#and will likely begin to lean on her and she will find her way in through tom like her little puppet husband

[requiemforthepoets]

baby peanut! 𖦹 LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x wife!reader

SUMMARY: keeping your pregnancy from lando was proven to be very hard when all you want is tell him the amazing news that you both are expecting again. but since his birthday was coming up, you waited for his special day to tell him.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: reader is french-russian, multicultural household, established relationships, pregnancy, typos, and gramatical errors

WORD COUNT: 3.1k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: HAPPY LANDO DAY!!!!! was debating on posting a new fic for him, but decided to just make it a part of the norris family series, though this can be read as a stand alone. hope you’ll enjoy this one!

The soft morning light was just beginning to filter through the white curtains when you stirred awake, glancing over to see Lando fast asleep beside you. His peaceful face looked even more boyish, framed by the tousled strands of hair he hadn’t bothered to tame before collapsing into bed after last night’s stream. It had been hours before he joined you in bed, he and Max laughing and gaming into the early morning, and you knew he deserved this rest.

Just as you began to carefully sit up, you heard a soft rustling sound from the bedroom doorway. Peeking over, you spotted a small figure, a very familiar figure—a little silhouette with tousled hair, just like Lando’s, and sparkling eyes, trying best to tiptoe into the room. It was Thylane, with her tiny hands clutching her favorite blankie. You could see that she was struggling to hold back a giggle as she glanced over at her sleeping father.

Smiling, you brought a finger to your lips, silently shushing her. Thylane’s eyes widened, and she stopped mid-step, freezing in the doorway. You motioned gently for her to come closer to you, and she padded over quietly, looking up at you expectantly.

“Is Papa awake yet?” She whispered, voice barely more than a breath.

The eagerness in her tone made your heart swell, and you could not help but lean down, kissing her lightly on the forehead.

“No, mon amour,” you whispered back, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Papa had a very late night with Uncle Max. He needs his sleep, let’s let him rest a little longer, hm?”

Thylane nodded, her expression brightening at the thought of what you had in mind. “But it’s Papa’s birthday! I want to say happy birthday to him!”

“I know, my love. But how about we go to the kitchen, just you and me, and make a special birthday breakfast for Papa? Then we can surprise him together when he wakes up, and…” you paused, heart fluttering as you thought about the special surprise you had planned, one that you had kept to yourself until today. “And there’s something very exciting we’ll be giving him. Something you’re going to help me with, too.”

Her eyes lit up, and she bounced on her toes, already whispering with excitement. “What is it, Mama?”

“You’ll see, mon petit trésor,” you murmured with a soft smile. “It’s a surprise just as much for you as it is for your Papa. Now, come on.”

You grabbed your silk robe by the vanity chair and put it on. Taking Thylane’s little hand in yours, you casted a quick glance back at Lando. You leaned over, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead, lingering just a moment. The warmth of his skin was comforting, and for a heartbeat, you just admired the peaceful look on his face, hoping he would carry that warmth with him when he awoke to find you both by his side. Then you carefully lifted Thylane into your arms to keep her quiet and avoid the soft creaks of the floorboards as you slipped out of the room together.

You and Thylane moved quietly into the kitchen, both of you filled with anticipation. The kitchen was softly lit by the morning sun, casting a warm glow over the countertops as you gathered everything you needed for Lando’s birthday breakfast, with Thylane already clutching the whisk with her small hands, her tongue poking out in concentration as she tried her best to mix the batter for the pancakes.

“Like this, Mama?” She asked, glancing up at you, her face bright with determination.

“Oui, parfait, mon ange,” you replied, ruffling her hair lightly. “Now, tu peux ajouter les blueberries. Add the blueberries, like this.” You handed her a small bowl of plump blueberries, showing her how to fold them gently into the batter.

She followed your instructions very carefully, not wanting to ruin Lando’s surprise, her little fingers pushing each blueberry into the mix with care, her eyes darting to you every so often to check if she was doing it right.

“Is Papa going to love it?” She whispered.

You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Of course Papa’s going to love it because you made it for him,” you assured her, watching her face break into a wide grin. “Now, pass me the flour, please—la farine. Careful, don’t spill.”

With both hands, Thylane picked up the small bag of flour and brought it over, the look of focus never leaving her face. She had switched to a more serious demeanor, taking her role as your little sous-chef very seriously.

“Here, Mama!” She said proudly, handing it to you as if it were the most delicate thing in the world.

“Merci, mon trésor,” you replied, taking the flour and measuring out the right amount for the batter. “Okay, now you can stir again, doucement, like this.” You demonstrated, letting her hands follow yours as you guided her through the gentle motions.

When the pancakes were stacked high on a plate, topped with fresh berries and a drizzle of maple syrup, you and Thylane both stood back, admiring your creation.

“Look at what we made together,” you said softly, squeezing Thylane’s shoulder. “Papa will be very happy.”

Thylane clapped her hands excitedly, bouncing on her toes. “Can we give it to him now?”

“Not yet,” you shook your head, a smile forming on your lips. “There’s one more surprise we need to get ready.”

Walking over to the drawer, you retrieved the small acrylic box, some soft cloth, and your carefully wrapped pregnancy test. Thylane’s brows furrowed as she watched you, her head tilting with curiosity.

“What’s that, Mama?” She asked, peering closely at the box as you placed the soft cloth inside.

“This, my love, is a very special surprise for Papa,” you knelt down so that you were eye-level with her, placing the test in the box atop the folded cloth. “Do you remember how you told me you wanted to have a little brother or sister?”

Thylane’s eyes sparkled, and she nodded eagerly. “Yes! Yes! Does this mean…”

“Yes, Tilly. This means you’re going to be a big sister.” You smiled warmly at her.

Her face lit up, her mouth forming a perfect little “O” of excitement. “Really, Mama? I get a baby brother or sister?”

“Yes, mon trésor,” you nodded, laughing softly at her reaction. “We don’t know yet if it’s a brother or sister, but the baby is here, right inside Mama’s tummy, just a little peanut for now.”

Thylane’s eyes went wide with wonder, and she pressed her small hands to your stomach as if she was trying to feel the baby herself.

“A baby peanut!” She giggled, delight shining in her face. “Can we call the baby that for now?”

“Of course,” you chuckled, brushing her hair back. “Until we know more, we can call your little sibling, baby peanut.” She grinned, clearly enamored with the idea, and watched carefully as you tied the ribbon around the box with care.

“Can I help with the ribbon?” She asked, her hand already reaching out eagerly.

“Of course, here.” You said, guiding her hand as she carefully looped the ribbon around, tightening it with a gentle tug and finishing it off in a neat bow.

“Where should we put it, Mama?” She asked, glancing around the room.

You took a quick look at the cozy space, then pointed to a spot on the kitchen counter, just out of Lando’s immediate line of sight.

“Right here,” you decided, setting the box down gently. “That way, Papa won’t see it right away.”

Thylane nodded, grinning widely. “I can’t wait to see Papa’s reaction!”

With breakfast prepared and the surprise box tucked safely out of sight, you and Thylane made your way back to the bedroom, eager to wake up the birthday boy. By now, the sun had fully risen, casting a warm glow across the room as you nudged the door open to your and Lando’s bedroom. You expected to see Lando still sleeping peacefully, but instead, he was already awake, propped up on pillows with his phone in his hand, scrolling with a sleepy smile on his face.

Before you could say anything, Thylane let out a squeal of excitement and sprinted towards the bed, practically launching herself onto him. Lando barely had time to react before she pounced, wrapping her arms around his neck and showering Lando’s face with small kisses.

“Happy birthday, Papa! Happy birthday! Happy birthday!” She chanted, each word punctuated with a giggling kiss to Lando’s cheeks, forehead, and nose. Lando can’t help but laugh, his eyes crinkling with joy as he pulled her close, enveloping her in a warm hug.

“Thank you, Tilly!” He replied, chuckling as he looked up at her. “I don’t think I’ve ever had such a special wake-up call on my birthday before.”

She nodded enthusiastically, her face flushed with pride. “I made you a biiiiig birthday card last night! It’s pink, and has lots of hearts and sparkles on it, and I even drew a race car!”

“Woah, a race car? Just for me? Now that is one special card,” he said, brushing a few stray curls behind her ear as he smiled up at her. “I can’t wait to see it. I bet it’s the best card in the whole world.”

Giggling, Thylane seated herself on top of his stomach, her little hands resting on his chest as she looked down at Lando with pure adoration. You leaned against the doorway, laughing at the sweet sight in front of you before walking over to the bed and settling down beside Lando.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep, but laced with affection. “I’m so happy that I get to spend my birthday with my favorite girls.”

You leaned in, brushing your lips softly against his. “Good morning, birthday boy,” you whispered, smiling against his lips before pulling back just slightly. “Happy birthday, my love.”

Lando grinned, puckering his lips again, silently asking for another kiss. Laughing, you leaned down, giving him another soft kiss, feeling his hand come up to gently cup your cheek. In that moment, it was just the three of you, wrapped in warmth and love, as if nothing else in the world existed. As you pulled back, Thylane let out a little giggle, pointing at the two of you with a mischievous grin.

“Ew, Mama and Papa!” She teased, though her face betrayed nothing but happiness.

Lando laughed, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “Hey, I deserve a birthday kiss, don’t I?”

“Papa! Mama and I made you a special breakfast!” She announced, clapping her hands. “We worked really, really hard. I even put the blueberries in all by myself!”

“No way! You mean to tell me you were my chef this morning, too?” Lando ticked her side, making her dissolve into giggles.

Thylane laughed, wiggling under his tickling fingers. “Yes, I’m your chef today! Mama showed me how to make everything.”

“Well, now I definitely have to see what my two favorite girls cooked up,” he said, sitting up slowly.

Lando reached over, wrapping an arm around your waist as he pulled you close, then lifted Thylane into his other arm. She squealed with delight, wrapping her arms around his neck and snuggling her head against Lando’s shoulder. As the three of you made your way to the kitchen, Lando kept his arm secure around your waist, pulling you close as Thylane chattered excitedly about breakfast.

“Mama taught me how to fold in the blueberries so they wouldn’t smush!” She said proudly. “And we made a big stack of pancakes with syrup and blueberries and…oh! And I even helped tie a bow for your present!”

Lando gave you a curious look over Thylane’s shoulder. “A present, huh?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with a grin. “I’m starting to think you two were up to a lot more than just breakfast this morning.”

“Hm, maybe we were,” you replied, smiling playfully as you reached up to brush a strand of his hair back. “But you’ll have to be patient to find out.”

He chuckled, squeezing your waist. “Well, I don’t know how much patience I have today. I mean, it is my birthday.”

Laughing, you reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Good things come to those who wait, birthday boy.”

The three of you entered the kitchen, where the table was set with the special breakfast you and Thylane had made. Lando’s eyes sparkled as he took it all in, and Thylane beamed with pride, practically bouncing in his arms.

“Happy birthday, Papa!” She exclaimed one last time, her voice full of love and excitement, her little arms squeezing him tightly.

With Lando’s arm around you, and Thylane hugging him with all her might, it was clear to you that this birthday morning could not have started off any sweeter.

Breakfast was a cozy, peaceful affair, the three of you wrapped in the simplicity of the morning. You and Lando chatted about plans for his birthday dinner later, throwing around ideas and laughing at each other’s jokes, while Thylane happily watched her favorite show on her iPad, humming along with the familiar theme song of Little Einsteins. It was a gentle scene, just the three of you? Sharing a quiet, joyful space as the morning sun spilled across the table.

Lando seemed perfectly content, caught up in the warmth of the moment. He had almost forgotten about the small gift waiting for him, tucked away in the kitchen—until you stood up, brushing a gentle hand across his shoulder.

“Wait here for a sec,” you said softly, a hint of excitement in your voice. “Tilly, come help me with something for Papa.”

Thylane’s face lit up as she hopped down from her chair, glancing at you with a secretive smile. She knew exactly what was coming next. Taking her hand, you led her back into the kitchen, glancing over your shoulder to see Lando watching you both with a look of fond curiosity. He seemed completely oblivious to what was coming.

You reached into the cozy corner of the counter, pulling out the small, acrylic box you had hidden away with so much care. Inside, carefully wrapped in a soft cloth, was the positive pregnancy test. You knelt down, handing the box to Thylane, who held it carefully with wide, shining eyes.

“Okay, mon ange,” you whispered, giving her a gentle smile. “Give this to Papa, and make sure he opens it.”

She nodded, taking the box in her hands as if it were a treasure. Together, you walked back to the dining area, where Lando was watching you both with growing curiosity.

“What’s this?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with a playful grin.

Thylane held out the box, her excitement barely contained. Lando took the acrylic box, glancing from her to you, a mixture of awe and confusion on his face.

You smiled, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, leaning close. “Go on,” you said, voice soft with anticipation. “Open it.”

“Open it, Papa! Open it!” She echoed, bouncing slightly on her toes, her face brimming with excitement.

Lando carefully untied the delicate ribbon that Thylane had helped you with that morning, his fingers moving slowly as if savoring the moment. The box felt light in his hands, and his expression shifted from curiosity to wonder as he lifted the lid, pulling away the cloth inside. The instant he saw the test, his eyes widened, and Lando looked up at you with a mixture of disbelief and joy.

“Is this…” he stammered, his voice barely more than a whisper, as though he was afraid he might shatter the moment. “Is this real? Is this for real?”

You nodded, unable to contain your own smile as you squeezed his shoulder. “Yes, love. It is real.” You watched his face light up as the reality of it washed over him.

“Happy birthday, my love.” You added softly, feeling your own heart swell with happiness.

Lando did not hesitate. He stood up, pulling you into a tight embrace, arms wrapping around you as he lifted you off of your feet, twirling you in a gentle circle. His laugh was warm and filled with immense happiness so pure that it brought tears to your eyes.

“After all this time,” he murmured, voice thick with emotions as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “We’re really going to have another baby?” You nodded, laughing through your tears.

“I found out a few weeks ago, when you were in Mexico. I wanted to wait until today to tell you.” You placed a hand on his cheeks, gazing up at him with all the love you had been holding back for weeks. “It took everything in me not to tell you the moment I found out.”

He kissed you softly, his forehead pressing against yours as he whispered. “Thank you for waiting, love. This…this is literally the best birthday gift I’ve ever had.”

“Papa, did you see? It’s real!” She said, beaming and clapping her hand, while bouncing in happiness. “I’m going to have a baby brother or sister! I told Mama I want to call them baby peanut!”

“Baby peanut, huh?” Lando chuckled, bending down to lift Thylane into his arms, bringing her close to the two of you. Kissing her forehead, and looking at you with a grin. “I think that’s a perfect name, for now.”

“Papa, can we tell everyone? All our friends?” Thylane’s face lit up at the thought, and she looked back and forth between you and Lando.

“Soon, Tilly. But for now, let’s keep it our little secret, okay? Just between us.” He leaned down, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “That way, we can keep baby peanut all to ourselves a little longer.”

“Our little secret!” She nodded seriously, her eyes wide as she held her finger to her lips. “I’m really good at secrets, Papa. I won’t tell anyone!”

You all just stood there, basking in the warmth and happiness of the quiet moment, Lando had never felt a new kind of peace settle over him. This was everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever dreamed of. A family, life filled with love and laughter, and now, another little one on the way.

Lando let Thylane down, letting her run towards the living room to play with her toys. He reached out, threading his fingers through yours and giving your hand a gentle squeeze, and kissing it softly.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice breaking a little bit. “For this, for everything. You’ve given me the greatest gift of all.”

You squeezed his hand back, your own eyes shining with emotion. “I love you,” you murmured. “Happiest birthday, my love.”

As Lando held you closely, he realized that this was a happiness beyond anything he could have ever imagined.

[peachtvs]

Ⅵ⌇ CONTENT WARNINGS: afab, female!reader, dom!pitfighter!vi x reader, fingering, oral (reader receiving), rough sex, strapon (reader receiving), aftercare, unhinged gayass shit. 1.8k wc

pitfighter!vi who's right about to begin her first fight of the day, crackling her neck right to left before clenching her fists in front of her face.

pitfighter!vi who's eyes lazily glance around the stadium. it's unbelievably loud, people grabbing at the bars and yelling out, betting tickets being held up in the air. vi doesn't notice anything interesting, no, not until she spots you watching behind the bars.

pitfighter!vi who's seemingly mesmerized for a moment as her eyes meet yours. you're hot. without even thinking her eyes trace down your figure, hardcore checking you out. her gaze flicks down to your hips, your chest, back up to those eyes, and as great of a view you were, the match had started without her noticing and her opponent lands a sudden slam into the side of her jaw.

pitfighter!vi who thinks even the way you panicked was cute, your eyes widening as you're so invested. have you always been her fan? how many games had you attended without her noticing? vi almost cruses herself, how had she not noticed a pretty little thing like you before?

pitfighter!vi who wins the match as usual, pummeling her opponent into the ground as the referee had to rip her off the guy by the shoulder. she takes her infamous slogan of victory, holding her fist into the air as the crowd absolutely erupts in excitement. she looks around quickly, finding you in the crowd, locking eyes, and winking to you with a smirk. she almost laughs when she notices your entire face burning red in response, giving her a flustered smile.

pitfighter!vi who notices you once again at the afterparty with her buddies, standing from afar in the corner of the pub, watching her intently. she almost thinks you're what she was meant to take home tonight, not one of the many medals she already had.

pitfighter!vi who's so charming. she's leaning against the wall, her muscular arms crossed in front of her chest and she is so cocky noticing your eyes stuck on them.

pitfighter!vi who takes you back to her place, and the second that the front door is closed behind you she's already on you. both her calloused hands slide up the side of your neck, cupping your face into her hands as she presses her lips against yours. the way you guys are making out is almost like she's eating you alive, backing you slowly until you hit the edge of the bed. she pulls away, barely for a second, pushing you back onto the bed as she climbs on top of you. she holds both your hands, sliding up from your forearms to your palms before intertwining her fingers with yours and pinning you down onto the bed beneath her. the look in her eyes is hungry, staring down at you with your gaze half-lidded. "You're so needy, hmm, pretty girl?" and you're losing it.

pitfighter!vi who's holding you down with a tight grip as her kisses trail down from your lips to your cheek, jaw, before she licks up the side of your neck, swirling her tongue against your neck. she can't help but feel insatiable. who knew bare skin could taste so good?

pitfighter!vi who marks hickey after hickey all over your body. she slides your shirt up and over your head, travelling down from your neck to bite onto your exposed chest. she takes your breast into her mouth, swirling her tongue around your nipple and roughly grabbing and pinching the other with her hand. you're moaning out, wrapping your legs around her waist, and that only makes her grind into you harshly. feeling her weight pressing down on you, her tongue swirling on you, her hand groping up your chest, you feel like you're on cloud nine with the amount of overstimulation she's giving you.

pitfighter!vi who quickly rids you of all your clothing, throwing it behind her onto the floor before she's between your thighs, looking at you from in between your legs with striking blue eyes. she still has her pit fighter makeup on, her eyes contrasting the black streaks down her face so well it seems as if shes seeing through to your soul. her dark hair tickles your inner thighs, and you twist your hips in response.

pitfighter!vi who maintains eye contact with you as her tongue presses onto your hole, dragging it up harshly before it flicks up to the underside of your clit. you moan out in response, your back arching off the bed as you buck your hips involuntarily. in turn, vi snakes her hands to your hips, holding you so tight you know her handprints will be buried into your skin by tomorrow morning, and that only makes you love this even more.

pitfighter!vi who eats you out like it's her last meal, making almost primal sounds as she laps at your clit, sucking on it harshly and swirling her tongue all at the same time. you feel like your mind is falling apart, your hands reaching out and fingers tangling into her hair, pulling her closer. vi laughs breathily in response, and you clench at the loss of her mouth.

pitfighter!vi who grabs you by your thighs and moves onto the bed with you, now sitting between your thighs as she holds your knees apart. she's still completely clothed, and you cover your face with both hands in embarrassment at how perverted her gaze is when she looks down at you.

pitfighter!vi who makes you beg for her to keep going, pet name after pet name as she only cups your pussy, pressing the heel of her hand down on your clit occasionally to cut you off as you try and plea with her.

pitfighter!vi who doesn't give you what you want until you're on the verge of tears, grinding against her hand needily, right on the verge of falling apart. just where she wanted you the second she first laid eyes on you.

pitfighter!vi who sinks two fingers into you, stretching you out and scissoring them deeper and deeper until she hits a mushy spot within that has you crying out. she doesn't care if the walls in her studio are paper thin, she's focused all and only on making a pretty little girl like you squirt all over her sheets. the second she feels you had barely adjusted, vi increases her speed. the heel of her hand slams down on your clit with each fingerfucked thrust, a soft pap pap pap of your wetness as if your pussy was telling her how good she was doing too. vi's freehand traces circles along your stomach, groping your tit and pinching your nipple as her fingers curl up inside of you each time she's bottoming out.

pitfighter!vi who fingerfucks orgasm after orgasm out of you, ruining her sheets in your squirt as you swear you can't cum anymore—only for her to press down on your lower stomach, curl up her fingers, and for you to cum once again with your eyes rolling into the back of your head and thighs shaking.

pitfighter!vi who gently pulls her fingers out of your sloppy pussy, leaning down to press a sweet kiss against your clit almost as an apology. you lay on the mattress flat, breathing heavily, pussy clenching around nothing as vi gets out of the bed.

pitfighter!vi who quickly returns, sitting between your legs once more, only this time she's wearing a dark red strapon—smiling down at you sweetly as she cups your face gently. her thumb brushes over the streaks of tears on your cheek, laying the dildo onto your lower belly as she leans down to your neck. her lips nip against your skin gently, her arms caging your head as she cradles you like you're the most precious thing in the world. she tangles her hand into your hair, petting your scalp. you wrap your legs around her waist, feeling the weight of the strap against your clit, your hands sliding up the tattoos on her back as you hold her with closed eyes. "How do you want it, pretty girl?" her voice is soft, charming, almost like a lullaby. the versatility in her tone is almost astounding, going from nastily lecherous to sweet and lulling. you adjust yourself for a moment, leaning up to kiss her neck, trailing to her ear.

"I want you to fuck me."

pitfighter!vi who's pounding into you, your hands gripping at the sheets with your ankles behind her head. vi's large hands are holding on to your thighs, your ass lifted up from the mattress as she slams into you over and over. you never thought you could meet someone who could cum from strapon fucking you alone, but here you were—your slick splashed across vi's pelvis, dripped all over your inner thighs just as she was dripping too. the stretch was so good, tipping so close to too much every time she reaches down to give a harsh swirl around your clit. you sob, not from sadness or pain, but from how fucking good it feels. how easily she's fucking into that right spot nestled deep into your pussy, how easily she kisses your cervix with the head of the strap. vi's hands suddenly run down the underside of your thighs, holding the back of your knees when she pushes them into your chest.

pitfighter!vi who has you in a mating press, sloppily fucking your slutty throat with her tongue as her hips fuck your pussy open. her hand holds yours, fingers intertwined sweetly—a stark contrast to how animalistically her hips slam against yours. it's not until you gasp out, holding her hand tighter as you look up into vi's eyes. vi looks down at you, half-lidded as she smiles at you.

"you doing alright, cupcake?" you could only moan in response, quickly nodding absent-mindedly.

"i'm gonna cum, fuck—"

pitfighter!vi who cages your head in her biceps when you say that, exhaling deeply as she closes her eyes and moans in response. without warning, she pulls right out to the tip, slamming back in, using the entire length of the dildo now as her hand snakes down to your clit.

"yeah? cum then."

pitfighter!vi who cums a little after you do, roughly riding out your high by fucking you through your orgasm, only slowing down when you're pushing against her thighs with weak hands. she bottoms out the strap one last time, hips pressed flush against yours as she leans in to give a gentle peck onto your lips before pulling out slowly.

pitfighter!vi who has magical aftercare, wiping you clean with a towel and cuddling you in her arms until you eventually fall asleep—massaging your head with an occasional peck on your forehead.

You're watching...

© PeachTVs 2024

[big-sis-milly]

You were jerking off in your room when your big sis suddenly barges in heavily intoxicated, flopping on the bed and trapping your legs under her as she immediately passes out. You sit there for a moment, frowning.

"Well, it's not like she's in the way or anything... It'll be quick, and it's not like I can stop now, so..." You reason, completely glazing over the fact that a family member barging in on your masturbation session hasn't ruined the mood, not one bit. Even though she's out cold, you still look back and forth between her peaceful, sleeping face and the porn on your phone, just to make sure!

You find yourself getting close, until you realize that-- oh my god-- she really could wake up at any moment! Why would you stop looking at her face for even a second? So you shut off the phone, directing your full attention on your big sis. As you stare into her closed eyes, you begin to wonder: What would happen if she woke up right now? Your own sister, catching you in the act for real this time. She would totally freak out, calling you gross and perverted and stuff... W-whatever. But, maybe... What if she didn't act like that? What if she wasn't angry?

Maybe she'd just up look at you, that annoying grin forming on her face as she scoots closer, asking what you're doing... and why you're doing it all by yourself? What if your sister leaned into you, planting long, tender kisses into your cheek and lips as her hand moves over your chest, your stomach, lower and lower until-

You've never came harder in your entire life. You gradually drift back in from your post-orgasm daze, seeing the mess you've made on yourself. Not much to clean it with, and you're not risking getting up, so you elect to lick yourself clean. You will never speak of this night to anybody.

[rafesbabygirlx]

Unknown Identity - Drew Starkey x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: when the reader is at some bar/at a party at the club and she hooks up with drew & ends up at his hotel room or something & she has no idea who he is and it comes up somehow on the morning after

Warnings: hookup, smut (oral, missionary)

@chocolovelatte I hope I did her justice

The club lights pulsed to the rhythm of the heavy bass, a beat that thudded deep in your chest as you leaned against the bar, sipping a fizzy, sweet drink. The energy of the crowd surged around you, a blur of faces and the endless dance of the night. The air was dense with the mix of perfume, sweat, and an electric thrill that promised anything could happen.

You felt a presence at your side before you saw him. Tall and striking, he stood with a confidence that drew attention without effort. His dark hair looked perfect and his eyes were bright even in the darkness of the club. When he caught your gaze, a sly smile curved on his lips. He was familiar, but not in a way you could quite place.

“Hey,” he said, leaning in just enough for his voice to cut through the music. “You from around here.”

You laughed, tilting your head in amusement. “Just moved. Is that your best pickup line?” 

“I’ve got a couple more if you’d like to hear them,” he replied, eyes glinting with something playful, his voice deep and sexy. The tone was warm, smooth, like velvet wrapping around each syllable. You felt a shiver run down your spine.

You and your best friend had just moved to New York. Needing a change of your small quiet hometown for something exciting. What better place to have gone? Your friend had left you at the bar to go dance with someone and you had no problem with it. This wasn’t your typical scene but you’re pushing yourself since the change of scenery. You weren’t expecting to find someone of your own. 

Before you knew it, the hours melted into moments. You danced, talked, and shared glances that lingered longer than they should. His laughter was infectious, his voice low and intimate when he leaned in close to speak over the music. The drink in your hand was forgotten as the electric charge between you crackled and grew.

It wasn’t until you found yourself in the back of a taxi, heart racing and cheeks flushed, that reality started to blur around the edges. His hand rested on your knee, grounding you in the moment as the city lights blurred past the window. He would lean over and whisper in your ear and his lips would graze over your earlobe. You swear you could go crazy at just the slight touch. 

The hotel room was as sleek and polished as you’d expect from someone who carried themselves with such confidence. He held the door open for you, eyes never leaving yours, as you walked in and kicked off your heels. The click of the door closing behind you sent your pulse skyrocketing.

His hands were immediately on your waist spinning you around to face him. “You good with this?” The way he looked, staring down at you as you could only look at the way his tongue glides over his bottom lip wondering how it would feel on yours. “I’m so good.” You both smile as he cups the side of your face and pulls you in for a kiss. You immediately let his tongue explore your mouth. You can taste cigarettes and beer and you never thought you’d love the combination until now. 

He walks you backwards to the hotel bed as you unbutton his shirt and he begins to lift your dress up and over your head. He looks down at your matching black set and sinks to his knees. He places kisses on your stomach and down to your thighs. His fingers rub circles on your soaked clothed core and you shake above him. He wraps his fingers around the hem of your panties pulling them down and placing kisses where they were just covering. He motions you to sit and he pulls your legs over his shoulders. 

He begins to work on your clit. Flicking light licks onto it while you grip the back of his head to pull him in closer. He continues the movements of his tongue until you're dripping wet and climaxing. He moves up to lay in between your legs. Freeing himself of his pants he’s quick to line himself up with you. “I can’t wait to feel you around me, pretty girl.” Still coming down from your high you find it hard to form any proper sentences. “Please,” is all you get out as you grip his biceps. 

He pushes into slowly with a smile but concern in his eyes as he watches you to make sure you’re ok. You winced a bit at the stretch but as he bottomed out the pain subsided and all you felt was full. He slowly moved back and pushed into you again. You gasp through a smile at his movements, “harder…” you breathe out. 

He picks up the pace. Thrusting into you at a speed that has your breath hitching and walls clenching around him. “Fuck you feel good.” He moves the hair out of your face to get a better look at you. Both of you thinking about how you’ve never hooked up with someone else in this way but it just feels right. Like it was meant to be. 

“…I’m close. Shit.” You gasp out feeling your stomach begin to tighten. You wanted to call out his name but realized neither or you even know each other’s. That  was quickly pushed to the back of your mind when he sped up his movements to get you to another high. It doesn’t take much longer until you're arching your body up into his and crying out from the pleasure. He keeps moving to get you through it. Once you’ve settled back onto the bed, he pulls out and begins to stroke himself. You watch him as he does and cant help yourself but to take over. You stroke him quickly as he hunches over you and you let him release onto your stomach. 

Once he’s caught his breath he stands up and heads to the bathroom. He returns with a washcloth wiping his come off your stomach. You get up and start to collect your clothes. He comes out of the bathroom dressed in sweatpants and hands you a shirt of his. “Stay with me, only if you'd like.” You contemplate for a second before smiling and accepting the shirt. Much better than the walk of shame through the nice hotel lobby after all the workers saw you two walk in together wrapped in each other's arms laughing loudly. You both climb back into bed, you lay your chest to his back and he pulls you in tightly. 

Morning came too quickly. The rays of sunlight sliced through a crack in the curtains, waking you from a deep, dreamless sleep. You blinked against the brightness, taking in the unfamiliar room. The minimalist décor and the expensive sheets wrapped around you hinted that you were far from home. Slowly, the events of the night before trickled back—his smile, the way he’d whispered sweet words into your ear, the feeling of him inside you, the way his hands had traced patterns on your skin until the early hours. You turned over, heart pounding, to see him beside you, still fast asleep. His dark hair was tousled, eyelashes casting shadows on his cheekbones, making him look softer than he had in the dim light of the club. There was something about him, even in sleep he was still so handsome. 

Then, as you sat up and got up to make your way to the bathroom, your eyes landed on the glossy magazine sitting on the room's table. It was a Vanity Fair. You take a closer look at it and your eyes widen at the realization. The cover showcasing a familiar, handsome face. A name next to it that made your breath catch: Drew Starkey. He was sitting next to Daniel Craig in honor of their new movie coming out. 

Reality hits you like a wave. Drew Starkey, the actor, was lying just next to you, just fucking you last night,  in this hotel room that seemed too polished, too perfect. It was impossible. Yet, there he was, blinking his eyes open, a lazy grin spreading across his face when he saw you. You never watched anything he was in, and knew of his name from friends. May have seen a photo of him once or twice, but you really had no idea he was the same person who’s been giving you butterflies these past hours. 

“You’re…” you managed to say, voice cracking with shock and disbelief. You held up the magazine not being able to finish your sentence. “Yeah,” he said, the grin turning a bit sheepish as he propped himself up on one elbow, taking in your reaction. “I didn’t know,” you return. He seemed entirely too relaxed for what you felt—a cocktail of shock, disbelief, and something that teetered on the edge of panic. “Surprise?”

You stared at him, your mind spinning as you processed the night before. How you hadn’t noticed who he was, how easily you’d been drawn into his orbit. Your cheeks flushed as you remembered how open, how uninhibited you’d been. He gets up and begins to move towards you. He reached out, a playful glint in his eye as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I gotta admit,” he said, eyes searching yours, “it’s been a while since someone looked at me and didn’t know who I was. I liked it.”

You blinked, trying to push past the embarrassment and confusion, to focus on the way his touch still made your skin tingle. “I had no idea…” you whispered, more to yourself than to him. 

“Well,” he said, leaning in just a bit, “maybe that’s what made last night so good.”

He cupped your face, just like last night and pulled you into another kiss. You didn’t know who he was yesterday but even now knowing your feelings towards him are no different. You like the way the previously unknown man made you feel and you hope for more of it.

.⭒☆━━━━━━━━━✰━━━━━━━━━☆⭒.

Taglist:

@rafestoothbrush @weluvwbb @itsforeverandalwayz @butterfly-ibuki @percysley

[the-winter-spider]

Invisible | Part 11

Pairings: Bucky x Reader (eventually lololol)

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Angst, stupid people, dramaaaaa

A/N: I aint ready for peace yet 😇🫶🏻

Masterpost

NYU 4th Year

The late afternoon sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon as you exited your lecture hall, your bag slung over your shoulder and your mind already racing with thoughts of your looming paper. The quad was buzzing with students heading off to their weekend plans, and you were lost in your thoughts when you spotted Natasha leaning casually against a lamppost, her red hair catching the golden light.

“There she is,” Nat called, waving you over with a grin. “What took you so long? I’ve been standing here for ages.”

“Class ran late,” you said, rolling your eyes as you walked up to her. “Professor decided to drop a surprise reading quiz on us.”

Natasha scoffed, falling into step beside you. “Reading quizzes on a Friday should be illegal. Anyway, there’s a party tonight at Walker’s place. You coming?”

You hesitated, already feeling the weight of your weekend workload. “I don’t know, Nat. I’ve got that big paper due next week, and I’m kind of behind. I was planning to get a head start tonight.”

Natasha groaned, clasping her hands together in an exaggerated plea. “Come on, please? Wanda already bailed on me, and I really want to see this guy who’s going to be there. I can’t get stuck with the boys by myself—they’ll ruin my whole vibe.”

You sighed, torn between responsibility and the infectious energy of your best friend. “Fine,” you said reluctantly. “But I’m starting my introduction before we leave. No arguments.”

“Scout’s honor,” Natasha said, raising three fingers in a mock salute.

You gave her a pointed look. “You weren’t even a Girl Scout.”

She grinned, undeterred. “True, but I can feel it. In another life, I was definitely a spy.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you parted ways. “Yeah, sure, Nat.”

By the time you got back to your dorm, Natasha was already busy texting, her phone lighting up with each rapid-fire message. You could tell by the sly smile on her face that she was talking to her crush. The thing about Natasha was that she always knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it. She was a spitfire, sharp-tongued and unapologetically confident, but underneath all that fire, she was a hopeless romantic. Most guys your age weren’t ready for someone like her, but that never stopped her from trying.

You sat at your desk and opened your laptop, determined to at least get your introduction done before the night derailed into party chaos. The words flowed easily, and by the time you finished your intro and even managed to start your first paragraph, you felt a small sense of accomplishment.

Alright you texted Natasha, I’m done for now. Let’s get ready.

Within seconds, your phone buzzed with her reply: Finally!!! Be there in 5.

True to her word, Natasha burst into your room moments later, her arms loaded with a makeup bag and a pair of heels. You both commandeered Wanda’s bed, laying out a mess of possible outfits, debating the merits of each one as you tried to find the perfect look.

You finally settled on a sleek black mini-dress that hugged your figure in all the right places, paired with short heels and of course your signature neckless: your locket. Natasha went for a bold red jumpsuit with a plunging neckline and sky-high heels.

Standing side by side in front of the mirror, Natasha let out a low whistle. “Damn, we’re hot.”

You giggled, adjusting the strap of your dress. “We clean up nice.”

Natasha’s eyes drifted to the delicate gold locket resting against your collarbone, and she smiled. “That locket… you’ve been wearing it forever. I’ve never seen you without it.”

You glanced down, your fingers lightly brushing over the familiar weight of the locket. “Yeah, it’s kind of a family thing, my mom gave it to be before she passed"

Natasha, smiled sadly her curiosity piqued. “You never did tell me what’s inside.”

You held the locket, fidgeting it between your fingers. “On one side, there’s a quote about love that my great-great-great-grandmother supposedly wrote. My grandma told me everyone who’s had this locket would place a photo of the man they loved on the other side—so they’d always be close to their heart."

Natasha’s eyes softened. “Your whole family sounds like a bunch of hopeless romantics.”

You laughed. “Apparently. Guess it runs in the blood.”

Natasha smirked, leaning in. “So… who’s in yours?”

You hesitated, your fingers lingering on the locket before closing it. “No one,” you said, offering a small smile. “I don’t really have anyone to put in there right now.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Mhm, sure. No one at all?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not everyone is as quick to fall head over heels as you, Nat.”

“Hey,” she said, placing a hand over her heart dramatically, “I just know what I want.”

“And what you deserve,” you added with a grin.

Natasha nodded approvingly. “Exactly.”

With that, you both grabbed your bags and made your way out of the dorm, ready to take on the night. Natasha’s phone buzzed again, and she couldn’t hide the excitement on her face as she typed back.

You glanced at her, smiling softly. “Texting your mystery man?”

“Maybe,” she said with a wink. “Tonight’s going to be fun—you’ll see.”

The crisp night air buzzed with the energy of the weekend as you and Natasha made your way down the crowded street, laughter and music spilling out from houses along the way. The distant thump of bass grew louder with every step, and soon you were standing in front of John Walker’s house, its windows glowing and the porch already packed with students.

Natasha looped her arm through yours as you approached the door, her heels clicking against the pavement. “You know,” she said, her voice light but teasing, “I always thought you might have Bucky’s picture in that locket.”

You stumbled slightly, your eyes snapping to hers. “What?”

She smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, don’t act so surprised. You two have been inseparable since kindergarten. Best friends, sure, but there’s always been… something.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but she didn’t give you the chance. “I mean, hey, no judgment. I’m just saying I’m a little surprised he’s not in there.”

You were about to respond, to come up with some half-hearted deflection, but before you could, Natasha grinned and yanked you toward the door. “No time for heart-to-hearts now. Let’s find the boys.”

The moment you stepped inside, the heat and noise hit you like a wave. The living room was packed, bodies swaying to the beat of the music as red solo cups were passed around. You caught a glimpse of a makeshift beer pong table in the corner, surrounded by a cheering crowd. The scent of cheap alcohol and sweat mingled in the air, and someone had already spilled something sticky on the floor.

Natasha scanned the room with a practiced eye, her grip still firm on your arm. “There they are,” she said, nodding toward the far side of the room where Steve and Bucky were leaning against a wall, talking. Steve had his usual easy smile, but Bucky’s eyes flicked across the room, as if he was keeping tabs on everything and everyone.

Natasha released your arm and nudged you forward with a sly grin. “Go on. I’ll catch up with you in a minute.” Before you could protest, she disappeared into the crowd, already hunting down her mystery man.

You took a deep breath and weaved your way through the throng of people, your heart picking up speed as you got closer to them. Bucky’s head turned slightly, and when his eyes landed on you, a slow smile spread across his face. He nudged Steve, who looked up and gave you a warm wave.

Here’s a revised version with smoother transitions and more natural dialogue flow:

“Well, well,” Bucky’s voice cut through the noise as you and Natasha finally reached him and Steve. He leaned casually against the wall, a lopsided grin on his face. “Look who decided to show up.”

Steve chuckled, raising his cup in a mock toast. “Didn’t think we’d see you tonight. Thought you had some big paper to write?”

“I did,” you replied, crossing your arms with a smirk. “But Natasha here wouldn’t take no for an answer. Said it was a life-or-death situation.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Natasha, relentless? Shocking.”

“She’s practically a force of nature,” you said, glancing around. “So, drinks?”

Steve drained the last of his beer and set his cup down with a satisfied sigh. “You two go ahead. I’m gonna head over to the keg and see if I can beat my personal record tonight.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Best of luck, Stevie.”

Steve winked as he stepped away. “Now that you’re here, I don’t need it.”

As he disappeared into the crowd, you and Bucky stood there in a comfortable silence for a moment, the bass of the music thumping around you. Then, Bucky gave you one of his signature half-smiles, the kind that always made your heart skip a beat. “Come on,” he said, reaching for your hand and pulling you toward the drink table.

His touch was brief but enough to send a spark up your arm. You followed without protest, a small smile tugging at your lips. When you reached the table, he handed you a drink, his fingers brushing against yours—a fleeting, seemingly innocent moment that left your cheeks warm.

“Thanks,” you murmured, avoiding his gaze as you lifted the cup to your lips.

Bucky leaned in slightly, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and for a second, you forgot how to breathe. But before you could think of a response, Natasha appeared from behind you, clapping her hands together, cutting through the moment.

“Alright, people,” she announced, her tone playful. “What’s the plan? Beer pong? Dancing? Or do we just stand here and look devastatingly cool?”

Bucky smirked, his eyes still on you. “I think we’ve already nailed the last one.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “How about we find Steve before he gets himself into trouble?”

Bucky raised his cup in agreement. “Solid plan.”

With that, the three of you moved back into the crowd, weaving through the crush of people and the haze of music. Even as the party buzzed around you, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Bucky’s lingering gaze—or the way your locket, pressed against your chest, seemed to grow heavier with every step.

"There he is!" Natasha beamed, stopping "Buck you go watch him, me and my girl are gonna dance for a bit!" Before either of you could respond, Natasha was already pulling you away, you turned around glancing over your shoulder briefly to see Bucky's blue eyes smiling at you as he gave you a single wave.

The music thumped loudly in your ears, the bass vibrating through the floor as you swayed with Natasha in the middle of the crowded living room. The alcohol buzzed warmly in your veins, and for a moment, you let yourself forget about everything—about the paper, about the tension that always seemed to linger whenever Bucky was around.

You and Nat were giggling, holding onto each other as you moved to the beat. It was freeing, exhilarating even, until your gaze drifted across the room and landed on him.

Bucky was leaning casually against the wall, his signature smirk firmly in place as he talked to a blonde. She was laughing at something he said, her hand lightly resting on his arm. They were close—too close. Her hair glinted under the dim party lights, and the way she leaned in, hanging on his every word, made your stomach drop.

Your world stopped for a second. The music faded into the background, replaced by the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You blinked, trying to shake it off, telling yourself it didn’t matter, but the familiar ache settled in your chest anyway.

You tore your eyes away, grabbing your red solo cup and downing the rest of its contents in one go. The burn of the cheap liquor didn’t help, but it gave you something to focus on. You crushed the cup in your hand and let it drop to the floor, the plastic crumpling beneath your heel as you forced yourself to keep dancing.

“Fuck it,” you muttered under your breath, plastering a fake smile on your face.

Natasha laughed beside you, her movements loose and carefree. She slurred slightly, her words barely audible over the music. “Hey! You… you took your necklace off!”

You frowned, reaching up to touch your neck instinctively. “No, I didn’t.”

“Then where is it?” she asked, her brow furrowing as she swayed in place.

Your hand moved frantically over your collarbone, panic setting in as your fingers found only bare skin. Your locket was gone. “Shit,” you whispered, your eyes wide as you started scanning the floor beneath your feet. “Nat, it’s gone!”

Her hands immediately went to your shoulders, steadying you. “Don’t panic,” she said, her voice slurring but her tone trying to stay calm. “It… it can’t be far.”

But it was too late. The panic clawed its way up your throat, and tears prickled at the corners of your eyes. The music was too loud, the crowd too thick. You dropped to your knees, your hands scrambling over the sticky floor as you searched desperately for the locket.

“Excuse me! Sorry!” you mumbled, trying to push past people, but it was no use. The sea of feet around you made it impossible to see anything.

You backed up, bumping into someone behind you. A pair of hands immediately settled on your waist, steadying you. “Hey, you okay?” the guy asked, but you shoved him off without even looking, your vision blurring with tears.

Natasha was back at your side in an instant, her hands on your shoulders again, her mouth moving, but you couldn’t hear her. The world felt like it was spinning too fast, and all you could think about was the locket—your family heirloom. The one your mother had given you before she passed away. The one that had been passed down for generations. And now it was gone, lost in the chaos of some stupid party.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you stumbled backward, your breathing coming in short, panicked gasps. You didn’t even realize someone was pulling you out of the house until the cool night air hit your skin.

“Hey, hey,” that same guy's voice said, low and urgent. You blinked through the haze of your tears, and your heart twisted painfully when you saw who it was.

Bucky.

He had his hands on your arms, guiding you away from the crowd, his eyes filled with concern. “Come on, you’re okay,” he murmured, leading you to a quieter spot on the porch. “Breathe, alright? Just breathe.”

You tried to speak, but the words got caught in your throat. Your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath, your vision still blurry from the tears.

“Look at me,” Bucky said softly, tilting your chin up so your eyes met his. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

His words, his presence, grounded you just enough to pull in a shaky breath. “It’s gone, Buck,” you finally managed, your voice breaking. “The locket… my mom’s locket. It’s gone.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkening as he glanced back toward the house. “Okay,” he said, his voice calm but determined. “We’re gonna find it.”

You shook your head, fresh tears spilling over. “There’s too many people. It’s probably already stepped on or—or lost for good.”

“Hey,” Bucky said firmly, his hands tightening slightly on your arms. “We’ll find it. I promise.”

You stared at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt, but all you saw was unwavering determination. His eyes softened, and he gently wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

“Wait here,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I’m going back in.”

“No, Buck—”

“I’ll find it,” he interrupted, giving you a small, reassuring smile. “Just stay here.”

Before you could protest, he turned and disappeared back into the house, leaving you alone on the porch, the night air chilling your skin. You sank onto the steps, your hands trembling as you clutched at your knees, praying silently that he was right.

The minutes felt like hours as you sat on the porch, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. Every time the door opened, you looked up, hoping to see Bucky stepping out with your locket in hand. But each time, it was just another person stumbling out into the night, oblivious to your panic.

Finally, the door opened again, and Bucky emerged. His expression was serious, his steps purposeful, but his hands were empty.

Your heart sank, the last bit of hope slipping away. He walked over and crouched in front of you, his eyes meeting yours with a steady calm.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice firm but laced with regret. “I checked everywhere I could. Asked everyone. It’s just… not there.”

You nodded slowly, your throat tightening as you tried to process his words. The locket—your mother’s locket—was gone. A family heirloom, passed down through generations, lost in the chaos of a party. You tried to speak, but all that came out was a shaky breath.

“It’s gone,” you finally whispered, the words feeling heavy and final.

Bucky’s hand rested lightly on your knee, grounding you. “I know how much it meant to you,” he said, his voice steady. “And I’m sorry we couldn’t find it tonight. But we’ll figure something out. I’m not giving up.”

You shook your head, blinking back the tears that blurred your vision. “It was the only thing I had left of her,” you said, your voice breaking. “And now it’s just… gone.”

Bucky’s fingers gently squeezed your knee. “I get it,” he said quietly. “It’s not just a thing. It’s her.”

You nodded, wiping at your cheeks, but the tears kept coming. “It feels like I let her down,” you whispered, your hands trembling in your lap. “I should’ve been more careful.”

Bucky shifted, sitting beside you on the step. His shoulder brushed yours, and he looked out at the street, his voice calm and certain. “Hey, your okay, its gonna be okay”

You let out a shaky breath, trying to absorb his words. “How can you say that? Its gone,” .

“I know,” he said, his tone understanding. “But your mom wouldn’t want you to carry that weight. That locket—it was important, sure, but it doesn’t change the connection you had with her. You’ve got all those memories, all those stories. She’s still with you.”

His words settled over you, comforting in a way you hadn’t expected. You leaned into his shoulder, letting out a quiet sigh. “Thanks, Bucky,” you said softly, your voice still thick with emotion. “For always being there.”

His arm came around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “Always,” he said simply.

For a while, you just sat there, the distant hum of the party fading into the background. The ache of losing the locket still lingered, but Bucky’s steady presence eased it, bit by bit. He didn’t try to fix everything, didn’t offer hollow reassurances. He just stayed—solid, dependable, exactly what you needed.

You broke the silence, your voice soft and hesitant. “What about that girl…?”

Bucky didn’t let you finish. “Forget about her,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I have my best girl right here” his eyes met yours, and for a moment, there was something unspoken between you, something heavy and meaningful.

Eventually, you sat up, brushing the last of the tears from your cheeks. You gave him a small, wry smile. “Guess I owe you one,” you said quietly.

Bucky chuckled, the sound low and warm. “You don’t owe me anything,” he replied. Then, with a playful glint in his eye, he added, “Except maybe a rematch at beer pong.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound a little shaky but genuine. “Deal,” you said, the weight on your chest feeling just a little lighter.

Now

Sam takes a deep breath as he reaches the door to your shared apartment, bracing himself. He isn’t entirely sure what he’s walking into, but he knows Bucky isn’t handling things well. He knocks firmly and waits, listening for any movement inside.

After a long pause, the door creaks open. Bucky stands there, looking like absolute hell. His hair’s a mess, his eyes bloodshot, and he’s still in yesterday’s clothes, rumpled and wrinkled.

“Sam?” Bucky’s voice is hoarse, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“Yeah, man,” Sam says, leaning against the doorframe. “I came to check on you. Can I come in?”

Bucky steps aside, muttering, “Yeah… sure. Guess you uh probably know everything already.”

Sam walks in, his eyes immediately catching the shattered lamp on the floor, pieces scattered across the living room. “I know her side, but there's two sides to every coin” The air feels heavy, tense. He turns to Bucky, his voice steady. “She’s at Steve and my place. She’s safe if you're wondering.”

Bucky winces, looking away as his shoulders slump. “Good… that’s good.” He lets out a bitter chuckle, running a hand over his face. “Guess you’re here to tell me what a screw-up I am, huh?”

Sam shakes his head, exasperated. “Bucky, I’m not here to kick you when you’re down. I’m here because we’re friends. And friends don’t abandon each other, even when one of them is making dumbass choices.”

Bucky scoffs, dropping onto the couch, burying his face in his hands. “Yeah, well… I deserve it.”

Sam takes the chair across from him, studying Bucky’s hunched figure. “You look like hell, man. Want to tell me what happened, your version?”

Bucky hesitates, his voice low and broken. “I don’t know. She was just standing there, looking at me like… like she was just disgusted at being in my presence ...and it hurt, i said sorry for the bar comment, but then we started to hash things out, I got so damn scared. So I did the only thing I know how to do—I pushed her away. Told her to leave.”

Sam raises an eyebrow, his tone sharp. “So you let her walk out? Alone? At night?”

Bucky’s face twists with guilt, and he nods. “Yeah, I know, i went after her but she was gone, that's no excuse i know, i put her in danger Sam, i can't believe it….And now she probably hates me.” He chuckles bitterly. “Hell, maybe she should, i do.”

“Don’t give me that self-pity crap,” Sam snaps. “She’s hurt, sure. But you know damn well she doesn’t hate you.”

Bucky exhales shakily. “Maybe she should. All I ever do is screw things up. I push her away because… because I’m too scared to admit how I feel. And now? I don’t even know if I can fix it.”

Sam leans forward, his voice firm. “You’ve got two choices, Buck. Sit here and wallow, or get off your ass and do something about it.”

Bucky finally meets his gaze, his voice barely a whisper. “What do I even say?”

Sam nods toward the shattered lamp. “Start by picking up the pieces. Then tell her the truth.”

Bucky swallows hard. “What if… what if it’s too late?”

Sam’s voice softens. “That’s a chance you’ll have to take, you cant just throw away the friendship you two have, i dont even know my friends from kindergarten, i couldnt tell you the slightest thing about em now….but you’ll never know unless you try.”

Bucky hesitates, then leans back, his gaze distant. “I’ve tried, Sam. More times than I can count.”

Sam frowns. “What are you talking about?”

Bucky’s voice grows quieter, tinged with frustration. “I’ve been trying to tell her for years—little things here and there. Dropping hints, pushing the boundaries, trying to get her to see me the way I see her. But every damn time, she pulls back, like she’s scared of what’s on the other side of those walls she’s built.”

Sam watches him, his expression thoughtful. “And you think she doesn’t feel the same?”

Bucky lets out a hollow laugh. “I don’t know. Maybe she does, maybe she doesn’t. But how the hell am I supposed to keep putting myself out there when she won’t meet me halfway? Why does it always have to be me to make the first move? Why can’t she give me a sign? Something, anything that lets me know I’m not imagining this?” Bucky’s voice cracks, and he rakes a hand through his hair, his frustration spilling out. “It’s like every time I try to get closer, she pulls back. And then I’m stuck wondering if I’m just some idiot chasing after something that was never there.”

Sam leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re scared, she’s scared—it’s a mess, man. But sitting here, letting the fear eat away at you, isn’t gonna solve anything. You want her to meet you halfway? Maybe she’s been waiting for you to show her it’s safe to.”

Bucky shakes his head, his jaw tightening. “I’ve shown her, Sam. Hell, I’ve been there for her through everything. I’ve tried to coax her out of those walls, but every time I think I’m making progress, she shuts me down. And now? Now she’s out there, going on dates with other guys. What am I supposed to think?”

Sam tilts his head, his gaze steady. “You ever think maybe she’s just as scared as you are? That she’s waiting for you to stop hinting and just say it outright?”

Bucky’s fists clench, his frustration boiling over. “Why does it have to be me? Why can’t she take the damn risk for once? I’m not the only one in this.”

Sam exhales, leaning back. “You’re right, it’s a two-way street. But you’ve got to ask yourself—if she’s scared, just like you, who’s gonna be brave enough to break the cycle?”

Bucky stands, pacing the room. His voice drops, low and pained. “What if I put everything out there, and she doesn’t feel the same? I don’t think I could handle that.”

Sam’s gaze follows him, his tone firm but empathetic. “Or what if she’s been feeling the same this whole time, but she’s been too scared to lose you? What if she’s been waiting for you to say what she can’t?”

Bucky stops, his hands on his hips, his head bowed. “I can’t lose her, Sam. Not as a friend, not as… whatever this is. She’s everything. And if I’m wrong—if I tell her how I feel and she walks away—I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Sam stands, crossing the room to face Bucky. “Buck, you’re already losing her by doing nothing. This limbo you’re both stuck in? It’s tearing you apart. You’ve got to take the leap, man. Because if you don’t, you’ll never forgive yourself.”

Bucky swallows hard, his eyes clouded with doubt. “And if I crash and burn?”

Sam gives him a small, encouraging smile. “Then you’ll get back up. And you’ll know you tried. But if you don’t take that chance, you’ll always wonder what could’ve been.”

Bucky lets out a shaky breath, his hands still clenched at his sides. “I’ve never been good at this—at saying what I feel. And now, with everything so screwed up…”

“Then stop overthinking it,” Sam says. “Tell her the truth. Not hints, not half-measures. The whole thing.”

Bucky looks at him, his expression caught between fear and hope. “What if she’s already made up her mind? What if she’s moving on?”

Sam shakes his head. “You don’t know that. And you won’t unless you ask. But hiding behind ‘what ifs’ isn’t gonna get you anywhere.”

Bucky stares at the shattered lamp, his mind racing. Finally, he lets out a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping. “Alright,” he says quietly. “I’ll talk to her. But if this blows up in my face, you’re buying me drinks for the next decade.”

Sam smirks, clapping him on the shoulder. “Deal. Now get yourself together, man. You’ve got work to do.”

Bucky nods, though the weight of what lies ahead presses heavily on him. As Sam heads for the door, he glances back. “Just remember, Buck—she’s not the only one with walls. You’ve got a few of your own.”

Wanda clapped her hands together, her tone light. “Okay, enough brooding. How about some brunch? I’m starving.”

Natasha perked up at that, crossing her arms. “I could go for some pancakes. What about the farmers market?”

You sighed, your head falling back against the couch. “I’m down for food, but we can’t go to the farmers market.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, her tone edging toward irritation. “Why not?”

“Because we can’t go there without Bucky,” you said simply, your voice flat but firm.

Natasha groaned, throwing her hands up. “God, why does everything have to come back to Bucky? He’s not exactly the Farmers Market King. We can survive one trip without him.”

You sat up, your eyes flashing. “Stop it, Nat. Just stop. Look, we’ve all messed up before. Bucky’s not some random guy who screwed up—he’s Bucky, its him. He’s been there for me through everything. We can’t just hate on him because we got in a fight.”

Natasha scoffed, her voice sharp. “I can hate on him just fine. He’s an asshole, and I’m tired of watching him drag you through this endless cycle of misery.”

Your hands clenched at your sides as you stood up, your voice snapping like a whip. “And I’m tired of you acting like it’s so black and white! He’s not perfect, but none of us are. You think I haven’t made mistakes? You think I haven’t hurt him too?”

Natasha stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. “You’re always defending him! No matter what he does, you jump in to shield him, like he’s some wounded puppy. When are you gonna wake up and realize he’s not worth it?”

“He’s not worth it?” you said, your voice trembling with anger. “You don’t get it, Nat. He’s not just some guy who broke my heart. He’s my best friend! You don’t throw someone like that away because they messed up once, or twice, or even a hundred times. He’s Bucky, for god’s sake!”

The room went silent, the weight of your words hanging between you. Natasha stared at you, her jaw tightening before she shook her head, letting out a bitter laugh. “Fine,” she said coldly. “Do whatever you want. But don’t come crying to me when he breaks your heart again.”

With that, you turned on your heel and stormed off into Steve’s room. Natasha grabbed her bag as she headed for the door. Before she left, she glanced at Wanda and Steve, her voice sharp. “All I do is try to help, but if she wants to keep sticking up for his dumb ass, that’s on her, leave me out of it next time.”

The door slammed behind her, leaving an uncomfortable silence in her wake.

Wanda and Steve exchanged glances, both looking a little shell-shocked. Finally, Wanda sighed, brushing her hair back. “I’ll go after Nat,” she said quietly. She turned to Steve, her brow raised. “You got her?”

Steve nodded, giving Wanda a small, reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’ve got her.”

Once Wanda left, Steve turned to. Steve hesitated for a moment before following. He knocked gently on the door. “Hey… you okay?”

There was no answer at first, just the sound of you pacing. Finally, your voice came through, quieter but still tense. “I’m fine, Steve. Just… need a minute.”

Steve leaned against the doorframe, his voice soft. “Take all the time you need. I’m here, I’ll always be right here…”

[muffinsin]

i just read this post

https://www.tumblr.com/muffinsin/739024633405308928/anon-here-my-fav-is-bela-though-i-totally-get

about gp! dimi sisters giving reader just the tip and i loved it!!! so if it’s okay and if not already done, could you do one for donna if you write gp for her?

i love all your stuff btw!

Absolutely, hon!🙇‍♀️ Some more Donna in our lives never hurts XP! Other parts here

Let’s get into it!🙌

Masterlists

With a flushed face and a racing heart you look up at her, finding her dark eye at last. She’s hovering just mere inches above you, her breasts pushing down against you, her eye set on you, her thighs brushing against you and her cock- no, only her tip- pushed into you.

You squirm, helpless to do anything else due to the ribbons tying your wrists together. Already, you regret your actions, wishing you had been good instead. Now, you pay the price, all your pleads and whimpers falling onto deaf ears. You want- no, need her. Need all of her.

Alas, your punishment for today is obvious, clear as day to you, and so bittersweet.

You whine, your eyes wide. “Please, my love”, you plead.

“Please, just a little more, my love! I’ll be good now! Just…just a little more, a little…a little more!”, you whine, squirming to try and get her deeper inside. Stopping this abruptly, you gasp when she grabs your hips, her grip strong, her strong, skilled fingers pressing into your flesh.

“Now, Tesoro, I thought you said you’d be good this morning already…”, she coos, her voice low and seductive, enough to make your head spin.

Using her free hand she reaches down, and you can only whine as she begins to jerk herself off, thrusting her hand and occasionally sliding her fingers across her balls. And still, it’s only her tip that she grants you.

Feeling utterly edged and sensitive, you cry and squirm, little pleas slipping from your lips like water from a waterfall.

“Please, my love!”

“I’m sorry, Fiore!”

“Please, just a little bit! Just halfway in, my love!”

“I’ve learned my lesson!”, you insist, flushing when she laughs lowly and merely jerks herself off a little faster.

“Oh…tesoro, mi fai divertire”

You begin to feel more and more flustered, your body held down and in place, your arms restrained, her tip just barely inside of you. Still, you feel precum drool from her, feel how warm and wet she is. You drool, thinking of how she could just push herself inside fully at any time.

Alas, she isn’t, she doesn’t, and she won’t. Not until she feels you have learned your lesson. And you know, Donna is unfortunately, at least in this instance, very, very patient.

You gasp when she leans down, her tongue trailing along your neck, her hair tickling your skin gently.

“I have told you what would happen when you don’t behave, Tesoro”, she whispers, scolding playfully. Yes, she has. Punishment- but she never clarified it would be this, this..this agony! You can only squirm and try to roll your hips to no avail. You’re sure, you could cum instantly if she just pushed herself inside already!

“This isn’t…fair!”, you whine, feeling so terribly needy. Before this, you thought edging was the worst thing she could do, or denying you an orgasm all together. This is worse: this way, you don’t even feel her inside properly, can barely feel her head push and pulse inside of you, drooling precum inside.

She chuckles, the sound low and breathless, a sign she’s getting closer to an orgasm, too.

“Would you like me to pull out entirely, love?”, she asks, then, her voice a little lighter. Oh, she’s teasing you, and you’re helpless in the face of her dominance. You quickly shake your head, begging her not to. You don’t know why, but you just can’t bear to lose the tip, too, you desperately need more of her.

“Please…my love…I need it…!”, you plead instead, trying a different approach.

You gasp when her hand trails up to your neck, then, whereas the other works faster between her own legs, pulling moans and grunts from her.

“Then tell me how bad you need it, my doll”, she coos, arousal pooling in her dark eye.

Oh, and you do.

You moan, you plead, you whine and whimper all about just how bad you want it, how bad you need it.

You squirm and cry out for her, spread your legs, so utterly eager to accept more of her inside. But Donna, teasing as she is, merely continues jerking herself off for a painful while longer.

A little more, a little more.

More moans and grunts come from her that have your body heat up and tingle in anticipation.

You want it.

You need it.

And then,

you get it.

When she pushes herself inside, only to cum, it’s almost beautifully overwhelming. You moan and shriek, crying out for her, rolling your hips, eager to receive all of her. She fills you perfectly, paints your insides white and slick.

And then, just before you get your pleasure, you feel her pull out to the tip again.

“Beg again, little one”

[snoopy7c7]

Funnybunny!Wonderland doodle dump!

I think there relationship could be very playful. Most of the time it's Jax being his chaotic, unpredictable self but that doesn't mean Pomni can't catch the chesire rabbit off his game every now and then. Have some random pieces of dialogue based on the images

Top Right:

Pomni: Hey jackrabbit, wanna go do something fun?

Jax: You seem awful eerie, what's the catch?

Pomni: What? I'm just trying out your style.

Bottom Left:

Pomni: Thanks for helping me find my way in this twisted forest.

Jax: Ehh don't...don't mention it. (to self) This feels nice. Why does it feel nice? Am-Am I purring?!

Bottom Right:

Pomni: I'd like that...

(Pomni and Jax catch each other starring and drawing closer to each other. Pomni's beginning to close her eyes and lean forward towards Jax's lips as he's starting to do the same. He suddenly stuffs his hand in her lips, lightly pushing back. Caught off guard, she shoots a look to Jax as he bashfully turns away.)

Jax: Oh but we musn't give in to the temptation. We have to focus and get back to the others.

Pomni (annoyed): Says the one who got us hopelessly lost for the past hour.

Go check out the incredible @endomentendo and their amazing TADC AU. Love that sluggers work and you should too!

[drabbles-mc]

Just Like Old Times

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin & F!Reader

Written for @narcosfandomdiscord Book of Inception: fanwork that provides an origin story for a character that doesn't have one & "He made me who I am" & improvement

Warnings: 18+, language

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: the way that the last week or so has gone really just zapped all the motivation and creativity out of me, so getting this written really fought me every step of the way lmao. but i will say, that thinking about Jake Seresin in high school was fun. giving him a brother was also fun. going three for three on these prompts was challenging and rewarding and fun. and now i want to revisit these two at some point because idk i have issues lmao

You knew from the second that you’d walked into The Hard Deck that night that he didn’t remember you. Part of you didn’t really blame him, high school being such a distant memory for all of you now. Not just in years, but in all the experiences you’d packed into those years as well. From one standpoint you understood it…sort of.

From another standpoint you couldn’t believe that he could look you in the face and not say a word, not have even the tiniest flicker of recognition. He had looked right at you, and moved right on along to the next person. No matter how much things changed, they always stayed the fucking same.

It wasn’t until everyone was sitting out on the beach after the football game that the two of you even had a real conversation. Up until that point everyone had been running circles around each other, and you had much bigger things to worry about than Jake Seresin’s recollections of you, or lack thereof.

You were mid-conversation with Bob and Natasha when you noticed that neither of them were really looking at you anymore. You searched their faces, trying to figure out what it was that they were looking at.

Natasha leaned back, palms sinking into the sand as she said, “Bagman, six o’clock and incoming.”

You rolled your eyes, still not turning around to look at him. “Man knows how to ruin a good day.”

You didn’t have to look back to know how close he was, the tilts of Bob’s and Natasha’s head spelling out that information for you. His footfalls were nearly silent on the sand. Without realizing it, the closer he got, the deeper you pushed your fingertips into the sand like you were searching for something to grip onto.

Suddenly you were cast in Hangman’s shadow as he stood directly behind you. You shut your eyes for a moment, the longest blink ever as you tried hard to bite your tongue.

“Ladies,” he said, and you didn’t have to be looking at him to know exactly what his face looked like. “Bobby.”

Natasha was squinting against the sun but she still pulled a bit of a face. “It’s a good day, Hangman,” she said with just enough warning in her tone. “Let’s keep it that way.”

He chuckled, and you could see from the movement of his shadow that he was holding his hands out. “Every day at Top Gun is a good day, Phoenix. Thought you would’ve known that already.”

You were hoping that it was just going to be a quick thing, an in-passing comment that he made because he simply couldn’t bring himself to walk by your little trio without saying anything. But of course it wasn’t. Somehow the shift went from Natasha making extremely thinly veiled comments to the effect that Jake should hit the goddamn bricks, to him plopping down on the ground right there with you. He wedged himself right there between you and Bob like he had been there the whole time.

It didn’t take very long after that for Natasha to find a reason to leave. And wherever Natasha went, Bob was only ever a few steps behind. That left it with just you and Jake and the ocean that was slowly beginning to calm in front of you. It was a scene that could’ve been a peaceful one if the man sitting next to you had any interest in that.

Legs bent and pulled up towards you, you draped your arms across your knees. You were staring out at the receding waves as you asked, “To what do I owe the pleasure, Seresin?”

You could feel him staring at you and you made a point to not return the gesture. “Where’d you say you were from?”

You shook your head. “I didn’t. Also don’t think you’ve actually asked me a question directly the entire time we’ve been here.” You cast him a glance. “Too busy giving Rooster a hard time.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly at you like he was studying you, but there was still a smirk on his face. The more time you spent around him, the more you wondered if that was just what his face defaulted to these days. He leaned back on his palms, legs stretched out in front of him.

“Wasn’t until I heard Phoenix call you by your last name earlier that I realized—”

“Wow,” you barked out with a laugh, unable to stop yourself. “You’ve been running drills and sitting in class with me for how long and it took until today for you to recognize me? No sense of déjà vu sitting two rows over from me and picking on other kids in class? Nothin’ jogged your memory even a little?”

He leaned back, brows meeting for a moment. “When did you—”

“The first night we all got here!” you said, gesturing emphatically at nothing.

The smirk instantly returned to his face. “I’m that memorable, huh?”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head. “Fuck off.”

“What? C’mon, you can’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“No?” he asked, chuckling like he knew better than to believe you. A lot of confidence in your character for someone who only remembered who you were within the last two hours.

“No. Being mad would suggest that I’m somehow surprised that you’re still the way that you are. And I’m definitely…not.” You sighed. “You’re still Jake Seresin. Only difference now is—”

“My rank? The number of confirmed kills I have?” he tried to fill in the blanks, cocky as he’d ever been.

You looked at him. “Only difference is now you’re old enough to know better.” You saw the way he rolled his eyes at you and couldn’t help but to say, “I don't get you, Jake.”

The look on his face let you know that it had been a long time since someone referred to him by just his first name, not his last or his callsign. There was something intimate about it in a way. You wouldn't have given it any thought if he hadn't flinched at it.

He recovered as quickly as he could, that air of nonchalance reappearing around him. “I'm no Mystery Man.” He held his hands out in a brief gesture, like an invitation to scan him over. “What you see is what you get.”

It wasn't untrue. Jake Seresin had never been the type of person who lived a double life. Who he was around you was exactly who he was around everyone else. Maybe when it was just him, when there was no one else in the room looking to him or expecting anything from him, he was a different person. Not that it mattered—the world was never going to know. Reaching as far back as you could in your brain for memories of him, he'd always been some version of the man sitting in the sand next to you. He was just looking a little more refined these days.

You had just been hoping, when you'd seen him again, that maybe he would've changed by now. Nothing would be different if he wasn't different, but it would've been nice if it could be. The longer you looked at him, the more you tried to un-blur all of the memories that you hadn't bothered to tap into in a long time.

“How's your brother these days?” you asked, diverting course just slightly.

The question was immediately met with an eye-roll. “Fine.”

You had to let out a quiet laugh at that. “Yeah? That good, huh?”

He shrugged. “You want the play-by-play or something?” He shook his head, looking out at the ocean instead of at you. “He's fine.”

“You two not get along anymore or something? I thought you were both—”

“I see him on holidays. We text on birthdays. He is off doing…whatever he does.”

You hadn't expected the tension. From what you remembered, the two of them had gotten along well enough. His brother was a few years ahead of both of you, in his senior year of high school when the two of you were freshman. But he'd always been nice, nicer than Jake had been anyway. But they ran in a lot of the same circles, played a lot of the same sports, and they seemed to have a relatively good time doing it. Judging by the way that Jake was avoiding looking in your direction, you were now wondering if you were misremembering it all.

“We're grown-ups now, you know,” you offered up finally. “If you don't want to talk about him you can just say that.”

He flipped it right back on you. “We're grown-ups now, I can answer questions about Tommy if you have them.”

You laughed quietly and shook your head. “I can see that. The answers you've given so far have been so thorough and paint such a clear picture.” It got him to laugh even though you could tell that he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction. After a moment you cleared your throat. “You guys just seemed to get along back then, is all.”

Now he was looking at you again. “Yeah, Tommy got along with everyone back then—still does.”

You hummed in amusement. “Guess that trait isn't a genetic one, then.”

He cracked a small grin as he swatted sand at you. “Funny.” There was a pause, and you were waiting for him to pick something else to talk about, or for him to just get up and leave. Instead, he gave himself a moment and then said, “Tommy graduated with a full ride, but even when he was gone somehow I was still…” he trailed off. “Navy was the first place I wasn't a legacy kid. No footsteps to follow. Just me.”

“Hmm,” you nodded, not sure what you really wanted to say in response to that.

He caught your uncertainty. “What?”

“Nothing, I just…you wanna say that your brother, your family, your whoever was why you were like that back then. Fine, I get that, kind of. But then why,” you curled your fingers into the sand, “are you still up to all the same shit?”

“I'm not—”

“You are.” The laugh you let out was dry. “I'm one of the only people here that you can't lie to about that. I knew you back then, and I know you now, and from what I've seen? Not much has changed.”

The pinch of his brows let you know that what you were saying was getting to him, whether he admitted to it or not. He tried to hide it, and was semi-successful at it—it probably would've fooled someone else. “If it ain't broke—”

You didn't let him get to the end of the sentence. “There's always room for improvement.”

You were used to laughing at your own little one-liners, but Jake laughing at them too was new, especially when they were at his expense. Whatever the two of you were doing in that moment, it was the closest to being friends that you'd ever been. It was still a stretch but it was something.

“I don't know, you stack my resumé up against anyone else's here and I'd say I'm about as improved as it gets.”

“I think the one thing that could definitely still do with some improving is your humility,” you rebutted with a laugh. You geared up to hear some comment about how there was no need to be humble if he could back up everything that he was saying. When he didn’t, you said, “And, if you feel like taking suggestions—”

“You got another one for me?” he joked.

You laughed. “Yeah, of course.” You cleared your throat. “You said it yourself that this is the one place where none of that other stuff matters, like it never happened. So maybe, when you get a chance, you should get around to dropping all the bitterness that goes along with the brotherhood rivalry.” You shrugged, offering a small smile. “Cocky doesn't pair well with the sad, ‘He made me who I am,’ shtick.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise as he laughed. “You're meaner than I remember.”

“Yeah, that's because you don't remember me,” you said, the lift at the ends of your lips taking the sting out of your words.

The look of surprise didn’t fade from his face, neither did the amusement. “Damn.”

You still had a smile on your face as you stood back up. Brushing the sand off the backs of your legs, you looked at him. It was a strange feeling, caught between remembering how things were back then and knowing how they were now. A lot of things hadn't changed, clearly, but the circumstances certainly had. You wanted more of it to be different, but there was no saying it so plainly.

“You heading back?” you asked, standing completely upright.

He looked up at you from where he was sitting. Shaking his head, he replied, “Not yet.”

You cocked your head to the side, folding your arms over your chest. “Going to sit out here with your thoughts?”

He chuckled and shrugged. “Well, you did give me a lot to think about.”

“Don't think too hard,” you joked as you started to walk away, “otherwise smoke’ll start coming out of your ears.”

“Your concern is touching!” he called after you, laughing as he spoke.

Turning around to face him, you continued walking away. “Guess I'm just too sentimental for my own good!” you replied, throwing your hands up in apparent exasperation with yourself.

You could still see the grin on his face as you turned back around. Even with your back to him, you still found yourself smiling too. You knew better than to get your hopes up for much, but there was still part of you that was thinking that maybe there was still a chance for things to start changing before all was said and done.

There was still the very large possibility that things would continue to be the same as they ever were. You knew that. But, the same way you'd been wanting things to be different the first night you turned up at The Hard Deck, you still wanted things to be different now. It felt a little more attainable now than it had then. And, if nothing else, at least you knew that this time everything was going to be a bit more memorable.

(divider by @inklore 🩶)

TGM Taglist: @garbinge @proceduralpassion @cositapreciosa @justreblogginfics (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

[worshipme]

if yaz thought she was being 'too extra', then tyler thinks he's underdressed compared to her. he'd argue that there were only so many things you can do with a pair of slacks, a button down, and a jacket... but still. he just hopes that she thinks he looks good. she's the only one he wants to impress, anyway. "no, not too extra. you can truly never be too extra." tyler assures her while they make their way to the elevator with their hands laced together.

it's when they're standing in the elevator that tyler feels those nerves start to settle back in. here they were. the date has started and everything is real. she's the one to break the silence and tyler's pulled out of his thoughts. he turns to look at her and he feels her growing shy under her praise and gaze. "thank you." he whispers just before he's leaning in to kiss her forehead.

it gives him a bit of relief - knowing that she thinks he looks good. well, not just good, but handsome. he's aware of his attractiveness, but it means the world coming from the one person he really wants to impress in the world. he hopes he'll continue to impress her today. "would you believe me if i told you i was nervous?" he asks her.

"like i know it's nothing entirely new. i love being able to spend time with you like this - a date. i know that we've already established that we aren't entertaining anyone else and are exclusive, but i'm just..." his voice trails off as he struggles to find the words to describe how he feels. the doors open and tyler leads the way out of the lift and off towards the garage. "i think it's because i really want to impress you today that i'm nervous. while i know i don't have to do a lot, i want to do that for you."

they approach his car and it's the big surprise he has for her. it had taken him a while, but he finally found a florist that actually had stargazers in their store. that in itself was truly a shock since they weren't in season but tyler could only praise human creation for allowing him to get yaz's favorite flowers. (special shoutout to greenhouses). he also wanted to thank his window tint for hiding the surprise waiting for her in the passenger seat. if it weren't for that, then the surprise would be ruined the second that they started walking towards his car.

"which, speaking of impressing you," he begins to say as they approach the passenger's side entrance of his car. tyler lets go of her hand to open the door for her to reveal the large bouquet waiting for her in the seat. "these are for you." there's a nervous smile that's etched itself on his face while he reaches instead and pulls out the bouquet. he holds it out for her to take, and tyler prays that she loves it.

post-dated 11.11.24:

As she looked at herself in the mirror, she couldn’t help but exhale several deep breaths. She wasn’t entirely sure that this was nerves - it couldn’t be. Her and Tyler at this point were already well acquainted, so the danger of the unknown when it came to dating wasn’t entirely applicable here ... yet still, she wanted to make a good impression for him.

Outfit after outfit laid on her floor in her indecision before opting for a tight, black dress with several revealing cut-outs. She had been going back and forth while she did a small turn in the mirror. Was this trying too hard? Was there even such a thing? She knew just from her comfortability with Tyler that he would be fine with her just wearing a paper bag … but it wasn’t good enough for her. He deserved to have her at her best, just as he had done the same for her since they began whatever blooming relationship this was beginning to be.

“You think this is fine, Tofi?” She spoke to the dog like he’d give her any kind of validation and in own way, he did. With a wag of his tail and expression, happy as ever. Leaning down, she pressed a kiss to the top of her pup’s head before grabbing her purse to head out the door. “Be a good boy. I’ll be back later.” She hushed as the clinks of her heels followed her out the door, leading her to Tyler’s front door. And with a baited breath, she knocked.

[gelu-the-babosa-multiversal]

*Blasting the door and coming from the smoke left by it* I demand to KNOW more about how poor Jack ended like a headmaster on your crazy awesome sauce AU because AAAAAAAAA 💥 (when you can and if you got more, of course!)

Ok, this took a while 😅 referring to this post

Also art... because I took too long zkjdhkzfhsj

Anyway this is going to be very long, so have a cut as well lol

SOOOOOOOOO I yet don't have a full timeline of events due to working on other stuff, but the premise of this is me pulling up all the Headmasters and Super-God Masterforce lore into TFP. Jack was just the unfortunate soul who I chose to go through all this HAHAHA

In short, while on a mission as always, Miko sneaks out and Jack has to follow her so she doesn't get hurt. But in this mission, there were no Decepticons, it was all a trick from a team of humans who were looking to capture Team Prime. These humans were nothing like Team Prime had encountered before...

Nothing like MECH, like Morocco, or just nothing like they have seen on Earth. These humans had bracelets that when activated gave the human a weird-looking armor, just for a giant headdle robot to appear out of nowhere and then, set human to turn into its head and begin controlling it...

Team Prime knew what those robots were, Cybertronians. How did some humans manage to get those bodies? We don't know. How do they manage to control them? We don't know. Are they actually... Cybertronian bodies? We don't want to know.

It didn't take long for chaos to take control and everyone blasting each other... so the kids had to find a place to stay safe while the ¨fun¨ was happening.

But things just got worse and worse. No space was safe from these weird mechanical humans. So the kids had to keep going deeper to keep themselves safe.

As they keep plunging into darkness, as rocks keep crumbling over them, and as the sound of the blaster keep increasing. The kids could just run. Until it all seemed to stop. Finally! A safe place for the two!

And it seemed normal until Miko had to press one button, and from the ceiling... a giant robot body called. Tied up with chains, colored fully gray colors, no signs of life... just empty. From it, also two bracelets very similar to the ones of the humans had fallen off the robot.

Miko was very curious, but Jack just took them off her hands with one slip. He was very tire, very mad, and just didn't wanted to deal with more...

And they could just have kept quiet, sat, and waited for Ratchet to open a ground breach for them, if for the giant metal hand that destroyed the ceiling and that was trying to squick them...

They were both going to end dead if they didn't found a quick way to scape, but the rumble had already taken that option away. It seemed... if it was possible... one chance to escape.

So Jack called the one about and did a Miko.

As soon as those bracelets clicked on his bare hands, the robot had activated, but at difference of the other humans who became the head of their robots, this one already had one. Instead, when the robot activated this one unchained itself and begin running towards Jack and grab him like a mouse, then, putting the boy on its abdomen that closed like a cage. In seconds, a weird green liquid begin to fill the robot with Jack inside, as if it was juice soda...

Miko started to panic, it seemed that she had given Jack a death sentence and it seemed that it was about to be her turn as the big metallic hand leaned closer to give a hit...

But then, and luckily for her, she was swooped away and taken with safety before the worst.

-

-

-

Jack was not dealing well with this. Like not well... Miko was screaming how cool this was but Jack... the sounds of this new body, the liquid that was all around him, the new heavy limbs he had... it was just so wrong!

They had so much luck managing to scape... but now, BUT WHAT NOW!!?? What is going on and what how is Jack going to get out of this robot suit!!???

Maybe the others could help him, if they don't blast him first...

[letsgofullpogue]

I don't usually share my thoughts on the season here, I try to keep it more of an archive than anything, but this shit was a mess and I need to unpack it somewhere. Thoughts on season 4 below the cut.

Groff being JJ's father doesn't make any sense.

Before part two even came out, this little kernel of story rang so false for me. How does Luke wind up with a kook baby who "died" at sea? And the obvious answer is he had an affair with a kook, they had a baby, and, sure, she dies and he has to take care of the baby, leaving him bitter and alone and resentful of JJ. This is a reasonable expectation based on what we know of Luke thus far. But that's not what they're selling. Luke is a good-natured groundskeeper for the Genrettes, forming a light friendship with Larissa and bringing her little baby flowers to light up their days. Chandler, the baby's actual father, lurks in the background, seemingly jealous and controlling and not a fan of Luke. This completely stomps all over what we know to be true about Luke from the beginning, and really wipes out all the beautiful, horrifying work that Rudy and Gary did to build their relationship up until now. What a tragedy.

Why would Chandler kill Larissa and hand off the baby, pretending that he died? Was he hoping that Wes would take him under his wing and he would become the Genrette heir? Why not just keep his own baby with him, who would presumably be the real Genrette heir, coming into the money and property by way of guardianship when he inevitably killed Wes anyway? What's the deal with Chandler and Larissa? Did he marry her for money since he was a Pogue (more on that later)? Is this Foghorn Leghorn accent put on? Did he marry her specifically for her Blackbeard connections? Was it on the order of the Lupine Corsairs? Did he start working with them before he hooked up with Larissa? Was this all part of the plan? Why did Larissa keep her last name? Why in god's name do I care?

Watching Chandler play JJ the whole time requires us to believe that JJ is stupid, and JJ is not stupid. Impulsive, sure. Acts before thinking, absolutely, but not stupid. He's not going to get played this way (especially by a Kook), letting Chandler lock him in a mausoleum, giving him the necklace, giving Chandler his phone. It's insane. And driving around town in the Twinkie while being wanted? Still using their house and surf shop as home base for planning? Stupid stupid stupid.

The retread of scenes we've already done

Pope and Sarah in the tunnel with the rain is Kie in the sewer with the water flushing her out.

JJ and Chandler in the Twinkie is Big John and John B in the Twinkie, and just as bad. I thought they understood that was too much time away from the group, but what I've come to is that they don't actually understand anything.

Wasting too much time with a band of villains, see also last season. At least Singh had an interesting story that somewhat wove into the quest. These guys are just hired grunts. They're not on this hunt for themselves, they were hired to find the crown. Hired by who? And why do we care? They have a code that they live by, but we don't care that one of their faceless guys got killed and that they're out for revenge while pursuing the treasure. They get way too much screen time for us only have ten episodes.

Pope running from the Marines is Pope running from his scholarship interview, with higher stakes consequences that'll never be addressed, I'm sure.

Pope, John B, Cleo, and Sarah in the garage is John B in the garage in season one.

JJ wounded and floating in the water, just like in season two.

JJ and Kie talking about wishes while on watch is surf trip again. I was like, oh wow the chemistry is totally back here, and then I realized that it's fully leaning on the cadence of something that's already happened.

These are not parallels, this is bad writing. Or lazy writing. Or both.

High-stakes actions with no regard for consequences

Speaking of, they're constantly writing themselves into situations they can't get out of at this point. Last year, with JJ making deals with Barracuda Mike, big-time drug dealer, a thing that should have had huge consequences for reneging on the deal, but wound up with none. And in an even bigger 'this doesn't matter', he goes to Barracuda Mike's house this year and demands things of him? Wild and unbelievable.

This year, with JJ assaulting cops and destroying the town, for reasons that don't even really make sense. Wanted and on the run. How do you come back from that? (And a side note. JJ wasn't ever really a physically destructive presence, moreso destructive in the way that he has impulse control issues and acts before he thinks. But JJ has always been the type to take the beating, not start it. Happy to defend himself and his friends, but out of a feeling of usefulness and purpose in the group, not for funsies.)

Also this year with Pope, assaulting a cop, slipping his ankle monitor, and running away from the Marines. THE MARINES. Consequences should be looming, and who knows if we'll get there. But why set these kids on the run for the rest of their lives? The point is this place, the point is these kids. These beautiful idiots with bad luck and good hearts, just trying to get a win. What win is left? Evading jail? Revenge killing? What happened to our little boat show? This is a mess.

A family way

It's insane to me that they would chose to make Sarah pregnant in these circumstances that they've written them into, but then again, it's written by men who seem to have big-time mommy and daddy issues, so why am I surprised? I do feel like the best part of the season is that before John B even knew about the pregnancy, he was basically like I want to be done with this shit. He is not his father, he doesn't yearn for the adventure of it all. He wants to build a life, a normal life, and I wish we had had more time to sit with that and explore it for him.

The dialog

I don't know if it's that they're not improving as much anymore because of ~*reasons*~, but the dialog has gone completely down the tubes. In the last episode of the season, Kiara says "JJ hurry" over and over, at least 5 times in the span of like 15 minutes. When John B, Sarah, and Cleo are running from the Kooks, it's hurry, hurry, hurry. It's either that the writers simply aren't trying anymore or so much of the dialog was filled in with improv that now that everyone hates each other (she says casually and not addressing it at all), they're unwilling to play. Either way, that's their jobs. This show should be so fun to watch and it's becoming a drag.

The filters

I know everyone has complained about the colors of this show the whole time, but it's becoming unforgivable. The blue nighttime filter? I want to throw something at my tv every time they use it. Shoot at night??? Or on a stage? There are options that aren't the most awful fake-looking filters in the world, which, by the way, make watching on any smaller screen completely impossible. I miss those season one South Carolina sunsets. It feels like we've replaced most of those with a really harsh yellow filter that makes lighting people impossible.

Pogues vs. Kooks

That was the setup for this show, right? The haves and the have-nots? Two tribes, one island? Well, now almost every Kook is a Pogue and every Pogue is a Kook. They're muddling the message with bad results, because they still seem to want the tension and the storylines that result from it, but Chandler is a Pogue turned Kook, Ward was a Pogue turned Kook, so is Mike. JJ is a Kook turned Pogue, Rafe, RAFE of all people is working with the Pogues and engaged to one? With season five being the official last season, what will we be left with at the end of all this?

Interviews

So much of what they intended for this story, or what they want the audience to take from this story is told in interviews. I don't know if they're flat-out lying or they really think they nailed it in the telling. They say JJ is freaking out because he finds out he's a Kook, but that's not really what happened on screen, it seems more like he freaks out because their land is being taken from them and Luke's back and betraying them for a deal to keep him out of jail (yeah, not enough time spent on that). That JJ dying was the plan from the beginning which I don't believe was the case for one single second. "JJ is super jealous", where? Show me where because he barely glances at Kiara the entire second half of the season. They're two unsupervised children, dating, living in the same house, who barely ever touch, nevermind kiss. You're making this shit up to get the fans in a frenzy about it and not delivering in the telling.

The biggest fuck you

JJ dying. If talk is to be believed (and I do believe it) Rudy asked to leave and the Pates granted this request by killing him. I'm pissed as hell that the Rudy/Elaine/Madison/Mariah whatever it was ruined a truly great character and couple (the thing that brought me to this show in the first place) and I'm also pissed that it was written this way. Their right as writers and showrunners, I guess. BUT. There is a way to do this and have it make narrative sense and spur the story on and it is their job as writers to figure that out. What they did was strap him with an insane storyline about biological parents that makes no sense, act completely out of character for much of the season, have him pick up a drinking problem that he's never had before (becoming a liability for his friends), and have his new daddy kill him with a 1-inch blade in retribution for *checks notes* not letting him out of a well? Oh, and having his friends bury him in an unmarked grave in a land far from home, a home that they really can't even return to without some of them going to jail for a long time. And now they're out for revenge, as suggested by Rafe.

What is season five going to be? Losing JJ (and Jiara by extension) is a devastating loss for this show. Saddling John B and Sarah with a kid on the way while on the run and actively pursuing very bad people is irresponsible. How can we bring it on home in a way that honors these characters and makes sense of the mess they made of this story? How can we bring it on home at all? I'm not sure, but I guess we'll find out when the time comes. Lord knows, I'll be here until the bitter end.

[erosmutt]

so i have some sort of request.. i was thinking like sam and chubby!reader. Sam would never admit he found chubby girls hot until this one and when they’re alone all he does is praise her and can’t stop burying his face in her thighs and worshiping her pussy

of course!!! i love love loveeeee sam and chubby reader.

corey looks at sam curiously, head tilted. "dude, what's got you fucked up?" he follows the boy's gaze and furrows his brows. "why're you lookin' at her? you think she's hot or somethin'?"

the 'her' in question is you, the new transfer. a chubby girl that totally does not fit in. skinny is in, and unfortunately, being pretty in the face isn't gonna save you.

sam comes out of his stupor and winces as he registers his friend's question. "no," he says with mock disgust. lies. he does think you're hot. sexy, even. you've got the nicest curves he's ever seen on a girl. he would never, ever admit that he found fat girls hot, especially not with his friends all being with slim blondes. "just wondering what else she's gonna have for lunch." he tries to joke, making corey chuckle. bastard.

come last period, you and sam both find yourselves late to class. "hey," you say as you rummage through your locker. "sorry if i'm in your way, just a sec." he leans against his own locker, fishing his pack of cigs out of his pocket. "you aren't in my way." he takes his headphones off, letting them rest around his neck. "...what class're you going to?" you look up at him with a small smile. "anatomy. you?" he smacks the pack against his palm. "um, bio. there's a shortcut to the lab, lemme show you."

and of course, listening to him, you find yourself in a janitor's closet with your skirt bunched up around your waist instead of in class.

sam is on his knees before you, hands digging into your fat thighs, thumbs caressing your stretch marks as he sloppily devours your plump pussy, nose buried against your trimmed mound. your eyes flutter closed as you tangle your fingers in his hair, other hand covering your mouth to stay quiet. "mmph, hmm,"

he pulls away for air before going right back in, tongue working at your clit, saliva coating both your slit and his chin. "huhh," he gasps, nails leaving crescent marks in your soft skin. "fuck," he swallows. "you taste so fuckin'-" he licks his lips. "-good." he looks up at you, leaning into your touch. "'s feel good?" he slurs.

"keep going," you murmur. "make me cum, please." sam shivers as he begins to make out with your cunt, ringed fingers coming up to tease your hole, making him smile against you at the loud squelching. "such a pretty cunt," he whispers between caresses with his tongue. "hhuh... uh huh..." he suckles on your clit, groaning at the way you trap his head between your thighs. when your legs started to quiver, he forced you up against the wall to hold still. his jaw's starting to ache, but damnit, you're gonna cum before he stops.

you tug on his locks, making his scalp sting as you finish, squirting onto his tongue, chin, and onto the floor, fluid running down your thighs. "holy shit," you both say at the same time. you laugh, and he does too, licking his lips. "don't tell anyone about this okay? i don't need them knowing i'm fucking around with you." he reaches for the paper towels on the shelf and cleans his own mouth, shoving the roll into your arms. "got it?" you just blink at him as you tear some off. "sure..." he opens the door and leaves, making you look down at your shoes. "...dickhead."

[ograndomanimefan]

Dreaming of You: Mouthwashing Anya x Reader

erm…this is like my first time posting on Tumblr in a while…hope you guys like it >.<

no warnings, if there’s a warning i should add, please let me know >.<

i also posted this on ao3:

please enjoy!

_

Late at night when all the world is sleeping, I stay up and think of you.

It's a cool autumn night, the wind outside whistling through the trees, accompanied by the leaves dancing through the air. Usually, you'd be excited about fall, it's your favorite season of the year, no more heatwaves, no more swarms of bugs, and you love watching the orange leaves drifting gracefully on the ground. But how can you enjoy the fall when your girlfriend is away? You've grown so accustomed to spending your evenings cuddled up on the couch, sipping hot chocolate while watching the reality shows Anya insists on watching. So used to snuggle up to Anya, her warmth helping you bear through the chilly nights. So used to dozing off in minutes, your eyelids growing heavier with each gentle strokes of her fingers on your hair. But now, without her, you find falling asleep a lot harder, a lot lonelier, and you find yourself trapped with your own gloom.

And I wish on a star, that somewhere you are, thinking of me too.

You gaze out your window, and look up at the sky. It's not easy to see the stars with the city lights, but some manage to shine through. You wonder which one Anya is near, wonder if she's eating well, wonder if she's studying the nursing books the same way she does here. But most importantly, you wonder if the time is weighing on her as much as it is on you. Does her heart ache the same way as yours? It's not her first trip, but you can never grow accustomed to the months without her, without hearing her voice, without her kisses, without her embraces. It never gets easier, and each trips feels harder than the last. You chuckle to yourself, realizing that Anya left you like a spoiled child, leaving you accustomed to her kisses and affection, leaving you wanting more and more, but now that she's away, you're left alone feeling bitter. All that's left for you is to throw a tantrum.

You sigh, pulling the blanket closer to your chin, drawing your knees to your chest, trying to block out the emptiness that fills the room. The wind outside continues to whistle, the trees' rustling almost soothing. Your eyes flutter shut, heavy from the weight of longing, and before you know it, the familiar warmth of Anya's embrace seems to envelop you.

You're on the couch again, just like every other night, the TV softly playing in the background as you lean against her. Her fingers are stroking gently through your hair, and you sigh, your body easing with every stroke. You feel safe, warm, at peace. You're watching the same reality show, and Anya is watching intently like she always does, her eyes glued to the screen. She's here. She's not on that damn spaceship millions of miles away. She's here with you.

But then you open your eyes... and the room is empty. The cold air rushes in, and the only sound is the rustling of the leaves outside.

You blink, the world around you slipping in and out of focus, the line between dream and reality blurring as you begin to wake up. The stars outside the window seem closer now, brighter, and you wonder if Anya is looking at the same ones. You imagine her voice, soft and familiar, calling your name. It was a dream, you know it was, but it felt so real—her presence, her warmth, her touch. The ache of missing her is sharp, but in this moment, it's comforting, like a memory you don't want to let go of.

And a small, steady hope rises in your chest.

She'll be back soon.

You whisper the words to yourself, it's a quiet promise, a soft reassurance. It's not the same as holding her in your arms, but it's something to hold onto—a reminder that the distance between you is only temporary. You know that when she does come back, things will feel right again, like they always do. And though you may have to bear the loneliness for a little while longer, it won't last forever.

You close your eyes again, letting the thought of her warmth fill you, pulling the blanket tighter around you. For now, it's enough. Just knowing she'll be back soon.

And when she does, the autumn nights will feel like home again.

Cause I'm dreaming of you tonight.

[hoe4hotchner]

Chapter 8 - Under pressure

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x figure skater (fem)!Reader

Summary: The story follows you a figure skater training for nationals and Aaron Hotchner as your lives intertwine during an investigation into the abductions of young athletic women, including the your close friend, Leah. As the BAU delves deeper into the case, you find yourself captivated by Hotch’s quiet strength and protective presence. When Leah’s body is tragically discovered at the rink, the tension escalates, surrounding you in an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty.

Word count: 10.3k

Warnings: Emotional struggle,  self-doubt and anxiety, a lot of forensics in the beginning, emotional support, bar scene, alcohol mentioned.

A/N: I promised I would relay this info from Y/N about their only interaction in this chapter: "Hotch is a little bitch"

Masterlist

The locker room was mostly quiet, a silence only broken by the low murmur from the forensic team, each member meticulously working their way through the crime scene. Gloved hands carefully collected evidence, cameras clicked softly, and the occasional hushed exchange passed between team members, their voices barely above a whisper. Every movement was precise and deliberate, ensuring the scene's integrity remained undisturbed to the best of their abilities. The dim lights cast an almost sterile glow across the room, highlighting the dust motes suspended in the air.

Hotch stood by the doorframe, arms crossed, his sharp gaze tracking every action. His imposing figure served as a barrier, ensuring no one else would enter and disrupt the investigation. As he observed, the weight of his responsibility was evident in his intense expression, his attention fully devoted to the scene before him.

A forensic technician crouched near a faint stain on the tiled floor, signaling to a colleague with a subtle wave. “We’ve got what appears to be trace blood spatter here,” she said, her voice was low. Her gloved fingers traced the edges of the stain without making contact, her eyes scanning the pattern with attention, trying to put the pieces together to form a theory of what had gone down. "The distribution looks inconsistent. The angle suggests some kind of lateral force — maybe a blunt object brought down from above.” She suggested, lifting her hand up in a fist as if holding the murder weapon. She moved her hand down again in a smooth strike, trying to act out the scene.

Her colleague crouched next to her, adjusting his gloves as he pulled out a small magnifying lens to study the details. He leaned closer, observing the discoloration and faint smears. “Could indicate that she tried to defend herself,” he murmured, his tone speculative. “Or possibly just post-mortem bruising... though we’ll need lab confirmation to be sure.” His gaze shifted thoughtfully as he took in the body next to him. He raised an eyebrow, as if considering something further. "Did we retrieve samples from her hands? Any fibers or skin under the nails?”

"Already bagged and sealed,” another technician responded, holding up a small evidence bag. Inside, beneath a clear strip of tape, were faint traces of what looked like skin fragments. The delicate specks of tissue clung to the tape, almost imperceptible against the plastic, but they could hold significant answers to getting closer to slowing this whole mess. “Looks like fragments of epithelial tissue. And they found it under her nails?” he asked, his voice quiet as he focused on not disturbing the rest of the forensics team.

He gave the bag a light shake, causing the tissue to shift slightly within. “We’ll send it over for DNA analysis. It should tell us whether the traces are her own or possibly from an assailant.” His tone carried the weight of years of experience; he knew how much hinged on this small but critical piece of evidence.

Hotch’s brow furrowed as he listened, absorbing every detail from the exchange. His gaze sharpened, and with a slight tilt of his head, he caught the attention of the lead forensic analyst nearby. “Do we have any indication of the time of death?” he asked, his tone was low but, though it cut through the quiet of the room.

The analyst looked up from her meticulously detailed notes, her expression neutral. “Based on initial observations of lividity and rigor mortis, along with body temperature readings,” she began, glancing momentarily toward the body before looking back at her notes, “we’re estimating the time of death to fall between midnight and 3 a.m.” She paused, her eyes shifting past him catching a glimpse at the ice lurking just behind Hotch's figure. “The environmental conditions here — specifically the colder temperature — may have impacted these markers slightly, but it’s a preliminary estimate for now. The autopsy should give us a tighter window.”

Her explanation was clinical and precise, yet held a hint of caution, acknowledging the limits of field estimates. Hotch nodded, absorbing the timeline, his mind already beginning to map out the next steps for the investigation.

Hotch nodded. “What about fingerprints?” he asked.

One of the forensic team members held up a clear strip of tape with faint, smeared fingerprints barely visible along its surface. “We’ve found a few partials,” she explained, angling the tape so the faint ridges caught the light. “Some of them are likely hers, based on the positioning and the smudging pattern. But we’ll process every print we find.” Her gaze shifted to the lockers, her expression darkening slightly. “The locker handles were clean, though. Could indicate they were wiped down, or that the unsub wore gloves.”

A subtle tension flickered across Hotch’s face, his jaw tightening as he processed this added complication. The unsub was way too good at what he was doing. “Make sure we document every single print, even if they’re smudged,” he instructed, his voice firm. “Cross-reference them with any recent visitors and staff on-site if possible. If the unsub left anything behind, I want to know about it.”

“Yes, sir.” She gave a quick nod, her focus already shifting back to her work, determined to extract every detail from the fragmented prints. Her gloved hands moved swiftly, preparing the evidence for lab analysis, while Hotch remained positioned in the doorframe, the team meticulously gathered every possible clue they could.

In the corner a photographer worked methodically, the rapid clicks of the camera punctuated the silence as he documented each aspect of the room. He moved from corner to corner, crouching low or stretching upward to capture every angle, pausing now and then to reframe his shots. Each image was a careful study of the crime scene, ensuring nothing went unnoticed, from the faint blood stains on the tile to the scattered belongings and the way the girl's hair lay curled around her head on the floor.

The forensics team operated with an almost mechanical coordination.

Hotch observed them in silence, his gaze sweeping across the room one more time. He absorbed every detail — the overturned bench and the streaked stains on the floor. His sharp, assessing eyes missed nothing, cataloging each point of interest as he mentally reconstructed the events the way they must have unfolded in the dark of the night.

As forensics concluded their initial examination of the scene, one of the technicians approached Hotch quietly. “We’re ready to move the body, Agent Hotchner,” he said.

Hotch gave a solemn nod, his gaze settling on the still shape lying on the tiled floor. Her face held a sense of tranquility that was disturbing, yet almost looked peaceful as she rested in her final slumber.

With careful movements, two technicians knelt beside her, unfolding the heavy-duty, dark body bag — which they'd done many times before. They moved gently, each gesture as respectful as possible, as mindful as possible, trying to preserve whatever dignity remained for her in death. The bag’s fabric unfurled with a soft rustle, and, together, they began the process of transferring her. Hotch’s jaw tightened as he watched, he hated when kids were involved, and even as his mind continued piecing together the puzzle of her final moments, he couldn't help but feel a sense of sadness underneath his gruff exterior.

As they lifted her, carefully sliding her lifeless form into the body bag, Hotch stood by ready to move or help if needed. He too had been here before — many times in fact — bearing witness to scenes of unimaginable loss countless times. But despite the familiarity, despite knowing what to do, it never got easier — especially not when it was someone so young, someone who had barely begun to explore her path.

The technicians zipped the bag shut. The metallic sound sliced through the silence, reverberating through the room like a cold punctuation mark. The air grew heavier, marked by the collective awareness of the body about to be rolled out of the room. They all looked up from what they were doing. The team moved seamlessly, lifting the bag onto the waiting stretcher. They secured the straps, their faces set in concentration.

Hotch walked slowly behind the stretcher, his footsteps echoing in the silence that had fallen over the locker room and that followed them into the arena. As the forensic team guided her toward the exit, other team members paused their work, their heads instinctively bowing as the stretcher passed — a momentary gesture of respect, acknowledging the life now gone.

Near the doorway, a young forensic intern hesitated, her face was pale, and eyes wide as she watched the body being taken away. She looked up at Hotch, clearly shaken as reality settled heavily upon her.

“First time?” Hotch asked quietly in a low murmur meant only for her to hear, it carried a softness that seemed to calm her a little — or at least enough to gain control of her mind.

The intern nodded, swallowing hard, she was unable to shift her gaze from the stretcher. “Yes, sir,” she whispered, her voice ready to break. “It’s…harder than I expected.”

Hotch offered a small, understanding nod, the slightest flicker of empathy breaking through his normally stoic expression. “It always is,” he replied, his tone was gentle — he was always gentle with the new kids on the team. With a subtle reassurance in his gaze, he gestured for her to continue, and together they followed as the stretcher disappeared down the corridor, before being loaded into a van to be taken to the morgue and examined.

Under the bright clinical lights of the morgue, the air was heavy with the pungent scent of formaldehyde. The room was silent only broken by the hum of refrigeration units in the room over, the ticking clock, and the occasional soft echo of footsteps against the floor as the examiner moved around. Hotch and Reid stood on opposite sides of the steel examination table, latex gloves snug on their hands, their expressions furrowed as they took in the white piece of cloth covering the young skater's body.

Across from them, the examiner prepared for the autopsy, his movements slow and methodical as he organized the array of instruments laid out on a sterile tray, each one carefully placed in a specific pattern — one where he knew where all the instruments were without looking. From an outside perspective, he would seem way too calm based on what his job entailed, but he was used to the grim work. He glanced up briefly, acknowledging Hotch and Reid with a quick, silent nod before returning his focus to the tools he would soon wield. A scalpel, forceps, probes — each piece a necessary instrument in the search for the truth.

“Agent Hotchner, Dr. Reid,” he finally greeted. “Thank you for coming down so quickly.”

Hotch acknowledged him with a returning nod, his gaze fixed on the cloth. “I appreciate you starting on this quickly. Time is of the essence.”

With a careful pull, the examiner peeled back the sheet covering the victim, exposing bruises marring her slender arms and faint, reddish discolorations circling her wrists. The ligature marks were evident, indicating that she had been bound at some point. There were signs of what potentially was her final struggle. Hotch’s face remained composed, every line of his expression hardened as he took in the sight before him. For a moment, his gaze softened as he remembered just how young she had been, but he steeled himself, pushing the thoughts aside.

Reid, standing just beside him, held a clipboard with one hand, pen poised as he looked over the notes and findings up until now. His own face was tense, eyes darting from the bruises and ligature marks and back to the notes, adding and cataloging more evidence as he noticed it. But even as his pen moved, Reid’s jaw tightened slightly — he too dwelled on the fact that the girl had passed way too soon.

The examiner reached for a light, adjusting its angle to illuminate the area near the girl’s collarbone, wanting to take a better look while the agents were present. Pausing, he noticed an unusual discoloration — the faintest mark, almost hidden against the pallor of her skin. With careful movements of his hand, he picked up a small magnifying glass on the tray beside him, leaning in to study it more closely. The discoloration suggested a pattern, though the exact cause was unclear. He frowned, examining the delicate skin with increased interest as if it held the key to understanding one more piece of the puzzle.

“I think I’ve found something interesting here.” The examiner’s gloved finger traced a faint, stray strand on her skin, its color and texture distinct against the muted backdrop of her skin. “It’s a fiber. Unusual color and texture, definitely not something standard to the clothing she was wearing when she came in.”

Reid leaned in, tilting his head to get a closer look at the small, off-color thread. Its faint sheen caught the light. “That doesn’t look like any typical textile fiber,” he murmured, his tone thoughtful. “It’s thicker. Possibly synthetic, maybe a blend — something designed to withstand stress or friction. It could indicate that the unsub works in a more labour-heavy setting.” He looked to Hotch as if waiting for a sign of approval. Hotch only nodded, not wanting to interrupt the trail of thoughts and the interaction between Spencer and the examiner.

The examiner too nodded, reaching for a pair of tweezers from his tray, his movements were cautious. “This fiber could tell you a lot, I hope,” he said, gently gripping the strand between the tweezers. “I’ll bag it up as evidence. It’s embedded just slightly in the epidermis here, so there’s a good chance it was transferred from contact not long before her death.”

Hotch’s eyes narrowed, watching the careful extraction. “Could this indicate she struggled more than just in her bonds?” he asked, now realizing that the unsub most likely had captured her sometime before killing her — why no one had reported her missing yet was a mystery to him.

“It’s possible,” the examiner replied, sealing the fiber in a clear evidence bag and labeling it. “If this thread belongs to another person’s clothing or equipment, it could lead you to the unsub — or at least tell you more about what happened.”

Reid took a note, writing down the specifics of the fiber’s texture and placement, his mind already racing through the implications. He handed it to Hotch, knowing that he would hand it over to the forensics lab at the academy.

“I’ll have forensics take a closer look once we’re back,” Hotch said.

“The synthetic quality could mean it’s from carpeting, furniture…possibly even a vehicle.” Reid continued his trail of thoughts.

“Or it could have been from someone’s clothing,” Hotch added, brow furrowed as he considered the possibilities. “The fact that it was found near the ligature marks could suggest it was transferred during her restraint.”

The examiner, meanwhile, continued his external examination. “Based on the bruising and the angle of the contusions on her wrists and arms she likely tried to pull away — hence the deep abrasions here,” he said, gesturing to the raw edges of skin around her wrists. “This fiber is probably from whoever or whatever held her down — my best guess is either from hemp rope or possibly heavy-duty work gloves.”

Hotch nodded as he stepped closer, his posture was calm but vigilant. "Anything else you’ve found so far?"

The examiner paused, his gaze shifting to the girl’s head as he gently tilted it, exposing a faint, dried smear near her hairline. His brow furrowed slightly as he focused on the subtle mark. “There’s something here,” he murmured, using a cotton swab to carefully lift a trace of dark, dried blood just above her temple.

Hotch’s attention zeroed in on the spot, eyes narrowing as he absorbed the new detail. “A head wound?”

“Possibly,” the examiner replied, his tone thoughtful. “It’s minor — likely not a fatal blow — but there’s a small, shallow laceration here. Could be from striking a hard surface or perhaps from a mild blow. It’s hard to say definitively just yet, but at most it would've given her a concussion.”

Reid leaned in too, studying the location and nature of the injury. “Since it isn't the primary cause of death. It might have been incidental, meant to disorient her rather than to inflict serious harm.”

The examiner nodded, bagging the swap. “The blood pattern is faint and slightly smeared, suggesting there was some movement afterward — either on her part or by someone else’s hand. If someone else made contact here, there could be trace elements of DNA left behind in the blood.”

Hotch’s expression remained focused. “Let’s be thorough though. Get more samples for DNA and trace analysis on this. If it isn’t her own blood, or if there’s any foreign material, it could lead us to our unsub if there's a match in our databases.”

“Understood,” the examiner replied, giving a confirming nod. “I’ll expedite the sample for lab analysis to ensure I can give you a result as soon as possible.”

Hotch acknowledged him with a quick nod, his gaze lingering on the wound for a moment longer, as though searching for answers. “Good. The smallest details might be what breaks this case open.”

The medical examiner double-checked each detail as Reid handed him back the clipboard, scanning for any remaining traces before closing his laying the board aside and pulling the sheet back over the victim’s body. “Please keep me posted if the lab picks up anything significant on this,” he said, curious about the potential findings. He’d seen far too many cases end here in the morgue, but he never let himself forget the weight of each one.

“We appreciate your cooperation,” he said, his tone neutral but with a hint of respect that wasn’t lost on the examiner. He turned, glancing briefly at Reid, with their work here complete, the two agents made their way to the morgue’s exit, the silence following them like a shadow.

As they stepped into the hallway, their minds were already racing through the next steps. Hotch’s thoughts sifted through the evidence — every cataloged detail, the fiber, blood smear, and head wound — as he considered how it might all connect. Reid, equally focused, was already piecing together possible timelines and scenarios, mentally processing the clues they would present to the team back at Quantico.

Hotch stepped into the sterile atmosphere of the academy’s forensic lab, the evidence bag containing the fiber sample cradled carefully in his hand. The scent of antiseptic filled the air, mingling with the subtle undertone of other lab chemicals that he couldn't quite recognize. The hum of the equipment provided a low, steady buzz to the air. Across the room, the chief forensic analyst was already preparing for the evidence, her workstation was arranged meticulously with an array of microscopes, testing agents, and delicate tools — each with their own specific use. She turned as Hotch approached, nodding in greeting.

“Agent Hotchner,” she acknowledged, slipping on a fresh pair of latex gloves with a swift, practiced motion — she knew what she was doing. “Let’s take a look at what we’re dealing with.”

Hotch handed over the evidence bag. “This fiber might be our only tangible lead in the case right now,” he said. “We need a full comparative analysis against textile databases — origin, composition, and any trace chemicals — if that is possible. Anything that might narrow down a source or point us in a specific direction.”

The chief's eyes sharpened as she handled the evidence, carefully transferring the fiber to a glass slide beneath the microscope. “Understood. I’ll also run a dye analysis as well. Certain textiles have unique dye markers that can sometimes trace back to a manufacturer if they're trademarked, or even a specific production batch if we’re lucky.”

Hotch crossed his arms, watching as she began the delicate work. “The smallest detail could matter here, I'll take anything I can get” he added. “Even if it’s something as minor as a manufacturing flaw or residue. We have to assume our suspect left this trace unintentionally.”

She nodded, already adjusting the microscope settings to bring the fiber into focus. “If there’s anything out of the ordinary, I'll find it — There's a reason why I'm the chief,” she assured him with a wink, trying to lighten the mood. “I’ll flag any anomalies right away.”

Hotch nodded, his gaze locked onto the microscope as if he saw the magnified fiber as well. The step might've seemed minute, but he knew that solving cases with an unsub this meticulous, this organized often hung on such tiny fragments — one thread could lead to a name, a place, or even the dismantling of an alibi.

He watched closely, the weight of the investigation resting heavily on his shoulders — he couldn't help but think about you and your competition. “Would a spectrograph reveal any pollutants?” he asked, his brow furrowed with thought. “If the fiber originated from an industrial source, we might find trace chemical signatures that could narrow it down.”

The analyst glanced up at him, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Look at you being all scientific,” she teased, her eyes bright with amusement. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Aaron.”

He allowed himself a brief smile. “I dabbled a bit with science back in college. Mostly the parts that sounded impressive.” The subtle warmth in his voice added a slight levity to the otherwise grim circumstances of their meeting.

“Well, your instincts are spot-on,” she replied, preparing the sample under a high-powered microscope. “A spectrographic analysis will absolutely tell us if there’s anything unusual, down to certain chemical markers. But we’ll have to account for any contamination from trace elements or DNA that might have come from the locker room.”

Hotch nodded his focus back on the fiber.

The analyst’s gaze sharpened as she brought the fiber into view, her hands moving quickly. “I’ll start with the dye signature, then run it through spectrographic imaging to see if the fiber picked up any industrial pollutants or specific residue.” She adjusted the settings on her microscope.

As she initiated the spectrographic analysis, Hotch held his breath, watching as the machine began scanning the fiber for any unique chemical compositions. The wait was agonizing; they were so close to potentially finding a lead, but with every second, uncertainty loomed larger.

Finally, a series of lines and peaks appeared on the monitor, and the chief leaned in, her eyes scanning the data. After a few moments, she exhaled softly and turned to Hotch. “Here’s the initial breakdown. The fibers are cotton-based but treated with a blend of chemicals typically found in weather-resistant clothing — mostly silicon compounds. There’s also an unidentified polymer, likely synthetic.” As Reid suggested, Hotch thought as the chief spoke.

Hotch’s brow furrowed, leaning in to examine the data on the screen. “Weather-resistant… that could suggest outdoor clothing. Can we pinpoint anything more specific?”

The analyst tapped her pen against the screen, her gaze locked on the data. “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. The trace polymer we’re seeing isn’t exclusive. It could be used in a variety of jackets or even upholstery fabrics or gloves. The compounds are common enough in the industry that they don’t carry any unique markers. No region-specific elements or manufacturer identifiers.”

Hotch let out a quiet sigh, disappointment settling into his expression. “So, we’re looking at something mass-produced, nothing that singles out a specific item or brand.” If he had been alone he would've groaned in frustration. It couldn't be right that the unsub was this good at hiding his steps.

She nodded. “Yes. The chemical makeup is generic — common to a lot of brands of clothing, even some household items. The polymer itself is low-grade, suggesting that it isn't high-end manufacturing.”

“Then we’re back to square one on the fiber — and the rest of the case. What about cross-contamination?" Hotch straightened, taking a steadying breath. "Could these fibers have transferred from something in the rink itself?”

“It’s a possibility,” she confirmed. “Without a stronger match, we can’t rule out incidental transfer. The results are too generalized to tie back to the crime scene directly.”

She gave him a sympathetic look. “For now. But I’ll keep running a few more tests. Sometimes, even the smallest variable can reveal more than we expect. I'll call if I find anything”

“Thank you,” Hotch said finally, forcing himself to maintain his composure. “I appreciate your help.”

As Hotch left the lab, the weight of disappointment settled heavily on his shoulders. The investigation had hit another wall, and frustration churned within him, though he refused to let it slow him down. There had to be something they were missing, some angle or piece of evidence that could be uncovered. He made his way back to his office, his footsteps echoing through the halls.

The familiar scent of paper files and polished wood greeted him as he entered. He closed the door with a soft click locking it behind him. With a deep sigh, he sank into his chair, its worn leather shaped by years of use. He leaned back in it, pinching the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to ease the tension pounding in his head.

Images from the crime scene replayed in his mind — the young girl, then they shifted to the sight of Branson at your place, then to Leah and the way you'd been shocked out of your mind. His protective instincts instantly roared to life, as always, but this time, they went beyond just the need to catch the unsub. He thought of you, your bright spirit and dedication to skating, your commitment to make it through your competitions as you chased your Olympic dreams.

You were so focused, so passionate, your every move on the ice fueled by ambition and hard work. But now, with you becoming the focal point of the unsub more and more, a dark, gnawing fear had taken root in him — a fear that the unsub might reach you too — sooner than he would like to think about.

He clenched his fists. You had come so far and still had so much to achieve. The thought of any harm coming your way made him all the more determined to solve the case. Hotch knew he couldn’t afford to let his worry show, not to you, not to anyone. But in the privacy of his office, he allowed himself a brief moment to feel the weight of it.

Then, steeling himself, he reached for the files on his desk, flipping through them. The hunt wasn’t over — not by a long shot — even if he had to move back to square one. He would find a lead, no matter how deeply it was buried, and ensure that no more dreams were shattered by this unsub.

The thought of forbidding you from competing in sectionals churned relentlessly in his mind, a constant tug-of-war between his professional duty and personal feelings. He knew it would be wrong — he knew that. You had worked too hard and sacrificed too much for this opportunity to let fear dictate your choices now. “It could ruin her career,” he whispered under his breath. The thought struck him like a cold punch to the gut. He could almost hear your voice in his mind — your tone sharp, frustrated, defiant — if he even dared suggest such a thing to you.

Yet the risks were undeniable. You were vulnerable, and he could not ignore that. The idea of you stepping onto the ice now felt like a potential battleground. There were so many ways the unsub could get to you without even touching you — even under the competition. The thought sent a shiver crawling down his spine, tightening the knot in his chest. "It’s my mess to take care of," he thought bitterly, gripping the edge of his desk as if it might anchor him to something stable.

Hotch leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his fingers digging into the wood as he fought his internal battle. He could picture you clearly in his mind — poised and ready to compete, the determination in your eyes — he admired that strength. Then bang and you were injured — maybe even dead — he couldn't let that happen.

“What if something happens?” The thought refused to leave him. His mind cycled through every worst-case scenario he could think of, each one worse than the last — poison, stabbed, shot — everything he had seen in previous cases resurfaced in his mind. What if you were caught off guard, what if the unsub found a way to exploit your vulnerability, what if he couldn’t protect you in time?

But he couldn’t stop you. He couldn’t ask you to stop. You had worked too hard, and the truth was, he didn’t want to see you give up on what you loved, what you were meant to do. The decision wasn’t just about your safety; it was about respecting the very thing that made you who you were. And so, Hotch wrestled with that truth, torn between wanting to protect you and knowing that your fight was your own to face. As he sat there, the silence of his office pressing in on him, he knew there was no easy answer. No matter what, he would be caught in the middle — between keeping you safe and letting you live your life.

Finally, an idea began to form — a temporary solution, at least. “I could put her under surveillance,” Hotch mused aloud, the thought offering a small, yet comforting flicker of reassurance. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a way to keep you safe without completely stripping you of your passion. He could allow you to focus on sectionals, and stay in the game, while keeping a close eye on you, just in case. “Just until after sectionals. After that, I can reevaluate,” he decided, more to himself than anyone else.

But as the plan settled into his mind, a new wave of dread washed over him. The thought of confronting you with this idea felt almost unbearable. He could already see the fallout in his mind — the arguments, the anger, the disappointment. He could hear your voice, it was sharp and accusatory: “You’re treating me like a child, Hotch!” The imagined words cut through him. He knew you would feel betrayed and suffocated by his overprotectiveness.

He didn’t want to do that to you. He didn’t want to take away your autonomy, your ability to make your own decisions. But the reality was, he couldn’t stand the thought of you being in harm’s way, not with everything that had happened. The idea of surveillance seemed like a compromise, something temporary to bridge the gap between your safety and your dreams, but it was a fine line to walk. He or another agent would be hovering in the background, trying to protect you without making you feel like you were being controlled.

But it was a necessary risk. He had to do something — he couldn’t sit back and hope for the best. He couldn’t let you go into the rink, into the unknown, without some kind of safeguard.

With a deep sigh, Hotch leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes, trying to find some semblance of peace before having to confront you. He could only hope that when the time came to explain himself, you would understand. He was doing this for you, to protect you.

Hotch took a deep breath, bracing himself for the conversation. He had anticipated this moment all day and knew it would be difficult, but now that it was here, the weight of it pressed down on him harder than he’d expected. The silence in his office felt suffocating, as though the walls themselves were closing in. He glanced at the clock — time was slipping away, and he could no longer put off the inevitable. The longer he waited, the harder it would be.

With a reluctant sigh, he reached for the phone on his desk, his fingers feeling heavier than usual as he dialed your number. His heart was thudding in his chest, the pulse loud in his ears as the rings echoed through the line.

“Hotch?” she answered, he could hear the curiosity in her voice.

His grip tightened on the phone, trying to steady himself. “Can you come to my office?” he replied, keeping his tone as neutral as possible, though it still carried a weight that he hadn’t intended. “I need to talk to you about something important.”

He could feel the shift in the air as your breath caught slightly on the other end. You didn’t respond immediately, and in that silence, he knew you were already picking up on his tension. Your voice, when it came, was a little more cautious. “Is it about the case?” you asked, a slight sense of anxiety creeping into your tone.

“Yes,” he confirmed. He closed his eyes for a moment before speaking again. “Just come to my office.”

He could hear you hesitate for a second, and he braced for the inevitable questions you would ask once you arrived. He didn’t have all the answers yet, and he wasn’t sure how to explain everything without making it worse. "I’ll be waiting," he added quietly, hanging up before you could say anything more, before you could protest.

As the silence settled in the room, Hotch couldn’t shake the feeling that this conversation was going to be just the beginning of something far more difficult.

An hour later, there was a soft knock at the door, and Hotch gestured for you to enter. You stepped inside. He could see the weariness in your eyes, the toll of the recent events, and the weight of your training settling in your features. You were trying to hide it, but he knew the stress was wearing you thin.

"Sit down," he instructed, motioning to the chair opposite his desk. You did so without protest, dumping your skating bag beside the chair and folding your arms tightly across your chest as if to shield yourself from what was coming. The way your posture stiffened told him that you sensed the gravity of the conversation already.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice shifting to a more defensive tone as if bracing for impact.

Hotch took a deep breath, leaning forward, his hands clasped tightly together. “I’ve been thinking about your safety,” he started slowly, his voice steady but laced with the concern he had been holding in. “About the upcoming sectionals. Given what happened… with Leah and the others, I’ve decided to put you under 24/7 surveillance until after the competition. An agent will be with you at all times”

Your eyes widened in disbelief, and you immediately shook your head. “What? Hotch, you can’t be serious. You’re going to treat me like I’m a child? I can take care of myself!” The frustration in your voice was unmistakable, the words barely containing the anger that was building inside you.

“This isn’t about treating you like a child,” Hotch countered, trying to keep his tone calm — raising his voice at you wouldn't help his case, you'd just get more frustrated. He leaned forward slightly as if hoping the distance between you could be bridged by his sincerity. “You’re in a vulnerable position right now. I can’t risk losing you too.”

“Risk losing me?” you shot back, your voice rising. “I’m not going to let fear control my life! I have sectionals in just a few days. I need to train!” The frustration boiled over, your fists clenching in your lap as you fought to keep your composure. “I can’t just stop everything because of some… some threat that may not even be about me!”

Hotch’s jaw tightened as he met your gaze. He could see the defiance in your eyes. “I understand how important sectionals are to you, but this isn’t just a threat — someone was murdered — several people were murdered, and it’s your world and community that’s been disrupted.”

You opened your mouth to argue again, but Hotch pressed on, his voice more commanding now. “I’m sending Agent Anderson with you to the rink to ensure your safety while you train. You can’t be alone right now.”

“Agent Anderson?” you exclaimed, disbelief written all over your face. “You’re sending a babysitter? This is ridiculous! I’m not some damsel in distress, Hotch!” Your voice cracked slightly, frustration and embarrassment flooding through you. How could he even think you needed someone else to look after you? You had worked too hard, fought too long to be treated like this.

“Stop! Just stop!” he snapped, his calm demeanor finally breaking as his frustration seeped through. The sharpness in his voice took you off guard, but it also made something inside you tighten. “I’m trying to protect you. I can’t let you lose anyone else or yourself, and I refuse to sit back and do nothing. You may not like it, but this is the best option we have right now.”

You opened your mouth to protest again, but the words felt like they were stuck. Instead, you turned your head, looking anywhere but at him. The heat of anger was still there, but now there was a dull ache in your chest — a mix of hurt and confusion. He wasn’t supposed to treat you like this. You had always been able to handle things on your own, but now he was making you feel small.

The silence stretched on until you finally spoke, your voice quieter but still carrying your disapproval of the situation. “You don’t trust me,” you whispered, the accusation hanging in the air between you two. “You think I can’t handle this on my own.”

Hotch’s features softened slightly, his jaw unclenching a little as if he were trying to find the right words. “That’s not it,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I trust you more than anyone, but right now, I have to prioritize your safety above all else. Please try to understand.”

You took a deep breath, your shoulders slumping as if the weight of the conversation had drained the fight out of you. “Fine. But this doesn’t mean I agree with it,” you said, your voice low, but firm. “I’ll still train, and I’ll still do my best at sectionals. You can’t take that away from me.” The words tasted bitter on your tongue, but there was no way you were going to let this be the thing that stopped you.

Hotch’s face softened almost in a grin, but there was an edge of tension still present. “Of course,” he said, his voice carrying a note of relief. “Just know that this isn’t forever. It’s temporary until we figure something else out.”

You nodded. “I just hope you know what you’re doing,” you muttered, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you give in completely. With that, you stood up, turning toward the door, the space between you now thick with tension.

As you stepped out, you could feel Hotch’s gaze on your back. It lingered like an echo, reminding you that the conflict wasn’t resolved — even if it hadn't been much of a conflict — it was just postponed for now. You didn’t know what he thought, but the way he’d tried to control everything, to keep you safe in a way that felt suffocating, made you question everything between you two.

As you walked away, you couldn't shake the feeling that this decision — however well-meaning — might only push you further into the isolation the unsub so desperately wanted.

As you stepped onto the ice, the familiar chill wrapped around you, though it was a comforting feeling today it felt sharper, cutting through to your core. The vivid colors of your outfit and the music that filled the arena felt muted. Each time your skates carved into the ice, the sound seemed louder, the harsh scrape was a reminder of everything that had changed lately.

You took a steadying breath, letting the air settle in your lungs, and began your warm-up routine. Starting with long, smooth glides, you pushed off the boards, your skates cutting steady lines into the newly resurfaced ice. The rhythmic sound of your blades gliding over the surface brought back a semblance of peace to your mind. Leaning into each movement, you transitioned into a series of spirals, stretching one leg behind you in a graceful arc, the wind catching your hair as you moved. For a moment, you felt a whisper of that old freedom — the joy in every graceful turn.

Building confidence with each lap, you shifted into more complex elements. First came a simple jump, the toe pick of your skate pressing firmly into the ice as you gathered momentum, launching yourself into the air. The split second of weightlessness was a welcome escape, the rush of adrenaline momentarily lifting you out of your grief. Tucking in tight, you spun, your muscles were tense but controlled, before landing cleanly, your other skate gliding effortlessly across the ice. For a moment, you felt normal again, almost powerful.

But as you completed the jump, that feeling faded, and a wave of sadness crashed back over you. Leah’s face filled your mind, her laugh, her smile, her quiet strength. She had been by your side through so much, always pushing you to be better, to reach higher. You could almost feel her presence. You blinked back the sting of tears, shaking off the encroaching sorrow, and continued, determined to reclaim this space for yourself, for her memory.

With each subsequent jump — an axel, a lutz, then a loop — you pushed yourself harder, landing each one. Your focus narrowed, muscles tightening with every leap as you worked to perfect the technique, to perfect your routine. The burn in your legs somehow fueled you, pushing you to keep going, to drive past the exhaustion. As you soared through a series of triple salchows, the rush of adrenaline surged as you rotated in the air.

But in the midst of your routine, a nagging sensation prickled at the edge of your attention, distracting you. You glanced quickly toward the bleachers, where Agent Anderson sat, his expression stone-faced, his eyes trained on you as if analyzing your every movement. A small notebook rested on his lap, and he was scribbling something, like he was documenting your performance — or worse, assessing your vulnerabilities while on the ice, or perhaps he was simply just working on a case file. The sight of him made your stomach twist.

His presence felt intrusive, as though you were under suspicion rather than simply preparing for the biggest competition of the year thus far. The thought lingered, you knew he was there for your safety, but the constant watch felt more like you were an animal in a zoo, caged in and made to be looked at all day.

You gritted your teeth, forcing the irritation aside. This was your space — your life. Taking a steadying breath, you centered yourself, tightening your core as you began a flawless spin, willing yourself to shut out Anderson.

You moved into your footwork sequence, letting each step flow seamlessly into the next. Your arms lifted gracefully above your head, your fingers reaching out as though drawing shapes in the air, feeling every nuance of the music.

Each movement was deliberate, transitions crisp as you executed twizzles and turns, your skates cutting patterns into the ice. You spun into a series of twirls, your body bending and stretching, almost like you were telling a story of your resilience, of elegance. But as you moved into a complicated turn, the ache surged, a reminding you of what — and who — you’d lost. The pain broke your focus for a moment, and you stumbled, your blade catching awkwardly, the balance slipping. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Anderson rise to his feet.

A flash of frustration rose, but you took a steadying breath. “Focus,” you murmured under your breath, forcing the emotion aside as you squared your shoulders, your determination flaring stronger. You weren’t just here to skate; you were here to win.

You transitioned smoothly into a series of spins, starting with a sit spin, your body lowering gracefully toward the ice, your extended leg forming a perfect line as you balanced precariously close to the cold surface.

As you twirled, snow forming on the ice beneath you, reality clawed its way back. A shiver ran through you, a cold that had nothing to do with the rink.

But you refused to let it hold you back. Pouring every ounce of your energy and frustration into your routine, you launched into a series of edge jumps, each leap a desperate attempt to shake the memories clinging to you. Yet, even at the height of each jump, you couldn’t fully escape the void left in Leah’s absence, the hollow space where her encouragement and guidance had once been.

As you landed one final, breathtaking jump, your skates hit the ice with grace, but the effort had taken its toll. The familiar satisfaction of a well-executed move was overshadowed by an exhaustion that settled deep into your bones. You slowed to a stop, catching your breath.

Your gaze drifted back to the edge of the rink where Agent Anderson was once again sat down, watching intently. "I don’t need a babysitter", you mumbled to yourself, your fists clenching at your sides.

With a sharp exhale, you forced yourself to unclench your fists, shaking your hands in an attempt to get the frustration out while also trying to channel the frustration and turn it into determination. You were stronger than this, stronger than the unsub.

As much as you resented being watched, a small part of you understood why it was necessary. But understanding didn’t mean you had to like it. You took a deep breath, reminding yourself of sectionals just days away.

Pushing yourself away from the boards and gliding across the ice, your movements started to lose their rhythm, slipping beneath the weight of your swirling thoughts. The cold stung your cheeks. Each slice of your blade seemed to echo with the whispers that had taken root in your mind since Leah’s death.

You missed the familiar faces of fellow skaters who’d once been your companions on the ice.

The absence of the camaraderie you'd been used to felt like a wall being built between you and everyone else. Where there had been smiles and encouragement, there was now distance. You couldn’t shake the feeling that they saw you differently now, that they might resent you for being allowed at the Pavilion.

The thought gnawed at you. “What if I can’t do this?” The words grew louder with each second in your head, intensifying the pressure that had already settled on your shoulders. You had trained relentlessly for this moment, dedicating countless hours to perfecting your routine. But now, after everything, the stakes felt impossibly high.

“What if I freeze out there? What if I can’t remember the routine?” The questions spiraled out of control, your heartbeat thundering in response. You could almost hear the judges’ cold, detached evaluations in your mind, the faint, disapproving murmurs that you imagined would follow each imperfection, and the unbelievably low score. "You’re not good enough. You’ll never make it to the Olympics. You’re a failure.” The wave of self-doubt coiled around your thoughts like a serpent, its grip tightening until each breath felt labored and heavy.

Your legs felt as though they were weighed down, every movement lacking grace. As you practiced your transitions, the fluidity you were known for seemed lost, each step feeling clumsy, awkward — like you were a mere shadow of the skater you’d once been, a puppet with tangled strings.

The rink felt big — too big. But even as doubt loomed, a stubborn part of you refused to give up, whispering that Leah wouldn’t want your downfall. That voice — her voice — faint but persistent, was all you had to cling to.

Pushing through the anxiety, you attempted a series of jumps, each leap feeling more strained than the last. “What if I fall?” The thought replayed, like a mantra of failure, taunting you as you launched into the air. You twisted and landed, but the moment was overshadowed by the wobble on your feet. You could almost hear Leah’s voice, telling you to believe in yourself, to not let everything that had happened affect you.

You glided to the edge of the rink, each breath escaping in shaky gasps as you leaned against the boards, desperate for a rescue from the storm brewing within you.

Your gaze drifted across the empty seats of the pavilion, rows of silence witnesses to countless practices, moments of triumph, and hours spent. A creeping thought tightened your chest: would the judges see you as the skater you were, or would they see only the girl who’d lost her coach just days before? Would they pity you? Or worse, dismiss you and tell you to check your dreams for another 4 years?

The thought wrapped around you, squeezing until you could barely breathe. For a moment, the idea of giving up flickered in your mind, tempting you with the promise of relief. But as quickly as that thought emerged, it also disappeared. It wouldn't be right — you couldn't let everyone gone down. They had believed in you — the little girl had even looked up to you — it wouldn't be fair.

You took a breath, clutching onto the boards. “I need to do this,” you murmured softly. Leah had taught you to be strong, to fight through the pain. You straightened up. This wasn’t just for you. It was for her — for them. And for the part of you that still believed you could rise above.

With renewed resolve, you pushed away from the boards, breathing in the sharp chill of the rink. The air filled your lungs, fueling the embers within you. Just as you prepared yourself for another round on the ice, the familiar rhythm of your skates was interrupted by the sound of a commotion near the rink’s entrance. Curious, you turned around and glanced over — and your heart skipped a beat.

There, bursting through the door, were Emily, JJ, and Garcia, the girls who had quickly become your friends away from the ice. Their arrival felt like a burst of color, piercing through the melancholic atmosphere.

“Hey, superstar!” Garcia’s voice rang out, full of enthusiasm, her words echoing across the empty seats. Her smile warmed you from across the ice, and in that moment, the weight you’d been carrying felt just a bit lighter. She waved with her signature flair, wrapped in layers of sequins that sparkled under the lights. Emily and JJ followed closely behind, grinning widely as they shrugged off their jackets, each of them exuding their own unique sense of support. JJ’s warm smile and Emily’s confident nod made your heart swell with gratitude; they were here to back you up, even in a world as foreign to them as figure skating.

Agent Anderson, relieved of his duties as your guard, stepped aside, a faint, amused smile playing on his face as he watched the trio claim their place by the rink. "I'll just be over here," he said with a nod.

“Show us what you’ve got!” Emily’s voice boomed with encouragement. “We’re here to watch you shine!”

You felt your lips curve into a smile, a real, genuine smile, as their support radiated through you. The rink felt brighter, as if a spotlight had turned on just for you, illuminating not only the ice but also the path that lay ahead.

Drawing a deep breath, you embraced the sense of purpose they had reignited within you. You pushed off, lapping once around the rink before settling into your routine.

As you launched into a sequence of jumps — an axel followed by a lutz —their cheers filled the air, urging you onward. Every leap felt lighter, every rotation more effortless. “Yes! That’s it! Beautiful!” JJ shouted, her voice resonating with genuine admiration, her pride reaching across the ice and pulling you higher.

The harmony of their voices intertwined with the soft sound of your blades, created a symphony of support and motivation. With each graceful movement, you felt yourself shedding the weight of self-doubt, the warmth of friendship allowing you to reach further, leap higher, and embrace the freedom you had been missing.

You glanced over at them, catching Garcia’s enthusiastic dance as she tried to mimic your moves, her playful antics making you chuckle mid-performance.

With each pass, you became more attuned to your body, your confidence growing as you executed your routine with precision. You attempted a particularly difficult combination, your heart racing as you soared into the air, the cold whipping around you as you twisted and spun, landing cleanly on the ice with a flourish.

“Stunning!” Emily exclaimed, her eyes wide with admiration. “You’re going to blow everyone away at sectionals!”

You rounded the rink one last time, the rhythm of your skates guiding you into the final stretch of your routine. The anticipation built in your chest as you prepared for the last element, the triple axel — a jump that always felt like a leap into the unknown, both thrilling and terrifying. It was so easy to mess up. You'd aced it a few times while training with Branson, but he had always been on the ice with you, ready to catch you before you'd injure yourself. Now you were all alone.

You focused, blocking out everything around you, channeling the energy and support from your friends.

With a deep breath, you launched yourself into the air, your body soaring upwards in a fluid arc. The world below you seemed to blur, the only sound was the rush of wind against your cheeks. Time stretched — almost in slow motion —  in those precious moments as you spun, feeling the freedom of flight before you landed, your blades gripping the ice perfectly. The impact resonated through your body, and as you completed the jump, you transitioned seamlessly into the final glide of your routine.

You'd done it.

You came to a graceful stop in front the girls, a triumphant smile spreading across your face as their cheers erupted like confetti around you. “That was incredible!” JJ shouted, her voice full of excitement as she clapped enthusiastically.

“Seriously, you nailed whatever that jump thing was! I can’t believe how perfect it was!” Emily added, her eyes shining.

Garcia was practically bouncing on her feet, a grin plastered across her face as she whistled loudly, her admiration filling the air. Her boundless enthusiasm spurred you on, a rush of joy surging through you with every cheer. As you skated toward the boards, exhaustion tugged at your limbs, your muscles aching from the day's session — but it was overshadowed by the accomplishment and satisfaction that now flowed through you.

“Come here!” you called out, reaching over the boards, unable to contain the grin spreading across your face. They immediately leaned in to meet you, laughter bubbling up as they pulled you into a warm, tight embrace. The moment you crossed that threshold, you felt their arms wrap around you, their combined warmth and excitement creating a cocoon around you. You melted into the hug, the weight of the past weeks lifting as you basked in the simple joy of their presence.

“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this!” Garcia’s voice was muffled, but her excitement was unmistakable as she hugged you even tighter. “You’re going to absolutely crush it at sectionals!”

“Thanks, you guys,” you managed, stepping back just slightly to catch your breath, a laugh escaping as you took in their encouraging faces. “I really needed this today. I was honestly starting to worry I wouldn’t be able to do it without Coach. But you all…” You paused, swallowing down the emotions that threatened to surface. “You all reminded me why I started in the first place.”

Emily’s hand found your shoulder, giving it a firm but gentle squeeze. “You’re stronger than you think,” she said, her voice steady and sincere. “Branson would be so proud of you.”

The words settled over you, filling the spaces left by grief in your heart “Let’s do this,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else.

“Of course!” JJ said, her smile soft. “But enough about ice skating for now. Tonight, we want you to wind down and just relax!”

“Wait, what?” you asked, eyebrows raising as curiosity sparked. You glanced around at their mischievous expressions, trying to piece together their plan.

“It was all Garcia’s idea,” Emily said, throwing her hands up in defense before nudging Garcia with a playful smirk. Garcia responded with an exaggerated look of innocence, placing a hand over her heart in mock sincerity.

“What? I just thought you deserved a little fun to shake off the nerves before sectionals! You’ve been working so hard, and we’ve seen the toll it’s taken.” She grinned, unable to hold back her excitement. “So, we’re taking you out! Girls’ night, no skating, no stress — just good vibes to celebrate how amazing you are.”

You felt your heart swell with a mixture of gratitude and surprise. “You guys really don’t have to do that. I should probably be focused on practice…”

“Nope, no arguments,” JJ cut in with her mom voice, her expression firm but light. “We’re going out, and you’re coming with us. You’ve earned a break, and a little downtime will do wonders for your headspace!”

A small, delighted sigh escaped you as you finally gave in, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Okay, okay. I guess I can spare a night for some fun.”

“Perfect! I’ll grab the music, and we’re hitting the town!” Garcia clapped her hands, running as fast as she could to the electrical cabinet where your phone lay connected to the speakers.

The rest of you gathered your things. You quickly wiped your blades before you slipped the guards and soakers on them. Together, you headed out into the night, anticipation filling the air.

The lively atmosphere of the bar enveloped you the moment you stepped inside. Laughter mingled with the upbeat music. Dim lights cast a warm glow over the wooden tables, and the scent of pub food wafted through the air, making your stomach rumble. You had decided to forgo alcohol for the evening, opting instead for water. After all, with sectionals just around the corner, the last thing you needed was to jeopardize your focus.

As the four of you settled into a booth, the girls wasted no time in ordering drinks — JJ on the fruity cocktail, Emily opted for a beer, and Garcia excitedly picked a colorful drink that looked more like a dessert than a beverage. You watched them with a smile, feeling a sense of ease wash over you. It felt good to be surrounded by supportive females who genuinely wanted to hang out with you, not out of duty or competition.

“Okay, let’s make a toast!” Emily declared, raising her glass, her voice rising above the music. “To our girl, who just nailed that triple axel thing!”

“To Y/N!” JJ echoed, her eyes sparkling as she clinked her glass against Emily’s and Garcia’s. You felt a warm flush creep across your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. It was refreshing to hear such genuine cheers, compared to the competitive banter you often faced in the skating community.

Garcia leaned across the table, her energy radiating as she leaned in to ask, “So, tell us about your routine! What are you most excited about for sectionals?”

You took a sip of your soda, gathering your thoughts. “Honestly, I’m excited to show everyone what I can do. I’ve worked so hard this season, but it’s also nerve-wracking. I’ve been worried about performing without Branson… it just feels different.”

“Of course, it does,” JJ said, her voice softening. “But remember, you have all of us and the boys behind you. You’re not alone in this.”

“I know, it really helps to have you guys here,” you admitted. “Most of the friends I have in skating are also my competitors, so it can be… complicated. It’s nice to finally relax around girls who aren’t competing with me for once.”

Emily nodded, a knowing smile on her face. “It’s easy to feel isolated, especially when everyone is focused on their own goals. But this — this is what real friendship looks like.” She grinned, making big arm movements.

You chuckled, feeling lighter as you realized how true that was. “Yeah, it’s refreshing. I didn’t realize how much I needed a night like this until now.”

Garcia reached across the table, squeezing your hand in hers. “We’re here for the laughs, the late-night talks, and everything in between. No competition here, just support.”

The night continued with playful banter, stories of past competitions, and laughter that echoed through the bar. You found yourself sharing more than you ever anticipated, recounting the challenges you faced, the triumphs you celebrated, and the absurd moments that made you laugh out loud.

As the evening wore on, you all decided to hit the dance floor. The pulsating music drew you in, and before you knew it, you were twirling around with Garcia, while Emily and JJ joined in with playful dance moves. The laughter was infectious, filling the air with a sense of freedom that made the weight of your worries seem miles away.

You may not have been drinking, but in that moment, surrounded by friends who genuinely cared, you felt like you were celebrating life itself. The joy of being part of something bigger, of finding a sense of belonging, lifted you higher than any jump or spin ever could. You danced until your feet ached, savoring every moment, knowing that the bonds you were building tonight would carry you through the challenges that lay ahead.

Tag list: @love4lando @therealbaberuthless @crazyunsexycool @pear-1206 @bookworm124 @itsmytimetoodream @c-losur3 @lumestar @evvy96 @booknerd2004 @werebearcocoon @reidluv3 @jazzimac1967 @gamingfeline @soyobi-wankenobi

[tiny-wooden-robot-fics]

Magnolia - Chapter Eighteen

Rating: Explicit Media: Jujutsu Kaisen Pairing(s): Geto Suguru x Original Female Character, Geto Suguru x Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru x Gojo Satoru x Original Female Character Additional Tags: Vampire AU, Dark Themes, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Depression, Loneliness, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Smut

A/N: Tags will be added as chapters are updated. Please be mindful of the tags and warnings at the beginning of each chapter, as they will tell you what you need to know about the content within.

Minors, DNI.

Summary:

He laughs. “Sometimes. But he does it so well that it’s hard to be annoyed for long, because you end up looking so good.” He uncrosses his arms and steps into the room, closing the distance between them in just a few strides. She turns to face him, feeling suddenly shy now that there’s only a few inches of space between their bodies. “Do you want me to stay out of it?”

Suguru is so good at keeping his face neutral; she can’t tell what he’s thinking at all when he asks. “Stay out of it?”

“Mmhm.” His gaze flickers from her eyes, moves down her body, and then back up to meet her eyes again. “If you want to be alone with Satoru, that’s perfectly okay with me.” 

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Read on AO3

Chapter Warnings: Oral (f. receiving), Squirting

Chapter Eighteen: Love's Acolyte

“Oh, that’s pretty.” Suguru looks at her from where he’s standing in the doorway of her room, arms crossed over his chest. “It suits you.”

She looks back at herself in the full-length mirror. What Satoru laid out for her is a set, made of lace and in almost the same shade as the dress she’s just changed out of. “Does it ever annoy you, this uncanny skill he has of finding things that look good on you?”

He laughs. “Sometimes. But he does it so well that it’s hard to be annoyed for long, because you end up looking so good.” He uncrosses his arms and steps into the room, closing the distance between them in just a few strides. She turns to face him, feeling suddenly shy now that there’s only a few inches of space between their bodies. “Do you want me to stay out of it?”

Suguru is so good at keeping his face neutral; she can’t tell what he’s thinking at all when he asks. “Stay out of it?”

“Mmhm.” His gaze flickers from her eyes, moves down her body, and then back up to meet her eyes again. “If you want to be alone with Satoru, that’s perfectly okay with me.” 

She hasn’t actually thought about it, and once he poses the question, she realizes she doesn’t actually know. A hot bubble of apprehension inflates in her chest, and she looks down at her feet. “I’ve… never been with two men at once.”

He puts his hands on her shoulders, his palms warm against her skin, and leans down so he can look her in the eye. “You don’t have to be if you don’t want to - not in that way,” he reassures her. “If you don’t want me there, I’ll let you be alone with him. If you want me there, but you just want me to watch, I’ll do that, too.” He smiles down at her, and it’s just as kind as it always is. “And if you say you’d like me to join in, well… I’d love to do that too - but when and how will be totally up to you.” 

Somehow, he always knows just what to say to alleviate her anxiety. “Your knack for finding the perfect words to ease my mind is as good as Satoru’s knack for finding clothing that looks good on me.” 

“Hm,” he hums with a grin. “Does it annoy you as much, too?”

“I can’t say that it does.”

“Good.” She doesn’t think it’s her imagination that he sounds just a little bit smug.

--

Many have loved you with lips and fingers And lain with you till the moon went out; Many have brought you lover’s gifts; And some have left their dreams on your doorstep. But I who am youth among your lovers Come like an acolyte to worship, My thirsting blood restrained by reverence,  My heart a wordless prayer. The candles of desire are lighted,  I bow my head, afraid before you,  A mendicant who craves your bounty Ashamed of what small gifts he brings. -Elsa Gidlow, Love’s Acolyte

--

“You look like a gift, wrapped up just for me,” Satoru tells her. She’s in his lap again, pressed up against him with his hands on her hips. “Suguru… how come you don’t wear this color more often, too?” “You know why,” Suguru murmurs. He joins them in bed and rolls over onto his side, his head resting in his hand as he watches them. “I look terrible in that shade of blue.” He reaches up and lets his fingertips dance gently down the path of Lia’s spine, making her shudder, arching her closer into Satoru. 

And the way Satoru looks up at her makes her skin flush hot all over, because it’s not just lust. It’s not just some half-baked desire that’s sprung up out of nowhere… it’s a different flavor of the longing he looks at Suguru with. She leans forward because she wants to kiss him, again and again and again, and so she does. 

Deeply enough to feel like she’s drowning in him, deeply enough to worry that she’ll go lightheaded if she doesn’t come up for air soon, deeply enough to make her start squirming into him because it feels like the only way to get the friction she so desperately wants. 

“Easy, Princess,” Satoru laughs quietly, when she breaks the kiss to breathe. “I’m right here.” 

“Stop teasing her, Satoru.”

“Me? Teasing her is the last thing on my mind.” Lia believes him, because she can feel how hard he is beneath her - the thin, soft fabric of his boxer briefs doing nothing to hide the evidence of his desire. She can’t tell anymore if the wet patch on the lace panties she’s wearing is from her or him. 

She supposes it doesn’t really matter anyway. 

She reaches between them, wanting to feel him. Wanting to wrap her fingers around him, to gauge his shape and size with her hand. “I want…” The words come out barely louder than a whisper, and they don’t even begin to encompass all of the thoughts that fall under the umbrella of that phrase: I want. 

“Hm?” He nudges her chin up with his finger, so he can look into her eyes. How does anyone resist these eyes? She wonders. Maybe they don’t. “What is it that you want, Lia?” 

“You.” The word spills out of her without any hesitation. There is no shame, no pride in how quickly she answers his question. Her hand finds purchase between them, fingers closing around the base of his shaft. Her stomach flutters at how full her fist feels when she tries to get her fingertips to meet the tip of her thumb, and she draws in a quiet little breath. 

Satoru hears that sharp little inhale, sees the surprise on her face, and it makes him chuckle. He cups the back of her head, bringing her face close to his so he can nuzzle her cheek with his nose. “Why don’t you let me open you up a little first, yeah?” --

Lia still remembers with perfect clarity every single second of the way Suguru put his mouth on her. 

She remembers the way he alternated between using his mouth and using his fingers, the way he kept his gaze on her when he sensed she was getting close to her orgasm, how closely he paid attention to the signs her body gave him and used those signs to dictate what he would do next. 

It had indeed left her speechless, but this is something entirely different. 

The mouth on Gojo Satoru - it makes her wonder, is his tongue fucking battery operated?

The way he’s slurping and sucking and licking, three fingers buried as deeply into her as they can go, massaging her walls - it has her shaking and sweating and biting her fist in order to muffle the sounds she’s making. 

It isn’t Satoru that reaches up and pries her hand out of her mouth. “He wants to hear you, pretty girl,” Suguru coos, pressing a kiss to her palm. “How else is he supposed to know he’s doing a good job?”

Again and again and again, Satoru brings her to the edge over and over, only to pull her back when she’s close. Until she’s seeing stars, until she’s almost in tears, until she’s absolutely incapable of anything other than incoherent babbling. 

Satoru thinks she’s so pretty, with those big tears clumped on her lashes and her swollen lips and sweat-slicked skin. She’s a goddamned work of art, and he’s about to make it better. 

He brings her to the edge one last time, and then takes her over, and it’s so satisfying watching the way she gushes for him… but what’s even more satisfying is the look on her face, the look that lets him know that this is her first time ever being able to do that. 

“What a mess,” Suguru teases her from his place next to her. 

They don’t let her cover her face. Satoru is so, so warm. He finally puts her legs down and drapes himself over her, chest to chest, his soft, wet lips dragging along her collarbone. “Messy girl,” he smirks, exchanging an amused look with Suguru. He lifts his hand, the one that was just inside of her, to Suguru’s lips. “Isn’t she delicious?” Said between kisses, his mouth slotting over Lia’s so she can also taste herself on his tongue and his other hand snaking between their bodies to lightly caress her swollen labia. 

“Just as delicious as I remember,” Suguru agrees. 

“Did you know, Lia? Did you know you also speak a lot with your eyes?” 

She glances over at Suguru, who’s still sucking on Satoru’s fingers. “I’ve been told that once or twice,” she admits. 

“I bet you have.” 

Lia marvels at it - how all the anxiety she felt just a little while ago is gone now. How these two have managed to take that nervous ball of energy that was in the pit of her stomach and turn it into something else entirely. Something that has her wanting so much more, something that brings out of her a greed that she’s never felt the likes of before.

She wonders if a little of that is showing on her face. It must be, if the way the two of them are looking at her is any indication.

“Are you tired, Lia?” Satoru asks. 

“No.” 

“Good,” he grins, shifting a little, just enough for her to feel how hard he is, pressed against her thigh. “Because I’m not quite done with you yet.” 

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Tag list: @therealestpussyeater

[diamonddaze01]

Plan B (for Boo)

pairing: bsk x f!reader genre: frenemies to lovers | wc: 9.0k au: non-idol au warnings: alcohol consumption, both reader and seungkwan are emotionally constipated a/n: based on this tweet https://x.com/galacticidiots/status/1582385401997955072 // thank you to the amazing @wongyuseokie for this BOO-tiful banner and divider (haha get it.) // and an enormous thank you to my lovely wonderful betas @chanranghaeys and @lovetaroandtaemin

summary: it's just a stupid pact. what could possibly go wrong?

“So,” he starts, his tone dripping with mock sincerity, “why are you still single? Could it be that no one wants to handle all this,” he gestures up and down with an exaggerated flourish, “24/7?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you sip your drink, but before you can respond with something equally sharp, he leans in a little closer, voice softer and yet somehow still insufferable. “If it’s still like this by the time we’re 30, maybe you should just give up and marry me. Think about it—life would be so much easier.”

It’s a jab, you’re sure. The kind he always takes. But maybe it’s the alcohol or the fact that it makes you laugh in a way that even catches him off guard—a laugh deep enough to make him blink before breaking into a grin too. And before you realize it, your own words slip out in response.

“Alright. If we’re both single at 30, I’ll marry you.” You shrug nonchalantly, but there’s a flash in his eyes that you can’t quite read. “And let’s be real, Boo—I’d be doing you the favor here.”

His brows shoot up as he crosses his arms, clearly ready to go head-to-head. “Please, I’d be your retirement plan,” he says with mock indignation, his tone warming for just a second as if this is more than a joke. Then, holding out his hand, he adds, “Deal?”

You shake it, the alcohol dulling the tiny voice that says this is a terrible idea. And just like that, you grin at each other, certain it’ll be nothing more than a passing joke, something to laugh about later. Neither of you knows that this will stick with you—that it’ll be a memory you revisit every time Seungkwan pops up at exactly the wrong (or right) moments.

11 months, 23 days post-pact: 

The “pact” starts as a drunken joke during a night out, one of those silly promises that friends (well, frenemies) make when they’re feeling a bit too invincible. It’s almost always out of sight, out of mind, but fate is a cruel mistress. Just as things begin to go well with someone, Seungkwan inevitably shows up.

Today, you’re out with Keeho, a charming, laid-back guy you met at a friend’s party last month. After a few flirty texts, you both agree to meet for coffee downtown, and things are going smoothly. You find yourself in a cozy bookstore café on a lazy Saturday afternoon, the kind of place that smells of freshly brewed coffee and old books. Keeho is funny and easygoing, and you’re genuinely enjoying yourself.

Just as you settle into a cozy corner table, sipping your latte and discussing your favorite novels, you feel a chill pass through the air. The bell above the door jingles, and you turn just in time to see Seungkwan burst in, a whirlwind of energy in his bright, patterned sweater.

“Oh, you’re on a date!” he exclaims, his voice echoing off the bookshelves as he approaches. He has that familiar look in his eyes—part mischief, part determination—as he slides into the seat across from you without so much as a greeting to Keeho.

You freeze mid-sentence, watching in horror as your carefully curated date suddenly turns chaotic. “Yes, Seungkwan,” you say, forcing a smile as you lean slightly away from him. “This is Keeho, and we were just—”

“Oh, Keeho! Nice to meet you!” Seungkwan interrupts, his tone dripping with faux enthusiasm. “So, you’re the brave soul who decided to take Y/N out on a date. You must have some serious courage.” He looks at you, feigning concern. “Are you sure you’re ready for her? She’s a handful, you know.”

Keeho raises an eyebrow, amusement battling with confusion. “I’m up for a challenge,” he replies, a smirk tugging at his lips as he glances between you and Seungkwan.

You can feel your cheeks warming, mortified at Seungkwan’s antics. “It’s really not—”

“Oh, but it is!” Seungkwan cuts you off again, leaning closer to Keeho. “Just last week, she convinced me to join her for a book club, and it was a disaster! I’m telling you, she had me reading some really intense romance novel.” He chuckles, but his eyes sparkle with mischief. “Let me tell you, that kind of emotional rollercoaster is not for the faint of heart.”

Keeho laughs, glancing at you with a playful glint in his eye. “Sounds like you have some strong opinions about romance, Y/N.”

“Okay, but I liked that book!” you protest, feeling the urge to defend your taste. “And it’s not my fault Seungkwan has no sense of romance!”

Seungkwan feigns offense, placing a hand over his heart. “I am a romantic! I just happen to be very selective about my literature. Besides, I didn’t think I’d need to give a warning to your date. Guess I was wrong!”

The two of them continue bantering, Keeho managing to hold his own, but you sense the dynamic shift. Each playful jab from Seungkwan feels like it’s chipping away at the ease of the moment. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Seungkwan leans back with an exaggerated sigh.

“Well, I’ve done my duty here,” he announces, clearly satisfied with the chaos he’d stirred up. “Just wanted to make sure Keeho knows what he’s getting into. You know, if things don’t work out, I’m still single and ready to mingle!” He winks at you, a smug smile plastered on his face.

You roll your eyes, watching him leave, but deep down, you’re more entertained than you want to admit. Just as he reaches the door, he turns back, giving you one last wink and whispering, “Call me when you’re done with this guy, yeah?”

As he walks out, you lean your head in your hands, half-laughing, half-sighing. “I’m so sorry about that,” you say to Keeho, who is still chuckling at the spectacle.

“I mean, he’s entertaining, I’ll give him that,” Keeho says, shaking his head. “But is he always like that?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” you admit, the humor of the situation beginning to sink in. “But he means well.”

Keeho smiles, his eyes warm. “Well, if he’s the worst I have to deal with, I think I can handle it. Let’s just get back to our coffee and forget about the chaos, okay?”

You nod, relieved, and try to refocus on your conversation. But as you chat about your favorite books, you can’t shake the feeling that Seungkwan has left a lingering awkwardness in the air. Sure enough, as the date progresses, you notice that Keeho is distracted, occasionally glancing toward the door as if waiting for Seungkwan to return.

After a few more minutes of stilted conversation, you decide to lighten the mood. “So, what’s your favorite genre? Maybe we can find a book to recommend to each other?”

Keeho shrugs, a slight frown on his face. “Honestly? I’m more of a sci-fi guy. I guess romance isn’t really my thing.”

You feel a small twinge of disappointment but try to brush it off. “That’s okay! Everyone has different tastes. I really enjoy a good sci-fi too.”

As the conversation drifts back and forth, you both struggle to find common ground. You notice Keeho’s smile faltering more often, and he seems less engaged than before. It’s clear that Seungkwan’s surprise entrance has cast a shadow on the date, and the initial chemistry you felt is fading.

By the end of the hour, as you both finish your drinks, Keeho’s attention drifts to his phone. “Hey, I should probably get going. I have a few things to take care of at home,” he says, standing up and looking apologetic. “But it was nice meeting you.”

You nod, a hint of disappointment settling in your stomach. “Yeah, nice meeting you too.” You both exchange polite goodbyes, and as you watch him leave, you feel the familiar twinge of frustration. It’s as if fate is determined to keep sabotaging your chances of finding someone.

And deep down, you know Seungkwan will find a way to poke his head into your next date, too.

1 year, 6 months, 17 days post-pact: 

The sun poured into the little bistro, casting a warm glow over your table as you shared easy laughs and stolen glances with your brunch date. It felt like a scene right out of a movie: the coffee was just strong enough, the food delicious, and the company—Sunghoon, a coworker you’d finally worked up the nerve to get closer to—was even better. You’d reached that perfect point where a little hand-holding across the table felt natural, like something you’d done a hundred times before. And you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe this could actually go somewhere.

But just as you’re about to lean in with a smile, it happens.

A voice, unmistakably loud and dripping with exaggerated surprise, rings out. “Oh my god, is that you?”

Your heart sinks, but you turn anyway, because there’s no ignoring Seungkwan, especially when he’s dressed in his brightest pink sweater, standing a few tables over with a grin that could rival the sun. He’s holding a large coffee in one hand, eyebrows raised high in mock surprise.

“Seungkwan,” you say, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. “Wow, what a coincidence.”

“Oh, it’s not just a coincidence.” With the practiced ease of a performer, he slides into the seat beside Sunghoon, who has gone from looking amused to very, very confused. “Y/N and I go way back, actually. Practically family, really. Isn’t that right, Y/N?” He flashes you a grin, one that’s both infuriating and endearing.

You clench your jaw, trying to suppress the urge to strangle him. “Right. Practically family,” you murmur, hoping Sunghoon isn’t catching the way your fingers have turned white from gripping your napkin too hard.

Seungkwan seems to ignore you, his attention now entirely on Sunghoon, whose eyebrows have slowly started climbing into his hairline. “So,” he continues, his voice loud enough for the whole restaurant to hear, “you’re here with Y/N? Cute choice. I hope you know what you’re getting into. Y/N’s kind of… high maintenance.” He winks at you like he’s just told an inside joke.

Sunghoon chuckles nervously, glancing over at you as if he needs confirmation. You shoot him an apologetic smile, trying to silently convey that, no, this isn’t normal and, yes, you’ll explain later.

“And I mean, Y/N and I?” Seungkwan keeps going, gesturing between the two of you like there’s some deep, mysterious connection. “The chemistry? It’s off the charts.” He taps his head, sighing. “We can practically read each other’s minds, you know?”

By now, Sunhoon is fidgeting, a small smile glued to his face as they look between you and Seungkwan. “Oh, really?” he asks, clearly wondering if he’s missing something monumental. “So you two… you’re not—”

“Oh, no, no,” you say quickly, shooting a glare at Seungkwan, who’s clearly trying not to laugh.

But Seungkwan doesn’t stop there. “Ah, Y/N’s right,” he adds, shrugging. “We’re not together. Yet.” He drags out the word with a smirk, and you can practically hear the gears turning in Sunghoon’s head as he processes the word "yet."

You feel your face heating up, half-tempted to kick him under the table. “Seungkwan, don’t you have somewhere else to be?” you ask, voice tight.

“Hmm, let me think…” He pretends to ponder this, tapping his chin before leaning across the table. “Nope. Nowhere. Besides, isn’t brunch better with a crowd?” He gives Sunghoon a friendly, if slightly unnerving, pat on the shoulder. “You must be so lucky to have Y/N’s attention like this. People are usually lining up for it.”

Sunghoon shifts again, looking more and more uncomfortable by the second. You know Seungkwan can sense it too, his eyes glinting with amusement as he continues his casual interrogation. “So, tell me about yourself,” he says to Sunghoon, putting on his most interested expression, though you know he’s sizing him up with each word.

The back-and-forth goes on, with Seungkwan jumping in to answer Sunghoon’s questions as if he’s your personal biographer. He throws in every childhood story, every embarrassing tidbit he can remember—all exaggerated, of course—until Sunghoon’s head is spinning. The worst part is, it’s so absurd that it’s almost funny, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing as Seungkwan slips in comments like, “Oh, Y/N definitely prefers pineapple on pizza,” or, “Trust me, Y/N’s a total night owl.” As Seungkwan shares “insider secrets” and childhood anecdotes, a strange sensation bubbles up in your chest. It was annoyance, sure, but there was something else there—a soft ache that confused you. Why did he care so much about who you were dating? And why did you feel so strangely relieved that he was here?

Finally, just when you think you can’t take any more, he stands up, clapping his hands together like he’s just wrapped up a grand performance. “Well,” he says, turning to you with a look of smug satisfaction, “if you ever need a brunch buddy who doesn’t skip out on the bill…” He winks. “Call me, yeah?”

He pats Sunghoon on the back as he heads for the door, grinning like he’s just pulled off the prank of the century. “Nice to meet you!” he calls to your date, who’s left sitting in stunned silence as Seungkwan struts out, practically radiating smugness.

When he’s finally gone, Sunghoon lets out a slow breath, shoulders relaxing as they turn to you. “Sooo… that was interesting.”

You let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “Yeah… interesting is one word for it.”

He raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smile creeping onto his face. “So, does he do that a lot?”

“Oh, all the time,” you say with a sigh, though you can’t keep the fond smile off your face. “But hey, he means well. In a very… loud way.”

He chuckles, clearly unsure but still intrigued. “Well, guess I’ll have to stick around and see what other ‘friends’ you have in store.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you lean back in your seat, finally able to relax. In that moment, the chaos of Seungkwan’s interruption almost fades—almost—because part of you knows that with him around, peace and quiet will always be temporary at best.

2 years post-pact, to the day: 

Seungcheol’s birthday is practically a national holiday among your friend group. Every year, he insists on throwing an over-the-top party, renting out a venue and packing it with everyone he knows (and some people he barely knows). This year is no different. He’s booked a rooftop bar with an incredible view, and the night promises to be one of laughter, loud music, and Seungcheol’s legendary knack for making everyone feel like family.

Of course, as soon as you walked through the doors, Seungkwan had cornered you, teasing you about your outfit, asking if you were sure you wanted to dress up this much for just any party. He’d even given you a once-over with a smirk, as if he could see right through your intentions. You’d brushed him off, but you knew he wasn’t done stirring up trouble.

The party is buzzing with laughter, conversations blending into a symphony of voices, and there you are, casually observing from the edge of the room. You spot Seungkwan in the distance, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed as he talks to a girl who’s completely engrossed in whatever story he’s telling. She’s laughing, touching his arm every now and then, and her eyes are practically twinkling. He’s playing it up too, charming as ever, and for a split second, it almost looks real.

A strange feeling knots in your stomach. It’s not jealousy, you tell yourself, but a weird twinge of something uncomfortable that you can’t quite name. You push the thought aside, focusing instead on the playful banter you’ve always shared with him. But still, you can’t help but feel a flicker of annoyance as the girl giggles, leaning in closer to him, her hand lingering on his arm. Why does it bother you so much?

You shake it off quickly – you know him too well. There’s no way it’s real (right?). Time to have a little fun of your own.

You bide your time, watching for the perfect moment before you make your move. Finally, you spot an opening, and with a quick breath, you slip through the crowd and tap him on the shoulder, putting on your brightest, most endearing smile.

“Hey, honey, sorry I’m late!” You say, practically singing the words as you slide an arm around his waist.

Seungkwan’s body tenses immediately, and when he turns to look at you, his eyes are wide with a mix of surprise and warning. Don’t you dare, his gaze practically screams, but you just tighten your grip, patting his side for emphasis.

“Oh… um, hi,” he stammers, clearly caught off guard, trying to maintain his composure as he looks back at the girl.

You flash her a warm, overly friendly smile, as if you’re just so glad to meet her. “So sorry to interrupt! He promised we’d catch up tonight, you know, since we’re…” you pause, feigning a thoughtful look as you glance up at Seungkwan, “what did you say the other day? Practically inseparable?”

The girl’s confident smile falters, her gaze shifting between you and Seungkwan, her expression growing more uncertain by the second. You can feel Seungkwan’s silent plea for mercy, but you keep going, leaning into him a bit more.

“Oh, and did he tell you about our little pact?” you add, raising your eyebrows with a playful grin as you look back at him. You feel his muscles tense under your arm, his cheeks beginning to glow a telltale shade of pink.

“Pact?” She asks, eyebrows knitting in confusion as she looks at Seungkwan, who’s now fidgeting slightly, glancing around as if looking for an escape.

“Yes, we’ve had it forever,” you say with a wistful sigh, clutching his arm as if this is the most romantic thing in the world. “You know, just in case we’re both… single. Isn’t that right, darling?”

The girl’s smile drops completely, and her mouth opens just a bit, as if she’s about to ask for clarification, but she seems to think better of it. Her cheeks flush as she glances at Seungkwan, now visibly flustered and clearing his throat, his eyes darting everywhere except toward either of you.

“Um, I… I should find my friends,” she mutters, shooting him one last look before quickly turning on her heel and slipping away into the crowd.

As soon as she’s out of sight, you can’t help but smirk, glancing up at Seungkwan’s astonished expression. Leaning up, you plant a quick peck on his cheek before stepping back, watching as he turns to you, looking thoroughly scandalized.

“Are you serious right now?” He hisses, though his lips are twitching, betraying the hint of a laugh he’s trying to hold back.

“Oh, come on, you had it coming,” you reply with a wicked smile. “After the whole pineapple on pizza stunt? I’d say that’s one for me.”

He shakes his head, laughing softly as he runs a hand through his hair, his pink cheeks now joined by a glimmer of genuine amusement. “You’re impossible,” he mutters, but there’s a light in his eyes that tells you he’s not mad in the slightest.

“Hey, you started this game,” you shrug, giving him a little nudge. “I’m just playing to win.”

Seungkwan lets out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes as he glances toward the direction the girl went, then back to you, a begrudging smile breaking through. “Fine, fine. But don’t expect me to go easy on you next time. Speaking of which, what happened to that guy from brunch a few months ago? Sanghyun? Sanghoon?”

“His name is Sunghoon, idiot, and nothing happened. You made sure of that. That’s why I’m here, evening the score,” you retort, crossing your arms with a mock scowl.

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “So you’re telling me I’m your secret weapon now?”

“More like your meddling is a curse,” you say, shaking your head.

He chuckles, the sound light and infectious. “Well, I guess I’ll take that as a compliment. Just know, I’m not done with this game yet.”

As the night continues, the laughter and music surround you, but a lingering thought gnaws at the back of your mind. Watching Seungkwan charm his way through conversations, it strikes you how easily he can captivate others, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if there’s a part of him that prefers their attention over yours. You push it away, the pang of unease echoing with the music, reminding you that this is just a party, just a game, but somehow, you can’t shake the feeling of something deeper bubbling just beneath the surface.

2 years, 4 months, and 9 days post-pact:

This time, it’s dinner at a new trendy restaurant in the nicer end of town. Dinner with Yuta had been going perfectly—a warm, candlelit setting, the faint hum of jazz music, and conversation that felt so easy you were actually starting to think you could see something real with him. He’s charming, you’re feeling all the right butterflies, and he even leans in, smiling as he teases you about the most embarrassing moments you’ve shared from work.

Then, right on cue, a waiter appears at your table, his expression a mix of confusion and apology.

“Miss Y/N?” he asks, glancing between you and Yuta, who’s now watching with mild curiosity. “I was told by a gentleman to deliver this to you with his regards.”

In his arms, he’s holding an enormous bouquet of deep red roses, wrapped in an extravagant silk ribbon that practically glows under the restaurant’s soft lights. Yuta raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a curious smirk.

As soon as you spot the bouquet, a sinking feeling settles in your stomach. You already know exactly what’s coming next.

The waiter hands you the bouquet, and you catch sight of a note nestled among the roses. The cursive writing on the card reads: “Forever yours, my little dumpling. ~ Boo”

“Oh my god…” you murmur, your cheeks flushing as you let out a strained laugh, trying to brush it off. “Um… wow. This is… an inside joke that got a little out of hand.”

Yuta’s eyes sparkle with amusement, but you can tell he’s a little taken aback. “Inside joke, huh? That’s… a lot of roses for a joke.”

“Yeah,” you say, stumbling over your words, “he just… has a sense of humor, you know?”

Before you can think of a more believable explanation, your phone vibrates on the table, the screen lighting up with a text notification. You already have a bad feeling about it.

Picking up your phone, you see a picture text from Seungkwan. He’s standing in front of a florist, grinning mischievously and holding the exact same bouquet that now sits on your table. “Enjoy,” reads the message, punctuated by a devil emoji.

You feel your jaw tighten, your fingers twitching with the urge to throw the phone across the table. But you take a deep breath, glancing at Yuta, who’s watching you with even more intrigue now.

“Let me guess,” he says, clearly trying not to laugh. “That was him?”

“Unfortunately,” you mutter, gritting your teeth in a half-smile. “He’s a… close friend. Very close. Close enough that he thinks things like this are hilarious.”

Yuta chuckles, leaning back in his chair, but there’s a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “Is he… an ex or something?”

“Not at all,” you say quickly, cringing as you realize just how absurd the whole situation must look. “He’s just… Seungkwan. This is his idea of fun. Like, sending flowers to a date to ‘make sure I’m being treated well’ or something.” You laugh awkwardly, trying to make light of it, but Yuta’s expression suggests he’s a bit less enchanted now than he was a few minutes ago.

You can almost feel Seungkwan’s satisfaction from across the city, and it only makes you clench the bouquet harder. The playful irritation bubbling inside you suddenly feels like something else—was this jealousy? You push the thought aside. It’s ridiculous. Seungkwan is just your friend. He doesn’t mean anything by it, does he? Yet, the way Yuta’s laughter seems to wane, the way he glances at the bouquet with uncertainty, leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

“Look,” you start, leaning in, “I know this is kind of… bizarre. But it’s not like that. Really, it’s just him trying to mess with me.”

Yuta smiles, but it’s a little strained. “Right, well… I guess I’d better bring my A-game if I’m up against grand gestures like that.”

You sigh, giving him an apologetic smile. “Trust me, if there’s anyone that doesn’t need to compete with Seungkwan, it’s you.”

The conversation moves on, but there’s a noticeable change in Yuta’s demeanor. He glances at the bouquet one too many times, and even as he smiles, there’s a lingering distance that wasn’t there before. You feel the weight of the situation pressing down on you, and it gnaws at you that, in this moment, Seungkwan’s antics are the wedge between you and someone who could be something more.

By the end of the night, he’s still polite, still charming—but the spark feels a little dimmer. Seungkwan’s mission has been accomplished, and as Yuta bids you goodnight, his words are just a little too formal, a little too hesitant, making it painfully clear that he probably won’t be calling again. You should have been devastated. Yuta was the perfect gentleman – but something about a boy with the devious smirk, planning exactly when to have a bouquet of roses delivered, soothed the pain. 

2 years, 9 months, and 18 days post-pact:

You never thought he’d go this far. Seungkwan, of all people, invited you out on a double date. The plan sounds innocent enough—a cozy dinner for four, just a casual night out. But the second you step into the dimly-lit, deafening restaurant he’s picked, you know he has a hidden agenda. The music’s loud, the lighting’s too low, and the tables are packed so close together you’re practically bumping elbows with strangers.

Settling into your seat, you force a smile as your date, Kevin—a genuinely nice guy with a warm laugh—leans in close, probably the only way he can hear you over the noise. Across the table, Seungkwan’s already chatting up his own date with way too much charm. Every time you try to ask Kevin a question or tell a story, Seungkwan seems to pick that exact moment to raise his voice.

“Oh, did I ever tell you about the time Y/N accidentally confessed to me?” Seungkwan practically shouts, cutting you off mid-sentence.

Kevin freezes, glancing between the two of you with a hesitant smile. “Wait… you guys dated?”

“Oh, no, no,” Seungkwan laughs, waving a hand dismissively, as if the thought is absurd. “Y/N only confesses on accident. Isn’t that right?” He sends you a playful, almost conspiratorial look, as if you’re both in on some inside joke—one that you’re definitely not part of.

You shoot him a glare, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “That was one time, and it was a misunderstanding!” You retort, but the laughter in his eyes makes you feel small. It’s not just annoyance you’re feeling; it’s a mixture of embarrassment and something deeper, a frustrating recognition of how easily he shifts the spotlight onto you.

As the evening progresses, the laughter and clinking of glasses fade into a dull background noise. You try steering the conversation back on track, giving Kevin an apologetic smile, but every time it seems like he’s interested again, Seungkwan throws in a casual remark, making sure no topic gets a chance to really take off.

By the end of the night, Kevin’s enthusiasm has dulled significantly. He gives you a polite, almost strained smile, saying something about “catching you later.” Seungwan’s date is no different. She attempts to give him a hug, but he somehow maneuvers it into the world’s most awkward handshake, and you stifle a giggle into your hand. With a quick wave, she’s gone too, leaving you alone with Seungkwan.

You turn to him, folding your arms as he grins, entirely too pleased with himself. “Why do you look like the cat that swallowed the canary?” You ask, narrowing your eyes.

“Because I had a wonderful evening with you, darling,” he replies, throwing an arm around your shoulders with an exaggerated wink. 

“Do you always ruin dates for fun?” you fire back, trying to mask the mix of frustration and something that feels suspiciously like longing.

He shrugs, a mischievous glint in his eye. “What can I say? It’s part of my charm.”

You shove him off, but can’t fully hide the amusement flickering in your eyes. He catches it, his grin widening like he’s won something. For a second, you wonder if this is less sabotage and more of a game he doesn’t want either of you to stop playing.

But as the laughter fades, a heavy silence settles in. The thrill of their playful rivalry leaves you feeling conflicted, tugged in two directions: part of you relishes these moments of banter, while the other is increasingly aware of the emotional chaos underneath it all. You should be angry, but instead, a tiny voice in your head whispers that maybe, just maybe, this game is his way of keeping you close.

“What’s next, Seungkwan? Are you going to plan another ‘double date’ with your other friends just to make sure I never get a moment alone?” You challenge him, half-joking, but your heart races at the thought.

His laughter rings out, but there’s a flicker of something in his gaze, a hint of vulnerability that surprises you. “You know I’d never do that to you… I just like watching you squirm,” he admits, his tone lighter but the sincerity hidden underneath that’s palpable.

Suddenly, the air is thick with unspoken words and emotions, and you feel a strange mix of gratitude and frustration wash over you. Why can’t you just see him as the annoying frenemy he pretends to be? Why does it hurt a little too much to think about how you might actually miss him if he were to stop?

As you both stand to leave, your heart is a tangled mess, caught between the irritation he brings and the inexplicable thrill of having him in your life. He gives you one last playful nudge, and you can’t help but wonder if this rivalry is just a cover for something deeper, something you’re both too stubborn to acknowledge.

2 years, 11 months, 24 days post-pact: 

After the double date fiasco, a week goes by, and you find yourself dress-shopping with Jeonghan. It's for Seungcheol’s wedding, and naturally, Jeonghan insisted on tagging along to “make sure you don’t show up looking like a bridesmaid nightmare.”

You’re in the dressing room, running your fingers over the delicate lace of the navy blue dress, adjusting the neckline before giving yourself one last glance in the mirror. Jeonghan’s already dismissed five of your previous picks with commentary ranging from “horrific” to “Good luck trying to upstage the bride in that.” But this one feels right. You’re almost nervous to step out, knowing he’s going to have plenty to say.

As you walk out, Jeonghan’s eyes narrow with that same hypercritical gaze he reserves for... well, everything. He circles you slowly, his hand resting gently on your shoulder as he steps back to get a better look, then reaches forward to adjust the strap by your collarbone with a delicate touch. “Hmm,” he muses, tapping his chin theatrically. “That one doesn’t look like it’s trying to be the main character.”

You sigh, unable to hold back a little smile as his hand lingers on your shoulder. “Thanks, I guess?”

“Hey, no, that’s a good thing,” he says, brushing his fingers over your sleeve reassuringly. “It’s got enough class to charm all the moms, and just enough allure to turn a few heads. But you won’t make anyone jealous.”

He grins and pinches your cheek affectionately, like he knows he’s giving the highest possible praise. You swat his hand away, laughing, but there’s a warmth in his gaze that makes your cheeks flush.

“Think Seungcheol will approve?” you ask, spinning around to check the back in the mirror, letting him watch you pretend you’re not grinning.

“Oh, Seungcheol?” Jeonghan gives a faux-surprised raise of his eyebrows and gently nudges your elbow, keeping his tone light. “I think someone else might have a stronger opinion than our blissfully oblivious groom-to-be.”

You look at him, and he just smirks, half-mischievous, half-knowing. “Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter, the lace brushing against your neck as you turn back to the mirror.

“Like what?” he says, leaning his shoulder against yours with exaggerated innocence.

“Like you have any clue what you’re talking about,” you reply, smoothing the fabric of the dress, still avoiding his eyes.

Jeonghan hums thoughtfully, crossing his arms, but you can feel his gaze studying you in the mirror. “Alright, well then, tell me about this little ‘date rivalry’ with Seungkwan that I keep hearing about.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you try to focus on fixing a stray curl rather than looking at him. “It’s nothing, okay? Just a… joke.” You try to laugh it off, though you’re pretty sure he can tell you’re deflecting. “You know, one of those... running gags.”

He snorts and slings his arm over your shoulders casually, squeezing as he leans close to your ear. “Right, because a ‘silly joke’ lasts for, what… three years?”

You elbow him gently, trying to hide your smile. “Two years, eleven months, and twenty-four days,” you correct, giving him a playful nudge. “Not that I’m counting.”

“Oh, of course not,” he says, deadpan, squeezing your shoulder again as he leans in. “Hence all the sabotage and dramatic entrances and flirty messages you two just pretend to brush off.”

You roll your eyes, pulling his arm off your shoulders as you smooth down the fabric of the dress. “It’s really not that deep, Jeonghan. We just... tease each other. Keeps things interesting.”

“Hmm,” he says, draping an arm around your waist this time, like he’s just making himself comfortable. “And all this talk of keeping things ‘interesting’… It’s what? Your foolproof plan to stay single?”

You hesitate, leaning back into his casual embrace as you stare into the mirror, focusing on a barely-there wrinkle in the fabric rather than his too-observant gaze. “We just… keep each other entertained.”

He’s quiet for a second, watching you a little too closely, his chin resting on your shoulder now. “You know, some people choose each other because they’re in love, Y/N.”

You huff a laugh, nudging him off your shoulder but leaning against him a little longer than necessary. “And some people spend too much time meddling in other people’s love lives, Jeonghan.”

“Oh, guilty as charged.” He grins, unbothered, slipping his fingers through yours and giving your hand a quick squeeze. “But unlike you and Seungkwan, I don’t spend three years pretending I don’t have feelings for someone.”

You stare at him, but he’s already shifted his attention back to your outfit, reaching up to tuck a loose piece of hair behind your ear with a gentle touch. “So, who says I’m pretending anything?” you ask, looking down, hoping he doesn’t notice the warmth creeping up your neck.

“Oh, please,” he says softly, his hand lingering at the nape of your neck. “You two sabotage every other date, throw each other’s names into any conversation just to keep the other on your mind, and act like you don’t know what you’re doing. Speaking of which, I was the one who told Seungkwan what restaurant your date was at so he could send you those flowers.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, and you shove him lightly. “You did what?”

He chuckles, clearly amused by your reaction. “What? It’s not like I wanted you to end up with Yuto.”

“Yuta, and thanks for that, really,” you say, trying to keep your tone light despite the flutter of annoyance in your chest. “I thought I was going to have a nice evening.”

“Please, it was a public service,” Jeonghan insists, feigning seriousness. “And it was all part of the ‘evening the score’ strategy.”

You groan, half-amused and half-exasperated. “God, you’re impossible.”

He laughs, the sound light and infectious. “Well, I guess I’ll take that as a compliment. Just know, I’m not done with this game yet.”

You swallow, feeling your throat tighten as his hand drops to your shoulder. He squeezes it gently, his touch grounding as you try to ignore the truth in his words. Jeonghan’s seen it all: the way Seungkwan’s messages light up your screen, the not-so-casual dinner invitations, and how every other date just... doesn’t quite measure up.

“So when’s the wedding?” he teases, giving your shoulder a playful shake.

“Oh my God,” you groan, half-smiling as you grab a hanger and whack him gently on the shoulder. “Can we not do this right now? You’re supposed to help me pick a dress, not psychoanalyze my love life.”

Jeonghan raises his hands in surrender, his grin shameless. “Alright, alright. But for the record, the entire group’s got their money on you two.”

Your mouth drops open, half-horrified, half-amused. “Excuse me?”

“Yep. Seungcheol thinks it’ll happen at his wedding. Joshua’s got New Year’s. And I, of course, bet on tonight,” he says, winking.

“Oh, really? You’re just that confident, huh?” you ask, punching his arm softly.

He grabs your hand, pulling it to his chest with an exaggerated sigh. “Come on, admit it. You’re a little curious to see if Seungkwan feels the same way.”

You stare at him, and he looks back with that rare, soft sincerity that makes it impossible to tell him off. His words stay with you, settling like a soft ache in your chest as he tugs you toward the counter to pay for the dress, his arm still draped loosely around your shoulders.

Later that night, as you lie in bed, Jeonghan’s voice echoes in your mind: “A silly joke doesn’t last three years, Y/N.” You reach for your phone, the screen casting a soft glow as you scroll through your texts with Seungkwan. Before you know it, you’ve typed out, Why do you keep doing this?

The message sends, and your heart hammers in the quiet as you wait. The response is almost immediate.

Because I know those guys aren’t right for you.

A smile pulls at the corners of your mouth as you type back, And who is?

This time, the pause is longer, and you can almost picture him hesitating. Then, his reply lights up the screen:

Maybe someone who’ll crash every date just to see you smile.

You toss your phone aside, pulling the covers up over your head, fighting a grin that’s nearly impossible to contain. Because maybe, just maybe, Jeonghan’s meddling isn’t so misguided after all.

3 years, 1 month, 11 days post-pact:

The night is warm, a faint breeze carrying the scent of roses and lavender through the garden. Twinkle lights strung above cast a soft glow over the reception area, while the hum of laughter and clinking glasses fills the air as guests flow between the tables and the dance floor. It’s the perfect evening for a wedding—Seungcheol's wedding, of all people, the friend who used to swear up and down that he’d never get tied down. The ceremony had been beautiful, of course, filled with tender vows and stolen glances, the kind of moments that only make the ache in your chest a little sharper. It’s the kind of night made for weddings—the sky deepening to a dusky navy color not unlike the rich blue of your dress, soft to the touch and fitted just right, brushing the tops of your heels.

As you catch glimpses of friends in the crowd, your gaze lands on Seungkwan, who stands just beyond the garden’s edge. The fairy lights soften his outline, illuminating his black suit—perfectly tailored to his frame—and his navy tie, which, oddly enough, matches your dress exactly. The thought comes with a smirk. Jeonghan had said nothing, but you know he had something to do with this.

“Oh hey,” he says, voice warm with that little hint of sarcasm that’s so him. “Didn’t expect you to be sneaking up on me like that. What happened—already bored with your dance partner?”

Rolling your eyes, you return his smile. “Hardly. I just needed a break. It’s like, the second you make eye contact with someone, they’re convinced you’re interested.”

He nods knowingly. “Trust me, I know the feeling.” For a moment, he glances back at the party, and you both lapse into comfortable silence, letting the hum of music and laughter fill the space between you. But when he looks back, there’s something softer, almost vulnerable in his expression.

“So here we are,” he murmurs, crossing his arms, “just the two of us again, while everyone else is off being sentimental.”

Something in his tone makes you pause. It’s rare to see him peel back the layers of playful banter, but there’s a weight in his words that has your heart pounding a little faster.

“What, is being single at a wedding getting to you?” you tease, trying to keep things light, but his answering look is serious, his eyes narrowing just slightly.

“Oh, please,” he says, shaking his head with a slight huff. “But… I can’t lie; that pact of ours has been on my mind.”

The “if we’re both single at thirty, let’s get married” pact. A joke you’d made years ago, on a night not so different from this one, laughing over the idea of “settling” if neither of you found someone by then. You raise an eyebrow, voice softening. “That was just a joke, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he replies, but his voice is softer, almost wistful, and he looks down at his hands. "It was a joke."

Your breath catches, feeling an ache that’s both familiar and new, the words between you now feeling a little too real. You’re about to say something when Jeonghan’s voice interrupts, calling your name from across the garden. He’s grinning, waving you both over.

"Hey!" he calls, all too cheerfully. "Are you coming to join the dance floor or just hiding in the shadows?"

Seungkwan groans, rolling his eyes. “Looks like my break’s over,” he mutters, but there’s a reluctant smile there as he lets Jeonghan drag you both toward the dance floor.

A new song starts, slower than the upbeat tracks that played earlier, and suddenly, everyone around you is pairing off. Before you know it, Jeonghan has nudged Seungkwan into place in front of you, giving him a wink as he steps back. The faintest pink dusts Seungkwan’s cheeks, but he recovers quickly, giving you a playful smirk as he offers you his hand.

“Guess you’re stuck with me now,” he murmurs as you take his hand, his touch warm as he pulls you closer. The scent of his cologne wraps around you, subtle yet comforting, and his hand on your waist grounds you as the two of you sway under the twinkle lights.

It’s maddening, how close he is, how his gaze holds yours with a quiet intensity that feels like it’s about to crack through years of careful friendship. For a moment, the world around you fades, leaving only the warmth of his hand, the navy blue of his tie, the slow rhythm of the music, and the unspoken words hanging between you.

But just as quickly, Seungkwan clears his throat, breaking the spell as he takes a step back, glancing away. “I should… um, I should probably go help Jeonghan with…” His voice trails off as he disappears into the crowd.

You stand there, heart racing, feeling the weight of what was left unfinished. Jeonghan appears at your side, giving you a knowing smile.

“Go after him,” he says, nudging you with a grin. "Trust me, it’s time.”

With a deep breath, you weave through the clusters of guests, catching sight of Seungkwan just past the garden’s edge, leaning against a tree, looking out into the night. 

As you approach, he turns, eyes widening just slightly before he speaks. “Oh. You’re here.” There’s a vulnerability about him that takes you by surprise.

“Yeah. Still… need a break,” you reply, barely above a whisper, and there’s a pause as he searches your gaze, something soft and hopeful flickering in his eyes.

“Seungkwan, I-” you start, voice shaking just a bit. He chuckles, shaking his head, but there’s no humor in it. 

“Don’t say anything you don’t mean right now, Y/N,” he warns, voice low. You swallow hard, the weight of his words settling over you like the warm, heavy night air. Behind you, the music fades as guests migrate to the bar, the hum of conversation filling the garden. But here, in this quiet corner under the fairy lights, it feels like you’re the only two people in the world.

“Why?” you ask, feeling your cheeks warm. “Do you have something you need to tell me?”

He pauses, glancing down at the ground and taking a deep breath, his fingers flexing at his sides as though he’s gathering courage. When he looks back up, there’s something vulnerable in his gaze, raw and unguarded in a way you’ve never seen before. “I’m saying that maybe, just maybe, I’ve wanted this all along.”

His confession hits you like a wave, a rush of emotion you weren’t prepared for. Memories flood back—those lingering glances, nights spent sabotaging each other’s dates, and playful jabs that always seemed to hit a little too close to the heart.

You manage a shaky breath, words tumbling out before you can stop them. “You’re not… just saying this because of the open bar, are you?”

He laughs, a soft sound that cuts through the tension, and steps a little closer, his hand brushing yours. The slight contact is electric, sending a thrill through you. “I’ve had plenty of chances to back out of that pact,” he murmurs, voice dropping to a near whisper. “But I didn’t want to. Because I kept hoping… that maybe it wasn’t just a joke to you, either.”

For a moment, time seems to stop. The music, the laughter, the soft glow of the lights—all of it fades until there’s only him, his face inches from yours, his hand hovering near your waist. His touch is gentle, yet electric, barely there, but enough to make your heart race and a thrill skitter down your spine. You can see the way his eyes search yours, a mix of vulnerability and desire reflected in their depths.

“Well, if we’re being honest… maybe I’ve been waiting for you, too,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly as the words slip free. The admission feels like a weight lifting, revealing the truth you’ve both danced around for far too long.

He lets out a breath, almost a sigh of relief, and pulls you a fraction closer, his hand settling firmly at your waist, warm and steady. The world around you blurs into a hazy backdrop, and all that matters is the heat radiating from his body, the way his thumb strokes your side, sending warmth pooling low in your belly. His smile is soft, just for you, a detail that makes your pulse quicken. Damn Jeonghan.

“Fucking finally,” he whispers, his voice low and inviting, igniting a fire deep within you. He leans in, closing the space between your lips, the anticipation crackling in the air like static electricity. His breath mingles with yours, warm and tantalizing, and in that moment, it feels as if the entire universe has tilted just for the two of you.

Then his lips meet yours in a kiss that’s as warm and gentle as the night around you. It’s soft, exploratory, as if he’s afraid to rush and scare you off, yet there’s a warmth that ignites between you, a spark that feels both thrilling and reassuring. The kiss deepens, his lips moving against yours with a sweet urgency, a rhythm that feels instinctive.

You can taste the hint of mint on his breath, the lingering flavor of a cocktail from earlier in the evening, and it mingles with the scent of his cologne—a heady blend that makes your senses spin. As his fingers slide further down to the small of your back, pulling you closer, it’s like everything has led up to this one perfect, terrifying moment. 

He groans against your lips, and it makes your breath catch. “Three years,” he whispers, nipping at your bottom lip until you melt against him with a sigh, “I’ve waited three years to do this.” 

You pull him closer by his tie. “Then shut up and kiss me more, Boo.” 

He obliges with glee, running his hands up the buttons of your dress until you shiver. With each soft sigh that escapes you, you can feel the warmth pooling deeper, a delicious tension that makes the air around you crackle. The kiss ignites something primal between you, a yearning that has been simmering just beneath the surface, and every part of you is alive with the sensation of him. It feels as if the whole world has faded away, leaving only the two of you suspended in this moment—breathless, hearts racing, and tangled in each other.

When you finally pull apart, breathless and wide-eyed, the sounds of the wedding rush back in, laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. But all you can focus on is him, the way his gaze holds yours, sparkling with a mix of surprise and delight, as if he can’t believe what just happened.

For a second, you just stare at each other. 

“Wow,” he breathes, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t know we were doing that tonight.”

You can’t help but grin back, the thrill of the moment still coursing through you. “I guess we both had a little waiting to do,” you tease, a soft challenge in your voice, and you can see the spark of mischief in his eyes as he steps closer, closing the distance once more.

As he steps closer, the air between you crackles with electricity. “You know,” he murmurs, hands tickling your waist, fingers brushing just enough to send delightful shivers down your spine, “we should do that again. For science.”

“For science?” you echo, trying to sound serious but failing as a laugh escapes you.

“Absolutely,” he insists, leaning in slightly, his breath warm and inviting. The moment feels suspended in time, as if nothing else exists but the two of you and this playful game you’ve begun.

You pull back just enough to look into his eyes, the mischief swirling there igniting a flutter in your chest. “So, how many trials do you think we should run? Five? Ten?”

He leans in, his forehead nearly brushing against yours, a teasing grin still plastered on his face. His hands find your waist again, this time holding you a little tighter, his fingers warm against your skin, and you feel your heart race in anticipation.

“Maybe we should just keep going until we know for sure,” you suggest, your voice barely a whisper, laden with both challenge and excitement.

“Now that’s the spirit,” he replies, and before you can react, he swoops in, capturing your lips with his once more. This kiss is bolder, filled with laughter and the thrill of newfound freedom, as though you’ve crossed a line into something deeper and more exhilarating together.

As you pull away, breathless and grinning like giddy schoolchildren, you hear Jeonghan’s voice from behind you. “Oi! This is a WEDDING!”

You turn to find Jeonghan approaching with a playful pout, arms crossed over his chest. “I can’t believe you two actually went for it!” He shakes his head, mock-serious. “Seungcheol! You officially win the bet. You said they’d get together at your wedding, and look at this!”

Seungkwan’s hold on you tightens slightly, an instinctive response to the sudden attention. He leans closer, his warmth enveloping you like a cozy blanket, and you can feel a hint of shyness creeping into his demeanor, contrasting with his earlier bravado. You exchange sheepish glances, cheeks flushed with embarrassment under Jeonghan’s teasing gaze.

“I can’t believe Jeonghan was right,” Seungkwan mutters, still smiling but now a little bashful, as he nudges you playfully, fingers lingering at your waist as if he’s reluctant to let go.

Jeonghan feigns indignation, throwing his hands up dramatically. “This is unfair! You get a bride AND you win the bet on the same day? What kind of luck is that?”

“Guess you’ll have to deal with it,” Seungcheol says with a laugh, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his new bride’s cheek. She preens with attention, and it makes you lean a little closer to Seungkwan. 

You let Jeonghan pout, turning back to Seungkwan with a grin. 

“Guess this means I don’t have to keep sabotaging you anymore?” he teases, his hands still resting on your waist.

You laugh, swatting his shoulder playfully. “Oh, no way. I think you’re stuck with me now, Boo Seungkwan. We’ll find a new game to play.”

“Here’s to our next game, then,” Seungkwan declares, raising an imaginary glass. “No more hearts; I’m thinking something more… hands-on.”

Jeonghan pretends to puke, and it makes you laugh that much harder. As you glance around the wedding venue, laughter and celebration filling the air, it dawns on you how different this moment is from where it all began. The pact you had with Seungkwan was never about waiting. It was about finding your way to each other all along.