#I started trying to figure out the time line

[narcjsistx]

would sae itoshi be able to recognize his girlfriend just by a simple shade of lip gloss? <3

lately, madrid is always so crowded. SAE ITOSHI as been living here for quite a few years now, he probably knows this city better than his not-so-beloved home prefecture of kanagawa — yet, lately, the number of fans keeps growing

he often has to spend a lot of minutes driving around in front of his house, just to wait for the fans to disperse — since they already know which building he lives in, he can’t risk them finding out his exact apartment number. maybe the situation has gotten this out of hand because of his return to spain after the loss — his first in years — against blue lock, in japan

today is not his lucky day, he’s known that for the past twenty minutes. it’s definitely not his lucky day if, even after getting out of the car and making sure no one was around, he still ended up surrounded by a crowd of at least thirty people

"im a huge fan of yours, sae! i've been following you since you started playing in the youth club!"

"okay. here's the autograph"

even though he’s tired, coming back from a full day of training and all he really wants is to collapse into your arms, being socially acceptable is necessary. the fan looks at him dreamily, eyes flicking between his face and the autograph, while he hands her the pen and moves on to the next person — starting the cycle all over again: autographs, photos, and brief exchanges of words. he notices the shoe store in front of the house and realizes that the time you usually get home has long passed, yet he’s still here — and not with you

by now, he signs the banners without even noticing, more focused on figuring out the quickest way to handle the last ten people that are still waiting for him. he only snaps back to reality when he feels something unexpected

lips crash against his cheek, sticky from a thin layer of gloss. he involuntarily tightens the pen in his hands, feeling the irritation grow quickly but gradually inside him — annoyed but not surprised by the fans who always try to cross the line

"im taken, go fucking awa-"

"i know"

as he turns around, ready to call the police, the first thing he notices is the tint of gloss on the lips that kissed him. it’s a soft reddish, enough to resemble real lipstick — and, above all, the color of his hair. his muscles relax automatically as he lets out a sigh and moves a hand to your side, gently pulling you closer to him. there’s only one person in all of madrid who wears this shade of gloss, rosewood shine

"why aren’t you waiting for me at home?"

"i saw you from the window and you looked a bit in danger. you don’t mind your fans seeing me, right?"

"i think it would be hypocritical to be afraid of my fanbase seeing my girlfriend of three years, after stories and post"

you smile, rising onto your toes once again to kiss his cheek. you know he’s not particularly fond of being affectionate in public, but maybe the fact that you haven’t seen each other all day makes him more willing to let you — and his fans — notice just how disgustingly in love he is. you hear light giggles from the crowd while someone takes a photo of you without your permission, but honestly, it’s something you’ve been used to for a while. sae hands the signed paper back to the fan, who smiles gratefully — maybe genuinely — amid the fancrazybase

"you immediately pulled away when she kissed your cheek!"

"that’s normal. im taken, i didn't know it was her"

"that’s not something everyone would do"

"then raise your standards"

only seventeen photos later, you finally get the chance to step through the door of your home. sae collapses onto the couch, pulling you with him, as you end up sitting on his lap while he slowly massages your hips. you kiss his face affectionately, while he finally seems to relax, still amused by what happened

"do you do this with all your fans? reject their kisses?"

"it’s called basic human decency, bonus points if you’re in a steady relationship. why would i have gloss on my face that’s not yours?"

"are you seriously only bothered about the gloss?"

"honestly, i just need them to be your lips. you can even wear a lipstick that doesn’t come off, not even if i cut my cheek"

"so cheecky"

"you said 'disgustingly in love and loyal' in the wrong way"

✶ beautiful dividers by @dollywons !!

✶ 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

[theorphicangel]

here’s a thot… what abt husband sukuna finding the books u like to read in ur free time?? like smut n shit😭 then he gets jealous and tries to recreate it

I LOVE THISSSSSS ARGHH UR MIND

sukuna's always finding your nose in some book, whether it's early in the morning, breakfast, lunch, dinner or even him finding you staying up half the night to finish a novel you've always been a book nerd.

and that's fine by him, sukuna's the opposite of what one would call a book nerd but at least you're there to balance it out.

sukuna had no problem with you reading books but he got a little worried finding out that you were devoting all your attention to reading. you barely glance up at him from the page you were reading or listen to what he has to say.

the issue got even worse when he notices that you're always hiding the pages that you're reading, turning away from him so he can't see. he wouldn't have thought anything of it but the fact that you were neglecting him seemed to be pissing him off.

what was it about those books that just got you hooked to them, he wondered, often he finds you giggling away or even biting your lip in intense focus when reading. what is so good about those damned books?

one night, when you're busy doing another task around the house, sukuna finds your book strewn open on the couch. evidently you were going to come back to read the book after your task but this was the perfect time for sukuna to take sneak peek.

immediately reading the page sukuna is taken aback slightly at what he finds...

these pages are filled with nothing but smut.

okay, there is a lot of plot but sukuna can't help but flick through the parts you've highlighted which contains nothing but sex scenes. the actions, the dialogue and the description are so much more vivid than he had expected and he finds his own face getting hot at reading these words.

it finally clocks to him that you like this and it's no wonder he finds your toes curling whenever you flick a page. this shit turns you on.

placing the book down in its original position sukuna is left both traumatised but also successful in finding a way to get you to pay attention to him.

what you thought was just an average session of love making with sukuna suddenly shifted. he was rougher and more vocal than usual, his eyes fixated on you as he thrusted in and out of you.

you're excited by his energy wondering where this came from. It's not until you hear him repeat a line that you've highlighted in your book that you pause.

"where did you get that from?" you frown.

"what do you mean?" he asks, sweat dripping down his nose.

it takes a while before you figure out what he's done and your jaw falls open.

Sukuna smirks, a hand pressing against your lower stomach. "yeah, I know what you've been reading."

"kuna-" you don't even know where to start. was he proving a point? was he jealous of the fictional escapades that you imagine?

he cuts you off anyways before you can question his jealousy.

"Just-" he hesitates, drinking in your naked body laid spread for him. "Don't hold back from me if there's something you want to try."

you bit down on your lower lip, if you were shy before sukuna was inviting you to be more vocal in what you wanted out of sex. "well, there are a few things we could try."

by the time the two of you are wasted and finished, sukuna merely smirks at you.

"you should keep reading those dirty books, you can find some new tricks for us."

[scarsw1fe]

Mechanic

Natasha Romanoff x reader

The garage always smelled like oil and metal, but Natasha liked it that way. Grease under her nails, a wrench in her hand, rock playing through the radio; this was her element. Simple, no drama. Just cars and peace.

Natasha had been here since six that morning, sweat dampening her t-shirt, oil tattooing her skin in smudges. Her red hair in a braid, shining bright from the sun. Natasha had known who she was: quiet, skilled at what she does, capable. She kept to herself, found beauty in cars, and rarely let anyone in. Especially not customers. Most of them barely looked at her twice anyway.

So when the bell above the garage door rang and she glanced up, she expected the usual; an old guy with lots of questions or a commuter.

But instead, she saw her.

The woman stood out of place, in a white, business casual dress and heels that didn’t belong anywhere near the oil-stained floors of the garage. Her hair was slightly curled at the bottom, and she had a warmth in her eyes that made Natasha feel uneasy.

“Hi, sorry to just walk in like this. My car’s making this weird knocking sound. I figured it’d be smarter to stop somewhere before I end up on the side of the road.” The woman said, stepping further in.

Natasha grabbed the rag from her back pocket and wiped her hands, trying not to stare.

“What kind of car?” She asked, keeping her voice even.

“Honda. Civic. It’s not old, but not… new. Somewhere in the middle.”

“Aren’t we all,” Natasha smirked.

The woman laughed, and Natasha felt it in her chest. Not the sound, but the way it cracked the stillness inside her.

I’m Y/N, by the way,” the woman said. She offered a hand, hesitated when she realized how dirty Natasha’s hands were.

Natasha looked at her own stained fingers and shrugged.

“Natasha. Don’t worry, I’m better with engines than handshakes.”

“That’s a pretty good line.” Y/N smiled. Natasha bent slightly to take a look towards the parking lot.

“Let me take a look. I’ll have you back on the road in no time.”

But as she followed Y/N out to the Civic, a low anxiety tugged at her. Not because of the car, it would probably be nothing she hadn’t seen before. No, it was the way Y/N moved beside her that threw her off balance. Like someone who didn’t just walk into your garage, but your thoughts.

And Natasha has always been good at building things. What she didn’t know yet was how quickly Y/N would start tearing those things down.

Y/N walked with careful steps, heels clacking softly against the concrete as they reached the Civic. It was silver and a little dusty. Natasha crouched beside it, fingers grazing the tire like a doctor checking for a pulse.

“When does it make the sound?” She asked.

“Usually when I start it.”

Natasha nodded, already cataloguing the possibilities in her head. She popped the hood and propped it open. A puff of heat rose from the engine, and she leaned in, inspecting the joints, looking for the source.

“It’s not the worst I’ve seen,” She murmured.

“Could be the spark plugs or the timing belt.”

Y/N stood a little too close behind her, and Natasha was suddenly aware of how she probably smelled like metal and gas. But she didn’t step away.

“I don’t really know anything about cars,” Y/N admitted.

“My dad used to do all this stuff for me. I never learned, I guess.”

Natasha smiled without looking up.

“That’s what people like me are here for.”

“People like you?”

Natasha glanced over her shoulder, her eyes meeting Y/N’s. There wasn’t judgment in the question, just curiosity.

“Yeah. People who live under hoods and engines.”

Y/N laughed again, and Natasha cursed herself for how much she liked it.

“You want to wait inside? I can check it out properly and let you know.” She asked, suddenly needing space from the closeness.

“Sure.” Y/N said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“But only if you promise to play more rock music. That sounded way better than the top 30 station I’ve been stuck with.”

“You know your genres?” Natasha tilted her head.

“I know enough.”

They traded a look that lingered for a moment before Y/N walked inside.

Back inside the garage, Natasha slid under the car with ease, tools in hand. The radio hummed in the background, AC/DC this time. Something so… comforting.

But the rhythm of her work felt disrupted now.

Because just a few feet away, a woman in white heels sat on a worn bench, legs crossed, watching the grease-stained world around her like it didn’t bother her one bit. Like she might belong there.

And for the first time in a long time, Natasha didn’t want to be left alone.

Natasha slid out from under the car after a few minutes, the smudges on her arms darker now, hair clinging to her forehead with sweat. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, then glanced towards the bench where Y/N was seated, legs still crossed and fingers playing with the bracelets on her wrist.

“You’re lucky.” Natasha rasped, standing up and tossing a wrench into her toolbox.

“It’s nothing major. The rattling was coming from a loose heat shield. I can tighten it in fifteen minutes, tops.”

“So I won’t die in a crash?” Y/N smiled.

“Not today,” Natasha smirked, eyes lingering for a beat too long.

“Unless you plan on testing me.”

“Is that a challenge?” Y/N’s eyes sparkled, amused.

“Could be.” Natasha took a step closer, slowly pulling her gloves off with ease.

“But you don’t strike me as the reckless type.”

Y/N tilted her head, almost like she was taking notes.

“You don’t know me.”

“No,” Natasha said, voice a little lower now.

“But I’m good at reading engines. People, too.”

She was standing closer than before, not too close, but enough. Close enough for Y/N to notice the smudged curve of Natasha’s collarbone beneath her shirt, the way her voice curled around words like she meant every syllable.

Y/N held her gaze, but there was a flicker of something. Awareness, maybe. Anticipation.

“Are you always this intense with your customers?” she asked lightly.

Natasha leaned one arm against the nearby pillar, her stance relaxed, her eyes anything but.

“Only the interesting ones.”

A pause stretched between them. The air was warm, but it wasn’t just the heat from the tools anymore.

“You’re not intimidated by much, are you?” Y/N asked, her voice softer now, curious. Maybe a little breathless.

Natasha chuckled, the sound low and confident.

“I work under pressure. Fix problems before they break down completely. I like control.”

That last word sat heavy between them.

Y/N blinked, her lips parting slightly, caught off guard in the best way.

And Natasha, seeing it, stepped back with a small smirk, like she was pulling the choke on purpose, just to hear the engine purr.

“Sit tight,” she said, grabbing her tools again.

“I’ll finish up the Civic. Then maybe…” she paused, glancing over her shoulder.

“You let me buy you a coffee. Since I saved you from that crash.”

Y/N laughed, but it wasn’t quite steady now.

“You’re sure that’s a good idea?”

Natasha didn’t say anything, just knelt back down beside the car.

And when she went back to work, the only sound louder than the ratchet clicking was the thrum of Y/N’s heartbeat.

Natasha finished tightening the last bolt and slid out from under the car again, this time slower, like she knew she was being watched, and she was.

Y/N sat forward slightly now, elbows resting on her knees, eyes trailing down Natasha’s figure. The sun coming through the garage door made the sheen of sweat on Natasha’s arms glint, her braid slightly frayed, her jaw smudged with oil.

Natasha stood and rolled her shoulders.

“All done. You’re safe to drive.”

“That fast?” Y/N asked, but there was no surprise in her voice. Just that same quiet interest. That same pull.

Natasha walked over to the sink near the wall and turned on the faucet, scrubbing her hands.

“Told you, nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Y/N’s gaze dropped to Natasha’s hands, the way her veins flexed under skin, the grit swirling down the drain. She didn’t respond, not right away.

“You’ve got a little grease right there.” She finally said, standing and pointing just under Natasha’s jaw.

Natasha looked at her, drying her hands on a towel.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Y/N stepped closer, her heels careful on the concrete, but her gaze steady. She reached up slowly like she might brush it away, but stopped just short, her fingers hovering.

Natasha didn’t move.

Instead, she leaned just slightly into that space. Not enough to touch. Just enough to shift the gravity between them.

“Are you going to wipe it off…” she murmured, voice low.

“Or were you just looking for an excuse to touch me?”

Y/N didn’t answer. Not with words.

Her fingers closed that distance, slow and soft against Natasha’s skin, but Natasha caught her wrist before she could pull away. Just held it there, gently but firm. Her grip wasn’t rough, but it was unshakable.

“I don’t mind.” Natasha said, taking a step closer. Her body was heat and tension, all lean muscle.

“But if you touch, you better mean it.”

Y/N’s breath caught, just slightly.

“Is that a warning?”

Natasha tilted her head, smiling with just the edge of her mouth.

“No. That’s me being polite.”

And then, before Y/N could speak again, Natasha guided her back, slow, one step at a time, until her back met the wall beside the tool rack.

Not aggressive. Just intentional.

Natasha’s palm flattened against the wall beside her head, her other hand still loosely holding Y/N’s wrist. Her eyes never left hers.

“You don’t belong in a place like this.” Natasha said, her voice dropping to a rasp.

“Clean dress. Pretty curls.”

Y/N swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“And you?”

Natasha leaned in close, her lips ghosting near Y/N’s ear.

“I smell like sweat and gasoline. And I ruin clean things.”

Y/N exhaled shakily, the tension between them thick now, heavy enough to drown in. Her fingers curled lightly into the front of Natasha’s shirt.

“I didn’t say I wanted to stay clean.”

Natasha pulled back just enough to meet her eyes again, then smiled, like she’d been waiting to hear that.

“You sure?” She asked, voice low and close.

“Because once I start something, I don’t half-ass it.”

Y/N didn’t flinch. She just nodded.

And Natasha, grease-streaked, glowing, smirking, leaned in and kissed her, hot and unhurried. Like she had all the time in the world and every intention of undoing her.

Natasha's kiss was firm and insistent, tasting of sweat and metal, a heady combination that sent a shiver down Y/N's spine. Y/N responded with equal passion, her hands gripping Natasha's shirt tighter, pulling her closer. The kiss deepened, their breaths mingling, the world outside the garage fading away.

Natasha's hand that had been against the wall moved to Y/N's waist, pulling her flush against her body, her grip tight and rough. Y/N could feel the hard planes of Natasha's muscles, the heat radiating from her skin. It was a stark contrast to the cool concrete wall against her back, and she reveled in the sensation, her body pressing eagerly against Natasha's.

Natasha's lips trailed from Y/N's mouth to her jaw, then down her neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. Y/N's head fell back, exposing more of her neck, and she let out a soft moan. Natasha's hands roamed, one gripping her hip, the other tangling in her hair, tilting her head to give better access.

"Is this what you wanted?" Natasha murmured against her skin, her voice a low growl.

“To be dirty and messed up?"

Y/N's response was a gasp as Natasha's teeth nipped at her collarbone.

"Yes." She managed to whisper.

"More."

A low chuckle vibrated against Y/N's chest as Natasha's hands moved to the straps of her dress, pushing them off her shoulders. The dress slipped down, pooling at her waist, leaving her in just her bra and heels. Natasha stepped back slightly, taking in the sight of her, a smirk playing on her lips.

"You're a vision.” She said, her voice husky.

"All clean and perfect. It's a shame to mess you up."

Y/N reached out, pulling Natasha back to her, her hands going to the hem of Natasha's shirt.

"Then mess me up." She demanded.

Natasha obliged, her lips crashing down on Y/N's once more. The garage, with its tools and grease and metal, became their world, a place of heat and passion and the clashing of their bodies. The radio played on, a backdrop to their dance, their breaths and moans the only words that mattered.

Natasha's hands roamed over Y/N's body, tracing the curves and dips with a hungry intensity. She gripped Y/N's hips, pulling her flush against her own, letting her feel the evidence of her arousal. Y/N gasped, her eyes fluttering open to meet Natasha's fierce gaze.

Natasha's hands tightened on Y/N's hips, and she spun her around, pressing her back against her chest. Y/N could feel the heat of her breath on her neck. Natasha's hands moved to Y/N's wrists, pinning them behind her back with one strong hand, while the other trailed down her stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of her panties.

Y/N let out a soft moan, arching her back, pressing herself more firmly against Natasha.

“I want you to take me right now.” Y/N breathed. Natasha's teeth grazed her earlobe, her voice a low rumble.

"I'm going to bend you over your car and show you what it means to be dirty."

Y/N's breath hitched in anticipation as Natasha guided her to the hood of the Civic, her hands never leaving Y/N's body. She bent her over the car, the cool metal a sharp contrast to the heat of their bodies. Natasha's hand pressed firmly between Y/N's shoulder blades, holding her in place as she trailed kisses down her spine.

Y/N's hands gripped the edge of the hood, knuckles white, as she pushed back against Natasha, urging her on. Natasha's hands roamed over her ass, squeezing and kneading, before lifting up her dress around her waist to the waistband of her panties and slowly pulling them down. Y/N stepped out of them, her body trembling with anticipation.

Natasha stood back for a moment, taking in the sight of Y/N bent over her car, her dress still around her waist, her bra still on, but her panties gone.

"Fuck, you're so sexy like this. All exposed and waiting for me.” She murmured, her voice thick with desire.

She leaned down, her body pressing against Y/N's as she reached around and unclasped Y/N's bra, letting it fall forward. Her hands cupped Y/N's breasts, her thumbs brushing over her nipples, eliciting a soft moan from Y/N.

“You like that?” Natasha rasped out. Y/N could only nod in response, too caught up on the feeling.

"I'm going to fuck you now. Hard and fast."

Y/N nodded, her body aching with need.

"Please." She whispered.

Natasha trailed her hands from Y/N’s tits to between her legs, feeling the wetness from her heat. She teased her clit in slow, deliberate circles.

“You’re so wet for me, Y/N.” Nat’s voice is a low purr. She positioned her now clean fingers at Y/N's entrance, her free hand gripping her hip tightly. With one swift thrust, she was inside her, both of them letting out a low moan of pleasure. Y/N from the feeling of Natasha’s long fingers inside of her, and Natasha from the warmth and tightness of Y/N’s pussy.

“Fuck, you feel so good. All tight and wet for me.” Natasha groaned, hand moving in a steady rhythm.

Natasha set a punishing pace, her hand slapping against Y/N’s pussy, the sound of skin meeting filled the garage. Y/N pushed back against her, meeting each thrust with equal fervor. The car rocked slightly with the force of their movements, the radio still playing in the background, a contrast to the raw, primal scene unfolding.

Natasha's hand roamed over Y/N's body, gripping her hips, her tits, her throat, leaving no doubt who was in control. Y/N's body trembled, her breaths coming in short gasps, her body coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust.

"Natasha." she gasped, her body on the edge of an orgasm.

"I'm close."

Natasha's response was a low grunt, her pace quickening, her hand slamming into Y/N's with a ferocity that left them both breathless.

"Cum for me." She demanded, her voice a low rasp. She leaned over Y/N’s back, lips lingering next to her ear.

"Let me hear you." She whispered.

Y/N's body obeyed, her orgasm crashing over her like a wave, her body convulsing as she cried out Natasha's name.

They stayed like that for a moment, their bodies slick with sweat, their breaths coming in ragged gasps, before Natasha pulled out. She helped Y/N up, pulling her into a tight embrace, their bodies still trembling with the aftershocks of their passion.

"Fuck, that was hot.” Natasha murmured, her voice a low rumble against Y/N's ear.

Y/N let out a soft laugh, her body boneless in Natasha's arms.

"You can say that again." she whispered, a smug smile playing on her lips.

“You still up for that coffee?” Natasha asked, leading them both to chuckle lightly.

[kancelolol]

On Loop Itoshi Rin x Fem!reader

— You love calling Rin to randomly update him on your day, and he wishes he responded more.

wc: 1.4k || Oneshot || Angst || Hint of fluff? || No happy ending || Implied death/Grief || Swearing || Might be ooc... || Not proofread

"Good morning Rinnie! I hope you've eaten already!"

Rin blankly blinks up at the ceiling as he listens to the sound of scraping and shuffling. His phone laid flat on its screen near his ear, showing off the back of his clear phone case.

On display was a polaroid of you. A personal favorite of his, mainly because you looked so cheerful and wore his favorite smile.

He tries to imagine that you're there with him, using your digital face and voice as a substitute (even when it can never truly compare to the real deal). He lies there in his bedhair, his eyelashes littered with eye crust that he tries to rub away.

A mess was what he was—just like his room that had scattered clothes on the floor and dust cultivating in the corners.

But he smiles nonetheless.

Because he gets to talk to you.

"Morning. Just woke up. I'll eat later." He answers quietly with a slight rasp, already being lulled back to sleep from your comforting voice.

"I'm making myself some pasta right now. Saw a video online last night and started craving it," you chuckle, which is accompanied by sizzling in the background. "You better eat before heading to practice. You can't run on an empty stomach!"

He rolls his eyes, but your words do a better job at warming him than the sun that's peaking through his window's curtains.

"I know. I know. No need to remind me," is what Rin says, exasperation seeping into his tone.

But the way you laugh afterwards makes him think that he wouldn't mind hearing more of your nagging.

Just as long as he could keep listening to your laughter.

He hears your voice again a few hours later while he's at practice. Feets away from his teammates—who were chatting during their break—Rin immediately reaches for his phone.

Even before his towel or water bottle.

"Hey Rinnie! I saw a cat today and it really reminded me of you!" You chirp like it was the highlight of your day, experiencing something so small.

Rin doesn't blame you. He thinks he's the same in some regard when it comes to you.

He still scoffs through his heavy breathing as he remembers the picture of a pleased black cat resting in your lap, "I saw the photo you sent. Is it cause of my hair?"

"It was super cute. It kept looking at me funny at first, and I thought it hated me. But it eventually came up and cuddled on my lap!" You snicker as you recall your meeting with the little feline, "Just like you."

"Since when have I ever done something like that?" He tsks, his lips twitching upward while he finally chugs some water. He takes a moment to pause, contemplating his next words.

They come out soft. Reassuring. And so unlike Rin.

"And I don't hate you. Never have. Never will."

"Who are you talking to?" Isagi appears behind him, causing Rin to whip his head around with narrowed eyes.

His response was a curt—"None of your business"—which prompts Isagi to open his mouth to retort. But a thought seems to flash through his mind, and he quickly shuts it.

"My bad. You just looked happier than usual. Got curious." He shrugs, wearing an unreadable expression.

Rin clicks his tongue, "Curiosity isn't a good excuse to interrupt someone's call. So fuck off. I'm talking to my girlfriend."

He turns his back to Isagi and the rest of the group again, murmuring a small apology as your voice continues speaking from the other end of the line—just barely missing the downturn of Isagi's mouth, and the glimmer of sympathy in his eyes.

By the time he's home and preparing dinner, you have something new to talk about.

"Hi Rinnie! Remember that wedding I'm attending in a few months? Well I'm trying to figure out what outfit to get, but I'm not sure about the color."

Of course he remembers. He could never forget the excited look on your face when you spoke about it, all happy for the bride, who was your friend.

A bowl and spoon clank against one another as Rin plates his meal, intently listening to your struggles with the dress code and purchasing attire that would match it.

"I don't even know what shade of either color would suit me..." You mumble to yourself, loud enough for the mic to pick up and echo throughout Rin's kitchen from his phone speaker.

"I think you'll look pretty regardless of what you go for," he gives a rare compliment that always circled in his mind, but was never quite able to escape his throat. At least, until now, where it comes out quiet, but firm.

As if there was no denying it.

And in Rin's eyes, there truly was no way of doing so.

"Ugh...I can't even decide on a simple outfit for this wedding. Makes me respect my friends who got married. Can't imagine how much of a hassle wedding planning is."

A corner of Rin's mouth curls up, "I think you're just an overthinker. You'll probably grow grey hairs if you were left alone to host a wedding."

There's silence on your end, except for the faint clicks and swiping of a laptop touchpad.

"...Still, I'd love to try it one day. With you." You admit, barely above a whisper, like it was a sacred dream.

Rin's heart skips a beat, lips tightening to prevent them from wobbling.

"Mm...I think I'll decide on this later. I've got time anyways," the snap of your shutting laptop rings out after a few minutes, alongside a soft laughter, "I'll give you a runway show once it gets delivered too."

Rin's chest hurts, but he snorts with amusement as he sits down with his food, phone in his free hand, "Fine. I'll look forward to it."

"I hope you look forward to it. Because I do." You state at the same time before pausing, and it's dead silent. Not just on your end, but with Rin too.

His apartment feels bigger—emptier—than usual. It's dimly lit where he's seated at his small dining table. Across from him stood a single, empty chair.

"But maybe that's cause I miss you."

You chuckle as the sentence falls off your tongue, meant to be light-hearted.

It's quiet though—too quiet—with an underlying hesitance, like you saying that was the equivalent of confessing a sin.

Rin swallows hard, releasing the grip on his spoon to trace his thumb over his phone like it was your hand.

But it wasn't your hand. It could never be.

No matter how much he tried to delude himself into believing it.

"...Fuck—I miss you too. I swear I do." His chest squeezes even tighter as his voice cracks, the words flowing out in broken pieces like his heart.

His other hand covers his eyes—shielding his impending tears—as he continues, "I think about you so much. It's so difficult to do anything when—"

"I think I'll end it here for today." Your voice perks up again, like you couldn't hear how you had cracked a hole that opened Rin's reality once again.

"Call me back when you can. Good luck with your match! Love you. Take care."

Rin can practically hear—see—the sweet smile that's on your face. One that used to light up his world, but now haunts him with its absence.

"Wait—"

The voicemail ends with a beep before the apartment goes back to silence. Rin just stares at the list of voicemails from all the times that you've called.

All the times that he never answered.

His food is long forgotten—appetite disappearing.

Yet, he still craved something.

He craved you.

Any piece of you. Any trace of you.

Like a wild animal searching for scraps, Rin thinks he will always cling to the memory of you. Even if it's poison.

And so his finger quickly presses the message he just listened to, and allows your repeated voice to lead him to his destruction.

"Hi Rinnie! Remember that wedding I'm attending in a few months? Well I'm trying to figure out what dress to get but I'm not sure about the color. The only thing is—"

Author's Note:

First time posting angst and it's kinda mid 💔 It's fine though (probably) Just wanted to post something to get rid at least one of the like, 50 drafts that I have...

[mydearzero]

The Babysitter | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x fem!Reader | Chapter 13 - PRoof

Summary: You didn’t have any superpowers, nor were you even qualified for the position, yet somehow a mishap between Alexei and Yelena ends up in getting you a new job. Bob-sitter. 

Contents: No Y/N, fem!reader, college student!reader. This chapter discusses themes of suicide

Read it on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 12

2.7K words

Yelena called you that morning, though she seemed a bit preoccupied flying a jet. Were you even allowed to call while flying? Probably not. She also didn’t have a copilot. Many regulations being broken there.

“I’m just saying the team and I don’t think this is the best course of action!” Yelena was yelling over the sound of the jet engine. How she even heard you on the other line was beyond you. She was on speaker while you were preparing lunch in the small kitchen of your apartment. 

“It’s not that I don’t respect you guys, but I want to put his needs first and if this is what he decided with his therapist then that’s that. Besides, it’s only been like a day. I’m sure he’ll live.” 

“You didn’t see him last night or this morning! We were discussing getting him into our training regiment and we can’t begin to try and do that if he’s this down and unfocussed. It would be not only dangerous for him, but also for the team. Who knows what he’ll do– even if on accident– if he gets caught off guard during a training session? I think we need to get you back around and back on a regular schedule so he can perform at his best. It’s to his best interest!” 

“You say that as if we were on a regular schedule to begin with! I was basically living at the Watchtower. If I’m being honest, I think some distance is realistic. He needs to learn to rely on himself. But if you think he’s not ready for that yet, I’ll take it into consideration,” you shrugged, even if Yelena obviously couldn’t see it. You put your dirty dishes in the sink and sat down to have your lunch. 

“This is not a business deal,” Yelena laughed. “I’ll take it into consideration,” she said in a mocking tone. 

“You know what I mean!” Your voice was naturally raising to match her volume, likely to the dismay of your neighbours. 

“I know you also worry about him and that you’ve come to care for him,” there was an underlying implication to the way she said it. You chose to not read into it for the time being. She was wearing you down, slowly but surely. You wanted to give Bob space to make his own decisions, but Yelena was making it very difficult to do so. 

“I do care for him, but like I said, it’s only been like a day. Distracting him will only keep the problem at bay for a certain amount of time. We need to find a permanent solution to his problem. I know that’s easier said than done, but I’m sure we’ll be able to figure something out.” 

If anybody had told you months ago you’d be discussing the mental health progression of a man who’d (accidentally) attacked Manhattan with the sister of THE Black Widow, you’d laugh in their face and continue cleaning cat litter off the floor like you did all day back at your old job. Yet here you were. 

“I agree,” Yelena said. “But to be able to find a solution he needs to be in a stable environment first and he had that when you were around.” 

“You called Dr. Sofen, right?” You deflected. 

“Yes, I did. Nice lady, though I do think she’s in over her head with Bob. I’d consider switching him to somebody else, but to start the therapy process all over… Not to mention finding somebody with enough experience with someone enhanced…” She didn’t have to continue the train of thought. It had already been a hassle to find someone with Dr. Sofen’s experience, let alone to have Bob go through the whole process of explaining his situation and building a simulance of trust again. 

“And what if we talked to her? Have like a group meeting with her present?” You suggested. 

“The team is great, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t think they’ll be able to separate their feelings for Bob from the facts. We talked with Bob this morning and he mentioned you’d probably be returning next week. Did he contact you about that?”

“He didn’t.” you murmur. 

“I figured as much,” Yelena sighed. 

“Well–”

 “Listen, I need to go. Call Bob, will you?” Yelena didn’t wait for a response as she hung up hastily. Great. 

You considered what she’d suggested, but Bob had been clear. You weren’t going to reach out until he did so himself. 

You tried to think of anything but Bob as you ate your lunch, but couldn’t help yourself. The team was clearly on a mission if Yelena was flying the jet. Was it the whole team? Was Bob by himself? Was he also sat alone, eating lunch in silence? 

You shoved your worries down and took another large bite of your sandwich. This situation was entirely too frustrating. You were starting to grow wary of Dr. Sofen, for no real reason. 

Trying to settle your mind, you slid your laptop closer and opened Google. 

Dr. Karla Sofen 

When you clicked images you got a short overview of professional headshots. She was so charming that it wasn’t hard to see how she could succeed in her field. You clicked back to the ‘All’ tab and tried to find any information about the doctor you could possibly need. Many loving reviews from civilians and heroes alike. 

You scrolled down and found a few irrelevant articles before you stumbled upon something interesting. A picture of Dr. Sofen at the O.X.E. Headquarters. 

Fuck. Of course. It all made sense now. She must be in cahoots with Valentina, and whatever Valentina was up to was never any good. 

You tried to find more information about their connection, but came up empty. With the team out and Bob possibly alone, what could you do? What was your next best move? You had to take matters into your own hands. 

You slammed your laptop shut and quickly stuffed it into your bag. You nearly fell over as you tried pulling your shoes on in a hurry. You put a hand on the wall to steady yourself and took a few deep breaths. Calm down. Whatever they were up to clearly needed time. It wasn’t currently a life or death situation. You could calm down and think rationally, all while somewhat rushing to the tower. You quickly locked the door and rushed down the steps of your building, making it to the subway exactly on time for the next train. 

Your leg jiggled nervously as you scrolled through your phone, trying to find more information and proof that Dr. Sofen couldn’t be trusted. You knew you had no leg to stand on, it was all speculation. Now that you’d seen that picture… All your interactions with the woman had soured– become suspicious. 

The train screeched to a halt and you got off, pushing past the people to get to the tower and present the team, or at least Bob, with what you’d found. You greeted the doorman and speed-walked to the elevator, not wanting to alarm anybody by straight up running. You had to keep reminding yourself nobody was going to die. Everything was going to be fine. Nothing was wrong, all you had to do was show them what you found and everything was going to be sorted. No need to fall over your own feet trying to get upstairs. 

The ride up took forever, just like it always did, though now that you were in a hurry it seemed to be longer than ever. You tapped your foot impatiently, watching the numbers on the screen go up. Somebody else got on and you gave them a tight smile. They got off three floors later, leaving you alone with your thoughts once more. 

When you finally reached the penthouse, it was empty. 

“Hello?” You called out. You put your bag on the floor and walked around, trying to find any sign of life. There was nobody in the living room, nor in the kitchen. You walked to the hallway. Maybe Bob was in his room? You knocked on his door but got no response. You knew that with his enhanced abilities came an enhanced hearing, so there was no way he hadn’t heard you knock unless he was asleep, or dead, or dead asleep. 

You cracked the door open, just a smidge, and peeked inside. It was empty. Where was he? You closed the door and walked a room further, to ‘your’ room, and opened the door. You knew him being in there was unlikely, yet your heart still sank when it too, was empty. A small piece of you had hoped he’d be right there, curled up under your blankets, taking a nap. What was going on? 

You opened all the other doors too, for good measure. He was nowhere to be found. You shot Yelena a quick text, asking if he was somehow with them, but obviously got no response. You could just text him, you realized. 

Bob, are you home? 

A ding sounded from the kitchen. You walked back in there and found his phone, abandoned on the counter. You grabbed it and saw no notifications, other than the text you’d just sent him. You put it back where you found it and leaned against the counter, trying to think of anywhere else he could possibly be. The gym, maybe? 

You took the elevator to the floor below and scoured all the equipment, dressing rooms and even showers, but no Bob. You got back on the elevator and were about to press the button for the penthouse, when your finger halted. R. Roof. Could it be? 

You pressed it and waited anxiously for the doors to open. The first thing you noticed was how much colder the air was all the way up here. The second thing was Bob. God, finally. But what was he doing on the roof? 

You knew from the way his posture tensed he knew you were here, even without turning to face you. You slowly stepped towards him, doing your best not to startle him. It felt like you were cornering a wild animal.

Had he not been sat on the ledge, legs dangling over, it might’ve felt a little different. 

“Don’t worry,” he started, his voice startling you. “I’m pretty sure that even if I were to fall, I’d be alright.” 

“Yeah, well… Let’s not test that theory, hmm?” You winced. The wind up here was strong. You knew Bob was stronger, but it didn’t settle your nerves. 

“What are you doing back here? I thought we had an agreement?” Bob finally turned to face you. 

“I– uh, Yelena called me,” you didn’t mention your findings, afraid of what he might do. Invincible or not, he could get seriously hurt. 

“Did she tell you to come here? Because we agreed that we’d take Dr. Sofen’s advice. Don’t worry about me. You can come back next week,” Bob turned back to face the city. 

You took a few tentative steps closer. “Why are you up on the roof?” 

“I just needed some space to think,” he shrugged. He refused to meet your gaze, instead choosing to look at his hands that were folded into his lap. The harsh wind blew his hair to one side. 

“And you couldn’t do that inside?” 

“Can you just leave and mind your own business?” Bob snapped, turning back once more. 

“Well, I–” 

“Well you what?” His eyes flashed golden. He must’ve been teetering on the edge, literally and figuratively, if that’s all it took to set him off. 

“We need to talk. Inside. And I won’t take no for an answer,” you crossed your goosebump covered arms, hoping that the stern approach would work. 

“What is there to talk about? Like, I’m genuinely asking. What could we possibly have to discuss right now? You’re actively going against my therapist’s and my wishes by even being here.” 

“I have some– Can we please talk inside?” 

“No. Whatever you have to say, here will do just fine.” 

“Then can you at least get off the edge?” You pleaded. He turned back around, ignoring your request. Another gust of wind got your stomach doing loops. 

“You’re being childish, Bob. Can we just talk like adults?” You huffed. It wasn’t your first choice to provoke him like this, but what other options did you have? 

Bob whipped around with a scowl on his face, his jaw tense. “I’m being childish?” He pushed himself up, getting on his feet and turning his body to face your side. “You’re the one insisting on injecting yourself into my life like a little girl who has nothing better to do with their life.” 

“I got hired to inject myself into your life, for if you forgot. So if you don’t mind, this little girl would like to continue doing her job.” 

You cheered with victory on the inside when Bob fully stepped away from the ledge to get in your face, even if it was angrily. You subconsciously took a few steps back when he got close, high height towering over you. You weren’t scared of Bob, per se, but his other sides… 

“You’re fired,” he said smugly. 

“That’s not up to you.” 

“Like hell it isn’t. Go. And don’t come back.” He was being dead serious, you knew he was. You also knew that it was a defense mechanism, to keep his walls up and keep people out. 

“No, I think I’m good, actually. You’re free to leave, though,” you challenged. 

“Fine,” he mumbled through gritted teeth, storming past you and slamming the doors to the stairwell open. One of the doors fell off its hinges, the other slamming shut with a loud ‘BANG’. Somehow, you couldn’t find yourself to care in that moment, only glad that he was back inside. You could breathe. You gave him a few minutes to calm down, looking over the city skyline. The view from here was nice. Under different circumstances you might’ve stayed a little longer. You stepped through the hole left behind by the now broken door, walking back to the penthouse. 

You’d expected him to have gone to his room, but were surprised to find him in the kitchen, hunched over, knuckles gripping the counter tightly. He sighed and paused for a second. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you were only trying to help.” 

“It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re inside now. Kinda scared me for a second there.” 

“It’s not okay. Though like I mentioned before, I was fine,” he sighed again, turning around. He didn’t meet your gaze, opting to stare at the floor. He ran a shaky hand over his face, moving his hair away. 

“Why were you up on the roof?” You grabbed two cups from the cupboard, filling them with soda before handing one to him. He glanced up, took the cup and gave a small smile in thanks. 

“It’s just… I was curious? I was thinking about what it would take, y’know, now that I have these powers.” He took a sip and set his glass back down on the counter, toying with imaginary debris on the floor and crossing his arms. 

“What it would take to do what?” You asked, though you knew the answer. You needed to hear him say it. 

“To die,” he shrugged, like it was nothing. 

“Let’s save that for the theoretical, yeah? No roofs.” 

“I wasn’t gonna do it…” He mumbled, his glass suddenly very interesting. 

“I know,” you sighed. “Doesn’t mean that didn’t scare me.” 

“Why are you here?” Bob changed the subject. You let him get away with it, for now. You would need to discuss this more in depth when his feelings about it had had some time to settle.  “Like I said, Yelena called me. Told me about the team meeting. Though, it’s not exactly why I came…"

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[scarletwinterxx]

Hi!! omg I have request after the damage performance! I desperately need a Hoshi x backup dancer one shot or whatever is possible!

i've been thinking about how or what to write for him. I think the star aligned just right😅 hope you like this one! it's more of the backstage happenings instead of what we saw during the concert, kind of what lead to that dance🫢

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

The studio is buzzing. Mmirrors fogging slightly from the heat, dancers running through their counts, and music blaring in stops and starts as Woozi calls out minor adjustments. Hoshi's solo stage is up next. You’ve already choreographed most of it, but there's this one move that's been a point of playful debate all morning.

That one particular move.

You know the one.

The music dips. Hoshi steps forward, all smolder and sharp lines, then reaches out to the imaginary female partner. His hand curls under an invisible chin  slow, deliberate, gaze locking in close.

It’s… intense.

And no one’s volunteered to be the demo partner yet.

“You know,” one of the dancers chimes in, stretching casually, “we still haven’t figured out who’s going to do the chin lift moment.”

“I nominate literally anyone else,” you mutter under your breath, pretending to scribble notes on your clipboard.

But you’re not fast enough.

There’s a beat of silence like a synchronized attack, three dancers suddenly spin toward you with identical grins.

“You,” they all say in unison, pointing.

You blink. “Me?”

Hoshi’s on the other side of the room gulping from a water bottle, but you can feel his smirk forming before you even look up. Sure enough, when you do, he’s biting the inside of his cheek like he’s trying very hard not to laugh.

Woozi doesn’t help. “Makes sense,” he says dryly. “You’re the choreographer. Best if you show us exactly how it should look.”

You’re about to protest  you really are but Hoshi’s already walking toward you, towel slung around his neck, gaze lazy, teasing. “C’mon,” he says, voice low but playful. “Let’s show them how it’s done, sunbaenim.”

You glare at him for the title. He knows you hate it when he calls you that in front of people.

Still, professionalism, right? You hand your clipboard to Woozi like you're not screaming inside and step onto the center floor.

Hoshi takes his position, feet already angled to frame you. “Just choreography,” he whispers under his breath, leaning close enough that you catch a faint hint of his cologne. “No funny business.”

“You’re literally about to grab my face.”

“I’ll be gentle,” he teases with a wink, just quiet enough that no one else hears.

The music cues.

You count the beats — one, two, three — and then he steps forward. His hand tilts your chin up, slow and fluid, and just like in rehearsal notes, you step in close. The air gets heavier. Everyone’s watching, but it almost doesn’t matter. Hoshi’s gaze doesn’t leave yours. His thumb brushes just under your lip — too smooth, too practiced.

And then someone coughs from the side. Loudly.

You both jump slightly apart.

“I mean,” one dancer says, eyebrows raised. “If you two were dating, you could just say so.”

“We’re not,” you and Hoshi say at the same time. Way too fast, way too in sync.

The room explodes with laughter.

Woozi just shakes his head, muttering, “Uh-huh. Sure.”

And Hoshi?

He just smirks at you and says, “Wanna run that again? For… clarity.”

You consider smacking him with your clipboard. Instead, you roll your eyes and step back into place.

Just choreography. Totally professional. Absolutely nothing going on.

The music shifts to the main chorus. Everyone resets, falling into line as the beat builds again. You slip back into your role, weaving through dancers with sharp eyes and a quick clap here and there to mark transitions. Hoshi’s locked in, of course. All muscle memory and focus though you catch the occasional glance he throws your way, smug little thing.

After the fifth run-through, Woozi finally calls a five-minute break, practically collapsing against the mirrors. Dancers scatter for water and towels, catching their breath.

You plop down near the speaker, scribbling a note into your tablet. A shadow falls beside you before you feel someone sit down, shoulder brushing yours.

“Don’t,” you murmur without looking up, just loud enough for him to hear.

“What?” he says, all wide-eyed innocence you absolutely do not believe.

“You know what.”

“I just came to sit,” he hums. “Can’t sit beside my favorite choreographer?”

You lift your head just enough to squint at him. “Kwon Soonyoung.”

He presses a hand to his chest. “Wah, government name already? I didn’t even do anything yet.”

“You exist in my peripheral vision too flirtily.”

He snorts. “Too flirtily? That’s not even a real word.”

“It is now,” you mutter, going back to your tablet.

You feel him leaning in a bit, just enough for his voice to drop lower, teasing. “Is it the move? You’re flustered from earlier, huh?”

You don’t answer. He nudges your leg with his knee.

“You totally are.”

“Kwon. Soonyoung.”

He grins, biting his lip, clearly enjoying himself. “Do you always say my full name when you’re pretending you’re not into me?”

You give him the slowest side-eye humanly possible. “I say your full name when I’m trying not to throw you into a mirror.”

He leans back on his hands, head tilted. “That’s still touching.”

You groan into your hands. “Please go be insufferable somewhere else.”

“Can’t. You’re my favorite person to be insufferable around.”

From across the room, Woozi calls, “Break’s over in one.”

You stand and dust your hands off, already walking away. “Great. Go burn off some of that charm with actual choreography.”

As you turn, you hear him call after you, low and smug, “Yes, ma’am.”

And you don’t see it, but behind you, he’s grinning like he just won a game no one else knows he’s playing.

The rehearsal wraps just past golden hour, the light outside dimming while the studio lights hum overhead. Everyone’s sprawled out across the floor. Dancers with tired limbs, Woozi nursing a bottle of water like his life depends on it, and you barely hanging onto consciousness with your notes stacked on your lap.

It’s the final team meeting before the venue rehearsals. Hyelim ssaem stands near the whiteboard with her clipboard in hand, tapping her pen rhythmically. Everyone perks up slightly. Even Hoshi, who’s been lying flat on the floor like a starfish for the past five minutes, lifts his head.

“Okay,” Hyelim ssaem begins, voice steady and commanding, “great job today. Really. I know this one’s been a tight schedule, but I’m proud of how far we’ve come.”

There’s a collective murmur of thank yous and small bows.

She flips a page. “Let’s just run through the last few solo stage notes before we call it.”

Your head’s already tilted down, scribbling something on your tablet, only half-listening.

“Woozi’s stage is locked in,” she continues. “Live band, lighting cues in, final cut to be sent tomorrow.”

Woozi raises a lazy hand in confirmation.

Then Hyelim ssaem glances at Hoshi. “And for Hoshi’s solo—specifically the break during the bridge—”

You freeze.

Everyone else? Turns. In perfect synchronicity.

To you.

It’s like a wave. Heads swivel, dancers grin, someone even does a dramatic little drumroll on their water bottle. You don’t even look up. “No.”

Hyelim ssaem barely pauses. “Right. So that’s decided then.”

Your head shoots up. “Ssaem—!”

“I think it’s perfect,” she says cheerfully, like you didn’t just open your mouth to protest. “You choreographed it. You know the pace. And your chemistry with Hoshi-ssi is very… natural.”

You choke on absolutely nothing. “What—?!”

“Settled,” she smiles. “Let’s get it blocked properly on stage tomorrow. Great work today, everyone!”

A round of applause breaks out as people begin packing up.

You’re still frozen in place when a shadow falls over you. Hoshi’s standing there, towel around his neck, smug grin in full effect.

“Natural chemistry, huh?”

You glare. “Kwon Soonyoung.”

He crouches beside you, eyes sparkling with a little too much joy. “You know, I didn’t even say anything this time.”

You snap your tablet shut. “Because you didn’t have to. Your smug aura did all the work.”

He stands and offers a hand to pull you up. “Look at it this way. You’re already the highlight of my solo.”

=

It’s much later, after rehearsal you’re just ready to call it a day.

You’re standing in the kitchen, hair still damp from your shower, oversized shirt hanging loose over your shorts, stirring tteokbokki over a low flame. The apartment is quiet, save for the faint bubbling of the sauce and the soft lo-fi playing from your phone.

It’s late, too late for you to be eating, too late for anyone to be visiting  but you’re starving and too wired from rehearsal to sleep. Then you hear it. The soft mechanical beep-beep-beep-beep-beep click of the door code being punched in.

You pause mid-stir, glancing toward the hallway. The lock disengages with a soft clunk, and then the door creaks open.

You don’t even have to ask.

His voice echoes through the apartment a second later, casual and familiar and far too chipper for someone who should be just as exhausted as you.

“Yah, you started eating without me?”

You huff out a laugh and call back, “Don’t you have your own kitchen?”

His footsteps come down the hallway, slow and heavy with that dancer drag, like even gravity knows how dramatic he is.

“Yours tastes better,” Hoshi says as he walks in, already tugging off his jacket. “Plus, my kitchen doesn’t come with you.”

You don’t turn around. “You’re late.”

He appears beside you, peering into the pan like he owns the place  which, to be fair, with how often he’s here, he might as well. His hand finds the small of your back like it’s habit.

You swat him away with your spatula. “Hands off. This is boiling. I will not hesitate.”

He holds both hands up in surrender, grinning. “Wow, scary. You’re still mad about earlier?”

You raise a brow. “You mean the part where literally everyone turned to me like I was the lead actress in your romantic drama? Or the part where Hyelim ssaem volunteered me before I could say anything?”

He shrugs, leaning against the counter with that maddening little smirk. “I think you liked it.”

“Kwon Soonyoung.”

“What? The chemistry’s real. Even ssaem said so.”

You flick a rice cake at him. It bounces off his chest.

He gasps, hand over his heart. “Violence?”

“Starve, then.”

But you’re already plating a second bowl. He grins, watching you with that quiet, soft look that he always seems to wear when you're not paying full attention. 

“I knew you loved me.”

You slide the bowl across the counter and give him a flat look. “I tolerate you. At best.”

He takes a bite, eyes closing dramatically. “Your tolerance tastes amazing.”

You shake your head, finally sitting across from him. “You're annoying.”

He just grins wider. “You keep letting me in.”

“Only because you memorized my door code.”

“Knew it’d come in handy,” he says with a wink.

And in the soft hum of the night, with late snacks and low lights and tired hearts, it’s easy to forget the line between work and whatever this is.

He goes quiet for a moment, chopsticks paused mid-air as he just… looks at you. The way he does sometimes. No teasing, no smirking, just that unreadable seriousness behind his eyes.

You glance up from your bowl, catching it. That look.

“What?” you mumble, mouth half-full of rice cake. “Do I have gochujang on my face?”

“No,” he says, setting his bowl down. “You know you’re perfect for that part, right? Not just because you’re my girlfriend.”

You blink.

He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, voice lower. “It’s because you’re good. You choreographed the whole thing. No one else moves the way you do.”

You snort, leaning back with a roll of your eyes. “Look at you, trying to make up for throwing me under the bus.”

He smirks again, but there’s a softness in it now. “I didn’t throw you. I guided you gently under it. With love.”

“Wow,” you deadpan. “So thoughtful.”

“I thought so.”

You squint at him. “You’re lucky I like your face.”

He shrugs, smug. “A lot of people do.”

You chuck a napkin at him. “You’re not supposed to agree with that.”

He catches it mid-air like a reflex, winks. “Sorry. Forgot I’m supposed to be humble when I’m with my talented, gorgeous, terrifying when she’s mad girlfriend.”

You try not to smile but fail. “Kwon Soonyoung…”

“I mean it,” he says softer, picking up a slice of fishcake and holding it out to you. “You’re the best person for that solo. On or off stage.”

You lean forward and take the bite, chewing slowly. “You’re still not off the hook.”

He laughs, reaching across the table to steal a bite from your bowl.

And despite the long day, the exhaustion, the chaos of hiding something that’s become the best part of your life, in this moment, it feels simple. Familiar. His chopsticks clink against yours, and his foot nudges yours under the table.

Later, the kitchen’s been cleaned up in lazy half-effort, bowls soaking in the sink, and the two of you are finally sprawled out on the couch. Limbs tangled, your legs tossed over his lap, his hand absently tracing shapes against your calf.

The TV plays something neither of you are really watching, just soft background noise to the quiet comfort that’s settled in. Your head’s resting against a cushion, one of his hoodies thrown over your shoulders like a blanket.

You glance at him, his profile lit by the warm lamplight, hair still damp from his shower at the studio, eyes heavy with exhaustion but peaceful.

“I’m proud of you,” you say softly, out of nowhere.

His fingers pause for half a second.

“You’ve come a long way, Soonyoung-ah.”

He looks at you then, not teasing or smirking this time, just quietly surprised.

You smile, slow and sincere. “I’ve watched you push yourself past your limits, day in and day out. You work harder than anyone I know. You lead your team, you take care of everyone, and still somehow you manage to be you — all heart, all drive.”

His throat bobs, and for a second, he doesn’t say anything

Then, “You’re gonna make me cry,” he mutters, voice rough

You snort. “You’re the one always getting dramatic during break time. I'm just returning the favor.”

He leans his head back against the couch, hand settling on your knee. “You know… I don’t think I’d have made it through the last year the same way if it weren’t for you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is this where you try to make me cry now?”

He grins, a little softer than usual. “No, I’m serious. You’ve kept me grounded. When things got too loud — too much — you were just… there. Quiet, stubborn, sarcastic, mean to me—”

You smack his arm lightly.

“—and exactly what I needed,” he finishes with a little laugh. “You always believed in me, even when I didn’t.”

You’re quiet for a beat, your chest warm.

Then you mumble, “Okay, now I’m maybe gonna cry a little.”

He turns, tugging you toward him gently until you’re tucked into his side, your head resting on his shoulder.

“Don’t cry,” he murmurs into your hair. “You’ll ruin my hoodie.”

You laugh into his chest. “It’s my hoodie now.”

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Then it’s our hoodie.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. He can feel it.

He’s quiet for a while, hand gently rubbing up and down your arm, breaths slow and even. Then, almost too casually, he says it:

“You gonna miss me when I’m gone?”

You don’t even hesitate. You smack his chest with the back of your hand. Not hard, just enough to make him laugh.

“I swear, Kwon Soonyoung, I will personally ship you off if you bring up your enlistment one more time.”

He laughs, the sound warm and muffled against your hair.

“You said that last time,” he grins.

“And I meant it then, too.”

But even as you say it, your hand curls tighter around his hoodie, fingers fisting in the fabric as you tug yourself closer, until your body’s pressed fully into his side like you’re trying to anchor him there.

He notices. Of course he does.

His smile softens. “Okay, okay. No more mentioning it.”

You just nod into his chest. Quiet. A beat passes.

Then he adds, “But like… just so I know, how much are you gonna miss me? On a scale of one to crying at my bus?”

You groan. “I change my mind. You’re going tomorrow.”

He laughs again, wrapping both arms around you, pulling you in until he’s half-laughing, half-suffocating you in his chest.

“Yah—Soonyoung—!”

“Shh, I’m savoring this,” he mumbles, pressing his cheek to the top of your head. “My scary, secretly clingy girlfriend.”

“I’m not clingy,” you mumble, even though your arms are still wrapped tight around him.

He grins. “You’re literally strangling me right now.”

“Because you’re annoying.”

He hums, voice low, content. “And you love me anyway.”

You don’t answer right away.

But when your fingers reach up to gently play with the edge of his sleeve, your voice comes out quiet.

“Yeah. I really do.”

And this time, he doesn’t tease. He just holds you tighter.

The quiet settles again, your bodies molded into the shape of comfort, your breathing syncing with his. The warmth, the closeness. It’s one of those rare pockets of stillness you both never get enough of.

Then his phone buzzes on the coffee table.

He groans, reaching out without untangling from you. “If that’s the group chat, I swear—”

He answers on speaker, dragging the phone toward him. “Yah, what is it now?”

Woozi’s voice crackles through, calm as ever. “Relax, I just wanted to double-check the lighting cue for your solo break. They adjusted the beat drop timing again.”

Hoshi sighs. “Yeah, I got it. I’ll tell the team.”

You’re already zoning out, head tucked under his chin again until Woozi adds, almost absently, “Also, don’t forget to tell your girlfriend to bring the backup files. I know you’ll forget.”

The silence after that is immediate.

Your head slowly lifts.

Hoshi’s eyes widen.

He stares at the phone.

Then at you.

Then back at the phone.

“Yah” he says slowly, “how did you know?”

There’s a short pause, like Woozi expected this reaction.

Then, flatly: “Soonyoung, you’re not subtle.”

“I am subtle,” Hoshi argues, looking truly offended. “We’ve been sneaky for almost a year!”

He turns to you, “How did he know??”

You snort, finally sitting up properly. “You’re asking me how he knew? He’s your member. Your best friend.”

He looks at you, betrayed. “You told him.”

“I didn’t! Why would I tell him? You talk to him more than I do!”

“He’s like Sherlock! Did he see something?! Did we slip up?!”

“You winked at me on stage last week,” you say dryly

“That was a neutral wink.”

“There’s no such thing as a neutral wink.”

Woozi’s voice comes through again, still painfully calm. “I literally watched you stare at her like a love-sick idiot during lunch. And you called her jagiya when you thought no one was listening.”

Hoshi buries his face in his hands. “I whispered that—”

“It was mic’d, genius.”

You burst out laughing, grabbing a pillow to hide your face as Hoshi groans like the world is ending.

Woozi finishes with, “Anyway. Just bring the files. See you tomorrow.”

The call ends.

Silence.

Then you poke his arm. “So, love-sick idiot, huh?”

He glares at you over his fingers. “I’m never showing affection again.”

You grin. “Good luck with that.”

And despite his embarrassment, his lips twitch because even mortified and exposed, he’s still the guy in love with you. Mic’d winks and all.

[cakypa120]

(Blue Beetle) Jaime Reyes x (Captain Marvel) Billy Batson?

I don't even know how to describe it. Where to start and how to write it all. But it's worth a try. Sorry if it doesn't come out very well.

Billy was a little panicked. After the explosion of the Rock, a lot went to hell. But Billy fixed it all!! Sleepless nights and days full of work and work. The Rock is functioning again. Almost all the artifacts are in place. Except for Ted's Scarab!! The guy blamed himself for the loss. Ted gave the Scarab away for safekeeping! And Billy lost it!!

But the guy didn't give up. The last signal from the Scarab was seen in El Paso. Billy sat in his civilian uniform and watched as the new hero Blue Beetle fought the villain. Rookie moves. Billy nervously watches as the villain caught Blue Beetle and pinned him to the asphalt, about to crush him like a bug(ha!)

Billy quietly whispers a spell and vines burst from the ground. They envelop the villain and throw him aside. Blue Beetle sighs and rises to his feet. The vines held the villain tightly. It was enough for the new hero to deliver an uppercut. The villain passes out. The vines crumble into dust. Billy gets up and quietly leaves. Perhaps he will talk to Blue Beetle another time.

Billy enters an alley. Where Blue Beetle was already waiting for him.

Billy: Uh, hello?

Blue Beetle: You don't look like Shazam.

Billy: Because I'm not him?

Blue Beetle: Scarab says you're Shazam. I believe him. Is that transformation magic? Why are you here?

Billy sighs. Well, whatever. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Billy: Yes, I am him. This is my true form. I'm here to return Scarab to the Rock. But I see you found him first. I won't take him away from you. But I suggest you find yourself a teacher.

Blue Beetle: Yeah, I figured that out already. Thanks for helping me with the villain, too. I'm Jaime Reyes. Nice to meet you.

Billy: Nice to meet you, too.

Jaime: Maybe you could be my teacher? Scarab says you're a good warrior. One of the best.

Billy: Why not? I'll give you some lessons.

So Billy became the new hero's teacher.

They started spending more time together. Dinner at a cafe, splitting a lunch box. And much more. Billy didn't notice how he fell in love with this sunny young man. And when he noticed, he didn't make any attempts to court him. He was afraid to ruin the friendship that had arisen between them.

Jaime woke up one morning with the thought: "Fuck, I'm in love with Billy!" It scared him, because he didn't think he would fall in love so much. Billy had experience as a hero, he could be called a veteran in this. And Jaime was a green rookie. Who asked to train himself!! It looked bad from the outside.

And then the melancholy of unrequited mutual love begins. Billy tried to build a barrier of friendship between them, as strong as titanium. Jaime banged his head against this wall, cursing himself for this love.

Things were worse in their hero forms. The tension between them was electrifying (maybe it was Marvel). No one understood how these two sunny heroes managed to fight. The betting pool was open. Money was on the line. No one guessed.

[corruworks]

how did you get the inspiration to start making this game? and has your initial concept changed much since you started going further into detail? (i love this game btw)

hello anonymous!! I've touched on critical inspiration points in a few cohost asks, which I can link to and expand on a little:

I've had this world in my head for a very long time (not this specific iteration of it, but the obesk in general), and I was really depressed for a very long time because I wasn't sure how I'd ever share it with people (relevant post). eventually I got really pissed off that I was passing my mid-20s without manifesting it in any way, and just said 'use whatever skills you have, now, stop waiting or you will be in even more pain'. so that's how I got inspired to start it!

I have major story points planned, but leave the in-betweens open. this leads to fun things like Jokzi Ozo, which was not at all planned verbatim aside from 'there are lucid thoughtforms who want xyz' (relevant post)

BUT!!!!!!!!!!

the initial concept question is interesting, because yes, it has changed very much!! the story hasn't, the in-betweens have been unexpectedly fun to figure out while still being generally in-line, but the actual structure and mechanical integration of the story has been vastly changed from my original plans.

initially, I was really going to lean into a more Terminal 00 or Yume Nikki-type inspired experience of just adding a lot of pages, sometimes not always having very much on them, but all linked together in a big maze of memories to imply a world. It was mostly going to be flats with some 3D stages mixed in for important things. something I would update frequently, adding in a page here and there like once a week or more.

but then I kept hesitating to actually do it that way. I'd say "ok, let's add a new flat page" and then pause and think, "but what would it actually say that isn't already done on xyz page?" then I'd think, "this would be kind of disappointing to add on its own, no?"

so, I figured out I wasn't really into that sort of piecemeal building of the world. I love those inspirations, but ultimately I wanted to have something that was released in a condensed way and was very respectful of the visitor's time. (not to say that either of them aren't, but they both must be approached from very different mindsets compared to playing C.O. like you aren't re-entering a room 100 times to get a rare event to happen, and you aren't carefully mapping out a huge number of directories to try and puzzle out the story)

so I totally shifted focus into less breadth, more depth, as you probably could sense with the fucked up rabbit hole that the Embassy became. I still really dig the idea of having a vast exploration aspect to it, and in fact I still plan on doing something like it, but it won't be a part of the 'main episode' experience.

I think that's da whole story. thank you for playing, also!!

[geeeedub]

friends to lovers w/ kuroo

notes: he’s a goddamn nerd i don’t CARE

rain pattered gently against the windows of your room, the soft light casting a cozy hue over the space. your desk was a disaster; with open notebooks, highlighters, and a half-eaten bag of chips. kuroo tetsurō, your best friend, sat cross-legged on your bed. he was scribbling something in his notebook while his reading glasses slid slightly down his nose.

“you know,” he said, tapping his pen against his lip, “for someone who’s literally amazing at english, you really have a vendetta against chemistry.”

you groaned and flopped dramatically onto your bed beside him. “it just doesn’t make sense, tetsu. like, how am i supposed to remember all these electron configurations?why do i care who the hell sodium wants to bond with?”

he laughed, the familiar, warm sound of it making your chest flutter like it always did, though you’d never admit that out loud.

“that’s what i’m here for,” he said, nudging you with his shoulder. “your personal chemistry tutor. free of charge. except maybe a snack tax.”

you smiled at him thankfully, not just for the help, but for him. the two of you had been friends since you were both kids, building pillow forts and making mud pies. somewhere along the way, between scraped knees and graduation letters, things started feeling different. but neither of you ever brought it up. it was far easier to stay close and unspoken than risk messing it up.

you sat up again, reaching for your notebook. “okay. last try. if i still don’t get it, i’m applying to the local mcdonalds ”

“deal,” kuroo grinned. he leaned in, pointing to an example problem you’d been stuck on. his arm brushed yours, and your breath caught. he must have noticed, but instead of pulling away, he lingered just slightly.

“you know,” he said, voice suddenly quieter, “i was thinking…”

“mm?”

“if we’ve got this much chemistry between us, do you think we should… balance the equation with a date?”

you blinked.

then laughed. “That was awful.”

“i know,” he smirked, a little nervous now. “but i meant it. i like you. a lot. and if tutoring you for well over five years didn’t give it away, then i figured a terrible pickup line might.”

your heart did a little somersault. for all the times you’d wondered if his long glances meant anything, if his teasing was more than playful, it finally clicked. and it felt almost natural, as if the two of you were simply made for each other.

you reached over and stole the pen from his hand, scribbling your answer in the corner of your chemistry notes:

‘i wouldn’t want this bond with any other atom’

he grinned like he just aced a final, and you could’ve sworn the room got warmer despite the rain outside.

“so,” you teased, “now that we’re dating, are you still going to help me pass this test?”

kuroo leaned back with a mock sigh. “i guess love really is a chemical reaction.”

you flung the pen at him, praying for no more insufferable chemistry jokes.

however, you had just signed yourself up for a lifetime of them.

[rhiannonsknife]

Just came from your summertime swimsuits and now I’m thinking summer time thoughts about the Yellowjackets right now, I'm imagining Mari with a fem!partner who's slightly rich or at least well off, like you know they got good stuff, and maybe Mari’s partner bought her a new bikini that she’d been eyeing in the magazines all week, and you surprise her with it when they’re away at reader’s beach house, and I know for a fact Mari would flaunt it in that way she has, she knows you’re looking. Maybe even getting matching bikinis, while you two spend the day at the beach, lazy kisses in the water, leading to them both, trudging back to the towel even though they know they’ll end up getting sand all over them.

Silly little summer loving with Mari, I just love her so much.

- 👁️

— BUYING A NEW BIKINI for mari ibarra 👙

warnings: fluff. rich!fem!reader. princess treatment for mari ibarra, of course. i’m so locked in today, guys (i wrote this at like 1 am…).

mari is quite literally swooning when you hold out the shopping bag to her. “you did not!” she squeals, her excitement visibly pitching up. “you didn’t!”

you very much did, though.

tipping your sunglasses down to better watch her expression, you grin down at mari as she snatches the paper bag so fast it crinkles, hugging it to her chest. when she finally dares to peek inside, you can see her face shift. “you’re insane,” mari exclaims, unfolding the bikini in disbelief. “this is the one!”

mari has been eyeing it in the magazines for weeks, talking your ear off about needing that one particular piece. she’d been pointing at it during breakfast, lunch, in the locker room, whining about the color & the brand she thought was way out of reach after one glance at the price tag.

“figured we had the perfect setting for it,” you say, the sunglasses doing a decent job shielding how warm you feel seeing your girlfriend’s reaction.

mari stares between you and the swimsuit, mouth hanging open, then drops everything to fall into your arms. “thank you,” she whispers against your neck. “thank you thank you thank you.”

your family’s beach house isn’t enormous by your standards, and not compared to some of the estates you’ve seen further down the coast either, but it’s all yours and mari’s for the summer, passed down through your family and comfortably tucked behind a line of dunes.

the suitcases are barely unpacked and mari is already peeling off her clothes, trying on the bikini in front of the mirror. she starts posing in the reflection when she catches you staring, tossing her hair and swaying her hips, relishing in the attention.

“you sure you’re gonna let me wear this outside?” she teases, extra exaggerated and clearly joking as she turns to you. “some girl’s gonna see me and steal me right out from under you.”

you laugh and slide off the bed to wrap your arms around mari’s body from behind, your lips brushing the side of her neck. “not on my watch.”

“baby,” mari squeals, squirming. “i just put on sunscreen!”

the sun is brutal on your first few days, nothing in comparison to the wiskayok “heat”. at the beach, the sand burns under your feet as you’re running for the water, squealing when the cool surf rushes up your legs. mari is right beside you, hair shoved up in a messy bun, wearing (you guessed it) her new bikini.

you swim out deeper, so far the waves lift you off your toes, and mari's arms loop around your shoulders as she floats with you, covering your cheeks in kisses.

eventually, you drag yourselves back to shore. mari flops down onto her towel with a theatrical groan, brushing sand from her bikini top. “ugh. i’m all covered in sand!”

you lie beside her, blowing stray grains she missed from her back, then press your lips between her shoulder blades. "we'll just rinse off."

mari peeks at you through her lashes, batting her eyes at you. “together?”

“you’re so predictable!”

you do end up spending too long in the outdoor shower that afternoon, barely managing to rinse off the ocean water before hands start wandering and mari’s bikini top slips off, left hanging forgotten over the faucet. when you finally stumble back inside, she heads straight into the bathroom, only to reappear in one of your oversized t-shirts, thrown on loose over her still-damp bikini.

all summer long, mari goes nowhere without wearing your gift (except when it’s in the wash), inseparable from it for weeks!!

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: Spin-off – Pt.3

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. Sylus went ahead and got himself mortalized, what a chad. (That’s it, that’s the plot.) Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, suggestive language and fluffy whatnots A/N: Domestic bliss, my love. (Also, a pivotal character returns.)

(main series) - Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3

It’s the third Sunday of July, and the little studio you’ve called home for over half a decade is almost barren—save for the large TV box and two overstuffed suitcases lined up by the front doorway.

You give the place one last good once-over. The space looks almost unrecognizable without all the clutter, and what's left are ghosts of what's lived here: the mysterious stains from accidental spills, the unsightly dings and old dents on the walls, and the tiny holes left behind from all the picture frames and random posters you’d tacked up over the years – some with bits of sticky residue still clinging on, bound to take a chunk out of your safety deposit.

There’s a pang that comes with seeing the space this empty. And it’s only natural, of course, to feel a little something—more than a little something—for a place you’ve gotten used to looking at every single day, day in and day out. 

The excitement is there, too. But for now, you let yourself sit in this last dredge of nostalgic reminiscence as your eyes scan the empty expanse in front of you. A quiet goodbye to the home that held your life—your noise, your mess, all the short triumphs and breakdowns that made up your twenties.

Goodbye, weird water stain on the ceiling. Goodbye, suspiciously cold corner that’s definitely not haunted. Goodbye, goodbye.

From the corner near the doorway, Maru yowls his complaints from inside the plastic confines of his portable prison.

“If you weren’t such an escape artist, I could just carry you, you know,” you remind him with mild disdain. He meows louder in response. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s go join your dad upstairs.”

With a laundry hamper balanced in your arms and the harping furball slung over one shoulder like a disgruntled (fluffy) backpack, you head for the fire exit, left of the hallway, and painstakingly make your way up to the eighth floor.

You and Sylus are officially moving! … Into a unit two floors above. 

It’s a brand-new chapter of your lives – a big step you’re taking together as a couple, even if the literal distance is only a few meters away from where you started.

You’ve had this conversation with him maybe a handful of times over the past two months. It was a mutual decision for the most part; your current place barely has room for one person and a cat, let alone a six-foot-five behemoth of a man with shoulders as wide as the doorframe. To his credit, Sylus had adjusted with all the patience of someone who didn’t mind sharing what was essentially a miniature version of his old walk-in closet with you. 

But even you have to admit, watching him try to navigate the cramped layout of your studio felt a bit like watching a mountain lion pacing in a cage the size of a shoebox. You’d said as much one night—offhandedly, more rueful ribbing than anything, while watching him sidestep around the kitchen with the awkward grace of someone used to bigger spaces.

He didn’t take it badly. Just smiled, and asked if you were finally ready to move. You were.

The two of you had only just started scouting for apartments around the area when you spotted the flyer for a vacant unit taped to the corkboard by the lobby entrance. You weren't really expecting much, but it was the closest option out of the six you’d listed in your notes app, and both of you figured to might as well call the number. Next thing you knew, you were pencilled in for an inspection later that same day.

And the unit turned out to be surprisingly spacious.

More than you expected, honestly. A proper two-bedroom. Seventy-one square meters internal, with its own separate laundry room – already equipped with a dryer, no less. 

The place looked relatively new, or at least recently renovated, with its fresh coat walls and neatly grouted bathroom tiles. The living area had enough space for a sofa, a proper dining table, maybe even a bookshelf in the corner—and room for a lot more.

You were eyeing the second bedroom, already converting it into a shared office space of sorts in your head. One side for you, one for Sylus, divided by the wide sliding window centered on the back wall. The afternoon light filters in quite nicely, and you couldn’t help but imagine two matching desks with a dark walnut finish beneath where the sun hits, or maybe a long one you could share, with enough space for both of you to work without feeling cramped. 

Perhaps a corkboard and some ambient floor lights, even a little gaming set-up that’s more than just a corner of your bedroom, too. 

Further along the viewing, the middle-aged realtor rattled off other features to sell it: a brand-new dishwasher, the very good central heating, the AC (“–and the living room has its own air conditioning unit,” “Oh… wouldn’t that be expensive to run?” “It’s a split-type unit, Ma’am,” “Ah–?” “More cost-efficient than ducted systems, sweetie.”) that had you hemming and hawing, not quite ready to say yes to the very first option you’d seen (and liked). Besides, it was on the steeper end of your budget, and the one in Belmore also looked promising, with a cheaper monthly rent, so...

But then you saw the balcony, and suddenly, you got tunnel vision.

Fourteen square meters. God, it’s big enough to bring out a cozy outdoor sectional, and oooh, you’re already picturing fairy lights strung along the railing, maybe some candles. Not to mention, the few potted plants you’ve managed to keep alive could finally get some actual sunlight out here. They might even thrive for once, the little stragglers. 

You can already see it: cold brews in the morning and a smoke, lazy afternoons paired with a glass of bubbly. Evenings cuddled up under a blanket, the view of the city as far as the eye can see. 

A whole, private nook for yourself and Sylus. (And Maru.)

The sun had just started to sink, bathing the horizon in a soft, golden wash that only happens for less than thirty, maybe forty minutes at most. You checked the time—5:23. 

The light stretched long and low across the terracotta tiles, warm against your feet, drowning your sight in a pretty amber. It felt serendipitous. 

(Or maybe you were just looking for a sign. Either way, you took it for what it is.)

Sylus saw the way your eyes sparkled and merely chuckled, wasting no time to inquire about the next steps in applying for the lease.

It’s an exciting prospect, and you can’t help but feel a little giddy—more than a little giddy—at the idea of moving into a newer place like this, but you’re trying to stay realistic.

You’ve been freelancing for the past two years, with your part-time gig at the bistro helping to fill in the gaps. And you’re still not quite sure what Sylus does – apart from a conservatively vague answer relating to tech, which always has you side-eyeing the annoyingly inscrutable man before his usual redirection. 

You’re well aware that getting approved isn’t guaranteed; not with your less-than-stable income situation, the questionable lapses in Sylus’ “employment” history, and especially not for a unit this nice. Unless they’re factoring in your long-standing tenancy, the chances aren’t as foolproof as you would’ve liked it to be.

Still. Before the week was over, you got the call. You’ve got the place. 

You were half-listening in as the agent droned on about the earliest available date to move in, the initial deposit and the four-week bond, and when you’d be by to pick up the keys. Your smug-looking partner answered on your behalf, since you were practically a sitting duck at the time, bewildered that the both of you actually managed to get approved.

So now you’re here, in the final stretch of hauling your things up to your new (!!) apartment, one you now share with the love of your life, and you couldn’t be more ecstatic. (If only your son shared the same sentiment, but alas.)

Although, alongside the excitement and joy of securing the place, a tiny part of you can’t help but wonder how it all happened so fast… and if Sylus had some weird hand in making it happen. 

You don’t want to sound ungrateful! Really. But the process went by a liiiittle too smoothly, a little too conveniently for your taste. Enough to have you throwing suspicious glances at your boyfriend. And knowing him… well. 

There’s also the matter of not fully understanding what his current job entails, damn it. Or how the very basis of his existence somehow manages to bypass a whole bunch of legalities. A part of you is always half-prepared for the CIA, or even NASA, to come barging in on your door one of these days. Oh god. You’ve got six fake aliases prepared and not a single convincing cover story rehearsed.

(You’re sure you’ll be able to get a straight answer out of the—former?—criminal mastermind. Eventually. Past all the evasiveness, one way or another.)

You already consider the new place a luxury. But for Sylus, it might just be a rung above a complete hovel. There’s that small, persistent anxiousness you haven’t quite been able to shake—since day one, if you're being truthful. Like you’re in The Truman Show, playing house with someone who’s used to penthouse suites and jetting the world at the drop of a hat, and now forcing himself into adjusting to your version of reality for weeks on end. 

Sometimes you wonder if he’s just… rolling with it. Humouring your bouts of domestic enthusiasm while quietly yearning for his old in-house wine cellars, his boundless riches, and his floor-to-ceiling, ballistic-grade glass windows. You worry, sometimes, that he’s merely settling. For your sake. 

But he’s never given any sign that he’s anything less than content with the life you share now, so you let the thought settle quietly in the back of your mind. Something to unpack another time.

As you round the corner, you spot the door at the end of the hallway half-open. You grin.

Jogging the short distance, you adjust the basket in your arms and rap your knuckles lightly on the wood, already pushing the door wider with the tip of your toes.

“Package for a Mr Silas?” you sing-song. “Heyo, Mr Sil– whoa, okay. Careful with those guns out, sir. Are you aware that it’s a criminal offense to be packing that much heat in this part of the state?”

The ‘Mr Silas’ in question snorts, feigning exasperation as he glances at you over his shoulder.

And what an immaculate shoulder it is.

The sleeves of his grey crewneck are rolled high past his biceps, framing the thick lines of his arms as he hauls three stacked boxes in one hand and a duffel bag under the other. The front of his shirt is damp with sweat, clinging to the hard cut of his chest, while the humidity has curled a few dark strands loose at his temple. The high points of his cheeks are flushed pink from the muggy air drifting in through the open windows, and suddenly, you’re having very specific thoughts about breaking something in the house just to watch him fix it. 

Shirtless—what, who said that–

You didn’t know you had a thing for sweaty, blue-collar, but: hello, sailor.

Fuck, physical labor looks good on your man. You’re his biggest fan.

He sets the boxes down with practically no effort, turning toward you with one brow raised. “Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll start charging hourly.”

“If I ask nicely,” you suggest, shameless in your ogling, “will that warrant extra service?”

“Always for you,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You giggle. He just shakes his head, fond.

You plop Maru down with a thud, setting the hamper beside the rest of the boxes by the wall. Simultaneously, fishing out your teal Aquaflask and a face towel, you unzip the pet bag—an orange blur rockets out, making a beeline for the open bedroom. No doubt to hide under the bedframe, where the double mattress had already been set down sometime earlier in the move.

You cross the room and gesture for Sylus to lean down.

“C’mere.”

He complies wordlessly, bowing his head so you can brush the damp strands of hair from his forehead. You dab at the sweat across his brow, carefully wiping down the side of his neck. 

“You should rest for a bit,” you tell him. “You’ve been at it since this morning.”

You twist the cap off the water bottle and bring it near his mouth. 

“Drink.”

Obediently, he tilts his head and drinks, steadying your hand as he finishes almost all of it in one go. When he pulls back, he exhales, smacks his lips, and leans in to steal a quick kiss. “Nearly done, my love. Just the suitcases and the TV left, hm?” You hum in affirmation. “Last two trips, then.”

“I’ll help with the suitcases?”

“If you want,” Sylus shrugs, then gestures loosely toward the bedroom. “Or maybe start unpacking some of the lighter stuff? The linens for the bed, perhaps.”

You squint at him. “I am strong enough to carry things too, you know.”

He grins, reaching out to flick your nose. You wrinkle it on instinct, and he smiles like that’s exactly the reaction he was waiting for. 

“I know, sweetie.”

Then he flashes you a warm look. Entirely too tender for what comes out of his mouth next: 

“I just figured you’d want to start with the bed, since I plan on eating you out on it later.”

You gape at him, making an indignant swipe in his direction—but he’s already sidestepping, laughing low as he smoothly ducks out of reach. His palm catches you squarely on the ass in passing, a sharp little smack that makes you yelp.

By the time you spin around, he’s already halfway to the door. 

“Incorrigible,” you mutter under your breath as you dutifully head for the bedroom. 

After fixing the bed – tucking in the fitted sheet, haphazardly throwing the duvet over, fluffing up the pillows against the headboard as a stray paw randomly swats at you from the ether – you move on to unpacking a few more boxes stacked in the corner.

You pull out your lava lamp, still wrapped in newspaper, the collapsible room divider, and a mix of vanity knick-knacks: perfume bottles, your ‘handmade’ ring holder vaguely shaped like a lily pad, a small fake cactus. You start setting them out, arranging things in little clusters, nothing short of organized clutter. 

Not long after, you hear the front door swing open again and the wheels of your suitcases rolling in across the floor.

You poke your head out. “Need help with the TV?”

Sylus calls back, easy as ever. “I’ve got it.”

You shrug and return to your pile, pulling over a battered box that’s clearly been around a while – dusty, half-caved in, multiple layers of yellowing tape stuck on top of each other that you slice through with a key. Must’ve been one of the bigger ones you’d kicked under the bed ages ago, out of sight, out of mind.

Inside lies a heap of forgotten things: high school mementos, faded ticket stubs, a cracked snow globe. Your college diploma. Trinkets and letters, old birthday cards from people you haven’t spoken to in years. Little gifts and odd collectibles that haven’t seen the light of day in a long while.

You sift through them slowly, your fingers brushing over paper and plastic, worn edges soft with time. A bittersweet feeling creeps in as you fall headfirst into the slightly treacherous rabbit hole of your past lives.

That’s how Sylus finds you: cross-legged on the floor, holding a Toji Fushiguro Funko Pop that Khol got you for Christmas nearly a decade ago.

You glance up and find him standing in the doorway, arms folded, eyes narrowed in open scrutiny at the figurine in your hands.

You hold it up helpfully. “Look, it’s Toji.”

“Who is that.”

Your brows furrow. “You don’t know Toji?”

“Doesn’t ring any bells,” he replies, flat and slightly surly.

You let out a soft, curious little “huh,” turning the toy back into your lap, absently stroking your thumb over the vinyl hair. “He’s a character from this anime I used to obsess over. Khol gave it to me as a gift.”

“That’s nice, but he isn’t real, sweetie,” Sylus intones wisely, zeroing in on the way you’re caressing the plastic toy a little too ardently. “It’s not healthy to lust after fictional men.”

“I–” You pause, eyes widening in realization. “Wait. Are you jealous?”

“Cease the thought,” he deadpans. “There’s simply nothing to be envious of. He isn’t even alive.”

“You’re jealous!” you exclaim gleefully, eyes lighting up as Sylus strides over and drops into a squat beside you.

“Aww, don’t pout,” you tease, mock-gentle. “You’ll always be my favorite, promise. Even if, by some divine miracle and another fluke of fate, Toji somehow—mmph!”

Sylus cuts you off with a firm kiss. Quite rudely, in fact. But the heat behind it more than makes up for the lack of manners.

When he pulls back, you’re left blinking, slightly winded. While you’re still reeling, he casually plucks the figurine from your hand and pulls you up onto your feet. “Come now. Back to unpacking.”

You end up back in the living room, settling onto the floor beside Sylus as the two of you start rifling through the rest of the boxes. Your whole life, folded and crammed into fairly neat, packaged pieces, just waiting to be taken out and slotted into the bones of this new home. Your new home. 

You’re elbow-deep in a tangle of extension cords and bubblewrap when Sylus pauses mid-reach beside you. 

He huffs out a sharp laugh. You glance over just in time to see him pulling something long, red, silicone, and alarmingly familiar from the depths of a nondescript box.

“Alright, now where are we placing this one—”

Motherfucker. You lunge forward and snatch the dildo out of his hand before he can even finish speaking. “Keep your hands off Big S.”

“Big–” He starts, then cuts himself off, scoffing in amusement. “I’m off by an inch, sweetheart.”

You sniff haughtily, clutching Big S with what little dignity one can muster while holding a massive rubber schlong. “He kept me company on those long, lonely nights before you showed up, so put some respect on his name, thank you very much.” 

Sylus opens his mouth, then pauses—looking genuinely thoughtful for a moment. 

Finally, he nods, solemn. “Okay.”

“…Okay?”

He smirks at you, holding out a hand. 

Warily, you pass it back. He sets it delicately on the edge of a pile labelled: Essentials. 

“Maybe we’ll find the proper time to commemorate him later.”

Huh?

The smirk widens. “In his honor, sweetie.”

Oh. 

- - -

By the time the bulk of the unpacking is done, the apartment has started to resemble something partially lived-in; boxes are half-emptied, some of which lay deconstructed on the floor. The remaining daylight outside spills in through the windows, dust motes floating in the gold of the afternoon.

You can’t help but notice, as you're stacking plates and cutlery on the island counter, that Sylus’ share of belongings is quite modest compared to yours. 

Most of his things easily fit into one corner, almost swallowed up by the rest of the mess that surrounds it. A few changes of clothes—mostly denim and dark leather—a sleek black laptop, and some paper files that have already disappeared somewhere into the second room.

Mixed in with the rest are a couple of objects that catch your eye. Not because they’re particularly flashy, but because they’re familiar. 

There’s the iconic brooch you recognize from the game; the ruby stone center glinting under the light, ringed in tarnish-proof silver and his signature crow insignia. You’ve held it before, more than a few times, delightedly turning it over in your fingers with his—amused—permission.

Then, the silver glasses. The first time you caught a glimpse of him wearing them in your periphery, you let out an involuntary squeal and immediately dropped whatever it was you were doing prior to this titillating discovery. You spent a full hour circling him like an overexcited hawk—prodding, staring, unabashedly fawning at your unfairly hot boyfriend as he kept typing away on his computer, indulging your whims with nothing but resigned fondness reserved only for you.

You gesture at the pile. “So, just those?”

His gaze lingers, briefly, on the second drawer of the dresser a few feet away. You don’t notice.

Sylus hums noncommittally as he zips his bag shut. “More or less.”

There’s another thing, you’ll realize later. Small enough to fit in a palm. Tucked away somewhere out of sight—for now.

He pulls you in his arms as the sun starts to dip lower in the sky. The apartment is quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the usual creaks of the old building. His chin rests atop your head, and the two of you sway to the tune of some inaudible rhythm.

“This isn’t what you’re used to,” you murmur, breaking the silence. 

“Not quite, no.” 

Maru finally emerges out of hiding, cautiously padding out into the open. His nose twitches as he starts sniffing his way around the new place, tail flicking as he makes his rounds, like a fat little sentry inspecting the perimeter.

You hesitate. “You’re happy?” With this? With me?

He squeezes you tighter in response to the unspoken question.  

“Yes,” Sylus says. “I am. Very much.”

And it’s enough, you think, eyes dropping shut as he presses a kiss into your hair. More than you could ever ask for. 

End A/N: Yes, it’s the monster cock. Neither enemy nor foe. Mayhap?? Even a surprise tool that will help them later. 

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy @touya-apologist @gladiolus-mamacitia @btszn @wrimaira @writingmyladsdelusions @borkunlimited @magnoliaswriteatsunset @longlivedelusion @beesin03

[lilbitt]

Blurred Lines

Elias ‘Stack’ Moore X Annie ~ A modern AU

A/N: Soooo, hi y’all! I did another thing 🥹. The way Sinners has me writing more than I have in like years is…crazy lmao. Anyways. Since this is clearly something I’m kinda doing now, I wanted to write something with multiple characters so I can get better at balancing movement, multiple people and personalities, really setting a scene etc. I figured this could be a fun way to work on that andddd to explore Stack and Annie from a younger (college age) modern perspective. It’s nothing too serious, 7.5k words but really not that long. I was just playing around and trying to get better at some things I struggle with. Enjoy 🫶🏾 or don’t 😬.

C/W: Cursing, Smut (lazy smut at that, I was tired), MDI

Also, I’m not gonna tag anyone cause idkkk if yall wonna be tagged in AU stuff or not 👐🏾

A one-off comment is what started it all. Messy, meaningless, and made by drunk ass Pearline. 

Well, she wasn’t drunk yet. But she would be soon, at the rate she was going. 

“Y’all not hot? I’m hot as hell,” Pearline frowned at Annie and June, pulling at her collar to get some air circulating, as if the graphic tee she donned wasn’t cut, tied right under her breast, and displaying the entirety of her toned torso. The dark skinned beauty brought her red cup back to her lips and frowned harder, when a whole lotta nothing came out of it. 

June snorted. “You hot, cause that’s yo’ second cup of whatever the hell Stack done mixed up in there,” she raised a brow. “We done only been here for an hour P. You supposed to sip that shit, not chug it.” 

By here, June meant the Airbnb Smoke and Stack booked out for the weekend. 

It was July, dead in the middle of summer, and the heat wave that’d hit Mississippi had brought a different type of hot. 100 degree temperatures that had everybody in the Delta either changing clothes three times a day or hunkering down in the house, under the AC, like hermits. Everybody was agitated, everybody was restless, and the twins were, of course, capitalizing off it. 

Twenty-five at the door in exchange for music, food, company, and drank, all inside and out from under the sun. The ‘entry fee’ was steep as hell, but people were just going crazy enough to show up anyways, and the place was gradually getting full, bodies flowing through the door where Cornbread sat, yapping and collecting payment. 

Wayne thumped through the speakers set up in the living area—not so loud that people had to scream to make conversation—but loud enough, ensuring the words could be heard and the crowd could catch a vibe. 

Street nigga baby, I’m in love with the gravel.. 

Money gives me life like the man wit’ a gavel..

I’m strapped at home.. 

I’m strapped when I travel.. 

I pop my truck and make them bitches spread like cattle… 

Annie mouthed along to the words unconsciously—this was mixtape Wayne—a song she recognized instantly and one she wouldn’t even know if somebody didn’t have her listening to it in his car every other night. 

Her head bopped, eyes leaving Pearline for a second and flitting around the room. 20 somethings’, with low eyes and red solo cups in hand filled the spacious living area. A few were holding up the wall, but most were laughing, eating, dancing—a lil two step or a light twerk, nothing too crazy yet. It felt like summer, without the heatstroke, and everybody back home from college was ready to act up. 

Annie’s full lips twitched upwards. One thing ‘bout them twins, they knew how to throw a party. 

“This anit a funeral, J. You need to chug a cup down with me, and you do too Annie! Why y’all letting a bad bitch drink on her own?!”  

At the sound of her name, Annie turned her attention back to Pearline. And then rolled her eyes at the pout on her friends face. 

“Ima get me a drink,” June defended herself, slapping her hand on her chest. “I gotta eat first. Unlike you, I won’t be throwing up later in front of all these niggas that’s in here.” J looked around the room pointedly, long knotless braids flowing with the turn of her head. 

Pearline stopped pouting and looked with her, sitting up a little where the three sat on the couch.

Annie shook her head in amusement. If you needed to get P’s attention, that was the way to do it. 

Her friends eyes dragged around the room slow, like she was scouting. 

“Hm. The niggas is outside huh?” 

And they was. Grills flashing, muscles on display, roaming eyes, and slick hands. Slicker mouths. Talking shit, passing blunts, licking lips like they was ready to start choosing.

“Hell yeah they is and I see one I like.” June was eyeing a dread head in the corner. Dark skin, thick build, tattoos up and down his arms. He looked like he’d put you through the mattress, then put you through hell afterwards. And that was just her friends type. 

“Come on Annie.” J was standing, adjusting the skin tight jeans wrapped around her thick thighs. “P right for once. Let’s get a drink so I can come back and see ‘bout my man.” 

Annie laughed out loud, lips splitting and pretty teeth on display.  

“You got issues J.” But she got up, the three friends moving through the decent sized crowd slowly but steadily—unbothered, uninterested, and each fine as hell in their own right. 

Annie figured she’d get a drink too. To sip on, while she vibed and people watched, as she normally did at parties. Keeping an eye on her crazy ass friends. And waiting tell it got just a little later, when everybody was occupied, to get what’d she really came here for. 

The kitchen was less crowded, people grabbing food from the aluminum pans spread  on the counters and dipping out, rather than lingering. There was a small group though, seated at the kitchen table, slamming down cards so hard, Annie didn’t know how the wood hadn’t caved in. 

“Draw 4 nigga!” Stack slammed a card down. “And draw another 4 after that nigga!” He leaned up out his chair, back to them and big hand landing on the table, messing up whatever piles had been there before. “And while you at it,” he threw his last card, “Draw 4 more. Uno out bitch! And I want my money!” 

“Nigga, you cannot throw all them down at once!” 

“We playing stacks nigga! Now run me my shit!” 

The group at the table sucked their teeth simultaneously, tossing their cards down, and talking over each other to complain about how Stack was cheating, while the younger twin just fell back in his chair satisfied, smirk on his face. 

“Yeah yeah. Cry to y’all mufuckin’ mamas.” He turned his head towards his brother. “Why these niggas act like they ‘ont know who I am Smoke?” 

The older Moore was leaned back against the counter, plate in hand and fork full of food, while he shook his head. Stack’s ass was definitely cheating. Somehow. Had them niggas at the table emptying they pockets too. Smoke was just hoping they was too dumb to figure it out. He wanted to chill tonight, not have to lay a nigga on they ass. 

June eyed the spectacle in front of her, smart mouth moving like always. “Shouldn’t y’all be playing Spades or something? You know, an adults game.” 

At her voice, all eyes landed on them. 

Smokes head causally turned towards the entrance of the kitchen, fork sliding between his lips, while the group at the table looked up. Stack turned last, head twisting to look over his shoulder, smug still written all over his face and smirk only growing when he saw who was standing there. 

His eyes hit Annie first, gaze flicking over her quick. Real quick and real thorough. His gaze started at the top of her head, where her 4 day old twist out was finally framing her face the way she liked, and dragged down the rest of her body. She’d kept it casual. A brown graphic tee that hugged her heavy chest and soft stomach was stylishly tucked into a pair of denim shorts—light wash, tight, and wrapped around her dimpled thighs. She’d thrown on some low top brown and yellow dunks to complete the fit, and the chunky gold bracelets and necklace she wore elevated the casual vibe just enough for the occasion. Her dark brown skin was moisturized and glowing, and a swipe of gloss had her lips shining. Simple, but cute. Annie never really did too much. Frankly, because she didn’t have too.

Stack’s gaze flicked back to her face, held her stare briefly, very briefly, just long enough for her to read the I see you all up in his eyes. Long enough for her to blink slow back and let him read the I know you do all up in hers. A 10 second interaction, at the most, that felt like 30 minutes. 

And then it was over. And they moved around each other. Like they always did. 

Annie walked further into the kitchen, attention now on Smoke, while Stack opened his mouth to go back and forth with J. 

“Girl,” Annie heard him suck his teeth behind her. “You anit never too old to get yo ass whooped in some Uno. Put some money on the table and I’ll do you just how I did these niggas.” 

Annie rolled her eyes, opening her mouth to speak to the more…sensible twin instead.

“Hey Smoke,” she smiled small, fingers dancing in the air as she waved at him. 

He’d sat his plate down on the counter, had a red cup of his own at his lips now, and took a long drink before answering. 

“Wussup Annie?” 

“This heat.” 

His lips quirked, head tilting in agreement. 

“You anit lying. That’s why we got y’all here though,” he twirled a finger in the air. “So y’all can get out that heat.” 

Annie snorted. “Y’all got us here, so y’all can make money. 25 at the door not crazy Smoke?”

He shrugged, “Stack even let you pay that?” 

He said it low, voice only loud enough to be heard by them, and his tone was casual. Not his eyes though. His eyes watched her close, like he was waiting for her to slip. 

Annie paused for a beat, eyes squinting in surprise before she could catch it. Surprise at the question and that he knew to ask it.

She considered him. 

The twins were identical. To a certain extent. Broad shouldered, smooth brown skin, thick lips, coffee brown eyes — even had the same deep ass dimples. So, twins for sure. Smoke had this…way about him though. This carefulness about him. A stillness that Stack just…didn’t have. The older Moore was calculating in a way that somebody in their 20’s shouldn’t be. In a way that, unlike his brother, he didn’t try to hide. 

He watched her and Annie watched him. And then she laughed. Just as casually as he’d asked the question. 

“What would yo brother be giving me special treatment for? I paid just like everybody else.” And she had. With the money Stack sent her. But they weren’t talking semantics. 

“You know something I don’t?” She tilted her head, big eyes blinking like she was genuinely confused. 

Smoke watched her for a second more, lips quirking again. Then hmmed low in his throat, shaking his head, and reaching for his cup. “Nah. Just running my mouth.” 

“Stack does that enough for both of y’all Smoke,” she teased, to cover up how thrown off she still was. “No need to join in.” 

He tilted his cup her way as if to say ‘touché’ then took another sip. Annie continued her rounds in the kitchen. 

Giving side hugs to the couple of people she knew sitting at the table and waving sweetly to the others she didn’t. 

She got to Stack last. 

He was waiting for her, leaned back in the chair, legs spread wide, grin on his lips spreading big when she looked over at him. Annie let out a heavy sigh, like she was fed up already, lips tugging upwards even as she tried to fight it. 

“Hi Stack.” Her tone was as flat as she could get it.

It made him grin wider. “Wussup Annie?” He dragged his eyes down her again. Said something, just to say something. 

“I like yo shoes.” 

“Thank you, Stack.” 

“Mhm. You welcome.” He licked his lips, arms spreading wide. “What you so far for? Errbody else done got a hug. Where mine?” 

June snickered under her breath. “Where my hug at is crazy.” 

Annie looked him up and down like she was considering it. He was dripped in less color than he usually was—sturdy frame wrapped in a White Burberry tee, black jeans, and white and black Alexander McQueens. Everything else was business as usual though — facial hair neat and trimmed, thick lips moisturized and smirking, fresh cut with a lining so sharp it looked like it’d hurt to get. Annie eyed the chain glinting around his neck, no different than the glint coming from the ice on his wrist and in his ears.

Even when Stack kept it simple he did too much. 

Annie shifted.

And he looked good doing it. 

She finished her appraisal. 

“I’ll pass. Don’t nobody know where yo hands been.” 

Stack scoffed. “I’m the cleanest nigga in here.” 

“Said no one. Ever.” 

Pearline and June cackled and Stack just shook his head. Licked his lips again and watched her walk back over to her lil friends. Watched all that ass move in them shorts. 

This was how they played. Stack flirting, as Stack was known to do, and Annie acting like she anit like it. 

She was surprised it hadn’t gotten old yet. 

“Whatever girl,” he sucked his teeth. “Y’all get a plate?” 

He asked the question to all three of them but his eyes were on Annie. 

Her nose wrinkled instinctively. 

“You know I don’t—”

“Eat other people cooking, yeah yeah,” he waved her off. “Ms.C cooked that fish and chicken for us though, and that Mac and cheese, and she made that nasty ass red velvet cake you like, so go on head and eat. 

“Anit gone have my money going to waste girl,” he said the last part almost like an afterthought. Mostly, cause it was one.  

Annie’s whole face lit up, cheeks lifting, soft brown eyes growing warmer, smile lines appearing in the corners of her mouth. 

“Y’all got Ms. C to cook?” Stack shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. Annie cheesed harder. “Nigga you might can get that hug after all.”

And if you weren’t before, you definitely getting some pussy now. 

Ms. C was an older black lady who’d been selling plates for as long as Annie could remember. She was just as mean as she was funny and she cooked like it was her first love. Didn’t have any desire to turn a labor of love into a business though. Not an official one at least. She didn’t cook for big events, unless it was something going on at the church, and she didn’t strive to open a restaurant, no matter how many people told her she’d be a guaranteed success. No, Ms. C kept it simple. She cooked right in her own kitchen, let the neighborhood spread the word of the current days menu, and sold what she had until it ran out. If the food was gone by the time you stopped by, that was just too bad. You’d have to catch her the next day. Annie just knew Ms.C made the twins pay a pretty penny to cook all that fish and chicken, just cause she could probably. Later, she’d ask Stack what it’d costed them. 

Right now though, she was about to fuck this food up. 

Stack watched as Annie practically floated across the kitchen towards the counter and shook his head. The stupidest shit made her happy. He cleared his throat, swiping a hand down his face, and forcing the soft smile trying to break out, away. He anit know where that was coming from, but it wasn’t meant for anyone to see. Not even Annie.

Annie was paying Stack no mind. She’d reached the counters, where Smoke still stood leaning, and eyed the food. 

The Mac and cheese had a nice dent in it, and getting some quickly became first priority. 

She started to step back, head turning to look for the paper plates. 

And then promptly tripped over her shoe lace. 

“Oh shit!” The words fell from her mouth as gravity did what gravity does. Annie was falling backward so fast, she didn’t even have time to try and grab the counter. Her eyes squeezed tight, body tensing, bracing for the impact she knew was coming, when two big hands yanked her away from the kitchen tile and into a hard chest instead. 

“Oomph!” The sound was forced out her throat, as all her softness slammed into muscle. It didn’t even feel like her savior flinched, body steady and solid as ever, big hands gripping her hips like they just wanted to make sure she was steady. 

Annie’s hands instinctively came up to clutch at the arms that’d stopped her fall, heart thumping louder than the base in the living room, and eyes flying open when she realized she wasn’t about to bust her ass.

Smoke was looking down at her, lips frowned up and thick brows furrowed. 

“Damn Annie, you good??” 

She laughed shakily, squeezing at his arms tighter, blood still racing like her body didn’t quite believe it was safe yet.

“Shit Smoke,” she shook her head. “Forget what I said earlier. You want 25 more for just saving my life?” 

He laughed, hands squeezing the soft of her hips. “Just tie yo shoe and don’t bust yo head open on this floor and we good.” 

Annie nodded. “I can do that.” She squeezed his arms once more. “Thank y—”

“Ohhh I like this.” 

Smoke and Annie blinked, heads turning to face Pearline who stood with another cup in her hand and a smirk on her lips. 

Annie’s brow furrowed. 

“Like what?” 

“This,” Pearline dragged a finger between Smoke and Annie. “Y’all.” 

Her friend squinted like she was trying to figure something out, then nodded her head like she’d found the answer. 

“Yeah. Hell yeah. June you see this?” P glanced over at June and kept on talking. “You always saying you single cause can’t nobody handle you Annie but the way he just swept you off yo feet, girrllll,” P fanned herself. “Hell yeah. He can handle all that.” 

June sighed long and hard like a mother at their wits end with her child. But then she shrugged. “She a lil touched but she anit wrong,” her eyes jumped between Smoke and Annie. “And y’all both got that strong silent shit going. And y’all both fine. It makes a lot of sense, to be honest. I like it. Let’s do it.” 

She said it like it was as simple as that. 

Smoke blinked at both of them like they were slow and then brought his eyes back to hers. 

“You good?” He squeezed her hips. 

Annie nodded and he let go. She let her hands slide away from where’d they been gripping his arms and stepped back. Carefully. 

“Thank you, Smoke,” she smiled quick. And then turned her head towards her ‘friends’, lips dropping. “Y’all both need help. And I’m getting new friends, ‘cause why is nobody asking if I’m okay? June, I expect more from you at least.” 

June laughed, “Shiitt, I know you okay, the way Smoke snatched yo ass up. You was just fine.” 

Pearline nodded emphatically. “And was!” 

Annie started to roll her eyes, not even bothering to supply them with a response, crouching down instead to tie her shoe.

She double knotted the laces on both shoes for good measure and raised back up, even more intent on getting her Mac and cheese now that’d she’d almost died for it, when something made her glance across the kitchen. And pause. 

Stack was staring at her so hard it felt like he was looking through her. Staring at her and Smoke. Eyes jumping from Annie, to behind her where his brother stood, and back again. 

She frowned. He wasn’t slouched anymore, body leaned forward now, muscles tense like he’d been about to get up and try to catch her. Eyes moving, like he was trying to catch something else now. 

Annie’s head tilted in question, confused at the look on his face. No smirk in sight, head cocked, brows furrowed like ‘what the fuck y’all got going on.’ 

Shifting from behind her made Annie turn her head and face Smoke, who was crossing his arms, still leaned against the counter, eyebrows raised and looking right back at Stack like ‘nigga what’.

Something passed between them, some twin telepathy shit Annie didn’t understand, and then Stack sucked his teeth. 

The sound made Annie turn her head back towards him. It felt like she was getting whip lash. 

“Unt unt, what y’all got going on?” 

Pearline asked the question, nose wrinkling like she was personally offended at the awkwardness now wafting through the kitchen and killing her good vibes. 

Behind her Smoke let out a breath. “I anit bout to play with y’all. I’m bout to go spark this shit.” He moved around Annie, a blunt in his hands that wasn’t there three seconds ago, and left the kitchen without looking back, like he couldn’t be bothered. 

Annie and Stack looked at each other for another beat. 

And then Stack shook his head, smirk crawling back on to his face, all teeth. 

“Anit shit going on P.” 

Annie prided herself on being smart. Thought of it as one of her best qualities actually — being able to make rational, sensible decisions, in a world where common sense wasn’t all that common.

At the moment though, she was questioning just exactly where her sense had been when she’d started fucking with Elias Moore in the first place. For the past hour, Stack had been working the crowd. Weaving in and out of people—laughing, talking, two stepping like he didn’t have a care in the world. And very pointedly not looking in her direction while he was doing it.

Annie shifted on the couch where she sat, taking the weight off her left ass cheek and putting more on her right, sipping the last of what was in her cup slow, and dragging her eyes away from where Stack stood laughing opened mouth at something, in favor of searching for her friends instead. 

She spotted P in seconds, standing in the middle of a crowd, fingers snapping and glossy lips popping as she rapped along to Trina’s ‘Fuck Boy’ like she was putting on a personal performance. Despite the annoyance that’d been gradually building in her chest, Annie couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Exactly P. Pop yo shit,” she mumbled the words softly to herself, seeking out J next. It took her a few minutes, but eventually she spotted her friend in the corner, hugged up with the dread head from earlier, finger twirling around her braids and smile on her face like she was sweet as pie. 

Annie was glad they were having a good time, because her mood was quickly depleting.

Her lips twisted, eyes going back to where Stack had been a second ago, and not finding him. Her glossy mouth twisted up more. 

He’d texted her this morning asking that she come through. Said it’d been too long since he’d got his hands on her, two whole entire days, and he needed a taste of what only she could give. Needed his Annie fix. 

So she’d showered, slathered herself in that coconut hibiscus body butter he loved so much, got dressed, and popped out. Partly to get out the house and enjoy her last summer before graduating college. But mostly because, as bad as he’d said he needed his fix, she wanted to supply it even worse. 

And now that she was here, he was going out of his way not to interact with her. It wasn’t like Annie expected for him to kiss her ass all night or constantly check in. That wasn’t how her and Stack operated, especially in public. But there was a difference between keeping interactions brief so their situation could remain lowkey and him outright acting like she didn’t exist. 

Annie shook her head. She didn’t know what he had going on. If he was mad about that dumb ass comment P made earlier or what, but Stack had lost his mind if he thought she’d be sitting on this couch alone all night, when the only reason she was here, was because he’d promised to give her something very specific. If he was too bent out of shape to give it, she could really just go home. 

It had gotten a little too crowded for her liking anyways, and the once spacious living room now seemed small. It was hot, and stuffy, and there was too much energy going around. She’d had some fun—caught up with a few people, eaten, enjoyed a drink, but she was tired of brushing niggas off and even more tired of people bumping into her. She was right in the middle of binging Naked and Afraid and she’d have more fun going home to finish that, than dealing with this all night. 

Annie raised up off the couch, one hand going between her thick thighs to yank the denim material of her shorts down, and the other gripping her empty cup. She found the trash first, threw her red solo away, and then set out to find Stack next. She was giving him one chance to tell her what the problem was. 

She stepped through the crowd, eyes searching for a big ass head and a bigger smile and came up empty. As her eyes scanned the room for a third time, she spotted someone who looked a lot like Stack though, and she didn’t hesitate to work her way towards him.

Smoke was leaned against the wall by the front door, smoking what Annie would guess to be his second blunt, and talking to Cornbread when she walked over. 

“I think we gone throw another one of these next weekend. You down to work the door?” 

Cornbread scoffed. “Nigga, what am I? Top flight security of the Delta?” 

Smoke’ laughed. “Aight, we’ll pay you double what you making tonight, next weekend, if you work the door for us.” 

Cornbread thought for a second. “Pay me double and put me on Theresa and I might could work the door next Saturday.” The jolly giant glanced around like he was looking for the woman he spoke of, when he spotted Annie instead, just as she reached them. 

“Wussup Annie? You leaving already?” 

She smiled soft, couldn’t help it around Cornbread. “Nah, not yet.” And then she raised a brow. “You done ate right? They anit just working you with no breaks?” 

Cornbread laughed, “Yeah, I got me a plate Annie. Good looking out though.” 

She waved him off. Cornbread looked out for everybody, it was instinct to make sure he was good too.

With that settled, she directed her attention to the left. 

“You know where yo brother at? I need to ask him something.” 

Smoke blew smoke. Eyes low and voice more playful than usual. 

“You look mad. You bout to start some shit lil Annie?“ 

Her eyes almost touched the ceiling they rolled so hard.

“You one year older than me. Anit nothing little over here. And anit nobody mad. I have a question for him and I know you know where he at.” 

So, she sounded a little mad. Irritated, if you will. Oh well. Thing one and thing two could make even an angel like her, act out of character.

Smoke laughed, passing the J to Cornbread and holding his hands up in surrender, “Last time I seen him, he was going upstairs,” he jerked his head to the left, towards the long staircase. 

Annie blinked. Then smiled as polite as she could manage.

“Thanks,” she glanced at Cornbread, waved, and then she was moving, legs carrying her through the crowd, and mind going to a place she didn’t like.

Her and Stack were not together. But they did have an agreement. The agreement being, if they were fucking each other, they weren’t fucking anybody else. When Annie made it up these stairs, that agreement had better still be firmly intact. 

It was quieter on the upper level, and the throbbing that’d started in her temples eased slightly. She sighed in relief, walking down the long carpeted hallway. Annie peeked into a couple of open rooms on the left side of the hall, and then found who she was looking for when she peeked into a room on the right. 

It looked like a master bedroom, walk in closet, big windows, big mirrors, and an even bigger 4 poster bed that sat in the middle of the floor. Just as Annie stepped into the room, Stack walked out of its attached en-suite bathroom.

His steps faltered for a second, eyes widening a little a surprise, and brows jumping high on his forehead.  

“Wussup? What’s wrong?” His eyes were on her, running down her frame, like he was tryna find out who did it and what the fuck they name was. 

Annie eyed him. She refused to cut him slack right now, even as she took in the way his eyes became alert at the thought of something being wrong with her. Even as her stomach fluttered a little because of it. Fluttered in a way she wouldn’t be acknowledging.

Her hand found her hip. 

“That’s what I’m tryna figure out.” 

At her tone, his eyes stopped checking her body for non-existent injuries, nose wrinkling in confusion instead.

“What you talkin’ about?” 

Annie got straight to the point.

“Why you been ducking and dodging me all night Stack? Like I did something to you?” 

It was like magic the way his face went blank, and then came alive again. Smirk tugging at his lips, head cocking, eyes glinting.

“Girl anit nobody been ducking you. What I look like?” He laughed, right hand hand going to his left wrist to fiddle with his watch like it could get any more centered than it already was. “Don’t tell me you mad cause a nigga been walking around being a good host.” 

Annie sucked her teeth, talking mostly to herself when she said, “What is with you niggas and thinking I’m walking around here mad?” 

Stack’s ears perked up, hand pausing the fiddling he was doing with his watch, and smirk growing. Wasn’t shit funny though. “What niggas been saying that? That goofy looking light skin mufucka’ that was tryna dance with you earlier?” 

Annie blinked in surprise. He hadn’t looked her way once since they’d been in the kitchen. Except apparently, he had.

She laughed, “I don’t even know how you know somebody was tryna dance with me earlier. You anit talked to me all night Stack.” 

He blinked, tongue coming out to lick his bottom lip. 

“What,” his head cocked. “You miss me or something?” 

“Or something.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m just tryna figure out why you walking around here mad cause of what happened earlier. You know P and J just be talking.” 

His head was shaking before she’d even finished her sentence, eyes narrowed, and hand waving her off. “Anit nobody thinking bout that lil shit. Smoke stopped yo clumsy ass from falling and yo lil friends don’t know what the fuck they talking ‘bout. What I got to be mad for?” 

Funny how they were her lil friends now, when he’d known Pearline and June longer.

Annie raised a brow, crossing her arms under her heavy chest. “Exactly. What do you have to be mad for? Lines anit blurring is they?” 

Stack’s eyes grew sharp. 

That was a thing they said, to check each others temperatures. To make sure they were still on the same page. 

Annie was demanding a little too much of his time? Asking too many questions and giving too many lectures about what he and his brother did to make money—sounding more like a girlfriend than a friend with benefits? ‘Sound like you slippin’ Annie. Lines anit blurring is they?’

Stack was demanding too much of her time? Trying to check who she talked too? Ready to lay niggas out just for looking twice? ‘Whats goin’ on Stack? Lines anit blurring is they?’ 

It kept them grounded. Reminded them what their situation was—reminded them that there was no room for possessiveness or demanding questions or petty arguments in what they had.

They looked at each other. And then Stack spoke. “You know me better than that. Know damn well they not.” 

And every time the question was asked, the answer given was no, and that was expected to be taken at face value. They were grown, 23 and 24, and if either of them did feel lines were blurring, they knew how to speak up and say so. 

Neither one of them ever said so though. Wouldn’t be taking a step back from each other no time soon.

Annie nodded, arms dropping, and belly loosening where it’d tightened a little. Like she’d been nervous.

Probably cause she didn’t want him to say any answer that’d put a stop to her getting what he gave her so well.

“Okay then.” She cleared her throat and then she stepped closer. Hands reaching out to grip at his shirt, pulling, and making him step in. He came willingly. 

“Sooo, you gone give me what I came here for?” She blinked up at him, where he looked down, only a couple inches taller. “Or you still tryna play host?” 

Downstairs, the party advertised as a “lowkey” kickback, was damn near turning into a rave, as Chief Keefs ‘Faneto’ boomed through the speakers. The music was at max volume now and still, it struggled to compete with the loud crowd. Smoke made a note of that. Was gone have to get better speakers before next weekend. And a bigger place to host this shit. Now though, it wasn’t anything he could do about it, so he just joined in with the crowd. Leaned against a wall, head nodding to the beat, and mouth rapping the words.

Gang in this bitch..

Gang in this bitch.. 

I’m a gorilla in a fuckin’ coupe, finna pull up to the zoo nigga..

Who nigga? Who the fuck is you? I don’t know nigga..

As J and her new man stood side by side, arms in the air and bodies moving, she briefly wondered where the hell Annie was. And then she shrugged. She was probably somewhere in the crowd, rapping along with everybody else. She’d have to find her friend when the living room cleared out a little bit. 

J didn’t know though, that even if the living room suddenly emptied, she still wouldn’t be able to find Annie. Her friend was…occupied right now.

“Nah, nah, nah, get yo ass back here!” 

“Shit, Stack. Fuck!” 

The large hands gripping her hips pulled Annie back onto the length she’d tried to run from and her eyes rolled at the feeling. 

Stack had her damn near bent in half, face down, ass pointed to the ceiling, and thighs spread wide. 

“Ouuu Stack.” 

He watched all that ass clap as he dug in her from behind, them dimpled cheeks ricocheting off his hard abs every time he pressed in deep. And he was pressing in deep. Hips working like he didn’t want to be out of her soft creamy walls for too long. Pulling out and immediately thrusting back in, dick reaching as far as he could get it, like he was trying to mold her pussy and ruin her for anybody else. 

Annie felt like she was already ruined. Couldn’t even pin point where the pleasure started or where it ended, because she felt good everywhere. Stack was stretching her so wide. Fucking her hard and keeping her so full it made her core ache and her mouth water and her pussy drip. Had her doing stupid stuff, like running from the good that pulsed through her body. Annie’s thighs shook, her back curving and messing up the deep arch Stack had just put her in. 

He sucked his teeth, one hand pressing into the center of her back to fix that shit, while the other came up and then rained down on one of her cheeks. 

“Shit!”

“You pissing me off Annie! Fuck you got going on? I anit ‘bout to keep chasing you all over this bed.” 

All Annie could do was moan, the sting from her ass shooting straight to her clit. Straight to her sensitive nipples that were pressed firmly into the mattress beneath her. He didn’t even soothe the fire spreading across her cheeks, bringing his hand up and smacking it back down with a loud THWACK on the same spot instead. It made the harsh sting feel so much worse. Made all the good thrumming through her, feel so much better. 

She groaned loudly, teeth sinking into her bottom lip, eyes screwed shut, face turned to the side and pressed into the comforter. 

“Fix my arch!” Stack pressed down on her back harder. 

“It’s too much,” she whined. “Why you in it like that Stack. Shit.” 

Annie didn’t know what was going on. She could take dick. Could ride it, could suck it, could eat back shots and fuck back for more. Could do it all for Stack. Tonight though, something was different. The second they’d hit the bed he was on her ass. Yanking her clothes off, flipping her around like she weighed all of nothing, positioning Annie where and how he wanted her before sliding in deep, promising to ‘put his face in his pussy’ later. He hadn’t let up since they’d started, strokes deliberate. Strokes Focused. Strokes calculating, like he taking note of which spots made her run in the first place, and then going out his way to hit every one.

And Annie tried to take it, she really did, but when he pulled out slow, confusing her at the sudden change of pace, just to thrust back inside, quick, hard, and at an angle, she was running again. Fingers gripping at the sheets, thighs trying to close, arch all fucked up, as her stomach tightened deliciously.

Stack was done playing with her.

Instead of pulling her back, he followed, hard chest pressed into her back, body never leaving hers as they both hit the mattress. 

Annie was flat under him now, head turned towards the wall, open mouth panting.

He was in her ear. Chain around his neck pressed into her glistening skin. 

“Why you tryna keep this pussy from me? I thought this was what you came here for?” His voice was low, soft as silk, sweet like honey. Annie’s hole spasmed around his length. “You been giving me this pussy all summer and now you acting like you can’t take it?” 

“You just—ouuu. You so deep Stack—”

“I’m deep cause that’s where she want me. You feel how wet this pussy is? How hard she biting down on me?” He slid out slow, and Annie groaned. He felt deeper than before in this new position. Felt like he was sliding against a spot he’d never touched. As he pulled out, her clit pulsed violently. It was being stimulated now, by all that weight pressing on top of her and from the mattress below. Annie’s eyes rolled. Stack’s did the same, jaw jumping as he felt the wet clinging to his dick. That was Annie all over him. He eyed the side of her face. Saw them eyes clenched, long lashes fluttering. Saw them lips clamped between her teeth. Read the pleasure written all over her face.

“Why mufuckas walking round here with opinions on who can handle you and who you make sense with Annie?” Stack asked the question suddenly. Had pulled out to the head and was swallowing spit at the way her pussy clamped down on the tip. “What they know bout how you need to be handled?” 

“Stack, please.”

Annie didn’t know what she was asking for. She felt overstimulated in the best way. He had her feeling like the dick was too much one second and like it wasn’t enough the next. Her brain felt like it was flipped upside down and all that low talking he was doing in her ear wasn’t helping. 

Stack kept going.

“What they know ‘bout it Annie? They be seeing you like this? Spread wide? Pussy wet? Feigning for the dick? They must know how to fix it when you get like this? Know the type of nigga you need to make it better? Or that’s just me who know?”

Annie whimpered, “Just you. Only you.” 

He slid in to the hilt. And there was nowhere for Annie to run this time. Her breath left her body. Stack still had his though. His teeth scraped at her ear as he spoke. 

“They know how deep you like to be fucked? How even when you running, yo pussy soaked for it? They tryna put you with niggas and shit. They should probably know what you like.”  

He dragged his length out slow, and buried every inch right back inside. 

“Elias.” 

Stack smirked. He’d been walking around with a knot in his chest all night, one he anit care to explore. But now it was working itself out. 

“Yeah, baby?” Neither of them really realized what’d he’d just called her. So neither one acknowledged it. 

“It feel so good like this.” 

“It’s ‘bout to feel better.” 

And he wasn’t lying. He fed her his dick over and over, pressed right against her, skin to skin, mouth at her ear kissing and talking shit and all Annie could do was take it.

“Oh you in my pussy Stack. That dick so deep in my pussy.”

“Mmm, you got a nasty ass mouth Annie. Mufuckas know that? Mufuckas know you got a nasty ass mouth and need a nigga who can talk that shit right back?” 

“Ouuuuuu. No baby, they don’t know.” 

They went on and on. Stack’s hips never stopping. Dick never fully leaving that perfect fucking pussy.

“Who you call when you need this pussy handled? Who handle you?” 

“You do Stack, oh my god.” Annie felt something creeping up on her fast. Something tight and hot. She moaned, squeezing at the sheets. 

Stack’s hips snapped forward harder.

“Got me fucked up,” he was speaking through gritted teeth. Felt the way that pussy was jumping on him. “I keep you fed, I keep you smiling, and I keep you fucked. Can’t no other nigga handle nothing over here. You ‘ont make sense with none of these niggas. Fuck she talkin’ ‘bout?” 

“Ouuuu—bullshit baby—she was talking bullshit.” 

“This my pussy? I make this pussy feel good?” 

“This yo pussy Stack swear to God. Oh my God. I feel it.” 

“All them bitch ass niggas down there in yo face tryna talk to you. Yo lil friends saying stupid shit. Cause they don’t know. They don’t know this my pussy.” 

His thrusted in hard. Again. And Again. Keeping her pinned underneath him. Taking it. Annie shuddered. “I feel like I’m bout to—Stack—Im bout to cum.” 

He laid a wet kiss on the side of her face. 

“Go head. Anit nobody stopping you. Cum on this dick like you always do.” 

It should never be said that Annie couldn’t follow orders. 

Her pussy locked down tight around him. 

Vice grip tight. 

“Son of a—shit Annie.” 

And Stack didn’t stand a fucking chance. 

While the crowd downstairs rapped at full volume Stack and Annie did what they did best. Gave each other that high that only they could give. 

His hands fell over hers, where they gripped the sheets, and they came just like that. Stacks chest pressed tight to Annies shaking body, sinking into all that soft.

 She moaned, pretty face screwed up as she gushed around him. Moaned filthier when she felt him shooting inside her. All the warm going deep and prolonging her orgasm. They didn’t have no business fucking raw. Not really. Annie knew better. But she tracked her ovulation like it was religion, never missed a birth control pill, and made got tested faithfully. That was her compromise with the universe, cause the way he felt raw inside her, hard and pulsing and so fucking good? It flipped some type of switch in Annie’s brain, one that rivaled with her common sense—one she hadn’t been able to turn off since the first time she’d felt all of him sink into all of her bare.

They groaned in unison. 

“Ouuuu Stack!” 

“Feel so fuckin good Annie, shit.”  

They came long, and slow, and hard, wiping any tension that’d lingered from today, away. Untying that knot in Stack’s chest, and giving Annie peace of mind on where they stood.

The two came down, slowly, gradually, him rolling off her so she could breathe properly, her still panting, hole spasming around nothing. Hair sweated the fuck out. And a wide grin stretching across her face. This is what she came here for tonight. That good feeling Stack gave her so well. This is why she’d started fucking with Elias Moore. Why sometimes, she wandered what’d it be like if their lines did blur. Just a little.

“You good?” His voice made her look over at him lazily. He was on his back, hard chest glistening with sweat, smirk tugging at his lips as he eyed her. “You smiling kinda crazy over there. Dick anit bout to have you peeking in a nigga window at night is it?” 

Her smile dropped. 

“Anddd we’re back to reality.” 

👀 Hi y’all! If you made it to the end I hope you enjoyedddd. 🫶🏾 I was a 🤏🏾 nervous about posting this since it was just some practiceeee like I said. I feel like it mayyy be a little boring tbh 🤷🏾‍♀️ but I did have a lot of fun writing it. I love Annie down and this is really how I picture a modern younger her. Smart, sassy, sweet and sweet faced, and ensuring she get hersss lmao. Also, I was writing this like…these mfs are the worst at being sneaky. Lmao. Anyways, I like talking to y’all so if you feel so inclineddd let me know what you thinkkkk. Would yall be down to see more of them? Me actually exploring their situation a little bit? Lemme know. Send some Requests. Happy Sunday 🫶🏾🧡

@cursed-carmine on the dividers! ♥︎

[femrafe]

⋆˙⟡ i will follow him

⤷ you're awkward, and obsessive, especially over figure eight's kook king. drawn to your unsettling devotion, rafe lets you into his world, blurring the line between cruelty and intimacy.

cw: dubcon undertones, toxic relationship dynamic, obsession, stalking, rough sex.

You don’t remember exactly when it started, maybe it was the way he laughed at a joke you made that wasn’t even funny, or the way he looked right through you at one of topper's parties like he could see something worth noticing. No one else ever really did. You were strange, too quiet, too intense, too… off. But Rafe looked anyway.

You started collecting things. A receipt he dropped. A cigarette butt he flicked into the sand. The lighter he left at a party once, still warm, still his. You kept them in a box under your bed, labeled in your head like a shrine. Rafe, Rafe, Rafe. 

At the country club, you'd sit just close enough to smell his cologne but far enough to pretend you weren’t watching him. He knew though. He always did. You were obvious. You didn't care. You didn’t know how to be subtle. 

He started leaning into it. 

You weren’t supposed to be there. Not technically, after all your family did come from figure eight and were members, but it’s not like anyone was excited to invite you or in a rush to make sure you were going. 

It was a Midsummers party. Loud, golden, full of people who glittered. You stood in the corner and watched everyone from a distance drink, party, talk. No one talked to you. You liked it that way. You only came to see him.

Rafe Cameron, who by this time, was drunk and laughing like the world belonged to him. You followed him with your eyes all night. You didn’t try to hide it. You didn’t want to.

When he caught your gaze across the patio, you didn’t flinch. You just stared, head tilted, like you were memorizing him. Your drink was untouched. Your lips parted, but you said nothing.

He didn’t look away.

Ten minutes later, he found you by the guesthouse. Alone. Right where he wanted you, or maybe right where you wanted him.

“You’ve been staring at me all night,” he said, stepping into your space. “You think I didn’t notice?”

You swallowed hard. He was closer now. Closer than you’d imagined. His voice was warm smoke, and you felt dizzy.

“I wasn’t hiding it.”

“No shit.” His grin twisted. “What’s your deal?”

You blinked up at him, completely unblinking. “I like watching you.”

He laughed, sharp and surprised. “That supposed to be cute or creepy?”

You tilted your head again. “Both?”

He stared at you for a long moment. Something passed between you, something dark and delicate. A recognition. 

“You’re weird,” he said, almost fondly.

You didn’t smile. “You’re beautiful.”

That caught him off guard.

He smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Jesus.”

You reached into your pocket, pulled out something small. His lighter. Silver. Scratched.

“You dropped this last weekend,” you murmured, holding it out. “I kept it for you.”

He stared at the lighter, then back at you. Something flickered in his expression. 

“You kept my lighter for a week?”

You nodded.

“…Did you use it?”

“No.”

He took it from your hand slowly. “You’re seriously fucking strange.”

You didn’t expect him to let you stay the first night.

You’d followed him from the beach. Not close enough to be caught, close enough to be noticed. That was the difference. You didn’t want to scare him off. You wanted him to know.

Rafe’s house was dark, half-lit by the flicker of porch lights and the glow of a television behind thin curtains. He left the door unlocked. He always did when he was high or drunk, and an event like Midsummers was no exception. You had watched him down countless shots, get passed multiple joints, and even was able to notice him rubbing his nose after his trip to the bathroom. 

You pushed it open like you belonged there.

He was shirtless on the couch, a half-empty bottle of whiskey swinging between his fingers. He didn’t even flinch when he saw you.

“You again,” he slurred, lazy grin curling his lips. “What, you stalking me now?”

You stood awkwardly in the doorway, eyes wide, hoodie sleeves pulled down over your fists, your Midsummers dress long gone. You didn’t know what to say. You never really did around him.

He let the silence stretch.

“You’re fucking weird, y’know that?”

You nodded slowly, pulse ticking hard behind your ears. “Yeah.”

Something in him twitched at that—some sick part that liked the way you didn’t deny it. He liked feeling wanted. No, needed it. A feeling the girls he fucked couldn’t provided, a feeling his own father couldn’t. 

“C’mere,” he muttered, patting the couch.

You walked like you were afraid it wasn’t real.

He didn’t touch you at first. He just stared, letting you sit so close your thigh barely brushed his. You could feel the warmth of his skin, the sweat-slick shine of his collarbones.

“You watch me a lot,” he said eventually, voice low, like he was telling you a secret.

You nodded again. “All the time.”

Rafe exhaled a sharp laugh. “That’s so fucked up.”

“I know.”

He stared at you for a beat, then said, “Take your hoodie off.”

You froze, but not out of hesitation. Your heart stuttered behind your ribs. He was giving you a command. 

Your hands shook slightly as you pulled the hoodie over your head. Underneath, just a camisole. You hadn’t expected him to really want you. You always prepared for rejection, not attention.

His eyes dragged over your body slowly, unkindly.

“You’re kinda pathetic, aren’t you?” he said, voice dipping. “Following me around. Probably getting off on just breathing my air.”

Your breath hitched. He wasn’t wrong.

“You like it when I talk to you like this?”

You nodded, skin hot.

“Say it.”

“Yes,” you whispered, voice fraying. “I like it when you're mean to me.”

Rafe leaned forward, brushing your hair behind your ear like you were something soft and stupid. “You’re seriously fucked in the head.”

Then he kissed you.

Hard. Ugly. Too much teeth. His hand wrapped around your throat, not tight, but present. Your body burned under his touch, and your mind short-circuited. You melted into it, aching and pliant.

“You been thinking about this?” he growled against your lips.

“Yes,” you gasped. “Every night. Every—fuck—every time you looked at me, I thought about—”

“Getting on your knees for me?”

You whined.

“Then do it.”

You slipped off the couch, kneeling in front of him. Your fingers fumbled at his waistband, trembling. He watched with hooded eyes, breath shallow as you freed him.

“Look at you,” he murmured, cock twitching in your hand. “So desperate you’d suck off a guy who doesn’t even like you.”

“I just want you.” you whispered, voice shaking.

He groaned like that did something to him. His hand curled into your hair, tugging your head back just slightly.

“You gonna be good for me, freak?”

You nodded, tears already pricking your eyes. “So good.”

He didn’t make it easy. He didn’t ease you in. But you didn’t care. You wanted to earn him. You gagged, spit dripping down your chin, eyes wide and wet as he used your mouth like it was his right.

“Fuck,” he growled, hips jerking. “You’re so messed up. Look at you—so happy to be on your knees for me. Bet you think this means something, don’t you?”

You couldn’t speak, not with him buried deep in your throat, but your whimper said enough.

He pulled you off suddenly, chest heaving.

“Get up,” he said. “Bed.”

You followed blindly. 

He pushed you down onto the mattress and stripped you. Hands rough, mouth hungry. He didn’t say pretty things. He didn’t promise you love.

But he stayed.

You were soaked, needy, and shaking. You reached for him, and he let you. You wrapped your arms around his neck like you could keep him there forever. He didn’t pull away.

“Gonna fuck you so hard you forget your own name,” he murmured, lining himself up.

“Don’t need my name,” you breathed, high off him. “Just yours.”

That did it. He snapped his hips forward, punching a cry from your throat. He was brutal, merciless, like he wanted to hurt you. And maybe he did. But maybe you liked it.

Your nails raked down his back. You cried out his name over and over like a prayer. He held you down, hips slamming into yours, sweat and skin and teeth.

“You’re mine now,” he groaned.

“Yes,” you gasped. “Yours. Always yours.”

When you came, it was violent. You sobbed against his shoulder, still clinging to him even after he collapsed on top of you, breath ragged.

[ufcxreaders]

Islam Makhachev: Enemies to lovers

Pairing: young islam makhachev x fem!reader

Summary: You work at the gym where young Islam trains. Hes quiet, intense, and always watching but never kind. You think he hates you. Truth is, he wants you. Badly. And one night, the tension finally breaks.

Warnings: 18+,implied smut

You dont know when it started. Maybe the first week. Maybe the first look.

You were just supposed to be working the desk. Stocking the fridge with water. Folding towels. Replacing hand wraps. Wiping sweat off the mats that they never seemed to notice they left behind.

You seen fighters before. Loud ones. Flirty ones. Ones who even called you sister with a wink.

But Islam?

He was different.

Quiet.Always focused, almost never friendly.

He never said good morning when entering. Never smiled.

But his eyes followed you. Always.

Not in a sweet way. Not even rude.

Just… like he was trying to figure something out.

You didnt think he liked you. And honestly, you didnt really like him much either.

He acted like even just your presence was in his way.

Like the sound of bottles you carried or the way you swept under the bench during cooldown was somehow ruining his focus.

You started getting annoyed. Started muttering under your breath when he walked past without looking.

Started leaving the mat a little wetter, just to see if hed react and to annoy him just a little bit.

You started noticing everything how tight his jaw tightend or how his shoulders widen when you got too close.

One day you asked him flat

„Проблема?“

(Problem?)

He didnt answer. Just looked at you.

Said nothing. But his eyes stayed on your mouth for a little too long before he just walked off

You worked late a lot.Mostly because the evenings were quiet and because something about seeing the gym emptied out made you feel calm no usman pranking everyone or zubaira dancing while tagir tries ro press a conversation out of you.

But now islam started staying late too.

At first you thought it was just coincidence.

But after the third time when it was just you and him in the whole place it stopped feeling like that

He finish his sets in silence. Wraps still on. Shirt off. Skin flushed in sweat, breath steady.

You tried not to look. But you did. Sometimes you caught him watching you watch him.He never looked away.

You had a system.

You cleaned the benches, then the lockers, then the mats.

He would sit on the edge of the octagon while you did it. Sometimes drinking from a bottle he didnt ask for. Sometimes just… sitting and he never spoke.

Not until that one night.

You were mopping. Music in on your airpos with your Hoodie sleeves pushed up.

You didnt even hear him until he was right behind you.

You turned fast nearly dropped the mop.

He didnt flinch. Just stood there. Close.

„что?“

[What?]

He looked down and then up but said nothing.

You could hear your own heart

„Я просто убираюсь“

[I’m just cleaning] you muttered

„Я знаю“

(I know) he said

Silence

You started to step past him. But his hand brushed your side not hard, not forceful. Just… testing.

You froze.

He didnt move either.

The gym was quiet. That thick kind of quiet that presses against your skin.

You looked at him. Really looked.

His mouth was parted. His chest sweaty. His knuckles flexed.He looked nervous.

„Ты меня ненавидишь или что?“

(You hate me or something?) you asked

Your voice coming out smaller than you meant it to

His jaw moved. But no words came.He just stared.

Then finally he said:

„Нет“

(No i dont)

He says it like it surprises even him. Like he didnt plan to say anything at all.

You stare up at him, your body still, fingers tight around the mop handle.

Your pulse loud at your neck, loud and unmissable in the silence.

He doesnt step back tho

Doesnt move away.

You blink slowly, eyes dragging over the lines of his face those sharp cheekbones the faint cut on his lip from sparring the way his chest rises and falls like hes working to stay calm.

„Почему ты ведешь себя так, будто я мешаю?“

(Then why do you act like Im in your way?) you ask, quietly. Not angry. Just tired.

His brow creases of frustration or shame.He looks down not at the floor, but at your mouth.

Then your throat.Then your hands.

Still, he says nothing.

Your breath catches when his hand lifts halfway, then pauses midair. He doesnt touch. Just hovers. Fingers flexed, like hes resisting himself. Like he doesnt know if hes allowed.

You dont move either.

The air is warm between you.

Hes so close you can smell him. That honey soap from the showers mixed with his own smell.

You feel your own chest rising small, unsure movements, like your body is responding before your mind has caught up. His knuckles brush the edge of your hoodie, right at your hip. Just a graze.

You dont stop him.

He exhales shaky, uneven. He looks at you again, this time with something different. Not cold. Not distant. Hungry.Still, he waits.

You should say something. You should pull back, laugh it off, finish mopping. But instead, your hand reaches up fingertips grazing his arm, then higher, until they rest lightly at his collarbone. His skin is hot, smooth.

He leans in. Just a little.

His forehead nearly brushes yours.

You can feel the heat off his breath.

And then…

Then he finally does it.

His lips meet yours slowly, carefully like hes expecting you to disappear.

You kiss back. And it’s nothing like you expected. Its tense. Rough around the edges. All breath and friction and the feeling of months of silence snapping between you. His hand slips around your waist. Yours curls into his shirt.

And both of you dont let go

[b1asho]

Finally, an updated big stupid map of where we are. Now including flags!

Since im not going super hard with this scifi, all the planetary stuff is kinda just stuff that I want to be there+the barest bit of 'accuracy' for flavor. I'll have to work on it more later.

The three moons are all smaller than our moon, but combined they have a similar stabilizing effect. The rings are angled at approx 23 degrees with the planets axial tilt (the moons aren’t tho). The rings are mostly rock, and spread out far into very thin layers for some reason (meaning they don’t block/reflect that much light). Because they still have a lot of metal debris in them, though, they can still be pretty shiny. ( slightly increasing the intensity of winter and summer as they cast shadows/concentrate more light). You can see them from pretty much anywhere on the planet day or night (but at the equator they just look like a line). The rings and debris is (part of) what makes it so hard to keep satellites up there (and makes it much harder to try and leave the planet….).

The moss stuff was only one part of the Old Empire's usual procedure for this, step one basically. There is soil out there, it's just a thin layer since nothing else has been done to speed it up/introduce the other steps. These other steps to build up more complex ecosystems etc were only completed within the more manageable area that they live in, which now includes some Earth-originating species on the DRSS side since they just Had to butt in and put their stuff in with the Old Empire's glorious plans. There's also some invertebrates out there in mossland, but like the moss they've been coded to play out a specific purpose (soil stuff) even when left unattended for long periods of time (to better help the Empire start the other steps without having to worry about new/competing species that they cant control. The "let it loose/outside of our control" step is not this early, but now that its what has happened and no other species have been introduced en-masse like intended, the moss/algae/invertibrate outside may start to speciate soon.)

I still need to figure out where the past borders are, but this is where they’re all at currently. Don’t mind the probably wonky projection map, I tried XD. The section of continent shown is roughly larger than Asia.

After millions of people fell to the planet a couple hundred years ago (and millions more died in the many years of warfare, sickness, and famine afterwards), the planet has a current total population of around 1.5 or 2 billion people (no one knows exactly how many are in the Empire anymore) (idk what the percentage division of each species is either lol)

I think I might finally like how it looks, but at the same time it’s still a work in progress? I think I'm going to keep it this way for a while. It does help with a lot of character/plot stuff, tho, since I can now look at places and figure out who has gone to/from where (for example, the main 6 all live in Berm right now. Maro and Rinshi are from the little yellow island in the Empire, and got to the SEZ by passing through the Wreck, and Zoe and Devin are from the Orbouh Island Nations. )

[mattlvr03]

Where’d You Go?

Genre: Fluff, Domestic, Comfort

The sun was starting to dip just past the tree line, painting the Boston sky in that soft, hazy orange glow that always made Chris feel like the day wasn’t quite over yet. He pushed open the front door with his shoulder, a paper grocery bag tucked under one arm, his phone still in hand from texting you fifteen minutes ago: “Be back in a bit. Want anything else?”

No reply. Not that it surprised him—you had been curled up on the couch when he left, blanket thrown over your legs, your head resting on a pillow like it weighed a hundred pounds. He figured you might've dozed off. It was your shared Sunday routine now—errands, chilling, naps.

“Babe?” Chris called out as he dropped the grocery bag on the counter, the crinkle of the paper echoing in the otherwise quiet house.

Silence.

He peeled off his hoodie, tossing it on a kitchen stool, and glanced toward the living room. Empty. The blanket was still there, slightly rumpled, but no sign of you.

Chris furrowed his brows, blinking a little like he was making sure he wasn’t just missing you in the shadows.

“Baby?” he said again, a little louder this time, walking toward the hallway.

No response. Not from the living room. Not from the kitchen. And the TV was off now, which was weird, because you always forgot to turn it off when you got up.

Chris’s heartbeat picked up—not in a panicked way, just that weird flutter of curiosity and low-level concern.

He peeked into the downstairs bathroom. Empty.

Then, as he padded upstairs, he called out again, dragging your nickname out a little, voice echoing through the halls.

“Baaaaby?”

Still nothing.

The door to Matt’s room was cracked open, a flicker of light from his laptop spilling out. “Yo, Matt—she in here?” Chris asked, knocking gently and pushing the door open a bit more.

Matt glanced up from editing a video, earphones half on. “Huh? Nah, haven’t seen her. Thought she was with you.”

Chris nodded once and mumbled, “She was…”

Next, he checked Nick’s room. “Baby, you in here?”

Nick looked up from his phone, headphones around his neck. “Nope. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Chris said, trying not to smile too much at himself. “I think she’s just hiding.”

But there was something weirdly cute about it. Like a mini scavenger hunt in his own house, and the prize was you.

He wandered into the hallway again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Where the hell did you go, baby?”

That was when he saw it—his bedroom door, cracked just slightly. Quiet behind it, not even the sound of your usual Spotify playlist humming from your phone.

He pushed it open carefully, his voice a hushed murmur now. “...Baby?”

And then he saw you.

Tucked up on his bed—your head resting on his pillow, curled on your side, one arm loosely hugging the hoodie he'd left this morning before his run to the store. Your lips were slightly parted, and the slow rise and fall of your chest told him you were out cold. Not just napping—gone.

Chris stood in the doorway for a second, his heart actually doing a whole thing in his chest. It was stupid, maybe, but you looked so peaceful there. Like you belonged. Like you’d been sleeping in that bed forever and every other day had just been pretending.

He walked over slowly, careful not to startle you, even though you were deep in it. He crouched next to the bed and rested his elbows on the edge of the mattress, just watching you for a second. The way your lashes fluttered a little when you breathed. The little crease between your brows like you were dreaming.

“Baby,” he whispered, barely audible, like he didn’t really want to wake you but couldn’t help saying it anyway.

You stirred just slightly, shifting under the comforter. You must’ve dragged it up from the foot of the bed, because he didn’t remember it being there this morning. His hoodie shifted in your grip as you pulled it tighter.

Chris smiled, soft and warm.

He grabbed the throw blanket off his desk chair and laid it gently over your shoulders. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed, trying not to bounce the mattress too much.

Your eyes opened a sliver.

“Chris…?” you mumbled, voice rough with sleep and full of confusion.

“Hey,” he whispered, brushing a bit of hair from your forehead. “Didn’t mean to wake you. I just got back and thought you got kidnapped or something.”

You blinked a few more times, then yawned. “You were gone forever…”

He laughed softly. “Literally twenty minutes.”

“It felt longer.”

Chris leaned down and kissed your temple. “I missed you, too.”

You closed your eyes again, pulling at his hoodie as if to keep him close even though it wasn’t him.

“I came up here to smell your pillow,” you admitted sleepily, which made him chuckle again. “Then I just… knocked out.”

“That’s adorable. And mildly creepy.” He was grinning though, brushing another kiss onto your cheek. “But mostly adorable.”

“Stay?” you murmured.

He didn’t even answer. Just toed off his sneakers, crawled over the blankets, and laid down behind you, wrapping his arm gently around your waist. His fingers found yours under the covers and laced them together.

“Got snacks in the kitchen for when you wake up,” he whispered into the nape of your neck. “But I think I like this more.”

You mumbled something that sounded like “me too,” already drifting again, warm and safe in his arms.

Chris smiled into your hair.

Yeah. He definitely liked this more.

@mattspillowprincess 🤓

@leahfaith 😋