#friendship: a fine frenzy

[daycourtofficial]

I got cursed like Eve got bitten - part II

Pairing: Azriel x Rhysand’s Sister!reader | WC: 2.3k

Summary: reports of a rare powered fae popping up in Illyria send Azriel and Rhysand on a journey through the past, unraveling a truth they thought long buried

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Being labeled as ‘tainted’ had a few perks.

The best perk was that no male in the camp wanted your hand in marriage nor sought you out in any way. They behaved as if you were diseased, avoiding you at all costs outside of the tavern you worked in. 

It worked well for you - even the most handsome of males and females in your village did nothing to make you feel any sort of attraction.

You had lived in your village for a century, the familiar homes and people doing little over that time to ever make you feel a part of the community. You had always considered leaving, but your village was rather progressive with allowing you to run the tavern the barkeep had left to you when he died a few years prior, and you knew you wouldn’t have nearly as good luck in any other village.

You had been working in this tavern for nearly seventy years when the previous owner died, leaving the entire place, including the apartment upstairs, to you. At first several of the males of the village had been upset before quickly realizing you would just refuse to serve them their only source of alcohol at any sign of tension.

You lived over the bar and most of your patrons were the males of your village, which allowed you little access to the females. It wasn’t that you didn’t like them - they all seemed fine, several were even friendly when you lived in a smaller shack. Some part of you found it incredibly difficult to connect with them, every attempt you made to develop friendships with them were quickly sabotaged by your own inability to follow up. 

You felt guilty every time you did it, but something inside of you rang out wrong, wrong, wrong. So between your lack of interest in being outside of your bar and the very close knit group of friends you had (approximately no one), not much really tethered you to this village.

You had heard rumors throughout the day from the other women that the High Lord had been snooping about the village. You hoped so - perhaps he could see first hand how little the armies beneath him respected him or his policies, how they sneered and called him a variety of names, their favorite being some variation of ‘wingless pointy eared bastard’. You weren’t sure why the nicknames bothered you so much - you had no attachment to the High Lord, nor had you ever met him nor had a desire to do so. 

It just gnawed on some part deep inside of you.

Thoughts of the High Lord quickly dissipated as you spent the afternoon pouring drinks and serving tables. The males of your village found you unmarriable and a potentially bad omen for females everywhere, but they did enjoy the alcohol you cured.

You’d take their money over their acceptance any day.

The door opened, the chill from outside coming in as you looked up briefly to find a beautiful male in the doorway, his pointy ears and violet eyes giving away his identity immediately.

You put down the glass you were drying, focused instead on the male who stood in the doorway, unmoving as he looked toward you. Something about his gaze felt so familiar - he looked at you with fondness and longing, and it was starting to upset you. You began turning to go back to the task at hand when a second male appeared from the High Lord.

He was taller, his eyes deep, rich hazel pools of warmth. He had some slight freckling across his strong Illyrian nose, some of them reaching down to the sharp jawline you were sure could cut paper. The male the High Lord brought was clearly Illyrian, his large frame making that abundantly clear. Yet he had these wisps of black shadow that circled him in a frenzy, leaving trails of smoke in their wake.

The sight of him knocked the air from your lungs - he was stunning, perhaps the most gorgeous male alive. His downturned eyes and long eyelashes gave him a perpetual look of sadness that just made you want to kiss the corners of his eyes.

You widened your eyes at the thought, where did that come from?

You bowed slightly towards Rhysand, the movement spurring him into movement away from the door. It was not a deep bow, but just enough for it to count. The High Lord made a slight face, one you couldn’t discern. Shock at such a display of nonchalance in his elegant presence, you presumed.

“High Lord.”

You moved around the bar, walking toward them. You really didn’t have time to cater toward him and the male with him. You weren’t even sure what the two of them were doing so far out in Illyria. The tavern was full of patrons, all looking toward the two males who just entered. You felt their gazes on your back making your scars tingle.

“Do you have a table you’d prefer us to be at?”

The High Lord’s voice was soft, his eyes unmoving from you as he asked. His question caught you off guard, making you eye him suspiciously. Why was he speaking to you like this? The males of your village often completely disregarded any preferences you might have, and they were absolutely unnoteworthy in the grand scheme of things.

Why was the High Lord addressing you at all?

You eyed him warily before you pulled out a chair from the table in front of you, the wood scraping the floor. You tapped your nails on the top of the table before moving away to tend to your other patrons, all of whom had their gazes fixed on the High Lord and his companion, several of them openly sneering at the pair.

You really, really didn’t want a brawl to break out in your pub. 

You tended to the other tables, your feet swift across the stone floor as you tried to ensure even the most unpleasant of males was content with your service. The whole night your eyes never strayed too far from the High Lord and his companion. Their eyes never strayed from you either, their gazes were piercing as you flitted about, feeling their eyes with every movement.

You got back to their table, and you hadn’t been able to really look at the High Lord’s companion until you faced him. He was sitting down, his long legs closed and tight beneath the table, as if he were incapable of allowing himself to linger for too long. Sitting down made him look even more massive - he was nearly as tall as you are in the chair.

His wings were massive behind his back, the black leathery skin seemingly connected to his shoulders with the way the wispy black shadows that followed him curled on his skin. They looked antsy, an occasional wisp darting a few inches away before being pulled as if some invisible leash were keeping them back.

But him. Your heart stopped at how beautiful he was up close - his hazel eyes betrayed nothing, but golden flecks inside of them sang to you, desperate for you to keep looking at them. Your gaze flickered down to his hands, and your breath got caught in your throat at the deeply scarred tissue. 

The male flexed his hands before hiding them beneath the table, his eyes still on you. 

Despite their disappearance, you couldn’t help but continue to look at where they had been, the sight of them floating around in your mind, the image burning inside of you. You cleared your throat, looking between them. “Can I get either of you some wine?”

The High Lord looked to his companion before nodding his head, the silent male doing the same before you turned around, heading back to the bar. You hadn’t heard or seen them speak to each other, but you’ve seen them staring at each other this whole time, lost in thought. Their faces gave nothing away, but perhaps the High Lord had an additional consort to the High Lady. The male was quite pretty, despite his inability to speak or look anything other than strained.

You headed behind the bar, popping the cork on a fresh bottle of wine. Pouring two glasses, you dropped them off before tending to your other patrons. The night went by in a blur - several males gathered at different tables, hunched together, voices low. Everyone in the tavern spent the evening paying attention to the High Lord and the male with him, discretion be damned, but no one approached either of them. 

They sat silently at their table all night, making their way slowly through the one glass of wine you poured. The night moved on, patrons of the tavern making their way to the door, each one stopping to gawk at the High Lord. You came back from the store room to watch the door close behind the last of your patrons, save for the High Lord’s party of two.

He pulled another chair out and brought it to their table, leaving space for you to sit before he tapped his own nails against the wood. You watched his violet eyes assess you at his invitation - the way you stood there, eyes moving in uncertainty until finally you dropped your rag at the bar, taking the seat he offered. He looked at you, something twinkling in his violet eyes. 

“I’m Rhys, this is Azriel.”

The High Lord pointed to himself before nodding towards the male who made no movement at the acknowledgement. His arms were crossed over his chest, eyes almost squinting in assessment, as if he tried hard enough, he could see right through you.

“We wanted to speak with you privately.”

His voice wavered just slightly - he seemed confident, but every time he spoke to you, he had to suck in a breath as if preparing himself.

“What does this pertain to?”

Rhys took a deep breath, his eyes trained on yours. “I will cut this short. We know you are an empath.”

Your heart stopped in your chest. It became hard to control your face, but you tried to remain neutral. He kept speaking, but the words all muddied together, your brain unable to pick up the different syllables and words. Your eyes briefly roamed over the bar again, ensuring no one was still in the building. When you looked back, Azriel had been tracking your eye movement.

“I am unfamiliar with what you speak of, I don’t know what an empath is.”

His violet eyes were so much like your own as his gaze pierced into yours. His face adopted a sense of familiarity as he looked at you. “We both know that’s bullshit.” He sighed, taking another sip from his glass. Azriel still hadn’t spoken, but his eyes never left you, tracking all of your movements. Your ears roared, uncertain how they had known you were an empath and what they were going to do to you now that they knew. You surveyed the room, trying to get a sense of anything you could use against them to get to the door.

Would the males of your village help if you were able to make it outside? Would they stand up to your High Lord? Or would they leave you, the tainted goods that you were?

You stiffened, your jaw going rigid as you quickly assessed your options. You schooled your features, looking toward the High Lord in challenge. He merely shrugged before scooting his chair back, the wood making a high pitched noise as it rubbed against the floor beneath. “Fine, if you wish to pretend you do not possess such powers, we will be going.”

You almost missed how wide Azriel’s eyes went, back to their normal size in the blink of an eye. A trick of the light, perhaps. The two stood, Rhys nodding to you before turning, Azriel lingering behind in contemplation. He looked at you as if he might say something, his first words of the night. Your voice stopped him before he could, your eyes looking back to the High Lord. 

“Why are you looking for an empath?”

The High Lord turned back to you, his mouth slightly quirked in amusement. A predator assessing their prey. And you had put yourself directly in the predator’s path. 

“We wanted to help train an empath, keep them safe while we help them develop their powers.” 

He took a few steps toward you again, now standing next to Azriel. The silent male just watched the exchange as if he were taking notes.

You cleared your throat. “What would such training entail?”

“Daily training with the High Lady. Practicing techniques. Learning the scope of these powers. It would be difficult, tiring work, as no one has seen an empath for a very, very long time.”

His voice got softer by the end, a melancholic lilt to it. 

“And in return?”

“In return, I sleep soundly knowing one of my enemies did not get an empath in their ranks. And that a wingless female has some control over her powers.”

There it was.

He choked briefly on the word. Wingless. 

The word came from his mouth like venom, Azriel visibly flinching in the wake of it. You had kept your eyes on Azriel since the motion, your eyes moving over his icy exterior, taking in every part of him. His body screamed hypervigilance, his muscles not even twitching in your presence until Rhys had said it.

But his eyes screamed with need. They were practically hypnotic the way they called to you. Something about them felt so familiar, the brown ring around his iris melting into green, strokes of warm gold bridging the gap in color. They were beautiful eyes. Something stirred in you at them - a deep sadness, an impossible weight in your chest leaving you stranded.

But buried somewhere amidst the grief and despair in his eyes laid a small drop of hope that was so strong it nearly consumed you.

Perhaps that is why you agreed to go with them. 

A hope induced decision.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @berryzxx @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin @magicstrengthandcourage

Series taglist: @doodlebugg16-blog @ceoofyearning @saltedcoffeescotch @acourtofbatboydreams @willowpains @anarchiii

Thanks for reading ❣️

[jellyfishsthings]

Nerves and Stolen Kisses

I have been toying with the idea of writing a fic about him for quite sometime and after last weekend I just had to. Estelle ( Ollie's rumoured gf is mentioned here but it is a fake relationship for PR reasons.) Also Paul Aron has a gf... friends to lovers trope.

Shoutout to @httpiastri for the inspiration

The Saudi Arabian Grand Prix was fast approaching. And Ollie was a jumble of nerves and excitement as usual. Since the early hour of the day, he opened the curtains letting the sun into the room and you groaned into the pillow.

“Wakey wakey, sleepyhead. Come on, we have a whole day ahead of us.”

“No, you do. I don't know why I came.”

“Because I am your bestest friend and I paid for your ticket and let you stay with me.”

“Both of which are for your benefit.”

“Come on….”

“Fine.” You say with a dejected sigh as you get up and you both get ready for the day. David, Ollie's dad was already waiting for you and you headed towards the paddock.

Everything was a frenzy and was passing by so quickly. As Ollie got into the garage and got ready for the quali you headed towards the stands trying to find Cassie, Paul's long-term girlfriend. Throughout the years you have formed a unique friendship. She was the only one who knew about your crush on Ollie and she teased you endlessly about it. Ollie and you had been best friends for the better part of your life, joint to the hip, having endless sleepovers, even if Dad didn't approve.

It was an endless nightmare being close enough to get a taste of all the what ifs, but never experiencing them.

“Do you and your lover boy share a room, huh?”

“It's not like that and you know it, Cassandra.”

“Yeah, it hurts, doesn't it?”

“So much. You have no idea. Yesterday I couldn't sleep and as the hours passed, he came closer and closer. He ended up holding me in his sleep. And I felt so bad because of Estelle. I know that they aren't really together and it's for PR, but still, I feel awful because technically I am the other woman… and she is just so nice and sweet. Never overstepping, I think she knows.”

We both stay quiet after that as the session continues.

“You know… whatever the case. You both love each other, platonically or not.”

“Yeah, I know.” I say as I watch the times set by all the drivers, Ollie having the fastest one yet.

“Looks like your man is on pole.”

We both make our way through the paddock, trying to pass the roaring sea of fans and we hand out already-signed autographs to anyone who asks for them. When we finally arrive, we part ways, before making promises about having dinner together at a restaurant Cassie wanted to try. And I head towards the Prema garage finding two beaming Bearmans, hugging.

“Hey Bear. Did you drive fast enough?” You call at him. And he grins like an idiot before swooping you into a tight hug spinning you. His laughter echoes in your ears as he sets you down.

“Yeah I drove fast enough, you minx.”

“Good. Now let's go. We are having dinner with Paul and Cassie in four hours and I want to see the city.”

“Give me five minutes to change and we are good to go.”

The afternoon is spent visiting local stores, trying to communicate in scrappy English and making terrible puns with products or street names. When they finally head to the restaurant their sides hurt from laughing. Dinner passed by as quickly as it came. As everyone says, time flies by when you are with the people you love.

Just as they open the door for their hotel room, Ollie flops in the bed as you head towards your computer and open it as hoards of emails and messages appear on the screen. Great more deadlines and essays to write until the end of the week.

“Leave it. We can pretend that we have nothing to do and watch a movie or local TV and try to understand what the hell is going on.”

“Thanks Bear. But I can't, as tempting as your offer is. Go to sleep, I will join you soon.”

And so you sit in front of your computer, ending essay after essay, sending them on time, until your eyes hurt from the pale blue light. The bed seems more welcoming than ever before as Ollie starfishes the entire length of it and his soft snores fill the empty space. Yeah, maybe it's time to call it a day.

An awful sound echoes in the room and eventually wakes you.

“I swear if it's one more ad I will jump from the window.” You grumble into your pillow as you steal the blankets and turn yourself into a burrito.

Ollie hisses as he opens his phone only to find a ton of messages and many missed calls from Ferrari. He dials Fred back as he moves towards the bathroom, trying to let you steal a few more minutes of much needed sleep.

When he emerges back in the room he sits down in front of you, his back supported on the bed.

“Ols, what's going on?”

“Carlos has an appendix”

“Oh no. Is he having surgery?”

“Yeah.” He says softly. “They want me to replace him.”

“What?” At that you are fully awake. Your hair is a netted nest and you look at him in shock. He looks at you, you his best friend who would look like a mess to anyone else but to him you look like the most beautiful and amazing creature in the world. Your mere presence has a more calming effect on him than anything else. If it weren't for you, he would have already lost his mind. “How? When? I…”

“We need to get to the paddock, if I don't want to miss FP3. I will wake up Dad and break the news to him.”

Soon after you enter the paddock and thousands of reporters try to get a better look at Ollie, flashing their cameras at you and bombarding you with questions as you make your way to the Ferrari garage and mechanics steal Ollie from you and David as they set to work quickly. David looks pale and sick as he paces into the garage trying to control his nerves through the FP3 and the Quali. When Ollie finally got off the car when he scored the 11th place, missing Q2 only by 3 hundreds of a second, you knew that this was it. He was finally shining like the bright star he was. He had done more than enough, his raw talent showing with barely one hour to get used to the car. And as mechanics and reporters closed around him. You couldn't help but feel like you didn't belong here. Where did you fit in? The reality hit you and it hit you hard. You hid in the back corners of the garage, eyes glued to the screen as everyone passed by without acknowledging you. You would happily hide in the shadows where he shined but this world wasn't meant for you. The anxiety was picking up at you, eating you alive from the inside.

And when Ollie got too close to the wall, your heart stopped beating. He was driving a car that was twice as fast and twice as dangerous than his normal F2 car. It was too much. The sound, the danger, everything really. Breathing suddenly seemed so hard and you needed a way out. As you hide behind the garage you call the one person who could understand. Terri picks up in the second ring her soft voice already calming you.

“Hey love. Is everything alright?”

“How do you do it? How can you stand back and do nothing?”

“You love him, don't you sweetheart?”

“I thought it was obvious.”

“Well … no I always hoped but… whatever the case, to answer your question you simply do it, you just have to. A driver needs his support system and you are it for him. You are his forever person, whether that is romantically or not. He needs to be near you and as much nervous as you are, so is he. Without you he would be lost, believe me I know my son. And I can bet you that as much as your heart breaks right now, you are also immensely proud.”

“Of course I am. But where do I fit in, in this world.”

“Right beside him, love.”

“Thanks Terri. Please call David. I think he is losing his mind and he is sick with worry.” You say chuckling before saying your goodbyes and head back towards the garage. The session is already over and Ollie is nowhere in sight.

Ollie plays with the power button of his phone trying to calm down but to no avail. The lock screen is a photo of the two of you. It was last summer both your skins flushed and hair slightly wet and tangled. You both smile at the camera and your eyes look bright with happiness. He feels slightly lighter but he knows that there is an impending panic attack and so he turns to the one person who could help him in this situation.

"I got your text," you say, tiptoeing inside and shutting the door behind you, careful to not make any loud sounds to scare him. "How are you doing?”

Ollie is sitting on a massaging table, elbows on top of his legs and head resting in his hands. His eyes are stuck on the floor, his silence is defeaning. When he still doesn't answer, your heart rate picks up. Is something really wrong?

You make your way over to him, hands finding his cheeks and softly tilting him up to look at you – and you swear you've never seen him look this wrecked before. Not after his worst crashes, not when he lost the rookie championship last year, not when he was cheated out from the Formula 3 championship. Once again, you've entered completely new territory, and your heart breaks at the sight.

"Ollie, talk to me," you plead, holding back the tears that starts to form on your eyes and threatento spill. It's so painful to look into his eyes, but you can't back down. Not now, not when he needs you this much.

"I'm-" his voice cracks but he shakes his head, clearing his throat. "I'm so nervous, I don't know what to do."

It's like he's oozing anxiety, and his heavy sigh is like a stab in your chest. Ollie, your usually so calm and collected best friend is probably going crazy over this – you know him well enough by now to understand that he's definitely freaking out even more on the inside than what he shows or tells. He is a messy jumble of nerves.

"I get that. One hundred per cent. But.." your thumbs begin to stroke over the skin of his cheeks, along his jaw, and then finally across his eyebrows, to which his eyes flutter closed. "This is your dream. It's been your dream since forever, and now you finally have the chance.”

"And it's not just any car, it's a Ferrari. Do you realize how cool that is? Do you realize how many people would kill for an opportunity like this?" You smile at the sight of him with his eyes still shut, eyelashes resting atop his cheeks, messy fringe covering his forehead. Even like this, at his most stressed state, he's completely gorgeous, not that you would ever tell him that. "You would've killed for an opportunity like this just 24 hours ago."

"But what if I ruin it?" His voice is barely above a whisper when he speaks, shoulders slumping forward. "What if I go out there and I'm shit, and then they realize what a big mistake they've made by even putting me in the academy? What if-"

"It won't happen." His eyelids slowly open and he looks up at you, seemingly not even the slightest upset that you cut him off. "You're too good to do that. You'll get in that car and it will feel like your second home, just like it always does."

Finally, a small smile makes its way onto his lips. It's only been a few minutes since you came in, but he seems much more relaxed now, leaning into your touch completely. "I'll try my best to make you proud."

“I'm always proud of you, you mufflehead.”

A laugh bubbles from his chest and he stands up from the table, opening his arms wide and pulling you in for a tight hug. His heart is still beating louder than a drum in his chest when your ear is pressed up against it, and you're almost worried it will jump out any second now. But his breaths are much more controlled now, and his mind seems much lighter. And soon enough his heartbeat slows to normal.

“I bet that in twenty four hours not only will you finish the race, you will score points and beat Max Verstappen.”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves” he says chuckling. “God, my neck is killing me.”

“Sit down. I've got you.” And so you start massaging his neck. It's stiff and hard under your hands and he lets a small groan as you untangle one of the knots that were quite painful. After a few minutes he is putty in your hands, his eyes closed, trusting you completely and feeling at ease for the first time in the past two days.

True to your world, Ollie crosses the finish line in seventh place, having gained points in his debut. But the one thing that kept him calm through the process was the thought that she was waiting for him in the cool down room. When the race finishes and drives the car back home he jumps from his seat and he can't get fast enough to her. People around him are praising him and congratulating him but they all fall to deaf eyes.

When he finally gets into the room to change into new fireproofs, she is patiently waiting for him. Her eyes are a little misty and her face flushed.

“I told you.”

“I didn't beat Max.”

“Still.”

She closes in on him and her hands are thrown around his neck, he reciprocates the hug immediately as his heart beat finally slows down. They doth draw away after a while only for him to dive back into her and kiss her firmly on the lips. Shock petrifies her and when he stops, he places his forehead on top of hers. He is a flustered mess and he is mumbling apologies, before she reconnects their lips.

For the following hours Ollie sports a shit-eating grin on his face. Everyone thinks that it is because of his amazing performance and not for kissing the girl that held his heart captive since they were five years old.

[pixelnrd]

On the eve of the new millenum, Ginger ran downstairs to inform her family of their potential impending doom. Having read all about it online, Y2K could posssibly be the biggest disaster they would face in their lifetime.

Her frenzied explanation of the situation as she tried to convince them all tospend their new years down in the basement caused confusion for the rest of the family. None of them understood why, and yet to appease Ginger in her heightened state they all agreed to go downstairs to Quincy's basement bedroom, which Ginger had turned into a temporary shelter.

'We all have to stay down here just in case, but I've got a whole cooler of food and beds for us all. It'll be fine! We just have to wait it out!' she insisted.

Once everyone realised that Ginger was trapping them all in the basement together, they were suddenly less compliant. But Jenny and Heather worried that Ginger might be right, so they decided that everyone should go along with it, just in case. Jasmine and Quincy were furious, and began to berate their sister for ruining their New Years plans. Everyone ate cold cereal for dinner and went to sleep on the floor.

Come the next day, having been trapped together in a basement for 24 hours, the tensions dissolved. Heather and Jenny woke up to find their near-adult children all playing video games together in their pjs, and talking to eachother with affection and kindness.

Ginger confessed to her siblings that she was scared of life once they left the basement. Even if things were all fine, and disaster had been averted, they were all about to graduate high school and go their separate ways for the first time in their lives. It scared her, leaving behind their shared childhood here.

'But Ginger, we're all still going to be friends,' assured Quincy. 'We'll always be in touch, even if we aren't living in the same house. We can always IM or email or text.'

'I thought you guys couldn't wait to get away from me, though,' confessed Ginger.

'No way! I'm going to miss you both,' said Jasmine, feeling sad too. 'Even if you guys drive me crazy, I love you both so much.'

It was like old times - being forced into the company of one another had broken down the walls they had all built up as they strove for individuality. Heather and Jenny smiled with happiness, seeing what kind and caring young people they had raised, who could put aside their differences to remember that they loved one another. They felt like they had got it right.

If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends. Make it last forever, friendship never ends 🎵

[dullgecko]

Fig bites whenever she cuddles, it’s her love language. Sometimes she draws blood on accident but no one says anything about it. Devil stuff

Now that her teeth are getting sharper it's become more of an issue. A good chomp with human teeth won't do much damage but once things start getting a little more devil-y she draws blood more often than not.

Fabian complains good naturedly but he really doesn't mind. He's got enough health that a few points here or there aren't a problem (and she's biting through clothing so it's FINE just stop slobbering on me). Plus, more than one friend tries to bite the shit out of him on the regular and Riz is BY FAR much worse about it. Possessive little shit will leave mark for mark and then some because no that's HIS best friend but he tries not to draw blood. It's a good thing fabian is loaded because half his leather jackets are covered in teeth marks.

Gorgug gets the brunt of it, she hangs out with him more than anyone else because of the band but she has a tough time breaking the skin. He reciprocates with gentle headbutts if she starts gnawing and that usually makes her stop.

Adaine yelps EVERY time and even before Figs teeth got sharp it would draw blood. She gets heals immediately and tries to keep her arms away from the chomp zone.

Kristin laughs every time and will bite back but it does ZERO damage. Kristin usually needs heals in the end.

Riz fucking loves it because good FINALLY someone is doing this friendship thing correctly. The other kids need to break it up if it starts though because they WILL begin a feedback loop frenzy of friend bites and hissing that leave the pair of them bloody and laughing.

[bitchiswild]

20th Century Girl

Rosé x F! Reader

Warnings: if you know you know.

Word Count: 10k

A/n: 20th century girl but Rosé version

Requested

𓇢𓆸

"Jennie, isn't that just your heart condition?" I gently teased, knowing her heart condition often played tricks on her. She chuckled softly, her eyes reflecting a mix of amusement and a hint of embarrassment. "I mean, it's the reason you're going to the States for your surgery, right?" I continued, hoping to lighten the moment with a touch of humor.

She nodded, acknowledging the truth in my words. "Yeah, yeah, I know," she replied, waving off my comment with a smile. "But seriously, this girl, she's different. It's not just my heart acting up this time."

I raised an eyebrow, recalling her similar excitement over an animated character not long ago. "Come on, Jennie," I teased, nudging her playfully. "Remember when you went on and on about that animated character stealing your heart?"

She blushed, laughing at the memory. "Okay, okay, fine. But this time, it's real, I swear!" Her expression turned earnest as she explained, "There's something about her, the way she smiles, the way she talks... I don't know, it's like she lights up the room whenever she's around."

I couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. Despite her playful crushes and her health challenges, Jennie always managed to find something or someone to bring joy into her life. "Well, if she makes your heart beat faster in a good way, then maybe she's worth the butterflies," I said, giving her a supportive nod.

We both knew that Jennie's upcoming surgery was a big deal, and her positive attitude towards life was admirable. If this girl at her mom's shop could bring even a moment of happiness amidst the impending surgery, then maybe she was indeed something special.

Jennie's plea caught me off guard. Her urgency and earnestness were impossible to ignore. Gripping my shoulders with a mix of desperation and excitement, she pleaded, "Rosie! She goes to our school, I need your help to get as much detail on her as you can. While I'm in New York, send me updates on her, email me everything, mail me pictures—just get me those information while I'm overseas."

Her intensity made it clear this wasn't just a passing crush. "Okay, while you're overseas, I'll gather as much info on her as I can," I assured her, feeling the weight of her trust and friendship. I'd do anything for Jennie, especially if it meant bringing her some happiness, even if she was miles away.

"Thank you! Her name is Lisa Manoban, it was on the blazer she was wearing. Find her and get me those information," she said, her tone resolute and determined.

I couldn't help but chuckle at her determination. "Okay, okay, now go pack. Your flight is tomorrow," I urged gently, trying to steer her focus back to the impending trip. Jennie's squeal of excitement filled the room as she hurriedly packed for her journey to the States for her heart surgery.

The contrast between her urgency to know more about Lisa Manoban and her excitement for the surgery was both amusing and heartwarming. Jennie's determination to find out more about this girl before her surgery showcased the depths of her emotions and her unwavering spirit. As she packed, her excitement for both the unknown of the surgery and the possibility of uncovering details about Lisa fueled her energy, making her radiate an unusual mix of nerves and joy.

Rushing out of my house in a frenzy, I barely caught a word of my mom's breakfast suggestion before bolting towards the bus stop. As I dashed, the familiar sight of the bus pulling away sent me into a panicked sprint. "Wait! Wait! Mr. bus driver, wait!" I hollered, desperately trying to catch his attention. Miraculously, the bus halted, allowing me to clamber aboard.

Breathless and flustered, I made my way toward the back, my attempt to secure a seat interrupted by the driver's sudden acceleration. Before I could grab onto anything, I found myself stumbling, careening directly into someone's lap. Mortified, I scrambled up, apologizing profusely. But before I could regain my balance, the driver took off again, causing a repeat of my embarrassing tumble onto the same person's lap.

"Hey! Can you slow down?!" I shouted, frustration seeping into my voice, aimed at the determined driver. Just then, the girl whose lap I kept falling into offered her seat. Grateful and slightly flustered, I accepted, taking a moment to glance up and finally catch her name on the tag—Lisa Manoban.

A smirk tugged at the corners of my lips as realization dawned. "I have found you," I thought to myself, a mix of astonishment and determination flooding through me. Here she was, the very person Jennie had been so fervently seeking details about, sitting right in front of me on the bus.

As I settled into the seat Lisa offered, my mind raced with possibilities. Jennie's request suddenly felt more real and pressing than ever. I had stumbled upon the key to unlocking information about Lisa, and it seemed the universe had conspired to bring us together in this unexpected moment. With a sense of excitement tinged with nerves, I prepared myself for the mission Jennie had entrusted to me.

With determination, I attempted to get closer to Y/n, Lisa's best friend, hoping to gather more intel for Jennie. Armed with my trusty notebook, I initiated my quest for information. "Favorite song?" I inquired, pen poised to capture every detail.

"Love Wave to Earth," Y/n responded, still engrossed in her camcorder, seemingly capturing every passing moment.

"College major?" I prodded further, eager to delve deeper into the specifics.

"Theater and film," came Y/n's swift reply, her attention still divided between me and the camera.

My thoughts wandered as I scribbled down notes. "Ah, so she wants to be famous. She does have the face for it," I mused aloud, jotting down the information.

Y/n's response caught me off guard. "No, I just like cameras," she clarified, her focus now solely on me.

I halted mid-writing, staring at her in disbelief, then let out an exasperated sigh. "Hey! This isn't about you! I'm asking about Lisa! Ugh, now we've got to start over," I scolded, slapping her arm in frustration before flipping to a fresh page in my notebook.

Rolling my eyes, I refocused, determined to extract the right details about Lisa this time around.

The arcade buzzed with excitement until chaos erupted unexpectedly. A sudden shout about a fight sent everyone scrambling out, curiosity getting the better of us. As we reached the scene, there stood Lisa, restrained by another girl gripping her shirt fiercely.

"You messed with the wrong girl, don't talk to my girl," the agitated girl spat out, her anger palpable.

"Kate, stop! I was the one who started it, okay? You know you're embarrassing me right now?"Kate’s girlfriend intervened, attempting to defuse the escalating situation.

Lisa, composed despite the tension, calmly placed her hand on her girlfriend's shoulder. "It's okay, I'm sorry. But there are so many people other than this girl right here. Just date better girls," she said gently before turning to walk away.

Kate's fury intensified. "What the hell did you say?" she yelled after Lisa, her anger boiling over. Lisa, undeterred, continued walking, seemingly unbothered by the brewing conflict.

But the situation escalated further as Kate grabbed a bottle, poised to strike Lisa. Reacting instinctively, I rushed in, kicking the bottle out of her hand, causing it to shatter against the wall. Kate's friends, fueled by anger, lunged forward, ready to retaliate.

Y/n, quick on her feet, grabbed nearby soda cans, using them as a makeshift deterrent. Despite her efforts, their aggression didn't wane. We knew it was time to leave, so we hurriedly made our escape, running from the escalating confrontation.

The adrenaline and chaos left us breathless as we fled the scene, grateful to have avoided any serious altercation. The unexpected turn of events at the arcade added an unexpected edge to our day of fun, leaving us reeling from the adrenaline rush and thankful to have avoided further trouble.

Adrenaline still pumping, I couldn't contain my frustration at Lisa's seeming disregard for her safety. "Hey! Are you insane?! You need to be careful or you'll get yourself killed!" I yelled, my worry for her safety fueling my outburst.

Y/n, always the caring one, intervened with concern in her voice. "Are you okay?" she asked, her gaze shifting down towards my feet. Following her glance, I noticed a bruise forming on my ankle, a stark reminder of the chaos we'd just escaped.

I let out a resigned sigh, realizing I'd need to get it checked out at the hospital. The day had taken an unexpected turn from a fun arcade outing to a chaotic mess, and now, a potential trip to the hospital was looming over us. As annoyed as I was about the situation, my concern for both Lisa's recklessness and my own injury weighed heavily on my mind.

The day took an unexpected turn when Lisa pulled up on her motorcycle, interrupting our plans. Amidst my friends' giggles and playful nudges, I found myself reluctantly getting on the bike with her. Unfortunately, our ride was short-lived as the motorcycle sputtered and died, leaving us stranded. Lisa had to call for a truck to pick us up, causing me to miss my broadcasting commitment.

As we traveled back, my stomach growled loudly, betraying my hunger. Lisa suggested grabbing a bite to eat, and we ended up at a restaurant where, to my surprise, Y/n was working. Lisa apologized for making Y/n wait and guided me to a table. Guilt washed over me for inconveniencing Y/n, who had been patiently waiting for us.

We ordered food, and I dove into the meal voraciously while Lisa watched me with a smile. Mid-bite, her unexpected declaration stunned me into silence. "Let's date," she said with a serene confidence that left me speechless. ‘This wasn't part of the plan.’ "You think I'm great? No, no, you can't think that!" I panicked, spilling out a stream of self-deprecating ramblings about my habits and quirks.

Realizing how much I had revealed, embarrassment washed over me, and I abruptly stood up, apologizing before hastily leaving, forgetting my crutch in the rush. My mind raced with confusion and panic, leaving me grappling with the unexpected and overwhelming situation as I hurriedly made my exit.

Sitting at the park, the realization struck that I had left my crutches behind in the whirlwind of the restaurant encounter. Unexpectedly, Y/n appeared, rushing towards me with the crutches in hand. She handed them to me and then, in a kind gesture, assisted in tending to my ankle.

Her question about Lisa caught me off guard. "I thought you had a crush on Lisa?" she inquired, her curiosity evident in her expression.

"No, I don't... just interested," I responded, trying to clarify the distinction in my mind.

"Isn't that the same thing?" Y/n pressed further, seeking clarification.

"It's not the same. It's totally different. It's not liking," I insisted, struggling to articulate the nuanced difference.

Y/n's next question took me by surprise. "Then what is liking?" As she glanced up at me, her face illuminated by the soft light, I felt my heart quicken its pace. Her genuine curiosity seemed to stir something within me, leaving me momentarily breathless.

After wrapping my ankle, Y/n advised, "You're all good. Try standing up. Next time, fight with your fists. Good night, Chaeyoung," she said with a cute smile before leaving, leaving me standing there, stunned and processing the significance of our moment together.

Her departure left me with a mix of emotions swirling inside me. Y/n's presence had a way of stirring something deeper within me, leaving me contemplating the subtleties of our connection and the impact of our interactions.

The school trip was underway, and amidst the picture-taking, a vendor's enthusiastic shouts about heart-healthy drinks caught my attention. Intrigued, I approached him, intending to buy one. However, as I fumbled for money, I realized I was short on cash. Just as I turned to ask my friends for help, Lisa stepped in and paid for the drink without hesitation.

As the vendor handed me the drink, Lisa's teasing words caught me off guard. "When we start dating, are you going to let me hear you sing with your farts?" The crowd's noise faded away, my heart racing at her unexpected comment.

Reacting impulsively, I yanked her away from the crowd, frustration and embarrassment fueling my reaction. "Are you insane?! In front of everyone?!" I admonished her, trying to contain my emotions.

But her response only added to my confusion. "You asked for my pager; only my family knows my pager. You also said you'd love me to death," she retorted, her words creating more chaos in my mind.

"You think I'm in love with you? I don't even know what you're talking about! Now give me back my juice!" I demanded, trying to retrieve the drink as our conversation spiraled into an unexpected and bewildering exchange. The situation had escalated so quickly, leaving me reeling from the unexpected turn of events and Lisa's puzzling remarks.

The conversation with Lisa had taken an unexpected turn, and her question lingered in the air. "So we're not dating?" she asked, her tone edged with uncertainty.

My head shook almost instinctively, trying to dispel the confusion and frustration clouding my thoughts. "God, you're driving me nuts. We are only classmates. Okay? Classmates!" I clarified, hoping to put an end to any misinterpretation.

"Okay, we can be classmates," she replied in a teasing tone, her response laced with a hint of mischief. Despite my attempt to assert boundaries, Lisa's playful response hinted at her continued willingness to dance around the idea, leaving me with a mix of exasperation and amusement at her persistence. The dynamic between us seemed to hover between confusion and playful banter, making it increasingly challenging to decipher the true nature of our interactions.

The girls had smuggled alcohol on the school trip, hidden from the vigilant eyes of the teachers. When bedtime arrived, we pretended to be asleep as the teacher made his rounds to check on us. Eventually, when the coast was clear, we seized the opportunity to gather our bags and retrieve the concealed alcohol.

Discontent murmurs about the acquired drinks circulated among us. "This sucks," one girl complained about the taste, echoed by another's comment about its bitterness. Then, my friend Jisoo proposed using the juice I had bought earlier.

"No, it's for my parents," I hesitated, unwilling to sacrifice the gift intended for my family.

"It's okay, we'll just buy another one if anything," another girl reassured me, rationalizing the substitution.

Despite my initial reluctance, Jisoo took the bottle and decided to mix it with the other drinks. To my surprise, the concoction turned out surprisingly good, and soon, we found ourselves immersed in the night, enjoying the blended drink and the camaraderie it fostered among us. As we laughed and shared stories, the evening unfolded into an unexpected and memorable moment, fueled by the spirit of friendship and shared adventures.

The haze of alcohol clouded our judgment, and our plans to continue drinking hit a snag when someone from the top floor snatched our bag of drinks. Frustration surged through me, amplified by the intoxication. "Hey! Those are ours!" I shouted at the culprits from upstairs, my anger bubbling to the surface.

"Thanks for the drinks!" they jeered back, taunting us as they took off with our bag.

Enraged and fueled by alcohol-induced bravado, I stormed off to confront them and reclaim our drinks. "Chaeyoung, it's okay," Jisoo tried to calm me down, but my determination overshadowed any attempts to dissuade me.

"No, it's not okay. I'm getting our drinks back," I slurred, my flushed face and muddled words evidence of the effects of the alcohol. Despite my inebriated state, I was resolute and driven to retrieve what was rightfully ours, fueled by a mix of indignation and determination.

As I banged on the door, frustration boiling over, I couldn't help but demand, "Open up! I know you're in there!" My voice carried through the corridor, disregarding Jisoo's worried pleas to keep quiet and how its the wrong room. "Hey! Open the door!" I continued, my determination overshadowing any caution.

When Y/n appeared behind the door, her presence struck me even through the alcohol haze. "Chaeyoung?" she questioned, her confusion evident as I stood there, caught in a daze, mesmerized by her ethereal beauty, even in her casual attire.

Jisoo's urgent warnings about the approaching teacher pierced through my foggy mind. "Chaeyoung! The teacher is coming!" she shouted in a panicked whisper before closing the door abruptly, leaving me locked out and still lost in the moment with Y/n.

Amidst the chaos, Y/n acted quickly, dragging me to a nearby linen closet to hide from the teacher. However, my mind remained fixated on Y/n's presence, even as the teacher's voice echoed down the hallway, demanding answers that he wouldn't find, leaving me concealed in the closet, my thoughts lingering on the unexpected encounter with Y/n.

The tense moment lingered as Y/n and I stood face to face. In that fleeting instant, every feature of hers seemed to radiate with an unmatched beauty. Her nose, her eyes, her lips—everything about her exuded a captivating allure that was hard to ignore. Even as the teacher walked away, our gaze remained locked, a silent admiration passing between us.

"Are you drunk?" Her whisper barely reached my ears amidst the haze that clouded my mind. I remained in a daze, lost in the spell of the moment. My hand moved instinctively, cupping her face gently as I struggled to articulate the whirlwind of emotions flooding through me.

"This isn't good. I—I think I'm starting to like you," I confessed in a hushed tone, the weight of my admission hanging in the air. Overwhelmed by the mixture of feelings and the influence of the alcohol, I groaned softly, burying my face against her chest, seeking solace in the sudden rush of emotions that had overtaken me. The unexpected confession left me vulnerable, grappling with the magnitude of what I had just revealed in my intoxicated state.

The morning after our night of excessive drinking left everyone feeling the weight of their hangovers, myself included. I woke up with no recollection of the previous night's events, a haze clouding my memory. The teacher's announcement that we were tasked with cleaning the beach elicited groans from everyone, but we complied nonetheless.

While collecting trash near a large rock, I found my gaze drawn to Y/n, capturing the beauty of the water through her lens. The way she focused on the details around her never failed to captivate me. Her simple actions had a way of making my heart skip a beat.

Lost in observing Y/n, I was startled by Lisa's sudden appearance behind me. "Hi, classmate!" she greeted me teasingly, her presence pulling me from my reverie. Irritated by her interruption, I groaned in response, wishing for a moment of peace.

Lisa, ever perceptive, caught on to where my attention had been directed. "You like Y/n, no wonder why you classmate-zoned me," she remarked, raising her eyebrows in a teasing manner, playfully alluding to my apparent preference for Y/n's company over hers. Her teasing jab left me flustered, caught between annoyance and an internal struggle to navigate the complexities of my feelings.

It seemed like Lisa had orchestrated the moment to take a picture with Y/n and me. As she shouted to get Y/n's attention, guiding me towards her, my heart skipped a beat when Y/n smiled at me with her captivating smile. Wanting to express my gratitude, I mentioned, "Thanks for the drink earlier."

"Not a problem," she replied kindly, setting up the camera while instructing us to adjust our positions. Following her directions, I moved slightly to the left, but when Lisa encroached on my personal space, I instinctively nudged her away. "Back off," I retorted, feeling protective of my comfort zone.

Rolling her eyes at my response, Lisa complied, and Y/n, after setting the timer, swiftly joined us. As we posed for the picture, ready with peace signs, Lisa once again encroached on my space, causing me to gasp in surprise just as the camera captured the moment.

I made a mental note to send the photo to Jennie once we returned home. Surprisingly, after this trip, Lisa, Y/n, and I had grown closer, perhaps due to the shared experiences and moments we had during our time together.

Working at my father's store became a routine, a familiar space where I often found solace. But one day, my mundane routine was interrupted by Y/n's unexpected appearance. With a joyful expression, she ran up to me, sharing her news about landing a job across from my father's store. Her excitement was palpable, but I tried to mask my own delight at the prospect of seeing her more often.

Every day became an opportunity to steal glances at Y/n as she worked. I'd catch her looking over at me whenever she could, and those stolen moments felt like a treasure. Her presence was captivating, and seeing her in her work uniform only added to her charm. She was undeniably cute, and her effortless grace made every mundane task seem like a scene from a film.

I tried my best not to reveal my growing crush on her, but every stolen glance, every accidental meeting of our eyes, only deepened my admiration for her. The prospect of being in close proximity, seeing her every day, brought a mix of excitement and nervousness that I kept hidden beneath a calm exterior. Yet, inside, my heart raced with the anticipation of the moments we would share across the stores.

Sending updates about Lisa to Jennie became a consistent part of my routine, a way to keep her in the loop despite the distance between us. The anticipation of her return grew day by day, as I longed for her presence, missing our moments together. I yearned to share everything that had unfolded, especially my newfound crush on Y/n, but I held back, choosing to wait until Jennie was back.

The ache of missing my best friend lingered, and while the temptation to confide in her about Y/n was strong, I decided to keep it to myself for the time being. It felt like a weighty secret, something precious that I wanted to share only when Jennie was physically there, so we could talk face to face. There was an unspoken understanding between us, and I wanted to wait for that moment to unfold naturally.

In the meantime, the updates I sent about Lisa were my way of keeping Jennie involved in the happenings of our lives. I hoped that when Jennie returned, we could catch up on everything together, including the new feelings that had emerged. The anticipation of her homecoming and the prospect of sharing these personal revelations with her made each passing day feel like an eternity, but I held on to the excitement of our eventual reunion.

The night had settled in, and the streets grew quiet as the stores closed. In an attempt to catch Y/n's attention, I coerced my sister into playing badminton with me, and it worked like a charm. Y/n joined us, bearing ice cream, and the three of us sat on a bench in front of my store, enjoying the sweet treat. But my sister's presence inadvertently obstructed my attempts to spend time alone with my crush, so I gently urged her to head back inside.

Y/n chuckled at the situation, questioning, "What's wrong with her wanting to eat more ice cream?" I explained with a smile, "If you have little siblings, you'll understand."

"I do," she replied, her smile carrying a hint of understanding. Surprised, I expressed my desire to meet her siblings someday. "Really? I want to meet them one day," I said, filled with curiosity.

"That makes two of us," Y/n replied, her expression hinting at a deeper sentiment. Suddenly, her tone shifted, revealing a heartfelt confession. "My little brother is in New Zealand. When our parents split up, Mom kept him there while Dad kept me in Seoul."

Her revelation left me staring at her with empathy, understanding the weight of her words. Before I could respond, Y/n changed the subject, asking if I liked fruit and motioning for me to follow her. Intrigued and slightly puzzled, I stood up and followed her lead as she guided us towards a nearby home, curiosity piqued about what she had in mind.

Arriving at the plum tree, I was awestruck by its grandeur, adorned with an abundance of ripe fruit. I couldn't contain my excitement and dashed towards the tree, eager to savor as many plums as possible. As I indulged, relishing the fruit, Y/n took out her camera, capturing the moment, recording my enthusiasm.

Sitting on a nearby bench, we engaged in conversation, sharing stories and laughter. In a moment of connection, our gaze lingered, and there was a subtle shift as Y/n began to lean closer. Feeling a surge of anticipation, I was about to close the gap between us when suddenly, a plum fell from the tree and landed squarely on my head.

The unexpected interruption startled both of us, and instead of a tender moment, we found ourselves bursting into fits of laughter. The absurdity of the situation, coupled with the sheer randomness of a plum interrupting a potentially tender moment, broke the tension, and we couldn't help but share a genuine, lighthearted moment together. The laughter echoed under the plum tree, turning what could have been a moment of closeness into a memory filled with shared amusement.

The walk home with Y/n, the basket of fruit nestled between us, felt like a serene journey. I cherished every moment of her company, reveling in the ease of our conversation and the shared warmth between us. As we reached my place, I gathered the courage to ask her if she wanted to go to the movies with me.

Before I could finish my sentence or backtrack in nervous rambling, I turned to leave, but Y/n gently clasped my hand, halting my movement. I turned back to face her, and in a sudden, unexpected moment, she leaned in and planted a quick, soft peck on my lips. The unexpectedness of the gesture made me gasp, my heart racing at the sudden intimacy.

"I would love to go to the movies with you" she said with a shy smile, her words adding to the whirlwind of emotions stirring inside me. Still in shock from the sudden kiss, I struggled to find my words, barely managing to stammer out a response.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow," I managed to say, my mind still reeling from the surprise kiss as Y/n started her journey back home, leaving me standing there, a mix of shock, excitement, and a newfound anticipation for our upcoming movie date.

Excitement coursed through me as I raced to my room, eager to spill the details to Jennie about everything that had unfolded with Y/n. The next morning, as I rummaged through my wardrobe in search of the perfect outfit for the impending date, frustration gripped me. I felt disheartened by the lack of cute clothes in my collection, so I made the impromptu decision to go shopping.

As I emerged with a bag of newly purchased clothes, Lisa appeared seemingly out of thin air, her signature grin lighting up her face. "What's up, classmate!" she greeted me cheerfully, her curiosity piqued by the bag in my hand. "Whatchu got there?" she inquired, attempting to sneak a peek at my new acquisitions.

"It's just clothes, idiot," I retorted, trying to keep the contents of my bag hidden. However, Lisa persisted, playfully tugging at the bag. In a momentary distraction, she diverted my attention by exclaiming a greeting to someone across from us. Curious, I turned to see who she was addressing, unwittingly giving Lisa the chance to swipe the bag from my grasp.

"Hey! Give it back!" I protested, feeling a surge of annoyance at her playful antics. But instead of returning the bag, Lisa suggested we go and grab ice cream, skillfully guiding me toward the ice cream parlor where Y/n worked. Despite my frustration, I found myself reluctantly following her lead, wondering what game she was playing at and what her intentions were involving Y/n in our plans.

The atmosphere at the ice cream parlor was tense, with both Y/n and Lisa vying for my attention, albeit solely focused on the ice cream. Lost in the moment, I glanced around the store, only to spot Jennie through the glass window, tears streaming down her face at the sight of me. My heart raced, and I immediately stood up, calling out her name in a mix of surprise and joy. "Jennie!"

Sobbing uncontrollably, we rushed toward each other, embracing tightly as tears continued to flow. "Chaeyoung!" she sobbed, echoing my sentiments. The overwhelming rush of emotions hit us both as we clung to each other, seeking solace in our reunion. "I miss you," I cried out, my voice choked with emotion.

"I miss you too," she responded through her tears, the depth of our bond palpable in our embrace. The entire store seemed to halt, eyes fixated on our emotional reunion, including Y/n and Lisa, who observed the heartfelt moment.

Struggling to catch my breath amid the tears, I turned to Y/n and Lisa, tears still streaming down my face, and managed to introduce Jennie between hiccups. "T-This is J-Jennie, M-My Best F-Friend. Say hi," I stuttered. Both Y/n and Lisa offered a wave to Jennie, who, amidst her own hiccups and tear-wiping, managed a soft "Hi." The overwhelming mix of emotions in that moment, from joy to sorrow to relief, made it a scene etched into all of our memories.

"My surgery was a success!" Jennie beamed with joy, radiating relief and happiness. "Let me hear your heart!" I exclaimed eagerly, filled with anticipation.

I gently rested my ear on her chest, listening intently to the rhythmic beats. "It's beautiful. It definitely sounds stronger," I praised, overwhelmed with happiness at the sound of her healthier heartbeat. The relief and joy in that moment, knowing that Jennie was recovering well, filled the room with a sense of gratitude and hope for the future.

"Oh, wow," Jennie exclaimed, her excitement evident. "You know, I thought I was going to have a heart attack at the sight of Lisa. I didn't think I would see her so soon!" Her hand rested on her chest, emphasizing her excitement. "She looked so good in her uniform," she sighed out dreamily.

"Uniform?" I questioned, puzzled by Jennie's description, since Y/n was the only one in a uniform.

"Yeah! When did she start working there? You left that part out," Jennie playfully complained, nudging me about the missing details.

"Oh! That's Y/n! Lisa is the other girl," I clarified, assuming Jennie had mixed up the names.

"No, the one in the uniform was Lisa," Jennie corrected me confidently.

"Huh?" I was thoroughly confused.

"What? Here, let me show you," Jennie said, reaching for a photo of us at the beach to prove her point.

As she opened the picture, I saw Y/n, Lisa, and me. But what caught me off guard was the heart drawn around Y/n, emphasizing that Jennie's crush was on Y/n, not Lisa. Shock coursed through me as I realized I had misunderstood everything. I, too, had a crush on Y/n. It felt like everything I knew was suddenly upside down.

Jennie burst into laughter, noticing my stunned expression. "Don't tell me you've been following and getting details about the wrong person," she teased, finding the whole situation incredibly amusing.

For days, I grappled with the realization of my mistake. I felt distraught and conflicted, trying to come to terms with the fact that I had developed feelings for Jennie's crush. It was a situation filled with complexities, and I knew I couldn't let my own feelings interfere with Jennie's happiness.

Deciding to push my feelings aside became a resolution born out of necessity. I made a conscious choice to prioritize Jennie's feelings and happiness over mine. I was determined to support her in pursuing Y/n, even if it meant setting aside my own emotions.

It wasn't an easy decision, and there were moments when my feelings resurfaced, causing inner turmoil. But for the sake of my friendship with Jennie, I resolved to bury those emotions and focus solely on being there for her. I was willing to sacrifice my own feelings and desires to ensure Jennie's happiness, even if it meant pushing my own emotions to the sidelines.

The day of the movie date with Y/n arrived, but I made a conscious decision not to go. Instead, I asked Jennie to go in my place and explain to Y/n that I had a family matter to attend to. Surprisingly, Jennie agreed eagerly, thrilled at the opportunity to spend time with Y/n.

Later that night, Jennie returned from her time with Y/n while I had ended up spending time with Lisa. Jennie, excited and energetic, suggested staying over. It didn't take her long to notice something was off. "You're hiding something from me," she began, and my heart raced with anxiety.

"You like Lisa, huh?" she teased, and my mind raced to find a way to explain without revealing the truth. "Oh my god, we can go on a double date!" she exclaimed, clearly enthusiastic about the idea.

"No, no, I don't like Lisa like that," I insisted, trying to divert her attention, but Jennie simply brushed it off, her mind already racing with plans.

"Hey, tell me more about Y/n," she giggled, changing the subject. Caught off guard, I stammered, "Huh? Oh, I don't know," trying to play off the situation and avoid talking about Y/n too much to avoid revealing my true feelings for her.

The pressure from Jennie's expectations weighed heavily on me. "I-I don't know," I stammered, feeling the weight of my conflicting emotions. Just then, my pager beeped, signaling a message. I excused myself, telling Jennie I'd be right back, and hurried to the house phone.

Upon checking the message, I was stunned to find it was from Y/n, asking me to call her. Panic surged within me, and I hastily put the phone down, trying to compose myself. Jennie, noticing my unease, inquired about the call. I brushed it off, claiming it was nobody important, trying to hide the truth to avoid further questions.

As the night settled in and I laid in bed with Jennie, sleep eluded me. Thoughts of Y/n inundated my mind, causing a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Unable to shake off the desire to talk to Y/n, I made a decision. I quietly slipped out of bed, leaving Jennie sleeping, and made my way to the pay phone outside my house, intending to return Y/n's call.

The nervousness crept in as Y/n's voice answered the call. "Hey, it's me, Chaeyoung," I replied, feeling a mix of anxiety and anticipation.

"What took you so long? I've been trying to reach you for a while," Y/n teased, and my heart skipped a beat.

"Oh-uh, what number is this?" I asked nervously, trying to hide my uncertainty. Suddenly, the coin from the pay phone slipped, adding to my flustered state.

"Are you at a pay phone right now?" Y/n asked, her curiosity evident in her voice.

"Huh?" I was puzzled by her line of questioning. "The payphone in front of your house?" she continued.

"Yeah, I am. Why?" I asked, glancing around in confusion.

"Count to 10," Y/n instructed. Confused by her request, I hesitated before complying. "Wait!" she chuckled. "Slow down," she urged.

Perplexed but following her instructions, I began to count slower, scanning my surroundings. Finally, I spotted Y/n running toward me, out of breath but with a charming smile that always seemed to make my heart race. As much as I felt drawn to her, I knew I had to suppress my feelings for the sake of Jennie.

Sitting together on a nearby bench, Y/n handed me a phone, a symbol of connection between us. Her smile, as always, was bright and welcoming. She began talking, sharing anecdotes about Jennie's tales of my past, how I supposedly used to get into fights, expressing her relief that things had changed since then. Her words were gentle, filled with warmth and understanding.

“Y/n,” I started, feeling a weight settling in my chest. “I didn't show up to the movies for a reason,” I confessed, bracing myself for what would come next.

Confused, Y/n inquired, “What do you mean?” Her innocent curiosity only made the situation more painful for me. I felt my heart shatter as I struggled to voice my truth. “I'm sorry, I've made a mistake. I don't have those kind of feelings for you. I'm sorry if you misunderstood,” I choked out, rising from the bench, my heart heavy with sorrow.

Y/n reached for my arm, desperation in her voice, “Chaeyoung—” But I couldn't bear to face her reaction. “I have to go,” I cut her off abruptly, running off into the rain, the downpour mirroring the turmoil within me.

Leaving Y/n behind, standing alone in the rain, was a pang of regret that seared through me, but I couldn't face her disappointment and hurt. The heaviness in my chest matched the weight of the decision I had made, to protect Jennie's feelings at the cost of my own and Y/n's heartbreak.

Little did I know Y/n had a letter for me. That i never got to read.

Chaeyoung,

I find myself penning down these words because saying them face to face felt too overwhelming. Do you remember the first time I laid eyes on you? It was in your father's store, and you dashed out in a rush. I couldn't help but chuckle; you were so endearing, so effortlessly charming. Since that moment, every time I caught sight of you, a smile would automatically grace my face. You brought joy into my life, Chaeyoung. A kind of happiness I had never experienced before.

Your unpredictable nature fascinated me. I loved the way you made life seem so full of unexpected moments. At times, I found myself feeling a pang of jealousy over the time you spent with Lisa, wondering if you felt the same way about her as you did about me. But then there were moments when you'd do or say something that made my heart flutter, making me believe that maybe you felt something for me too.

That night when you were intoxicated, you confessed something so personal, something that affirmed what I had been feeling all along. You revealed your emotions, but in your drunken haze, you forgot all about it. I often wondered if you mistook me for Lisa, or if you truly meant what you said.

Now, circumstances have me heading back to New Zealand, but know this, Chaeyoung: I'd return to you in a heartbeat. I've developed feelings for you, deep and sincere. I hope you remember that moment, that you realize the depth of my feelings for you. Even though we might be apart, my heart remains with you.

Yours sincerely,

Y/n

The rain poured relentlessly, drenching everything in its path, including the heartfelt letter Y/n had penned for Chaeyoung.Tthe paper slipped from her hand, spiraling down in the rain. Each word, each sentiment she had poured onto that paper was now blurring and dissolving in the downpour.

Y/n trudged through the rain-soaked streets, her heart weighed down not only by the storm but also by the unspoken feelings she had finally expressed in that letter. Every step echoed her silent longing, her unspoken words left behind, mingling with the raindrops. The letter, the one piece of her heart she wished Chaeyoung could have held.

As she walked home, the raindrops merged with her tears, an indistinguishable mix of water and sorrow, a poignant echo of her unshared emotions that now dispersed into the night.

As school resumed, an undeniable air of awkwardness lingered between Y/n and me. Despite being partners in the broadcasting club, our interactions were marked by a palpable tension. However, we pushed through, determined to fulfill our responsibilities.

We diligently worked on our project, completing the filming part and needing only the editing phase. Y/n mentioned that the editing machine we had access to was outdated, which would likely slow down the process. That's when Jennie unexpectedly appeared, greeting us cheerfully.

"Hey guys," Jennie chimed in, breaking the slightly tense atmosphere.

Returning the greeting, I turned to Y/n, asking, "Are we finished with the filming?"

"Yeah, we just need to edit it. But the editing machine we have is pretty old, so it might take a while," Y/n replied, a hint of concern in her voice.

Jennie immediately perked up at the mention of the outdated equipment. "I know someone who has the latest editing machine. Should I give them a call?" she suggested eagerly, sensing an opportunity to assist.

Y/n and I exchanged a glance, silently acknowledging that a better editing setup would significantly speed up our progress. Without hesitation, we agreed, and soon enough, we found ourselves on our way to another city, ready to access the advanced editing tools and put the finishing touches on our project.

Jennie's excitement was contagious as she announced the unexpected surprise—tickets to the nearby amusement park. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation and a hint of nervousness. Her request, however, caught me off guard.

"Could you help me get some alone time with Y/n? I want to confess to her," Jennie asked, a mix of hope and uncertainty in her voice.

Internally, conflicting emotions swirled within me. My own feelings for Y/n lingered, causing a twinge of heartache. Yet, witnessing Jennie's earnestness and her desire for happiness pushed me to set my emotions aside. Despite the ache, I resolved to support my friend wholeheartedly.

Putting on a supportive smile, I agreed, "Of course, I'll help you with that. I want to see you happy."

Suppressing my own feelings, I masked the discomfort and focused on planning ways for Jennie to have her moment with Y/n at the amusement park. I knew that despite my emotions, Jennie's happiness was what truly mattered, and I was determined to make her confession a success.

It was a bittersweet day at the amusement park. I stayed close to Lisa, subtly helping Jennie get moments alone with Y/n. Despite the thrill and excitement surrounding us, my focus was on ensuring Jennie's chance to confess her feelings.

When the time came to ride attractions, Jennie's recent surgery made her opt for the non-thrill rides. Feeling guilty, she urged me to enjoy the park, but I chose to stick by her side, not wanting her to feel left out.

Unexpectedly, Y/n rushed up to us in line, expressing her desire to ride with me. The situation took me by surprise, but I agreed, puzzled by the sudden turn of events. I sensed Lisa's disappointment as she knew Y/n's inclination towards me, but she graciously accepted the change, understanding the dynamics at play.

Y/n and I boarded the ride together, leaving Lisa behind. Confusion and mixed emotions swirled within me, but in that moment, I decided to focus on the present, enjoying the ride while trying to decipher the unspoken sentiments between Y/n and me.

The day at the amusement park unfolded with a mix of emotions. I stuck close to Lisa, subtly facilitating Jennie's moments with Y/n whenever possible. Despite Jennie's assurance, I refrained from thrill rides to accommodate her post-surgery condition.

As we wandered through the park, Jennie encouraged me to enjoy myself, feeling guilty for my sacrifice. I hesitated at first but eventually relented, deciding to join Lisa on a nearby roller coaster. Little did I know, Y/n unexpectedly approached us, expressing her intention to ride alongside me.

Confused but not wanting to cause any fuss, I agreed to ride with Y/n, oblivious to the underlying reason. Lisa, aware of Y/n's feelings for me, rolled her eyes but complied, understanding the situation better than I did. Together, Y/n and I boarded the roller coaster, unaware of the emotional undercurrents surrounding us.

It was a whirlwind of emotions during that roller coaster ride. Unaware of Y/n's fear of heights, I noticed her distress as she hyperventilated. Concerned, I questioned her, and she admitted her fear, yet she chose to face it just to be with me. As the ride approached its towering drop, Y/n's grip tightened on my hand.

In the adrenaline rush of the drop, amidst the wind whipping around us, Y/n's confession pierced through the chaos. "I LIKE YOU CHAEYOUNG!" Her words echoed in the rush of the descent, leaving me stunned and speechless.

The roller coaster's twists and turns mirrored the tumult in my heart. Y/n's confession, amidst her fear and vulnerability, hit me profoundly. I was taken aback, my mind racing as the ride continued its thrilling journey.

The roller coaster ride was exhilarating, the adrenaline rushing through us as the coaster zipped along the tracks. Meanwhile, Lisa and Jennie engaged in conversation nearby. Jennie, perplexed by Y/n's choice to ride despite her fear of heights, sought clarification from Lisa.

Lisa, in a moment of candor, disclosed the truth to Jennie. She revealed that Y/n's decision to join me on the ride wasn't merely about conquering her fear of heights but stemmed from mutual feelings between Y/n and me. The words hung in the air, unraveling the unsuspecting revelation to Jennie, and her world suddenly felt like it was crashing down around her.

The shocking revelation left Jennie speechless, her mind struggling to process the unexpected revelation about Y/n's feelings for me. The amusement park's cheerful atmosphere seemed to fade away, replaced by an unsettling tension, as the truth dawned on Jennie, altering her perspective on the situation.

The conversation with Y/n felt like a whirlwind of emotions, each word chipping away at my heart. Hearing about Y/n's imminent departure to New Zealand felt like a punch in the gut, yet I strived to mask my own sorrow.

"You're leaving?" I queried, trying to maintain a calm façade.

"Yeah, I'm moving back to New Zealand," Y/n confirmed, the weight of her words sinking in.

Internally, my heart clenched painfully at the thought of losing Y/n and the uncertainty of whether we'd ever meet again. Despite the turmoil within, I held onto a composed exterior. "That's wonderful," I replied, attempting to conceal the ache in my voice.

Y/n seemed taken aback by my response, sensing a disconnect between my words and my true feelings. "Oh, really? Do you think so?" she asked, her hurt evident.

Struggling to maintain my composure, I nodded. "You miss your brother, and now you get to see him again," I said, trying to rationalize the situation.

"I thought you'd be sad because I'm leaving. But that's good. Thank you for everything, Chaeyoung," Y/n uttered sadly, sensing the emotional distance between us.

Despite my inner turmoil and the sadness welling within, I couldn't bring myself to express my true feelings, choosing instead to put on a brave face for Y/n's departure. The ache in my heart was a silent burden I carried as I bid farewell to someone who had left an indelible mark on me.

The night air hung heavy with emotions as Jennie and I walked, the weight of Y/n's departure pressing down on me. I offered to get some food, trying to distract Jennie from her evident distress. But then she stopped abruptly, and her expression turned grave.

"You have something to tell me," Jennie stated, her voice heavy with sorrow. My heart skipped a beat, realizing she had figured it out.

"Huh?" I stammered, feeling the world come crashing down.

"You have feelings for Y/n. You like her," Jennie declared, tears welling up in her eyes.

I struggled to find the right words. "I-I don't like her anymore. I'm over her," I insisted, attempting to downplay my emotions.

"Why didn't you tell me? You've been keeping this from me this whole time!" Jennie cried out, her voice quivering with hurt.

My own frustration and guilt bubbled up. "I didn't know how to handle it. But I did it for you!" I argued, my voice tinged with desperation.

Jennie's disbelief was palpable. "You made me look like a fool! And yet you say this was all for me? Or were you just doing it to make yourself feel better?" she accused, her voice breaking.

I felt the weight of my decisions crush me. "Jennie, I... I didn't want my feelings over some girl to ruin our friendship," I confessed, tears streaming down my face.

"Some girl? Because of you, we're in this situation," Jennie yelled, her words a mix of anger and pain. Then, her tone softened. "Even though I like Y/n, I would give her up in a heartbeat if it meant preserving our friendship. You're the person I care about the most, Chaeyoung."

Her words cut deep, a stark reminder of the consequences of my actions. "I know you always take care of me because I'm ill, but it's not something I need from you. I need a friend, not a nurse," Jennie stated firmly before turning and walking away, leaving me in the middle of the street, consumed by my own tears and regrets.

It was a painful period after the fallout with Jennie. Despite my attempts to reach out, her reluctance to speak to me remained steadfast. Even at school, the distance between us was palpable.

In an unexpected turn, Jennie stumbled upon an old email I had written, pouring out my feelings for Y/n. Strangely, instead of escalating the situation, she decided to help me. Taking matters into her own hands, Jennie arranged a meeting with Y/n.

They sat down together, Jennie with a resolve to advocate for my feelings. She began by painting a picture of my devotion to her, highlighting the lengths I went to put her feelings above mine. Jennie cleverly framed it in a way that emphasized my loyalty to her as a friend.

She then shifted the conversation to my feelings for Y/n, revealing the truth about my emotions. Jennie emphasized that I had been untruthful when I claimed I didn't like Y/n. Instead, she explained how my selfless intentions had led to this unfortunate misunderstanding.

It was an unexpected turn of events, Jennie, despite her own feelings for Y/n, chose to prioritize our friendship. She made an effort to bridge the gap that had formed between Y/n and me due to my misguided attempts to protect our friendship. Yet, it was uncertain how Y/n would react to this revelation.

Y/n arrived at my house, a sense of urgency in her actions as she hoped to have a conversation before her departure the following morning. She waited patiently, yet expectantly, outside my home, hoping for a chance to talk.

Throughout the night, she called repeatedly, trying to reach me, her voice resonating with concern and anticipation. Each ring was a plea for connection, a yearning to bridge the gap between us before she had to leave.

Unfortunately, I wasn't available as my family was dealing with a medical emergency involving my sister. We were at the hospital, consumed by the urgent situation, unaware of Y/n's presence outside our home. Despite her persistent efforts to reach out, I remained inaccessible, unintentionally causing Y/n to wait fruitlessly.

It was a missed opportunity, one that left Y/n standing alone in the dark, her hopes of a conversation slowly fading away as the night wore on.

The morning arrived, and I went about my day, completely unaware of the events that unfolded between Y/n and Jennie. The tension between Jennie and me remained palpable, with communication between us still at a bare minimum.

Suddenly, an unexpected event took place at school that altered the course of our interactions. Jennie, resorting to a drastic measure to capture my attention, feigned passing out. In an instant, panic set in as I rushed to her side, immediately lifting her and hurrying her to the nurse's office.

As I carried her, fearing the worst, Jennie finally disclosed that it was a ploy to get my attention, to spark a conversation and restore our communication. Relieved yet flustered by the situation, I tried to comprehend Jennie's actions and the lengths she went to just to reestablish a connection with me.

It was an unexpected turn of events when Jennie orchestrated a situation to push me towards Y/n. After the ruse of her passing out, she urged me to not let Y/n leave. I was baffled by her insistence and her unexpected support for a potential connection between Y/n and me.

Rushing outside, I found Lisa waiting with a motorcycle, seemingly prepared for a ride. “I guess I'm a driver now,” Lisa quipped with an eye roll. Without hesitation, I hopped on the motorcycle as she revved the engine, ready to head towards Y/n.

The wind blew past us as Lisa maneuvered through the streets, and my mind raced with thoughts about what awaited me at my destination. The urgency in Jennie's voice lingered in my mind, her encouragement to not let this moment slip away.

As we neared Y/n's departure point, I felt a surge of nervousness and determination. The engine roared, but inside, I was grappling with conflicting emotions, unsure of what awaited me and what I truly wanted to say to Y/n.

In a heart-wrenching moment, I finally spotted Y/n amidst the bustling train station. Tears streamed down my face as I staggered towards her, barely able to catch my breath. “Y/n!” I cried out, my voice cracking with emotion. She turned, startled and concerned, as I struggled to articulate my apologies.

Through teary eyes, I poured out my regrets. “I was devastated when you said you were leaving for New Zealand. I pretended to be okay; I'm sorry for everything,” I choked out, overcome with emotions. Y/n's response was unexpected yet filled with warmth, making my heart stutter and laugh through the tears.

“Why are you apologizing? Just admit you like me,” Y/n whispered softly, her words a revelation that both lifted my spirit and filled me with nervousness. "Chaeyoung, when I'm with you, I'm genuinely happy. I like you, Chaeyoung!" she confessed, her smile bittersweet amidst the farewell.

Feeling overwhelmed, my words struggled to find their way out. “I like you too,” I managed to say softly, but Y/n teased playfully, pretending not to hear. With the train about to depart, I summoned all my courage and declared loudly, "I like you too! I really, really like you too!" Y/n's laughter filled the air as she embraced me tightly and left a tender kiss on my cheek.

As the train's announcement echoed through the station, Y/n wiped away my tears, promising she would return. I nodded in agreement, but as the train doors began to close, our hearts ached with the impending separation. We exchanged our goodbyes, our eyes locked, both yearning for the moment not to arrive.

With the train gradually pulling away, Y/n's sobs resonated in the distance as she watched me fade away, while I mirrored her sorrow, watching her slip further from my sight. Our hearts tangled in that fleeting moment, our unspoken pledges lingering in the air as we were forced apart, each carrying the other’s sentiments in our hearts, painfully separated by the distance that grew between us.

The days following Y/n's departure were filled with bittersweet moments. We continued our constant communication through emails, sharing our dreams, hopes, and promises to see each other again. You always reassured me, urging me to wait patiently for you return, and I solemnly vowed to wait, cherishing the connection we had.

However, the emails eventually stopped arriving, leaving me puzzled and hurt. At first, I was consumed by anger and resentment, feeling abandoned and forgotten. I began to imagine that maybe you chose to sever our connection deliberately. In my mind, I convinced myself that it was easier to assume you were dead, as it lessened the pain of feeling deserted.

Yet, fate had a cruel twist. It wasn’t just a misunderstanding or a cessation of contact—you actually had passed away. Learning of this devastating truth shattered my heart. The immense regret I felt was overwhelming; I realized that my assumptions and misplaced anger could have deprived me of the chance to say a proper goodbye.

In those moments of despair, your brother reached out, delivering the gut-wrenching news. His revelation pierced through the walls of my resentment, shattering the facade I had created to protect myself. Gratitude and sorrow washed over me simultaneously—thankfulness for your impact on my life and immense grief for their untimely departure.

I felt an ache, a sense of loss, and an immense emptiness. your departure wasn’t just a goodbye; it was a departure of a source of joy, a beacon of hope, and an irreplaceable connection. The realization that I could have harbored bitterness against them forever haunted me.

Thank you, Y/n, for the joy you brought into my life, for the memories we shared, and the lessons you imparted, even beyond your time. You were a beacon of happiness, and your absence weighs heavy on my heart. I'll hold onto the happiness you gifted me, cherishing it always, until we meet again someday.

𓇢𓆸

[sherewrytes]

ꜰʀᴀᴄᴛᴜʀᴇᴅ Gojo x Black Fem reader

↳ Satoru Gojo x f! black reader

In Tokyo's underground music scene, Exxor is on the verge of global fame, but beneath the glitz, emotions run wild. Lead singer Satoru Gojo shines in the spotlight, while bassist Suguru Geto battles his dark past and unspoken love for Y/N, a rising fashion designer. Their shared history is fraught with tension, especially now that Y/N is falling for Gojo. As her career catapults her into the global fashion arena, old feelings resurface, threatening to unravel the band and their fragile friendships. Can they navigate the chaos of fame, or will their secrets tear them apart?

Genre: Romantic Drama, Psychological Fiction

Content warnings:

Substance Abuse, Toxic Relationships, Unrequited Love, Mental Health Issues

Song for chapter: Afterlife by Nothing but thieves

Chapter 1: The Beginning of Chaos

The venue was alive. The low hum of excited chatter, the flickering lights, and the scent of sweat, alcohol, and stale smoke filled the air. The underground music scene of Tokyo had always been electric, but tonight, it felt like something more. Exxor, the band that had become a legend in the making, was finally hitting their stride. Their sound reverberated against the walls of the small but packed venue, the vibrations pulsing through the crowd like a heartbeat.

Y/N leaned against the bar, nursing a drink that had long since gone warm, her eyes locked on the stage. The spotlights danced across the stage, casting long shadows that illuminated the band’s silhouettes. It had been a while since she’d seen them perform live, and tonight, there was something different in the air—an intensity that seemed to vibrate with every note played.

Geto stood center stage, his bare chest gleaming under the lights, his tattoos a tapestry of dark ink that seemed to tell stories only he knew. His fingers moved with effortless grace across the neck of his guitar, every chord a part of him. The strings hummed under his touch, as if the instrument itself recognized his mastery. Each solo was like a conversation between him and the crowd—intimate, raw, and undeniably powerful. His usual indifference to the audience only made the connection feel deeper, more personal.

The crowd was fixated on him, and why wouldn’t they be? The women around Y/N were swooning, their whispers a mix of awe and desire. “God, look at his tattoos,” one girl murmured. “He’s just… so dangerous. I swear he’s the reason I started playing guitar.” Another giggled, her voice breathless, “I’d let him tattoo me anywhere.”

Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes, though a part of her—one that she buried deep—understood the pull. Geto was magnetic. There was no denying it. But tonight, she wasn’t here for the fantasies. She was here to see him. To see if the man she once knew was still hiding somewhere behind that stage persona.

The rhythm of the music shifted, and all eyes turned to Gojo, the lead singer, who sauntered to the front of the stage with his signature swagger. The crowd went wild, and Y/N could practically feel the heat rising around her as women screamed his name, their hands reaching out in desperate attempts to touch him.

Gojo didn’t flinch. His voice, smooth and sultry, filled the room, every note dripping with charisma. “Tokyo!” he called out, the mic reverberating with the power of his voice. “Are you ready to lose yourselves?”

The women around Y/N gasped, clutching their chests as Gojo’s voice rolled over them like velvet, coaxing them into a feverish frenzy. Y/N’s friend Chanté, who had dragged her to this concert tonight, was no exception. Chanté had always been the one to fall for the rockstar allure, and tonight was no different. She stood with her hand pressed to her heart, gazing at Gojo with the kind of awe only a fan could understand.

“Oh my god, Nanami is so fine,” Chanté swooned, her voice catching in the air as Nanami, the drummer, caught the light. He was a study in stoic beauty, his muscles rippling with every strike of the drums.

Y/N smirked. “You’re here for the wrong guy, Chan.”

Chanté laughed, her eyes sparkling as she waved her hand dismissively. “Right. But I do have eyes, Y/N.”

The music surged forward, a thundering wave of sound that pulled the crowd even deeper into its grip. But for Y/N, her focus was solely on Geto, who seemed lost in his own world as his guitar wailed in the background. His eyes were closed, his lips barely moving as he played—lost in the moment, lost in the music, and maybe even lost in something else. She couldn’t tell, not anymore.

The guitar solo intensified, every note sharp and searing, and Y/N felt it deep in her chest. The bass, heavy and driving, rumbled under her ribs. The beat of the drums seemed to pulse through her veins, syncing with her heartbeat. It wasn’t just the music. It was Geto’s presence—his raw, untamed energy that made the performance feel like it was meant just for her.

She wanted to scream, to reach out and pull him back from whatever dark place he’d buried himself in. But the distance between them—both physical and emotional—was too vast. And as much as she wanted to fight it, she couldn’t ignore the pull. The old feelings were coming back, unbidden and fierce, and she wasn’t sure she could control them this time.

As the final notes rang out and the crowd erupted into applause, Y/N stood still, her heart racing, her mind spinning with a thousand thoughts. She didn’t care about the praise. She didn’t care about the fans. She just needed to see him again.

Chanté elbowed her, snapping her from her trance. “You’re not gonna just stand there, are you?” she asked, her voice teasing. “Go say hi to the man.”

Y/N glanced over at the backstage entrance, the one Geto had disappeared through moments before. There was a flicker of hesitation in her chest, but before she could answer, she was already heading toward it.

Backstage was a different world altogether. The lights were dim, and the air smelled of sweat, beer, and cheap cologne. Crew members rushed around, packing up gear, but Y/N’s eyes were locked on the narrow doorway that led into the band’s private area.

She hesitated outside the door, her hand resting on the cold metal handle, unsure if she should follow. The noise from the crowd still buzzed in her ears, but it was drowned out by the sound of her own heartbeat. She stepped forward, taking a deep breath, and then she saw him—Geto, standing just inside the doorway, talking with someone, his back to her. He was shirtless, his muscular frame only accentuated by the dim light. The tattoos on his arms and chest seemed to tell their own stories—stories she couldn’t quite read but felt.

“Geto,” she called softly, taking another step closer.

He turned, his gaze catching hers for a moment before his lips pressed into a thin line. The usual indifference was there, but there was something more behind his eyes—something Y/N couldn’t decipher.

“Y/N,” he greeted her, his voice cool, guarded. “You came?”

“I came to see you,” she replied, her tone softer than she’d intended. “You’re still amazing.”

He gave a small, tight-lipped smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve got to go in,” he said, his voice not quite a whisper, but not loud enough to pierce the tension.

Y/N felt her chest tighten. She wanted to ask him a million things—about his life, about his silence, about what had happened to them—but instead, she found herself frozen. The words wouldn’t come.

Geto’s gaze softened for just a second, but he turned away before she could say anything else. He stepped into the backstage area, disappearing from her sight.

As the door swung closed behind him, Gojo appeared from the shadows, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, a playful smirk on his face.

“Who was that fan you were talking to after the show?” he asked, his voice smooth and teasing, laced with curiosity.

There was a pause before Geto spoke, his voice low and deliberate. “That wasn’t just some fan. That’s Y/N.”

Gojo’s smirk faltered for a moment, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “Y/N? The designer? Obsydian?”

“Yeah,” Geto muttered, his tone darkening. “We’ve known each other for years.”

Gojo’s eyes glinted with interest. “Didn’t think she’d be the type to show up at gigs like this.”

Before Geto could respond, Nanami’s dry voice interjected, always cutting through the tension. “She’s not. She’s the type that shows up for the people she cares about. Not for the show.”

Gojo shot a glance at Nanami, his grin faltering just a bit, before he turned his attention back to Geto, the teasing tone still strong. “So, what, you're being protective now? You sure she’s not just another fan to you?”

Geto’s expression hardened as he shot Gojo a sharp look. “I’m not playing this game with you,” he muttered, voice low but carrying a certain weight. “Don’t mess with her, Gojo. She’s not like the rest.”

Gojo tilted his head, the smirk never leaving his face, but there was something more calculating behind his eyes now. “What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice was teasing, but there was an underlying tension. “You’re really gonna pull the ‘protective’ card on me, Geto? You know I’m not interested in anything that’s gonna get messy.”

Before Geto could respond, Nanami stepped forward, arms folded. “Alright, enough of this,” he said, cutting through the tension between the two with his usual no-nonsense attitude. “We’ve got to pack up. They’re kicking us out in fifteen.”

Gojo raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. But you owe me an answer next time, Geto,” he teased, before stepping back, his voice laced with a lingering challenge.

Geto didn’t respond, his focus entirely on the task at hand. He turned toward the equipment, intent on getting everything ready for the road. But Nanami didn’t let him off the hook so easily.

As Geto gathered his things, Nanami pulled him aside, out of earshot from Gojo. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter, offering them to Geto with a raised brow. “I thought you stopped,” he said, his tone flat but carrying a touch of concern.

Geto took the cigarette with a sharp glance, his face unreadable. He lit it with practiced ease before taking a slow drag, his eyes narrowing as the smoke curled in the air.

“I’m not getting into that now, Nanami,” Geto muttered, exhaling the smoke. “Let’s just pack up.”

Nanami sighed, clearly not buying the explanation but not pressing further. “Alright, man. But you know I’m here if you want to talk.”

“Let’s just get to work,” Geto repeated, his tone closing off any further discussion.

Nanami watched him for a moment, his gaze lingering on Geto’s tense posture before he nodded and turned away. “Fine. But don’t shut everyone out, alright?”

As Geto turned back to finish packing, the weight of his unspoken thoughts settled over him like a dark cloud. The tension in his chest, the old wounds that had never fully healed, and the way Y/N had looked at him tonight—it all felt like too much, too fast. But there was no time to dwell on it now. Not with the band still counting on him.

He crushed out the cigarette, flicking it into the trash with a finality that mirrored the emotions he was trying to bury.

Your POV

The backstage area was a chaotic mix of equipment, empty water bottles, and half-eaten snacks. The air was heavy with the remnants of sweat and adrenaline, and the warm hum of post-performance chatter filled the space. The string lights hanging overhead cast a dim, golden glow, their flickering adding to the room’s lived-in, underground charm.

You walked in with Chanté trailing behind, her excitement practically spilling over as she clutched her phone like a lifeline.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, her eyes darting around like a hawk. “Y/N, do you see him? Nanami is right there. Look at him! He’s just standing there, cleaning his drumsticks like a Greek god.”

You suppress a laugh, nudging her lightly. “Relax, Chanté. He’s just a guy.”

“No,” she hissed, gripping your arm for emphasis. “He’s the guy. And I’m manifesting a conversation. Don’t stop me.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help a small smile. Her enthusiasm was infectious, even if you had other priorities. Your gaze swept the room, searching for a familiar figure.

“Do you see Geto anywhere?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

Chanté barely spared you a glance, too busy angling her phone for what she hoped was a discreet picture of Nanami. “What? Oh, Geto? Nope. But Gojo’s right there.”

She tilted her head toward the corner, and your eyes followed.

Satoru Gojo stood leaning against a wall, his silver hair damp and gleaming under the string lights. He looked effortlessly composed, dressed in a sleeveless black shirt that clung to his lean frame. His voice carried across the room as he laughed at something Shoko had said, the sound deep and magnetic.

Your eyes lingered for a moment too long, and before you could look away, his gaze shifted to you. Piercing blue eyes locked onto yours, and the corners of his mouth quirked up into a small, knowing smile. He said something to Shoko, who glanced your way and smirked before walking off.

And then he was moving toward you.

“Wow,” he said, stopping in front of you, his voice smooth and deliberate. “Suguru didn’t mention his friend was this stunning.”

You raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze without flinching. “And you must be the famous Satoru Gojo.”

Chanté let out a muffled squeal beside you, and you shot her a look that screamed not now.

“The one and only,” he said with a grin, leaning slightly closer. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“It was good,” you replied, keeping your tone measured. “Great, actually. I came to see Suguru, though.”

He hummed, his eyes flicking over your face like he was trying to piece together a puzzle. “Suguru, huh? That explains why you don’t seem too starstruck.”

“Should I be?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

His grin widened. “Only if you have good taste.”

You almost rolled your eyes at his audacity but stopped yourself. There was something undeniably charming about him, even if he was laying it on thick.

Before you could reply, Chanté grabbed your arm. “Oh my God, Nanami’s alone now! This is my chance!”

She didn’t wait for a response, darting off in the direction of the drummer like a woman on a mission.

Gojo chuckled, watching her go. “Your friend’s got guts.”

“She’s persistent,” you said, shaking your head.

He turned his attention back to you, the teasing light in his eyes softening just a fraction. “So, what brings you here, Y/N? Besides Suguru, I mean.”

“I needed to talk to him about some work stuff,” you admitted. “He models for my brand, and we’re prepping for some upcoming shoots.”

“Obsydian, right?” he asked, his voice dropping slightly.

You blinked, surprised. “You know my brand?”

He smirked. “I have good taste, remember? Your designs are hard to miss.”

You didn’t know whether to be flattered or suspicious. “And yet you’re surprised I’m here.”

“Well,” he said, leaning casually against the wall beside you, “someone as polished as you doesn’t exactly scream underground gigs. But I like the contradiction.”

Before you could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps caught your attention. Geto appeared from a side door, his dark hair pulled back into a loose bun, and his gaze immediately found you.

“There you are,” he said, his voice low and steady. His eyes flicked briefly to Gojo, his expression tightening. “I see you’ve met.”

“Getting acquainted,” Gojo said with a grin, pushing off the wall.

Geto stepped closer, his presence grounding in a way that was entirely different from Gojo’s. “You okay?” he asked you directly.

“I’m fine,” you said. “I was looking for you.”

“Good,” he replied, nodding. “I’ll be back in a second. We need to finish packing up.”

As if on cue, Nanami’s voice cut through the room. “We’re on the clock here. They’re kicking us out.”

Geto sighed, glancing at you one last time. “Wait here. I’ll find you when I’m done.”

With that, he walked off toward Nanami, leaving you alone with Gojo once more.

“I could use a hand,” Gojo said suddenly, nodding toward a stack of cables near the stage. “Unless you’ve got somewhere else to be.”

You hesitated for a moment, but curiosity—and maybe a bit of intrigue—got the better of you. “Sure. Why not?”

“Careful,” he teased as you followed him. “Helping out might make you part of the crew.”

Gojo handed you a coil of cables, his movements easy but efficient, like someone who had done this a thousand times. The backstage area was starting to clear out as roadies packed equipment into cases and wheeled them out toward the waiting vans.

You glanced around at the controlled chaos before looking back at him. “So… can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” he said, crouching down to untangle a stubborn knot in a cord.

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “Why do you guys still play underground gigs like this? I mean, you’re obviously growing fast. Your name’s everywhere lately.”

Gojo looked up at you, his piercing blue eyes catching the warm glow of the string lights. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just studied you like you’d asked something deeply personal.

Finally, he leaned back on his heels, his lips curving into a small, thoughtful smile. “Because this is where it started. Where it feels real. Out there,” he gestured toward the empty stage, “you can feel the energy. The rawness of it. These are the people who’ve been with us from the start.”

You nodded, thinking about his words. “But doesn’t it get... limiting? I mean, you’re on the verge of something huge. Bigger venues, bigger crowds. Aren’t you worried about outgrowing this?”

Gojo chuckled, standing up and tossing the cables into a case. “You sound like Nanami.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked, leaning against a nearby speaker.

He gave you a conspiratorial smile. “He’s always on my case about logistics. Bigger venues, tighter schedules, all that. But music isn’t just logistics. It’s about moments. Nights like this. You don’t get the same vibe playing at some sanitized corporate arena.”

You tilted your head, considering his perspective. “I guess that makes sense. Obsydian started small, too. There’s something special about those early days, even if they’re chaotic.”

“Obsydian,” Gojo repeated, his voice dropping slightly as he tested the word on his tongue. “You know, I can see it now. Your designs have that same raw, unapologetic energy.”

You raised an eyebrow, fighting the urge to smirk. “Raw and unapologetic, huh?”

He leaned against the speaker beside you, close but not overstepping. “Absolutely. It’s got edge, but it’s refined. Like you know exactly what you’re doing but don’t care if it makes people uncomfortable.”

That caught you off guard, his insight sharper than you expected. “Not bad for a guy who spends his nights screaming into a mic.”

He laughed, the sound warm and rich, before giving you a playful nudge. “You’re underestimating me. I’ve got layers.”

“Do you now?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“More than you’d think,” he said, his tone half-teasing but with an undercurrent of sincerity.

The moment hung between you, charged but easy, until Chanté’s voice broke through.

“Y/N! I just got a picture with Nanami!” she squealed, waving her phone as she practically skipped toward you. “And he smiled at me. Smiled. Do you know how rare that is?”

You bit back a laugh, shaking your head. “Congrats, Chanté. Sounds like your night’s made.”

“It so is,” she gushed, barely noticing Gojo until she finally turned to him. “Oh! You’re Gojo. You guys were amazing tonight!”

“Thanks,” he said smoothly, flashing her his signature grin.

“Alright, we should go,” you said, giving Chanté a pointed look. “You’ve got your picture, and I’ve got work tomorrow.”

“Work? Already?” Gojo asked, his gaze sliding back to you.

“Running a brand doesn’t stop,” you replied lightly.

He gave a low whistle, clearly impressed. “Guess I’ll have to catch you next time, then.”

You glanced at him, noting the way his smile held just a hint of challenge. “Maybe,” you said, turning toward the door with Chanté. “If I’m not too busy.”

As you walked away, you could feel his eyes on you, his presence lingering even as the chaos of the backstage began to fade into the night.

As you walked toward the exit, you could feel Gojo’s gaze trailing after you. Even with the din of backstage chatter and equipment being packed away, his attention was tangible, almost magnetic. Chanté rambled excitedly beside you about her brief interaction with Nanami, but your mind wandered back to the casual yet electric exchange with Gojo.

Behind you, Gojo leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you disappear into the night.

“Interesting,” he muttered to himself, more amused than anything.

But curiosity quickly turned into action. Pushing off the wall, he strolled over to where Geto and Nanami stood, still packing up.

Geto was busy coiling a cable, his shirt still unbuttoned, exposing the tattoos that had drawn so much attention earlier. Nanami had already slipped into his usual blazer, somehow looking more like a corporate worker than a rock band drummer.

Gojo’s voice broke the relative silence. “Hey, Nanami. Got a sec?”

Nanami gave him a sidelong glance but kept folding a drum stand into its case. “What do you want, Gojo?”

“I need a favor.”

Nanami paused, glancing at him fully now. “I’m not buying you another round of drinks.”

“Not that,” Gojo said, his grin widening. “The girl who was just here—Y/N, right? Can I get her number?”

The request earned a sharp look from Geto, who froze mid-motion. His expression darkened, though he quickly masked it by turning back to the cable in his hands.

Nanami, however, sighed and shook his head. “Why would I have her number?”

“Don’t lie, Nanami,” Gojo teased. “I saw you two talking after the show. You’ve got it.”

Nanami rolled his eyes and tossed the folded stand into a nearby case. “Even if I did, why would I give it to you?”

“Because I’m charming and trustworthy?” Gojo offered, grinning as he held out his phone.

“Because you’re a pain in my ass,” Nanami muttered, grabbing Gojo’s phone and quickly typing something in.

Satisfied, Gojo took back the device, inspecting the contact information like it was some kind of trophy. “Appreciate it. You’re a real team player, Nanami.”

Nanami didn’t reply, already moving to pack up another piece of equipment.

Geto’s voice cut through the moment, low and edged. “How do you even know her?”

Gojo blinked, looking between the two of them. “I don’t—yet. That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

Nanami shot Geto a pointed look but said nothing, choosing to ignore the question as he focused on packing.

Suguru’s jaw tightened as he turned his attention back to his work, his movements more forceful than necessary.

“Anyway,” Gojo continued, blissfully unaware—or pretending to be—of the tension brewing. “Guess I’ll see where this goes.”

Suguru didn’t reply, but the glare he sent Nanami’s way was impossible to miss.

Your POV

The night air was crisp as you stepped out of the venue with Chanté, the muffled sounds of the bustling Tokyo streets creating a comforting backdrop. Chanté was practically glowing, still riding the high of her Nanami encounter.

“I swear, Y/N, I felt him smile in my soul,” she gushed, clutching her phone like a sacred artifact. “He’s got that ‘mysterious but secretly sweet’ vibe. You think he’s single?”

You gave her a side-eye, smirking. “You’re really asking me? I thought you’d already planned your wedding.”

“I have,” she declared dramatically. “He just doesn’t know it yet.”

Shaking your head, you adjusted the strap of your bag, your mind drifting back to the band—specifically, the enigmatic mix of personalities that was Exxor.

It wasn’t your first time watching Geto perform, but something about tonight felt different. Maybe it was seeing him in his element, effortlessly commanding attention with every note he played. Or maybe it was the unspoken tension between you, still unresolved after everything.

And then there was Gojo. His confidence bordered on arrogance, but there was something undeniably intriguing about him. The way he looked at you, like he was already piecing together your story, left an impression you couldn’t shake.

“You’re quiet,” Chanté noted, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Just thinking,” you said, offering her a small smile.

“About Geto?” she asked knowingly, nudging you with her elbow.

You hesitated, considering how much to say. “Not just him.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Wait, is this about Gojo? The fine-as-hell lead singer with the eyes?”

“Chanté,” you warned, but your laugh betrayed you.

“I knew it!” she exclaimed. “Girl, if you don’t slide in there, I swear—”

You groaned, cutting her off. “It’s not like that. I was just helping him pack up. That’s all.”

“Mhm,” she said, clearly unconvinced.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. As much as you wanted to focus on business—on why you’d come to the show in the first place—there was no denying the spark of something new.

Whether it was curiosity, intrigue, or something else entirely, you weren’t sure. But something told you this wouldn’t be the last time you crossed paths with Satoru Gojo.

Suguru's POV

The night had rolled into an easy rhythm, the adrenaline of the show still hanging in the air. Gojo, ever the social butterfly, was buzzing around, chatting with everyone, including you. His flirtations were obvious, but he wore them like a badge of honor, no shame in the way he leaned toward you, his bright grin aimed squarely at you.

Suguru watched it all unfold, his guitar case still gripped tightly in his hands as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded. He hadn’t expected tonight to hit him this hard. It wasn’t even the playful banter between you and Gojo—it was the way Gojo looked at you. Like he saw something worth pursuing. Suguru hadn’t been prepared for that.

Gojo’s voice cut through his thoughts as he sauntered over to Geto, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Yo, Geto," Gojo grinned, that familiar cocky smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "You mind giving me her number?"

Suguru blinked, a subtle tension pulling at his jaw. He knew exactly who Gojo was talking about. And Gojo—of all people—had the audacity to ask? Suguru’s fingers clenched harder around his guitar case, his muscles coiling like a snake ready to strike.

But Geto didn’t even look up. He didn’t acknowledge Gojo’s request, not even a twitch. Suguru could feel the faint sting of frustration in the air—the unspoken tension—before Geto slowly turned his gaze toward the stage. He wasn’t going to answer.

Gojo, always persistent, didn’t take the silent rejection to heart. Instead, his attention shifted to Nanami, who had been standing quietly at the side, observing the scene with his usual calm demeanor.

“Yo, Nanami,” Gojo called, his voice oozing with that playful charm that Suguru hated to see directed at you. “You got her number?”

Nanami, ever the mediator, glanced at Suguru for a brief moment, and Suguru’s heart skipped a beat. Nanami’s eyes flicked back to Gojo, and for the slightest second, Suguru could have sworn he saw something like pity in his gaze. But Nanami only shrugged, exhaling sharply before pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“I guess I can’t stop you from pestering me.” Nanami handed Gojo the phone with a small, wry smile, tapping in a few digits before passing it over.

Suguru’s stomach twisted in a way he wasn’t sure how to process. He hadn’t expected Nanami to cave, though a part of him knew—deep down—that Nanami probably saw it coming. The connection between Gojo and you, the chemistry that was undeniable, had already sparked something in Nanami. He probably knew it was only a matter of time before Gojo made a move.

But Suguru? He wasn’t ready for this. Not yet.

Gojo’s eyes lit up when he received the number, like a kid who’d just been handed the keys to a treasure chest. “Thanks, man,” he said with a grin that stretched a little too wide, a grin that made Suguru’s insides churn.

Suguru’s gaze narrowed, and the pit of his stomach tightened painfully as he watched Gojo dial your number. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, even though every part of him screamed to look away. His breath caught when Gojo’s finger hovered over the send button. It wasn’t just Gojo getting your number that burned. It was everything about it—about how easy it was for him, how much he didn’t have to fight for it, how easily Gojo could slip into your world.

Without a word, Suguru’s eyes flicked toward Nanami. But the second he did, he felt it—the weight of that glance.

Nanami didn’t meet Suguru’s gaze directly. He didn’t need to. Suguru could already feel the weight of the decision, the unspoken words hanging between them. He knew Nanami wasn’t going to pull back. Nanami wasn’t the type to make things more complicated than they had to be, especially now. Suguru had made his choices, after all.

But that didn’t stop the flash of anger from crossing Suguru’s face. It wasn’t just frustration with Gojo. It was with himself—his own lack of action, his inability to fight for what he wanted when he still could. Instead, he had let the distance grow between him and you until it felt like the gap couldn’t be bridged.

The moment Nanami handed over your number, Suguru’s glare shot across the room, landing squarely on Nanami. It wasn’t just anger that was there; it was hurt—raw, unrefined—lingering in the back of Suguru’s chest.

Nanami, to his credit, didn’t back down. He met Suguru’s gaze with nothing but calm. But Suguru could see it in his eyes—his understanding.

The intensity of the moment hung heavy in the air, like the calm before a storm. Suguru’s heart was racing, but he kept his thoughts to himself, knowing that showing even a hint of vulnerability in front of Nanami wasn’t something he could afford right now. Not when everything felt like it was slipping through his fingers.

The low hum of the backstage area faded as everyone scrambled to pack up their instruments. Nanami was the first to fold up his guitar case, methodically, as always. Shoko was already off to the side, gathering the gear for the bass, her eyes scanning the group.

"You know," Shoko said, her voice bright but laced with a hint of sarcasm, "we should hit up a bar. It’s been a long night. Celebrate the show, yeah?"

Gojo grinned, eyes lighting up at the prospect of more fun. "Hell yeah, I know a great lounge. It’s got this chill vibe, great drinks, and the crowd’s always perfect."

Shoko rolled her eyes, nudging him with her shoulder. “Of course you know a ‘great lounge,’ Gojo. You probably know the bartender by name.”

"I mean, what can I say?" Gojo shrugged, not an ounce of shame on his face. "I’ve got connections."

“Oh please,” Shoko muttered, laughing as she made a show of checking her watch. “We’re really doing this? You guys can’t be serious about hitting up some lounge after this?”

Suguru, who had been standing quietly to the side, watching the back-and-forth like it was a familiar routine, exhaled sharply. He hadn’t been in the mood for loud, crowded places tonight. All he wanted was to be alone, to finally breathe. The energy in the room felt suffocating, thick with unspoken words and the weight of his own internal struggle.

Without saying a word, he grabbed his jacket and slipped out of the room, ignoring the playful arguing behind him. He didn’t need to be part of that right now. The cool night air hit him as he stepped outside, the city lights flickering against the darkness. He lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around him, offering a brief moment of clarity.

As he took a long drag, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out absently, fingers numb from the cold. The message on his screen made his stomach drop.

It was nice to see you, Su...

The familiar words hit him like a punch to the gut. Su. The name you’d used for him ever since the day you’d learned his full name—when the two of you had crossed that invisible line from friends with benefits into something more complicated. Something deeper. And now it was just… Su. Nothing more.

Suguru's chest tightened, a bitter wave of nausea rising as he stared at the screen. He could practically hear your voice saying it—soft, warm, a bit teasing—but now? It felt like something was slipping through his fingers, and he couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t change it.

It was too much.

He gripped the phone in his hand, staring at your name, your number blinking back at him, and it all just felt so fucking heavy. The way you’d once looked at him, the way you’d smiled, and now, it was all just... too far gone. And yet here it was, the ghost of the past knocking at his door, reminding him of everything he had let slip away.

A pang of regret twisted deep in his gut. He couldn’t help but feel that everything had spiraled out of control the moment he cut things off with you, like he’d slammed the door shut on something that could’ve been worth holding onto.

Suguru took another drag of his cigarette, trying to push the bitter taste of your message down. But it was impossible. It felt like a weight on his chest, something he couldn’t shake.

He didn’t want to be the guy who still thought about you. Didn’t want to be that person, but here he was, replaying every word you’d ever said to him, every look, every fucking touch. And it hurt, more than he wanted to admit.

He felt the vibration of his phone again, and for a split second, he thought it might be you. But when he checked it, it was just Gojo, sending him a text about the bar they were heading to. The group was already on their way out.

Suguru quickly pocketed his phone, stubbing out the cigarette on the pavement. He didn’t feel like heading to the bar anymore, didn’t feel like being surrounded by the noise, the fun.

He stood for a moment longer, letting the cold air fill his lungs before he finally turned back toward the venue, following the others inside. The buzzing sound of the city drowned out as he walked through the back door, the familiar chatter and laughter of the group slowly pulling him back into the moment. But inside, it was different. He could feel it—how disconnected he was from everyone, from everything.

And then he saw Gojo, flashing that grin, the same easygoing charm that made everyone gravitate toward him. Suguru couldn’t help but think about how easily Gojo moved through the world. How effortlessly Gojo could get you—get anyone—without a second thought.

He didn’t need to look at Nanami to know that he could see the shift in Suguru, the subtle tension that had settled into his posture, the way he suddenly couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Suguru let out a shaky breath, forcing a smile onto his face as he slipped into the group’s banter, pushing the thoughts of you and your message to the back of his mind, at least for now. But as they all headed to the lounge, he couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight, everything was about to change.

Suguru walked through the quiet streets, the weight of the night pressing down on him. He should have gone to the bar with the others, should have stayed with the group, but his mind was too heavy, and his chest too tight. The thoughts of you, that message, all of it—it felt like the world had tilted and he was hanging on by a thread, one that was too thin to keep his grip on.

When he reached his apartment, he didn’t even bother to turn on the lights. The darkness felt more comfortable, the shadows wrapping around him like a familiar embrace. The door clicked shut behind him, and he walked straight to the balcony, the cool air outside welcoming him.

He slid the door open and stepped outside, the night almost too still, too quiet. He needed a moment to breathe, to clear his head. He lit a cigarette, the flame flickering briefly before the smoke began to curl in the night air. Suguru leaned against the balcony railing, looking out over the city, the faint hum of distant cars and the occasional shout of someone drunk on a Thursday night. The lights of the city were distant and cold, the buzz of the world outside not quite matching the chaos inside his head.

The words you’d sent him earlier replayed in his mind, echoing in his thoughts like a broken record. It was nice to see you, Su... The name you’d called him since university days, a nickname that felt too tender now, too intimate. Su... He could hear it in his mind, the way you said it, soft and sweet, like it still meant something.

He ran a hand through his hair, staring out at the skyline, trying to push the thoughts of you away. He should’ve texted you back, told you something, anything, about how he felt. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It had been too long since he'd let himself go there—since he'd let himself feel something real. And now... now it was too late. Or at least, that’s how it felt.

His thumb hovered over the screen of his phone, lingering over your name, the temptation to send something just to hear your voice, to feel that connection again, nearly suffocating. But he didn’t.

Instead, he took another drag from his cigarette, the smoke leaving his lungs, his eyes stinging slightly from the burn. The song playing faintly from the apartment next door—Thursday by The Weeknd—reached his ears, the melancholic lyrics almost matching the mood swirling inside of him.

It was Thursday night, nearly Friday morning. His body was telling him to sleep, but his mind was telling him to stay awake, to keep thinking about everything that had happened, everything that was still unsaid. But sleep would have to come soon. He couldn’t stay awake forever, especially when he knew he'd have to face you soon anyway.

Suguru took one last drag, the ember of the cigarette glowing faintly as he let the smoke trail into the night. He exhaled slowly, staring at the city below, lost in his thoughts.

The cigarette burned down to the filter, and Suguru flicked it into the darkness below, stepping back inside and shutting the door behind him. He glanced at the clock—almost 2 AM. He needed sleep, but his mind was still too full. Still too tangled in everything that was unresolved.

As he crawled into bed, his phone buzzed again, and for a brief moment, he thought it might be you. But it wasn’t. It was just the group chat, messages from Nanami and Gojo about the bar plans. He stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the message, but he didn’t respond. He couldn’t. He was too tired to think about anything else, too tangled in the quiet ache of wanting something he wasn’t sure he could have anymore.

[bteezxyewriter12]

Panic

Pairing- Seonghwa x Named Reader

Word count- 3.5k

Includes- dystopian zombie apocalypse AU, wild sex, oral, pussy eating, cum eating, missionary, sex from behind, cock riding, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, fluff

Tag List- @mingtina @jaxminnie @yeosayang @delightfulmoonbanana @tannie13 @y00nzin0 @marsstarxhwa

@yeosxxx @seokwoosmole @jjongsbebe @wisejudgedragonhairdo @meowmeowminnie @woo-stars @borntowalkaway @usagionthered @san-realblkwife @seonghwasstar @jejeyeppeo @soulseobi05 @kpop-bambi @prayerofthehaim @realisticnotes @pinkies-things @insomniacatiny @stephy-nicole13 @mknae-jongho @bykeynote

Masterlists- check out for more fics

📝Masterlists 📝ATEEZ Masterlist 📝Seonghwa Masterlist

J POV

"Jo come away from the window", Seonghwa calls from his spot on the couch

I look over at him incredulously

I can't believe how he's just sitting there like we didn't just run for our lives and barricaded ourselves in this house

As if we didn't see our friends die over the course of two fucking weeks

"I'm checking that we're safe", I tell him

"We are", he answers, "I made sure everything is locked and I put furniture in front of the doors like you asked"

Of course I asked him to do that

A door can be broken into

"Move from the window"

I can't believe how stoic he is

I mean he's always been like that, keeping his emotions to himself, blank looks on his face, never speaking more than he needs to

It's what made me vow to never tell him how I really feel about him

I've seen girls confess their feelings to him and he just stood there with no emotion, thanked them for telling him then saying he didn't feel the same

I can't handle him doing the same to me so I just keep quiet about my feelings

Aside from that I've gotten used to how he is over the years we've been best friends

But this is different

"Seonghwa, I'm making sure nothing comes close to the house. I'm watching so we can run if we need to. So we don't die"

I'm panicking but hell, I'm always the emotional one in this friendship

"We're not going to die", he says emotionlessly

"Are you kidding? We're in a fucking zombie apocalypse Seonghwa! We saw shit that we've seen in movies right in front of us. Did you forget that a zombie killed Hongjoong?"

"Of course I didn't forget", he says, rolling his eyes, "But watching at a window isn't going to do anything"

And I just explode

"My god Seonghwa!", I yell, moving to him and standing in front of him, "Don't you care that we could die?"

"Of course I care"

"You don't fucking act like it! You act like all this doesn't bother you"

He glares up at me, "What do you want me to do? Panic? How is that supposed to help anything?"

"It's not!", I shout, "But it would help to show that you actually gave a fuck. It would show some solidarity for our shitty situation!"

He just stares at me, "Is that what you want? You want me to panic?"

Realistically no because I know that it's not going to help

But right now I'm terrified and I want to know if he is too

"Yes!", I shout

"Fine", he growls, standing up

The next thing I know, he pulls me to him, his lips crashing into mine

My head spins as I grab on to his shirt, the world tilting as I kiss him back

It takes me a second to realize what's going on

That Seonghwa is kissing me

And he's good at it

"What", I say, pulling back in complete shock, "What are you doing?"

"Panicking", he murmurs, pulling me back to his lips, kissing me wildly

And I just let go, throwing all caution to the wind

We might die soon

I might as well be with the man I love once

His hands move down to my jeans, undoing the button and zipper

And that action causes a frenzy, both of taking clothes off each other

I get him naked but before I can look at him he pushes me onto the couch, his hands on my shirt, ripping it down the middle

Oh my god, that's fucking hot

His hands grab the front of my bra, pulling and ripping it apart, then he shoves the tattered remains of my shirt and bra off

He does the same to my panties, ripping the sides and throwing the pieces on the floor

His eyes roam my body, breathing hard, his hands touching every inch of skin, lighting me on fire

"Fuck, you're so beautiful", he murmurs, "So much more than I imagined"

Did he say.. imagine?

What the hell?

His hands open my legs, biting his bottom lip as he looks at my pussy

"So small", he says, touching me, his fingers running along my slit

"Fuck Hwa", I whimper, finally looking at his body

And proceed to choke on air

His body is amazing, muscular chest, arms and abs, like he was sculpted by God

I get an eyeful of his cock, gaping at how big, thick and utterly hard he is

His hand moves away from me but before I can even utter a sound, his face is between my legs, licking my pussy hungrily

"Oh my god Hwa!", I cry in pleasure

"So good", he moans into my pussy, his tongue running up and down quickly, "Fuck, I knew you'd taste this good. Fuck, I knew it"

"You...you knew?", I ask, befuddled and in such bliss, my hand grabbing his long black hair on its own

"I knew", he groans, his tongue licking my hole then sliding inside

"Fuck", I cry, my cunt clenching around his tongue as he lets out the loudest pornographic moan I ever heard

His fingers are gripping my thighs so hard, his tongue wiggling in my hole so pleasurably

"Gonna fuck this pussy so good", he whines, fucking his tongue in and out, my pussy spasming each time

As he tongue fucks me, his fingers move to my clit, rubbing in circles, increasing the pleasure

"Seonghwa, oh my god"

I've never been eaten out this good in my fucking life

"Please baby, cream my tongue", he begs, now thrusting his tongue in my hole as deep as he can, swirling it around before he pulls out

"Oh fuck", I cry, moving my hip and grinding against his face

"Mmm hmmm fuck my face baby", he moans, "God, want you to soak my face"

I'm doing just that, the movements of his hand and tongue sending me head first into an amazing orgasm

"Seonghwa! Seonghwa!", I cry in bliss, my entire body shaking, his tongue not stopping

"Yes, so good", he groans between tongue thrusts, "Pussy cream so good. So sweet"

I can't say a word, too caught up in the bliss

Seonghwa doesn't give me a break switching his movements

His tongue slides up, licking and rolling over my clit while two of his fingers push into my pussy

"Fuck, pussy so tight", he murmurs against my clit, the vibrations of his voice sending pleasure up my spine, "Can wait to feel you around my cock"

Oh my god, I can't wait for that either

His fingers wiggle in my cunt, pressing around as the tip of his tongue massages my clit

I'm in so much pleasure, tears are pooling in my eyes and he hasn't even fucked me yet

His fingers press a spot that has me seeing stars, my cunt completely drenching his hand

"There it is", he murmurs, pulling his fingers out then slamming them back into that spot

I cry out in bliss, his mouth wrapping around my clit and sucking hard as he finger fucks me at the same time

I don't know how he can make me feel this good but I'm so glad he is

Each suck has me clenching tightly around his fingers, each hit to my spot has my body shaking, my hand pulling his hair hard

"Mmm baby, your clit is so good to suck on", he moans, doing just that, "Throbbing so hard for me. And this pretty cunt clenching my fingers hard. Gonna cum for me again?"

"Yes Hwa", I whimper, "Suck harder baby"

He does, throwing me into intense bliss as I cum, screaming his name

He sucks and fingers me though the orgasm, tears escaping from the sheer pleasure I'm experiencing

When it's over, I just lay there in a daze

His fingers pull out, his tongue licking my pussy clean

He sits up and I look at him, my cheeks heating up from how wet his face is, covered in juice and cum

He just smirks at me, putting his fingers in his mouth and sucking

"So good baby", he tells me

He wipes his face then moves my legs around him

He leans over me, his lips against mine, kissing me as his cock pushes inside me

I gasp against his lips, my body arching as I feel him stretch me open on his dick

I can feel every fat inch, every ridge sliding in, making me shiver

His arm moves around my waist, holding me against him as he bottoms out, moaning in my mouth, my pussy clenching around him hard

His lips don't leave mine as he pulls his cock out then thrusts back in to the hilt

I moan into the kiss, pleasure seizing my body as he begins to pound hard into me

"Oh fuck", he murmurs, dragging kisses down to my neck, his hips moving at a speed I didn't think possible, "Fuck, so tight. So fucking wet"

I just moan, not able to talk from the sheer bliss, his cock fucking my pussy wide open

"I make you this wet?"

"Yes", I manage to get out, my hands on his back, my fingers digging into his skin, loving the feeling of his muscles moving as he fucks the life from me

"All for me?", he whines, his hands groping my ass, the sound of my cunt squelching around his cock so fucking loud

I should be embarrassed about how loud it is but right now I don't give a fuck

"Yes", I moan, tears running down my face as I gasp for breath

I squeeze my legs around his waist, his cock rubbing against my spot with each stroke

"You're pussy feels so good", he groans, "So fucking good"

Well I'm glad he likes it

It would totally suck if he didn't

"Is my cock making you feel good?", he asks shyly, "Is it good enough for you?"

Abso-fucking-loutely

"Yes", I yell, "Fuck yes Hwa"

"Are you sure? Wanna be good for you"

I honestly can't believe this is Seonghwa, my stoic best friend, asking me this

"I'm sure", I moan, "You feel amazing Hwannie"

He moans in my neck, the sound so beautiful, his fingers digging into my ass cheeks as he ruthlessly fucks me

"Such a big dick baby", I praise him, "So hard for me"

"Always jagi", he whimpers, "I'm always hard for you. Fuck, the littlest things you do turn me on. I'm always hard around you. You don't know how many times I had to hide it from you"

Well he did a fucking good job because I never noticed

"You don't know how much I wanted just throw you on the nearest surface and fuck you into oblivion", he growls, each stroke making my cunt clench down hard around him, his pelvis rubbing against my clit, bringing me closer and closer, "Wanted to taste you pussy so badly. It took everything in me to not drop to my knees in front out you and beg to eat your pussy"

I'm completely shocked

He never even gave a hint that he felt that way

"I dreamed about making you cum for me", he says in a strangled voice, "All over my face, all over my tongue, all over my cock. Fuck wanted you feel you cum on my dick for so long"

"Hwannie", I whine, his words and movements driving me so close

"Do you want to cum on my cock?"

"Yes, Seonghwa yes!"

"Then cum for me jagi", he begs, "Please baby, please"

He drives his cock in, fucking me right into a mind blowing orgasm, wave after wave of bliss crashing into me

"Seonghwa!", I cry, my body arching into his, my nails digging in his back, my cunt throbbing around him

It's so fucking good, so good

He moans in my neck, his hips not stopping, fucking me through the amazing orgasm

When it's over, he pulls out, flipping me over to my hands and knees, his head poking in my hole

"Again, fuck, I need to feel that again", he pleads, sliding his hard cock, back inside me

"You...you liked it?"

"Love it. Feels so good", he corrects, his hands slowly moving up my back, his hips grinding into me so his head rubs my spot

I feel his soft lips on my back, kissing slowly, following the path his fingers are taking

His moves over me, his chest against my back, one of his arms around my waist holding me in place

He pulls out, the drag of his cock sending pleasure up my spine

He surges back in, burying his cock in so deep, I feel him in my stomach

The pleasure increases as he moves, his cock stretching me wide open

"Fuck you're perfect for me", he whispers, "Your pussy was made for my cock"

It seems so

His big, I'm small but my pussy takes him all in and it feels so good

There's no pain, it's not uncomfortable, it's blissful

"You feel it too right?", he murmurs, his hips rolling into me, driving his cock in, forcing me open again and again, "You feel how perfect we are together? How we're meant for each other?"

"Yes", I gasp, my head in the clouds, my body shaking with each thrust, "Yes Hwa"

"Fuck, you're getting so tight", he groans, my cunt indeed pulsing very hard and quickly around his length, "Gonna cum for me again?"

I nod, not able to speak as his next thrust sends me right into incredible bliss

"Seonghwa", I whimper, my mind turning off while I cum on his cock

"Yes baby", he groans, keeping his entire cock inside me, grinding into me, "Feels so good, fuck"

As soon as the pleasure is over, I move forward, off his dick

"Jagi-"

"Gonna ride you", I tell him, turning around

His eyes widen as he nods

I lean forward, kissing him softly, his mouth moving eagerly against mine

"Lay down for me", I ask, in between kisses

He sits back, pulling me in his lap, then continues to slide down the couch until his head is against the arm of the couch, his lips never leaving mine

Straddling him, I move his length to my entrance and start taking him inside me

I push down, my cunt so drenched it takes just seconds to bottom him out

Like my pussy knows he belongs inside

Breaking the kiss, I sit up, his beautiful brown eyes staring at me

"You're so fucking beautiful", he says softly as his hands slide up and down my thighs

I smile shyly at the words I've always wanted to hear him say

"You are too Hwannie"

He's fucking gorgeous

And so hot with his hair full of sweat, his body glistening in it, his lips puffy from all the kissing

He smiles softly, both of us starting at each other until I realize I'm supposed to be riding him

Leaning my hands on his rock hard abs, I start moving, bouncing on his cock, starting off slow and getting faster with each move

"Oh fuck", he groans, his eyes moving to my boobs that happen to be bouncing in his face

His hands wrap around them, squeezing, fingers running over my nipples

Each touch of my nipples sends more pleasure down to my pussy, making me even wetter

His eyes drop to my pussy, biting his bottom lip as he groans

"Like what you see?", I ask

He nods, his eyes glued to my pussy fucking his cock

"Tell me what you see", I ask breathlessly, riding him harder

"You're pussy is so pretty wrapped around my cock", he murmurs, "Pussy lips so swollen, holding my dick between them"

"Mmm", I groan, moving so hard I'm jumping up and down his length, my pussy choking his cock

"Your clit is so swollen, throbbing", he continues in a mesmerized voice, "Your hole spreads so wide from me, swallowing all of me"

I know, I can feel that

And it feels incredible

My pussy loved his cock, sucking him in every bounce down, grinding on his head

His cock throbs inside me and it feels so good

"You're creaming my cock like I've never seen before. It's all over my cock and leaking onto my lap. It's so fucking pretty, decorating my cock", he praises, "Making a creamy ring at the base of my dick. God I love seeing it. Love feeling you"

"Seonghwa", I moan, his words, his voice driving me crazy

He sits up slightly, his mouth moving around my nipple, sucking softly

Pleasure zaps down my body, my cunt drenching his cock more

"Fuck, everything on you tastes so good", he moans, letting go of my nipples, his tongue sliding up between my boobs, licking the sweat there, "So good"

I keep fucking myself on his cock, my hand sliding in the back of his hair, fingers tangling in it

His mouth wraps around my other nipple, sucking harshly

"Everything on you is so good to suck on", he says between sucks, "Your skin, your nipples, your clit. Fuck, I could suck on your clit all day"

And I would definitely let him

My cunt pulses quickly, making him groan, "You're gonna cum"

"Soon", I agree, his cock feeling so good moving inside me

"Please"

"I will", I promise, "But I want you to fill my pussy too"

He groans around my nipple, "You want my cum inside you?"

"Yes Hwa", I moan, wanting nothing but that, "Can you?"

He nods, "Yes baby. Fuck, wanna cum in your pussy"

"Then cum for me", I ask him, slamming down, an earth shattering orgasm taking over, ecstacy plunging into every inch of my body

I hear him moaning around my nipple, his cock throbbing, his warm cum spilling in my cunt

We moan each other's names, his mouth sucking on my nipple periodically between groans, his skin shivering

I feel so full of him, his cum and I love it

I've never felt so satisfied after sex as I do right now

When the pleasure fades, his arms move around my back, holding me against him as he lays back down

"That was you panicking?", I ask, out of breath, laying my head on his chest

"Yeah", he murmurs, nuzzling against the top of my head

"I don't get it", I tell him

"I know you don't", he says softly, running his fingers in my hair, "I've never told you"

What is he talking about?

I said panic not be cryptic

"Told me what?", I ask, tilting my head back, looking at him

His eyes meet mine and my heart pounds at the emotion I see there

"That I'm completely in love with you"

My brain malfunctions as I take his words in

"What?"

"I have loved you for as long as I can remember", he says softly, "And I'm trying to keep calm for you, trying to figure out what to do to keep you safe because you mean everything to me"

I honestly had no idea this is how tonight would turn out

I had no clue he felt this way

"The truth is I've been panicking ever since this apocalypse started. I've worried everyday about how I'm going to keep you alive. Today was too close"

He's right about that

Him, Hongjoong and I were out scavenging for food when we ran into a group of zombies

One killed Hongjoong and I was so horrified at what was happening, I wasn't paying attention

A zombie knocked me to the ground and was on top of me trying to bite me but I held it back

Seonghwa threw it off me, got me up and we ran

We didn't stop until we got to this house

"Because of today, I have spent the last few hours panicking over us dying without you ever knowing how much I love you", he murmurs, "Panicking over us dying and never being together at least once"

Looking at him, I'm awed at the emotion I've never seen on his face

Lifting my head, I gently touch his face and press a kiss to his lips

"I love you Seonghwa", I tell him, surprised on his face, "I always have"

He smiles and it's so stunning, it takes my breath away"

"I love you", he says and I let the words I've always wanted to hear from him wash over me

"Hwa, as long as we're together we'll be ok", I tell him, "We watch out for each other, we keep each other alive. We find a place where other people are and we stay there. Live there. Together"

He nods, "Always together"

"Promise?"

"Yeah jagi. Promise"

I smile, so happy that I finally have my Hwannie

Yeah it sucks that we're in a zombie apocalypse but I believe that as long as we're together we'll survive

He kisses my forehead, then smirks at me

"Panic with me again?", he asks

I nod, giggling, "Yeah"

His mouth is against mine again, kissing me wildly, urgently and I fall into him

[inklore]

forbidden cravings

premise: stay in your room; that's all you had to do. a simple demand that you planned on following until something goes bump in the night and you're trapped between two monsters.

pairing: vampire!din djarin x reader x vampire!bo-katan kryze

word count: 5k

contents: blood and biting obviously, oral, threats, murder mention, reader is a little clueless, power imbalance, bo is kinda evil but we love her for it, brief mention of piv.

note: this took me way too long to write and by the end of it i was very tired so hopefully someone out there enjoys this lmao. i could possibly see myself writing more within this little world, maybe.

haunted hoedown day five.

You had never noticed how creaky the house was until tonight. Until you were stuck in a dark, dampened room. Your only light coming from the candle at your bedside, the moon, and the flashes of lightening through the windows. The deep red drapes that match the ones that hang around the four poster bed in the middle of the room, that look ancient and eerie, set your already on edge nerves into a frenzy of fight of flight.

You had dusted this room many times. Have been past the threshold and seen it painted in the daylight. 

But never at night. 

You were prohibited from being here past nightfall. 

The master of the house—your boss—had made it clear upon your first interview a year ago that you’d only be needed in the daytime. That staying after nightfall was not something he needed you around for, and it would be of best interest to the house if you departed once the sun set. 

It’s a rule you questioned little. A rule you were fine and happy to obey. 

It wasn’t your job to question it. It wasn’t your place. 

You were the housekeeper, nothing else. Nothing less. Nothing more. 

And you’d never think of going against the lord of the manor, Din Djarin. 

The infamous inventor. 

The mysterious scholar.

The man with whom you’ve slowly bloomed a friendship with while you’ve worked here. The two of you have spent hours in his library with your fingertips, running along old books, relics he’s come across in his travels, and blue prints for inventions he one day wishes to create. 

The pair of you bonding over the love of old words and worlds you wish you could have been a part of. 

Working for him and being in his home—the dark gray spiraling staircases, the arched doorways, the black and red wallpaper that look hundreds of years old and yet look like they’d just been done yesterday—was a joy. 

A better job than working at the mill or getting by on your looks alone to put food on the table. 

You lucked out. Was honored to get the position and even more honored to befriend the destinguishinly handsome Lord Djarin. 

His staff soon became like a second family to you. A home away from home—a much more beautiful and sprawling home than your own, but a home in all senses of the word. 

Not even the curfew could dampen your love or the job. 

The only thorn in your side, the only downfall—negativity—to working for the Lord was his companion, his wife, Lady Kryze. 

While most days, the two of you would rarely cross paths. Her off on travel, or in the west wing of the house that you seldom find yourself in. 

But when appearance’s were known, brief or not, she always had a look of haughtiness about her. Her red hair laying perfectly on her shoulders, and her dresses always form fitting and beautifully cascading to the floor. The neck line plunged lower than what’s usually considered proper—that always made your cheeks heat when you found yourself rudely staring, a smirk on her lips that quickly got washed away with a scornful arch of her brows. 

She had never been rude to you. Had never demanded of you or treated you unkindly the way one would think when you looked at her intimidatingly beautiful face. The power you know she held with just a look, a twitch of a smile, or the flick of her fingers. 

She was the opposite of Lord Djarin. 

The two seeming an odd match for two people destined to be together. 

Your schoolgirl crush on the Lord of the Manor definitely having little to do with your opinion on the fact. 

It had been Lady Kryze who had suggested you stay. Almost demanding it, with the weather outside being too dangerous to travel. The winds whistling through the old bones of the house. The rain coming down like heavy hail. The thunder that you could feel deep in your bones each time it rumbled. 

Lord Djarin had protested on the matter. Said you could wait out the storm but insisted you leave after. 

“Don’t be rude, honey.” Lady Kryze had said. The sentiment, honey, came off more as an insult than as something sweet and tender. The look on the Lord’s face one of strain and frustration. A warning flashed in his eyes before he gave you a tight lipped smile and nodded in agreement. 

And now here you are. Dressed in a nightgown that Lady Kryze had supplied you with. The white fabric feeling almost like satin against your chilled skin, the lack of heat coming from the radiator on the other side of the room making you frown as your breasts made it more than clear how your body was reacting to the draft in the room—to the cold storm outside. 

The loud thump that startles you from outside of your door tears your gaze from the window and elevates your unease when you put your ear to the dark wood and hear nothing but the old house talking in the way one does in storms or settling.

Lord Djarin had ordered you to stay in your room. To lock the door from the inside and try to get some rest. Assuring you that all was alright, the drafts liked to open the doors at night. 

Listening to the plea in his voice that he tried to hide with his endearing smile was enough to convince you not to try it. To listen to his words. To do what had been asked of you without question once again. 

But the thump comes again. This time, sounding closer. Perhaps a glass broke somewhere in the hall. 

Your teeth chew at your bottom lip in worry. 

What if the Lord or Lady needed help? What if they had fallen? The lack of electricity in the house was more than a factor, a reason, for something that could cause a fall. Candlelight only shows so much in these dark halls. 

And while there had been no cry for help. No croak, groan, or indication that someone needs help; you can’t help the way your heart escalates or why you ignore the nerves, making your hand shake as you unlock the door, twist the cold handle, and open it a sliver. 

Your eyes search the vast darkness of the hall within the tiny space you’ve given yourself. The lit candles in the holders on the wall do little to aid in you seeing anything other than small glows of orange light past the railing that lines the hall. 

The words of the Lord push into the back of your mind as you open the door more and poke your head out into the dark space. The strings of lightening outside paint the empty hall in blue light. Streaking against the dark wallpaper hauntingly. 

“Lord Djarin?” Your voice is faint compared to the booming thunder outside. A gulp of air fills your lungs when you get enough bravery to step fully out of your room and speak a little louder, “Lady Kryze?” 

The silence only pushes you forward. 

Has your bare feet cold and weary against the long rug on the hardwood floor. The floorboards creak with each step that you take.

The portraits of unknown people by unknown painters look more intimidating and scary the longer you venture through the hall. The candles shadow their faces in scowls that aren’t normally there in the daylight. 

Your fingers dig into the side of your nightgown, bunching up the fabric as your heart hammers against your ribs. 

Maybe you should go back to your room. Maybe it was nothing. The rooms with open doors were dark and abandoned. The staircases are bare, and the entryway below, when you look over the rail, is completely encased in darkness.

Maybe it had come from the west wing of the house. Maybe it was a branch outside. Your mind isn’t sure. Isn’t thinking about anything other than getting back to your room, engulfing yourself in the bedspread, and trying to ignore every creepy sound that the storm outside aids in the houses off putting nature.

Being here at night was, in fact, something your nerves could not handle, it seemed. 

You sigh. Come to a stop at the last door along the hallway. Your bottom lip sore from your worrying. Whatever the thump was, it’s not something as drastic as your mind had probably come up with, and unless you feel like venturing down the stairs and through the rest of the house, it wasn’t your concern—and the prospect made you shiver knowing some parts of the house didn’t have candles lining the walls. 

But when you turn to head back to your room, your body crashes into another, and the scream you let out rings along with a crack of thunder, filtering the hallway into a horrific sound of chaos and fear. 

“You were told to stay in your room.” 

“Oh my—" your hand flies to your chest. The beat of your heart feels as if it might beat it’s way out of the cavern of your ribs. Your lungs finally fill with the air that had been whooshed out of you when you had collided with the other person once you realized who it was. “Lady Kryze.” 

“I was told you listen to directions well,” her smile is pressed and sure. Humorous in the way her eyes move along your appearance. The relief you felt from it being her soon dying when you remember how see through your nightgown is. Your arms cross over your bare chest. “How misguided.” 

“I-I was just,” you swallow. Try to get your breathing back to normal. Try to stop the pounding in your ears matching up with the rain outside—with the booms of thunder. “I heard a noise.” You manage to get out. The amused raise of her brow makes your body heat up in something akin to embarrassment or a child running to their mother at night because they are scared. 

Lady Kryze hums, “many things go bump in the night around here. It’s an old house.”

“Of course,” you nod. “Yes.” You laugh nervously, breathy, and unsure. Trying to ease the tension that’s growing between the two of you. Worried you might be jobless come morning. “I apologize. I was just worried that you or Lord Djarin may have been hurt.”

“You’re a doctor? Here I thought you were a maid.” Her smile is mocking, unkind. But that’s when you finally take her fully in. With the flashes of lightening through the window at the end of the hall, giving light to the shadows that dance along her face in the candlelight.

She looks…different. 

There's a deep red tint to her lips that’s not usually there. You can’t recall the last time you saw her wear lipstick, let alone that shade. Her hair is darker and more unruly at the bottom than usual. Than the sleek look of perfection it’s always at. Her clothes—her dress—stained a deep red and ripped at the top, standing her paler than normal skin out. 

Your eyes look down to her nails; they’re longer. Stained the same shade as her lips and her dress. 

Somethings not right.

And when your gaze meets hers again, you can see how much darker her eyes look than what you’re used to seeing below that scowl. Bigger. Almost as if her pupils had doubled in size.

Your lack of subtlety seems to give you away when you quickly try to sidestep her and head for your room. 

“Now that I know you’re both fine, I’ll just go back to my room now.” You say softly, give her a forced smile as you try to keep your composure and act as normal as you would if you weren’t scared out of your skin. 

Lady Kryze laughs under her breath. Let’s you step past her and walk one, two, or five steps before there’s a grip at the back of your elbow and your back is being slammed into the wall. The gasp of your lungs deflates from the pressure puffing out against her face with how close she is. 

“Lady Kr-”

“Bo.” She corrects, her eyes wandering down your face, pausing at your lips and the junction where your jaw meets your neck. Swallowing hard before her gaze cascades to your chest, “I always hated the pleasantries Din demanded we go by to fit in with you…humans.” 

“You humans?” You give her a quizicall look, too much going on in your nervous system to comprehend her words. To make sense of them when the fear of the emotion in her eyes reads hunger. 

And when she laughs again, her smile more genuine than any you’ve seen spread across her perfectly proportioned lips before; you see it. See them.

The pointed teeth that have replaced her normal ones. 

The way they gleam off of the orange glow of the candles. The way they make you swallow. Make your chest hurt from the bruising your heart is doing to your ribs from beating so fast. 

What is she?

“I thought you were smart? With the way Din talks about you, I imagined you would have figured it out by now. Especially with how close the two of you have been getting.” The accusation makes your heart stop. A cold fear pricking at your insides that makes your skin feel clammy. 

The raising of her brow makes the feeling worse as you shake your head. Open your mouth to protest on the matter, to not encourage the accusation that there might be something going on with Lord Djarin and you, her husband. 

“Don’t worry,” she smirks. Leans in closer so her lips are ghosting over the shell of your ear as she murmurs, “I like to share.” Your body trembles when her hand leaves your shoulder and her fingers run along the side of your breast. Her pointer skating along your erect nipple, making you gasp softly. “We both do.” 

“Lady Kryze–I,” there’s words meant to come out. Words meant to put an end to whatever this standoff, or showdown, is. You’re lost, you’re captivated, and you’re frightened. But her cheeks and lips brush against yours as she moves herself back so she can look at you; her dark eyes make every syllable on your tongue lay thick and weighted down like sludge. 

There’s a silence that has enough tension to make your body buzz and your brain catch up to put the puzzle pieces together with the information that has always been laid out for you. Things you took as old family traditions you didn’t care to understand. 

The presistant curfew, the eerie darkness that hung over the manor once the sun started to set. The mysterious cases of maids and butlers going missing without a trace. The town just beyond your own’s population dwindling down. Neighbors and friends gone. 

Lady Kryze’s dark eyes, her teeth. 

“You’re the cause of all the disappearances.” It’s not a question because you already know the answer. The slow spread of her lips only solidified the gathered information in your head to fit neatly in a box of truths. “And,” you swallow, hate how your heart aches at the very thought. “Lord Djarin..he–”

“Is much more discrete than I.” She seems to find a silent annoyance in the statement. In the way your body lets out a shaky breath as if you’re relieved. It makes her eye twitch before she’s leaning in again, her lips closer to yours now. Her breath smells of metal. “He doesn’t like to indulge in the bounty we’ve been given. Says it’s not right to eat thy neighbor.” Her tongue runs across her bottom lip, one of her sharp teeth catching on the skin. “I say, why waste such delicious gifts? And delicious they are, especially the ones who beg. The ones who let me play with my food before I eat it.” 

Her laugh makes your body shiver. A reaction she seems to like too much, as her lips skim across yours. The metallic scent of her tongue inhaled by your shaky breaths and swallowed down, leaving your throat dry and your tongue itching to reach out for the source. 

The source of it’s weight, the source of the ache in your jaw with the need to drink. A thirst for what you’re sure is water and not the nourishment that’s so clearly painted Lady Kryze’s lips red and her tongue. Your body willing to use any source of fluid to aid you. 

Not because the metallic linger of her breath sits on your tastebuds like an open invitation. Not because her fingers are still at the side of your breast, your peaked nipple aching to be brushed over by her again. 

“Will you let me play with you?” Her nose brushes yours as her head turns, and her lips just catch the corner of your mouth, a gasp leaving your lips as they move across your cheek and her teeth clip on your jawline. “I know how hard it is for my husband to be near you every day and not sink his teeth into this beautiful neck. You look as good as you’ll taste.” 

A moan racks your ribcage when her hand grips the side of your neck, bending it so the other side is on full display and her lips press to the sensitive flesh. Her tongue coming out to run the tip lightly against you, like she doesn’t dare indulge too much. Like it’s an appetizer to what she really wants. 

A trail of bruising kisses and hungry noises coming from the woman making your chest heave, your fingers daring to come up to her elbow to grip the fabric of her dress as an anchor—or to pull her closer—you're not too sure what your body wants, your senses not matching up with the fear still plaguing your brain. 

“Will you run for me, little rabbit?” You can feel the amusement at her own words with the smirk that’s pressed just below your ear. Your body canting at the derogatory pet name.

Until her next words come out of her mouth in a booming shriek that makes your ears ring and your body recoil from her in defense to protect itself from wrath. 

“Run!”

And you do. 

Not turning back to look to see if she’s chasing you. All the heat once again drained from your body, any pleasure you had been feeling doused out, and brought tears burning at the corners of your eyes. 

The candles on the wall continue to be your guiding light. Even when you step on something that makes you hiss. That tears the skin on the bottom of your foot enough to stutter your sprint. A limp catches in your leg as you try to make haste.

You were foolish for staying here. Foolish for leaving your room. Foolish for not seeing what this house really was or what it’s occupants really were.

Foolish. 

If there had been a spell, you had fallen for it. Like a silly little girl.

The closer you get to your chamber door, the harder your heart beats against your ribs. The harder you try to ignore the sting in your heel. The harder it is for you to breathe. 

The distance only seems to get further and further away from safety the longer you try for it. The longer your eyes strain in the candlelight to not step on something else that could make you completely imobile. Completely at Lady Kryze’s mercy. 

Who you don’t hear behind you. 

Who—upon your better judgment, one would say—you look for as you turn your head towards the path behind you. Your blood running cold when you see that all the candles have completely gone out and you can’t see a thing. 

The flashes of lightening from the windows down below cascading the barest amount of light onto the floor. 

It’s the least of your worries when your body collides with a wall. 

Or what feels like a wall—a strained ache coming to your chest upon the collusion, your body thrown backwards as you groan from the impact your tailbone makes against the hard floor. 

And when your eyes open, you realize it’s not a wall you’ve collided with; it’s Lord Djarin. 

“I told you to stay in your room.” His voice is full of authority and aggravation as he pulls you from the floor. It’s a tone he’s never used on you, a grip on your arm that’s much more cruel than the light touches of fleeting moments spent together. 

“She–Lady Kryze–She.”

“Is insatiable, yes.” There’s a growl that’s completely for his wife’s sake and not your own. But the sound still makes your stomach clench. Your body dragged along the hallway by the hands of the man you’re now realizing is more dangerous than any normal man. 

A monster.

Like his wife.

And yet, you feel safe in his tight grasp. Feel safe with the memories you share with him. Of him. The man you knew before the monster. 

The fear of him never coming. 

The fear only comes back once you’ve reached your room, and he’s pushing you through the door only for your back to collide with something icy that grips your wrist and snakes it’s fingers along the column of your neck to hold you against it.

“Bo.” Lord Djarin’s voice is stern. Angry. 

“Darling.” You can feel the smile that’s wrapped around the word even without seeing Lady Kryze’s face. 

The cold of her body seeping through your night dress and against your skin—a cold that’s not from the fear of what she is rather than what she’s doing. What has stained her lips and tongue and what you wanted so badly to taste just minutes ago. The same deep red clearly stained in the front fabric of your gown that you hadn’t noticed until now.

Until you’re standing in front of Lord Djarin, your night dress more see through and clinging to your body, where it’s damp from blood and straining against your breasts. 

Lady Kryze’s grip tightens on your throat, and it makes a breathless noise fall from your lips. A noise that has Lord Djarin’s eyes honing in on your mouth, moving along to his wife's hand on your throat, before plunging down to your chest. A hard swallow and a deep scowl shot at the woman holding you in her vise. 

“Let her go.”

“We were just having a little fun. Weren’t we?” Her teeth knick your earlobe, and it makes your body contort against her hold. “See,” she smirks. 

“Bo. No.” His tone has finality. Has something that wordlessly lets you know he’s tired of this topic; he’s clearly told her no on before. 

Something inside your stomach lightens up and burns at the thought of Lord Djarin denying his wife the pleasure of making you a meal time and time again. Was it out of respect? Care? Want?

Did she want to sink her teeth into you so badly because of jealousy at the closeness you and her husband had found the longer you worked here? No, she said they like to share. Said she likes to share. 

Was it want then?

The want to do more than end your life by draining you.

“Come on, Din.” The hand at your wrist does a show of crawling with her sharp nails over your midsection and to your hip to start pulling up your night dress. Your thighs quickly come into view as she bunches the fabric further and further up. A shyness takes over you as you wiggle in her grasp as you watch Lord Djarin’s eyes follow the movement with a hungry look. “We all know you want her.” 

Her lips press against your jaw as she murmurs to you, “he never allows himself to indulge in the things he wants. He’s so disciplined. Such a good man. He’d never let it slip that after you leave his library, he bends me over his desk and fucks me the way he wishes he could fuck you.”

An involentary noise that get’s choked out of your throat makes her laugh softly, “tell him he can have you. Tell him you like it.” Your eyes lock with his; his eyes just as dark and monstrous as his wife's now that you’re really looking at them. His lips that deep red—the same red you smelled and craved to taste on her lips. 

Your thighs inwardly press together, causing the pressure between them to ease the slightest, but grow worse when your backside pushes back against Lady Kryze and she lets out a noise that sounds just as lovely as she looks. 

“Look, Din.” A heat comes to your cheeks as the rest of the fabric of your gown is pulled above your hips, showcasing your nakedness to both of them. “There’s no denying she wants you,” her fingers move down to grip your inner thigh. The clear and evident proof of your arousal—that you’re not sure was caused earlier or right now—coats your skin and her fingers. 

“No, she is not-”

“What? Food?” Lady Kryze laughs, “we both know you’d never let me drain her. Nor could you bear to have anything but her essence touch your tongue. But she can be a toy. You can fuck her. We both can.” 

You can see the internal battle he’s fighting with himself—against his wife, against what’s right, against his want. 

And there’s a part of you that understands. That knows this is wrong. That has barely come to terms with what they are—monsters, myths, and scary stories you tell little children at night to get them to go to bed. 

But then the proof of your arousal, of your own want is being toyed with between your thighs as Lady Kryze runs a finger through your wetness. Your hips canting against her hand as she pulls it away just as quick as it was there and holds her finger out to her husband. 

“Taste her.”

His head is about to shake; you can sense it. See it before it happens by the way his fists bunch at his sides. Maybe that's why you finally find your voice, “please.”

And it’s as if those are the words he’s been waiting for you to say since the day you’ve met. Since you’ve started working for him. The speed at which he’s against your front and his lips are wrapped around the finger that has gathered the wetness from your pussy makes you feel woozy. 

Makes you sway on your feet and loosen in Lady Kryze’s hold. Her nails dig into your flesh as she holds you tighter, keeping you upright for her husband. 

Whose finger is under your chin, mouth daringly close to yours as he murmurs, “are you certain?”

Do you want this?

Do you want all it entails if you let this continue?

His dark eyes speak; let you know that he’ll stop this. That while you might be weak in comparison to who they truly are, you have a say, and he’ll do whatever you wish. 

A wise woman would heed the warning that’s in the brow he raises. Thats in the descent of his finger down your chin and to your jugular. Your heartbeat thudding against the pad of his finger. His tongue comes out to wet his bottom lip as his eyes cast to your neck and then up to his wife. 

Who's giving him a smile you can’t see but can feel in the way her body shifts, pulling your thighs apart easily. Lord Djarin needs no more confirmation for either of you as he falls to his knees, a rough hand cupping the back of your thigh to lift and bring it up and over his shoulder. 

Your back arching, and a gasp rakes through your body when you feel the bite of teeth against your inner thigh. Feel the sting of punctured skin, the pull of something inside that’s making your eyes flutter, and the pressure in your lower belly thumping at the same speed as your heart. 

When your eyes shift down, when he’s stopped, when you feel like you could either pass out or come from just this, you see blood—your blood—staining his lips and tongue. See his eyes go even darker, black, and void of any human attributes. Making him look entirely like a monster that’s hungry, starved. 

And you’ve completely offered yourself up for the taking. 

There’s a deep moan coming from Lord Djarin as his fingers and tongue clean his mouth. It’s obscene as much as it is beautiful to watch. Your arousal only grows worse at the sight. 

“How does she taste?” 

“Exqusite.” He murmurs against your skin, his tongue running over the marks he’s just left in your thigh, working it’s way up to the apex of your thigh. Your legs shake the closer he gets to your pussy. 

A cry burns your lungs when you feel him dive into you without any warning. His tongue licking through your wetness, his nose pressing against your clit. The tip of it creates a slow grind that only intensifies when you cant your hips up. When you thrust against the air, his tongue slips inside of you, pushing it further inside. Your fingers dig into the sides of your dress as you try not to completely collapse against either of them. 

The pleasure coursing through your body makes that easier said than done. 

Lady Kryze is humming against your cheek, her hand coming down to slow the movement of your hips. “Take your time, little rabbit.” She trails kisses and soft bites over and under your jaw to your earlobe, where she lets the tip of her tongue run against it. “Because once you’ve come, you’re mine to play with.” 

[legendary-69420]

Chapter 10: Recovery and Reflection (Part 2) Facing the Media Storm

(Racing Hearts : VOLUME 2)

Part 2 : Facing the media storm

After a few more days in the hospital, Mark was finally cleared to go home. His injuries had mostly healed, though there were still bandages on his arms and a few cuts on his face. The media, of course, had caught wind of the crash and his miraculous escape, and the world was buzzing with stories of his near-death experience.

The second Mark stepped outside the hospital, cameras were flashing in his face, reporters shouting questions from all directions.

“Mark, how do you feel after surviving the crash?”

“Do you think you’ll be able to race again soon?”

“What was going through your mind during the fire?”

Charles, who had come to pick Mark up, watched with a mix of amusement and concern as his friend navigated the crowd of reporters with his usual charm. Mark threw on his sunglasses, flashing a confident grin as he waved to the cameras.

“I’m feeling great! Like I said, I’m too hot to handle, right Charlie?” Mark joked, earning a few chuckles from the press. “I’ll be back on the track soon enough. You can’t keep me away that easily.”

Charles shook his head, impressed by how effortlessly Mark handled the attention. But as they climbed into the waiting car, the smile on Mark’s face faltered, just for a second. It was brief—so quick that most people wouldn’t have noticed. But Charles did.

“Are you okay?” Charles asked as the car pulled away from the hospital.

Mark leaned back in his seat, taking off his sunglasses and running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied, but his voice lacked its usual confidence.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Charles said quietly. “I know this whole thing has been a lot.”

Mark sighed, glancing out the window as the city streets passed by. “I guess it’s just… weird, you know? Everyone’s talking about it like it was some crazy stunt, like I walked out of that fire on purpose or something. But it wasn’t like that. It was scary. I didn’t know if I was going to make it.”

Charles didn’t say anything for a moment, letting Mark’s words hang in the air. He understood. More than anyone, he knew how dangerous their world was, how quickly things could go wrong on the track. But hearing Mark admit to the fear he had felt—that was something new.

“I get it,” Charles said softly. “You don’t have to pretend to be invincible. Not with me.”

Mark looked over at him, his expression softening. “Thanks, Charles. I guess I needed to hear that.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence, the connection between them growing stronger with every passing moment. It wasn’t just about racing anymore. It was about friendship, about trust, about something deeper than either of them had expected.

Social Media Frenzy

As they continued their drive, Mark couldn’t resist checking his phone. Notifications were flooding in from Instagram, Twitter, and YouTube—everyone seemed to have an opinion on his near-death experience.

On Instagram, fans and fellow racers had already begun posting about the crash, their relief palpable in their comments:

@lewis_hamilton: "Glad you’re okay, mate! You gave us all a scare. Time for a speedy recovery 💪🔥."

@daniel_ricciardo: "Leave it to Mark to walk out of an explosion and still crack a joke. Legend."

@max_verstappen: "Crazy stuff out there. Glad you’re in one piece, man. Let’s race soon."

In the comments, fans had started entire threads of support:

@fan4mark: "He literally WALKED OUT OF A FIRE! How can anyone be that cool?!"

@ferrari_stans: "We almost lost our new favorite driver 😭 Thank God for his quick recovery."

@racingqueen88: "I can't believe Mark's already cracking jokes like nothing happened—what a legend! 💯."

Over on Twitter, hashtags like #MarkSpencerCrash and #TooHotToHandle were trending, and fans couldn’t get enough of Mark’s cheeky remarks after the accident:

@F1Daily_Buzz: "‘I’m too hot to handle.’ Mark Spencer literally walked out of fire like a movie star. We’re not worthy. #F1 #Legend."

@Speed_Queen96: "Mark Spencer just cheated death and still managed to drop a one-liner. This man was MADE for F1. #TooHotToHandle."

@Drive_To_Survive: "Mark Spencer is what happens when you mix a Hollywood hero with an F1 driver. #TooHotToHandle #F1."

On YouTube, clips of the crash were being shared alongside reaction videos, with titles like:

"Mark Spencer’s Near-Death Escape—The Craziest F1 Crash Ever?"

"How Mark Spencer Walked Out of Fire Like a Boss!"

"The Science Behind Mark’s Survival—F1 Experts Explain."

One particular reaction video, which had quickly gained a million views, showed a montage of Mark’s crash, the explosion, and his exit from the flames, all set to slow-motion music. The comments section was filled with admiration:

@Speedster_57: "That was like something out of a movie. Absolute madness. Props to the safety team and Mark’s insane luck!"

@Racing_Royalty: "He was smiling and making jokes afterward—how?! This guy is unreal."

Once they arrived at Mark’s mansion, they were greeted by the sight of Mark’s parents, Alessandro and Isabella, waiting by the door. They rushed to their son’s side, wrapping him in a warm embrace.

“Welcome home, Mark,” his mother said softly, her voice filled with relief. “We’re so glad you’re alright.”

“Glad to be home,” Mark replied with a tired smile, leaning into his mother’s embrace.

As Charles watched, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude himself. Mark’s life had been spared, and despite the injuries and the fear, he was going to be okay.

That night, after everyone had settled in, Mark and Charles sat outside by the pool, the cool night air surrounding them. They didn’t need to say much. They had been through enough in the past few days to understand each other without words.

“You’re going to be okay,” Charles said, breaking the comfortable silence.

Mark smiled, looking up at the stars. “Yeah, I think I will be.”

And for the first time in a long time, Charles believed it.

---

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

It’s beneficial for others, but usually ends up hurting you

A/N: this was an old blurb originally posted back in the summer of 2022. kinda forgot I never reuploaded it... I remember writing this in a frenzy after being in a fight an ex friend. or well, idk if you would call it a fight when it was just them shamelessly and blindly not comprehending why their words and opinions hurt me........ ANYWAYS! good thing that person isn't a part of my life anymore. that relationship really was a great reminder of the important lesson that not everyone deserves your kindness or to be your friend.

warnings: Spencer Reid x reader, hurt/comfort, hyper empathy, meltdown, the aftermath of dealing with some stupid people

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

“Hey,” you heard, causing you to peek open your eyes and see Spencer hovering over you. 

Letting out a small hum in response, you attempted to offer him a small smile. Kneeling down next to your vertical position on the couch, he gently rested his chin on your arm.

“How long have you been laying here?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered, staring firmly at the corner of the ceiling. 

You felt one of his fingers hook around your cold ones, “did something happen?”

“No,” you automatically replied, then tried again, “or well, maybe? I don’t know… I’m fine, really, it was nothing.”

“I think your body disagrees with you there… you’re shaking.”

“Yeah, I know, and my pulse is all funky and my circulation is weird,” lifting up your left hand to check, “see, it looks like I have blue nail polish on. I’m okay, my head is fine, my body’s just not on the same page about how I should react, that’s all, I’m just waiting it out.”

“Are you sure that your body is the one that’s not reacting logically?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

“It was nothing, just had a conversation with someone who has polar opposite views on some things, and they sometimes hurt me… not intentionally, of course, and I don’t try to make them change their mind, we’re all different and that’s beautiful, but I just tried to make them understand that what they said hurt me and they just couldn’t see it. And I think because I understand them, and where they were coming from, I don’t feel like I can be mad at them. They’re my friend, just because they have opinions that hurt me doesn’t mean I can make them out to be the bad guy.”

“So, you make yourself the bad guy just to what, potentially save a friendship? Avoid conflict?”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you sighed, “urgh, hyper empathy sucks. I wish I could just be mad and that’s it, but no, I have to understand, empathise, and then I feel bad for them and feel like I can’t just be angry with them. It complicates everything,” zoning out for a moment, you revealed, “you know, a lot of bad things have happened to me in my life, a lot of bad people have hurt me, but my first instinct is never to be angry, it takes me years to just be plain mad at them. I have to fight tooth and nail to discard the compassion and simply be angry.”

“Being hyper empathetic is like a superpower. It’s beneficial for others, but usually ends up hurting you yourself instead,” he grabbed a hold of your hand, trying his best to transfer you some of his warmth, “and you just take it because that’s what you’re used to.”

Peeking over at him, you took a deep breath and let his words sink in.

© 2022 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[starwarsmum]

Day 15 sees a revival of a fic from October!

Part 1 Part 2

@maribat-calendar-events

It had taken some time - and a lot of convincing her parents that she would be fine moving there - but Marinette had successfully relocated to Gotham. She had kept her apartment in Paris for now, unwilling to relinquish the safety net, but she was excited to be trying something new.

The fact that Damian had offered to collect her from the airport and drive her to her new place? It had made what already felt like a good decision feel like a great one. And he had been just as deadpan as he had been when they first met, reinforcing her belief that he was just Like That. 

They had continued to message regularly since her arrival but it was now interspersed with actual time spent together. He would show up when she was feeling particularly burnt out with food and calming tea, or invite her out for coffee when she had been trapped in a creative frenzy for days on end.

But even with seeing him in person frequently she couldn't tell if he was interested in her romantically or not. And in spite of her desperation to keep a lid on the feelings and ignore them, they kept cropping up. When they were watching television late in the evening she would see him smirking at something funny and her heart would skip a beat. When he remembered her order at her local coffee shop her heart melted.

The only thing holding her back? She had been too invested in a relationship before and it had been so out of balance that it had wrecked their friendship. She could still talk to Adrien, they still hung out with the same friends, but they couldn't spend time alone together. And he had given up the cat Miraculous without hesitation, setting him free from their shared responsibility.

So she didn't tell him how she felt, squashing the butterflies and refusing to try overanalysing his small smiles and the way his hand would linger on her cheek when they shared une bise when parting. She loved her friendship with Damian and was sure that her feelings would ruin it.

On this particular morning they had agreed to meet relatively early so they could talk over a joint proposal for a new animal shelter. Marinette had also been designing a new line of which she was going to put fifty percent of the proceeds towards charity. It was a dream they shared: to help protect animals that needed it.

Their meeting went well, with Damian complimenting her work so much her face felt sunburnt. She gave him just as many compliments back while trying not to take too much pleasure in the pleased smile that kept growing on his own face.

“I think we have covered everything in enough detail,” Damian said after a couple of hours, stretching. Marinette followed suit, her bones creaking slightly as she came out of her hunched posture. “Shall we get lunch?”

“I'd like that! Is there somewhere good locally or shall we head back to my apartment for something?” 

“There is something I would like to speak about with you, preferably not under the watchful gaze of the public,” he said offhandedly. 

“Um, sure!” Marinette squeaked, hope leaping in her chest even as she scolded herself for it. “Do you want to get from that vegan place around the corner from mine?”

The trip back to her place was full of general chit chat, and Marinette asked about Titus and Alfred while Damian asked how her parents were. She continued to shove down the domesticity of it, reminding herself that both Jon and Kon have told her Damian didn't do small talk. Of course he would ask about something more meaningful than the weather.

It wasn't until after they had eaten that Damian attempted to broach the topic he had alluded to. Her heart rate sped as he turned to her and took her hand. Try as she might, she couldn't stop her mind racing ahead to thoughts of him kissing her.

“Marinette, you have evidently been made aware that I do not appreciate being touched without my consent,” he began, his eyes fixed to hers. She nodded and he continued. “And I wanted to thank you for being so cautious and mindful of me. But I would like to kiss you, now that we have been dating for two months.”

“I'm sorry, we've been what now?” Marinette was stunned, eyes wide as Damian looked at her in confusion.

“Dating for the past two months?” He hesitated before continuing. “And you have been patient with me, allowing me to set the pace of our relationship. I had assumed, since you are very affectionate, that you would not mind an increase in the more physical aspect but if I am wrong-”

“Damian, hold on for a second. You think we've been dating for two months?”

“Do you not?” He seemed astonished, and a little worried. “Marinette, we have been spending a lot of time together, going to dinner, eating here…I assumed that when I asked you out initially you understood it was a romantic invitation.”

“When did you ask me out?” Marinette thought back over the most recent months frantically, trying to determine how she could have missed such an important moment. 

“When I brought you to your apartment after your flight?” He was definitely worried now, his hand withdrawing from her own. Had she been in any decent frame of mind she would have stopped him and held it tighter, but the revelation that she had apparently wasted two months of her time with Damian thinking they were just friends was debilitating.

“Perhaps I should go, I am feeling unspeakably foolish,” he murmured, a flush across his neck. “Marinette, I am so very sorry for my assumptions, I hope that you can forgive-”

“Damian, can you please stop talking for two minutes?” His mouth snapped shut and he watched her warily. She took the two minutes of silence to collect her thoughts. “How has this not come up before now? I have been driving myself crazy trying to convince myself that you have no interest in me.”

“How could I not be interested in you? You are a beautiful, intelligent, courageous woman and I have been infatuated with you since we destroyed Luthor's animal cruelty laboratory. Why would you try to convince yourself that I was not interested?”

“Damian, do you have any idea how amazing you are? You are so far out of my league I'm not sure we're playing the same game. God, the number of times I've wanted to kiss you and held back because I didn't want to wreck our friendship.”

“So you are not opposed to a relationship with me?” He moved closer to her again, resting an arm along the back of the sofa behind her. “I think I would like to resume my earlier line of inquiry now.”

Marinette pulled him forward into the first kiss of many.

[sea-owl]

I have had a shitty day today.

What has put a smile on my face is your accidental marriage trope.

Tell me, what kind of a shitshow does Phillip walk in to ag his first family dinner?

How does he top the chaos with his twins?

Not going to lie, I kinda want it to end with Violet smoking a cigarette in the garage. Trying to recover

I'm sorry you had such a bad day lovley.

Let's see, I've been debating this for a while but what if the accidental marriage also happened in the Full House au. So now we got the Crane twins running wild but they're being horrible influences on their younger cousins. Meanwhile Penelope is trying to stay calm because holy shit the random man from London aka her baby daddy was also here.

The Bridgertons descend on Phillip's home so they can work out some sort of agreement for the anullment, and they're nosy. They need to see what kind of man Eloise married, even if it's only temporary. Plus, since they're trying to stay on the downlow, it would be more inconspicuous for the family to travel separately to an unknown location to the media than to one of their homes.

One by one, the Bridgertons started to show. First to show was Sophie and Benedict, who live the closest. Anthony, Kate, and Violet were next. Violet just had to scout out the new potential grand babies. She has a gut feeling this Phillip fellow and his family are gonna be around longer than what the others think, no matter what Anthony says. Daphne and Simon follow behind. Gregory and Hyacinth drove all the way from University to see this shit show, some good quality entertainment right here. Colin and Francesca are the last to arrive.

Michael can't tell who's tenser between his two friends. He can understand why Phillip is tense. The Bridgertons are a powerful family. Hell, he remembers when John first started dating Francesca how big of a deal it was. Now, here was poor Phillip who just accidentally married in on a drunken night. Penelope has a story with these people though, he can tell.

The meal itself goes well. The Bridgertons ask questions. They learn Phillip is a botanist and a part time professor. He's never been married. He's 30. Favorite color is green. His two friends live with him mainly because he doesn't know what to do with this big house he inherited, so why not let his friends live with him. Two of the four children living in the house are his. No one admits that those children are from drunken one night stands. Better to keep that quiet.

Michael and Penelope get asked questions too. More so Penelope than Michael since Michael already knows the Bridgertons.

Things start getting interesting when they discuss the plan for Eloise's and Phillip's anullment.

"We can't do the anullment right away. The media is in a frenzy right now from Eloise's posts," Anthony starts. "That being said, they'll also be in an even bigger frenzy should we do the anullment too soon or if Eloise is spotted living with one of us. Do you mind her staying here?"

Phillip looked from Michael to Penelope. While it was his house, they lived here too, and he was always fair about them getting their say. Michael shrugged, he didn't mind. Eloise could easily keep up with the kids, and it seems like she's developing a fast friendship with Penelope, too.

"That's fine," Phillip agreed. "Just as long as the children living here are kept out of the media."

Anthony nodded. If there was one thing the Bridgertons could do, it was control the narrative. If they didn't want someone to be known, they could do it. I mean, look at Francesca, no one could find anything about her online unless she shared it. "Our family would feel more comfortable if two of us could possibly check in and keep an eye on things."

Eloise raised an eyebrow. "Are you siccing a babysitter on me?"

"I'm sending damage control," Anthony shot back. "You know Colin and Francesca are some of the best at getting the media to calm down."

"Why can't it be Benedict?" Eloise questioned.

Everyone looked towards the said Bridgerton and his very pregnant wife sitting next to him.

"Very well," Eloise muttered.

"Besides," Colin said. "We'll only be checking in. Officially, Fran and I will be visiting Benedict and Sophie to help them prepare for the baby."

Michael watched Penelope tensed further as Phillip agreed to the babysitters. He really needed to get that story out of her.

Then Violet asked to see the children. "I brought some sweets for them."

Phillip and Penelope got up to go get their respective sets of twins while Eloiseled her family to the sitting. Michael follows his friends to give the Bridgertons some privacy, and he figured this was his best chance to talk to his own little family.

Once they were far enough away from the dining room and not in hearing distance of the kids, Michael pulled his friends to the side. "You two need to relax. I don't know who was tenser between the two of you. I bet if we had put some coal in your hands, we could have made diamonds."

Phillip sighed while Penelope shot Michael a dirty look.

Michael shrugged. "Hey the scary part is over. Now we get to watch Violet get the kids on a sugar high."

Phillip rubbed his temples. "Oh lord, Amanda and Oliver on sugar."

Michael laughed. "Oh, I can't wait for my nibblings' chaos. But before that," Michael turned to the short red head. "What was with you this evening? I understand why Phillip was tense. But you were just as bad."

Penelope let out her own sigh. "Do you remember the random man from London?"

"Your drunken one night stand baby daddy? Yeah, what about him?"

"He's in the sitting room."

Both boys jaws dropped. "Which one?!"

"The babysitter," Penelope answered.

Michael couldn't help himself, he really couldn't. He busted out laughing. "So let me get this straight. The Bridgertons, one of the most powerful families in the country, the same people who gave even my perfect cousin John a hard time. You," he points to Phillip, "accidentally marry one, and you," he points to Penelope, " have babies with another. All thanks to drunk nights!"

Oh this was perfect! Michael couldn't wait to see this shit show play out. Couldn't ask for better entertainment.

"Aren't you in love with Francesca? Who's the other babysitter?"

Oh now why did they have to be rude and bring that up?

[crepesuzette2023]

What do you think was the deal w George playing on HDYS? Like all those ppl in the room knew Paul, used to be friends with him, and still talked shit about him, and it's just so crazy to me that Ringo was the only one bothered by it all. I can't wrap my head around it.

Full disclosure to get it out of the way: I don't much like HDYS. Musically, I mean. I think it's boring and monotonous, and the lyrics are childish because of how obvious they are. I know many people like the song, or like it musically while disliking the lyrics—all fine with me. But I'm not coming at this as a fan of the song.

What do I think George's deal was playing on HDYS? It's speculation time!

I think George had legitimate grievances about being in the Beatles: the fame, the John & Paul of it, the resulting creative frustration. He was clear enough in later years that, despite loving Paul as a friend, he wouldn't play in a band with him anymore. You can dismiss that as George being a mediocre bitch who's incapable of playing with a genius like Paul, or as Paul being a domineering asshole who can't play well with others, but it comes down to creative incompatibility, and three songwriters being at least one too many.

I imagine that any wounds and anger George carried because of that were still relatively fresh at the time HDYS was recorded. And since Paul had positioned himself as the odd one out (culminating with the lawsuit), George ended up in John's camp—his dislike of Yoko being compensated for by the presence of Klaus, Ringo, etc.

With HDYS being a reaction to Paul's no less cruel (in its own way) "Too Many People", I imagine George felt some personal outrage and solidarity with John as well: Too many people preaching practices...

With so much miscommunication/non-communication between all of them at this point, it was easy to project, blame, and make bad faith assumptions...with no one in the room (except, eventually, Ringo) willing and able to prioritize John and Paul's (and all of their) friendship over being part of the 'winning' fraction.

In One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, the main character, McMurphy, observes a group therapy session that ends with everyone piling on and competing for the cruelest thing to say or do. He compares this behavior to a pecking party: a flock of chicken driven into a pecking frenzy after smelling blood, which leads to more cuts, and more blood. It's a dramatic example, of course, but I sense something like this in the composition of HDYS: the collective rush of being assholes together, further enhanced by John's charisma and the victim being absent. Who hasn't experienced this at some point—talking shit about the person no one liked in the moment, so happy to be part of 'in crowd'? *Raises hand* definitely guilty—teenage behavior, not proud of it. Ashamed, even.

I think that's a big part of what happened. It says a lot about Ringo that he eventually left. That's backbone.

By the way, I've no intention to make this about Paul vs. John. The situation was out of hand, and there was no one with the authority or will to make them talk and stop this (though eventually they apparently decided to stop the excessive mutual flogging in public). It remained the John & Paul business, to the end.

To wrap it up, I'm not a huge fan of "Too Many People," either, because the taunting lilt is so mean and cutting. I like the melody, though, and enjoy the version on Thrillington.

Now, the whole Dear Boy/ Dear Friend/ Best Friend/ Jealous Guy/ I Know (I Know) thing...please.

[angelicyouth]

Youth ; Chapter 3

⇢ pairing: kenny mccormick x marsh!reader x craig tucker

⇢ synopsis: ❝Growing up with the boys as the sole girl of the group, it was only natural for them to grow protective over their pseudo-little sister as the years went by.❞

⇢ warning: descriptions of a panic attack

⇢ [AO3 link] ; [series masterlist] ; [previous] ; [next]

A cacophony of voices fight to be heard over the other, everyone shit talking around the game of Mario Kart that’s currently set up in our living room. The boys and I watch as the four players duke it out on the big screen, witnesses to a friendship-breaking competition.

Loud stomping abruptly interrupts the taunts, “Y/N! What the hell? Is that my fucking shirt that you’re wearing?” My brother violently hollers from his spot, standing halfway down the stairs to peer down at the rest of us.

“The one you’ve been looking for all morning? Yup.” I lazily drawl from my spot on the couch, obnoxiously popping the “p” in my reply. My head slightly shifts as Tweek attempts to neatly braid my hair, Butters gently coaching him from the side.

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that? Made me waste a bunch of time looking for nothing.” Stan continues as he finishes his journey down the stairs.

“You act like you have better things to do, loser. No girlfriend, no job—nada. So I don’t see what the big deal is. Are you on your period or something?” An accidental sharp tug makes me wince, Tweek muttering apologies as he quickly kisses the top of my head in repentance for his mistake.

“Shut up! Quit stealing my shit!” He's standing off to the side of the couch now, eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed.

I glare at Stan and say around a mouthful of orange chicken at the top of my lungs. “Quit stealing my weed then!”

”God, you’re such a fucking pothead!” He shouts, fists clenching in anger.

”Says the alcoholic who starts his day with a shot!” It’s a low blow but all I can see is red.

“Bro, quit being a whiny bitch. You’re not dirt poor like Kinny. Just buy a new one.” Said blonde flashes Cartman his middle finger so he rolls his eyes and attempts to correct himself. “What? Fine, at least you weren’t born ginger and a Jew like Kahl. Talk about a double whammy, I’d honestly kill myself.”

”You don’t need a reason to kill yourself, Cartman. Make all of us happy for once and just do it. If you really need a reason, just think about how fat you are and how much wasted space you take up.”

”Aye!”

The match concludes with Jimmy coming out on top and the boys deciding to abandon the game entirely. They resume eating the Chinese takeout that’s laid out on the coffee table in front of them and half-heartedly listen to the sibling’s routine bickering.

“Take it off.” He scoffs at me, face heated with anger. Tolkien rolls his eyes so hard that I’m surprised a headache doesn’t occur.

“Huh?”

“C’mon, Y/N. You’re stupid, not deaf. Want me to ask mom to get you hearing aids? I said: take. It. Off.” Comes out of my brother’s gritted teeth, each word growing more impatient and strained.

“Big deal, Stan! There’s so many other fucking shirts in this house. Feel free to get one from my closet if you need one so bad.” I retort in exasperation, clenching the denim on Tweeks legs that lay on either side of my body in frustration.

“Ack!” The frenzied blond yelps from behind me and I let go, fiddling with the creases on his jeans instead.

“No! Didn’t you hear me, r-tard? It’s mine, I bought it. Now, take it off!” Kyle closes his eyes at the elder Marsh’s words, tired beyond his years.

“Able to throw some money away for a dumb shirt but you can’t even pay me back my hundred dollars.” The local space enthusiast mumbles to himself, a chorus of ‘shut up, Craig!’ resounds from the boys in Team Stan.

“Fine!” I smirk and get off from my perch on the couch, a sly yet very bold idea pops up into my head. The perfect little thing to piss my dear older brother off. If you want petty, I’ll give you petty.

I grab my shirt from the hem and start to slowly lift it off of my frame, quirking a smug eyebrow and taunting my brother with a smile when more skin starts to show.

“Woohoo!” Kenny hollers excitedly at me, his hands in the air.

“F-f-fuck! No! Quit it, will you?! Don’t fucking do that!” Stan pushes those in his way aside and the boys make it hard for him on purpose by sticking out their legs to trip him. My brother scrambles over to me, forcing my hands down.

“Aw. What’s wrong, Stanley? You’re starting to sound a lot like Jimmy, how cute. I thought you wanted your stupid shirt?” I jeer at him. It’s like what Bebe always says: boys never know what they want and that’s the problem with them. Amen, sister.

“Ewww, Marsh. No one wants to see your underdeveloped body.” Craig socks Cartman on the arm, hard and the larger teen squeals like a dying pig.

“Don’t listen to them, sexy! Keep on going!” Clyde joins in laughing, sliding off his jacket and twirling it over his head in support of the apparent stripping going on.

“You’re voluptuous! Curvaceous! I’m already down on my knees at the sight of you, sweet thang!” Clyde continues to exaggeratedly hype me up, comically imitating the sound of a barking dog afterwards.

“I don’t know how you guys can take her seriously when her hair’s only halfway done. Looks like a damn hippie.” Cartman mumbles, more focused on inhaling his food and rubbing his now sore arm.

“Pffft, b-buh-baby Marsh gone w-wild!” Kung pao chicken accompanies Jimmy’s words of encouragement and he grabs one of his arm crutches, twirling it above his head too. My hands are still at the hem of my shirt, lifted up slightly and exposing a sliver of skin, even when my brother lets go.

I turn my head and catch Craig’s eyes trailing down as he smirks at me, his eyebrows lifted up playfully. A glint in his deep blues as he nonchalantly says, “I wouldn’t mind.”

While I’d normally giggle in amusement at the normally stoic teen and the contribution towards further riling my brother up, my face immediately flushes red after my talk with the girls at the party. I’d say that butterflies are invading my stomach, struggling to break free but it honestly feels like a whole damn zoo down there.

Feeling the adrenaline rush from my brother’s anger, the boys egging me on, and Craig’s attention, my heart beats at record breaking speed and I can feel my cheeks shyly heat up. This development doesn’t go by unnoticed as Kenny stops his playful cheering and laughing, watching the interaction between us two with furrowed brows.

“Fuck off, Tucker. Actually, fuck both of you all the way to hell.” My brother grumbles, angrily throwing himself onto an unoccupied space on the couch with his arms crossed. “It’s the fucking principle of things.”

“Big word, Stanley. Is that your word of the day? Did you learn it from this week’s episode of Sesame Street?” I mock him with a pout in fake sympathy.

“Shut the fuck up before I kick your fucking teeth in!” My brother’s stupid face goes red with anger.

He pouts when Kyle holds him back and rolls his eyes, ever the voice of reason. “They were just joking, Stan.”

“Yeah, Stanley. I was just joking.” My eyes continue to follow Craig as he lifts a bite of food towards his handsome face, wooden chopsticks pressed against his still smirking plush lips.

“Craig.” My brother says sharply this time, straightening up his back to glare at the teen over Cartman’s bigass head. I’m slightly confused as to what’s happening but still loving the attention Craig is giving me.

“Relax, Marsh.” Craig chuckles with a challenging look in his eyes. Tension begins to grow in the room and I’m lost because the other guys would normally laugh at suave shit like that and instigate a fight.

I roll my eyes and figure that it’s just them being overly protective, going back to my spot in between the cute coffee addict’s legs so that he can finish his attempt at doing my hair. Butters has a small braid done in between tufts of silky blonde from when I demonstrated the process to Tweek. He rubs his knuckles together, nervous energy exuding from his body as I return next to him.

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

The girls excitedly informed me of tryouts and the process, which involves practice with the already established team and the new potential recruits. A week and a half is given to learn a few cheers before the day they hold the official tryouts, which was today. It’s here where I finally meet Nichole Daniels, Tolkien’s girlfriend. It would’ve been nice if he brought her over from time to time but I can understand his vehement refusal of bringing her anywhere near a number of dumb boys. Trouble seems to follow the guys wherever they go.

As promised to the parentals, I attended and it’s not as bad as I thought it would be with the friends I’ve already made being here. I’ve never had problems with dancing as it comes easy to me so it’s nice to just hang out and bask in the feminine energy.

My parent’s request has continued to go under the radar as the boys have been busy with the football season starting. Their practice allows me to not have to think of an excuse for staying out late since they’re already busy, extracurricular activities taking up their time after school as they prepare for the season.

I shove the heavy front doors of the school open, the sun almost fully set as a gradient of red, yellow, and orange bathe me in their hues. The girls always remember to offer me a ride home from their parents but I always politely reject, my guilt not allowing any of them to go out of their way and use their gas on me.

My hands are shoved into my pockets, trying to accumulate as much heat as possible while I begin the journey home. Wisps of fleeting, misty clouds escape from my mouth after each puff of breath I let out and I watch them disappear. I bask in the rare moment of solitude and the quiet that comes with it.

I’m colder than I normally would be tonight because a freshman accidentally spilled her gatorade onto the duffel bag that I’ve been using for cheer. Not only were the sweats that I usually throw on over my shorts drenched in sticky sweetness, but the clothes I wore to school earlier were also an unlucky casualty to the liquid electrolytes.

I wonder if I’ll make the cheer team, I ponder to myself.

The rhythmic sound of my steps on the concrete sidewalk accompany me on my walk and I hum to myself until I hear sharp, rambunctious laughter. I’m startled as my head shoots up and see that across from me in the distance are a group of boisterous, older teens. Fear resounds within me when I faintly remember them terrorizing my brother and friends when they were in the fourth grade, them having been in the sixth at the time.

I pray in my head that they don’t notice me but my prayers go unanswered as they cross the street, now joining me on the same sidewalk. I know I can’t outrun them so I panic and impulsively decide to take a detour, turning right into an alleyway until I dreadfully notice that I can still hear them from behind. What was once just the sound of obnoxious laughter is now the noise of thundering footsteps following closely, beginning to get louder and louder.

My feet hastily pick up their pace and I can feel the tremors reverberate through my now sweating hands, anxiety filling me to the very core. My trembling makes the process of pulling out my phone agonizingly slow and I silently curse at my misfortune.

The white puffs of air that once brought me entertainment on my walk now serve as a reminder of the danger I’m in. Unlike before, they come out of my mouth in quick intervals and I clench my teeth to bid them away.

Out of nowhere, someone roughly yanks on my ponytail and they’re quick to cut off my yelp as a rough hand forces itself onto my mouth. The assailant painfully holds onto my other arm, both grips enforcing excruciating pain.

“Hey, I recognize you. You go to our school, always around those dumb boys.” One of the perpetrators in front of me sneers as he brings his face up to mine, his rancid breath invading my senses and making me feel even sicker than before.  

“Lucky, aren’t we? We got baby Marsh!” Their eyes lighten up in both delight and recognition. I can feel upcoming bile trying to force its way up my throat from hearing the term of endearment the boys call me used like this, the connotation eerie in this situation.

Trying to make a sound is futile as all my cries for help are muffled, my captor getting annoyed at my squirming and relocating his hold on my arm to my neck instead. He squeezes and I whimper in fear, my breathing becomes more desperate when my kicking and elbows do nothing to deter him.

“Why’re you crying? You’re just asking for it when you walk around in fucking shorts. We live in South Park. No one would dress that way outside in the snow if they weren’t a total slut.” They all degradingly mock me, laughter resounding throughout the cold air as foreign fingers begin to play along the edge of my shorts.

“Pffft, dumb bitch.” One of them slaps me just because they have the power to do so in my vulnerable state before squeezing both of my cheeks together with one hand, hard.

“Who wants to go first?” They all fight over the answer to the question and I clench my eyes shut in dread, the color draining from my face.

Before they can do anything, yelling can be heard and I’m dropped by my captor. I stumble to the dirty ground of the alleyway at the loss of my previous support. On the floor, I painfully dig my nails onto my thighs. My breath hitches and my chest tightens, my panicking intensifying despite finally being free.

Short breaths rake through my trembling body and my nails dig deeper. Crescent moons appear on soft skin, invoking blood. My head starts to feel a little light and I try my hardest to calm myself down but it’s to no avail, my attempts prove to be futile. My unoccupied hand trembles as they reach up to touch wet, stinging cheeks. I didn’t even notice that I‘ve begun to sob as every gasp for air racks my body.

“Holy shit.” Varying voices can be heard from around me but my mind barely registers their words as my head continues to feel even lighter than before.

Even though I’m unable to determine whether or not I’m safe, I don’t flinch when someone crouches next to me and hastily crushes me against their hard chest. I’m numb to my surroundings and everything feels distorted. It’s as if I’m underwater, drowning.

“Ack! She’s hyperventilating! Gyah!”

“No fucking shit captain obvious!”

“Shut the fuck up!” The chest I’m against rumbles and my brain finally registers it as the sound of Kenny’s voice. I muster up what little strength I have to look up and see my boys around me. My brother is directly crouched in front of me and from my peripherals, I can just barely see that it’s Kyle in the same position next to him, eyes wide in panic.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

“Fuck! What should we do?!” It’s Tolkien this time but I can’t look away from my brother. My eyes are begging him to do something, anything to make it stop. Oh how I wish twin telepathy were real.

“Breathe, baby. You need to breathe for me.” The world tilts around me as a soothing voice near my ear urges. A resounding gasp of air struggles to be inhaled but it’s too shaky and tears of frustration continue to fall. My breathing isn’t slowing and I just want this to be over.

“Someone needs to do something before her heart gives out!” Someone loudly kicks what sounds to be a trash can in anger, messily spilling its contents all over the floor and I flinch at the blow.

“Y/N, breathe.” Stan coaches me, taking my hand and placing it on his chest. His large hand encompasses my smaller one, exerting slight pressure until I can feel his heartbeat.

“Just focus on the sound of my voice and follow me. In, and out. In, and out. I’m here. You see me, right? You’re here with me at this very moment and you’re safe. You’re always safe with me. Big brothers always got you, yeah?”

I can’t do it anymore, I just can’t.

I’ve been trying and nothing is happening.

It won’t stop and I can’t fucking breathe.

I don’t want to disappoint everyone but I’m tired.

“Shh, shh. You can, love, you can. I know you can.” Kenny patiently encourages me as he gently brushes strands of my hair away from my sticky, tear-stained cheeks. Heavily disoriented, I didn’t seem to realize that I was verbalizing all of my thoughts.

“You know why? Because my girl is the absolute best—the best girl ever and everyone who's anybody knows that. She’s resilient and just so, so strong. As long as she tries her best, I’ll always be proud of her no matter what and nothing she can do will ever disappoint me. Literally, nothing. She could put a bullet through my head and I’d just pass away in euphoria because my last living memory is of a goddess with ethereal beauty.” Kenny continues and ever so slightly, a corner of my lip lifts up.

This is familiar. This is comforting. I know this. The playful flirting and cheesy, over the top exaggeration. His soothing voice helps guide me back down to Earth as I focus on the rising chest of my brother under my fingertips. This is familiar, too. It’s a sound I’ve always known, even before I was born. Whenever I’m feeling sad or scared, my big brother will always hug me to his chest, my ear pressed against the faint beating of his heart. The rhythmic sound let’s me know that I’m safe, I always am when he’s here. This sound is the other half of me.

“Good girl, you’re doing great. Really great. You always do great and I knew you would.” It’s the voice near my ear again and this time, I’m finally able to look away from my brother to see that the voice belongs to Craig. It appears he had a hand on my shoulder throughout the whole ordeal, his thumb rubbing comforting circles over my jacket.

I now notice that Butters has my other hand firmly in his, tears streaking down both his and Clyde’s faces. They all must have found me after practice and I’m thankful that I wasn’t too far from the school before everything went down.

When they ask me what I was doing out so late, in athletic shorts no less, I mumble an excuse about the girls inviting me to workout in the weight room back at school. They don’t know that it’s not just today that I’ve been trekking home alone at night and I don't want to correct their assumption when they sternly lecture me on how dangerous it is.

After taking me home and getting myself cleaned up, they decide on an impromptu movie night filled with blankets, pillows, and snacks. Last minute texts are sent to their parents, notifying them of an emergency sleepover. They place me in the middle, a cocoon of softness, warmth, and comfort. They let me choose all the movies for the rest of the night and the food we order for delivery.

Our faces are colored a pale green from the clay mask I put on everyone, those with longer hair having mini palm trees at the top of their head from being tied up away from their faces.

Self care, they told me.

This isn’t edible so don’t try to lick it off your face, I told Cartman.

I slowly look around and take in the bright light of the television reflecting off of their individual faces. Some people, like Tolkien and Kyle, are starting to nod off, fighting the last dredges of sleep for my sake. On the other end of the spectrum, Butters and Clyde jump at every loud sound that accompanies the suspenseful music, paranoia painting their faces white. Tweek catches my eye and gently feeds me a kernel of popcorn.

Surrounded by my boys, I smile knowing I’m safe whenever I’m with them.

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

I’m sitting in front of my vanity, carefully applying some makeup to cover the faint bruising on my cheek, the process therapeutic. The occasional clicking of buttons could be heard, Craig lounging on my bed with a handheld gaming console in his hands. I softly mouth along to the words of the low music playing from my phone while faint laughter can be heard from downstairs.

I chance a glance up and catch Craig’s reflection from the corner of my eyes, but I don’t turn my head around as we make eye contact through the mirror. My lips unconsciously quirk up, fondness of the boy behind me fills my entire being from the tips of my toes to the top of my head. “Hmm? What’s up, Tucker?”

He doesn’t say anything, only a thoughtful look adorning his attractive features. Ever since the night the boys found me, I’ve been catching their lingering gazes on me from time to time. Eyes distant, as if they’re looking past me.

I settle both of my elbows onto the tabletop, my hands carefully framing both of my cheeks lest I smudge my hard work. My smile doesn’t falter, never when I’m with him, and I lightheartedly tease him, “What? Never seen a good looking Marsh before? I know you’re around my brother all the time but he's not that ugly.”

I’m successful in getting a reaction from him because I’m soon rewarded with a twinkle of mirth in his eyes, his expression softening, “Come here.”

His deep voice is firm, filling my room with its gentle demand and I blindly obey. With Craig, I’d do just about anything for him. He’s now seated upright and has positioned himself at the edge of my bed, legs open and his thumb tapping a beat onto his thigh.

When I’m close enough, the boy grabs both of my hands, interlocking our fingers together. He gives the intertwined digits a swift, reassuring squeeze before guiding me to him to close the short distance between us. I stand in between his legs and he elicits sudden goosebumps along my arms as he carefully drags his long fingers down the length of it, slowly before finding purchase at my hips.

I instinctively loop my arms around his neck, bringing us closer together and he gently squeezes in response. He murmurs so quietly, “Are you okay?”

I softly reply, my thumbs rubbing soothing circles onto the back of his neck, catching strands of smooth black hair. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

Our voices are hushed. There’s no need to be quiet but it feels like we’re in a bubble and at any disruption, no matter how slight, might pop it.

“Yeah… You know I’m always here for you, right?” I softly nod in response, a slight shift in this space of intimacy we’ve created.

“You know you have me, right?” Again, I nod as I hang onto his words.

“Because I’d do anything for you, Y/N. It doesn’t matter what it is—big or small. At the asscrack of dawn or in the middle of the night. I'd drop whatever I was doing if it meant getting to you when you need me.” His long fingers reach up to lightly smooth his thumb at the area where soft skin meets makeup.

“If you ever have any doubts or feel upset about anything, just talk to me, okay? And I promise that I’ll do whatever I can to erase those doubts and remind you of how much you mean to me. I don’t ever want you to feel alone or less of anything, not when you mean everything to me.” The ravenette continues as he moves his hand, this time tucking silky strands of hair away from my face and behind my ear.

I shyly giggle in bliss at his soft touch and even lighter voice. “Where is this coming from, Craig?”

He ignores my question, persistent to convey his message to me. “You do know that, right, Y/N?”

“Of course, I’ve never doubted it or thought otherwise.”

“Good.” The teen says, satiated before bringing us down onto the bed.

My hands lay themselves against his chest to keep myself upright and he caresses my head with both hands, angling my head down to give my forehead a soft kiss. His lips lingers before pulling away.

・ ─ ・ ⋯ ・ ─ ⊹ ♡₊˚๑

It wasn’t hard for the girls to see the slight traces of lingering purple under my attempted camouflage. I tried to reassure them that it wasn’t anyone’s fault but mine, yet they persisted in trying to make up for it due to the guilt they all felt.

I had just finished applying my daily cover up and was adding the final touches to my hair, making sure that every single strand was in place. Satisfied, I turn the brightness of my computer screen back up until the reflection of myself on the glass disappears. I had time before I was due to head out so I loosely curled every lock cascading down my shoulders, braids adorning either side of my head. The girls wanted to take me out later in the day as an otherwise unnecessary apology and I hummed to myself in excitement.

“Wow, doll. Is this all for me?” I look up from the boss battle I was currently engaged in, pausing to identify the intruder that let out a low whistle.

Kenny leans off from his laidback position on my door frame and lazily walks up behind me, the end of his lips quirked up. He gives me an appreciative hum as he takes his time scanning my appearance, indulging his eyes on my figure. I patiently smile at his appreciation.

“Ah, scratch that. That was a stupid question, you’re beautiful every single day to anyone who lays their eyes on you. You don’t even need to try so I meant to say that this is a welcomed treat.” I turn around in my seat to face him, giggling at his words of praise. I greedily drink them in as I loop my arms around his waist.

“Beautiful?” I seek more of his validation, a deepening blush rising on my cheeks as I parrot back his compliment.

He takes a small section of my hair and gently guides his hand to his face, kissing the soft locks in his possession. He hums to me, “Beautiful, bewitching, alluring… You’re every synonym and every iteration of the word, babe. You define beautiful, you’re the very embodiment of it. That word was created because of you—if I were to look under the definition of it, your name would be there.”

My smile grows wider and my cheeks start to hurt from the action, resulted by the constant influx of euphoria that the blonde never fails to provide me. Whether from being drunk on the male’s compliments or shyness, the color red has made its permanent residence onto my cheeks.

He lets go of my hair and gently cups his large hands on either side of my face, angling it up towards his taller figure.

“Pretty.” He quietly utters to my skin, kissing my forehead.

“Gorgeous.” A kiss to my nose this time.

“Irresistible.” A kiss to my left cheek.

“Ravishing.” A firmer kiss to my right cheek with a playful growl, melodic laughter gets pulled out of me.

“Lovely.” He says much softer this time, watching me with gentle eyes. He keeps his devoted gaze onto my visage, his thumb lightly goes over my lips once. “Everything a guy could ever ask for in a person. Everything that I could ever want in life. If I could have one wish, it’d be you.”

My eyes flicker between bright azure orbs, the air between us charged. Before I can say anything, the sound of muffled yelling from my brother’s room startles us. I hastily look away embarrassed, the moment between us broken.

“Can I make you pretty, too?” I flash him a toothy grin and he playfully rolls his eyes, seeking refuge onto my bed. That’s all the answer I need before I push at his shoulders to guide his back down before I settle myself onto his lower stomach, giggling with an eyeshadow palette in one hand and a makeup brush in the other.

Washing flecks of glittery white over his eyelids, I bring my face closer to his and take the time to study the teen under me while his eyes are closed. His slender hands find purchase at my hips and I find myself mesmerized at the mini constellations that adorn his handsome face. Albeit not many, every freckle looks like a tiny star, accentuating the blonde’s mesmerizing features.

I lean in closer to get a better look as I carefully paint a streak of black, a steady hand making a line. I inspect my latest stroke when his hand gently grabs the wrist of the hand I have hovering over his face, the same one holding my eyeliner brush. His eyes slowly open as to not disturb my art, our faces close to one another. Kenny showcases his boyish smile, flashing me with deep dimples at the lack of space between us and my eyes inadvertently lower, seeking plush lips.

“Haven’t you noticed that yeah, the boys are overprotective over you. But when it comes to Kenny and Craig, it’s different?”

Fuck.

[shadowphoenixrider]

Healing Hands

(After a tiring mission, Shadow helps Gambit relax. He tries not to fall deeper in love with her. Wrote this on a whim, and on a whim wrote it in present tense! Also I have to give a shout-out to the blog @cera-writes whose prompt I requested from a while back gave me considerable inspiration for this! Enjoy!)

It hurts. It hurts all over.

Magneto is hard to argue with at the best of times, and absolutely not when he's been whipped into a frenzy by whatever braindead bullshit the Friends of Humanity have been pulling this time.

The X-Men prevailed, eventually. But, like all fights against the Omega-level mutant who they understood but could not condone, it left everyone battered, bruised, and exhausted.

Even trudging down the Blackbird's ramp is a struggle, and Gambit wonders idly if he can just lie down on the floor and see about shucking out of his armour a little later.

But then he sees her.

Shadow is at her post with Beast, waiting for them to come in so she can triage and get everyone back on their feet. She's already fussing over Cyclops, who is trying to put off his treatment, as usual. It is only Beast's firm tone that gets their uptight leader to acquiesce and sit down, stripping off his glove so Shadow can begin her work.

Of the team, Gambit judges himself the least injured - Magneto had thrown him around a bit and he was going to have some very pretty bruises under his cuirass, but he'd come off a lot better than the others.

"Are you not staying to be healed, Gambit?" Storm asks as he makes his way out of the hanger.

"I'll be fine, Stormy." He replies, waving a hand loosely. "Tell her she know where to find Gambit if she's worried."

"You know she will be." Storm retorts, a slight frosty edge to her tone at the playful nickname.

Gambit's heart skips, that uncomfortable pulse through his body at the missed beat. She's right, of course. But...

"Shadow got her hands full wit Cyke and you ladies, mes amies." He says. "Ol' Gambit can wait."

And he strides out on burning legs before he can be argued out of it.

Gambit refuses to admit that he ends up regretting his decision - he insists the wait would have driven him stir crazy - but the aching pain chews up his body like a dog with a bone. It chips away at him, invading every thought he tries to have to distract himself. When he finally drops onto the bench in the locker room after stashing his bo staff, he only has enough strength to shrug his trench-coat off his shoulders. It pools on the floor with a soft hiss of fabric. He knows he should pick it up. But the fatigue has sunk into his bones, and even the thought of straightening his back to begin unlatching his cuirass feels like far, far too much effort.

He sighs deeply, wearily.

"So this is where you got to."

Shadow's voice makes his heart jump-start - a pulse of energy that makes him look up to see her entering the room. She smiles kindly at him as she crosses the tiled floor to him.

"Pain caught up with you?" She asks softly, and deep down Gambit is relieved that she isn't scolding him. There's not even a droplet of blame in her tone, and he feels his heart ache.

"Yeah." He says, too weary to nod. Shadow moves closer, guiding his head to rest against her chest - not the most comfortable of places, but it doesn't matter when he hears her heartbeat under his ear, when her fingers tangle in his hair. She's so soft, so tender to him and he wants to collapse into her like a tower of cards, wrap himself up in a gentle love that he barely remembers and still longs for.

He loops his arms loosely around her waist, trying not to entertain the hopeful thought of more with her. Her friendship is enough. It has to be.

She doesn't say anything, but he feels her presence wash under his skin like a ghost, moving through his body. She can't cure the fatigue - that's beyond her power - but she can soothe his pain and heal the bruises and welts under his armour. It doesn't lift his tiredness, but it smooths the edge off. Everything comes much easier when it doesn't hurt.

Gambit watches Shadow as she returns to herself - a blank face suddenly flickering back to life, and eyes fluttering open. He can never truly get over seeing his black and red eyes in another's face - the only visible marker of his mutation briefly a mark of hers. She blinks, and the darkness draws away into the corners and the red pulls back to reveal light blue, like the aquamarine necklace he lifted from a mob boss's arm candy, long since vanished into the black markets.

She strokes his cheek, fingers tracing over his cowl.

"Do you want a hand getting out of this?" She asks.

The dismissal is on the tip of his tongue - he's fine, he doesn't need her help. He just needs some time to be bothered, or until Cyclops or Wolverine comes in and teases or shames him into moving.

But there's something about her offer, of someone to take care of him, just this once. And he yearns for it.

"Yeah. Please."

Shadow smiles, presses a kiss to his forehead, before she moves behind him, nimble fingers finding the catches of his cuirass and releasing them in quick succession. Gambit utters a deep sigh in relief as his armour cracks open, the weight lifting off his shoulders as Shadow removes it. His undersuit is stuck to his skin with sweat, as usual, but she's seen him slick before, so there's no hesitation as she slowly peels it off his abdomen and up. The cool air on his stomach washes some of the fatigue back, sharpening his focus enough that he can shuck off his cowl, hair tumbling free in a wild mess.

Gambit leans forward to let Shadow pull the suit up and over his shoulders, head and down his arms, taking his gloves off with it. He sits for a minute, enjoying his body cooling as he watches Shadow straighten his suit out as if it was her own, laying it next to him. He should help her; he doesn't need to be waited on-

"It's okay." Her soft voice answers his unspoken words. "Save your strength for the showers. Let me help you." She drops to her knees and he stretches his legs out.

"You sure, mon amie?" He asks as she tugs his greaves off him, waves of released heat rolling up his legs. "Don' need to join me in dere if ya don' want."

"It's nothing I haven't seen before." Shadow smiles up at him, beautifully earnest, almost with an innocence he's not known for decades. His heart aches. "If that's okay with you, of course?"

He manages a rueful chuckle.

"Think Gambit's gonna say no to sharin' a shower with a beautiful woman like yaself?" He teases. "Not like it ain't anythin' I haven't seen before."

That gentle smile turns into a knowing smirk that makes his heart jump in a way he really doesn't want to fully acknowledge. It makes him want to kiss her.

"Glad to hear you're feeling a little brighter." She says, and means it. She rises back to her feet, looking him up and down, her gaze settling on his leg armour. "Want help with this, or do you want me to meet you in the showers?" She holds her hands out anyway, even though they both know she would probably struggle to help him stand.

"Gambit can handle dis." He rumbles, taking her hands even as he pushes himself to standing under his own power. He notices she plants her feet anyway. "Go ahead, petite."

She watches him for a moment, bright, sharp blue eyes trying to figure out if he's hiding something. But he isn't, so she doesn't. She nods.

"Alright. See you there."

"See ya soon, mon amie." He smiles as she slips away.

Gambit's aware now the others have joined them, and are changing around them, watching the scene play out from the corner of their eyes. He knows what they're thinking, and he doesn't care. Yes, every now and again he'll steal her away to a private room and they'll have fun together. And yes, they're also friends. No more than that.

No matter what his heart might think otherwise.

He strips down quickly now he's painless and with the thought he'll have tender company in the showers - as well as avoid the knowing, sideways glances the others keep sending him. Especially Rogue - he can't bear the sadness he can see in her eyes when she thinks no-one's looking.

Thankfully no-one says anything as he strides past - the mission had been so tiring that no-one feels up to prodding each other. He's grateful for that mercy.

There's no thoughts of getting up to anything sweaty, yet Gambit can't deny the flash of pure heat that lights him up when he sees Shadow's bare body. She's beautifully compact; curves sculpted perfectly for her short, five foot three body, yet so often hidden under soft, baggier clothes that cloak her gorgeous figure in mystery. He's not sure why, but he enjoys it. Maybe it's because he's one of the few privileged enough to know what she truly looks like. Maybe it's how she quietly rejects the pressure to look a certain way, prioritising comfort in a way that can confuse others.

She turns at his presence, her focus sharpening on him. That's the look she gets when she's on a mission or her mind's made up. A frisson dances across his skin.

"Sit." Her tone is gentle yet firm, softened further by her lopsided smile. "I won't be able to reach to do a good job if you don't." She tilts her head. "And I think you'd appreciate the sit down regardless."

"Got dat right." Gambit nods, thanking Xavier's wisdom for adding benches to the showers as he sits down, stretching his long legs out. "Ya think we can convince de Professor to spring fer baths in de rooms in the future?"

It's a joke, but Shadow actually seems to consider it.

"You'd definitely feel better after a soak." She says. "I've never been one for them, but they'd definitely be good for a post-mission rest. Especially if you've someone to run it for you."

Now she's put the idea in his head, Gambit can't help but imagine the bliss of sinking into hot water, her soft, gentle hands wiping away the stress and pain. That is the makings of Paradise, and he wavers between wanting to grasp it tightly, and knowing deep down a thief like him doesn't deserve it. That's something for Scott and Jean to enjoy. Not him.

He's grateful when the hot shock of water washes those thoughts away; he groans in relief at the heat against his sore muscles, the ones Shadow couldn't fully soothe. Gambit lets the water run down his body for a moment before he leans his head back, soaking his long hair.

Shadow's fingers card delicately through it, untangling the knots and gathering it up to cascade down his broad back. A pause, before her hands return, lathering his hair up. Gambit's eyes slide closed as her fingertips massage his scalp, and he allows himself to get lost in her hands. She claims no experience as a masseuse, and he wonders idly if her powers are granting her a boon in that regard. How easy it must be to grant such pleasure when you can listen to the body itself tell you what it needs.

Is that why she's so insistent on doting on him right now? Can she hear his body crying out for comfort? No...she'd always insisted it was physical damage she could hear, and he's inclined to believe her, with how reactive she seems to be to noise.

There's another reason, and Gambit forbids himself from travelling down that path. He cannot give himself hope, not after his and Rogue's relationship withered on the vine.

They're just friends, he and Shadow. Just friends.

Friends with benefits, maybe. But no more than that.

"Lean back." Her voice breaks through the haze of his thoughts, and he does as he's told. Shadow rinses his hair through, the suds and foam flowing softly down his body. "Do you want me to do your face?"

"I'll handle it, chère." He replies. "I start dere, you on my back, eh?"

"Sounds good." He hears the smile in her voice.

They make a good team - he washes his face and the areas that are too sensitive for her to touch, and she does everything else. He tries not to get distracted, but it's difficult. Her hands are small with long fingers, and they're both nimble and soft, only the slightest calluses on the pads of her thumbs. More will grow and harden as she continues to train with her sword, but for now her hands are still...'delicate' doesn't seem like the right word. Yes, Shadow is more fragile than the rest of them, but she doesn't carry herself that way - the kind of woman with grass-stains on her knees and bruised knuckles. She knows she can't win but she play-fights anyway, giggling madly whenever he wrestles her onto the ground.

He supposes her touch is 'delicate', then, treating him with a tenderness that he...well. He doesn't really want to admit it to himself, but he can't remember the last time he's had - and allowed - such care. Everything else has only ever been platonic, pragmatic, or the regimented passion of strangers, gone in the morning. Not...this.

Gambit braces against the sudden upswell of emotion, the longing of something he knows he cannot have - for anything Remy LeBeau wants will be taken away from him. How ironic, that the thief finds himself stolen from.

Shadow pauses, and for a moment he fears she's read his mind. Her dark brows are furrowed, eyes glittering with concern.

"Remy?" She asks quietly, almost lost in the hiss of water. "You alright?"

He plasters on that winning smile that has most falling to his feet.

"Jus' deep in thought, petite." True warmth diffuses into it as he says: "Now Gambit knows what it be like when ya wander off wit ya thoughts."

She's not buying it - she's getting too sharp for his subterfuge - but she seems to just let it go with a nod. In a way, he's grateful she never pushes him.

He stands up to let her finish his legs off, and Gambit has to stare at the pale blue tiles on the wall, least his mind start whispering of other things she could be doing down there. He's had to do that more than he'd like, actually - moments of admiring the expanses of her pale skin, decorated with brown beauty marks like someone had flicked paint on her, had been rudely interrupted by parts of him loudly remarking on how nicely her breasts fit into his hands. Or reminding him of their past encounter in here, where he'd made a fantasy reality by peeling off her suit with his teeth.

Any other time, he would be happy to indulge those thoughts and tease Shadow with them. Right now? They just made him feel ashamed and embarrassed.

"All done, Remy." Her voice breaks him from his thoughts, and his gaze shifts back to her, and the warm smile on her face. It's like a sunrise, chasing the dark thoughts away. The water droplets are clinging to the curls of her hair like dew.

"Thank you, mon ombre." He rumbles, stepping toward her. "Gambit...I needed that." Before he can think twice, he's pressing a kiss to her head.

"Thought so." She replies, wrapping an arm around his torso to give him a quick, half-hug. "I don't think I've ever seen you so exhausted. I'm sorry this'll have to do - a bath would be more relaxing."

Gambit chuckles.

"It's fine, Shadow. More den fine, actually." He gives her the warmest smile he can, pouring all of his forbidden feelings into it - the only way he can show them without making trouble for her. "Thank you."

Shadow pauses, looking at him for a long moment. Long enough that worry begins to trill in the bottom of his heart that she's noticed. But no, she just smiles back.

"You're welcome, big guy." She says affectionately, his heart skipping a beat.

Then she breezes by him to turn the water off and get their towels, and she offers to help dry him, but he sends her off. She's already done so much for him.

And a part of him fears if she keeps it up, he's going to blurt out something he's going to regret.

Gambit dries and dresses himself, and as he is retying his ponytail, a thought suddenly occurs to him.

Again, he has been stolen from. It's the most basic thief skill, the sleight of hand when your mark is distracted. When she was treating his wounds and fatigue, the healer took his heart.

A smile pulls across his lips.

He has a feeling she will keep it safe.

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

any high school fics where they get together really early on or are already together please? preferably they are or are similar to their canon selves. thank you!!!! :))

Here are some random fics that I've chosen from our high!school Klaine tab, and hope they suit. ~Jen

Redefining Views by inkinmyheartandonthepage [EPUB] [PDF]

Burt and Carol are getting closer and Finn has yet to meet Burt’s son, Kurt. Kurt isn’t like Finn, he’s the type of boy that Finn bullies. Finn and New Directions are about to meet the epic-ness of KLAINE!

~~~~~

The Architects of Life by misqueue

Follows the development of Kurt and Blaine’s relationship in the canon timeline from 3x05 “The First Time”.

~~~~~

Shiftings  by @chazzam  

The shift in their relationship didn’t come out of left field at all. Beneath the surface, things had been changing all along.  This fic describes what changed in Kurt ant Blaine’s relationship to make him realize that his feelings for Kurt were more than just friendship. 

~~~~~~

Family Week by DreamingisBelieving

Mr. Schue gives the assignment for the week: Family. That sends Blaine into a frenzy, because he never got along with his family, but with Kurt by his side, he’ll be fine, right?

~~~~~

Are you spying? by @nineofhearts4

Rachel graduates after the New Directions wins Nationals, leaving Kurt as the new captain of the Glee Club. He is left to pull a new team together, including finding a 12th member after auditions fall flat. He resorts to posting on a show choir forum to recruit new members, where he meets another poster by the name of BWarbler, who happens to be very fed up with his own glee Club, which is now run by Sebastian Smythe. They strike up a friendship online, never realizing that they are show choir rivals who will meet and compete against one another at Regionals. ....until they do

~~~~~

The Sex Investigation Squad by thetimesinbetween

Blaine has befriended the rest of the New Directions guys. In return, they become obsessed with his and Kurt’s sex life. (They’re pretty sure it doesn’t exist and have agreed that, if it does, it probably involves lots of candles and flower petals. But they need to make sure.) Meanwhile, Kurt and Blaine are in an established, happy, sexual Dom/sub relationship, and they’re getting increasingly desperate because people keep interrupting their time alone. Things…well, things escalate.

~~~~~

Nine in the Afternoon by lexinwonderland [PDF] [EPUB]

After Kurt chokes at Regionals, causing them to lose. Blaine does everything he can to reassure him that he still loves him and cares about him. And if that means he has to sing his favorite Panic! At The Disco song, well that’s a plus for him.

~~~~~~

99 perspectives on a single love story by @spaceorphan18

The Story of Kurt and Blaine told through the eyes of everyone else but them. Each chapter is a different perspective in the ongoing tale of their love story.

~~~~

Glass Houses by JennMel

In an alternate universe, all babies are born with a level of empathic sensitivity to others; an ability to sense emotions, to glimpse deep into a person’s soul with just a kiss. Except Kurt Hummel. Registering at a mere 0.5 on the Hawkins Scale of Empathic Sensitivity, Kurt has resigned himself to a lonely life, empty of touch or true love. That is, until the mysterious Blaine Anderson transfers to McKinley, and everything Kurt thought he knew was changed. But finding love is never easy, even in a world where everyone’s emotions are shared. This is the story of the boy who could not feel, and the boy who felt too much.

~~~~~

Delinquent By balletismyobsession

Kurt is starting to lose hope that life at McKinley can be anything more than daily trauma, but that changes when a dark-haired mystery boy transfers and sends rumors swirling. But Kurt is determined not to write Blaine off. As they grow closer, spill painful pasts, and begin to trust one another and heal, they find more than they ever thought they could: someone to call home.