s good for them. It was more about the fact that Chris didn’t seem to prioritize the rest of the offense.

But that was just the first few days of training camp. They still had practices, the entire preseason to get through, and they’re all adjusting. That’s what Cam is trying to remind herself, at least. Chris doesn’t have a lot of experience at the head coach position (which is another issue in and of itself), so maybe he’s just trying to find his footing, too.

A slightly more blunt, if not meaner part of Cam reasons that many players – many of her teammates – won’t be afforded the chance to find their footing or figure out how this works. The front office and coaching staff wouldn’t hesitate to cut a player who wasn’t a good scheme fit or wasn’t producing the numbers they needed. And if Chris doesn’t produce the numbers he needs to because he’s trying to brute force something that just isn’t working out, then…

Cam doesn’t think she has to finish that thought.

Their game against the Aces is tomorrow, and they’re flying out to Indiana in the early afternoon. The flight was only two and a half hours at most, but the staff wanted to get in to have enough time to relax before a quick evening practice. Cam’s dressed for comfort – an all grey Nike sweatsuit from a sponsorship package and a pair of slippers. The rest of the team is dressed similarly in hoodies and sweatpants. Cam slides into her usual seat towards the back, hoping for a little bit of peace and quiet so she can finish the book she’d started at the beginning of the month and swore that she’d actually read.

She supposes the whole peace and quiet thing should have been a little too much to ask for. DiJonai settles into the aisle seat next to her, hair in a loose bun and swamped in a hoodie, and the expression on her face is far too nonchalant to be anything but mischievous.

Paige, who’s standing in the aisle, glances once at the both of them, face shifting like she’d wanted to sit next to Cam and pester her, before she settles into an empty seat a few rows in front of them. And when NaLyssa smiles as she takes the aisle seat next to Paige, Cam knows that this was a set up from the beginning.

Cam crosses a leg over her knee, pushing her headphones over her ears and cracking open her book, hoping that DiJonai would get the message and leave her alone if she looked really committed to minding her business. The peace only lasts until takeoff, a few pages, and a few songs in Cam’s playlist before DiJonai tucks her bookmark into the spine and closes the book for Cam.

Cam sighs. She shifts, pulling one headphone ear off, and stares at DiJonai, who’s grinning. Begrudgingly, she asks, “What do you want?” and DiJonai all but lights up.

“I just wanted to know how draft night was,” Nai says innocently, long lashes fluttering. “You never told us, which is weird because you didn’t shut up about going for a week.”

Cam hopes her face isn’t as red as it feels. “It was draft night,” she says plainly. Unconvincingly. “I did media. Listened to analysts talk about defense and championships. Said hi to Kiki Iriafen.”

DiJonai hums as if she’s fully invested in the story. “And what did you do after the draft?” she asks, not even bothering with trying to be subtle.

“Nai,” Cam huffs, rolling her eyes.

DiJonai raises her hands in surrender. “Hey. Just trying to get the story from you and not the people on Instagram who tagged you in a couple videos at Paige’s afterparty. Better that than making assumptions about the insane sexual tension at training camp, right?”

“There was no sexual tension at training camp,” Cam retorts, but her words fall a little flat and DiJonai’s brows raise slightly. Cam purses her lips, knowing that she’s not making it out of this, and she lowers her voice so only DiJonai can hear her. “Yes, Paige invited me to her afterparty.”

“And?” DiJonai prompts.

“You’re such a freak,” Cam mutters, cheeks burning. She decides to just rip the band aid off. “I went. We drank. A lot. Partied. Then I went back to her hotel room and woke up naked in bed next to her at 5am.” DiJonai nods solemnly and Cam adds, “Which I’m sure you knew since you’re a walking lie detector and you’re always in my business.”

DiJonai can’t help but laugh. “I think you sleeping with my teammate is my business,” she retorts. “Especially my number one draft pick, rookie teammate.”

“You’re sleeping with your teammate, Nai,” Cam states.

“Semantics,” Nai murmurs, and despite herself, Cam can’t help but smile. “So what are you doing about it?”

Cam doesn’t answer for a while, millions of thoughts swimming through her mind at once. She didn’t want a lot of people to know about this. Not yet, at least. It was just supposed to be theirs. Their story, their decision, their cross to bear.

But she knows she can trust DiJonai, who was one of the first friends she’d made when she arrived at Stanford for summer conditioning. She sighs when she spots the blonde hair peeking back at her from a couple of rows up, undoubtedly locked in the same conversation with NaLyssa.

“We’re keeping it clean,” she responds after a beat. Then, she thinks back to how she’d kissed Paige’s knee after wrapping it, how she rode home with the blonde instead of Maddy after team dinner. Then, quieter, she corrects, “Trying to. I’m her vet. She’s my rookie. This year’s gonna be hard for her. I know that better than anyone else. I don’t want our personal… entanglements to make things any more complicated for her.”

DiJonai snorts. “Okay, Jada Smith,” she says, which makes Cam laugh a little. “I want you to try again and tell me the truth this time.”

Cam furrows her brows, finally turning her head to meet DiJonai’s gaze. Her brown eyes are soft, no trace of anything teasing, and Cam swallows thickly, half confused and half caught. “That was the truth, Nai,” she says honestly, her voice faltering a little.

“Can I be brutally honest?”

Cam’s frowning when she says, “You were going to be, anyway.”

DiJonai nods, conceding, because yeah. She was. “Are you making such a big deal of Paige being your rookie because you genuinely want to help her grow and develop in the league or are you so committed to this because you’re trying to heal a part of you that was struggling and didn’t have a vet to be there?” DiJonai asks.

Cam opens her mouth to respond, but she clamps it shut quickly, processing. DiJonai doesn’t wait. Her next words land just as sharply as the first ones. “Intentions are felt differently than actions are. Like, my intent right now is to make you get your head out of your ass, but my actions are probably hurting your feelings a little, right?”

Now that is something she can answer. Cam laughs a little. “A little,” she admits. “In a good way, though.”

“Paige is not going to experience her rookie year the same way you did, Camille,” DiJonai continues, her tone softening. “She has a great head on her shoulders. A support system, a team full of vets that can and would punch back for her. She has you, so be there for her, but don’t get caught up in trying to save her because there wasn’t anyone there to save you. That would ruin the locker room faster than you sleeping together would.”

Cam doesn’t say anything. DiJonai has always been right about a lot of things and Cam knows this is one, even if she never fully realized where her own actions were coming from. Before she can respond, DiJonai is speaking up again. “Do you like Paige?”

“That sounds so juvenile.” Cam attempts a laugh, but the both of them can hear the deflection in it. DiJonai doesn’t even have to look at her sideways before Cam sighs again. “I don’t know what this is, Nai,” she answers. “Paige is just… she makes everything so easy. She’s funny, disgustingly kind, and unbelievably thoughtful for someone who talks so much shit on the court.”

DiJonai nudges her with her elbow. “That sounds like a yes to me, babe,” she whispers.

And that makes Cam exhale sharply, because yeah, it really, really does sound like a yes. It sounds like Cam knowing she was doomed the moment Paige walked backstage with a Wings hat and a glimmering chain dangling over her collarbones. It sounds like Cam knowing that falling into bed with Paige would change the course of their friendship forever and doing it anyway.

“That’s the scary part,” Cam confesses in a soft murmur. “Because we can’t let it happen.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.” Cam swallows, her fingers picking at a loose thread on her sweatpants. “We’re reckless. I slept with her the very night we drafted her. I wanted it. I wasn’t thinking about why I shouldn’t. I meant to have sex with her but I didn’t think it’d go this far.”

“The feelings?” DiJonai supplies, trying to fill in the blanks as her brows furrow.

Cam nods silently, not wanting to say it out loud. “If we go further…if we let this get out of hand, everything will change,” she whispers. “It won’t just be about basketball. It’ll be about her, whatever us means, and the fact that someone will eventually get hurt.”

DiJonai stares at her for a long moment. Cam just sighs, knowing DiJonai is about to tell her something about herself that she hadn’t realized yet. “It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself that you can’t have her,” she says. “You’re trying to end it before either of you has a chance to say otherwise.”

“I’m protecting us. I’m protecting her.”

“From who?” DiJonai asks gently. She’s using that tone of voice where she knows the answer already. She’s just trying to make Cam hear it, too. “From yourself? From things you’re scared of that might never hurt her?”

Cam doesn’t respond. Her throat burns with something like guilt and her chest tightens with something that feels like need. No matter how much she wants it – or how much Paige might want her in a way that’s beyond physical, she just can’t. She has to be the careful one, even if she’s the one who keeps pushing their boundaries and falling right back into her.

They haven’t been doing this for a long time. Seeing one another, being teammates, sharing late night rides home like they know which jokes are funnier when combined with midnight delirium. And that’s horrifying because Paige makes it so easy to feel like they’ve been in each other’s lives for longer than a few weeks. It’s all so sudden, so quick, and the worst part isn’t because Cam is scared. It’s because Cam wants more despite it all.

During camp, Cam had told Paige that getting used to the noise meant learning how to give less of yourself to others. She’d meant the media and the journalists. But now, as she listens to NaLyssa’s stifled laughter and Paige’s choked giggles from a few seats away, Cam is suddenly struck with the realization that she might just be asking Paige for too much.

DiJonai was right. She was trying to be Paige’s vet for all of the wrong reasons. They were well-intentioned reasons, sure, but Paige can’t heal old wounds she’s not responsible for. She can’t heal old wounds she doesn’t even know about just because Cam sees too much of herself in her – a critically acclaimed number one draft pick, a franchise piece, someone molded by the sharp press of expectant hands.

Then, in a softer tone, DiJonai is speaking again. “You need to let her want you. You need to let her choose you,” she murmurs. “‘Protecting’ her is just gonna hurt you both in the long run. Don’t be scared to want her.” DiJonai pauses, letting her words settle in the space between them. “There’s never gonna be a right moment, Cam. And if you keep waiting around, you’re gonna miss out on her completely.”

Cam swallows, her throat bobbing. “I know,” she says.

DiJonai looks at her once more before placing her hand over the back of Cam’s head. She tugs gently, pressing her cheek to her temple, and Cam sinks into her touch gratefully. Neither of them have to say anything. Then, DiJonai stands and leaves, and Cam sighs, trying to regulate her thoughts before she reaches for her book again.

The peace, as it always does, doesn’t last too long. When she glances up, Paige is standing in front of her with a sheepish expression on her face, her bag slung over her shoulder and her iPad clutched in her other hand. “Nai kicked me out of my seat,” she supplies quietly. “Said she needed ‘Lyss time’ and that you needed a babysitter.”

Cam huffs, though it sounds more like a breathless laugh, and she shuts her book again as she gestures to the seat. Paige, however, skips the aisle completely and settles on the middle seat, placing her bag in the open spot. Cam doesn’t comment on it, trying to hide her smile, already feeling a little better, as Paige gets comfortable.

“You play today’s Wordle?” Paige asks.

Cam glances over at her, watching her open up her iPad, and she smirks softly. “Didn’t take you for someone who did,” she admits. “Do you play the crossword, too?”

“Do I play the crossword?” Paige repeats, her tone in disbelief. She switches tabs to reveal her results on the mini crossword, where she’d solved it in 47 seconds. Her smile is far too smug. “Big East Scholar Athlete of the Year, remember? And I don’t even need no fancy Stanford degree.”

“Your ego is big enough to have three Stanford degrees,” Cam mutters, but she can’t keep the grin off her face as she watches Paige navigate back to the Wordle tab. “You should try ‘adieu.’”

Paige scoffs, but inputs it anyway. AD are green, and the E is in the wrong spot. Cam smirks to herself triumphantly. “You’re such a tryhard,” she says. “What’s next? Stare, cloud, pinky?”

Cam wrinkles her nose. “Trust me. I’m not that annoying.”

Paige side-eyes her, like she doesn’t believe it. They finish out the rest of the Wordle together, laughing at each other’s guesses, until they end up on the answer adept. It makes Cam feel a little bit better about their situation.

She has to convince Paige to turn on a movie and not film – who willingly watches film before a preseason game? – but eventually, they both agree on a movie that only Paige is watching as she whispers jokes about the actors that Cam can’t help but smile at.

But her head starts feeling a little heavy, falling onto Paige’s shoulder, although neither of them seem to mind. Paige shifts a little if only to make it a little more comfortable.

Cam’s not usually one for napping on the plane. There’s just something about being so far up in the sky that makes her unable to relax – but now? That’s the last thing on her mind.

Paige isn’t joking about the actors’ cringy lines or how bad the storyline is. She’s dragging her fingers soothingly along the inside of Cam’s wrist, right where a phantom ache had been taking root, lulling her into slumber. The last thing Cam truly registers before she fully drifts off is the warmth of Paige’s body against hers.

The Wings touch down in Indiana in the late afternoon. Paige doesn’t say anything about Cam sleeping on her shoulder, so Cam doesn’t either, and the bus ride to the hotel is peaceful. The remnants of Cam’s nap lingers in her bones like a weighted blanket that she can’t quite shake off. She knows better than to sleep when she makes it back to her room. While she knows a lot of players who need a pregame nap to feel energized, it always makes Cam more sluggish for the game. She’ll probably have to hit the gym before everyone else does to wake up a little more.

After unpacking and changing out of her dirty airport clothes, DiJonai drags Cam out of her room for a light dinner with the team prior to their evening practice. Knowing that she has truly no reason to refuse, she joins DiJonai in the lobby to walk to the restaurant. She’s waiting with NaLyssa and Paige – which is starting to become a pattern, but Cam is just appreciative of the fact that everyone is getting along.

Dinner is quick, but lively. The place they’d chosen wasn’t anything too fancy, but it wasn’t fast food, either, and Cam is grateful that it wasn’t in the midst of the dinner rush. She’d feel awful for the waitstaff for having to deal with a party of seventeen hungry athletes along with their other patrons.  Cam is squished in between Paige and Arike at the far end of the table with NaLyssa, DiJonai, and Maddy sitting across from them, which means that their section of the table is probably the loudest.

It’s not annoying or belligerent. It’s probably the most simple feeling of family that Cam’s ever felt in her life, with NaLyssa and DiJonai bickering about what to order and Paige and Arike locked in a heated debate with Maddy about whether or not ankle socks are a crime against basketball and dragging Cam into their argument to settle it.

(Spoiler alert: the argument doesn’t get settled, only because Cam jokes that she’d prefer to hoop barefoot (which, mind you, is not true at all) and everyone took her seriously, leading into an entire sub-argument.)

They go their separate ways after dinner, parting long enough to relax and then grouping up once more with their duffle bags and taking the bus to Purcell. The energy in the locker room is electric. Everyone is excited to play tomorrow – even if some girls were worried about keeping their roster spots.

Chris leads them through a quick meditation routine to clear their minds and get them mentally prepared for practice. Cam still thinks it’s stupid, but if Chris thinks they’re effective, then he won’t stop. Warm ups are thorough, and before she knows it, the team is working through a couple of new plays and a few priority defensive sets.

Everyone is laser-focused, burning through their drills and scrimmages with intensity, and they’re all dripping with sweat when Chris finally ends practice at about 8pm. He thanks them for their time and hustle and reminds them all to meet in the lobby at 9am for team breakfast and a quick film review. 

Cam exhales in relief when their huddle breaks, looking forward to a hot shower and relaxing in bed. She walks with the rest of the team to the locker room, claiming an empty shower to rinse the sweat off and redress in comfortable clothes – she’d shower again back at the hotel. By the time she’s out, there’s only a few stragglers left in the locker room, none of which are the blonde rookie she’d been unconsciously looking for.

Cam figures she’d headed straight back to the bus, so she makes her way down the empty halls with her bag slung over her shoulder. However, the sound of a ball bouncing against polished wood makes her ears perk up, and pauses in front of the tunnel doors, peering through the glass windows. She spots someone standing at the free throw line in front of a hoop and doesn’t even have to wonder who it is.

She pushes the door open and makes her way onto the court, where Paige comes fully into view. The sweat still clings to her practice jersey and her bun looks like it’s seen better days. Still, there’s a spark of determination on her face, and she sinks her next free throw with ease.

Cam steps a little closer, a gentle smile on her face. “You’re making the rest of us look bad, you know,” she calls out, which makes Paige huff out a quiet laugh as she chases after her rebound. “Practice ended, like…” Cam lifts her wrist, glancing down at her watch, “...twenty minutes ago. You tryin’ to miss the bus?”

The ball swishes through the net once more, and this time, it’s Cam who hunts for the rebound. She doesn’t pass it back until Paige responds to her. “Just wanted to get a few more shots in,” she says, and Cam wonders where she’d heard those words before.

She checks the ball back to her with a raised brow, moving to stand under the net. “Nervous?” she asks, no trace of a tease in her tone.

Paige shoots again. Cam rebounds for her. “A little,” Paige confesses. Something in Cam softens. She has half a mind to interrupt, to tell her that she has no reason to be nervous, but she thinks back to the conversation she’d had with DiJonai on the plane. Paige isn’t the same rookie she once was, so she shuts up and lets Paige finish. The ball sinks through the net while she gathers her thoughts.

“I guess it’s more like…anticipation,” she clarifies. “It’s a bigger stage. It means something. It’s a blessing to play and I’m grateful that I get to, but I just…I wanna do well. I don’t wanna mess this up.” Paige stops speaking, but her hands don’t slow. She shoots again, a thoughtful expression on her face.

Cam doesn’t immediately pass the ball back. She shifts its weight between her palms, taking in the quiet softness in Paige’s features. There’s sweat beading at her hairline, a slight exhaustion in her eyes that you wouldn’t normally catch unless you knew what bone-deep tiredness felt like.

She’s been moving non-stop for nearly a month – the Final Four, the National Championship, the countless public appearances and the victory tour, then draft night, then even more appearances, then the entire move and training camp. Cam isn’t sure when is the last time that Paige slept for more than six hours. She gets the impression that she won’t sleep until someone or something forces her to.

“Everyone always tells you that you won’t mess it up,” Cam says plainly, trying to be intentional with her words, DiJonai’s advice still fresh on her mind. Paige’s eyes shine under the fluorescent lights, head tilting slightly. “Which, by the way, is the worst advice ever given, only second to being told to invest in Crypto.” The blonde’s lips quirk into an amused smirk. “Point is…you’re gonna mess up, Paige. You’re gonna make a bad pass and turn the ball over and you’re gonna make a really stupid play on defense and foul someone while they’re shooting a three. And that’s okay.”

Cam passes the ball back to her, and Paige doesn’t respond for a beat. Wordlessly, she shoots again. It swishes in cleanly. “Screwing up is part of the process,” Cam continues. “Means you’re trying, right? And, yeah, it’s hard to not expect perfection from yourself. You’ll kill yourself thinking about what you could have done differently. But the people who love you aren’t gonna think any less of you for being human.” Cam catches the next rebound, and her voice is softer when she says, “Especially not me.”

Paige catches the ball easily, a smile curving on her lips. She doesn’t shoot it again. Instead, she places the ball on the rack, and her next question takes Cam by surprise. “What was your rookie year like?” Cam raises a brow at her, shocked that she actually wants to hear about it, and Paige seems to take her silence as rejection as she hurries to explain. “You talk about like…I don’t know. It’s like there’s pain there.”

Cam sighs, bouncing on her heels again, trying to find the right words to say. But Paige is looking at her with an expression of unadulterated softness, a gentleness that encourages her to find her voice. Paige is the last person in the world who would judge her.

Before she can open her mouth to say anything, her phone buzzes in her pocket, and she glances down at her watch, sheepishly reading the text message from DiJonai. “The bus is about to leave us if we don’t go,” she informs Paige, who nods with slight guilt on her face. She pushes the ball rack to the front of the scorer’s table, grabs her bag, and after clicking off the lights, Cam shuts the door behind them.

They walk through the empty hallways in relative silence. Paige doesn’t push her to speak, and Cam is grateful for that silent support. Eventually, she frowns, asking, “Do you ever feel like no matter what you do, it’s not enough?”

Cam knows that’s a stupid thing to ask Paige. She’d been part of injury-ridden rosters where she had to play center as if she wasn’t five inches shorter than the other players in her role. There were games in her college career where she scored or assisted on nearly all of her team’s points. Where she’d played the full forty minutes despite injuries of her own – and for all of the fight in her body, for every second she played and for every point she scored, it wasn’t enough to take the win.

Paige’s voice is hardly a whisper when she confesses, “Yeah. All the time.”

Cam swallows, vulnerability making her eyes sting. “That’s what my rookie year was like. We were such a young team. Younger than we are now, I think. We had four vets and the rest of us were either rookies, first, or second years. I was drafted first overall to a team that had Marina, Arike, Satou, and Moriah, expected to be the franchise piece, but I just wasn’t. I was good. Just not explosive like I’d been in college.”

“Why?” Paige asks, her tone not unkind. “Did you…struggle to adjust?”

Cam laughs a little, throwing open the door to the parking lot, where the bus idles, waiting for them. “Yeah. That and a trapezium fracture in the national championship that I played through, didn’t heal properly, and probably fucked up for good by going straight into my rookie season.” She waves her right hand for emphasis.

They both fall silent as they step up onto the bus together, much to the wolf whistles and teasing from many of their friends, but the energy quiets down when they catch the somber looks on Paige and Cam’s faces.

DiJonai looks a little apologetic, but Paige just leads Cam towards the back of the bus, where she takes her duffle bag wordlessly and gestures to the window seat. Cam doesn’t complain – she takes the seat, and Paige deposits her bag on the floor of the bus while balancing Cam’s bag on her knees.

“They let you play like that?” Paige questions in a quiet whisper when the bus starts rolling.

Cam shrugs. “I got wrist surgery the day after the game. I was looking at a four to six week recovery period, but I did it in three so I could be cleared for training camp. The trainer told me to take it easy for camp and preseason, so I did, but I tweaked my wrist again in the first preseason game against the Sun. DeWanna Bonner is a very deceptive hundred and fifty pounds. She almost sent my ass to an early retirement.”

The joke doesn’t make Paige laugh. Or even crack a smile. She actually scoffs a little. “And you were the one tellin’ me to listen to my body and to tell the staff when I needed a break.”

That makes Cam smirk. “Where’d you think I got that advice from, Paige? A fortune cookie? I told you. I lived it.”

Paige laughs a little at that. Then, softly, she says, “You’re strong for that.” Cam glances over at her, the tension in her jaw easing, something gentle in her eyes. “Playin’ through it in the natty. Playin’ through it in your rookie season. And still getting Rookie of the Year. You’re kind of a badass.”

Cam snorts, feeling strangely touched. “Yeah, well, I didn’t feel much like one,” she admits. “My numbers dropped. I had too much of an ego to sit out and actually heal my wrist. I didn’t really have anyone to lean on and I didn’t tell anyone about how badly it hurt – much less the media, so I sat through an entire season of ‘Camille Roman’s a bust’ and ‘Dallas should have drafted Charli Collier.’”

“You averaged 22 points a game your senior year at Stanford,” Paige says. Cam glances over, watching her scroll through her season averages on her phone. “8 boards. 5 assists. 3 steals.”

“Thanks, Ryan Rucco.”

“Rookie season,” Paige continues, ignoring her, fingers flying across her screen. “16 points. 5 boards. 3 assists. 2 steals.”

“Yeah,” Cam agrees. “According to ESPN analysts, that’s a pretty steep drop off.”

“You were injured.”

Cam shrugs again. “Didn’t matter. Point is I was doing everything I possibly could have. I was playing through an injury. I was getting extra shots after practices.” Her voice drops to a whisper when she admits, “I ate less. Slept less. I didn’t really have an appetite anymore and I just couldn’t close my eyes at night without thinking of what I could have been doing instead to make my game better.”

She swallows thickly, saying, “Eventually, I went down at a practice shortly before the All-Star break – I’m sure you can guess why. I had to miss the last three games to get my body right and the trainers told me I probably wouldn’t be able to play basketball again if I didn’t take the All-Star break off to rehab my wrist. So…I missed out on my first All-Star appearance and went to rehab. I came back and got my numbers up. I was averaging 11 points before the break. Kind of crazy what good rehab does, right? We made it to the playoffs that season and lost in the first round anyways. Then I took that entire offseason to get my shit together. My wrist and my mental’s better now, but… I don’t know. There’s a part of me that mourns what my rookie season could have been.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Paige says softly. That draws Cam’s attention, because Paige might just be the first person to ever say that to her. Over the course of the past few years, she’s gotten constant affirmations of Well, you got Rookie of the Year anyways! (but at what cost?) or reminders that You should be appreciative that you got to play regardless. Cam hasn’t forgotten either of those.

While she gathers her thoughts, Paige’s left hand absentmindedly finds her right, her fingers pressing soothingly to the side of her wrist, where there’s a lingering soreness from the old injury. It doesn’t hurt like it used to, only flaring up after strenuous practices, but Paige finds the tender parts like it’s second nature. Cam tries to pretend like the gesture doesn’t make heat rise to her cheeks and water sting her eyes.

“You can appreciate what you were able to experience and still wish it was different,” she continues, the look in her eyes faraway like she’s remembering something, too. “I like to think that God has a plan for me, you know. That there’s a reason I got injured and had to miss out on so much. I’m grateful for the lessons but sometimes I wish I just had a few more healthy seasons.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Cam echos, and the both of them share a matching smile. She sighs, adjusting in her seat, splaying her palm out so Paige has more room to work with. “That’s why I’m the way I am with the rookies,” she confesses, feeling something in her chest loosen at being able to verbalize it after her conversation with DiJonai. “I’d never wish my rookie year on anyone else. And if there’s anything I can say or do to make sure another rookie doesn’t go down that path, then I’d consider that a blessing.”

When Cam looks over, the curve of Paige’s soft smile is illuminated by the street lamps peeking through the bus window. Her cheeks have popped out the slightest bit, something that Cam has noticed she does when she’s truly happy, and it makes her smile, too. “For what it’s worth,” she whispers, “I really appreciate it. You make it feel less lonely and less overwhelming.”

“Even when I fuck up your knee tape?” Cam asks sheepishly.

Paige huffs out a quiet laugh. “Especially then.”

Cam can’t help her wide smile, dropping the eye contact to stare out the window and hope that Paige can’t see the flush on her cheeks. Judging by her chuckle and the way her fingers press a little firmer to her wrist, soothing the last remnants of the soreness, Cam figures that her efforts were for naught.

And, honestly, she doesn’t really mind.

[stanraouldechagny]

AND WHEN SOMEONE MAKES A PHANTOM OF THE OPERA EDIT TO THE SMALLEST MAN WHO EVER LIVED, WHAT THEN????

[chaoticsoysauce]

idea for a post-fall hannigram au:

will and hannibal die after the fall but, as they drowned in the ocean, they both are reincarnated as selkies, and they're given another chance to live, together

[enhaflixer]

hogwarts time travel au! traveling to the future and waking up MARRIED PART 1

slytherin!riki x gryffindor!reader PART 2 HERE

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

-

The library had been blissfully quiet for exactly forty-three minutes. You'd counted. Forty-three minutes of peaceful study, undisturbed concentration, and actual progress on your Transfiguration essay. Which meant you were overdue for—

A paper crane swooped down from nowhere, circling your head three times before unfolding itself atop your carefully organized notes. The parchment fluttered open to reveal a doodle of what appeared to be you with steam coming out of your ears and your hair standing on end. Beneath it, elegant script that you unfortunately recognized immediately:

Looking a bit tense today, Gryffindork. Did someone hide your color-coded study schedule again?

You closed your eyes and counted to ten, but only made it to four before the sound of poorly suppressed laughter broke your concentration. Across the library, lounging in a chair as though he owned the place, sat Nishimura Riki. The bane of your existence for seven consecutive years.

"Real mature," you muttered, crumpling the parchment and tossing it over your shoulder.

The paper froze mid-air, reversed direction, and neatly unfolded itself before landing back on your textbook.

"That's littering, you know," Riki called, just loud enough to make Madam Pince shoot you both a warning glare. "Not very environmentally conscious of you."

You stabbed your quill into your inkpot with unnecessary force. "Some of us are trying to study for our N.E.W.T.s like responsible seventh-years."

Riki stretched, his Slytherin tie deliberately loosened, black hair artfully tousled in that way that made half the school swoon and made you want to hex him bald. "Ah yes, another thrilling evening of revising information you memorized three months ago. Living the dream."

"Not everyone coasts by on natural talent and family connections," you shot back.

Something flashed in his dark eyes – irritation, perhaps – but his smirk never faltered. "Is that what you think? That I don't work for my grades?"

"I think," you said, gathering your belongings with precise movements, "that you spend more time planning elaborate pranks than studying, yet somehow maintain your position as second in our class."

"Second only to you," he said with an exaggerated bow. "Though not for lack of trying."

Your academic rivalry was legendary – seven years of trading the top spot back and forth, never more than a few points separating you. It would have been admirable if he wasn't so insufferable about it.

"Well, some of us can't afford to waste time," you said, shoving your books into your bag.

Riki pushed off his chair and sauntered over, dropping into the seat across from you without invitation. "You know what your problem is?"

"Currently? You're sitting at my table."

He leaned forward, undeterred. "You've forgotten how to have fun. When was the last time you did something just because it made you laugh?"

"I laugh plenty," you insisted, though the defensive tone in your voice betrayed you.

"At jokes in textbooks, maybe." He twirled his wand between his fingers – a nervous habit he'd had since first year. "You're seventeen going on seventy."

"And you're seventeen going on seven," you countered. "Wasn't it your enchanted water balloons that flooded the third floor yesterday?"

His grin widened. "Can't prove it was me."

"Professor Flitwick literally said, 'Impressive charm work, Mr. Nishimura, but please reserve it for your classwork.'"

"He appreciates creativity," Riki shrugged, then lowered his voice conspiratorially. "But that was nothing. Tomorrow's prank will be legendary."

Despite yourself, curiosity piqued. "What are you planning now?"

"Concerned for my academic future?" he teased. "Worried I might finally surpass you if I get expelled?"

"Worried about innocent bystanders," you corrected. "Your last 'legendary' prank turned the entire Ravenclaw Quidditch team purple for a week."

"That was an accident," he protested, though his smile suggested otherwise. "The color was supposed to fade after twenty-four hours."

You rolled your eyes and stood up. "Well, whatever you're planning, leave me out of it. Some of us have actual goals beyond being remembered as Hogwarts' most annoying student."

His laugh followed you as you headed for the exit. "Come on! You know you'd be much happier if you loosened up a little!"

You resolutely ignored him, which was your standard approach to Nishimura Riki. Seven years of practice had proven it was the only way to maintain your sanity.

You should have known ignoring him wouldn't work. It never did.

The next morning, you woke to find every single one of your quills had been enchanted to write nothing but love poems. About him.

Eyes dark as midnight, smile sharp as wit, Nishimura Riki, quite the perfect fit...

"That's IT!" You stormed into the Great Hall, marching directly to the Slytherin table where Riki sat surrounded by his usual admirers. You slammed the offending quill down in front of him.

He looked up with infuriating innocence. "Problem?"

"Fix. My. Quills." Each word came through gritted teeth.

He inspected the quill with exaggerated care. "I'm flattered, truly, but I don't think I inspired this passionate declaration. Perhaps you've been harboring secret feelings?"

Several of his friends snickered. Your cheeks burned, but whether from anger or embarrassment, you refused to analyze.

"This isn't funny," you hissed. "I have a Charms practical in twenty minutes."

"Hmm." He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "That is a problem."

"A problem you created!"

"I suppose I could fix it..." he mused, "for a price."

You crossed your arms. "What price?"

His smile turned mischievous. "Admit that I'm the better duelist."

This was an ongoing point of contention. You'd been evenly matched in Defense Against the Dark Arts since third year, much to both your frustrations.

"Never," you declared. "I beat you fair and square last week."

"You caught me off-guard with that modified Impediment Jinx."

"Which is called strategy," you countered. "Something you might understand if you spent more time studying and less time being an insufferable prat."

He clutched his heart dramatically. "You wound me. And here I thought we were friends."

"We are not friends," you said firmly. "We have never been friends."

Something shifted in his expression – so briefly you might have imagined it – before his usual smirk returned. "Fine. I'll fix your quills because I'm magnanimous and mature."

You snorted.

He flicked his wand, muttering an incantation under his breath. "There. Crisis averted. Though I was looking forward to Professor Flitwick reading poetry about my 'raven locks' and 'quicksilver reflexes.'"

"You're impossible," you said, snatching back your quill.

He winked. "Yet somehow you put up with me."

"Not by choice," you grumbled, turning to leave.

"Oh, by the way," he called after you, "pink is definitely your color!"

You frowned, then caught your reflection in a silver platter. Your hair had turned bright, bubblegum pink.

"NISHIMURA!"

-

It took three counter-charms to fix your hair, making you late for Charms and costing Gryffindor five points. Which was exactly what Riki had intended, no doubt. Your houses were neck-and-neck for the cup, and every point mattered in these final weeks.

Retaliation was necessary. And for once, you decided to beat him at his own game.

It took careful planning, timed precisely to the Slytherin Quidditch practice. A specialized color-changing potion in his shampoo (courtesy of a reluctant Slughorn, who thought you were doing "extra credit research"). By dinner, every Slytherin at the table was staring at Riki's violently pink hair and robes.

The best part? The potion was keyed to only activate for clothing in Slytherin colors and hair of his exact shade. No innocent bystanders.

His expression when he realized what had happened was worth the three nights of sleep you'd sacrificed to perfect the potion.

"Well played," he conceded when he cornered you after dinner, his robes still resolutely pink despite numerous attempts to change them back.

You allowed yourself a satisfied smile. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"This means war, you know." But he didn't sound angry – if anything, he seemed impressed.

"We've been at war since you turned my cauldron into a toad in first year," you reminded him.

"Good times," he sighed nostalgically. "Though I think you're forgetting that I never leave a prank unanswered."

You shrugged. "Do your worst, Nishimura. I'll be ready."

-

You were not, in fact, ready.

Three days later, whispers followed you through the corridors. Students giggled behind their hands as you passed. Even the professors were giving you strange looks.

It wasn't until Luna Lovegood approached you at lunch with her dreamy expression that you discovered why.

"I think it's very brave of you to be so public with your feelings," she said, patting your hand. "Though the singing Valentine might have been a bit much."

"What singing Valentine?" you asked, a sense of dread building.

She blinked owlishly. "The one you sent to Riki Nishimura this morning. With the cherubs and rose petals? It performed in the middle of the entrance hall."

Your blood ran cold. "I didn't send—"

But Luna had already drifted away, leaving you to face the horrified realization that Riki had successfully framed you for sending him the most over-the-top, public declaration of love in Hogwarts history.

The smug look on his face when you found him confirmed everything.

"That was LOW," you growled, jabbing a finger into his chest. "Even for you."

He captured your finger, gently pushing it away. "Just giving the people what they want. Half the school already thinks we're secretly in love, given how obsessed we are with each other."

"We are NOT—" you spluttered, then lowered your voice when you realized people were watching. "We are not obsessed with each other."

"Seven years of elaborate pranks suggests otherwise," he pointed out.

"Seven years of you being an absolute menace," you corrected.

He leaned against the wall, studying you with unexpected seriousness. "You know, anyone else would have reported me to McGonagall years ago. Yet you always retaliate instead. Why is that?"

The question caught you off guard. Why hadn't you ever reported him? It would have been the sensible thing to do.

"Because," you said finally, "that would be admitting you've won."

His slow smile was different from his usual smirk – smaller, more genuine. "And we can't have that, can we?"

"Never," you agreed, finding yourself smiling back despite everything.

The moment stretched, something unspoken passing between you before you broke the spell. "This isn't over, Nishimura. I'm going to make you regret that Valentine stunt."

"Looking forward to it," he called as you walked away.

-

Your opportunity came sooner than expected. You discovered quite by accident that Riki had been working on a modified time-distortion spell – not an actual Time-Turner, but a charm that created the illusion of time passing. His plan, according to the notes you'd "borrowed" from his bag during Potions, was to make you think you'd slept through your Arithmancy N.E.W.T.

Clever, but not clever enough.

You spent a week developing a counter-charm, designed to reflect the spell back on its caster. It was advanced magic, beyond N.E.W.T. level really, but the thought of beating Riki at his own game was too tempting to resist.

The night before the Arithmancy exam, you stayed up late in the library, knowing he'd make his move when you were exhausted and vulnerable. Sure enough, just after midnight, you detected the subtle shimmer of disillusionment as he crept toward your table.

You pretended to be dozing on your textbook, wand concealed but ready beneath the pages.

You felt rather than saw the moment he cast the spell – a strange ripple in the air, the whispered Latin incantation. In one fluid motion, you raised your wand and cast your counter-charm.

"Tempus Reflectum!"

Your spells collided in midair with a sound like shattering glass. Golden light erupted between you, blinding in its intensity. You felt a strange pulling sensation behind your navel, similar to a Portkey but stronger, as if something was yanking you through dimensions rather than mere space.

The last thing you saw was Riki's shocked face, his hand reaching toward you as the magic engulfed you both.

Then darkness.

You woke to sunlight on your face and the unfamiliar sensation of high-thread-count sheets against your skin. Your head pounded viciously, like the aftermath of a poorly brewed Wit-Sharpening Potion. Groggily, you rolled over, burying your face in a pillow that smelled of lavender and something else – a woody, spicy scent that was strangely familiar.

"Five more minutes," you mumbled, pulling blankets over your head.

Wait. These weren't your Gryffindor dormitory blankets.

Your eyes snapped open, heart racing. This wasn't your bed in Gryffindor Tower. The room was unfamiliar - spacious with burgundy accents and photographs you didn't recognize.

Worse, you weren't alone.

A warm weight pressed against your side. You turned your head slowly and froze. Nishimura Riki - your sworn enemy - was asleep next to you, his dark hair tousled, face relaxed in sleep, looking several years older than he should.

"What the—" you started, voice dying as your brain struggled to process the impossible sight before you. This wasn't right. This couldn't be happening.

Riki stirred beside you, mumbling something incoherent. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first. Then he blinked rapidly, confusion washing over his features as he registered the unfamiliar surroundings. When his gaze finally landed on you, he froze.

"Wait..." he said groggily, rubbing his eyes like he might be dreaming. "What's going on?"

You scrambled backward, nearly falling off the bed in your haste. "Why are you— Where are we—" The questions tumbled over each other, none completing themselves.

Riki seemed equally disoriented, looking down at his own body, touching his face. "I feel... different. Older?" His voice was deeper, his shoulders broader. This wasn't the lanky seventeen-year-old who'd been tormenting you yesterday.

"This isn't Hogwarts," you whispered, taking in the room. "This isn't my dormitory. Why are we in a bed? Together?" Your voice rose with each question.

Realization dawned on his face, horror quickly replacing confusion. "No. No way. Tell me this isn't..."

The fog of sleep dissipated completely, replaced by rising panic. "You!" he finally accused, pointing a shaking finger. "What did you do? Where did you bring us?"

"ME?" Indignation cut through your shock. "You think I did this?" You grabbed a pillow and threw it at his head with all your strength. "This is clearly one of your stupid pranks gone wrong!"

"My pranks are never stupid," he shot back automatically, then looked wildly around the room at the photographs, at the clothing visible in the open wardrobe, at the obvious signs of a shared life. "And I definitely wouldn't prank myself into... whatever this nightmare is."

You noticed a wand on the nightstand - your wand, but somehow more worn - and lunged for it. As you did, something gold caught the light. A wedding ring on your finger.

"No," you whispered, staring at your hand. "No, no, no."

Riki noticed his own matching band and went pale. "This isn't possible."

You rushed to the mirror and gasped. Your reflection was you, but older - mid-twenties at least, with different hair and a confidence in your eyes your seventeen-year-old self had never possessed.

"If this is your idea of funny, Nishimura—" you began, whirling back toward him.

"For the last time, this isn't me!" he snapped, running a hand through his hair. "I was trying to prank you with a time-distortion spell, not..." he gestured between you wildly, "whatever nightmare this is!"

"Time-distortion?" Your eyes narrowed. "That spell you were working on in the library! The one I countered with—"

"You countered it?" Riki jumped to his feet. "What did you use? What exactly did you cast?"

"A reflection charm. It was supposed to bounce your stupid prank back at you!"

"You interfered with experimental magic?" He looked genuinely appalled. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

"Oh, that's rich coming from you! The walking disaster who once turned the entire Great Hall ceiling into a swamp!"

"That was brilliant spellwork and you know it!"

Your shouting match escalated until you barely noticed the small figure appearing in the doorway. It wasn't until you heard a heartbroken sob that you both fell silent and turned.

A little girl stood there, maybe three years old, with tears streaming down her chubby cheeks. She had Riki's deep, dark eyes—so dark they were almost black—but your nose and mouth. Her black hair fell in messy waves to her shoulders, with a stubborn cowlick at the crown that somehow looked familiar. She wore mismatched pajamas—a Holyhead Harpies top and bottoms covered in tiny golden snitches. She was clutching a well-loved stuffed dragon, its once-vibrant green scales faded from countless hugs.

"Mama, Dada, no fight," she hiccupped, her lower lip trembling so dramatically that your heart clenched in response. "No fight, please."

The raw distress in her voice hit you like a physical blow. This child—your child, somehow—was devastated by your argument. And though your rational mind insisted she was a stranger, something deeper, more instinctive, recognized her as yours.

You caught Riki's expression changing from confusion to concern, his usual smirk melting away completely. His entire body language transformed in an instant—shoulders relaxing, voice softening to a tone you'd never heard him use before.

"Hey, it's okay," he said gently, approaching her with cautious steps and kneeling down to her level. "We're not fighting. We're just... talking loud."

His hand reached out to smooth her hair in a gesture that seemed so natural it startled you. The tenderness in his touch was nothing like the Riki you knew—the prankster, the rival, the perpetual thorn in your side.

"Loud scary," she whimpered, clutching her dragon tighter. Its head was tucked under her chin in a practiced motion of self-comfort. "Suki no like." Her voice broke on the last word, fresh tears spilling down her already damp cheeks.

Something powerful and overwhelming surged through you—a fierce, protective instinct you'd never felt before. Without thinking, you moved toward her, your body acting before your mind could catch up. It felt like gravity—like you physically couldn't stay across the room while she was crying.

You knelt beside Riki, your shoulders almost touching as you both hunched down to her height. "We're sorry we scared you, Suki," you said, your voice coming out gentle and soothing, as if you'd comforted this child a thousand times before.

She looked up at you with those big, tear-filled eyes—Riki's eyes, unmistakably—and something twisted in your chest. Recognition flashed between you, soul-deep, impossible to explain. You'd never met this child before today, but your heart knew her.

Your hand reached out of its own volition to wipe a tear from her soft cheek. The moment your skin touched hers, a rush of emotion flooded through you—love, protectiveness, and a bone-deep certainty that whatever else was happening, this connection was real.

"Dragon scared too," she said solemnly, holding up the stuffed toy. Now that you looked more closely, you noticed the dragon had a tiny Gryffindor scarf around its neck, clearly handknitted. "Puff needs hugs when scared."

"Puff?" you asked softly.

"Short for Puffskein," Riki explained automatically, then looked surprised at his own knowledge. "I think... I gave it to her on her second birthday."

Suki nodded vigorously. "Daddy said... said Puff keeps bad dreams away."

Your eyes met Riki's over her head, a moment of mutual bewilderment passing between you. How could he know that? How could either of you feel such instant recognition of a child you'd just met?

"Well," you said, finding your voice again. "Puff is right. Hugs do help when you're scared."

Suki looked at you hopefully, arms lifting in an unmistakable request. The gesture was so innocent, so trusting, that you couldn't refuse. You gathered her small body against yours, surprised by how naturally she fit in your arms, how right her weight felt. She smelled of baby shampoo and that indefinable sweet scent that seemed to belong only to children.

When she reached one arm out to include Riki in the hug, you watched his face cycle through confusion, hesitation, and then surrender. He moved closer, completing the circle, his arm brushing yours as he embraced both you and Suki.

For one strange, suspended moment, the three of you stayed like that—a tableau of family comfort that felt both foreign and achingly familiar. You caught Riki's eyes over Suki's head, and the confusion in them mirrored your own, but there was something else there too—a vulnerability you'd never seen before.

Suki's small hand patted your cheek. "Better now?" she asked, her tears already drying as children's often do, her resilience astonishing. She looked between you with such hope, such complete faith that her parents could fix anything, that you felt a lump form in your throat.

"Yes," you managed, though nothing was better, nothing made sense. "Much better."

Riki nodded, his voice slightly hoarse when he added, "All better, Suki."

She beamed then, her whole face lighting up with such joy that it physically hurt to look at. Her smile—your smile, undeniably—transformed her tear-stained face. "Suki fixed it," she declared proudly, patting her own chest. "Suki good helper."

"The best helper," Riki agreed, with a sincerity that sounded strange coming from him.

She wiggled out of the embrace, suddenly energized now that the crisis had passed. "Hungry now," she announced, as if the emotional storm had never happened. "Pancakes? With chocolate?"

"And berries," you found yourself adding, the words coming from nowhere. "You need something healthy with all that chocolate."

"Always saying that," Suki said with a dramatic sigh that was so reminiscent of Riki's that you almost laughed despite everything. "Boring."

Riki smothered what might have been a chuckle. "Some things never change," he murmured, so quietly only you could hear.

Suki grabbed both your hands in her small ones, tugging with surprising strength. "Come on! Sara waiting!"

As she mentioned the other child, another voice called out from somewhere down the hall—a younger, less articulate voice that nevertheless commanded attention.

"MAMA! DADA! UP!"

Riki's eyes met yours again, a silent question passing between you. Neither of you had to say it aloud: how could something feel so wrong and so right at the same time? How could these children be strangers and yet feel like they were pieces of your own heart?

Suki tugged more insistently. "Sara awake. She hungry too."

You allowed yourself to be pulled to your feet, noticing as you rose that Riki's hand lingered near your elbow, steadying you as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He snatched it back when he realized what he was doing, but not before you felt the warmth of his touch—so different from the antagonistic shoves and playful jabs you were used to exchanging.

"We should..." he began awkwardly.

"Yeah," you agreed, equally uncomfortable. "The other one—Sara—she sounds..."

"Impatient," Riki finished, a hint of his usual wry humor returning. "Wonder where she gets that from."

"Certainly not from me," you retorted automatically, falling into your familiar pattern of banter before you could stop yourself.

Suki looked up at you both, her dark eyes narrowing with that uncanny perceptiveness again. "No more fighting," she warned, squeezing your hands. "Promise?"

The way she said it—like she was the parent and you were the children—made something catch in your throat. This tiny person somehow had the power to make you feel both chastised and protected.

"Promise," you said softly, and meant it.

"For now," Riki added with a ghost of his usual mischief, but when Suki's eyes narrowed further, he quickly amended, "I mean, yes, I promise too."

Suki nodded, satisfied with your compliance. "Good," she declared. "Now pancakes."

She pulled you both toward the door with the confidence of someone who knew exactly where she was going and expected the rest of the world to follow. And somehow, despite everything—the confusion, the impossibility of the situation, the fact that you were in a strange house with the person you'd spent seven years despising—you found yourself following her lead.

As you passed through the doorway, your arm brushed against Riki's, and instead of flinching away as you normally would, you felt an odd sense of reassurance from the contact. You were both lost here, both confused, but at least you were lost together.

"Temporary truce?" you whispered to him, just low enough that Suki couldn't hear.

"Absolutely," he agreed, his voice equally soft. "But for the record, I still think this is somehow your fault."

"And I'm certain it's yours," you countered, but there was no real heat in it.

Suki glanced back, caught you whispering, and gave you both a look of such knowing approval that you wondered if she'd somehow orchestrated this whole bizarre situation. For a three-year-old, she seemed remarkably in control.

"Come on, slow pokes!" she called, tugging you forward. "Sara waiting!"

The voice from down the hall called again, more insistently this time:

"DADA! UP NOW!"

You followed in stunned silence, wondering what cosmic joke had landed you in a future where you and Nishimura Riki had not only married but created this earnest little peacemaker and her baby sister.

-

After a chaotic breakfast involving Sara wearing more pancake than she ate and Suki demonstrating her surprisingly advanced levitation skills ("No, Suki, we don't float the syrup to the ceiling"), you finally managed to settle the children with enchanted coloring books in the living room.

"We have approximately seven minutes before disaster strikes again," Riki muttered, watching Sara scribble with determined focus. "Let's use them wisely."

"We need to search the house," you whispered. "Find anything that might explain what happened or how to reverse it."

You split up, Riki taking the study while you explored the sitting room. The cottage was larger than it appeared from outside—clearly magically extended—with comfortable, lived-in furnishings that blended wizarding and Muggle styles seamlessly.

The walls were covered with photographs—magical ones that moved and Muggle ones that didn't. They told the story of a life you couldn't remember living: graduation from Hogwarts (standing suspiciously close to Riki), your wedding (looking disgustingly happy), Riki in formal Auror robes receiving some kind of commendation, you in professor's robes surrounded by students.

You paused at a series of photos displaying Suki's early days. There was one of you in a hospital bed, looking exhausted but radiant, cradling a newborn bundle while Riki sat beside you, one arm around your shoulders. The look on his face—pure wonder mixed with what could only be described as adoration—was so unlike any expression you'd ever seen him wear that you had to look away.

"Found something," Riki called softly from the study. "Photo albums. Lots of them."

You joined him, settling on the floor as he spread several leather-bound albums before you. Each was meticulously labeled in what appeared to be your handwriting: "Wedding," "Suki's First Year," "Sara's Birth," "Family Holidays."

"This is surreal," you muttered, opening the one labeled "Sara's Birth."

The images inside showed a progression: you with a rounded belly, Riki's hand resting on it with a proud smile; you in labor, gripping Riki's hand so tightly his fingers were white (that one gave you a small satisfaction); and finally, Riki holding newborn Sara, tears streaming unashamedly down his face while Suki peered curiously at her new sister.

"I look...happy," Riki said quietly, touching the edge of the photo.

"We both do," you admitted reluctantly.

You flipped through more pages, watching your impossible family life unfold. Holidays at what appeared to be his parents' home in Japan. Suki's first steps. Sara's naming ceremony.

"Look at this one," Riki said, pointing to a photo of both of you asleep on a couch, Suki as a baby nestled between you. The image captured pure exhaustion, but also undeniable contentment.

"This can't be real," you whispered, but the evidence was overwhelming. "How did we go from hexing each other to...this?"

Riki closed the album carefully. "More importantly, how do we get back to our time?"

You stood abruptly, pacing the study. "There must be something in this house—your research notes, my lesson plans, anything that might explain the magic that sent us here."

"Or how to reverse it," Riki added, rising to his feet.

"Exactly," you agreed, turning too quickly and colliding with him. His hands automatically steadied you, fingers wrapping around your upper arms.

You jerked away. "Don't touch me, Nishimura," you hissed. "Get your filthy fingers off me. God knows where they've been."

Something flickered in his eyes—hurt, perhaps?—before his usual smirk reappeared. He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "I don't know about God, but judging by these photos, I think I know where you'd like them to be."

Your face burned. "You're disgusting."

"And yet, apparently, you married me," he countered, gesturing to the ring on your finger. "Enthusiastically, from the looks of these albums."

You were about to deliver a scathing retort when a small sniffle from the doorway froze you both. Suki stood there, clutching Puff, her bottom lip wobbling dangerously.

"Mama and Dada fighting again?" she asked, voice trembling.

Pure panic flashed across Riki's face—the same feeling coursing through you. You had exactly two seconds to prevent another meltdown.

Without thinking, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around Riki's waist, plastering what you hoped was a convincing smile on your face.

"Not fighting, sweetheart," you said quickly. "Dada and I were just...playing."

Riki, to his credit, recovered quickly. His arm slid around your shoulders, pulling you close against his side.

"That's right," he agreed, smiling down at Suki. "Mama and I were just being silly."

Suki didn't look entirely convinced. "No more loud voices?"

"No more loud voices," you promised.

She studied you both with those unnervingly perceptive eyes, then nodded slowly. "Okay. Sara made mess. Big mess."

You exchanged an alarmed glance with Riki before hurrying to the living room, where you discovered Sara had somehow gotten hold of a pot of Everlasting Ink. The black liquid covered the toddler, the carpet, and most of a nearby armchair.

"How—" you began.

"I left for one minute!" Suki defended herself. "One minute!"

You bit back a laugh at her indignant tone—so reminiscent of your own when dealing with Riki's pranks—and turned to assess the damage.

"I'll take Sara for a bath," Riki offered, gingerly lifting the ink-covered toddler. "You tackle the furniture?"

You nodded, surprised by how easily you both fell into problem-solving mode. "Suki, can you show me where we keep the cleaning supplies?"

The crisis was half-managed when a bright silver light burst through the window. A tabby cat Patronus landed gracefully on the coffee table, fixing you both with a stern, familiar gaze.

"Mr. Nishimura. Miss L/N ]," came Professor McGonagall's voice from the ethereal cat. "Or should I say, Professor and Auror Nishimura? I am aware of your...temporal predicament. Report to my office at Hogwarts immediately. Without the children, if you please. Eight o'clock this evening. Do try not to destroy anything else in the meantime."

The Patronus dissolved, leaving a stunned silence in its wake.

"She knows," you whispered.

"Of course she does," Riki said, Sara squirming in his arms, leaving ink stains on his shirt. "She's McGonagall."

"But how? And what did she mean 'destroy anything else'?" A thought struck you. "Merlin's beard—what if our spell did more than just send us through time? What if we changed something important?"

Riki frowned. "Or broke something magical."

"The timeline itself, perhaps," you suggested, feeling sick.

"Well," he said, shifting Sara to his other hip, "at least we don't have to figure this out alone now."

You looked around at the chaotic scene—the ink-stained room, the confused children, the evidence of a life neither of you remembered building—and felt a wave of hysterical laughter bubble up.

"What's so funny?" Riki asked, eyebrows raised.

"Just picturing McGonagall's face when we have to explain that this all started because you tried to make me miss an exam."

He opened his mouth to argue, then shook his head with a rueful smile. "We are so getting detention. For a month. Possibly the rest of our lives."

Suki tugged at your hand. "Who was the cat lady?"

You knelt down to her level. "That was Headmistress McGonagall. She's...an old friend."

"The scary one from your stories?" Suki asked, eyes wide. "The one who can turn into a cat?"

"Exactly that one," Riki confirmed.

Suki considered this information solemnly. "She mad at you?"

You exchanged a look with Riki. "Probably," you admitted.

"Definitely," he corrected.

"You need timeout?" Suki asked seriously.

This time, when your eyes met Riki's, you couldn't help it—you both burst out laughing, the tension of the morning finally breaking. Suki looked between you, confused but pleased that her parents were laughing instead of fighting.

"Yes, Suki," you managed when you could speak again. "I think Dada and I are in a very long timeout."

"The longest," Riki agreed, his smile—his real smile, not the smirk you were used to—making something flutter strangely in your chest.

You quickly looked away, focusing on the ink stain. Whatever was happening, whatever McGonagall knew, one thing was certain—you needed to fix this mess and get back where you belonged. Before you started getting used to Riki's genuine smile, or the way Suki's hand felt in yours, or the strange sense of rightness that kept creeping in despite your best efforts to ignore it.

Because this wasn't your life. It couldn't be. No matter what the photographs showed or how natural it sometimes felt.

...Could it?

Meeting with McGonagall had been exactly as intimidating as expected. Even as adults—or at least, in adult bodies—you both found yourselves fidgeting under her stern gaze like first-years caught out after curfew.

"Of all the reckless, irresponsible applications of magic," she'd said, pacing her office while portraits of former headmasters watched with varying degrees of amusement. "A temporal displacement caused by a schoolyard rivalry. Albus would have found this terribly entertaining." Her tone made it clear she did not share this sentiment.

McGonagall had explained, with remarkable patience, that your spell collision had created a rare but not unprecedented magical phenomenon. You had essentially switched places with your future selves—who were now presumably navigating your teenage lives at Hogwarts.

"So does that mean we can go back?" you'd asked hopefully.

Her answer had crushed that hope. "The magic will resolve itself naturally in approximately four weeks. Any attempt to force a reversal could cause irreparable damage to both timelines."

"Four WEEKS?" Riki had choked out.

"Consider it an educational opportunity, Mr. Nishimura," McGonagall had replied, the ghost of a smile playing at her lips. "A chance to see where your choices lead. Perhaps it will inspire better decision-making in your youth."

And with that decidedly unhelpful advice, she'd sent you both back to your cottage and your borrowed life, with instructions to maintain your professional obligations and "try not to destroy the timeline."

Which was how you found yourself standing in front of a classroom of third-year students the next morning, trying to remember anything useful about shield charms beyond the basics you'd learned in fifth year.

"Professor?" A Ravenclaw girl in the front row raised her hand. "You said last week we'd be practicing against minor hexes today."

"Right," you said, stalling. "But first, let's review. Can anyone tell me the three key principles of effective shielding?"

Thank Merlin for eager students. As they rattled off answers, you discreetly consulted the lesson plans you'd found in your desk drawer. Apparently, your future self was exceptionally organized—each lesson meticulously planned with notes on individual students' progress.

Meanwhile, Riki had reluctantly departed for the Ministry, armed with a crash course in current Auror protocols courtesy of a surprisingly helpful portrait of a former Head of Magical Law Enforcement hanging in McGonagall's office.

"Just act important and delegate everything," the portrait had advised with a wink. "Standard procedure for department heads after a vacation."

Department head. Apparently, Riki had risen quickly through Auror ranks to lead a specialized unit focused on magical smuggling and illegal enchantments. Your respect for your future husband's abilities had increased considerably—not that you'd admit it aloud.

The day passed in a blur of classes, staff meetings, and trying not to reveal your temporal displacement to colleagues who clearly knew you well. By evening, you were mentally exhausted but strangely exhilarated. You'd always secretly considered teaching, and discovering that you'd achieved that ambition was oddly satisfying.

Riki returned home via Floo just before dinner, looking shell-shocked but intact. The children greeted him with enthusiasm, Suki launching herself at his legs while Sara babbled excitedly from her high chair.

"How was it?" you asked once the initial chaos subsided.

"Terrifying," he admitted quietly, accepting the cup of tea you offered. "I'm apparently in charge of seventeen Aurors and coordinating with magical law enforcement across Europe. Me. The guy who once transfigured all the Slytherin common room furniture into rubber ducks."

"Well, you always were good at transfiguration," you pointed out, surprising yourself with the compliment.

He looked equally surprised. "Did you just acknowledge one of my skills without adding an insult?"

"Don't get used to it." But you found yourself smiling anyway.

Suki, ever watchful, observed this exchange with obvious approval. "Dada catch bad wizards today?" she asked, climbing onto his lap.

"Sort of," Riki answered, automatically adjusting to accommodate her. "Dada mostly signed papers and pretended to know what he was doing."

"That's what you always say," Suki giggled, clearly accustomed to this joke.

You watched them together, struck again by how naturally Riki had adapted to fatherhood. The boy who'd once charmed your quills to write nothing but love poems about himself was now patiently listening to a toddler's detailed description of her day at magical daycare.

"Miss Penny let me feed the pygmy puffs," Suki was explaining earnestly. "And I didn't even squeeze them too hard this time."

"That's my girl," Riki said, genuine pride in his voice. "Always improving."

Later, after you'd managed bathtime (Sara could apparently generate tsunamis with minimal water) and bedtime stories (Suki insisted on three, with different voices for each character), you and Riki faced the awkward reality of sleeping arrangements.

"I'll take the sofa," he offered, hovering in the bedroom doorway.

"Don't be ridiculous," you said practically. "That sofa is barely long enough for Suki. We're adults. We can share a bed without it being... weird."

Both of you knew this was a lie, but neither acknowledged it.

You established firm boundaries—a pillow wall down the center of the mattress and strict adherence to respective sides. You changed in the bathroom, emerging in pajamas you'd found in a drawer (thankfully modest), while Riki wore sweatpants and a t-shirt that he'd clearly transfigured to be baggier than its original fit.

"Goodnight," you said stiffly, turning your back to the pillow barrier.

"Goodnight," he replied from his side. "Try not to snore."

"I do not snore!"

"How would you know? You're asleep when it happens."

Just like that, you were arguing again—the familiar pattern a strange comfort in this unfamiliar situation.

You must have eventually fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew, you were waking to a small voice and the mattress dipping slightly.

"Mama? Dada? Bad dream."

Suki stood beside the bed in her Holyhead Harpies pajamas, Puff clutched tightly to her chest, eyes wide and frightened in the dim wandlight that automatically illuminated at her distress.

Riki sat up immediately, all traces of sleep vanishing. "What kind of bad dream, Suki-bean?"

The casual endearment slipped out so naturally that neither of you remarked on it.

"Monsters," she whispered dramatically. "In the closet. And under bed. And in curtains."

"That's a lot of monsters," you said, sitting up as well.

"So many," she agreed solemnly. "Need both Mama and Dada."

She was already climbing onto the bed, worming her way directly into the center—right over your carefully constructed pillow barrier. She settled between you, looking from one to the other expectantly.

"Both stay," she insisted. "Both keep monsters away."

Riki met your eyes over her head, silently communicating in that strange way you'd developed over the past few days. You nodded slightly.

"We'll both stay," he promised. "No monsters allowed."

"That's right," you agreed. "Mama and Dada are scarier than any monsters."

Suki considered this, then nodded decisively. "Mama has scary voice when Sara draws on walls."

Riki bit back a laugh. "She certainly does."

You elbowed him lightly, but couldn't help smiling. Suki snuggled down between you, one small hand gripping your pajama top, the other clutching Riki's shirt.

"Night-night," she murmured, already drifting back to sleep, secure in the knowledge that her parents would keep her safe.

You lay awake long after her breathing deepened, acutely aware of Riki doing the same on the other side of your daughter. Your daughter. The thought still sent a jolt through you.

"This is strange, isn't it?" he whispered finally. "How quickly this starts feeling..."

"Normal," you finished when he trailed off. "I know."

"I'm not as terrible at this as I would have expected," he admitted.

"And I'm not hexing you every five minutes, which shows remarkable restraint on my part."

His low chuckle vibrated through the mattress. "Perhaps we've matured. A little."

"Apparently enough to create this," you said softly, gently brushing a strand of hair from Suki's forehead.

"She's pretty amazing, isn't she?" The naked pride in his voice made your throat tighten.

"Both of them are."

Silence fell again, but it was different now—contemplative rather than awkward. Eventually, you drifted off to sleep, the last sensation being Suki's warm weight against your side and, just beyond her, the steady rhythm of Riki's breathing.

-

The next few days established a strange new routine. You taught Defense Against the Dark Arts by day, gradually growing more comfortable as muscle memory and your future self's excellent notes guided you. Your colleagues clearly respected you—Professor Flitwick even mentioned your recent paper on practical defensive applications of Charms work published in Transfiguration Today.

Riki adapted to Auror work with surprising skill, his natural talent for thinking outside conventional boundaries apparently serving him well in investigating magical smuggling operations. He returned home each evening with increasingly fewer looks of panic and more stories of actual accomplishment.

The children attended Little Sorcerers, a magical daycare in Hogsmeade run by a cheerful witch named Penny Clearwater who had apparently been a few years ahead of you at Hogwarts. Suki was in the "Developing Wands" group for magical children showing early signs of ability, while Sara stayed in the "Baby Beasts" room.

Domestic life fell into place with unexpected ease. You discovered household charms you'd never known, apparently perfected by your future self. Riki, much to your surprise, was an excellent cook—another skill his future self had developed.

"My mother always said cooking is just like potions, but with less chance of explosion," he explained one evening as he expertly charmed knives to chop vegetables. "Usually less chance, anyway."

One week into your strange displacement, you were sitting at the kitchen table grading essays while Riki played with the girls in the living room. His patient voice floated through the doorway as he explained, for what must have been the thousandth time, why Sara couldn't ride the toy broomstick Suki had received for her birthday.

"Because she's too little, Suki. Remember when you were her age and tried to ride Uncle Jake's broom? What happened?"

"I falled in rosebushes," Suki recited reluctantly. "And needed ouchie potion."

"Exactly. So Sara needs to wait until she's bigger, just like you did."

You found yourself smiling at the exchange. The Riki you knew from Hogwarts had never shown this kind of patience. But then, you'd never really looked for it either, had you? You'd been so busy competing, bickering, retaliating for pranks, that you'd never considered there might be more to him.

Later that night, after the children were asleep, you found yourself lingering in the study, examining framed certificates and photographs. Your teaching credentials from a specialized Defense mastery program. Riki's Auror certification, with honors. A joint commendation from the Ministry for some collaborative project.

Riki found you there, two mugs of tea in hand. He offered one silently, and you accepted with a nod of thanks.

"Strange to see what we become," he said finally, examining a photo of you both at what appeared to be a Ministry function.

"Not what I expected," you admitted.

"No?"

You gestured around the study. "Look at all this. Professional success. Academic recognition. A home, a family..." You trailed off, not quite able to complete the thought.

Riki did it for you. "Everything we secretly wanted but were too proud to admit?"

You looked at him sharply. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged, suddenly looking vulnerable in a way the seventeen-year-old Riki never would have allowed. "I never hated you, you know. I was just..."

"Competitive?" you supplied.

"Immature," he corrected with a rueful smile. "And maybe a little intimidated. You always knew exactly what you wanted and how to get it. I just knew what I didn't want—to follow my father into the diplomatic service, to be serious all the time."

"So you became the class clown instead?"

"I became whatever would get a reaction." His honesty surprised you. "Especially from you."

You weren't ready for this conversation—this glimpse beneath the surface of your carefully maintained animosity. So you deflected.

"Well, apparently it worked out for both of us." You gestured to the evidence of your successful careers. "Though I still can't believe I married someone who once enchanted my hair to glow in the dark during exams."

"In my defense, you looked incredible. Like a vengeful goddess."

Despite yourself, you laughed. "I was so furious. I couldn't figure out how to counter it for three days."

"I know." His smile turned reminiscent. "McGonagall finally took pity on you. But not before I got to admire my handiwork for half a week."

The ease between you was new and unsettling. It felt like a betrayal of your properly antagonistic relationship, yet it also felt... right. As if your bodies remembered a friendship—and more—that your minds hadn't yet experienced.

"We should sleep," you said abruptly, uncomfortable with the direction of your thoughts. "Early classes tomorrow."

Riki nodded, the moment broken. "Right. Of course."

You both headed to the bedroom, maintaining the pretense of the pillow barrier even though Suki had demolished it the past three nights in a row, inevitably climbing into your bed with complaints of monsters, bad dreams, or simply "missing Mama and Dada."

But as you lay in the darkness, listening to Riki's breathing slow on the other side of the useless barrier, you couldn't help wondering: If this was your future—a respected career, beautiful children, and an unexpectedly supportive partner—was it really something you wanted to undo?

The thought followed you into dreams where seventeen-year-old Riki laughed as he turned your hair pink, but adult Riki smiled as he helped you wash it out, his fingers gentle against your scalp and his eyes holding something you weren't ready to name.

-

Morning sunlight filtered through the curtains as you carefully extracted yourself from the bed, trying not to disturb Riki. Over the past ten days, you'd fallen into an uneasy routine—you rose early to prepare for your classes while he handled the nighttime wake-ups with Sara, who still wasn't sleeping through the night.

Today you had a particularly early staff meeting to review the upcoming O.W.L. practical examinations. You gathered your teaching robes and had just started toward the bathroom when a loud chiming sound filled the room.

A glowing orb materialized above the dresser—something like a remembrall but larger and pulsing with magical energy. You approached it cautiously, poking it with your wand.

The orb expanded, revealing the face of a woman you didn't recognize—though she clearly knew you, judging by her broad smile.

"Fucking finally! I've been trying to reach you since yesterday!" the woman exclaimed. Her curly hair was piled haphazardly atop her head, and she appeared to be wearing pajamas. "Did you get my message about Friday? Because Marcus is taking the kids to his mother's, and I'm desperate for a girls' night."

You froze, desperately trying to place her. This must be a friend of your future self—possibly your best friend, given her casual manner.

"I, um—" you stammered.

"Oh shit, did I wake you? What time is it there?" She squinted, then gasped dramatically. "Is that Riki in bed behind you? Sorry! Although..." her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "since I've got you both, I might as well ask. That thing you mentioned last month? The tongue thing?"

Your face burned as you realized what kind of "thing" she was referring to.

"I tried it with Marcus but I must be doing something wrong because he just looked confused, and honestly, after three kids you'd think I'd have figured out how to keep things interesting," she continued, seemingly oblivious to your discomfort. "But you always seem to have Riki thoroughly fucked—he practically glows every time I see him—so clearly you're doing something right."

You heard a muffled sound from the bed and glanced back to see Riki stirring, his eyes opening with confusion that quickly transformed to interest as he caught snippets of the conversation.

"I mean," your friend continued, lowering her voice even more, "last time we talked, you said it was all about the pattern you use with your tongue and how you have to maintain eye contact the whole time? And something about using a specific angle? I tried but Marcus kept laughing and saying it tickled."

Riki's eyebrows shot up, and he propped himself on his elbows, now fully awake and listening intently.

"And then you mentioned that thing with the ice cube beforehand? Did you mean like directly on his—"

"I REALLY need to go," you interrupted desperately, but your friend was on a roll.

"—because that seemed extreme, but then again, your sex life is legendary. Remember at New Year's when you two disappeared for an hour and came back looking like you'd been mauled by something? And Riki couldn't stop smirking for the rest of the night? Merlin's balls, whatever you did to him must have been spectacular."

At this point, Riki had both hands clamped over his mouth, his entire body shaking with barely contained laughter.

"Anyway," your friend continued, blissfully unaware of the chaos she was causing, "I just need a refresher. When you grip his thighs, is it more about the pressure or the—"

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" you finally shouted, frantically tapping the orb, trying to end the call. "I'M ABOUT TO BE LATE FOR A MEETING!"

"Oh! Sorry!" she said, finally noticing your distress. "But just quickly—that position you mentioned, the one where you—"

"SILENCIO!" you bellowed, finally succeeding in muting her. But the call continued, her lips moving silently as she enthusiastically mimed what appeared to be a particularly athletic maneuver.

Behind you, Riki had lost his battle with composure. He was now howling with laughter, rolling on the bed and clutching his stomach.

"Holy shit," he gasped between fits of hysterical laughter. "Eye contact the whole time? Ice cubes? What the fuck do our future selves get up to?"

You finally located the deactivation rune and jabbed it violently. The orb vanished with a small pop, leaving mortified silence in its wake.

Well, silence except for Riki's continued uncontrollable laughter.

"I will hex you into next week," you threatened, your face burning hot enough to fry an egg.

"The fucking tongue thing!" he wheezed, tears streaming down his face. "And apparently I get 'thoroughly mauled' at New Year's? No wonder future-me always looks so damn pleased with himself!"

"Would you SHUT UP?" you hissed, grabbing a pillow and launching it at his head.

He caught it mid-air, his Quidditch reflexes intact even as he gasped for breath between laughs. "I can't—I can't breathe—"

"Good! Die, then!"

"Aww, don't be embarrassed," he teased, finally regaining some control. "Obviously our future selves enjoy fucking each other. We have two tiny munchkins as proof of that." He gestured toward the nursery with a grin. "Concrete evidence of at least two very successful encounters."

"This isn't funny, you absolute ass!" But your embarrassment was being overtaken by reluctant amusement at the absurdity of the situation.

"It's extremely funny," he countered, sitting up and wiping tears from his eyes. "Your face when she started mimicking that position—"

You launched yourself across the bed, determined to silence him before he could continue. Your hand clamped over his mouth as you landed half on top of him, using your body weight to pin him down.

"Not. Another. Goddamn. Word." You glared down at him, trying to look intimidating despite your undoubtedly bright red face.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, amusement evident even with his mouth covered. But then something shifted in his gaze—the laughter fading into something warmer, more intense. You suddenly became acutely aware of your position: straddling his lap, one hand over his mouth, your faces inches apart.

His breath was warm against your palm. You should move. You should definitely move. But your body seemed frozen, caught in the magnetic pull of his gaze.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and wrapped his fingers around your wrist, gently pulling your hand away from his mouth. The casual strength in his grip sent an unexpected shiver down your spine.

"Is this how you keep me thoroughly fucked and satisfied?" he murmured, voice pitched low in a way you'd never heard from seventeen-year-old Riki. "Pinning me down until I submit?"

Your breath caught. The air between you felt charged, crackling with a tension that had nothing to do with your usual animosity.

"I—" Whatever you might have said was lost as a piercing wail erupted from the nursery monitor on the nightstand.

"DAAAAADAAAA!" Sara's voice shattered the moment. "UP! UP NOW!"

Riki closed his eyes briefly, a mixture of frustration and resignation crossing his features. "Fuck. Perfect timing, as always," he muttered.

You scrambled off him, nearly falling in your haste to put distance between your bodies. "I should—shower. Meeting. Early."

Eloquence had apparently abandoned you entirely.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "I'll check on Sara."

"Right. Good. Yes." You edged toward the bathroom, clutching your teaching robes like a shield.

At the door, he paused, throwing you a look over his shoulder. "You know we're going to have to continue this conversation eventually."

"What conversation?" you asked, aiming for innocent and missing by several miles.

His smile was slow and knowing. "The one about all the ways our future selves apparently enjoy fucking each other. And maybe that tongue thing. Seems like valuable information we shouldn't waste."

With that parting shot, he left to tend to Sara, leaving you leaning weakly against the bathroom door, your heart racing and your mind filled with images you had no business imagining.

-

You'd just finished putting Sara down for her nap when the distinct crack of apparition sounded from the front garden. Wand instantly in hand—a reflex from your Defense teaching—you moved cautiously toward the window.

A petite Japanese woman in elegant midnight-blue robes stood at your gate, a large ornate box floating beside her. Her hair was pulled into a sleek knot at the nape of her neck, and though she must have been in her fifties, she had the posture of someone half her age.

"Riki!" you called, recognizing her from the family photos. "Your mother's here!"

There was a crash from the kitchen, followed by a string of muffled curses.

"My WHAT?" he hissed, appearing in the doorway with a look of undisguised panic. "Why? Did you know she was coming?"

"How would I know that?" you whispered back frantically.

"You're the one who's apparently been married to me for years! Don't you have a schedule or something?"

Before you could argue further, an imperious knock sounded at the door. You both froze like guilty first-years caught out after curfew.

Suki, oblivious to your distress, came barreling down the hall. "GRANDMA!" she squealed, reaching for the doorknob before either of you could stop her.

The door swung open to reveal Riki's mother, her stern expression instantly transforming into a warm smile at the sight of her granddaughter.

"Suki!" she exclaimed, setting down her floating package to sweep the child into her arms. "Have you been practicing your Japanese?"

"Hai, Grandma!" Suki replied proudly.

"Good girl." She kissed Suki's forehead before setting her down, then turned her attention to you and Riki, who was hovering awkwardly behind you.

"Darling," she greeted you with unexpected warmth, moving forward to embrace you. "You look tired. Is my son helping enough with the children?" She didn't wait for an answer before turning to Riki. "Riki! Your hair is a mess. Are you still sleeping until noon? You have responsibilities now!"

Without warning, she reached up and slapped the back of his head—a feat requiring her to almost stand on tiptoe, given the height difference.

"Mom!" Riki protested, rubbing his head. "It's good to see you too."

"Is it? When was the last time you visited?" She grabbed his ear and tugged, pulling his head down to her level. "Do I need to remind you of the importance of family?"

You bit your lip, trying desperately not to laugh at the sight of fully-grown Auror Riki being treated like a naughty schoolboy. The look of helpless resignation on his face suggested this was a regular occurrence.

"We've been busy with work, Mom," you intervened, taking pity on him. "Please, come in. Would you like some tea?"

She released Riki's ear and beamed at you. "Always so polite. This one knows how to show respect, Riki. You should learn from your wife."

"Yes, Mom," Riki muttered, rubbing his ear.

"Grandma bring presents?" Suki asked hopefully, eyeing the box that had resumed floating beside her grandmother.

"Just one special delivery today," Hana replied, guiding the box into the living room with a flick of her wand. "For your parents."

You led everyone into the kitchen, where you busied yourself preparing tea. Riki, clearly trying to behave, pulled out a chair for his mother.

"Such good manners," Hana observed with mock surprise. "Did your wife teach you that, too?"

"Mom..." Riki began with a long-suffering sigh.

"I'm teasing, Riki," she said, but slapped his arm anyway. "Mostly."

You placed a teacup in front of her, grateful that your future self apparently knew how she took her tea.

"Now," Hana said after taking a delicate sip, "about the item you asked me to find."

You exchanged a quick glance with Riki, neither of you having any idea what she was referring to.

"I've brought it, just as promised," she continued. "Though why you couldn't have asked for it during your visit last month instead of by owl, I don't understand."

"Work has been... unpredictable," you improvised, hoping it was a plausible excuse.

Hana made a dismissive gesture. "Always work with you two. But I suppose that's why you're both so successful." There was genuine pride in her voice, despite her criticisms.

"Suki," she said, turning to her granddaughter who was attempting to climb onto Riki's lap, "would you show me your new drawings? The ones you told Grandma about in your message?"

Suki nodded eagerly. "In my room! I drawed a dragon eating ice cream!"

"Drew, Baby," Riki corrected automatically.

"That's what I said, Daddy," Suki replied with the confidence of a child who could never be wrong. She took her grandmother's hand and began tugging her toward the stairs.

"I'll just be a few minutes," Hana said, allowing herself to be led away. "Riki, make yourself useful and start dinner. Your wife works all day teaching those hopeless children to defend themselves. The least you can do is feed her properly."

"Yes, Mom," Riki replied with practiced patience.

The moment they disappeared upstairs, he turned to you. "What the hell is going on? What did you apparently ask her for?"

"How should I know?" you whispered back. "Maybe it's in that box she brought?"

You both turned to look at the ornate package still floating in the living room. It was wrapped in deep blue silk with silver constellations that actually twinkled and shifted across the fabric.

"Whatever it is, it's fancy," Riki observed. "And apparently important."

"We can't open it until we know what it is," you said reasonably. "Your mother might expect a specific reaction."

"I haven't seen her this... pleasant... in years," Riki admitted. "Usually there's at least twenty minutes of criticism before she even considers smiling."

"She seems quite fond of me," you couldn't help noting with a slight smirk.

"Of course she is," Riki grumbled. "You're exactly the type of person she wanted me to be—studious, responsible, organized. You probably color-code your lesson plans."

"I do not!" you protested, then caught yourself. "Well, future-me might, but that's beside the point."

Before you could continue, Hana reappeared, sans Suki. "She's showing Sara her drawings now," she explained. "That child could talk for England in the Olympics."

"Wonder where she gets that from," you said, giving Riki a pointed look.

Hana laughed. "Exactly what I was thinking." She moved to the box and gestured for you to join her. "Come, I'll show you what I found. Riki, start the rice. The women are talking."

Riki rolled his eyes but obediently moved to the kitchen, muttering something about "impossible women ganging up on him."

Hana drew you to the far side of the living room, lowering her voice. "I wanted to give this to you privately first," she said, untying the silk wrapping. "So you can decide how to present it to him for your anniversary."

Anniversary? Your heart rate picked up. Exactly how close was this supposedly important date?

The silk fell away, revealing a carved wooden box with the Nishimura family crest inlaid in mother-of-pearl. Hana opened it carefully to reveal a stunning platinum pocket watch nestled in velvet.

"It belonged to his grandfather," she explained, lifting it gently. "Riki adored it as a child. Used to beg to hold it, would sit for hours watching the constellation dial shift with the seasons."

She opened the watch's case, revealing an exquisitely detailed night sky in miniature, with tiny stars that glittered and moved in real-time. The craftsmanship was breathtaking.

"His grandfather promised it to him when he became a man worthy of it," Hana continued, a soft smile playing at her lips. "But he passed before Riki finished Hogwarts."

She pressed the watch into your hands. "When you wrote asking if I still had it—if I would consider letting you give it to him for your fifth anniversary—I admit I cried. You understand my son in ways I never could."

Fifth anniversary. The words echoed in your mind. You and Riki had been married for five years in this timeline.

"I..." you began, genuinely moved by both the gift and the sentiment behind it.

"No need for words," Hana said, patting your hand. "I know you'll present it perfectly. Just promise me you'll take a photograph of his face when he sees it."

"I promise," you said sincerely, carefully returning the watch to its case.

"Good. Now hide it away before he—"

"Before I what?" Riki asked, returning from the kitchen with a dish towel over his shoulder.

Hana moved with surprising speed, snatching the box and thrusting it behind you. "Before you stick your nose where it doesn't belong!" she scolded, reaching up to tug his ear again. "Honestly, Riki, eavesdropping at your age!"

"I wasn't—" he protested, bending awkwardly to accommodate her grip on his ear. "Mom, please!"

"Go back to the kitchen," she commanded. "The rice will burn."

"It's in a spelled pot, it can't burn," he argued.

She released his ear only to slap the back of his head again. "Don't contradict your mother. Go. Shoo."

Riki shot you a pleading look, but you merely shrugged, hiding your amusement poorly. He slouched back to the kitchen, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "traitor."

Once he was out of earshot, Hana handed you the box again. "Hide this somewhere he won't look. Do you have such a place?"

You thought quickly. "My lesson plan cabinet. He'd rather face a Hungarian Horntail than look through teaching materials."

Hana nodded approvingly. "Smart girl. This is why I always said you were too good for him."

"I don't know about that," you said, surprising yourself with the sincerity in your voice.

Hana's expression softened. "Neither does he. That's what makes you perfect together." She straightened her robes briskly. "Now, I should supervise his cooking before he ruins dinner. His father was the same way—brilliant man, hopeless with domestic spells."

As she marched toward the kitchen, you heard her exclaim, "Riki! What are you doing to those poor vegetables? Here, let me show you again..."

You slipped the box into your teaching bag, mind reeling. Five years of marriage. A thoughtful anniversary gift that Riki would apparently treasure. A mother-in-law who clearly adored you and whom you called "Mom" with ease.

This life—this future—kept revealing layers that made it harder and harder to dismiss as a nightmare or a prank gone wrong. Because parts of it, if you were being honest with yourself, didn't feel wrong at all.

They felt alarmingly, confusingly right.

From the kitchen came the sound of Riki's protests, followed by his mother's firm instructions and what sounded like another light slap. Despite everything—your displacement in time, your confusion about your feelings, the lingering embarrassment from this morning's call—you found yourself smiling.

Some things, apparently, never changed. Even in a future where everything else had.

-

Two days after Hana's visit, you were grading essays in the study when the fireplace flared green. Instinctively, you reached for your wand, still not entirely comfortable with the casual magical security of your future home.A man's head appeared in the flames—mid-thirties, with an easy smile and close-cropped hair. "Riki! You home, mate?" he called.

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. Thankfully, Riki appeared from the kitchen, and you were surprised to see genuine delight spreading across his face.

"Jake!" He rushed to the fireplace, the dish towel in his hands forgotten. "Merlin, it's good to see you."

The relief in his voice was palpable—this wasn't just recognition of someone from this future timeline, but someone he genuinely knew.

"Good to see me? You saw me three days ago at the office," Jake's floating head laughed. "Listen, just checking about tomorrow night. Seera's been on my case all week about what time you two are arriving."

Riki blinked, momentarily thrown. "Tomorrow night?"

Jake's expression turned exasperated. "The department dinner? Don't tell me you forgot. You RSVPed weeks ago."

"Right. The department dinner," Riki repeated, shooting you a panicked glance.

"Unbelievable," Jake said, but his tone was affectionate rather than annoyed. "I've been reminding you about deadlines since you were nine, and you still forget. Good thing I called. Seera would hex me into next week if you two didn't show—she's been looking forward to catching up with the professor here." He nodded in your direction.

You gave a small wave, noting how Riki seemed to relax into the familiar dynamic with Jake.

"It's just..." Riki began, running a hand through his hair, "with the children and everything—"

"Don't even start," Jake cut him off. "You already arranged for Molly Weasley to watch the girls. You told me yourself last week. Said it was your anniversary gift to yourselves—an evening without sticky fingers and bedtime tantrums."

Your eyes met Riki's, a silent message passing between you. He looked both relieved to be talking to someone from his past and confused by the new information.

"Right," Riki said, recovering his composure. "Sorry, just a long week. What time is it again?"

"Seven for drinks, dinner at eight," Jake replied. "At Theodesia's in Diagon Alley. The private room upstairs." He paused, then added with a knowing smirk, "Formal dress. You know how the boss loves any excuse for everyone to get fancy."

"Great," Riki said with more genuine enthusiasm now. "Looking forward to it."

"You'd better be. Seera's been practicing her speech all week." Jake winked. "She's determined to toast the department's most disgustingly perfect couple on their anniversary milestone."

"Our... right." Riki's hand went back to his hair—a nervous tell you'd noticed over the past weeks. "Wouldn't miss it."

"Excellent! See you both tomorrow, then," Jake said. His head started to withdraw, then popped back. "Oh, and Riki? Wear the blue dress robes. Your wife once told Seera they make your ass look fantastic."

With that parting shot and a laugh, he disappeared, leaving the fireplace ordinary once more.

Riki stared at the empty fireplace for a moment, a complicated mix of emotions crossing his face.

"You know him," you said, not a question but an observation. "From before all this."

"Jake Sim," Riki nodded, sinking onto the sofa beside you. "He lived down the street from us when I was a kid. Seven years older than me, but he always let me tag along when his friends played Quidditch. Taught me how to fly, actually." His voice softened with fondness. "Kind of the big brother I never had."

"That must be nice," you said carefully. "Having someone familiar in all this strangeness."

"It is," he admitted. "Weird to see him so much older, though." He glanced at you. "Apparently he works in the Auror department with me. That explains a lot—he always said he wanted to be an Auror."

"So," you said, returning to practicalities, "department dinner tomorrow."

"Apparently." Riki looked less panicked now, almost reassured by the connection to his past. "Formal. With at least one person I actually know."

"And a toast to our anniversary." You groaned. "Perfect."

"Let me check the details," Riki said, summoning his work organizer from his bag and flipping through to tomorrow's date. "Here it is. 'Annual Auror Division Recognition Dinner. Special achievement acknowledgments.' And in smaller writing: 'Jake and Seera Sim confirmed, Table 3.'"

"Recognition dinner? Is your future self getting an award or something?"

"I have no idea." Riki looked genuinely alarmed by the possibility. "I'm still trying to figure out where to find case files in my office."

You rubbed your temples, feeling a headache forming. "So now we have to attend a formal dinner with people who know us—our future selves—well enough to comment on how your ass looks in dress robes, make anniversary toasts, and possibly present you with some kind of award."

"Don't forget we apparently arranged childcare with Molly Weasley," Riki added. "Whom neither of us has spoken to in this timeline."

"Shit." You dropped your head into your hands. "This is getting more complicated by the day."

Riki was quiet for a moment, then said thoughtfully, "Maybe we should look at this as an opportunity."

You raised your head. "An opportunity for what? Public humiliation?"

"Information gathering," he corrected, looking more confident than he had in days. "Jake knows me—the real me. And he obviously knows our future selves well too. He might be able to help us understand how we ended up... here." He gestured vaguely between you. "Plus, if this is some kind of work event, I might learn more about what my job actually entails."

He had a point. And if you were honest with yourself, you were a bit curious about your social circle in this future life—especially this childhood friend who had clearly remained important to Riki into adulthood.

"Fine," you conceded. "But we need a strategy. Signals if one of us is getting into conversational quicksand."

"I'll step on your foot if you start heading into dangerous territory," Riki suggested.

"And I'll spill my drink on you if you do the same."

"Seems fair," he agreed, then glanced at the clock. "Should we... call Molly? Confirm the childcare arrangement?"

"As much as I'm dreading it, probably," you admitted. "We also need to figure out what to wear to this thing."

Riki stood up. "I'll check the wardrobe for the allegedly ass-flattering blue robes. You handle Molly."

"Why do I get the hard job?" you protested.

"Because she already loves you, Professor," he said with a grin. "Everyone does, apparently."

You threw a quill at him, which he dodged easily as he headed upstairs.

After an awkward but ultimately successful Floo call to Molly Weasley—who indeed seemed already aware of your childcare needs and waved off your attempts to confirm details with a cheerful "Of course, dear, just bring them over before six like usual"—you headed upstairs to assess your own formal wear options.

The master bedroom closet revealed an impressive collection of teaching robes interspersed with more formal attire. Near the back, you found several elegant dress robes and gowns that your seventeen-year-old self would never have imagined owning.

You were examining a particularly stunning deep green gown when Riki emerged from the bathroom, holding up a set of formal midnight-blue dress robes with silver embroidery along the cuffs and collar.

"Found them," he announced. "Think these are the ones that make my ass look fantastic?"

"I wouldn't know," you said primly. "I've never made a habit of assessing that particular feature."

"Liar," he said with a smirk. "I've caught you looking."

"I have not—" you began, then stopped at his triumphant expression. "You're just trying to get a rise out of me!"

"And succeeding." He grinned, then nodded at the green gown in your hands. "That one. It's phenomenal."

You glanced down at the gown, surprised by his comment. "You think?"

"I know." His voice had lost its teasing edge. "You wore something similar to the Yule Ball in fourth year. I remembered thinking..." He trailed off, suddenly looking uncomfortable.

"Thinking what?" you prompted, curious despite yourself.

"Nothing important." He focused intently on his dress robes, inspecting them for non-existent lint. "Just that you looked... nice."

The admission hung in the air between you, unexpectedly weighty. You'd gone to the Yule Ball with a Ravenclaw boy whose name you barely remembered now. You hadn't even realized Riki had noticed you that night.

"Well," you said, trying to sound casual, "I suppose this will do, then."

"We should probably practice," Riki said abruptly.

"Practice what?"

"Acting like... you know. A couple." His cheeks had colored slightly. "If these people know us well, they'll expect certain behaviors. Interactions."

"Like what?" You weren't sure if the flutter in your stomach was anxiety or something else.

"I don't know, exactly. But probably more than the awkward distance we've been maintaining." He gestured between you. "People who've been married for five years don't flinch when they accidentally brush hands passing the salt."

He had a point, loath as you were to admit it. Your attempts at playing happy couple in front of the children were unconvincing enough; fooling adults who knew you well would be even harder.

"What did you have in mind?" you asked cautiously.

"Just... getting more comfortable. Small things." He stepped closer, tentatively reaching for your hand. "May I?"

Your heart stuttered as you nodded, allowing him to take your hand in his. His fingers were warm, slightly calloused—Auror training, perhaps, or years of Quidditch.

"See? Not so terrible." His voice had dropped to a lower register that sent an unexpected shiver through you.

"I suppose not," you managed.

He took another half step closer. "At an event like this, I might... put my arm around you." Slowly, telegraphing his movements, he released your hand and slid his arm around your waist.

You tensed briefly, then made yourself relax into the contact. It felt strange—Nishimura Riki touching you without it being part of some prank or competition—but not unpleasant.

"And you might lean into me a little," he suggested. "Like it's natural."

Hesitantly, you shifted your weight, allowing your body to rest slightly against his. He was solid, warm, his familiar scent—sandalwood and something uniquely him—enveloping you.

"Better," he murmured. "Almost convincing."

You looked up, intending to make some sarcastic remark, but the words died in your throat. His face was much closer than you'd realized, his dark eyes studying you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

"People might expect us to..." he began, then paused. "That is, married couples usually..."

"Usually what?" you whispered, though you knew perfectly well what he meant.

His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes. "Dance," he finished, stepping back abruptly and breaking the moment. "We should practice dancing. For tomorrow."

"Right," you said, ignoring the confusing pang of disappointment. "Dancing. Good idea."

"I'll, um, let you finish looking through your options," he said, backing toward the door with his blue robes still clutched in one hand. "Need to check on the girls anyway."

He disappeared down the hall, leaving you alone with a racing heart and the lingering sensation of his arm around your waist.

You turned back to the closet, fingers brushing against the green fabric of the gown. A formal dinner with colleagues who knew your future selves intimately. An anniversary toast. And Riki in robes specifically noted for how well they fit him.

Tomorrow night promised to be interesting, to say the least.

part 2

TL: @ziiao @seonhoon @beariegyu @somuchdard @ddolleri @zzhengyu @annybah @elairah @dreamy-carat @geniejunn @kristynaaah @zoemeltigloos @mellowgalaxystrawberry @inlovewithningning @vveebee @m3wkledreamy @lovelycassy @highway-143 @koizekomi @tiny-shiny @simbabyikeu @cristy-101 @bloomiize @dearestdreamies @enhaverse713586 @cybe4ss @starniras @wonuziex @sol3chu @simj4k3 @jakewonist @azzy02 @addictedtohobi @cherrybeomm @urmomdotcom5678 @jaeyunsbimbo @yongbokified @changbinniescurlyhair @en-whims

[trinity15]

oscar (if i’m remembering correctly he’s mango on your list!); SMAU (if you do them) with a dallas cowboys cheerleader reader (maybe they like met at COTA since the dcc perform there)!

CUPID PIASTRI

Oscar Piastri x Dallas Cowboys cheerleader!reader Summary: Hattie's fanatism leads to Oscar meeting the love of his life. Request!, fem! reader, SMAU! , face clain: Reece Weaver. Tried to make the story with them meeting at COTA but i saw in reece's insta that she went to the miami gp so i tought: "this is perfect, lets change it" im sorry tho. I love Hattie so I needed to use her for this, she's me and I'm her. It's my first ever smau so I tried my best, i think it's a bit short 🫠

masterlist

hattiepiastri

liked by oscarpiastri, nicolepiastri and more

caption: last week of april done, americas sweethears is the only thing keeping me entertained right now...

user1 idkw but hattie watching the documentary about the Dallas cowboys' cheerleaders makes so much sense

user2 hattie i love you please say hi ❤️

user3 will you be going to the next gp??

oscarpiastri stop watching netflix you ipad kid

hattiepiastri NEVER

ynusername

liked by hattiepiastri and more

caption:

user4 hattie in the likes she must really like the netflix show

hattiepiastri she could step on my face and i wouldn't complain

user5 someone has a crush hattiepiastri oh im not the one with the crush

user6 yn is so goddamm beautiful she doesnt look real at all

user7 she's so talented and so beautiful i want to be her

oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, mclaren and more

caption: Tidy few days. Ready for Miami!

mclaren what a race

user8 the man you are oscar

user9 this years world champion! 🏆

hattiepiastri promise to bring me to the next race 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

oscarpiastri no??? hattiepiastri the hell you mean no

ynusername

liked by hattiepiastri, oscarpiastri and more

caption: Pit stops and palm trees🌴🏁🩵

hattiepiastri finally met yn but my stupid brother got in the way

user10 so oscar did take you to the gp user11 wdym got in the way?

user12 OSCAR IN THE LIKES

user13 god forbid a man who's just being polite with the girl he just met user14 no girl, that is not just being polite he likes her user15 but he is not following her so everything is fine user16 tf???

user17 queen is at miami

marissaphillips_ you are trully the cutest! liked by author

oscarpiastri

liked by mclaren, ynusername and more

caption: Good vibes in the 305

ynusername congrats!! liked by author

user17 GUYS THIS IS NOT A SIMULATION THE INTERACTION IS HAPPENING

user18 he dedicated the win to hattie 🥺

hattiepiastri you did decent, not enough to impress someone 🫤

user19 does that someone have a name? user20 love their sibling interactions

user21 the papaya boys winning in miami for two consecutive years 🧡🧡🧡

hattiepiastri

liked by oscarpiastri and more

caption: they call me cupid

oscarpiastri no one calls you that

hattiepiastri YOU should user22 guys what is happening user23 hattie im waiting for a storytime tiktok user24 is this about oscar and yn??

two months after

five months after

ynusername

liked by oscarpiastri, hattiepiastri and more

caption: what a week

user25 guys GUYS THAT. IS. OSCAR.

user26 no he isn't user27 girl u blind?? user28 they don't even follow each other

user29 i have no idea of football but i could watch the cheerleaders' performances over and over again without getting bored

oscarpiastri

liked by ynusername, hattiepiastry and more

oscarpiastri has tagged ynusername

caption: sorry, forgot about the follow button

ynusername ily osc 💞 liked by author

user30 oh, to be loved by oscar piastri user31 to be loved by yn wdym

hattiepiastri you're welcome

user32 idk if i want to be her or i want to be with her

user33 its giving pr relationship

user34 stfu 🤗

user34 this man loves his woman

user35 may this love attack me.

user36 the hardlaunch????

[redlinespeedster]

pretty please oscar piastri degradation im feral over his post-spain photos

CRAVING THE NEW !! ☆

oscar piastri 𝒙 fem!reader

[summary] Oscar was the perfect boyfriend—sweet, thoughtful, chivalrous to the extreme. You were used to his soft whispers, those breathy I-love-yous even in the middle of moans. But that night, right after he took the win at the Spanish Grand Prix, you looked at him with this different kind of spark in your eyes and dropped a request that knocked the air out of him: you wanted him to degrade you, no holding back. And there was no way he could say no. (1.7k)

[warnings] smut !! rough sex, degrading dirty talk, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering, Oscar is mean. Spanish is my first language, and I usually write all my fics in Spanish first, then translate them myself with a lot of effort. Sorry if anything sounds off or if there are mistakes.

[notes] I’ve been drooling over those pics for like three days. Damn, he looks so freaking good. Wish I were Lily, seriously. 😫

Your whole life, you had always liked the good guys—the ones with sweet words, the ones who brought you flowers on dates and opened the car door or any door wherever you went together. You always thought good guys were simply better. And Oscar proved it every single time.

He blushed every time he talked about you. He loved showing you off, and his words always carried that sweet tone—even when he had you tangled in his sheets. Oscar was talented at many things beyond motorsport, but his greatest gift was knowing exactly how to make you feel desired, cherished… one of a kind.

But over time, your darker desires began to awaken inside you. They were fantasies you’d been suppressing for years, but now they became frequent—impossible to ignore. It wasn’t about wanting someone else or being unsatisfied with the way you and him made love—not at all. There was simply a smoldering hunger within you, a need to explore something new… with him.

At first, you felt afraid. Afraid that Oscar might get offended, that he’d take your request as a criticism or a warning that your sex life wasn’t working. A lot of people don’t even have a mind open enough to understand that wanting to try new things doesn’t mean what came before was bad; sometimes, it’s simply about the curiosity for the unexpected.

You waited all race weekend to tell him officially. You wanted to do it when you were both home, alone, with no one who could interrupt the conversation by knocking on the door.

Oscar was genuinely happy—you could see it on his face, mostly in the way his cheeks lifted when he smiled. You, on the other hand, were anxious, anticipating how things might go, and unfortunately, he noticed.

“Baby… is everything okay? You’ve seemed kinda off since we got off the plane,” he asks, placing a hand on your knee in a gentle, understanding gesture.

Your eyes fill with tears from the anxiety. You didn’t mean to cry, but the idea of telling Oscar what’s going on makes you uncomfortable. You knew you could trust him with anything; what you didn’t know was how he’d react.

“Something’s going on with me. It’s not that I don’t love you or that I don’t like the way we have sex, but…” You stop when you see Oscar looking at you, confused and worried, so you decide to just be direct. “I want you to degrade me.”

The weirdest part? He doesn’t even seem surprised. There’s no trace of disappointment on his face either—none of that dramatic “you want this because you don’t love me anymore” stuff. Nothing like that. On the contrary, he grabs you by the hips and pulls you into that perfect space between his legs. His warm breath brushes against your ear—soft, steady—as his fingers slowly slide through your hair.

“You really want that? How come you never told me?” he asks. You turn your head to look him in the eyes, and there’s something about the way your pupils dilate that sparks an odd tenderness in him.

“It’s just… I didn’t know how you’d take it” you admit. Your body shivers when he lets out a low laugh, dry and almost amused.

There’s a sexual tension in the room that practically scorches you, stealing your breath. You feel his hands rest on your shoulders, then slowly slide down. He traces your collarbone with the tip of his fingers in a way that makes you shiver, and starts unbuttoning your tiny shirt. Your cheeks flush instantly, intimidated by how his gaze stays locked on you.

“Embarrassed, huh?” he asks, but you’re not really sure what to say—you just stay quiet. His hands move over your chest on top of your shirt, and your heart starts racing. “Why though, babe? It’s not like you’ve ever had a dirty mind or anything.”

His thumbs start teasing your nipples through the thin fabric of your white shirt. He immediately notices you’re not wearing a bra and smirks. Not a big smile—more like a cocky one, like he’s lowkey amused by how easy it is to get you like this.

“I bet you’re soaked. You always get like this. Acting like a bitch in heat.”

A slight jolt of arousal runs through your body. His voice, deeper than usual, and his words catch you off guard. You’re still not completely used to hearing him talk like that, but you don’t mind… if anything, you want more.

He's not wrong, your pussy is dripping.

He notices the second his hand moves down and his fingers slide over the denim fabric of your shorts. Your nose brushes against his; he’s calm, eyes half-lidded, with an almost taunting stillness. You, on the other hand, are a mess—you can barely breathe.

“You’re not even trying to hide it. I spent the whole damn weekend focused on my race, stressing about losing, and all you could think about was riding me like the filthy little slut you are. Am I wrong, babe?

His hand unbuttoned your pants until they dropped and bunched up around your ankles. He can see the wet stain on your panties—sticky and damp. You’d soaked through the fabric. He presses his fingers gently over it, and as a result, they get wet too. But what really gets to you is the moan that slips out, caused by how sensitive you are.

He doesn’t even bother taking your panties off; he just lazily pushes the fabric aside, leaving you completely exposed. Eager anticipation made your clit throb.

Oscar used to touch you slowly, taking his time to gently slide his fingers through your wet folds and then sweetly rub your clit. But this time, it’s different. He quickly slips two fingers into your hole, curling them into a hook to hit that exact spot inside you. Then, once you’ve gotten used to it, he starts moving them in and out with steady force, pulling deep moans from your throat that fill the room.

“Fuck, Osc!” you moan out loud, and you feel him pull his fingers out just to slap your pussy gently—a move that sends an instant jolt through your body and makes you squirm.

“Shut up, slut.” he orders, and you feel his fingers curl back inside you, pounding your poor hole with a near-brutal rhythm, thrusting in and out without mercy. The way he timed each thrust to hit that perfect spot inside you before pulling back was just unreal.

His hand grips your hips, trying to pull you even closer, making your ass rub against his hardness. You can feel his erection—still clothed—pressing firmly against your skin. His hands move down with urgency to get rid of the fabric in the way, unbuckling his belt without wasting a second.

His damp hands grip your hips tightly before he throws you onto the bed without a second thought, making you bounce against the mattress with a muffled moan. He grabs you by the ankles and drags you toward him, settling between your legs as his body drops over yours, trapping you with no room to escape.

“I can only imagine the agony,” he murmurs, eyes locked on yours while his hands grip your bare thighs. Then he lifts them firmly, spreading them and pushing them toward your body until your knees are nearly pressed against your stomach. “You spent the whole week watching me race, dying for me to wreck you. You don’t like it when I talk sweet, do you? When I tell you how good you look or how amazing you feel. What really turns you on is when I treat you like my throwaway toy.”

You feel him drip slowly onto the lower part of your stomach—warm and wet—leaving a sticky sensation clinging to your skin. Then his cock slides gently through your folds, not entering, just teasing; he only wants to watch you lose control.

“Oscar… please.” you sob between moans, clinging tightly to his back like letting go would mean losing your mind. “I can’t take it… I can’t.”

He shifts, kneeling in front of your pussy—completely exposed, utterly wrecked. The tip of his cock slides in slowly until it disappears inside you, filling you up completely. He pauses for a second to let you adjust, and in the next, he’s thrusting hard, the sound of your bodies slapping echoing through every corner of your house.

Oscar moans too. He moans because you’re squeezing him just right—hot, wet, and perfect—driving him insane. His hands dig into your thighs, pushing your legs toward your chest to spread you open wider, so he can bury himself as deep as possible and fuck you without mercy.

“Fuck…” he groans, voice rough as his face twists in pure pleasure. The look on his face—that mix of ecstasy and desperation—sets you off instantly. Your walls tighten around him, like your body’s trying to keep him there till the very end. You’re right on the edge, seconds away from turning the moment into a glorious mess. “You want me to fill you up? I will. I’ll stuff you so full my cum’ll be dripping out of that pathetic pussy for days.”

You can feel how tightly you’re clenching around him, until you finally make him come inside you, milking him for every last drop. Your pussy takes it all in, savoring every bit until you’re left a creamy mess, mixed with your own orgasm that bursts inside you too. The pleasure hits so hard it leaves you dazed, gasping, your body trembling and your legs on the verge of giving out.

He looks at you tenderly, finally letting go of that dominant side once he sees you’re satisfied with what he gave you. He smiles softly and leans in again to kiss your forehead. Your cheeks, inevitably, flush all over again.

“I like this…” he murmurs quietly, his hand gently caressing your cheek. You raise an eyebrow, curious, not really getting what he means. “Fucking you till you can’t breathe and then watching you blush like a virgin. That’s just something I’ll never get tired of, huh baby?”

[tomsparkyr]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝟏!

following episode six of 'inside' — george clarke x fem!reader

by any means i do not own 'inside' and all credit is theirs (!!)

(I’M SO SORRY IN ADVANCE my little heart needed to have some angst but to make it up to you im extending this series to their lives outside of inside!! it will involve you in george’s stream and videos; insta au, twitter au, etc etc too)

(lowk took my anger about the chelsea v ipswich game out on this so apologies😭)

(also also also !! any requests put in will happen i promise once i finish this series bc im in love with the ideas you’re putting in so it’ll only be a matter of time xx)

wc: 8.3K

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“PK, we’ll start with you. Please make your way down to Room 19.” Vik ordered as you all sat in your previous seats.

You turned to Milli, “This can’t be happening right now…” You whispered, watching her face blank and attention directed to the floor as she chewed on her lip. She feared the worst after being awarded the winner of the talent show, a target placed on her back at the worst time possible.

You reached your hand out to hold hers in comfort as George had his arm slung over your shoulder, leaning into his chest as your knee bounced up and down in nervousness. George pressed a soft kiss against your head, “You’re alright.” He murmured against your temple.

Once you were called over to vote someone to be eliminated, you sighed and stood up from your seat, glancing over at George and Milli one more time, shooting them a sweet smile.

Entering Room 19, you settled yourself down on the comfy sofa and crossed your legs, fiddling with your fingers as you debated your answer. “You guys are such dicks, you know that.” You pointed at the camera for starters.

“I’m going with this person because I feel like their alliance is strong and if you really want to win this game, you have to break them up… as mean as that sounds.” You cringed at your words. 

“Also, I’m convinced this person will most likely vote for me so I’ve gotta back my chances of not getting voted out. So with that, I’m voting for Whitney.” You nodded awkwardly at the camera. 

The crew inside Room 19 told you it was a good enough answer and requested you return to the living room. In doing so, you trudged back with a sigh and a sick feeling swirling in your stomach.

It was pretty obvious from previous encounters that people in the house were out to get you, so your chances of being voted out in this scenario were quite high, as much as you didn’t want to admit it. You knew you had people who wouldn’t vote for you, but the alliances were stacked against you.

You entered the room and fell back into your previous position, George greeted you with a soft smile that didn’t reach his eyes, but his arms were out for you to settle in.

“All right, guys. I don’t wanna be doing this.” Vik started, his hands clasped in front of him as he rocked on his feet next to Specs. “We had a lot of fun. I genuinely actually really enjoyed hosting that talent show, but the person eliminated from Inside today is…”

Your legs shook in nervousness and Milli’s head leant itself in your shoulder, neither of you feeling safe in this case. George’s hand intertwined with yours and stared at your side profile, you looking forward with your eyes trained on Vik, mentally begging him not to call your name out.

“Y/N.” Vik announced. 

A couple people gasped and Milli’s jaw dropped next to you, her face painted with guilt and sorrow. George’s hand squeezed yours and you felt his tense up next to you, his eyes closed shut and lip caught between his teeth. You could hear him muttering beside you, “No, no, no.” His cheeks were flushed and he ran his hands through his hair as the consequence of his actions crept up on him.

“And Milli.” Vik announced.

Everyone’s head snapped towards the two who stood up, jaws dropping as Milli’s face paled. “What?” Her voice shook.

“Only one of you will be eliminated.” You threw your head in your hands as you felt the overwhelming pressure and sickening feeling settle in your stomach. Milli shook her head, “No. I’m not…” She peered over at you. “I’ll go.” She gripped your hand.

“Unfortunately, Milli. You can’t decide that… a game of rock-paper-scissors will decide your fate.” Vik reluctantly said, looking at the pair of you distraught on the sofa.

“Fuck.” You heard George curse next to you, his grip not loosening as you sat up and faced your new best friend in here, realising that in this moment, you could lose one of the people you were closest to in here.

You swallowed and looked at Milli who shook her head with a frown etched across her face. You both shared a look of agreement, that neither of you would be mad at the other if you were to go, and that the first thing you would do as soon as you leave this place is contact each other (and tell the other all the gossip they missed, but that was irrelevant right now).

Both of you held your fists out and counted to three, before you held out a scissor motion with your hand. Your heart dropped as you looked down at Milli’s which was held out in a paper motion. 

“Oh my God.” You mumbled and left George’s grip, lunging yourself into a tight hug with Milli, her arms wrapping around you. Milli smiled and shook her head, “Y/N, it’s fine. I’m glad I got out because of you.”

You couldn’t help but feel immense guilt, not that it was your fault in any way, it was pure luck. Milli pulled away from the hug and placed her hands on your shoulders,

“You’re gonna win it, girlie.” She whispered and winked at you, voice low enough so no one else could hear as they all stood up to bid their farewells to Milli.

“Milli, you have ten minutes to collect your things and leave the house. You are eliminated from Inside.” Vik looked down at the floor.

Milli looked behind you and nodded for you to turn around, and in doing so, you made eye contact with George who was now stood up. You looked back at Milli who smiled at you, mentally telling you to seek him out.

You walked over to George with your head hung low, feeling his fingers brush your forearms. “You okay?” He whispered and ducked his head down to try and read your face. He understood from the shake of your head that you weren’t doing alright, and quickly pulled you into a tight hug, his hand placed on the back of your head and hid your face from the rest of the group.

His other hand rubbed up and down your back, guiding the pair of you to follow the group as Milli packed up her things. George brushed a stray hair away from your face and tucked it behind your ear, “Come on, let’s go say goodbye to Milli.” He said as his thumb lingered on your cheek.

Your heart sunk further into your stomach as Milli edged closer to the door, the constant reminder that it was partially your fault, or it could have been you with your suitcases in this moment was in the back of your mind.

“Hey, George, close the door.” Jason laughed as Milli waved from the otherside of the doorway. Milli jokingly shouted, “No!”

George leaned for the handle, “Stay out!” He laughed as he shut the door. As everyone made their way back into the living room, you peered into the glass window of the door and gave Milli one final wave goodbye, her reciprocating it and blowing you a kiss as the elevator doors closed on her.

As you walked back to the group, Cinna slung an arm around your shoulder, “You alright?” You looked at her and nodded slowly, “I will be.” She smiled at you.

“We’re so doing streams together once we’re out of here.” She nudged you with a wide grin on her face. You matched her expression, “Fuck yeah we are.” Cinna clapped and skipped back to the living room, pulling you behind her as your laughter could be heard around the house.

time skip!

You and George sat on the sofa with your feast settled on the cushions next to the pair of you, your back against his chest and his fingers rubbing circles into your skin that was snuck underneath the hem of your shirt.

You felt and heard him laugh behind you, his chest vibrating against you. Tilting your head back, you smiled at him, “What are you laughing at?” You poked at him.

George shook his head, “Nothing.” He shrugged. Not accepting that as a good enough answer, you sat up and turned to face him. “Well, obviously it’s something.” You shuffled towards him.

You watched him sigh and he intertwined his hand with yours. “It’s just funny…” He started but his voice trailed off. “What is?” You asked.

“Us.” He licked his lips. He took your furrowed brows as a sign to carry on, “It’s just ridiculous how we’ve been friends for ages and all it took was us being forced to live together for 5 days that I grew the balls to actually kiss you.”

Your cheeks grew red as you laughed at him, “If that’s how you wanna put it.” You shoved him in the shoulder lightly with your free hand. “It’s true though!” He defended his statement.

Your laughter quietened down and you stared at each other for a moment, “I can’t wait til we get out of here.” He whispered and edged closer to you. You leaned into him slightly, “Why’s that?” A smile crept up on your face.

“Because then we can act like a couple without cameras watching everything we do.” George said as his fingers toyed with yours. You raised a brow, “A couple?” He nodded with a soft smile etched on his face, “I’ll make it offical once we get outta here, don’t you worry about that, darling.” He ran a hand through his hand and grinned as your cheeks grew a shade of red.

“And I can do this without anyone interrupting us.” He leaned in and pressed his lips against yours, a hand finding its way to hold the back of your head and bring your face closer to his.

You smiled into the kiss and rested your hands on his chest, the fabric of his shirt bunched in your fist slightly as George deepened the kiss. 

His other hand left yours and settled on your hip, squeezing it lightly as the sweet kiss continued.

George leaned into you which made you push him back with a laugh, “Not in the feast!” He looked around and saw the pizza resting on the cushion and nodded in acceptance. 

You were lucky that George had pulled away from the kiss as Cinna walked into the room, the remaining Insiders trailing behind her as she waved everyone in, “Attention! Everyone!” She shouted, holding an envelope.

You and George got up and stood around the table with everyone else, “It says, ‘Congratulations Cinna. You’ve successfully completed your mission. You may reveal your mission to the group.’” Cinna read out loud.

“Guys, holy fuck! Today has been shitty.” Cinna flung her head back. You looked to your side to see George munching away on the pizza, barely recognising that Cinna was announcing something. You slapped his bicep with the back of your hand and nodded for him to listen in on Cinna; him responding with a grumbled confusion with his mouth full of food. You shook your head and balanced on your tip-toes to mutter to him, “Just listen and stop making out with the food.”

George coughed a laugh and covered his mouth as it was still stuffed. He swallowed and nudged his foot with yours, “Jealous, babe?” 

You furrowed your brows, “Babe?” Your eyes crinkled as you chuckled, “That’s a new one.” You teased the nickname. 

George just shrugged his shoulders, “Just trying something out.” Cinna sighed with exaggeration, “Lovebirds! Listen in!”

“Anyways, we have a challenge, and the challenge was on me the entire day.” Cinna started. “The challenge was for me to lie and say that I was a traitor for the Sidemen in order to convince all of you that you had to do something, or that you had to keep that secret. You could not tell the other person. Y/N, I’m surprised you didn’t tell George if I’m honest!” She pointed at you from across the table.

You smile sheepishly, “I nearly did,” You gestured with your fingers, “If you hadn’t said today, George would have known by the time we were in bed.” George raised his brows and slung an arm around your shoulder.

Cinna faked a gasp, “You were gonna rat me out to your boyfriend?” George only clicked his fingers, “Fuck yeah she was.” He stuck his tongue out at the American across the table as you waved your hands for Cinna to continue.

“And all day, I’ve been working on this shit so we can save money, and you guys spent £50K on this fucking feast so…” She trailed off. You looked up at George who slowly put the piece of pizza down, “Your greed sickens me.” You whispered to him.

George ignored you and clapped his hands together for Cinna and cheered, everyone else following suit.

time skip!

You and George were led in bed, his arm draped around you as you were fast asleep on your back. George was sitting upright slightly talking to Cinna, you being completely unaware of the conversation going on.

“I’m fully fucking regretting my decision.” George admitted and ran a hand through his hair. “As soon as I… I mean, I regretted it as soon as I came around the corner.” George made an effort not to move so much, not willing to risk you waking up and listening in.

Cinna nodded, “Yeah, I got scared that they were gonna go over who voted for who. And if it was you and you didn’t get voted out, it means that’s why Milli went home.”

George inhaled sharply, “Yeah…” Cinna continued, “Which is what it could have been. I was like, ‘Holy fuck.’”

“That’s why I kept second guessing everything.” George mumbled, his eyes drifting to you asleep in his arms.

Cinna nodded towards your frame, “Are you gonna tell her that you’re feeling like this?” George shook his head, “No, Cinna. I fucked up today.”

The American tilted her head, “What do you mean?” George stared at you, your relaxed features and hair sprawled out on the pillow, looking beautiful in the shirt that belonged to him. 

He sighed and closed his eyes, “No… it’s nothing. Tomorrow is gonna be a whole different day.” 

time skip!

“Rise and shine!” JJ’s voice echoed around the bedroom, causing you to groan and bury your head into George’s bare shoulder. 

Your hands drifted to his back and lightly scratched the skin, “God, I’m never going to get used to that.” You complained about the shrill voice of your dear friend, feeling the urge to shout at him once you leave this house for waking you up in the most painful ways possible.

George sighed as you scratched his skin, “Don’t think the late night helped us, Y/N.” You felt him smirk against your temple. 

You flicked his arm and sat up with the duvet pulled against your chest, “We are not talking about that on television, George.” You mocked him saying your name just as he had done before.

George looked at you as he rolled to lay on his back, “Didn’t object when the shower was cold though--” “George!” You gasped, ushering him to quieten his voice down in the room full of people; not wishing for them to hear the 

late night rendezvous you got up to with George.

He laughed at you and reached for his cap that sat on the floor, placing the item backwards on your head. George patted the hat that sat on top of your bed hair, “Getting all shy the morning after?” He teased you. 

You rolled your eyes and flicked the cap off your head, placing it on George, “You should wear this more often,” You stared at his rugged handsomeness as his mullet poked out the back of the cap, “It suits you.”

George smirked and ran a hand through the hair that was poking out, “Got a crush on me, Y/N?” He laughed. You only sighed and tried to suppress a smile, muttering that you needed to get ready for the day as you left the bed and strolled to the girls sitting at the table.

time skip!

You were led on the sofa, legs propped up on Cinna’s lap as you were curled into the corner of the sofa. You were in a deep chat with Cinna, discussing the night before and what’s left to come, muttering how you missed Milli. “She’s so gonna make fun of me once she sees what I’ve been doing without her.” You laughed.

Cinna smiled at you, “I can’t wait for the edits to appear on my for you page, especially the ship ones!” She winked at George who was sitting next to you but engaged in a different conversation. You grinned, “There better be ones of me to Taylor Swift songs.” 

“Don’t worry, Chris will be on that.” George poked in the conversation, mentioning how his blonde friend back at home was a fan of the artist, hence why you and him went to the Eras Tour together.

Everyone in the room groaned as Tobi rounded the corner, “Hi, Insiders. How are we feeling?” He waved at all of you. You all murmured in response.

“Nervous?” Tobi tilted his head, “Do you guys know how to feel when you see me?” Shaking your head, Tobi smiled at you and continued.

“Insiders, one by one… you’ll be sent down to Room 19, where you will receive further instructions. While you are in this room, there must be zero communication amongst yourselves. If I see anyone break that, £20,000 will instantly be deducted from the prize fund. The first Insider to go down to Room 19 will be Mr. PK Humble.” Tobi said.

The room was suffocated with silence, dread swarming in the pit of your stomach, mentally praying it wouldn’t be the same situation as yesterday; you couldn’t go through all that again.

Once your name was called, you trugged over to Room 19 and sat in the familiar seat, stomach twisting with nerves. You were told the rules, vote for someone you want to eliminate and vote for someone you wish to gain immunity, but they were at risk of elimination.

You groaned, “Oh God, this is tough…” You bit your lip and shook your head, “I would vote George for immunity but I can’t take that risk, I can’t have him up for elimination.” You confessed to the cameras.

Your fingers wound together, “This is gonna sound so horrible.” You tilted your head back to hide the expression your face read, “But I’m going to vote for Whitney again. I’m convinced she doesn’t like me so I’ve gotta protect myself… I don’t know!” You gestured and laughed with nerves.

“And the other person I want to vote for is Mya.” You nodded, “Because I like to think she doesn’t hate me and we’ve bonded since the start, so I would like her to get immunity… and no one else will vote for her so I know she’ll be safe!” You smiled at the camera, pleased with your answer.

As you entered the living room once more, George winked at you as you walked back to your seat. Tobi pointed a finger at you, “Hey! No communicating!” Your eyes widened and looked between him and George, “We didn’t say anything!” You protested.

Tobi squinted his eyes and flickered his gaze between you two, “Fine… consider this a formal warning.” You sighed gratefully and fell back into your seat, legs placed back on Cinna’s lap.

“Insiders, you were each asked to vote for two people. I can now confirm that the most votes were received by… George.”

Your heart dropped into your stomach and your head snapped to face him, seeing him nod slowly in acceptance. You shook your head and your brows furrowed to try and hold back tears, the realisation that it was all over for you and George hitting you so suddenly, “I’m not--”

“And Farah.” Tobi finished.

You swallowed and your heart sank further as you remembered what you had to do yesterday against your best friend. “Meaning you’ve put us in that position again.” Tobi looked down.

George sighed and slowly inched his hand into yours underneath the cushion, fingers intertwining and squeezing your hand, worried he’ll have to let go soon. “Fuck.” He muttered.

“As we learnt yesterday, the person going home will be decided by a game of rock-paper-scissors.” Tobi repeated.

George glanced over at you, seeing you were already looking at him with a solem facial expression. He tilted his head and bit his lip to stop a frown sneaking its way on his face, “Y/N, please don’t.” He mumbled seeing your eyes flood with tears threatening to spill, hand cupping your face, “Don’t worry about me.” You shook your head, not trusting your words.

George leaned in and pressed a kiss to the side of your head as he was asked to stand up at the front, looking over at you one more time, “I’m fine.” He mouthed, but you could read his disappointed face he was trying to hide from everyone else, but you knew him too well.

You breathed out heavily, head resting on Cinna’s shoulder and she slung a comforting arm around your shoulder. Everyone stared as George and Farah nodded at each other, hands held out ready to play.

As soon as Tobi said, “Shoot.” Your eyes were trained on George’s hand, watching it form a fist; quickly switching over to see Farah’s in the form of scissors. You sighed and tilted your head back, listening to everyone else gasp in the room.

“Farah, you have been eliminated.” George immediately pulled her into a hug, obviously feeling at fault for her elimination, similar to how you felt the night before.

You walked over to Farah first, embracing her and flattening out the hair that had tangled on the back of her head, “I’m gonna miss you.” You reassured her, Farah’s smile filled with tears the only response she gave you, too overwhelmed to formulate a proper response, one in which you respected.

Watching Farah leave the room with everyone else, you looked behind you and saw George standing awkwardly to the side with his hands bunched in his jogger pockets.

You swallowed, “Don’t scare me like that.” You told him, breathing out as you felt tears well in your eyes as everything became all too overstimulating at the moment. Within less than 12 hours, you and George were one vote away from your bags void of this room and bed’s empty as if you were never even there.

George wrapped his arms around your waist, swaying the pair of you back and forth. You were still shaken about how you and George had nearly been sent home, and the fact that you had lost some of the people you were closest with in this house.

George’s hand stroked the back of your head, “That was fucking awful.” You mumbled tearfully into his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat to calm yourself down. “It’s alright, it’s alright.” He whispered into your hair, repeatedly pressing kisses on your forehead to sooth you.

You pulled yourself back from his chest, still leaning against him as you tilted your head up to look at him. “Who did you vote for? Both times.” You whispered, hand fiddling with his top as he stroked loose hairs back from your face, wanting to capture your beauty more.

George held your face in his hand, pausing before saying, “Whitney.” You nodded and tried to hold back your tears for the second wave. Your lips trembled as your voice broke, “Me too.”

George pressed his forehead against yours, “If you leave, I’ll leave too.” 

Tears started running down your face again, George tugged you into his arms more securely. “I’m so sorry.” He mumbled into your hair. 

You chose to ignore his apology, seeing as it wasn’t relevant, it was never his fault you two were both forced into these situations. You only pulled him into the hug tighter, his reassuring words going deaf to your ears; just one more day and you’ll be leaving this house, with or without the money, but definitely with George.

time skip!

“Foam dart blaster! We could all get Nerf guns and have a Nerf gunfight!” George exclaimed, joy written all over his face as he shook your shoulders from behind, reading out the items from the shop.

You gasped as you read the list, matching George’s excitement. “We could team up!” You twisted to face him, raising both your hands to high five him. He grabbed your hands and jumped up and down with you, both of you squealing like kids.

DDG confirmed one dart blaster to double check what they were like and when the item emerged from the shop, everyone gasped and tried to reach for it. “Oh my God!” George’s grin grew wider. DDG pointed at George, “Get five more.”

Cinna counted out the rest of the people as George stood up to the camera, “I’d like to confirm seven dart blasters.” He smiled at the camera.

The door opened to reveal all the dart blasters, everyone reaching for one. “Look at the state of these things!” George gasped and dragged you over, holding your hand. “Damn! Fuck dinner. Let’s go eat this.” He admired the blasters, passing one to you.

You turned to Cinna, “He’s actually gonna pick a dart blaster over me.” Shaking your head and pointing at George as he cradled the weapons. He nodded at you with raised brows, “You’ve been replaced, I’m sharing the bed with these tonight.” 

Cinna laughed at your blank facial expression, you looking at the camera to check if you had heard George correctly.

After some time, you sat at the table with Mya, chatting about life and what you’re going to do with the money if you win it. Your conversation was interrupted as George tapped you on the shoulder, “Come with me.” He winked, your eyes glancing down at the gun slung over his shoulder.

You grabbed yours off the table and rounded the corner to see Cinna and PK led on the floor as if they had been shot, “Say hello to my little friend!” George reenacted and started shooting at the pair, you laughed and joined in, aiming for Cinna who didn’t realise there were two of you.

“What the fuck!” Cinna gasped and sat up, picking up her gun and aiming for you, getting a good few shots in. PK rolled around on the floor, you unable to hold your laughter in when George started yelling. 

Cinna managed to aim perfectly and hit you straight in the head, “Oh! Headshot!” She yelled out in excitement and cheered. You pretended to fall back and slide down the wall, playing the part as if you died, yet George hadn’t noticed and continued shooting.

You kicked George’s shin, “George! I’m literally dead!” Cinna burst out laughing. “What?” George yelled back but didn’t spare you a glance, still shooting PK.

“George, I shot your girlfriend!” Cinna pointed at your body on the floor. George furrowed his brows and looked down at you. He dropped his gun and dramatically yelled, “No!” He knelt down to reach your level. 

He was about to perform a full monologue mourning your death, but you couldn’t hold in your laughter and you leaned forward to rest your head on George’s shoulder. 

You nodded towards his gun behind him, “You went fully sexy Nathan Drake then.” You winked at him and he laughed as your niche reference. “Only you would say that.” He shook his head and offered his hands out to help you up off the floor, which you accepted.

time skip!

“Let’s recreate scenes!” PK had suggested, prompting all of you to reenact the moment Mandi was eliminated. “Where were we all?” You asked, looking around the room.

PK pointed at Cinna, “You and me, we’ll pretend to be Y/N and George!” The American hopped off her spot on the beanbag and layed out on the sofa. PK sat next to her and held her hands, shifting shoulder to shoulder with her. “We’re not gonna recreate it all because that wouldn’t be Netflix appropriate.” PK smirked, staring straight at the camera in the corner of the room with a suggestive eyebrow raise.

Your mouth dropped open, “We are not like that!” You said as you watched PK and Cinna pretend to lean in for a kiss before staring straight at each other. Cinna whipped her head around to you, “Yeah! You’re worse!” PK threw his head back laughing.

Jason began the scene until he was interrupted with the TV behind him going off; ‘Please head to the Challenge Arena.’ It read.

Everyone exclaimed while some (Jason and PK) cheered. The group walked down to the Arena, the door opening to reveal a screen and a seat next to it, the screen reading ‘Spill The Tea.’

“I’m cooked.” PK laughed. George wrapped an arm around your waist and tugged you close, pressing a soft kiss against the side of your head and dragging you down onto the seat next to him, squished between him and Mya, his hand settling on your thigh as Ethan and Tobi stood proud before you.

“It’s time to spill the tea.” Ethan smiled, barely able to contain his excitement for the drama about to ensue. “Let’s see what you guys really think about each other. Each one of you will be called to the hot seat, and you’ll be questioned on something someone said or done, and it’s your job to get the correct answer.” 

After a couple rounds, it was PK’s turn to be in the spotlight. Tobi read off the cue cards, “Which Insider was told, ‘After our kiss last night, I haven’t stopped thinking about you.’”

You closed your eyes in silent horror, hearing the group of people around you all gasp and look between each other. PK’s mouth dropped open, “What have I missed?” He laughed and rocked on his chair. 

You and George subtly looked over at each other, trying to hide the grin and pink cheeks that were growing on both of your faces. “Who’s kissing who?” Pk mumbled to himself; George’s hand on your thigh tensed and squeezed it slightly as his attention remained on the man in front of you all.

PK squinted his eyes and pointed at you and George, “Somethings telling me it’s you two…” You held a straight face as Tobi’s stare watched to see if you communicated the answer in any way to PK.

PK smirked as he saw George’s hand comfortably on your thigh, “Yeah, I’m going with the two lovebirds over there.” 

Ethan nodded and urged everyone to look at the screen, “Let’s find out.”

The screen turned on to show you and George sat at the vanity in the bedrooms, staring into each other's eyes. The room gasped and bellowed in laughter and screams as the intimate moment between you and George was exposed, causing you to hide your face in his neck, hearing his airy chuckles as he watched on.

“And after our kiss last night,” Your cheek burned under his touch. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Everything about you, Y/N.” He whispered, heart sinking at your silence, “Please say something.” He pleaded.

Instead of saying anything, you leaned forward and pressed your lips against his harshly. He grunted in shock and quickly settled into the kiss, hand rounding to the back of your head and tangling in your hair, pushing your face closer to his. George tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips. You sighed at the contact and wound your hand through his mullet, finding yourself leaning forward to practically sit on his lap.

George noticed this and placed his hands on the backs of your thighs, hoisting you onto his lap, catching you by surprise. You yelped into the kiss which caused him to part from you for a moment, “You drive me insane, Y/N.” Your hands cupped his cheeks and you could feel his jaw moving from the intensity he was kissing you with, heat flowing through your body. 

“Well, PK. You got both answers spot on!” Tobi clapped. 

PK tore his eyes away from the screen with his jaw slack, “George, you horny bastard!” He yelled, pointed at the man who blinked in shock. You covered your mouth to suppress your laughter as everyone, including Tobi and Ethan, slammed the table near them in screeches of laughter.

It was then your turn to be in the hot seat, “Y/N, please join us at the front.” Ethan called your name, he avoided eye contact with you, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach as he held the cue card to reveal your question.

“Oh no…” You pulled an awkward smile, standing up from your seat and letting George’s hand that was resting on your thigh fall off. As you walked away, you heard him mutter a soft, “Good luck.” You winked back at him.

You sat down onto the stool, adjusting your hoodie as you felt your nerves perk up. Looking over at Ethan, he cleared his throat and looked at you with a guilty facial expression. “Y/N. An Insider has lied to you.”

Your eyebrows raised as the people sat down opposite you dropped their mouths open, Cinna looking between them all and mumbling a “What?”

You were shocked to say the least, “Oh…” You laughed awkwardly and fiddled with the hem of your hoodie as Ethan continued. “An Insider has previously lied to you about who they voted for. Please may you name who you think this Insider is.” He declared.

You licked your lips, peering over at the group and seeing their stoic facial expressions. You were confused, you assumed everyone had been truthful to you about their voting habits in the past, now second guessing everything anyones said to you beforehand.

Scratching your jawline, you wince and let your eyes trail everyones body language to see if anyone was subtly giving you a hint, despite it not being a part of the game. “Oh, God…” You bit your lip.

Cinna held a calm facial expression, you had already crossed her off your list as she confirmed to you a couple days ago that she wouldn’t and has never lied to you within this house. Mya looked downwards, actively avoiding eye-contact with you as she picked at her nails. George’s leg was bouncing up and down, his elbows leaning on his knees as his hand rubbed against his chin; he stared directly at you with pleading eyes, taking keen notice of how his face looked paler than usual. 

When you weren’t looking, George shook his head and made eye-contact with Ethan and Tobi on the side, both of them looking back at him with a subtle frown and a dreadful feeling looming over them.

You took a deep breath, “I’m gonna go with PK,” You pointed at him, “Only because I’m going off the assumption that they’re tricking me and the lying took place in one of the early days.” PK nodded at you with an understanding smile. “And me and PK weren’t close by then, so he might have lied to keep himself safe and in the game.” You reasoned.

Tobi nodded, “So your final answer is PK?” You deliberated for a moment, cringing and finalising, “Yes. I’m locking in PK.”

Tobi breathed out heavily and screwed his eyes shut, then pointed at the screen behind you. “Let’s see if you were right.”

You swiveled yourself around on the stood, “Fuck.” You bit your lip and tried to play off this whole event with a forced smile, your heart pounding out of your chest.

The TV flicked on and showed the image of you and George stood in an embrace after Farah’s elimination. 

Your eyes widened and you snapped your head around to face George, confused by this entire thing and allowing yourself to give him the benefit of the doubt at the moment when the video wasn’t finished.

George wrapped his arms around your waist, swaying the pair of you back and forth. You were still shaken about how you and George had nearly been sent home, and the fact that you had lost some of the people you were closest with in this house.

George’s hand stroked the back of your head, “That was fucking awful.” You mumbled tearfully into his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat to calm yourself down. “It’s alright, it’s alright.” He whispered into your hair, repeatedly pressing kisses on your forehead to sooth you.

You pulled yourself back from his chest, still leaning against him as you tilted your head up to look at him. “Who did you vote for? Both times.” You whispered, hand fiddling with his top as he stroked loose hairs back from your face, wanting to capture your beauty more.

George held your face in his hand, pausing before saying, “Whitney.” You nodded and tried to hold back your tears for the second wave. Your lips trembled as your voice broke, “Me too.”

George pressed his forehead against yours, “If you leave, I’ll leave too.” 

Tears started running down your face again, George tugged you into his arms more securely. “I’m so sorry.” He mumbled into your hair. 

The TV paused for a moment, allowing you to turn back to George who stared at the floor. Your brows were furrowed alongside everyone else's. You shook your head, “Wait, so who the fuck did you vote for?”

Ethan sighed, “Y/N, please may you turn your attention back to the screen.”

You obliged, swallowing a sick feeling bubbling in your throat as you heard George behind you protesting, “No, no. Let’s not--” “Y/N, watch the video.” Tobi stated.

Your palms were sweating and your head hurt as you watched the TV flick back on. A picture of George sat in Room 19.

George sighed, crossing his legs on the sofa as he held the cards in his hands, looking through the familiar faces before picking one out. He held the back of the card to the camera as he began to explain his voting.

“This is an extremely tough decision to make,” He said, fumbling with the corners of the card. “I like everyone in the house now, we’ve all warmed up to each other and I’ve already made memories to last a lifetime.” 

George licked his lips and shook his head, “But I feel like I’ve been playing it safe this entire time and it’s clear that in doing so, people have seen me as a target to vote out.”

“I can’t have people in here thinking I’m playing a game, we’re all here for the same reason and would go to certain lengths to get it.” He rubbed his face with his hands, groaning into them. Then leaning back and resting both of his arms on the back of the sofa.

“I’ve decided to vote for this person because I’m completely convinced that they’ll be safe, so technically my vote doesn’t count for anything.” He started his reasoning.

“But in doing so, I’m also proving a point with my vote. It’ll probably shake up the house for all the wrong reasons but… I guess that’s part of the reason why I’m doing it.” He laughed and threw his head back, running his fingers through his hair before picking up the card again.

“So, with that. I’ve decided to vote for…” He flipped the card around to show the camera.

“Y/N.”

The video ended as everyone around you gasped.

You fell still, heart pounding as you felt it sink deeper in your stomach. You shook your head with your tongue wedged between your teeth, biting down hard as you tried to stop the tears from falling from your water coated eyes. Your hands were shaking as you itched your neck, feeling a flush of embarrassment running through your body.

You refused to turn around, you couldn’t bear to see anyone, especially George, with you crying over the person you were the closest with to betray you.

Fuck, you had literally kissed yesterday. You literally fucking slept with him. And he wants you out; what happened to ‘if you leave, I leave’ bullshit? Was he always lying? Did this entire ‘relationship’ mean anything to him? Or did he just want to win and saw you as an easy route to the final?

“Y/N, I am so sorr--” George started. “Don’t.” Your voice trembled, holding back tears. You wanted to get out of this room right now, the feeling was suffocating you.

You looked over at the void where you previously sat, feeling sick that you had to sit next to him again. Shaking your head, you walked to the opposite end of the bench, nodding for Jason to move down and for you to sit on the end.

In silence, Jason obliged with a guilty face, feeling awful for you right now. You felt George’s eyes burn into the side of you face, lip tucked between his teeth with words and apologies threatening to spill; but since he’s fucked up so bad already, he owed you the right for space right now.

Sitting down, you rubbed your face with your hands, sighing heavily and clearing your throat to cover any emotion that was spilling over. PK’s hands brushed your shoulders and squeezed them in support, you placed your hand on top of his as a silent appreciation.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Ethan said softly, eyes casting over you sat with your head low. You shrugged your shoulders, “I don’t know.” You said, voice coming out a lot quieter than you intended, words trembling as your hands shook in the sleeves of your hoodie.

Tobi nodded at you, “Alright. We’ll move on.” He shared a glance with Ethan, “I’m gonna call PK back to the hot seat.”

“Which Insider has lied about their temptation?” He was asked. You knew it was George, he had told you. The reminder of his immunity felt like they were rubbing salt into the wound, the image of you refusing a moment of clarity for George and his safely in this show, and his willingness to vote you out; when was this fucking challenge going to end?

After locking in the answer of Jason, the clip of George rolled through. You didn’t look up at the screen, eyes glued to the floor as your lips trembled, eyes rolling back to stop tears blurring your vision.

Cinna watched you as the clip played, reaching her hand behind Jason and tapping your side. You looked up at the contact and felt Cinna’s hand nudge yours, you let her hand intertwine with yours, knowing you needed the comfort right now. A frown deepened on your face, the impending sickening feeling of George snaking you out replayed over and over in your head; kicking and torturing you for being so naive.

George raised his hand to defend his case, “I would like to say I did feel absolutely awful as soon as I went round the corner. I told Y/N. I told Cinna. I told Milli.” He glanced over at you, yet you didn’t look anywhere near his direction.

Jason turned to you, “You knew?” You swallowed and looked at him, “Yeah, but if I knew we were snaking each other out, I would have told you all.” You spat to try and deflect your sadness.

George let out a sigh, stomach swarming with guilt; he needed to talk to you immediately. “Y/N…” “No, it’s fine. Gotta do what you gotta do to win.” You shrugged your shoulders and stared ahead, the screen in front of you a mockery to what you wish you hadn’t seen.

Tobi sighed, “Wow. That was some spillage.” Ethan looked over at everyone, “I think the dynamic’s shifted a bit.”

Once you were given the signal to leave, you instantly hopped out your seat and strode towards the exit doors, waiting for no one. George watched you leave, lingering in his seat for a moment and sighing, looking over at where you once sat next to him with his hand on your thigh, smiling and tucking your head into his neck. 

Jason tapped George on the shoulder, “You gonna talk to her?” George nodded, “Eventually. Well, when she wants to see me.” 

Jason cringed, “You fucked up, brother.” George nodded and rubbed his face with his hands, “I know.” He mumbled. “I know.” He repeated in a whisper.

time skip!

“Hey, can we talk?” You heard George mumble from around the corner. You were sitting where you had kissed, once a happy memory, but now tainted with a feeling that none of it was real. 

You didn’t respond, so George took the liberty to sit down next to you with enough comfortable space between you two.

“I’m sorry.” He started.

“No, you’re not.” You whispered, voice thick with sadness.

George tilted his head with furrowed brows, “Y/N, I really am…” He sighed watching you shake your head with a humorous laugh, lip tucked between your teeth and tears brimming on your waterline.

“Why would you do that?” You mumbled. George looked down to the floor, “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking.”

“What night was it?” You faced him, staring daggers into his solemn face. His head whipped up and his face was etched with confusion. “What?” “Which night did you vote for me?” You spoke with certainty.

George’s face paled, “Y/N, that’s not what I want--” “Tell me.” You left no room for digression.

You watched him swallow and eyes trail over you, as if this confession could lose you. As if he was never going to see you again, at least in this light. His chest rose up and down a lot quicker, his heart pounding against his chest.

“The first one.” He said with regret.

Your face fell as you reflected on that night. The one in which you were almost eliminated. If it wasn’t for your insane luck and Milli’s generosity, you would have not been in this house right now, and believing George missed you; but he was the biggest game player here.

“Oh, my fucking God…” You muttered, eyes trailing away from him. You heard him sigh, “Let me explain.” “Explain what?” You interrupted him, “George, I was basically eliminated! And you didn’t fucking care, you were part of the reason!” 

You remembered his face of regret when Vik said you received the lowest voices, thinking at the time, that he was upset at your departure; but no, he realised he was at fault and had to face the consequences of his impulse actions that had led you two to this exact moment.

You covered your face with your hands as it became too overwhelming, “What happened to the ‘You leave, I leave’ bullshit, George?”

He didn’t meet your eyes. All the excuses and apologies that he had planned and were on the tip of his tongue before entering this room had fallen off his lips, reduced to immense guilt as he felt you slipping away from his grasp.

“Did I mean anything to you, George? Or were you just playing the game?” George’s eyes snapped up to see tears streaming down your face.

“No! It was never that!” He started, hands waving around as his brows upturned. “Was I an easy route to the final?” You ignored him.

“No!” George shook his head, desperation seeping in his voice. “Someone to make you feel less lonely being here?” You laughed painfully, thinking back to all your shared moments and considering if any of it was real, let alone last.

George reached for your hand, “Y/N, please…” You flinched away from his touch, “Clearly not because you were happy to get me the fuck out of here!” You thought back to your last question, disregarding any point George tried to make, he understood he messed up, but he needed to feel what you felt.

George sighed and let your statement linger in the air, silence suffocating the room for a moment. “Y/N, you are so much more than this stupid game.” He said. You looked over at him and saw the rims of his eyes were red, cheeks pale and hair messy. Any other time, you would have wrapped him up in your arms and held him close, stroking his hair and kissing his face, whispering sweet nothings; because you knew that man, but you didn’t know the one sat in front of you right now.

You tilted your head and looked at him, “Then why did you pick it over me.” You whispered.

George couldn’t respond. He couldn’t deny you because he knew you were right. His heart plummeted into his stomach as you looked tired from crying, tears staining your cheeks and hands shaking as you brushed hair away from your face, an action he once had the privilege to do, but screwed it all up. He regretted it the moment he said your name in Room 19, the words fell off his tongue as if he was speaking a different language, it didn’t feel right. But he still did it, and he couldn’t take it back.

You couldn’t bear the silence or him anymore and made a move to leave the room. Standing up slowly, you heard George one more time, “I’m so sorry.”

You glanced at him, “I don’t care.” And you left the room, leaving your heart behind you and your rational head questioning if there was any point being in here now; the game had played you, and you didn’t know if you wanted to play it anymore.

bonus! (bc i'm so sorry for doing that to them)

@wherethezoes-at @sidemenslver @multifanxtvshows @bibissparkles @le-le-lea @tiamonetsworld @dopeysunflowers @viagracex @rebeccaw05-blog @sundarksposts @sabbrriiinnaa @lovingaphroditesworld @evisceratedmuke @youtubewag @happyclifford @liz140569 @addiemb8332 @isabellem2909 @madforgeorge @pookietv @georgeclarkeyscakeyass @marijas-stuff @maggie-readss @bambidollstar @lottiewills @lmaowhathaha @sukimoves @randomstufflol29 @isabelle-2934 @sophiexxclarkey @levidazai @smogballsstuff @loveheart-123 @alysbaby @octopusoptimusprime @mylillstuff @landoslvr @essieswurld @swaggerjagger2014 @isla-finke-blog @amyissocool @k0ul1ss @musicforsnoopy @bowielovesyou @fly-me-away @7leb-kakaw @je33123 @theresglittleronthefloor @geliophobias @w2sfever @grantgustluv @yourfavartistsfavartist12

[ihrthoney]

for us

pairings: namgyu x preg!reader

warnings: angst & fluff :p

an: i started my first big girl job but im motivated so ill try to post more :)! i haven’t posted in a minute and i hate pregnancy tropes but i make the exception for squid games lol. i will make a part two!

nam-gyu was many things, an addict, a partier, an idiot and a sweetheart. the sweetest ever, actually.

unfortunately for you you worked at club pentagon, which is how you met the physical embodiment of an acid trip.

who he was when he was sober was something you cherished and kept close to your heart. it wasn’t hard to weave your way into his rotten lungs, but soon enough you became his air, his new high.

after learning you never did substances, he switched positions at the club and asked you to get a safer job, not wanting you to inevitably cave to the horrible things that he tries.

you scold him of course, reprimand him and argue about hating how he acted when under the influence. for a while he managed to stop, wanting something serious and stable.

but then he met thanos, he came home obnoxiously intoxicated. nam-gyu was so star struck that he saw a famous rapper that he didn’t understand why you locked him out of the room, until he woke up the next morning with a headache he only got when he was on drugs.

apologies spewed out of his mouth, wishing for a second chance. his wish was granted, he found another outlet for “extra money” and promised you both a fresh start.

until the extra money vanished off the face of the earth and now he was in incredible debt.

the few months of bliss now gone, thoughts of continuing such an unstable relationship this far into life didn’t seem like a good idea. the arguments were bad, mostly on your end as you couldn’t get him to stop begging and spilling empty promises,

“i���ll make the money back and i’ll work harder to make more for you, please baby i’m so sorry.” the sight of him on his knees and holding your legs would’ve been kind of sweet if this wasn’t the millionth time he’s promised to be better.

to his disappointment, you walked out of his life that night, asking him to only find you when he grew up.

he was determined to make the money back, nam-gyu had no hesitation when calling the number on the card.

-

seeing thanos’ face on the big screen in the unfamiliar room brought a bitter taste in your mouth. you felt bad, seeing as he had the talent but like your ex he succumbed to the high instead.

your ex. that fucking moron. that piece of shit doesn’t even know you’re carrying his damn kid.

a week after you walked out of his life, you guys met up one time to exchange clothes and what not but one thing lead to another and here you were in hospital debt. finding a stable job was hard, especially when you worked as a bartender most of your adult life.

the stress was eating you alive, renting the nice place you had was not cheap and the nice landlord could only be nice for so long because you had to start paying more.

the past few months have been rough and you really wish you had the support of your ex even if he wasn’t the greatest, he was yours and that’s all that really mattered.

standing in line to sign the consent forms made you nauseous, afraid of what’s to come. as you’re walking back to your bed, you get stopped by a hand on your shoulder,

“yn?”

you feel your heartbeat quicken as you turn around and look at your ex boyfriend.

“why are you here?” his hand is still on your shoulder, slightly moving up and down your arm.

he always had a thing for keeping a hand on you, he said it grounded him.

“the same reason everyone is, debt.”

the expression on his face makes your chest ache, he looks so concerned that it makes you a wee bit mad, “what debt are you in? you’ve always been financially responsible!”

he was right, out of you two you made the smarter choices. it dawned on you that you had yet to tell him you’re pregnant with his kid.

“yn? what happened? did someone scam you? i know some people that could find them.” his tone deepening as he becomes more serious, “no! it’s not like that. it’s complicated..”

the worry in your voice makes his eyes fill with worry, “baby, you can tell me.” the name makes you push away from him but the distance is immediately gone as he closes it, pulling your hands into his own. you can’t look him in the eye, scared he’s going to be mad at you.

you’re going to keep it no matter what but the thought of him hating you and your kid makes your heart crack.

the swirled hormones make everything seem so much more intense, tears start to fill your eyes which makes his widen. his hands, ever so warm, hold your face and tilt it so you’re looking at him.

“what’s wrong, i’m here ba-“

“i’m pregnant, nam-gyu.” he pulls his hands off of your face like he was burned, an expression of hurt and anger swirls in his eyes,

“who’s the father?” you look at him like he’s stupid, which only makes him more upset. “why are you looking at me like that?”

does he seriously think i got with someone else?

nam-gyu is distraught, the thought of you no longer being in love with him makes him sick. the fact that you’re carrying someone else’s child makes any will to live disappear. suddenly he doesn’t care that he owes money to anyone, there’s no chance to get you back. “does he treat you well? are you happier?”

“i’m not seeing anyone new, nam-gyu.”

“you shouldn’t be playing games if you’re pregnant. you could hurt yourself or the baby.”

despite his own lack of rationality when making choices, he was always so careful with you.

you threw any rationality you had and spit out the truth,

“it’s yours.”

now he was looking at you like you were stupid, “what?”

“the baby. it’s yours. you’re the father. i’m carrying your child.” he blinks at you slowly, taking in the information you just dropped on him,

“it’s.. you’re carrying.. our baby?” nodding your head, you step forward and take his hand and guide it to your stomach.

“after we broke up, i started to feel sick so i took a test. i didn’t know what to do, i couldn’t find a good job near my place, moving is too expensive, i was afraid to reach out to you. i owe the hospital so much because i’m paying by month but i ran out of savings and then this guy came up to me and gave me a card to make money.”

by the end of your ramble, nam-gyu pulled you in for a tight hug, smoothing your back with his hand. softly, he coos into your hair, “i would’ve never denied you. had you called, we could’ve figured this shit out together.”

you argued back, “how was i supposed to know that? you promised me over and over again but nothing changed!”

despite missing the warmth, you again create a distance by pushing him away from you, although it’s no use given how he holds your arms but he still keeps the distance out of respect for you.

“i have changed! i’m here, i’m going to win that money and i’ll take care of you.” his eyes plead, the hands that hold you start to shake.

“you’ll win it? alone?” the logic hits him and he laughs at his own idiocy, “we’ll win, i’ll make sure we both get out of here. we can put the money together. it’ll be more than enough for us to start over!”

you’re skeptical, sure the chance of winning is there but.. is your trust in him still there?

“if we win-“

his hands move from your arms to your stomach, “when baby, when we win-“

your eyes roll at his optimism, “if and when we win, you need to quit drugs. cold turkey. no excuses, no more second chances. if you so much as look at a drug, i will kill you and raise this kid alone, do you understand me?”

he mocks a soldier, hand to his head and stance straight, “yes ma’am!” the pose barely lasts as he starts to giggle, following you to your bed while holding onto your hand.

there was more to come, you had a feeling that much money wouldn’t come so easy, but things felt just a tad easier with him.

© ihrthoney. reblogs & feedback are greatly appreciated𑁤

[tiredandsapphic]

꩜ SOFT HANDS

pairing ꩜ adult!lottie matthews x fem!reader

summary ꩜ carpenter lottie... builder lottie... handy lottie, yes please

an ꩜ just a blurb cuz im facing the lethal writers block

thinking about lottie who builds things around the commune… some small jobs to keep her distracted, or big ones to keep her busy. honestly so talented too, she knows what she’s doing. yeah she's a cult leader, but she's also handy.

and for you? lottie will build anything your heart desires. you don’t even ask her directly, you’ll just utter the words “oh another garden would be nice…” or “a little path there will add to the place…”

"it would be like super romantic to have a little greenhouse by the lake." you mentioned once. "yeah?" "It's a dumb idea though, probably not enough room." and then you forgot about it after that.

two weeks later? its there. full of all your favourite plants, perfectly stained wood, and painted in an accent colour of your favourite, "because it reminded me of you," she'll say.

imagining lottie have notebooks full of ideas and plans. you find her half the time scribbling in them. she'll be writing in it with you nearby, probably while you're sleeping or reading. you peak inside them sometimes, a lot of sketches full of notes like,

'soft cushions for her knees while she gardens' 'sunrise hits at 6:17am—good spot for window for her favourite lighting' 'ask someone to teach me how to build a tub outside??' with frantic underlines.

when you ask her about it someone she gets all bashful and admits "I just... like to see you happy."

imagine just seeing her building something new for the commune, wearing her tank tops and linen loose pants. oh gosh, she's perfectly fit from all the work she does, absolutely obsessed. seeing the way her muscles work when she moves, and how she glistens in the sun, all you can do is stare. her hair all tied back, pencil behind her ear, still looking so ethereal.

being lottie's girlfriend whose kinda bad at all that stuff and still wanna help? yes. you help in your own way. bringing her snacks, drinks and of course kisses for motivation. those are her favourite. sometimes it escalates though...

"okay, so i just hold it here right?" you ask, hands attempting to grip a piece of lumber as she measures. "mmm, not quite baby, let me help," she's so patient, shifting behind you. she wraps her arms around your waist, murmuring how to steady the wood. guiding your hands with her larger ones, "good girl, just like that"

yeah... you're not much help after that, everything just got 10x more hot. you'll just stick to moral support.

she's only human and not totally healed, so she gets frustrated sometimes. the mix of the hot sun and a nail not laying correctly? yeah that ticks her off. imagining her breathing a little harder, jaw clenched, brow furrowed. the little murderous sighs she lets out, hehe. you always know how to calm her down though, soft praises and assurance. sometimes through more physical activities...

giving her massages too when she pulls something or is just so sore from all the hard work she does. you live of it, she loves it too much, its a win win. feeling her muscles under the pads of your fingers, working in her commune made remedies. ugh its so intimate. she makes a ritual out of it, having candles and soft scents some nights. your hands are so soft and work in all the right places. maybe getting injured is not as bad as it seems.

and the real reason she does all this? the praise. the recognition she receives, mostly from you. she lives for it, she needs it. when you tell her 'good job' or how much of a 'hard working girl' she is? she's gone. she'll do anything for you and wants you to feel that, because she loves her girl so so much.

[prettyboykatsuki]

FANG IM ON MY HANDS AND KNEES PLEASE I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR MORE ABOUT BEST FRIENDS TO LOVERS WITH SAE

you meet sae at 14

in spain, an exchange student from another country. your very first words to him come out in a very broken spanish—trying to tell him his bangs look ridiculous while you’re busy running away from the other students from your school.

sae harbors no good memories of spain. this includes you. you’re a nuisance in his side from that moment forward. not only do you force your phone number on him and manage to snatch his too - you text him all the time with nonsense updates. you speak sometimes in spanish, sometimes in english, and later—in japanese when you choose to study in highschool, to curse at him a little better. he spends the first few months running your messages through a translator, but he keeps this a secret from everyone - including you.

you’re a thorn in his side, but you met at the right time. back before sae was completely beaten down, still receptive to people coming in and out of his life.

you weren’t even especially close. not enough to be there for all the good and bad like something out of a manga. not constantly stuck together. you were more like a pen pal. or a pet he had to maintain in his phone. it wasn’t that you were so connected

it was just that - in a place where his existence and talent became meaningless, occasionally there would be some moron who would spam his phone in a hundred different texts if he took too long to text back. nothing more, nothing less.

you meet up a few times in the years sae lives in spain. once every few months, at the same cafe you met. you do most of the talking and take a million pictures. time goes by like that, with you in the constant peripherals of his life.

a connection he doesn’t want to acknowledge until he’s forced to. even as he hardens over the years, for some reason you stick around. he doesn’t want to see you as anything. he doesn’t form relationships that way. his indifference is genuine. but you’re alright

by the time you’re both 18–sae has to return to japan for a short while. and at the airport, you sob - mistakenly thinking he was moving back. he stood and watched you for a long while before smacking your head and calling you stupid.

despite that there was nothing but pure relief on your face. and his expression, for once, had a pleasant tiny smile.

it’s then that sae would acknowledge you as more than a nuisance. he refuses to call you his best friend even as the years continue. even as you turn 19, 20, 21 and as saes career blossoms and you’re the only one who ever seems to check in about his games. even though you spend holidays together and make sure you celebrate birthdays.

sae can’t close the distance. he doesn’t want to. the comfortable, accommodating relationship between you suits him. anything more would make him uncomfortable. you never push it, so he doesn’t either.

and then, at 23 - you come to sae heartbroken for the very first time.

it’s a mess. you come over sobbing, mascara running down your face with a bottle of wine in hand. it’s the first time in your almost ten years of friendship that you come to him for anything and sae lets you in. you sit down on his living room floor and sob helplessly about some guy who broke your heart. sae hadn’t even known you’d been seeing someone.

he didn’t even know you were dating. or seeing people in that way. he didnt know something about you. him, the person you text your cycle to. him, the person whose heard your opinion on every single ghibli movie ten times over. him, whose been putting up with your spam texts for a decade nearly of his life.

sae feels his heartbeat pulse for the first time. its an ugly feeling under his ribcage. throbbing and red blooded and alive. he manages to comfort you without being weird (he’s gotten good at it over the years) but you insist on sleeping at his place.

so he lets you. you sleep on the floor of his room despite him offering you the guest room. it’s the first time you stay over. just before bed, you thank him for letting you in and he thinks you’re an idiot for being thankful for that. that much is nothing.

you sleep soundly. it makes sense.

sae does not sleep. for some reason he can’t. all he does is lay down and close his eyes and feel frustrated. he thinks about how easily he let you in to his place. he thinks about all the dates you’ve been on without him knowing - surely assuming he wouldn’t care.

he shouldn’t care. if you decided that you don’t need to tell him that then sae doesn’t see a reason to push. he shouldn’t care. he never pries into your life anyhow. your relationship has always been comfortable. he puts up with you because you’re pretty alright.

no matter how much he tries to sleep, nothing lets him. he tosses and turns until the sun is almost risen.

he turns to face you where you sleep on the floor and the sun is hitting your back.

he stares and stares and stares. he thinks—if you barged in on him like this even further. if you got even closer, he’d be fine with it. if you were looking to date just to have a guy to show off, he’d be fine if you asked. if you walked in and made yourself even more comfortable and pressed on - well whatever. he might as well.

he thinks, if he knew you were wanting to date someone, he wouldve just been your boyfriend. it’d be fine. if you wanted to kiss or go on dates - sae would go with you.

he jolts. freezes when that thought crosses his mind. and he pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes shut hard and brow furrowed. suddenly frustrated.

in the confessional of dawn, sae thinks to himself just once—it’s probably a lot more than just tolerance. and it’s been that way for a long time.

it’s the first time in his life he doesn’t know what to do. what the hell does he do? what does he want to do?

he tells himself nothing. really. it’s been fine until then so why should it change.

but your phone buzzes with the number of the guy you just broke up with when he thinks and he learns quickly that’s not happening either.

he’s never felt so exasperated with something in his life. the only option is to do the one thing he’s been avoiding his entire life and make you fall for him.

it’s his turn, he figures - being the one looking stupid between you

[thxtmarvelchick]

JJ Valentine’s Fic Recs

in honour of Valentine’s Day (weekend bc i’m posting this late), here are my favourite fics of JJ Maybank that made the holiday a little less depressing <3 (this was originally supposed to be all obx characters but i got carried away but trust i have SO MANY MORE for the rest of the pogues (and more jj) so i’ll do a part 2 eventually)

only got the courage to post this because of @tinypinkrobot so this is for them <3

most if not all fics are x fem!reader and some are 18+ (therefore i would prefer minors not to interact with this post but i do not have the time nor the energy to check everyone’s acc), the authors are NOT responsible for your internet consumption (nor am i); be responsible, pay attention, and respect the authors boundaries! (all 18+ fics will be labelled! MINORS DNI)

Outerbanks

JJ Maybank

full length fics+series

His To Keep by @pankowperfection (18+)

smut, kinda dark JJ, oral (f receiving), branding

i first read this fic almost three months ago and i still think about it all the time (i have the link in my notes app im not kidding), this author is so talented go read all their fics tbh they kill it everytime, i go to their account and reread everything all the time

summer lovin’ by @murdockcastleslut (18+ blog)

ongoing series, kook!jj, pogue!reader, if jj was raised by larissa, rafe and reader have some history

look… i will eat up every kook!jj fic that is thrown my way. the way the author writes jj and the interactions between him and reader😩, the plot is so intriguing and im always so excited for every new chapter. ALSO reader is SO jj’s girl like he is so down bad, expect cute petnames (HE CALLS HER PRINCESS ICANYSIAKSKSOSIJWIDISJSKS and then he pulled out a “my darling angel” once and im pretty sure i passed out). honestly go read all of her works bc holy shit every single one of them is fantastic.

teach me please by @mrsriddlenott (18+)

smut, bsf!jj, innocent!reader, oral (m&f receiving), reader overhears someone talking badly ab them (indirect bullying), use of good girl🤭

this is another one i’ve had in my notes app since it was posted, since then the author has written a part two and both parts are so incredibly written. their dynamic and the way you can TELL they’ve been wanting each other for so long is EVERYTHING

love on the island by @papercranesandinkstains

ongoing series, love island!au

if you follow me and pay attention to my reposts you knew this was coming… i have said it once and will say it again this is my favourite SMAU (tied with rhythm&revelry) i’ve ever read and it’s not even finished yet. the amount of time and effort put into this fic truly pays off because WOW. the graphics are beautiful. interactive polls. BANTER. jj is fumbling over himself he is so into reader😭enough said go read it.

Rhythm & Revelry by @darlingchronicles

ongoing series, university au, SMAU

the creativity is simply insane, i can’t even imagine how long it takes the author to do these chapters because she’s truly created a whole world to the point where sometimes i forget it’s not actually an app and is actually a fanfic. the relationships between characters is so beautifully developed and it’s not all romance. you get really amazing insights into the friendships between the reader (nicknamed blue) and sarah, cleo and pope. honestly i can’t even explain in words how much i love this fic. definitely a comfort fic (and i LOVE making up theories in my head as to what happened in the past iykyk). this is a long one so great for passing time (or if you’re me, ignoring your responsibilities and binging the whole thing bc you’re simply too hooked)

Kildare University by @papercranesandinkstains

completed series, two different endings (JJ or Rafe endgame depending on your preference), university au, jj plays football, reader is in band, rafe is readers ex, SMAU

ok i couldn’t just put ONE of her fanfics on here let’s be real everything this author writes turns to gold. immaculate build up, amazing chemistry, the way you can choose who reader ends up with is everything to me bc i might’ve curled up in a ball and died if i didn’t see a jj endgame. BUT everyone can be happy (ADDITIONALLY if you’re a jj AND rafe person you get double chapters sooooo what’s not to love)

narcotic by @thebestjjenthusiast

completed series, SMAU, bsf!jj

you can tell the author has an elite sense of humor bc they have me cackling at 3am. also JJ is DOWN BAD for reader it’s so funny, like expect CONSTANT flirting… this man is practically begging reader to get with him and reader is OBLIVIOUS😭, the flirting has me blushing so hard i have to pause reading sometimes just to giggle into my pillow AND the ending is perfect

summer was my first love by @vampiriito (18+) pt.1 pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6

ongoing series, shy! reader, reader has social anxiety, READER WEARS GLASSES (glasses girls rise), reader has secretly had a crush on jj for like ever but he’s always been “out of her reach”… or so she thought

the build-up. readers characterization and the depiction of her social anxiety are everything to me. jj is so soft for her and he doesn’t even fully know it or understand why at first. i’ve cried multiple times reading this series AND NOT EVEN BC ITS SAD just because i feel so seen and represented. this author genuinely writes so well i cannot wait for the next part🥹

Biker!JJ Oneshot by @highpope

biker!jj, motorbike stunt

this had me blushing and giggling i’m not kidding. jj is so soft with reader and reassures her when she gets scared. when he called her pretty girl i think i passed out. the flirting in this makes me flustered no matter how many times i read it😭

First Date Oneshot by @jjsloverre

bsf!jj, sweetheart!reader, fluff, mentions of sex but no smut

the dynamic between bsf!jj and sweetheart!reader is one of my favourites. they are honestly everything to me. he’s so sweet and caring towards her (but expect innuendos and cursing bc it’s jj we all know he can’t help it). additionally you have to check out their other bsf!jj and sweetheart!reader fics too!!!

Gossip Girl by @maybejj (18+)

ongoing series, SMAU, pay attention to the trigger warnings at the beginning of each chapter

DRAMAAAAAAAAAA. the plot will grasp your attention and not let go and next thing you know it’s 5am and you have class in 3 hours (not at all speaking from experience that’d be crazyyyy id never do that…🥲). JJ LOVES reader and would probably kill for them. readers friendship with kie, sarah and cleo is EVERYTHING, they are truly readers ride or dies.

secret admirer by @voidangxls

part two

kook!reader, pure fluff, jj is DOWN BAD, part of a valentines special

hands down THE CUTEST thing i’ve ever read on this app. jj gets teased by the pogues for not being able to talk to reader😭 the dual pov makes it so interesting bc you can see how in love jj is and wonder how the hell reader hasn’t noticed him staring them down 24/7😭😭 will be rereading everyday.

-blurbs/drabbles/texts (not gonna make notes on these ones but know i have every single one in my notes app and reread them CONSTANTLY, these authors are so incredibly talented <3)

Boy in Love by @everydaydreamer (18+ blog)

pure fluff, valentines blurb

texts with jj by @lillymmb

boyfriend!jj, fluff, jj LOVES reader

breeding kink concept by @moremaybank (18+)

implied but no smut, breeding kink (duh😭)

black cat!reader by @ervotica (18+)

black cat!reader, use of daddy, once again jj LOVES reader, reader is grumpy

texts with jj and desi!reader by @deadpcnned

desi!reader, jj in a kurta😩, established relationship, i just love this

boyfriend!jj by @lovelyjj

“wear whatever you want i can fight”😩, jj can throw a punch, fluff fluff fluff

passenger princess by @rubiehart (18+)

jj being fine, groping, use of “my girl”🤭

valentine’s day with jj by @seasprincess

established relationship, jj saves up to buy reader gifts, pure fluff

[sixosix]

PLASTIC FLOWERS | LYNEY

i. summary the great magician lyney wooing nine-to-fiver reader

ii. tags 1.8k words, fluff, reader is a little slow but hey that’s what 9-to-5 does to someone, pining lyney, awkward flirting, and a lot of wilted flowers im sorry…

You’ve heard of Lyney and Lynette in passing before. You might’ve rushed past one of their street performances once or twice, or maybe you stumbled upon flyers promoting their grand shows fluttering past. However, today, they are the center of every discussion, particularly Lyney, from your gushing coworkers. They swoon about how charming the young man was to them, and how exceptionally talented twins are.

You start to feel a little left out. You want to witness what all the excitement is all about, too. Your nine-to-five has you rushing back and forth the streets of Fontaine like there’s no tomorrow—and to your defense, with all the rumors and prophecies floating around, it might as well be that case.

Afternoon. Nearly evening. Your legs feel like water, liquid, and unable to keep themselves upright. You’re like a zombie walking back to your humble abode, drained of human life from too much human interaction.

A round of applause has you slowing your steps, your attention pulled towards a small crowd as if struck by a magnetic force.

A young man stands at the center, grinning devilishly as the crowd once again erupts into gasps of awe. He clutches a deck of cards in his hand, the classic image of what comes to mind when you think of magicians. Yet, you find yourself unable to move. It might be your water-legs; it might be how the man has everyone spellbound.

“Thank you, everyone!” he says, and the spell is broken at once. Was it a spell? It felt like one. “Be sure to come next week to Lynette and I’s performance at the Opera Epiclese, alright?” So he is Lyney.

Witnessing his elegance and heart-stealing smirk, you at least now know that your coworkers were certainly telling the truth.

The crowd filters out one by one. You do the same, wondering how much the tickets would cost. Hopefully no more than your usual dinner; that would mean you’d have to eat frozen bread for an entire evening.

“Wait, wait!”

You turn at the frantic exclamation, startled when Lyney is looking directly at you and rushing toward you. Panicked, you quickly scan your surroundings, only to find that there’s no one else he could possibly be referring to.

Just you.

“Hello,” you murmur begrudgingly once he’s at a close distance.

“Hi,” he says back, a little breathless. “You missed the show earlier.”

“I—I did.” Is he seriously talking to you? “But don’t worry! I saw enough. It was really cool!” Really? It was really cool?

He relaxes, his smile turning pleased. Lyney’s gaze feels heavy when you’re the only one holding onto it. “That’s a shame. I’ve seen you around before, zipping through. I won’t let you slip through my fingers this time around.”

His voice is smooth. You find yourself liking the lilac of his eyes.

At your stunned silence, Lyney continues, “Here, watch my hand closely, alright?”

You nod obediently, mostly to conceal how flustered his presence is making you feel. It feels as if his voice is right beside your ears, or it might just be how it seems like the world quiets down for this moment.

He closes his palm. You hear him huff a sweet laugh. You get distracted and glance up, though it seems it was a mistake. He grins at you knowingly, eyes twinkling—his stupid, dark eyes. You look back down, and a flower has magically appeared square on his palm.

It’s a flower you’re unfamiliar with, but it’s beautiful and smells sweet so you find yourself uncaring of whatever it could mean.

He stares patiently.

You blink, dumb-struck. “For me?”

“Of course,” he says with a dazzling grin.

“Oh, thank you, but I— I really don’t know how to take care of these things, and I’m so busy, I don’t know if I should—”

You reject it. Which, in hindsight, was most rude.

Lyney tilts his head, smiling like you’re some cute cat he found passing by—and that gaze has your words dying on your tongue. “I’m not giving it to you for you to feel burdened with the responsibility of taking care of it. Trust me, I just want you to have it.”

You look at him, uncertainty flashing in your expression. “You don’t want to give it to someone else…?”

“Why would I? I saved this one especially for you,” the sweet talker says.

You highly doubt his words, but it’s nice to hear nevertheless. With a bashful smile, you take the flower and vow to yourself to take care of it as much as you can. It’s the only flower you’ve received your entire life.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

He lights up impossibly, standing out so easily against the crowd. Just like that, you’re captivated.

The next day, Lyney reappears in your life. You're beginning to suspect that his hat conceals an infinite stockpile of these roses, and maybe that's the true magic: the enigma of Lyney's never-ending supply.

This time around, he’s loitering the streets without plans for any performances, however small. Though, he still entertains you in different ways.

“My work’s not too nice,” you tell him when he asks why you look tired, all too aware of your sore feet and cheeks from straining smiles all day. “I don’t know how you performers do it non-stop. I feel like I could just sleep on this sidewalk.”

“It might be helping that I love doing what I do,” Lyney supplies after a thoughtful hum. It’s still a little surreal having the man printed in posters and pictures all over The Steambird is now casually walking alongside you, but it’s nice. You feel your world has just brightened up a little—the new change of pace painting over the dull back and forth you’ve been living through for a while.

“Hey,” Lyney starts, as your eyes flick up from the ground to him. He’s holding another flower.

You smile as you gingerly take it from his fingers, skin brushing against his glove-free hands. “You’re helping the flower shops thrive, that’s for sure.”

“What can I say? I’m wonderful like that.”

You laugh, but it quickly dies down when you catch a glimpse of how Lyney is staring at you so openly with a bit of awe.

You clear your throat, looking away.

Lyney does the same as you find your face heating up. “Sorry.”

“Um,” scrambling for a change of topic, you say, “Are you trying to get me to watch the show you and your sister are holding next week?”

“What?” Lyney blinks, caught off guard. He smiles lopsidedly as you await for an answer. “No, I’m talking to you because I like you. And here I thought I was making myself obvious.”

“Sorry, I’m a bit slow,” you say, in a daze at his blunt confession.

That was nothing (that has to be). That was probably just your imagination, honestly—fantasizing about a handsome face, a small braid, and a mischievous grin. And you definitely don’t find yourself lying awake at night thinking about it.

As always, Lyney comes with a flower in hand. And you find out that he wasn’t lying when he said he saves a special flower for you.

You’re not sure how it seamlessly became a routine with him. At times, you wonder if he’s actually keeping track of the roses if you haven’t been throwing them to the trash. You wouldn't be able to deny it; you eventually would have to discard a once again graying rose, no matter how heartbreaking the parting is.

This time, you’re prepared. You've been studying up, like a lovesick high school student devouring dating magazines during your spare moments at work. The rose will still most likely wilt unfairly fast with how you’re barely a presence in your own home; sleeping soundly as soon as you arrive.

Lyney is smiling softly as he gives this one to you, silent. Though that’s probably because you’re raving on about how you swear that the next ones he’ll give will live longer if you figure out how to do it right.

He likes doing that—staring at you like watching a film play even though he’s the one on stage more often than not.

“Do you know what all those flowers I gave you mean?” he asks as you’re twirling it around and counting the petals. They’re still bright pink, fading to yellow at its tips. You shake your head. It could mean anything, really. You haven’t gotten to that part of the book yet. “My feelings for you,” he says. “I give them to you every day so you’re reminded of it.”

Your finger catches on one of the petals, your skin burning. “…Is that what you think? I feel horrible; the flowers you’ve given me all die in a day or two.”

Lyney laughs. “Is that what you’re worried about?”

“How else can I show you I’m not just casting your feelings aside?”

You turn to Lyney, wondering why he suddenly went silent. Only then, you see how he has his face buried in his palm, a dazed smile peeking out from what’s visible. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“...Sorry.”

He recovers fast. “Don’t be sorry.” Lyney holds your jaw in a precise grip, keeping your gaze focused on him. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

It’s only the next morning do you realize that the petals haven’t changed at all. You’re not sure why you haven’t noticed earlier.

Then again, you should’ve realized when he brought up what they mean so suddenly, that slick bastard.

Lyney sees you around the afternoon, and immediately he sees something new around your collar, probably because he keeps staring at it.

Lyney pulls you closer with a hand on the small of your back, and the other inspecting your brand-new necklace. “Is this…?”

It was a bit difficult to craft your own accessory, but you tried nevertheless. If Lyney goes out of his way to purchase different kinds of flowers, the least you can do is show him that each one makes you as happy as the first one did.

“You said they’re kind of like your feelings, right?” you say, unsure as to why you’re whispering. Lyney’s expression looks a little fragile. “So I made them into something to remind me of you every day.”

He presses his face onto your neck, and you nearly lose balance, holding onto the back of his head to keep yourself upright. “You’re too cute, amour. My heart can’t handle all of this,” he weeps dramatically.

( “Close your mouth, Lyney. You’re drooling,” Lynette says as she follows his gaze, watching you flutter past.

Lyney’s mouth snaps shut, wiping at his lips. He frowns. “I wasn’t even drooling.” He shakes his head. “Nevermind that—do you know who that was?”

“No,” Lynette says simply. “But I’m sure you’ll find a way to figure out eventually.” )

lyney went back to giving you real flowers after that btw

this was inspired by me daydreaming about lyney’s character quest and remembering that he literally gave us that flower accessory

[vxnitra]

This fandom is out of control and it’s time to reevaluate where we go from here.

Over the past week it’s been a nightmare in the fandom with the stalking being brought to light but to be honest it’s been going on a lot longer than that with threats and hate towards them and fans to the point people are leaving. If we want to keep this fandom going we’re going to have to change as a community otherwise there won’t be any fandom.

So what can we do to make this a better space for us and the triplets?

1. Ignoring negativity- people can have opinions obviously but where do we get going back and forth arguing, if you don’t like what someone has said on your post or someone else’s you can delete or block the person, simple.

2. Stop entertaining drama- people will do shitty things and make up lies and drama but like point one ignore and block, cut off the attention they are seeking and you’ll feel better for it truly.

3. Learn to love yourself- now this one may seem confusing in here but just because someone may get more notice than you by other fans or the triplets doesn’t mean you are less than, sometimes its just the algorithm and we shouldn’t go sending hate to others for it. If it is deeply affecting you please take a break or block these accounts for your own mental health.

4. Lifting and supporting one another- we have many amazing, talented people in this fandom, don’t be afraid to put yourself out there and show your love for people as it can brighten someone’s day and you never know what friends you can make from it.

5. Excepting the fact the triplets need a break at times- since starting they have hardly taken breaks in their career so maybe that’s why people jump to conclusions when they take a break thinking they’re quitting (they’re not) unless they say otherwise. Im going to say this with love do not make them your life and make them an extension of your life because sitting waiting there for them to post and they don’t will hurt you in the long run.

6. Generalisation - we need to stop generalising fans, for example thinking all older fans are creeps because some are or calling younger fans annoying, have you met all younger fans to decide that? Get to know people before you judge rather than making assumptions.

7. Blaming- can we stop blaming and pointing fingers when things don’t go our way “ it’s the stalkers fault we don’t have a video I hope they’re happy”. I know some of these are jokes but some are serious but how do we know this? Maybe they’ve decided to change their filming schedule and if so it doesn’t matter we move on with our lives or go back and watch another video.

8. Not making everything public- I’m going to use the stalking incident as an example, the exposing could of been handled a lot differently like reaching out privately to a mutual of theirs instead of making everyone known of it to be spread around. We know they are private people as it is so I assume they didn’t want to open social media with the fandom like a dumpster fire and thousands upon thousands of notifications about it. I think stalkings wrong but we need to work on how we compose ourselves, we can do things calmly and let them handle it. Also sometimes bringing these things public can do more harm than good for them and it’s best to think about their safety.

Theres definitely a lot more points but I’ve rambled on long enough just take this post with a grain of salt if you don’t agree that’s fine just block me or ignore it. If you agree I hope we can apply them moving forward as this fandom can be amazing, a safe space for us to express ourselves and support the triplets together as a community.

Thank you for reading🤍

- I know my words mean nothing and I probably wasted my time writing this but I needed to get it off my chest.

[bunicate]

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི ₊˚ 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝒃𝒊𝒈 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕. itto x fem reader already burdened by your small chest, a rumor you happen to overhear makes you reluctantly ask your dear older brother for a helping hand.

warnings ꒱ྀི incest. reader has smaller breasts. tit sucking + minor worship ﾉ wc ꒱ 2k ﾉ 18+ ﾉ I wanted to write a haithy and wrio version as well but da wordz were not coming. can’t believe im writing for dis silly oni omg . . but enjoy pls <3

“don't be so crude, you idiot.”

it doesn’t take much to discern the confusion from his expression. itto had a range of maybe three emotions.

other than his overwhelming display of pride and exuberance, there’s always room for his dumbfoundedness. he’s frequently addled— his face constantly knitted together while his mind searches endlessly to find the answer, at least the one he thinks you want to hear, but he never really does.

“what ? you said you wanted me to help, right ?” he shrugs.

you narrow your eyes.

“I know what I said but you didn’t have to word it like . . . like that .”

like some animal, you want to say but instead you look at your brother in distaste.

too many times you find yourself struggling to accept the gap in your relationship. most people often make the wrong assumption of you being the older sibling and you have to begrudgingly correct them that no, you are in fact the younger and smarter sibling.

why couldn’t he tell that you’re already embarrassed enough as it is ? why do you have to spell it out and add to the duration of your suffering. by now, your cheeks are practically inflamed.

“how else do I ask ? oh , should I add the please ?” he pauses.

“show me your tits, please.”

he offers you a dopey smile of triumph. he’s proud of himself, thinking for once he’s finally appeased you, but he couldn’t be more wrong. so so wrong.

you’re aggressive with your sigh.

you were too smart to ask him of all people. you’re way too intelligent to believe in silly rumors and baseless gossip, but they tangle in the mire of your thoughts.

“if someone sucks on your breasts, they’ll grow !”

“huh ? no way. where did you hear that ?”

it was two women in passing, just talking and having a laugh and yet you can’t stop yourself from just wondering.

you’re not blessed like your brother. the oni towers over you, well over six feet. a mantle of bulging arms, broad shoulders, and thick thighs. he’s as big and intimidating as it gets but that aura quickly dispels every time he opens his mouth.

you on the other hand are thicker in other places, your chest, however . . . not so much.

you look down pathetically and think about all the colored tube tops that just didn’t fit you quite right.

what did you have to lose ? you’re pride maybe. you’re just as prideful as your brother, maybe even more, but the soft slopes of fat poking through your shirt mock you. they remind you that maybe you can afford to throw your ego away. temporarily.

you whine as your patience wears you thin.

murmuring a quick prayer to archons to have them spare you from further embarrassment, you bury your doubts in the back of your mind.

“I hate you.”

you lift your shirt quickly, just ripping the bandaid off.

you expose your breasts to the cool air and to surprised vermillion hues.

the longer he stared, the more you wanted to hide. of all the array of emotions you’ve seen, ( three ) you can’t pinpoint this exact one. it’s new to you. it borders on unbridled warmth, but then after a few seconds of your nipples perking from his gaze, it dithers. . . and then he fucking squints.

“so small.”

there’s a beat of silence and it takes that brief moment to even register that you did not mishear him. you’re not sure what you expected.

itto certainly isn’t the brightest and his emotional intelligence is nearly non-existent, and still, you’re taken aback by his talent to be consistently unaware.

you feel awkward and vulnerable in the middle of the room. you bared yourself to him, your insecurity right to his face, and the only thing he could do was confirm that you are indeed a small-chested oni. it shouldn’t bother you, but it does.

you liked to think you could handle the truth just as much as you bluntly dished it out, but this time you couldn’t.

a flash of white-hot anger runs through you at his audacity. you yank your shirt down eager to hide in your room and cry about your humiliation. you’ll write his name in big stupid letters in your fuzzy-covered journal and call him a big fat meanie. i for idiot, t for trashy , t for terrible, and a big fat o for obtuse.

“asshole !” you scream.

you can tell he’s surprised by your outcry. you glare at him hoping that he would turn to ashes on the spot, but unfortunately, he doesn’t.

he’s too busy panicking. he’s struck with the startling realization that he’s messed up again and that you were pissed.

so many times you’ve stomped your pink heels in anger and strutted away, mini skirt riding up with every step you took. and each time he reacts the same.

he tries to fix it.

he’s quick to react, immediately reaching for you in urgency. “w-wait wait wait wait ! where ya’ going ?”

“ oh, don’t you dare touch me you, oaf ! you think I don’t know that they’re small already ? why would you say that ?! “ you pull away more than desperate to increase the distance from him.

“hey hey hey. calm down, baby sis. m’not making fun of you.”

it takes his hands resting on your shoulders and the worried look in his eyes to make you come to a stop.

you lick your lips and take a shaky breath.

he’s right.

itto is many things but never a bully. he’d never say anything purposefully mean, no matter how much you bad-talked him. he’s kind and loyal but unfortunately, all the brains just happen to go to you .

“I didn’t mean to make ya feel bad,” he says sheepishly. “jus’ think they’re cute, that’s all.”

he releases his grip on you to scratch behind his head, eyes flickering to your chest again. a blush colors his face to a shade of carnations.

you’re a sweet girl with an unfiltered mouth that would bend to no one, not even to the archons themselves. and you were tearing him apart with that pout and your pretty nubs peeking through the fabric of your shirt.

he’s your big brother and he angered you quite a lot but, never deliberately. but this time he’s determined, for once he wants to ease your worries and not add to them.

he stands a bit closer brushing away a saltine tear that regretfully falls.

“If ya still want me to do it, I will. I think . . . it could work if I just do it hard enough.”

you don’t answer him but you don’t think you need to.

he searches your eyes trying to find any sign of disapproval. itto remains unsure, he’s never good at picking up on the small nuances of your emotions and so he tugs at your shirt in uncertainty.

still angry and embarrassed, you look up at his stupidly handsome face and relent.

“jus’ do it you big dummy.”

like everything else you expect him to handle you roughly. to rip your shirt and bite and suck at your nipples until they bruise under his touch, but he does the opposite.

his free hand travels around your sternum at first, surprisingly gentle. his fingers are soft when they circle around your breasts, tenderly flicking the flesh to watch them jiggle. he thumbs at your wide areolas, tracing the tiny bumps in complete fascination.

you grow uncomfortable at how intimate it felt. his eyes are blown wide, drinking up the sight of your tits rising with each shuddered breath.

“d-don’t play with them. jus’ hurry up n’ suck .” you leap at the opportunity to break the tension, but somehow you’ve made it worse.

as soon as the words leave your mouth, he responds just as fast. it nearly knocks the wind out of you when his mouth latches onto your breast.

they’re small but there’s so much flesh , so much chub that itto can’t stop playing with. his tongue laps at your left mound, licking underneath it, licking around it, and sucking at all the fat he can fit into his mouth. he’s noisy, grossly so . he groans and curses each time he has to detach his mouth from your nipple to come up for air.

“pretty tits taste s’good, “ he slurs. he can’t form the words, not when he’s desperate to fondle your breasts with his slippery tongue.

itto squeezes you so tight, it nearly hurts but you couldn’t dare tell him to ease up. there’s something hard rubbing on your lower stomach and you're scared to even dare to think about what it could be.

he slowly drags his rough flesh up and down your mound, shivering when your nipple grazes his appendage. his fingers grope at your waist and hips, palms nearly enclosing your smaller figure.

“f-fuck , you’re tiny. m’not hurting you, am I ?”

you don’t trust yourself to speak, terrified a moan would spill instead, so you shake your head.

he’s over two feet taller than you, pressing you into a corner and he has to remind himself that you’re his little sister. his dainty, spit-fire little sister who’s tits he’s currently mouthing on to rid her of her troubles.

he’d suck long and hard hoping your already perfect tits would someday be perfect to you. he wants to make you proud and show you he’s not just some rowdy oni. he’ll kiss and suck as long as you needed him to.

he tucks your nipple back into his mouth, puckering around the flesh like a sour candy.

you’re as pillowy and as delicate as he remembers. he almost forgot how he sinks into you. how his firm stomach settles into your soft one and he’s painfully reminded that his erect cock has been slowly rutting against you.

sucking your tits was riling him up. it was making him act in that brutish way that you hated, but he was trying so hard to keep from lining his cock with your opening and milking your cunt dry.

the oni has to pull away to gather himself. he takes the time to marvel at his work.

your right bosom is drenched in spit, puffy and swollen from his ministrations. he smiles.

“It looks bigger already, don’t ya think ?“

“shut it !”

another insult dies in your mouth as you're still catching your breath. an oni’s nose is extremely sensitive and you wonder if he could smell the arousal fermenting between your thighs.

“let me do the other one okay, baby. don’t want them to be uneven right ?”

“w-wait itto maybe we should s— eek !”

you need another moment of reprieve but you don’t get the chance. he puts the other tit in his mouth, tongue greedily flicking against the nub which tears a squeal from your lips.

itto is confident his methods will work just as sure as he’s about to blow a load in his pants.

“gonna suck your tits until they fatten up. isn’t that right, little one ?”

you mewl at the pleasure and the softness of which he utters a name he hasn’t called you in years.

“s-stop talking so much ! just be quiet and and —hnnn— stop teasin’ !”

he continues his assault on your chest, cock chubbing against his pants.

“m’sorry,” he slurs. “can’t help it.” his groans are fanning against your chest while he drools on your sensitive peaks. “let nii-nii take care of you . . just relax f’me. . . just take it.”

he’s hard. cums crowns his tip as he keeps conjuring up thoughts of wiping his cock over your tits, rubbing the head around your puffy brown nipple.

you smell good, you taste better and itto for once doesn’t care if you think he’s gross. he wants to milk your tits and suck until they become sweet little prunes , just so he can make it better.

your panties grow sticky as his sucks grow rougher. even if your breasts didn’t jump up a cup size you think that maybe this was worth it. to have him close, to have him drool and worship your tits and feel his cock straining against you.

his eyes closed, still nursing on your teat sweetly. your hand buries itself in his thick mane that draped over his shoulder smelling faintly of your shampoo.

it silently encourages him to keep going, leading to both of your undoings. the hand running through his hair tugs on his roots but then suddenly stills.

you see a brief flash of something and you gasp.

“itto why on earth is your dick out ?”

“can I put just the tip in ? please?”

[foreingersgod]

You’re Everything . CC

pairing: caitlin clark x reader

synopsis: caitlin clark is the best basketball player in the media right now and you can’t help but feel like you’re no good for her.

y’all i don’t even write (so sorry if this is actual ass), but the cc content on here is almost non existent lol. so i hope you all enjoy :)

my masterlist: here

college is extremely hard, and unfortunately for you, it has pushed you to your breaking point.

unlike your girlfriend, caitlin, you’ve never been the athletic type. typically confined to your textbooks and essays rather than on the court or out in the field. Your studies were incredibly important to you and you were GOOD at school, but by no means were you as talented as the caitlin clark.

you’re so proud of caitlin, truly. she’s come some far in her athletic career. she deserves all the praise and all of the awards and all of the support. but regardless all the praise and admiration you showered her with, you couldn’t help but feel like you weren’t enough.

books littered the covers of your bed, chemistry worksheets and math textbooks seemed to stack up to the ceiling. your fingers dug into your scalp, lightly pulling at your hair. you had midterms coming up and you were starting to panic. last semester, midterms and finals flew by like a breeze and you were able to hold a very high gpa, but unfortunately this semester you’re crashing and burning. you were falling behind on assignments, forgetting due dates, and failing exams no matter how hard you studied. caitlin constantly reassured you that you were doing amazing regardless of how different your grades were last semester, but it’s really easy to say that when you’re passing every class and making history in basketball at the same time.

tears threatened to spill from your eyes and it felt like you were going to faint from all this stress. as you were sloppily scribbling down equations and flipping through flash cards, you failed to hear constant knocking and the lock of your front door turning. heavy footsteps echoed up to your room and you knew all too well who they belonged to. trying to get everything in order before your girlfriend reached your room, you quickly wiped your tears away and fixed your hair.

“YN i’ve been texting you like crazy, did you not-” she began. “hey hey hey what’s the matter, baby”

caitlin immediately seemed panicked at your distressed state, rushing over to you and sitting next to you on the bed. her arms instinctively wrapped around you as you nuzzled your head into her neck to hide your tears.

“it’s nothing, i swear, im just stressed for my chem exam” you lied. “you caught me at a bad time i guess” you attempted laugh it off, pulling a fake smile into the side of neck.

she pulled away from you, hands moving from you shoulders to your face, forcing you to look at her. she seemed to be looking at you for hours, studying the pain on your face and the dullness of your eyes.

“baby this is obviously not ‘nothing’…i’ve never seen you like this. over anything”

it didn’t take long for you to start tearing up again. “caitlin, i…i really don’t know…”

you can’t even get the words out. it felt like your sentences were building up in your throat and suffocating you. a small whimper managed to work its way out of you before you broke down in tears. again, caitlin was all over you, confused and hurt because she doesn’t know how to help you.

“YN please, please talk to me i need to know what’s going on, you’re scaring me” she said, pushing loose stands of hair out of your face and wiping your tears with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

“i just-” you began, hiccuping from your sobs “i just feel like a failure!”

and that started it all. before caitlin could even protest such as absurd statement, all of your feelings and insecurities came spewing out.

“caitlin i’m extremely proud of you, please know that. i’ve never been so astonished by someone’s talent than yours” you sounded hysteric, you were sure. “but i cant help but feel like i’m a failure compared to all the amazing things you’ve done. you’ve broken records and changed people’s lives…you’ve won the awards and the adoring fans…and again, i can’t even begin with how proud of you i am…but looking back at all the things i’ve done…i’m nothing. for fucks sake i can’t even pass a god damn chemistry exam or a math quiz without losing my fucking mind. i don’t leave the house cause i’m too busy studying and i don’t have time to hang out with our friends or hang out with your team. i can barely pass my classes this semester and i just feel like such a burnout.”

it felt like it all came out in seconds. “you deserve so much better than someone like me. i’m nothing”

the silence that filled the room was heavy and haunting. you worked up enough courage to finally look at caitlin, scared that she’d realized you were right and confirm your worst fears. but to your surprise, she was crying too.

“you’re everything” her voice cracked, barely managing to get the words out. “baby you’re everything.”

“what?”

“is this how you’ve really felt? like you’re nothing?” you avoided her gaze “YN i couldn’t even begin to tell you how amazed i am by you. forget me, look at you!”

“cait.”

“no, i’m serious. you work your ass off every single day. you study you do your homework you go to work, and you still find the time to shower me with so much love and attention. you pour your soul into everything that you do and of course it’s hard, but please do not sit here and tell me i deserve more than you because i need you more than i need air, YN”

it felt like you had no more tears to shed, overwhelmed with feelings. so instead you took your girlfriends face into your hands, forcing your lips upon hers. you could feel her hands meander to the back of your head, toying with the hairs at the nape of your neck as she pulled you into a much deeper kiss.

eventually pulling away for air, you rest your forehead against hers while she whispers gentle “i love you”s . you finally feel relieved for the first time in a while.

[sturnschris]

overheard.

pairings! : chratt x fem!reader!

content : matt overhearing chris and you.

warnings: SMUT!! DISGUSTINGLY FILTHY, ANAL!!(do not read if this makes you uncomfortable) getting caught ?, blow job, p in v, anal, double penetration, threesome (NO INCEST EW), dom!chris, softdom!matt, subby!reader, pet names (baby, pretty girl etc..) , prolly more idc im lazy, dj on the vj, fingering (puss & ass), matt the munchhh, cowgirl, backshots, matt and chris barely talk in this 🤗, lowk awkward ending, nipple play, DOUBLE CREAMPIE!. squirting, overstimulation, humiliation

everything is consented!!

a/n: ive had this idea for 5 months and i thought i wasnt talented enough to being it too life and im still not but im too shy too ask someone else for this because if i ask someone i can never do it myself so i just decided to do it. Anyways idk if someone has done this before but ib me if no one has!

love ya!💋

“chris, f-fuck—s‘good,” you squeal, voice breaking as he folds you into the mattress, thrusting so deep you swear you can feel him in your stomach. his grip is bruising, fingers digging into your hips as he keeps you right where he wants you. each snap of his hips is rough, relentless, the bed creaking beneath you.

“so good f’me, princess,” he rasps, breath hot against your skin as he leans down, teeth grazing your neck before he kisses over the marks he’s already left.

“please, ah—ah—” you try to form words, but they crumble into moans, pleasure stealing your breath.

chris chuckles, low and smug, cutting himself off with a groan. “so fuckin’ tight—shit, baby.”

on the other side of the door, matt freezes.

heat rushes to his face as the sounds filter through—your soft, desperate whimpers. he shouldn’t be here. he knows that. but his feet won’t move, his breath caught in his throat.

his stomach tightens, embarrassment and something deeper, darker, curling in his gut. he shifts, suddenly hyperaware of the way his jeans feel tighter, his own body betraying him.

then chris’s voice breaks through again, rough and low, and it snaps him out of it.

matt stumbles back, leaving fast, shame burning through him as he steps into his room. his face is beet red, his hands shaking as he rubs them over his face.

he swallows hard, guilt twisting in his chest—because no matter how much he tries to push it away, your voice lingers in his head, and he’s still hard.

the next evening, matt and chris are watching tv while you’re napping in chris’s room. matt can barely look at chris, shifting in his seat every few seconds.

“y’good, matt?” chris finally asks, glancing over.

matt snaps out of his thoughts. “w-what? yeah. m’fine.” chris raises a brow, unimpressed. “you sure? you’re all fidgety n’ shit.”

matt exhales, rubbing his hands over his face. fuck it. “i—” he hesitates, jaw clenching before he finally forces the words out. “i heard you guys. last night.”

chris blinks, then snorts. “yeah? sorry, we’ll be more quiet next time.” he pats matt on the back, laughing like it’s nothing.

matt doesn’t respond, doesn’t even move. chris’s laughter dies down as he realizes matt’s serious. “you’re not serious?” matt’s face heats up. “just—forget i said anything.” chris watches him for a second, then grins. “you got off on it?”

“no. ew,” matt shakes his head quickly, but chris just raises an eyebrow. “but you liked it?”

matt stays quiet. doesn’t confirm, doesn’t deny. chris leans back against the couch, smirking. “could be fun.”

matt’s head snaps toward him, surprised. “what?”

you’re sitting in bed, scrolling on your phone, when chris walks in. “hi, bunny.” you glance up, smiling. “hi.”

he sits next to you, and you immediately reach your hands out to him. he huffs a little laugh, then tugs you onto his lap so you’re straddling him. his hands find your waist, thumbs rubbing slow circles into your skin as he leans in, kissing you softly before trailing down to your jaw. you giggle, fingers threading through his hair. “what’s gotten into you?”

“just missed you,” he mutters against your skin, voice low and rough.

his lips move down your neck, his grip tightening slightly. you hum, tilting your head to give him more access, your body already melting into him. but then he pulls back, studying your face with that look—the one that always means he’s up to something.

„got a question f’you, pretty,” he murmurs, voice low as his hands give your waist a gentle squeeze. you hum in response, still playing with his hair, but the way he’s looking at you makes your stomach flip.

„matt overheard us yesterday and—”. you immediately pull back, letting go of him and burying your face in your hands. “oh g-god, no.” your voice is muffled and horrified.

chris chuckles, clearly more amused than concerned. “don’t worry, baby,” he says, pulling your hands away gently. “he liked your pretty little sounds.” your whole face burns. “chris!” you try to hide again, but he won’t let you.

“what? can you blame him?” his voice dips, rougher and low like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. “you sound so fuckin’ sweet when i’m deep in you. poor kid probably didn’t know what to do with himself.”

he smirks as he points at your stomach, pressing his finger into the soft skin just below your ribs—right where you always say you feel him the most.

“right there, huh?” he murmurs, poking lightly again, making you squirm in his lap. “right where you get all dumb f’me.”

your face burns, thighs instinctively tightening around him. he’s still watching you so closely, waiting for your reaction, like he already knows what you’ll say before you say it. “stop,” you whine, flustered beyond belief, but chris just grins, hands sliding up and down your waist. “he told me he wants you.” he pauses, watching your face carefully. “i told him it’s up to you.”

the door creaks open a little, and matt steps inside carefully, like he’s not sure he should be there. like he might turn around and walk out if you looked at him wrong.

you’re still perched in chris’s lap, legs on either side of his thighs, your chest rising and falling a little faster than normal. you’d been kissing for a while now—slow and warm and a little shaky. his hands resting heavy on your hips like he’s reminding you you’re his.

matt stands near the doorway, eyes flicking between the two of you, jaw tight. “you sure it’s okay?” he asks, voice soft, almost nervous.

you nod without a word, still dazed, lips a little swollen from how long chris had been kissing you.

chris doesn’t even glance at matt at first—he just squeezes your waist, tilts your chin up to meet his eyes.

“then show him how okay it is for you, ma.”

you glance up at matt, just for a second, then drop your gaze again, cheeks hot.

chris scoffs softly behind you, voice low and teasing.

“c’mon, baby, don’t go all shy on me now.”

you mumble something—apologetic, maybe embarrassed—but matt speaks up before chris can.

“hey, you know you don’t have to, right?” his voice is gentle, careful. “i don’t wanna make you uncomfortable—”

“you’re not,” you cut in, giving him a small smile. your voice is soft, but steady.

chris’s hands slide along your waist, thumbs pressing into your sides.

“go on, doll,” he murmurs, a little rougher now. “show him how okay you are with this.”

you nod, breath catching a bit as matt steps closer. slowly, you slide off chris’s lap and sink to your knees between them.

you tug gently at the hem of matt’s shirt, and he reads your cue right away—lifting it over his head and tossing it aside. you let your eyes trail down the line of his stomach, slow and deliberate, before leaning in to press open-mouthed kisses along his v-line. your lips are soft against his skin, and your eyes stay locked on his the whole time—wide, glimmering, shy but sure.

you reach for the waistband of his sweats and boxers, tugging them down in one smooth motion. he lets out a quiet breath as he steps out of them, watching you closely.

your hands wrap around him, gentle at first, stroking slowly before you lean in and flick your tongue across the tip—just a teasing little lick.

matt’s hand finds the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek.

“you’re doin’ so good,” he says, voice low and warm. “so fuckin’ pretty like this.

you lower your head slowly, lips parting as you take him in, your hand still stroking what you can’t reach. your movements are careful, testing your limits—taking in as much as you can, pulling back just a little before easing forward again.

your other hand rests lightly on his thigh for balance, and matt’s breath stutters as he watches you, jaw tightening.

“fuck…” he murmurs, voice soft but strained. “just like that, sweetheart. takin’ me so good.”

his fingers slip into your hair, not pushing, just resting there—guiding you gently as your head bobs, slow and steady, spit beginning to gather at the corners of your mouth.

“good girl” he says, barely above a whisper. “look so fuckin’ pretty with my cock in your mouth.”

you pick up the pace, head moving a little quicker now, strokes matching the rhythm of your mouth. matt’s fingers tighten in your hair, not rough—just needing something to hold onto.

“shit—sorry,” he breathes, voice strained as his hips twitch forward slightly. “didn’t mean to—”

you gag a little around him, but you don’t stop. your eyes water and your throat tightens, but you keep going, hand still working the base, mouth warm and wet around him.

matt lets out a low, shaky moan, thumb brushing across your cheek like he’s trying to soothe you through it.

“fuck, you’re unreal,” he murmurs. “you okay, pretty?”

you nod, messy and determined, spit dripping from your chin as you take him again, pace steady even as your eyes blink through the sting.

“so good f’me.” he whispers, breath caught in his throat.

matt grips your jaw gently, easing you off his cock, his thumb brushing your wet bottom lip.

“you okay?” he asks, voice soft and a little breathless.

you nod, lashes clumped from tears, lips shining. you glance over at chris—he’s watching, eyes dark, jaw tense.

“get over here, princess.”

your legs wobble a little as you stand. before you can reach him, chris meets you halfway, hand on your waist.

“lie down,” he says, voice firm. “c’mon.”

you climb onto the bed and lay back, chest rising fast. your legs fall open, just enough.

“good girl,” he mutters, smirking as he kneels beside you.

he leans in, mouth brushing your jaw like he might kiss you, but his hand goes straight to your waistband instead.

“take these off for me, bunny. yeah?”

you nod fast, slipping out of your shorts and tossing them aside.

chris hums low, gaze dropping between your thighs.

“look at her, matt,” he says. “she’s soaked.”

but matt’s already staring—eyes locked on you, lips parted like he forgot to breathe.

chris trails a finger slowly over your clothed pussy, and your breath catches.

then, without a word, he hooks his fingers into your panties and starts sliding them down, his eyes never leaving yours.

he hooks his arms under your thighs, pulling you closer to the edge of the bed until you’ve got nowhere to go. his head dips down, and he presses slow, open-mouthed kisses along the inside of your thighs—soft nibbles, warm breaths ghosting over your skin.

your hips twitch, breath shaky as he works his way up, taking his time, lips brushing everywhere but where you need him most.

you whine softly, hands fisting in the sheets.

“chris…”

he smirks against your skin, then finally—finally—he licks a slow, deliberate stripe up your pussy, tasting just enough to make your legs tremble.

your fingers tangle into his hair instantly, head tipping back as a soft moan slips from your lips.

he groans low in response, like he’s the one losing control, and then he’s all in—mouth locked around your clit, tongue working you over with slow, practiced pressure.

he eats you out like he’s starving—like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered, moaning into you, hands locking your hips down when you try to squirm away.

chris slows down, tongue dragging lazily now, just enough to make you whine in frustration—hips bucking, fingers tightening in his hair.

he pulls back with one last kiss pressed to your soaked pussy, lips glistening, breath heavy.

“tastes so fuckin’ sweet,” he mutters, eyes flicking up to meet yours. then, without looking away, he glances over his shoulder at matt.

“wanna try?”

matt hesitates, jaw tight, but he nods—stepping closer like he can’t stay away any longer.

you squirm slightly, overwhelmed, but chris runs a hand along your thigh, anchoring you down.

“relax,” he murmurs. “let him take care of you.”

matt kneels between your legs, eyes locked on your face as your chest rises and falls too fast—overstimmed, already on edge.

“calm down, sweet girl,” he murmurs, voice soft, steady, so different from chris. his hands rub gently over your thighs, thumbs circling your skin like he’s trying to ground you. “can make you feel so good… just breathe.”

you nod, barely, but your body’s tense—until he leans in, presses a kiss just above your clit, and then kitten licks it, slow and teasing.

your back arches immediately, fingers digging into the sheets.

he flicks his tongue again, light and precise, watching the way your whole body twitches under him.

“that’s it,” he whispers, voice all praise. “just like that.”

he’s nothing like chris. no teasing smirks, no rough grip on your hips—matt takes his time.

his tongue moves slow, gentle, circling your clit with care, like he’s learning every inch of you. one hand stays firm on your thigh, keeping you steady, while the other trails up to your stomach—comforting, grounding.

you’re breathing hard, trembling slightly, but matt doesn’t rush. doesn’t push.

just stays between your thighs, licking and sucking softly, over and over.

he moans quietly against you, like he really means it—like the taste of you is doing something to him.

they’re nothing alike, you realize. matt’s all warmth and patience, making you unravel gently, while chris is pressure and demand, wrecking you fast and deep.

but right now, with matt’s mouth on you, soft praise on his tongue and steady hands keeping you in place—it feels just as good.

just… different.

matt’s tongue pushes deeper, fucking into you slow and steady, his grip tightening on your thighs to hold you right where he wants you. your moans spill out, breathless and uneven, fingers digging into the sheets.

chris leans in over you, lips dragging along your neck, warm and teasing.

“can i take this off, pretty girl?” he murmurs, tugging at your shirt.

you nod quickly, no hesitation.

he pulls it off in one motion, tossing it aside before lowering his mouth to your chest. his lips wrap around your nipple, sucking softly while his hand palms the other, thumb brushing over it again and again.

his other hand slides down between your legs, fingers finding your clit, slick and sensitive. he rubs slow, steady circles, syncing perfectly with matt’s mouth between your thighs.

your back arches, breath catching in your throat as the sensation builds—hands, tongue, mouth—all of it at once.

“you’re doin’ so good,” chris says quietly, fingers still working your clit. “just relax. let it happen.”

and gosh, it’s all too much—but you don’t want any of it to stop.

chris slows the movement of his fingers on your clit, just enough to make your hips twitch in frustration. his hand leaves your chest, and without a word, he reaches down and gives matt a light slap to the back of the head.

matt flinches slightly, lifting his head in surprise.

“ah—wha…”

chris doesn’t say anything, just tilts his head to the side in a silent command. matt swallows and nods once, breath still uneven. he presses one last kiss to your inner thigh before finally pulling back, his mouth wet and his face flushed.

you whine immediately, the loss of his tongue almost painful—your body still pulsing, still clenching around nothing. your hand fists in the sheets, breath shaky and high in your throat.

chris looks down at you, his fingers still teasing lazy, frustrating circles over your clit.

“needy little thing,” he mutters, more amused than anything. “you want more?”

you nod quickly, bottom lip jutting out in a full pout—messy, desperate, still twitching from everything they’d already done to you.

chris stands up slowly, cracking his neck like he’s been waiting for this.

“c’mon,” he says, voice low, firm. “hands and knees, ma.”

you shift into position without a word, legs shaking just a little as you get on all fours. the sheets are cool under your palms, your chest still bare, breath still short. you arch your back slightly—just enough—and feel chris’s gaze settle on you like heat.

“that’s it,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone.

you feel his hand slide down the curve of your spine, slow and steady, stopping at the dip of your waist.

you can hear matt breathing somewhere behind you, still watching. chris’s palm lands hard on your ass, the sound sharp, the sting blooming warm across your skin. you gasp—half groan, half whimper—but before you can catch your breath, he slaps the other cheek just as hard.

you flinch, moaning softly, cheek pressing into the mattress.

he turns to matt, smirking like this is the most fun he’s had all night.

then he looks back down at you, hand resting heavy on the small of your back.

“you wanna ride him, hm?”

you hesitate—body frozen for a beat, nerves buzzing under your skin.

chris doesn’t wait long.

“words, baby.”

your face flushes hot. you swallow thickly, voice quiet. “y-yes.”

he grins, low and satisfied, fingertips trailing up your spine.

“that’s what i thought.”

matt shifts onto his back, body tense but eyes locked on you—watching every move you make. he rests his hands at his sides, giving you the space to move at your own pace, waiting for you like he doesn’t want to mess this up.

you crawl over him slowly, your thighs still trembling, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. his eyes flick down as you reach between your legs, grabbing the base of his cock and guiding it to your entrance.

you line yourself up carefully, the head of his dick pressing right where you’re soaked and aching—still dripping from his mouth, still twitching from chris’s hands.

you suck in a breath, steadying yourself, one hand braced on his chest, the other holding him in place.

matt groans quietly beneath you, jaw tight, chest lifting to meet your touch.

you sink down onto him slowly, breath catching in your throat as matt fills you—stretching you open inch by inch until you’re seated fully in his lap.

your hands brace against his chest, trembling slightly as you start to move. slow at first—testing, adjusting—until your hips find a rhythm that makes your breath stutter and his jaw clench.

matt’s hands hover near your waist, not pushing, just holding—letting you stay in control. his eyes never leave your face, soft and focused, like he’s watching every twitch, every moan, every shift of your body.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “just like that.”

you bite your lip, trying to hold back the sounds threatening to spill out, your thighs already aching, pace getting just a little messier.

but you don’t stop.

you just keep moving, chasing the way it builds—deeper, fuller, sweeter with every roll of your hips.

your thighs burn with every movement now, legs trembling as you try to keep your rhythm. you’re slowing down, hips faltering, and your hands press harder into his chest for support.

matt notices instantly.

his grip on your hips steadies you, grounding, not pushing.

“easy,” he says quietly, voice low, calm. “breathe.”

you look down at him, flushed and struggling to keep moving, and he nods once, reassuring.

“i’ll help you.”

he starts to move beneath you, guiding your body with his hands—lifting you just enough, rocking up slow to meet you. you let out a shaky breath, head dropping forward, overwhelmed but not stopping.

his hands stay firm on your waist, keeping you steady as he keeps moving with you.

“you’re okay,” he says, almost under his breath. “just like that.”

your body’s a mess—tired, soaked, barely holding your rhythm as matt guides your hips from below. you’re not sure how much longer you can take, but you don’t stop.

then the mattress dips behind you, slow and deliberate.

you feel chris before you hear him—his hands skimming up the backs of your thighs, up your waist, slow like he’s got all the time in the world.

“think you can take both of us?” he murmurs, voice low and close, like a secret against your ear.

your breath catches. you nod, still moving on matt’s lap, eyes fluttering.

“yeah?” he says, tone unreadable. “thought i meant your mouth?”

you freeze for a second—until his hands settle on your hips and he shifts your body just slightly forward, tilting your pelvis, changing the angle.

your elbows drop to the bed. your back arches. and that’s when you realize what he means.

he’s already reaching for the lube.

your breath stutters as chris shifts you forward, elbows sinking into the mattress, back arching instinctively. you’ve been here before—but not like this.

he’s touched you there. teased you. used his fingers. slid in a plug once or twice just to watch you squirm and blush.

but never like this.

you glance over your shoulder, eyes wide, but chris is already slicking his fingers with lube, focus sharp, movements calm—like he’s done this a thousand times, like he’s planned this.

“relax,” he says quietly, voice smooth and low as his hand settles over your lower back. “you’ve taken my fingers. you can take this.”

his other hand trails down, spreading the lube between your cheeks, slow and deliberate.

“gonna go slow, alright?”

you nod, face hot, thighs twitching as his fingers circle the tight ring of muscle—familiar, but suddenly so much more intense under his weight, his voice, his control.

matt’s still beneath you, completely still now—his hands moving in slow, calming circles along your trembling thighs. his touch is quiet, grounding, letting you breathe through the weight of everything.

you brace yourself, arms shaky, forehead resting against the sheets.

then you feel it—chris’s lubed finger pressing against your tight entrance, patient but firm. your breath hitches, and when he pushes in, your whole body tightens.

you groan, the stretch immediate, sharp and deep, even though it’s just one finger. the pressure makes your back arch further, hips twitching without control.

“shh,” chris mutters, voice steady behind you. “you got it.”

his hand stays heavy on your lower back, holding you down while he works his finger in slow, letting you adjust, letting you feel it.

you clench down around matt below you, body caught between both sensations—so full already, and he’s barely started.

his first finger works in slow and steady, the pressure making your thighs tremble—but just as you start to adjust, he slips in a second.

you gasp, the stretch deeper now, sharper, and your hips jerk instinctively, but chris’s hand holds you firm.

“breathe,” he murmurs, fingers curling just slightly inside you. “you’re doin’ fine.”

your chest rises and falls too fast, eyes squeezed shut, but the burn melts into something else—something warm and dizzying. your mouth falls open as he starts to move them, fingering you slow and deep, working you open bit by bit.

matt’s hands never leave your thighs, rubbing soft, steady circles, letting you lean into it.

chris’s fingers thrust in and out, slick and controlled, the lewd sound filling the room as your body clenches, caught in the growing stretch and pressure.

“feelin’ full already, huh?” he mutters behind you, almost amused.

you try to stay quiet, biting your lip so hard it aches, but the way chris’s fingers move inside you—slow, deep, relentless—makes it impossible. a soft, broken moan slips out before you can stop it.

your face burns.

matt’s still beneath you, his hands warm and steady on your thighs, and the thought that he knows what chris is doing—that he can hear every wet sound, every shaky breath you take—makes your stomach twist.

you’re getting fingered in your ass, stretched open and whimpering, right on top of him.

and you’re enjoying it.

your body clenches around both of them—tight, overwhelmed, trying to process too much at once—and another sound escapes your throat, this one needier, higher.

you feel chris’s breath near your shoulder as he murmurs, “there it is.”

you try to bury your face in your arms, but chris’s fingers don’t stop—they keep working you open, slow and deep, and your whole body trembles with every curl, every drag against tight muscle.

you let out another moan—softer this time, shaky—and matt’s hands twitch on your thighs like he heard that one too clear.

you should be humiliated. you are. but it feels too good.

“you like that?” chris asks, low behind you. “bein’ opened up while he’s watching you?”

you nod, whimpering.

“words.”

your voice cracks when you speak.

“y–yeah. please… chris.”

“please what?”

you squeeze your eyes shut, voice barely more than a whisper.

“please… don’t stop.”

he groans quietly, the sound low and satisfied, and his fingers sink deeper.

“yeah. didn’t think so.”

you gasp softly when his fingers slip out, the emptiness immediate, your body clenching around nothing now.

before you can even process it, you feel him shift behind you—the rustle of movement, the weight of the bed adjusting again. then the blunt head of his cock presses right against your entrance, already slick and warm with lube.

your breath catches.

chris’s hand settles heavy on your lower back, keeping you still, steady.

“stay right there,” he mutters, voice low and rough. “gonna go slow.”

you nod, but your arms are already shaking under you, your whole body tense with anticipation. you feel the pressure build, the stretch beginning all over again—but deeper this time, thicker, real.

he pushes forward slowly, letting you feel every inch as he starts to sink in.

he pushes in slow—inch by inch—and the burn is immediate. it’s deep, sharp, and overwhelming, making your whole body tense up.

your arms give out and you drop to your elbows, a shaky cry slipping from your throat.

tears prick at your eyes, the stretch unlike anything you’ve felt before. it’s too much—but not enough to make you stop.

matt’s hands are still on your thighs, soft and steady. one of them slides up to rub your hip gently, his voice calm beneath you.

“you’re okay,” he murmurs. “just breathe. you’re doin’ so good.”

chris groans low behind you, not even fully inside yet, his hand trailing up your spine.

“relax for me, pretty. you got it—just let me in.”

you try. you really do. the tears slip free anyway, rolling down your cheeks as your body adjusts, hips twitching, thighs shaking.

but you don’t say stop.

you just hold still, breathing through it, letting them soothe you as chris slowly keeps sinking deeper.

his hips press forward slowly, dragging a broken moan from your throat as he sinks in deeper—deeper—until he’s fully seated inside you. the stretch is deep, overwhelming, and your whole body trembles beneath the weight of it.

you collapse forward slightly, arms shaking, hands braced against the mattress on either side of matt’s chest. you can feel his steady breath beneath you, but your focus is all on the burn, the pressure, the fullness.

tears well in your eyes from the intensity, slipping down your cheeks as you try to breathe through it.

chris doesn’t move—just stays there, cock buried deep, one hand resting firm on your back.

“fuck,” he mutters, voice rough. “you’re takin’ me so good.”

matt’s hands rub your thighs gently, grounding but distant, his voice soft.

“you’re okay. you’ve got it.”

chris leans in, his hand in your hair—not pulling, just holding you still.

“my girl,” he murmurs near your ear, low and full of praise. “took it all like you were made for it.”

they keep still with you, letting your body adjust. chris’s hand rests heavy on your back, matt’s thumbs draw slow, steady circles into your thighs. nothing else moves. the only sound in the room is your shaky breathing and the soft, quiet hum of restraint.

your fingers tighten slightly on the sheets. your body twitches once, trying to process the stretch, the pressure—how impossibly full you feel.

you lift your head slowly, eyes still glossy, voice small and raw.

“so full.”

chris groans behind you, low and sharp, like he’s been waiting to hear you say it.

“i know,” he mutters, hand sliding lower, gripping your waist. “but you’re doin‘ s‘good.”

his grip on your waist tightens just a little—just enough to let you know he’s about to move.

then he pulls back, slow and careful, just a few inches.

the stretch drags, deep and hot, your breath catching in your throat. and when he pushes back in—slow, controlled, filling you again inch by inch—you moan, quiet and wrecked, your whole body clenching down instinctively.

your hips jerk slightly, thighs twitching, but chris steadies you with both hands.

“that’s it,” he mutters behind you, voice low and tight. “just like that.”

matt stays still beneath you, letting chris guide everything now, his hands still light on your thighs.

chris thrusts again—slow, deep, smooth—watching your body react to every inch.

“you’re takin’ it so fuckin’ well,” he says, almost to himself, pace unhurried as he rocks into you again.

chris pulls back again—this time a little faster—and sinks back in with more weight, hips pressing hard into yours. the force of it rocks your whole body forward, knocking a sound out of your throat you didn’t mean to make.

then matt shifts beneath you, just slightly, and his hips roll up in sync—deep, slow, and fuck, you feel everything.

your jaw drops. nothing comes out.

chris lets out a low, dark laugh behind you.

“what’s the matter?” he murmurs, hand gripping your waist tighter. “got nothin’ to say now?”

matt thrusts up again, slower, smoother, and your whole body arches—caught between both of them, filled to the brim, tears slipping down your cheeks without you even noticing.

“you were beggin’ for it,” chris keeps going, pace just a bit meaner now, hips snapping forward. “all whiny. now you can’t even speak?”

you try to say something—anything—but your lips just part uselessly, eyes fluttering back as another groan breaks from your chest. “yeah,” chris grits, hips slamming forward again. “that’s what i fuckin’ thought.”

their rhythm starts to sync up, slow and deep but heavier now—every thrust pushing you down harder, every sound you make a little louder.

you’re not even sure what you’re crying for anymore—pleasure, pressure, the sheer stretch of being completely filled. your hands grip the sheets, your thighs burn, and you’re gasping, high-pitched and messy, too gone to care how wrecked you sound.

your body starts shaking—more than before. it’s too much. too deep, too full, too everything.

your moans break into soft sobs, tears slipping faster now as your hands claw uselessly at the sheets. your thighs are trembling, your stomach’s tight, your mind’s slipping.

you cry out again—high, broken—and your whole body clenches, overwhelmed.

chris notices instantly.

his pace doesn’t stop, but his voice drops—rough, but quiet.

“i know, baby,” he mutters, one hand sliding up your back. “i know.”

his fingers curl into your waist, anchoring you as he fucks into you slow and hard, steady as ever.

“you’re takin’ it all. you’re doin’ so good for us.”

your sobs turn to gasps, the pressure building fast, the fullness dizzying. you can’t even answer him—you just nod, desperate and broken and too far gone.

matt shifts beneath you, his hands sliding up gently, steadying your hips as he lifts his head just enough.

then you feel it—his mouth on your chest, lips warm as they close around your nipple.

he sucks softly at first, tongue flicking gently, and your whole body twitches between them.

chris groans behind you as your walls tighten around them both, your back arching from the added pressure, overstimulation crashing over every nerve.

you whimper, a messy, breathless sound, caught between matt’s mouth and chris’s cock—between the stretch, the heat, the sounds, the hands that won’t let you go.

“fuckin’ perfect,” chris mutters through his teeth, pace never faltering. “cryin’ and still takin’ it.”

matt’s hand rubs gently along your side as he keeps mouthing at your nipple—slower, more focused, like he knows it’s pushing you closer to the edge.

chris’s hand slides down the curve of your stomach, slow and certain, until his fingers find your clit—swollen and throbbing, untouched for too long. he rubs in tight circles, fast and unforgiving, like he knows exactly how close you are.

your whole body jerks.

„fuck—” you sob, voice breaking completely. “too—too much—”

“i know, baby,” he grits out behind you, breath ragged. “but you can take it.”

matt’s still beneath you, his mouth hot and wet on your nipple, sucking gently, tongue flicking just right. his hands don’t stop soothing your thighs, grounding you, even as your body starts to fall apart.

you can’t even hold yourself up now—arms shaking, hips twitching uncontrollably as chris rubs your clit faster, the stretch and fullness too intense to even process.

your mouth falls open, but nothing comes out.

you’re right there—on the edge, completely ruined, no thoughts left except please.

your moan breaks out sharp and shaky, louder than before—his name spilling from your lips before you even realize it.

“chris—”

your head turns back toward him, lips parted, eyes glassy and blurred with tears. you try to focus, but the second your gaze meets his—his eyes dark, jaw tight, hand still working your clit in tight circles—your vision shatters.

your eyes roll back, lashes fluttering as your whole body locks up.

you come hard.

your hips jerk, your thighs clamp down, and everything tightens around both of them—deep, stretched, completely filled, the orgasm hitting you like a wave you couldn’t escape if you tried.

chris groans behind you, his fingers still moving even as you sob through it.

“there you go,” he mutters, voice low, proud. “that’s my fuckin’ girl.”

matt stays quiet beneath you, hands steady on your hips, letting you ride it out—letting you fall apart right there in their hands.

your body’s still twitching, aftershocks ripping through you, but neither of them stop.

chris’s hips snap forward again, deeper now, rougher, the slick mess of your orgasm making it easier for him to keep pounding into you. his fingers stay tight on your clit, rubbing through the overstimulation, forcing out every last bit of it.

you sob again, voice high and broken, thighs shaking uncontrollably.

“too much,” you whisper, breathless—but you don’t tell them to stop.

matt groans beneath you, hips rolling up to meet chris’s rhythm, his cock still buried deep, keeping you open and trembling. his lips trail across your chest again, tongue flicking softly against your nipple, sending shocks through your already wrecked body.

“shh,” chris mutters, leaning over you now, his body heavy on your back. “you’re takin’ it. you wanted this, didn’t you?”

you try to speak, but your voice breaks again—just a choked moan, lips parted, fingers clinging to the sheets like they’re the only thing keeping you grounded.

they don’t stop.

not while you’re shaking. not while you’re crying. not while you’re gasping out another sob that turns into a moan halfway through.

you’re gone—and they’re still not finished with you.

your body doesn’t know what to do anymore—every thrust pushes you closer to the edge again, every rub of chris’s fingers against your clit sends sparks flying up your spine.

your mouth opens, but nothing comes out—just high, breathy sounds, too far gone to form words.

“she’s shaking,” matt breathes beneath you, voice tight. “fuck.”

chris growls low behind you, his rhythm getting rougher, deeper—his grip on your hips bruising now as he chases his own release.

you sob, hips stuttering, pressure building fast, too fast—your whole body curling inward, thighs trembling violently.

“don’t stop,” you gasp, barely even meaning to say it.

chris leans in, lips at your ear, voice rough and breathless.

“not gonna, pretty girl—fuckin’ take it.”

and then it hits you.

your whole body locks up, the pressure snapping all at once, your back arching, legs jerking as you cry out. your vision goes white, and you squirt, the release sudden and uncontrollable, soaking both of them as you fall apart completely.

“fuck,” chris groans, hips slamming into you hard one last time as he buries himself deep, coming with a low growl that vibrates through your spine.

matt follows seconds later, a quiet, wrecked sound slipping from his throat as his hips jerk up once, twice, before he stills beneath you.

you collapse between them, body twitching, drenched, overstimulated and wrung out, nothing left but shallow breaths and trembling limbs.

your whole body sags, trembling and soaked, barely able to keep yourself upright. your arms give out first, then your hips drop, legs shaking as you try to breathe through the aftershocks.

chris is the first to pull out—slow, steady, and still panting behind you. you whimper at the feeling, overstimulated and aching, the emptiness sudden and sharp. his hands slide gently down your waist, less rough now, like he’s grounding you through the come-down.

a second later, matt shifts beneath you, sliding out just as carefully. you flinch at the stretch and pressure of losing both of them, body twitching again, so raw and spent you can’t even speak.

you collapse fully onto the bed, your cheek pressed to the sheets, legs parted, everything dripping—ruined in the best way.

chris brushes your hair back, palm heavy on your spine.

“still with us, pretty?”

you nod slowly, eyes closed, breath catching in your throat.

matt’s the first to move.

he slips off the bed without a word, grabbing his shirt, slipping it on. he doesn’t look back, just mutters, “i’ll uh- i’ll let you two chill,” and disappears through the door, quiet as ever.

the second it clicks shut, chris exhales hard through his nose, collapsing beside you with a heavy sigh. his arm drapes over your stomach, hand spreading wide and warm, like he needs you close after watching someone else touch you—even if he allowed it.

you shift, legs still trembling, and mumble, “i have to pee.”

“mhm.” he leans in, lips brushing your shoulder. “go, but come right back.”

you drag yourself up, walking on sore legs as you disappear into the bathroom, the ache between your thighs sharp and sweet.

when you return, he’s already pulled the covers down and flipped the pillow to the cool side. he pats the bed beside him.

you slide in, quiet.

he pulls you in immediately, arm tight around your waist. not a word—just a firm, familiar grip. not soft, but his.

“go to sleep,” he mumbles, voice rough with exhaustion, his breath at your neck.

you do.

@delooshunalhoe @chrisdollete @christophersturnn @sturniologirlzz @sturnxies @mattsside @emely9274 @sturnlovematt22 @sophand4n4 @sfoiasturn @whor3ing @sleepyybambi @theyluvivi @fratbrochrisgf @sweetshuga @slutformeganfox @ccxsturns @iprk90 @chrisgirl4liferss @phosphns @sydneysturniolooo @mattsbabymomma @l0s3rhaha @taintedsturns @miguelspvssy @dukeofjjune @raesturns @blushsturns @madssturniolo @scarlett-or-wtv @princesscee13 @maliaforstvrns @y0url0calsir3n @nick-stuxniolos-hg @throatgoat4u @alicesturns @luvleyangeldust @dykes4chris @muwapsturniolo @bugs-tags @matthewbernardswife