#precarious agreements

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Smutty Shorts- Christmas Edition

Ransom Drysdale x Kitten (Precarious Agreements Edition)

18+ Only Blog

Happy Holidays everyone.

And then all the stockings were hung by the chimney with care. 

Actually not all, yours were ripped off your feet within moments that Ransom had you flat on your back, throwing them over his shoulder as he grasped your ankles, kissing against the sole as he started to pound his hard cock into your weeping core. 

Pushing your legs to bend back towards your head, your pussy sounding so sloppy within minutes by him manhandling you over the length of the couch. 

“Ransom, Ransom, RANSOM!” you couldn’t stop chanting his name, making a cocky cold smile spread across his face while his dark hair flopped out of place from the force. 

“That’s right Kitten, I own this sweet fucking cunt.” He gave a slap to your pulsing clit, making you scream and arch your back off the couch, grabbing at his shoulders as he pressed your legs back further, making you feel tighter around his cock. 

Pulsing around him, wanting to milk his cum from his balls. 

“All yours Ran.” You pointed out, feeling your words slurring and starting to plead. “Please Ransom, I need you to-” 

“To what Kitten, fill this cunt up so full that it leaks from you the rest of the night.” 

Your head nods enthusiastically while his hand circles your throat, pinning you against the cushions to keep you from moving while his hips snapped harshly. 

“Squeeze harder Kitten, if you want to be my cum slut, show me how bad you want it.” He snarled in your face, licking along your cheek where tears had streamed down before kissing your temple, moaning loudly as you did as he told you to.

[bigtreefest]

I know it! It’s Precarious Agreements by @sweater-daddiesdumbdork

hey im looking for a ransom drysdale fic (a series actually), it's was a while ago. ransom and her were friends with benefits before something happened between them and they lost touch. he calls her kitten I think. but meet again after a few years and shes dating some boring lawyer guy. she cheats on her bf with ransom and they're friends with benefits again but ransom actually wants to be with her. she ends up leaving her bf and enda up with ransom. could you please lmk if you know about it thanks

Hi! Damn, I don’t know this one. But I’m sure someone hopefully will.

[hyunsvngs]

𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞-𝐚-𝐡𝐨𝐞! - spiderman!han jisung x fem!reader

wc: 11.1k

cw: han jisung is spiderman, a brief attack of an alien in school, both characters are 18+ (legal) but are intended to be in high school, friends to lovers, jisung calling mc baby at any given moment

synopsis: you’re obsessed with spiderman, but after a certain event takes place, you become convinced your best friend and spiderman are the same person.

a/n: after a long wait… HEHE smut warnings under the cut and as usual 18+ MDNI!!!!!!!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: brief mention of masturbation (both), oral (fem!rec), slightly switchy both parties, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, loss of virginity (both), cumswapping, relatively tame given that its me

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re intrigued.

Interested seemed like too little of a word to use for how you feel whenever you see the latest news report. In a world full of superhuman serums and bulletproof skin, he is still intriguing. Maths homework could be ignored, as far as you’re concerned - and that’s bold for you, because you love maths. You wonder if he likes maths, too.

Every night at 6pm sharp, you settle in front of the television and wait for the news. Spiderman, the hero in question, is always up to something. He loves shooting his webs across the tallest skyscrapers in the city, dangling from them precariously without a care before he lets out a loud, earth-shattering giggle and beats the newest bad-guy that your world has attracted. You always wince at the reports, wondering just how he healed from the injuries he must sustain. It had to be down to the spider venom, you supposed.

“He’s dangerous,” Your dad huffs. He’s lounging on his normal armchair, peeling leather be damned, munching on a bag of crisps. You grimace at his crisp covered digits motioning towards the television. You love your dad, really, and your mum - you just always differed in opinions when it came to Spiderman. He was so fucking cool, and you seriously feel like a child saying that all of the time, despite your best friend Jisung telling you that we all have our interests. “I mean, he’s putting normal civilians in danger. Friendly neighbourhood Spiderman my ass.”

“Honey,” Your mother admonishes, digging through her own bag of crisps. You briefly consider why you haven’t been offered one. They look tasty, when your father isn’t rubbing luminous orange dust onto his previously crisp white shirt. “You know she doesn’t like it when you say bad things about him. He- what was the word again, baby?”

“He intrigues me,” You mumble, pretending to erase equations from your homework. Your cheeks blaze crimson when your mother hums in agreement, nodding triumphantly to your father. You wish you could be as sassy as her sometimes. You’re more timid, hiding behind oversized hoodies and Jisung. He is a lot more confident than you, more loud and exuberant - you suppose that’s why he had adopted you as his all those years ago.

Your mother had been best friends with Jisung’s aunt, Sohee. She’s just like Jisung, zipping around the place at an insane pace to offer you snacks and drinks at every second. When you and Jisung had first met in preschool, you’d been drawing patterns in the mud with your grubby little fingers, hiding from the bullies. He’d criticised your drawing. He helped you fix it, though, chubby cheeks puffing out with a grin when it was good enough for his taste. Looking back now, that behaviour was so Jisung, but your mother had been delighted to find out that you’d already met her best friend’s son.

It had been easy becoming friends with him after that. Every day, he’d drag you by your wrist and take you to the yard, insisting on doing your co-operative drawings together. The teachers had a fit everyday on the state of you two by the end of your break, but your mothers had loved it, taking a million and one pictures a second. He stuck up for you both to the teachers, and then he stuck up for you to the bullies and it was like you’d known each other since birth. Inseparable at the hip, you’d been glued together throughout preschool, primary school and now high school - it doesn’t look like you’re getting rid of him anytime soon, either. You’d applied for the same colleges.

You don’t particularly want to be rid of him anyway. He’s alright, really, and you had a bit of a girly, high school crush on him. You would rather jump off of a building like Spiderman sans the webs if anyone found out.

Another thing Jisung is good for is listening to your rants. He waits for your call every night after the news had been on, and you clamber on your bed obediently after the report finishes to press on his contact.

“Jisung!” You squeal. There’s a lot of feedback on his end, and you hear a low ‘shit, fuck, oops, oh God’, until there’s a loud thud and he giggles, chiming through your tinny phone speakers. “... Ji? Are you okay?”

“Yep, sorry, baby,” He sounds out of breath, but you smile when he speaks anyway. Whenever he calls you baby, his designated nickname for you, it makes your heart flutter and you have to grimace to ignore it. His face pops into the little square designated to him, his cheeks blushing pink and round eyes wide. His hair is slightly damp, from what you’re not sure - but he looks cute. “I just got home. I was- I was running some errands for my aunt.”

“God, she’s got you running like crazy lately,” You mumble, still jotting down numbers on your homework. It’s taken you hours, but you always get distracted on nights like this. “Did you see it?”

Jisung hums, and then you hear him groan. He’s stretching, slightly toned honey-skinned arms appearing above his head in the plain oversized t-shirt he’s wearing. You try not to stare. “Did I see what?”

“The- the news, Sungie,” You feel shy mentioning it so outright. It is a weird interest, a weird thing to be obsessed with - Jisung often reassures you that it really isn’t, and his anime obsession was a lot worse. It was. You sigh, clearing your throat. “Spiderman. He was- he was super cool tonight.”

“Ooh, was he?” Jisung teases, chuckling when you groan in protest. “I’m only playing with you, baby. I saw it. He was super cool, wasn’t he?”

“Ha-ha, super cool, ‘cause he’s a superhero. You’re funny.”

“That’s why you keep me around,” Jisung chirps. “Hey, have you done the maths homework? I haven’t had time, because of the errands, y’know.”

“Hmm, yeah, I’m almost finished,” You aren’t. You’re far from it, really, but he doesn’t have to know that. “I can let you copy it tomorrow morning, before class.”

“No, that’s alright, baby. We can just cross-check our answers tomorrow,” His voice sounds tired, but you don’t comment. It’s better not to question Jisung when he’s like this.

His aunt has him doing a lot these days. You haven’t wanted to ask about it because you know it must be tough for her to look after Jisung since his parents passed, especially when Jisung is always going at full speed and is probably seconds away from giving his aunt a heart attack. He was always clumsy as a child, too, snapping his glasses in half and having a few broken bones to tell long stories about. He always means well, but sometimes you wish that he had something else to get his energy out of his system rather than stressing his aunt out.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“Jisung, surely you know who Spiderman is, like, underneath the mask,” Seungmin quips through a mouthful of dry, government regulated school food. “You spent all that time with Bang Chan in the internship.”

Seungmin is a lanky boy that just came along one day and decided to be yours and Jisung’s friend. With him, he brought a younger, smiley guy named Jeongin, and Jeongin brought Felix. Felix is just Felix - nothing else can describe him. Before long, you’d found yourself in a de facto group of misfits that you weren’t even sure you could call friends. Apart from Jisung, of course.

Jisung simply raises an eyebrow in response to Seungmin. “I mean, sure. I met Mr Bang a few times, but I never met Spiderman. Not out of his suit, anyway.”

You gasp. Jeongin startles from the nap he was taking on the cafeteria table, raising his head to look at you angrily. Felix pushes his head back down from the hood on his jumper and Jeongin immediately falls back to sleep. “You met him in his suit?”

“Well, yeah,” Jisung shrugs. When he turns to look at you, your mouth is agape, feeling slightly betrayed. Jisung shoves another spoonful of cheese - was it really cheese? - pasta into his mouth, and then he’s sighing. “It’s not a big deal, baby. If I really met him, the real him, you’d be the first to know. I promise.”

“You still got that fat crush on Spiderman?” Felix chirps. You meet his amused gaze with your own steely glare, pouting over your packed lunch.

“It’s not a crush-”

“It’s an interest,” Jisung clarifies for you, and you smile. He’s always jumping to your defence like that. You bite into an apple, savouring the crisp, fruity taste on your tongue, and then the bell rings. Sighing, you watch as the boys around you get up - including Jeongin, fox like eyes bleary from sleep - and swing their bags on their shoulders.

“I’ll see you later,” You murmur to Jisung, who throws his arm around your waist in a quick hug. “Enjoy English.”

Right. You and Jisung didn’t have the same classes. He has English now, and you have chemistry, which is probably your least favourite of all classes. You just weren’t a fan of the whole blowing shit up scenario, unlike Jeongin was, and the boy trundles behind you towards your chemistry class.

The class is boring. The teacher drones on and on about some experiment you couldn’t care less about, and you pretend to care. You’re taking notes, sure, ever the diligent student - but you can’t get anything other than Spiderman out of your mind. Jisung met him, and didn’t tell you, and who even is this guy? You’d love to know. You’d love to just see him, even once, just to be able to tell the story.

A massive crash stops the teacher’s speech. He turns to the door, confused, and the students do the same. You do too, furrowed eyebrows staring at the door. Another crash causes people to begin to rise, and the teacher starts ushering everyone out of the class to the closest exit route. You’re frozen in confusion and fear, pencil halted in your fingers, even as another noise makes the teacher run out behind the class.

It’s quiet for a moment, and you’re still sitting in your seat, eyes wide and heart racing. Then, you spring up to follow the rest of your cohort, sneakers squeaking against the tiled floor as you run to the door. Swinging it open, you stick your head out the door and look around, trying to see if the coast is clear. With a planet full of interdimensional attacks, you can’t be sure, and looking left leads you to see a scaly, large animal type of thing. You squeak, startled, and immediately retreat into the class before it notices you. What the fuck do you do? What are you meant to do?

The whole room begins to shake, and you have a feeling the creature’s getting closer. Beakers are thrown to the floor from the vibration ringing throughout the room, glass shattering loudly, and you feel like you’re about to scream, or cry, or run, and you can’t run.

Doing the only thing you can think of, you cower to the floor, hiding underneath a table donned in smashed beakers. You’re curled up in a ball, watching students standing outside murmuring and discussing their own safety, and then the shaking stops.

The door swings open. Everything outside the classroom is too intimidating, items being thrown everywhere, and you can’t even bring your legs to move with how badly they’re shaking. Who’s just walked in? You pray for Jisung. You pray for someone who’s going to help you hide, someone who’s going to keep you safe, and then-

A masked face pops underneath the table. He’s lithe, slender, but the tight red and dark blue suit highlights the hint of abs and sculpted biceps on his body. Holy fucking shit. Your eyes widen. Spiderman is in your school.

“Are you okay?” His voice is deep, but it sounds almost like someone putting on a deeper voice to hide their identity. You nod hesitantly, and then he’s extending a gloved hand towards you, pulling you out from underneath the table. You’re unable to speak. Once you’re standing in front of him, you notice he’s around a head or so taller than you, but definitely not as tall as you thought he’d be. He sighs, chest heaving with panic. You suppose it must be pretty tough work fighting aliens from outer space. “I’ve webbed him up for now, but it won’t hold much longer. Go- please, go and run. Please, anywhere, just- go and hide, or run.”

“I-I-”

“Promise me, b- um, you. I can’t let you get hurt.”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “I- Yes, I promise, I’m going to- I’ll go, thank you, thank you-”

“Wait, no!” He shouts, rubbing his temples - or at least, you’d imagine he was but he’s just rubbing the mask in frustration. You watch as he bounds over to the window, kicking it open, and the students outside turn to the classroom in awe. You’re rooted in place, as if vines are circling your ankles and securing you to the floor, mouth agape. You wait for him to give you further directions, and you gasp when he runs back over to you, picking you up and carrying you over to the window. You feel light as a feather, and all you can think is how he’s even carrying this amount of strength in that small body. “Too risky. Outside.”

“O-Outside?” You stammer, cheeks bright red, and he nods. He leans to place you out of the window, delicately placing you on your feet, and then he speeds off, shouting a quick “see you later!”.

You blink. You can hear the noises of walls breaking and windows shattering as Spiderman fights, and Felix runs up to you from the crowd outside and slings an arm over your shoulder. You’re still staring inside the classroom as if you can see through walls and watch the fight. What did see you later mean?

What’s the likelihood, honestly? You knew he was the friendly neighbourhood guy, and all that, but why not Bang Chan, in his sleek nanotech suit? This was a big fight. You find yourself getting worried, biting your nails in concern for the man you don’t even know. You have to remind yourself of that. He saved you because you’re any other citizen, not for any other specialty - you don’t know this guy.

“C’mon, over here,” Felix ushers you over, tone soft. When you’re with him, Seungmin and Jeongin, he sighs, rubbing your back. “Crazy, right? At least you can say you met Spiderman now.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Jisung is safe, thank god. You kind of feel guilty for not worrying about him at the moment, but he’d text you shortly after, saying he’d left just before it all kicked off because he felt a little under the weather. He wanted to make sure you were okay, though, so he texted you as soon as he could. You’d never admit the blush that rose to your cheeks when you read it.

It’s quiet in your room. Your parents had sprinted to you as soon as you’d come through the door, having seen the situation on the news, and you’d reassured them that Spiderman had saved you. It definitely changed your dad’s perspective of him, and now you lie on your bed feeling more than relieved.

Your fingers tap on your tummy in thought, though. He was making his voice deeper, that much you could tell, but why? How was he there so quickly? There’s no fucking way he was a student. Still, that body in the tight suit… you’d definitely been looking. You’re a woman, of course you were going to look. He had a figure enviable to every man. Broad shoulders, abs just slightly visible, strong legs that carried you over to the window…

In your dreamlike fantasy, you’re considering something you previously never would’ve thought of. What if Jisung was underneath that suit? Now, that would be perfect. Both of your crushes being one being, Jisung pulling that suit up his lithe thighs and letting it settle over his broad pecs.

Before you know it, your hand is dipping under the hem of your pyjama pants, unable to feel guilty for thinking about your best friend in this way. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time, with many of your nights spent whimpering into your pillow and coming apart on your own fingers wishing they were his. He had such nice hands… What if it was him who had grabbed you from underneath that table? Your hand trails down to find your folds, slick and ready for whatever you had in store, but you focus on your clit, swollen and aching between your bottom lips. Would he finger you in the gloves if you asked, let you ride his abs in the suit until completion? Would he kiss you upside down, hanging from the-

A tap on your window makes you jump. The room is dark, save for your bedside lamp, and you turn rapidly to see a faceless figure just about popping in from the corner. You yank your hand out of your bottoms, squeaking, and then you squint to try and see the figure closer.

Holy shit. Spiderman is at your bedroom window.

Your cotton tank top is revealing, so you turn immediately to reach for your dressing gown and tie it around your figure. You pad over to the window in your socks, still wide-eyed and completely baffled, and then you turn the handle to allow him access. What the fuck?

“What the fuck?” You blurt, toes curling against your floor. Spiderman swings inside instead of responding, walking around your room like he’s been there a million times before. “No, seriously, what the fuck?”

He turns to you, shrugging. “I said I’d see you later, didn’t I?”

You blanch. He did say that, yes, but that still doesn’t explain the million questions you have right now. “Well, yeah, but- how do you know where I live?”

“I- uh, found it in the school office,” He hops up onto your bed, sitting cross legged. His mask hides his face, but he hums in pleasure at the feeling of the bedsheets on him. “After the fight, I went in there. Glad you’re okay, by the way.”

He’s still making his voice deeper, and you blink, nodding in response. “I’m great. Can I- can I ask why you’re here?”

He shrugs again, fiddling with a loose thread on your duvet. “No reason. Got bored. I was swinging around and remembered I saw your address on the computer.”

“Right,” You shake your head, still baffled. Instead of questioning him further, you jump onto the bed in front of him and copy his position, cross legged. “Don’t you have, like, recovering to do? I heard you got beat pretty bad.”

“Nah, no way,” He scoffs, rolling his neck. You suppress a smile. Cocky. “Spider venom, y’know? It repairs everything super quick.”

You were right. You can’t suppress a smile at his response, clicking your fingers at his masked face. “I fucking knew it! I guessed it was the venom.”

He stops fiddling with the duvet, turning to you and tilting his head in question. “You’re smart, aren’t you? Hey, are you the one that’s friends with that kid?”

You narrow your eyes. Jisung’s a liar. If Spiderman knows who he is, that means they’ve met more than once, and Jisung lied. You reach for your phone, ready to bitch him out via text, but Spiderman knocks your phone out of your hand. You turn to him, confused.

“Talk to me,” He whines. “I told you I was bored!”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, damn. Yes, I’m friends with Jisung. Why?”

“No reason,” He wiggles forward on your bed, grabbing your hand. You’re confused, but then he launches you into an intense thumb war, one that you were never going to win. Everytime you go to move your thumb in response to his, he’s got you pinned, and before he speaks again you’re five rounds down. “He’s pretty cool, right?”

“Who?” You ask, still focusing on the thumb war.

“Jisung,” He clarifies, clearing his throat. Making his voice that deep must be taking its toll on his vocal chords. “He’s kinda cool. Super smart, I thought.”

“He definitely is,” You laugh when he pins your thumb down again, swatting at his wrist to get him off of you. “He’s smarter than me.”

“And, uh,” He clears his throat again, leaning back on your bed. Leaning back like that, you have a full view of his body in his suit, and you have to stare at the posters on your wall to avoid looking at him. He puts his hands behind his head, the full picture of relaxation, and you wished he’d stop throwing you this random curveball behaviour. “Is that all you think of him? Just smart?”

You blush, finally reverting your eyes to him. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean… Do you have a crush on him, or?”

“Who wants to know?” You bristle, playing with your hands in your lap. You look down at your chipped nail polish, awkwardly shifting on the bed in your pyjamas. “I don’t even know who you are.”

“No one knows who I am,” He responds easily. “I want to know. Tell me. Do you have a crush on him?”

“I’m not telling you that-”

“I’m bored!” He whines again, sitting up. You let him grab your hand again, pulling your pinky finger into a promise. You swear you see the mask smile. “Tell me!”

“Okay, damn,” You sigh, exasperated. Was he on molly or something? Are you dreaming? “I guess so. I guess I always have, yeah, I don’t know. I don’t think he’d ever like me like that.”

He coos at that, taking your hand in his. It’s strangely comforting. “Why not?”

“He’s- well, I don’t think I’m good enough for someone like him,” You admit, scratching the back of your neck. “It’s awkward. He’s my best friend. It would ruin things, and I guess I’ve never let myself think about it like that.”

“You should,” He hums. You blink, staring at him. What the hell is he on about? “I just mean you should. Maybe he likes you too, y’know? I like my best friend. I’d love to know if she likes me back.”

“You do?” You wiggle closer, eager to know more. “You like your best friend? What’s she like?”

“Well,” He strokes your hand again before pulling away, leaning his chin on his hand. “She’s super pretty. Smart, too. I’ve known her since like, forev- for a few years, I think, in total.”

“It’s kind of the same with me and Jisung,” You sigh again, pouting. “I’ve known him for my whole life, basically. I’m just scared it’ll ruin things, but I think about him a lot when I’m on my own.”

He snickers. “Really? Like when you’re doing what you were doing when I got here?”

You swat at his shoulder, blushing bright red. “Shut up, oh my god! I thought you- shut up. Just don’t.”

“Maybe he thinks about you then too, I don’t know,” He shrugs nonchalantly, and then he’s getting up and pacing around. You watch him fiddle with a few photo frames on your desk, humming at ones of you and Jisung when you were younger and even fiddling with a few of your academic medals and prizes. “I won’t tell him, by the way.”

“You see him often?” You ask, voice soft. “He said-”

“Nah, I’ve only seen him once or twice,” He stretches his arms above his head, still staring at your desk full of trinkets. “He doesn’t know who I am.”

“Can I know?”

He turns to you. “Know what?”

“I want to know who you are,” Your voice is confident, but you feel anything but, teeth chewing your bottom lip nervously. “You saved me, and now you’re in my bedroom. I feel that I deserve to know.”

He sighs loudly this time, walking towards the window. “When we get to know eachother better, maybe.”

“Wait, hang on,” You watch him sling a foot out of the window, exasperated. He can’t leave! “Where are you going? I thought you said you were bored-”

“Things to do, baby,” He replies quickly. You blink. That ‘baby’ sounds awfully familiar, and you stand up quickly to walk towards the window, but he’s already webbing away. “Bye!”

You stand there, shocked and confused. He’s swinging from building to building away from you, and you’re just standing there like an idiot. You were interrupted before you could even start touching yourself, forced into a thumb war and coerced into admitting your deepest, darkest secret, and then he just… leaves? Just like that?

Your life is proving to be a little more interesting than you thought, but your dreams were filled with familiar round cheeks beneath a red and blue mask.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“Baby, is there a reason why your eyes are burning holes into the side of my head?”

You’re convinced your best friend is Spiderman. There, sitting beside you with his glasses sliding down his nose and comfortable in a grey hoodie and pink Hello Kitty pyjama bottoms on, it’s hard to believe. But you’re not stupid.

First of all, since he started that internship with Mr Bang, he’s been weird about letting you inside his room. This is the same person that you had many sleepovers with growing up, and as recently as a few months ago you’d been cuddling in bed together watching Howl’s Moving Castle. He has something to hide, but you’d been let down when you’d arrived at his house earlier and shouldered past him to find literally nothing of suspicion inside his room, other than an anime girl mouse pad with the boobs to rest your wrist on. You knew that existed though, ever since his birthday last year when Felix had gifted it to him, so what gives?

Secondly, Sohee is more stressed out than ever. You’d caught sight of her flitting around the kitchen when you arrived for your homework friend-date, scrubs on and ready to head to the hospital but still panicking about something. Jisung said multiple times that he’d been helping her out more and that’s why he’s been so busy lately. She shouldn’t still be panicking.

Thirdly, Spiderman wouldn’t make his voice deeper to you unless you knew him. He wouldn’t need to, or you wouldn’t recognise his voice - unless it’s a habit he’s picked up, perhaps. That doesn’t change that the way he called you baby last night sounded a little bit too familiar, too comfortable. It came out of his mouth like second nature.

Still, it makes no sense. Surely Jisung would have told you? You’re his best friend, he said so, so he’d tell you. Or would he? Maybe Felix knows. You’re also hoping deep down that it isn’t true, because if it is, you told your crush last night that you liked him.

You can’t even be mad at Jisung for it. He’s still staring at you, and you’re staring blankly back while shoving snacks into your mouth. There’s crumbs all over your homework.

“Jisung,” You begin, and he hums in response. “Would you tell me your deepest, most serious secret if I worked it out?”

He chokes on his energy drink, spluttering neon blue liquid all over his bed. You want to giggle, to make fun of him, but you’re sure you’ve gotten somewhere here. He wipes his mouth, clears his throat, and turns back to you. His hands are shaky where they clutch his textbook, and his eyes are almost blurry through the glasses. “I tell you everything anyway.”

“I don’t think you do,” You respond, quick as a beat. He blinks, lips parting. “Not by that reaction, Jisung. I think you’re hiding something from me.”

He scratches his nose with the end of his pen, looking down at the textbook again. You raise an eyebrow. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“Okay,” You hum. He sighs, scribbling something on the paper. It’s so quiet in the room that you can hear his pen scribbling, but you’re speaking again before you can even think. “Did I tell you Spiderman came to my room last night?”

He gulps audibly. “Nope.”

“Yeah, it was kinda weird,” You take a sip from your energy drink, still staring at him vacantly. Jisung’s eyes flit up to you, and then back down to the textbook. Oh, he knows. He knows that you know. He knows that you know that he knows. “He saved me in school, when that alien thing was there, and then he came to my room and asked me about you.”

“He, uh- really? Did he?”

“Mhm,” Your gaze is steely. “Jisung, I know you’re Spiderman.”

Jisung bursts out laughing. It would be believable, but you’ve known him since you were four years old and it’s a fake laugh. He’s cackling, loud as brass, and he lets out a little “ooh” afterwards as if he can’t believe you. “Baby, that’s the craziest theory you’ve ever come up with.”

“Is it?” You question, head tilting to the side. Then, in the smartest moment you’ve ever had, you pick up Jisung’s energy drink from the floor. He’s still looking at you, a fake smile on his lips, and you take a sip from it casually. Sharing drinks isn’t new for you. You glug back the artificial blue raspberry flavour, and then keeping eye contact with him, you let go.

Before the can is able to fall and spill the rest of its contents over your own textbook, and inevitably Jisung’s One Piece bed sheets, he reaches out and grabs it, hand wrapping around the can, quick as a flash. It all happens in about a second, and you gasp. Jisung gasps. His hand tightens around the can and it crinkles, an impossible show of strength, and then he’s blinking at you. You raise an eyebrow.

“I knew it.”

He puts the can safely on the bedside table, and then he’s slamming his textbook shut. You watch in confusion as he paces back and forth on his bedroom floor, running his hands through his hair over and over.

“Okay!” He points at you, victorious. “That was a reflex. I knew you were going to do that, I’m smart, duh! I knew you were going to drop the can to prove something, and-”

“Jisung,” You say, voice soft. He stops pacing, sock clad feet rooted on the carpet to stare at you. You’re going to get him. You’re going to get him good. “Do you not want me to know? Is that what this is?”

He immediately falls to the floor, head resting on your knee as he looks up at you. You can’t even feel sorry for him, because your plan is working perfectly. His eyes are round and vulnerable, and then he clenches them shut in distress. You think he’s probably a second away from crying. “Baby, it’s not that. I wanted to protect you. It would be dangerous if the bad guys knew who you were, knew that you knew, and I know I shouldn’t have come to your room, that was wrong of me, and-”

You giggle. Jisung furrows his eyebrows, eyes opening. “I knew I was right.” He gasps, pointing at you again.

“Judas! You’re a judas!” He’s shocked, leaning back on his haunches and staring at you. “I can’t- I can’t believe you, that was so-”

“Sneaky? Good? Smart?” You list, leaning back on his twin bed. He stands up, hands on his hips. You’re ready for him to bitch you out, but you don’t care - you knew that you had to know, had to have it confirmed. He taps his foot, and then you see a smile break out on his lips.

“Okay, yeah, that was pretty good,” He hums, returning to the bed. You let him shut your own textbook and sprawl across you, head in your lap. “I’m sorry, baby. I should’ve told you.”

You sigh, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair. “That’s okay, Ji. It’s fine. I’m just a little embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed? Why?” Jisung asks, his eyes fluttering shut from the feeling of your nails on his scalp. You want to scoff. Embarrassed for two major reasons - one, because you’ve been gushing about how cool Spiderman is for weeks, maybe even months, and two because you told Spiderman last night that you liked Jisung. Spiderman and Jisung are the same person. Sure, it makes things easier. You no longer have a crush on two people, only one, but it doesn’t change the fact that Jisung knows and is yet to say anything.

“I’ve been talking to you about Spiderman for weeks,” You blush, pushing his hair off of his forehead. He whines, thrashing his feet and shaking his head like a dog to hide his forehead again. He’s so dramatic. You like him so bad. “And- and you- it was you, then. You came to my room last night.”

“Yeah, that was risky,” He responds, exasperated. “I just had to, baby. I don’t know, you always seemed so interested in Spiderman and not me. I needed to know if you saw me like you saw him.”

You pause your movements on his head, blinking at the wall in front of you. When you turn back to him, he’s blushing, teeth gnawing his bottom lip. His eyes are conveniently staring at the window, away from you.

“Jisung,” You start, hesitant. “What do you mean?”

He sits up sharply. “Wanna go on the roof?”

“T-The roof? Jisung, how are we gonna- oh. Oh.”

Jisung jumps up from the bed, toeing his sliders onto his feet and pushing the window open. It gives you deja vu - that same figure was pushing the window open just like this to place you safely outside in school yesterday, and then he was coming through your window to see you late at night. It’s hard to believe that they’re the same person, the man you admired so much and your best friend who’s standing by the window expectantly waiting for you to join him.

You hesitantly stand up, brushing off imaginary crumbs from your joggers and looking at Jisung. He smiles, a soft, reassuring smile, and then he’s scooping you up from the floor and wrapping your legs around his waist. It’s slender, the plush flesh of your thighs almost obscuring it, and you squeak in surprise at being in the air.

“I- Jisung?!”

“You have to hold on tight,” He says. His face is inches away from yours, plush lips looking more than appealing and his glasses making him look so endearing. “I need my hands for this, so hold onto my shoulders.”

You nod, face blushing crimson at the realisation of just how close you are. Would he have you like this if he fucked you? Legs around his waist, hands on his shoulders, his face so close to yours as he pants and whines and moans-

You squeak again when he slides out of the window, and then you see him in action. His hands stick to the outside of the apartment building, feet kicking up against the concrete wall. Your heart is racing so badly it feels as though it could burst out of your chest, but you’re not sure if it’s because of the height or because you’re tightly pressed against Jisung.

When he swings you both over the side ledge on the roof, you notice the sun’s set already. Time always goes by quickly with Jisung, but the stars are already out, and the air is crisp and biting against your limbs despite the layers. Once he’s safely stood on the roof, he places his hands underneath your thighs and detaches you from his firm body, placing you on your feet.

You’re disorientated, shocked at the sheer height of the building and at the way Jisung seems to be swinging you around like it’s nothing, but he’s simply staring at you. A wide smile stretches from ear to ear, and he blinks when you don’t say anything. “It’s cool, right?”

“Y-Yeah, super cool,” You admit, chest heaving. “Really high up, but cool. Jisung, why are we on the roof?”

He’s wrangling you, hands on your arms and pushing you to the floor. It feels firm, but with what you now know about him, you know he’s holding back. He plops down next to you, eyes wide and expectant.

“I wanted to do it properly,” He begins. He pauses for a moment, licks his lips, pushes his glasses up his nose, and then he’s speaking again. “I like you, so that’s why I asked. Is it romantic up here? It feels romantic, but I’m not too sure-“

He stands up and begins pacing around the roof before you realise he’s even moved. You raise an eyebrow. “Jisung?”

“I wanted to do this right, y’know?” He pauses, hands on his hips. He looks comical, trying to assert dominance over you like that in those Hello Kitty pyjama trousers. “I- I wanted to swing by and like, grab you, or something? But then you worked it out, and now I’m just standing here with you on a roof…”

He continues mumbling like a mad scientist, eyes focused on a spot next to your head. You stand up, making your way towards him, and he still refuses to look at you. He likes you back. He likes you back, and he’s still your best friend - he’s still Jisung, but he’s also Spiderman, and you’re okay with that. You don’t have to like two people. You only like one, and it’s your goofy best friend.

“Is this even romantic? You know, we could just forget about it and-“

You press your lips to his. He doesn’t make any form of surprised noise, only cupping your cheeks with his hands and pulling you close to him. His glasses bump against your face, his lips pouty against yours and plush and maybe a bit too wet for a first kiss, but you’d always figured he’d take it too far. That’s what you like about him. Jisung never does anything by halves.

It’s brief, too brief for your liking, but then he’s pulling away with a satisfied grin on his face. You blink. Wait.

“Wait, your stupid- your stupid spidey things. Did you know I was going to kiss you?” You pout, and he giggles. “No, seriously! Could you like- I don’t know, feel it coming?”

“Not until you were like, a few inches from my face,” Jisung admits, and his teeth gleam in the brilliance of the evening. “I had a feeling you might.”

You sigh. “So why didn’t you stop talking?”

“Dunno,” He shrugs. “I couldn’t stop once I started.”

The statement is so true to Jisung, so in character for your best friend that you can do nothing but accept it.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

It’s easy to fall into a different routine with Jisung.

He never asked you to be his girlfriend. You’re pretty sure you’re fine with that, though - things have had a natural manner of progressing, and now your best friend slash boyfriend slash superhero turns up at your window every night after he’s been on his neighbourhood patrol. Sometimes he’s a little bruised, and sometimes he’s just looking for consolation kisses.

It’s a normal night for you when it happens. Jisung’s halfway out of your bedroom window on his way to perform perfect justice, pulling his mask down over his annoyingly beautiful face. You’re standing a few feet away grinning like an idiot.

“I’ll see you later, my baby,” You can see his grin through the mask. The eyes on his mask form beautiful crescent moons with his happiness. He falters, legs swinging on your windowsill. “Wait. I am coming back here, yeah?”

“Of course,” You giggle. He sends you two fingers in a mock salute, and you watch him begin his journey up the wall to your roof. A beat passes and you’re still standing there, smiling, hands on your hips, and then the masked head of your best friend pops back down into your window, upside down, tilting to the side in confusion. You blink, confused. “What is it, Sungie?”

“Well, where’s my goodbye kiss? Damn,” He huffs, and you roll your eyes playfully. You make your way to the window, sock-clad feet padding on your carpet, and you pull his mask down to his eyes with two fingers. It miraculously stays on his head, and his lips form a teasing grin.

Despite him being upside down, you place a chaste kiss to his lips, and you watch in amusement as he swings away afterwards. You can still hear him giggling with glee from a few buildings away.

It’s a few hours later when he comes back. You’re flicking through a book for English, scrawling notes and highlighting words on sticky notes. It’s started to rain, and the city lights only look brighter in the dusk with the pattering of water on your window. You left it open, of course, for your superhero, but the cold air bites at your arms even through the fluffy blanket you’ve got wrapped around yourself.

Just as you’re beginning to contemplate closing it, a louder, more prominent tap hits the glass. When you turn to the window, Jisung is slouched against your windowsill, chest heaving beneath red lycra and forehead pressed against the glass. He’s got his mask between his teeth, and his hair is dishevelled, floppy brown locks obscuring his eyes. You can still catch sight of the bruising on his cheekbones and you gasp, rushing towards the window.

You drop your blanket in shock, but you swing the window open, pulling Jisung inside with one hand. He stumbles through, disoriented and confused, and you lead him to sit on the edge of your bed.

“Got hurt,” He explains, huffing out a breath. The mask drops from his teeth unceremoniously, with a wet plop to your carpeted floor, but you don’t care. You rush to sit next to him, fingers gripping his chin to pull him to face you. His eyes are round, sincere, and he gives you a soft smile. “It’ll heal before long, baby, don’t panic.”

“I am panicking,” You say, resolute, because you really are. Bruising is scattered across his cheekbones, fading into green on the plush of his cheeks and his lip looks like it had been burst, but is already healing. “Will it- will it take long? Do you need me to get the first aid kit, or-“

“Baby,” He shakes his head, grabbing your hands. You watch with parted lips as he leans forward, both of you cross legged on the end of your bed. It reminds you of when Spiderman first visited you, when you weren’t quite sure of his identity. Jisung presses his forehead against yours, and you let him look into your eyes. It’s like he’s demanding everything that’s ever gone through your head to be vocalised. You’d tell him if he asked. “I’m really okay. I’m a little shaken up, but I’m fine. Most of it is on my ribs from falling, to be honest.”

“Your ribs?!” You shriek. “Show me. Let me see, I need to help you-“

You’re already trying to wrangle Jisung out of his suit, and he giggles, clearly thinking this is all just some game. He holds his arms up pliantly, though, and you don’t have the thought processing ability within you to realise that Jisung’s suit is an all-in-one and you’re currently stripping him down to his boxers.

The suit is wet too when you drop it to the floor, and before long you’re blinking at your best friend in his plain black boxers and he’s grinning at you as if this is any other day. There’s no bruising on his ribs. You’re staring at his abs, regardless, so you’re not sure you would’ve even noticed.

“You look fine.”

“I told you it heals quickly, baby,” He grins. You blink when he wriggles on your bed, laying on his back and stretching his arms above his head again, this time to get comfortable. His legs stretch out too, and you avoid looking anywhere below his waist.

His body is a spectacle. You can’t stop looking. Broad shoulders taper off into an extremely defined chest and a tight, thin waist adorned with prominent abdominal muscles, before reaching a v-line that leads into his boxers. You’re wide eyed, wanting nothing more than to reach out and run your fingers down his honey toned skin.

“Why-“ You cough, clearing your throat. Jisung raises an eyebrow. He’s grinning from ear to ear, teeth gleaming. “Why did you let me strip you if you’re literally fine?”

The bruising on his cheek is already fading. He shrugs nonchalantly, crossing his arms over his chest. His biceps bulge with the movement and you think you might choke on your own spit. “You seemed pretty determined, so I just allowed it. You wanted to see me naked, I assumed, so-“

“Jisung!” You wail, slapping his shoulder. He groans in pain, catching your hand, and he grits his teeth with a hiss.

“My shoulder! Fuck, that hurt, ouch, baby! What was that for?!”

You gasp. He clutches his shoulder, letting out little pants of hurt sounding noises. You let your head fall to his chest, engulfing him with a hug. “Jisung, I’m so sorry-“

“Hehe,” He giggles. When you look at him, he’s sticking his tongue out, completely fine. You groan, annoyed you fell for it, and then he’s grabbing your forearms and pulling you upwards on top of him.

Your breasts press against his chest like this, due to your lack of bra in your sleep shirt, and his eyes widen when he feels it. Instead of letting you go, his hands move to your back, encompassing you in his strong hold.

You gasp, wiggling in his grip, and he licks his lips. His eyes go to your lips, and then back up to your eyes, as if he’s hesitant.

“I-“ He begins, faltering. “Are you my girlfriend?”

You scoff out a laugh. “I don’t know, am I?”

“I hope so,” Jisung admits, his facial expression vulnerable. His eyes dart to something behind you, as if he’s not sure, almost shy. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him shy. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask, but I want you to be, if you want to be.”

“I want to be,” You nod. He nods in response, and you watch his eyes flicker to your lips again. It’s silent for a moment, and then he leans in, pressing his lips against yours.

The kiss is more charged than usual. Before now, you’re used to chaste, fleeting kisses from your superhero, but now he lets his tongue tease against the seam of your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, and his eyelashes brush against your skin where he does the same. You let your lips part, and Jisung’s quick to grip your back harder, tongue darting inside your mouth with impatience.

You’ve made out with someone before. You’d never had sex with someone before, but you had made out with someone. It was only once at a party when you were a little bit younger but it had felt like a good idea at the time. You’re sure Jisung’s lost his virginity though, but when he whimpers against your lips and his hips squirm a little you’re not too sure.

You pull away from the kiss, lips a little wet, and Jisung’s mouth goes to your neck. You allow him to suck a mark into the expanse of skin just underneath your jaw, his fingers grabbing impatiently at your back. “Sungie, are you a virgin?”

Jisung pulls away, licking his lips. You feel something hard pressing against your thigh where you lay on top of him. You’re thanking every entity ever that your parents are out for a work dinner. “Yeah, I am. I would have told you if I wasn’t,” He confirms, a little breathless. His hips wiggle again. “Is that- is that okay, baby?”

“Yeah, of course,” You smile, comforting. You peck his lips again and he grins back at you. “I am too.”

“I know,” He responds, quick as a flash. You blush. That’s embarrassing. “No, I just mean- you also would’ve told me, y’know?”

“That’s true,” You shrug. You’re feeling a little overconfident, and you move in his hold, having felt it gone a little lax with your kissing. You let your thighs spread over his hips, his hard shaft pressing against your core through your pyjama bottoms and his boxers. You still feel it, though, and it makes your pussy gush a little. “Is- is this okay?”

He’s blushing. His lips part, and he nods, perhaps too eagerly because he clutches his neck afterwards like he’s got whiplash. “Baby, you’re- I have a pretty girl in my lap. This is so okay. Like, so okay, I might have a heart attack and die, probably.”

You shift, and he winces. “Sorry,” You say. It’s a fake apology. You want to swallow his cock down your throat until he cries, and you don’t even know how to. You’d try your best though. “If I lost my virginity, I’d want it to be with you.”

“Damn,” Jisung whistles, eyebrows raised. “Let me hit?”

You giggle, tilting your head to the side. “I’ll let you hit right now, Jisung.”

Jisung shoots upwards into a seated position. His eyes are wide. “Right now?”

“Right now,” You confirm. You go from straddling his lap to laying on your back on your bed in a flash, and Jisung looms over you, all tight, toned muscles and broad shoulders.

“I’ll make it so good, baby, I promise,” He says, and then he’s kissing you again. It’s even messier this time, lips pressing against yours over and over and his tongue adding a collection of spit to the mix. You let your thighs fall apart, his hips quick to fill the space and press his cock against you. His hands go to your waist as he kisses you, sucking and biting on your lips until you’re whining with it, but he doesn’t let up. He’s desperate, messy, and it’s only making your pussy drool even more.

The rain hits the window still, cooling off a little but still providing a calming effect to your room when combined with the orange-pink of your lamp. He inches his palms up your shirt, the softness of his hands surprising you, and then he’s pulling away from your mouth to yank the fabric over your head.

You’re left in just your pyjama bottoms, lips kiss bitten and nipples pebbled against the cool air of your bedroom. You never had shut your window, after all.

“Oh,” Jisung says, exasperated. You finally open your eyes to see him staring at your tits, and you think he might be drooling. “Oh, yeah, my baby. They are so fucking good.”

You almost laugh, but you’re cut off by your own strangled moan when his pouty lips engulf your right nipple. He sucks on it, hard, and when your back arches he lets it slip out of his mouth with a wet popping noise. It’s only a brief moment of reprieve before he’s letting his teeth skim along the bud, and you keen, fingers moving upwards from his shoulders to grip onto the pillow behind your head.

“Oh, that’s so- Sungie, baby, that feels good,” You whine, and he hums against your breast. When he moves to the other one, he tweaks your wet nipple between two fingers. It’s experimental, but the whole thing is, and you buck your hips up impatiently.

His hands move to your ass, scooping underneath you and making you grind slightly against him. The movement makes him moan, your nipple leaving his mouth. A string of drool attaches to his lips and his tongue lolls out lazily, and before you can process it, he’s grinding his cock into your clothed centre.

“Oh- oh, fuck,” He whines, eyes clenching shut. You whimper in response, arms wrapping around his shoulders. “Baby- baby, baby. Baby, I’ve thought about this so much, I- fuck, you’re gonna feel so good around my cock.”

His words are so crude that they make you keen, nodding enthusiastically. “I thought about it too. I- I touched myself thinking about it, Sungie, did you?”

He gasps sharply, and there’s a fumbling between your legs. He rocks backwards on his haunches, and you see him gripping his cock impatiently underneath his boxers, fingers wrapped tight around the base.

“I will literally cum if I imagine that,” He huffs, breathless. “But yes. I did, many times, and- and- baby, can I see your pussy?”

It’s so bold that you can’t say no. You never would have dreamed of saying no anyway, and you nod, wiggling your bottoms down your legs. You never wear a bra or panties underneath your pyjamas, and your pussy is revealed to him in all its drooly glory, folds sticking together with your arousal.

Jisung’s jaw goes slack. You watch him jerk his cock, eyes fixated on your wet hole, and you shift impatiently.

“I showed you mine, Sungie,” You huff. “Show me yours.”

He nods, eyes still glued to your pussy. Your clit is swollen with arousal, some wetness stuck onto it, and you reach down to trace your fingertips over it absentmindedly while he pushes his boxers down. His cock slaps up against the bottom of his tummy, cockhead leaking beneath his foreskin, precum slicking the smattering of hair at his base. His balls look heavy, shaft swollen and fat between lithe thighs, and you can’t help but go a little googly eyed at the thought of him stretching you out.

He grabs it, pumps his cock a few times while you rub your fingers over your clit. “Is- is it okay, baby?” He gasps, cock leaking steadily in his fist.

“You’re so sexy, Sungie, ‘s so big. I- oh,” You whine, spreading your arousal over your folds. You prop your feet up, letting your legs fall wide, and the movement must expose your soppy hole to Jisung because his eyes widen even further. “I want you inside of me so bad. I’ve wanted it for so long, I just- shit, Jisung, what are you-“

You’re cut off by him diving between your legs. His cock is forgotten, his hands looping around your ass again to spread you wide, and his tongue presses against your core. He moans at the taste, and you whimper out loud, head rolling against your pillow. It’s messy and you can tell he’s inexperienced, but when he sucks your clit between his lips you can’t find it in you to care.

“Oh, oh- baby, baby! You’re good at that, so good at that, baby,” You babble, trying your best not to grind up into his mouth. His mouth is just as wet as your pussy, his lips drooling all over you. You’re cut short when he flattens his tongue against your core, moaning out loud, and his hands move your ass just a bit. “I- you- Sungie-?”

“Grind on my face, baby, c’mon,” He murmurs, muffled by your folds, and you oblige. Your hand goes to his hair, yanking on the dark brown strands, and you hold him in place while you grind your pussy senseless on his tongue. Your boy is good with his mouth, you realise - he’s pliant, letting you make yourself cum on his tongue and lips, and after only a few grinds you’re sure you’re going to fall apart for him.

“Ah! Ah, oh, baby, your mouth is- Sungie, Sungie,” You whine, feet kicking on the bed. Your legs go flat, but as the pleasure builds up in your core, your thighs tighten around his ears. He likes this, moaning loud to the point the vibrations make you jolt. It’s all so wet, your pussy dripping with arousal and his saliva, dripping down to your asshole. It has you wondering if Jisung would eat your ass further down the line, and your eyes flicker to his - would he let you eat his? He probably would, with how submissive he’s being.

His hips buck downwards on the bed and he keens into your pussy, and you realise he’s humping your mattress. He’s so desperate for you that he just can’t help himself, and you moan, loud and unabashed. The sight has you hurtling towards your orgasm.

“I’m gonna fucking cum, baby,” You warn, and he finally lets up, pulling back to suck on your clit. His hand moves over to the top of your pussy, pulling your mound backwards, and the exposure of your clit directly to his lips is your downfall. You wail, bucking your hips into his mouth, and you can hear yourself talking and moaning but you’re not sure what you’re saying, only able to feel your hole gushing into Jisung’s mouth over and over.

Jisung licks over your clit a few times comfortingly, and then he’s on top of you again, face looming over yours. His right hand holds him up steadily and the other stays downwards, hooked on your thigh to keep you open.

“You taste delicious, baby,” He grins, mouth wet. When he presses his lips to yours he’s desperate, tongue darting into your mouth to let you taste your own cum. You let your hands fall to his chest, fingernails digging into the muscles. The filthiness of it all has you wriggling around impatiently again, and Jisung’s cockhead slips against your clit, making you whine into his mouth. He pulls away, gasping for air with the sensation, and you kiss the beauty spot on his cheek for good measure. “Baby. M-my baby, shit, can- can I fuck you now? Have you got a condom, I- shit, I need to fuck you?”

He’s breathless, giggling at his own desperation, and you nod eagerly. You’re on the pill, and realistically you’d want nothing more than him to creampie you, but you have a shred of logic still left in your brain. “No condom. I- I don’t have any, can you pull out? I know it’s not-“

“Don’t care,” He huffs, legs moving to prop himself up more securely. His knees dig into your bed, and he pulls your thigh further apart, letting his eyes fall down to your pussy. His face is more than pornographic when he sees the visual of his cockhead sliding through your folds, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted. He lets his eyes flutter shut, a small profanity leaving his mouth. “You’re sure I can fuck you raw? I- please, p-please, baby. I need to be inside.”

“Jisung,” You whine. He lets his tip bump against your clit again, and you grow too desperate, reaching down yourself to grab his cock. The feeling makes him whimper, his fingers ripping into the pillow beside your head with his superhuman strength, but you’re too out of it to care. You position his cock by your hole, soppy and wet with your own cum, and he can’t hold himself back - he pushes in, all of it at once, a long, anguished noise leaving his mouth. “Oh. Oh- Oh, Jisung, that’s-“

“Is it okay? Are you okay?” Jisung asks, breathless. “Does it hurt? I- baby, baby-“

He’s still completely stationary, but he can’t stop talking, chest heaving and flushed pink. You shake your head. It doesn’t hurt. You’re wet enough that he glided in so easy, stretching your pussy in the most pleasurable, delicious way. You didn’t think it would ever feel this good, but you’re sure it’s because it’s Jisung.

“God, is it- does it feel good?” He questions you, and you nod eagerly, hands moving to rest on his biceps. He repositions you both so that your legs are wrapped around his waist, his arms holding himself up over you, and the movement has him sliding deeper, making you whimper. “Can I-“

“Fucking hell, Jisung, can you just move?” You huff, annoyed, and he giggles. He shakes his head fondly, and then he’s thrusting into you, slow but steady.

“Oh, that’s good,” He slurs, eyes rolling back into his head. “That pussy’s good. Jesus, you’re- you’re tight on my cock, baby, like a fuckin’ vice.”

“Your cock is so good,” You whine, trying to fuck yourself back on him. Your pussy is so wet that every thrust makes an audible noise, ringing throughout your room. If anyone walked past now they’d hear the debauchery, and you’re not sure you’d even care. “Fuck, Jisung- Jisung, you’re big. Please, please, more, I need more!”

“Okay, okay,” He moans, and then his hips speed up. His balls slap against your asshole with every thrust, his cock pistoning into you at a pace that has you wailing. The headboard slams against the wall. “Oh, fuckin’- baby, this puusssy.”

“It feels so good. Your cock is stretching me out so good, baby-“

“Fuck, wait,” He whines, pulling out sharply. When you look down between his legs his cock is painfully hard, and his pubic hair is drenched with you. The sight makes you even more eager to get him back inside of you, but Jisung grabs the base of his cock tightly, his chest heaving. “I- I’ll cum if you talk like that. Fuck, this is so embarrassing!”

“I want you to cum,” You insist, leaning up on your elbows. Your pussy is still leaking steadily onto your bedsheets, and you make grabby hands at your boy to try and get him back inside of you. “You made me cum so good in your mouth, Sungie, c’mon. Make yourself cum with my pussy.”

“Oh my God,” He moans, eyes half lidded, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re dirty. My fucking dream, holy shit.”

He leans over you once more, pushing his cock inside of you. It slides back in easily with another wet noise, and you moan, smiling with delight. “Mm, fuck this pussy, baby, c’mon.”

“I- fuck, okay,” He keens, nodding. His teeth bite into his lower lip almost painfully, and you kiss his neck while he starts to fuck into you again. With a quick reposition you let your thighs fall apart and further back, and his cock starts to hit your g-spot incessantly. He pulls away from you, head lolling into your neck. His breaths fan over your skin, hot and heavy. “You’re so wet, why are you- how are you so wet, baby? This pussy, fucking- I’m gonna cum. I’m so close, I’m so close, please-“

The shred of logic has left your brain. His cock feels so good, thick and pressing inside of you. You have to let him do it. “Baby. Baby, do y’wanna- I’m on the pill, baby,” You say, breathless. His pace stops, hips halting, and he makes a confused noise. “Cum inside. Creampie this hole, Sungie, I know you want to.”

“Oh my fucking- baby? My baby, can I?” He wails, head pulling up to look at you. You catch sight of tears brewing in his eyes, glassy and unshed. “Baby, please, I’m gonna cum, please, where-? Baby?”

“Inside of me, Sungie,” You wrap your legs around him, pulling him inside of you, deep. You know he could get out of it if he wanted to, but he doesn’t, hips starting to pick up inside of you again. It’s fast, desperate and he keens, nodding. “You gonna fill me up, yeah?”

“Yeah. Y-yeah, yes, oh- I’m gonna fill you up,” Jisung’s words are slurred, quiet, and you let him fuck into you over and over. With a sharp noise, his hips slow once more, and you feel a rush of additional wetness inside of you. It’s warm, and you run your fingers through his hair while he fucks his cum inside of you. “Fuck. Baby, you’re so good to me, so good. Lettin’ me breed your cunt, and- and- oh. I’m still-“

He’s still cumming. It floods out of his cock and into your pussy steadily, and you giggle, feeling sated. Your delighted state of mind only lasts a second, because he pulls out sharply and wiggles down on the bed, attaching his mouth to your cunt. He’s eating his own cum out of you.

“Oh! Oh, Jisung, you’re- you’re dirty, Sungie, ah-“ You whine, fingers moving to his hair again. He licks you over and over until you’re wailing with it, your own tears brimming in your eyes from the overstimulation. Your hole feels stretched, a feeling you’re sure you could get used to, and you shake through a second orgasm.

Jisung’s quick to lean over you again, and then his thumb moves to your chin. He opens your mouth firmly, spitting your combined release into your mouth, and you moan, letting him press his tongue between your lips afterwards.

It’s messy and you let him kiss you for a bit, slow, languid, passionate kisses that have your core almost throbbing for more, if you weren’t so satisfied. Jisung’s soft cock presses against your tummy, wet with your combined arousal, and then he flops down next to you with a huff.

“God, I could go again,” He admits, hand running through his sweat mussed hair. When you turn to him, he’s grinning from ear to ear, and you giggle. He looks at you with a satisfied expression. “You’re the best. That was literally like, the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life. Even more than when I win some fight against an alien, or something.”

“Alien?” You ask, and then you remember. “Oh, yeah. Kinda forgot about that.”

“You forgot about me saving your life?!” He shrieks, thrashing around on the bed in a tantrum. “Seriously, if I wasn’t in love with you I would- ah. Oh.”

You blanch, blinking at him. It’s easy to ignore that you’re both naked when he’s just dropped a bombshell on you like that, and you let out a giggle. “That was sweet. I’m in love with you too, for the record.”

You’re attacked in a flurry of kisses, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re sure Han Jisung intrigues you just as much as his superhero alterego does, so it’s easy to accept.

[heirofnight]

it's the shadows

pairing: azriel x reader (heavily), cassian x reader, rhysand x reader

word count: 1.2k (i intended for this to be a drabble but i can't ever shut the hell up)

summary: reader is close friends with az, cass, and rhys, but is very obviously pining for azriel. the four of you are drunk and cassian just has to know which one of them would be the best in bed. sexual tension ensues. duh.

while this entire debate was absolutely ridiculous - one may argue even downright childish - you couldn't stop the grin that was spreading across your cheeks.

you couldn't remember the last time you'd laughed this hard. your stomach was aching, cheeks sore. dried tears were collecting at the corners of your eyes. there'd be a lull in the conversation, a period of time that allowed all of you to calm down and collect yourselves, before you'd inevitably meet one of their mischievous gazes and fits of laughter would begin all over again.

"seriously, y/n?," cassian inquired, voice booming. you snorted at his dumbfounded expression, at the fact that the four of you had finally calmed down, just for cass to loop back to the topic that had you all howling in laughter in the first place.

"azriel?," he continued, pointer finger gesturing towards the male sitting opposite from you in the sitting room. cassian had a half-full wine glass in his large hand, the liquid sloshing around precariously as he motioned in the shadowsinger's direction. "the motherfucker doesn't even speak!," he finished, causing you to erupt in another alcohol-induced fit of giggles.

azriel smiled warmly at the sight, shaking his head in mock exasperation at his brother's disbelief. az took a sip from the glass of wine he'd been nursing at a much slower pace compared to the rest of you.

rhys chuckled now, sitting alongside cassian on the plush sofa. he shoved the war general on his broad shoulder playfully, gesturing towards azriel himself, "he doesn't need to speak in this particular scenario, brother," he purred, his own wine sloshing within his grip.

azriel's cheeks tinted red at the implication, shifting his gaze down to his lap to hide a dimpled smirk.

"and see, that's what i'm saying," you added, throwing your hands up in agreement. you sat on the floor, upon the cushioned carpet that spread throughout the sitting room. you glanced up at azriel, a fond smile playing across your lips as you met his bashful gaze.

"he doesn't need to use words, cassian. i stand by my original statement: azriel is absolutely the most capable male in bed out of the three of you," you couldn't even finish the sentence without giggling, awestruck at cassian's ability to always turn the conversation back to this topic in particular.

you'd been close to all three of them for so long, and cassian - with his overly-competitive nature - just had to know, from a female's perspective, which male you thought would be the best in the bedroom. even though your answer was always the same: azriel.

was it because you may have been harboring feelings for the aforementioned male? perhaps. however, you didn't need to be pining after him to come to that conclusion; it felt like the obvious choice, regardless.

azriel glanced over at you with silent pride flooding his gaze, and you winked at him playfully in response. "i've got your back, az," you slurred, alcohol heavy in your veins. you reached over to poke him in the kneecap gently, and he huffed out a laugh.

"thank you, sweet," he spoke, tone gravelly, and you felt your chest grow fuzzy at the nickname he reserved just for you.

"oh, come ON," cassian scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. rhys barked out a laugh, tossing his head back against the headrest of the quilted couch.

you laughed along with rhys, sitting closer to azriel's legs now. az reached down, smoothing a section of your hair that had grown disheveled during your laughing fits throughout the evening. you were hyper-aware of his touch, and currants of electricity shot down your spine as the contact mixed with the wine in your system.

"i'm going to go out on a limb here," cassian started, pausing to take a sip from his glass. you rolled your eyes, bracing yourself for the familiar statement preparing to spill from his lips. "and i'm going to say that your opinion on this particular topic is heavily biased," he finished, knowing hazel eyes glancing from you, up to azriel, and back down to you.

you groaned in mock annoyance, flipping your hand in a dismissive gesture.

"yeah, yeah, cass, i know," you huffed out a breath, narrowing your eyes, "you're so convinced that i want to be in azriel's bed," you finished, pausing for dramatic effect before speaking further. cassian scoffed, his eyes widening slightly as if to say duh.

the alcohol was making you feel bolder than normal, and honestly, it's not like you were completely shy about your attraction towards azriel. it was a commonly known fact, one that all of you tended to play into from time to time - an inside joke, a bit.

however, while the attraction was known, you'd never confessed to any of them your very real feelings for azriel. that aspect wasn't a joke to you in the slightest.

"it's the shadows," you deadpanned, shrugging your shoulders sloppily.

cassian and rhys paused for a moment, absorbing your statement. then, they both erupted into howling laughter, and you weren't far behind them. you heard azriel's low chuckle from where he sat behind you, and he sent one of those mentioned shadows from within his twining orbit to twirl through your hair playfully.

cassian collected himself, shaking his head as he wiped his eyes.

"what kind of shit are you into, y/n?," cass wheezed out, and rhys laughed harder at his follow-up question.

you sniffled, wiping your own eyes before responding, "i mean, you really cannot blame me," you mused, gesturing towards azriel once more, "have you really not stopped to consider this at all?," you widened your eyes, stunned.

as if to prove a point, you turned your head towards azriel, locking your curious eyes with his amused ones.

"azriel, have you or have you not used your shadows on someone during sex?," you asked, extremely forward.

he almost choked at the question, cheeks turning crimson. cassian and rhys resumed their howling, but you peered at him expectantly.

he couldn't deny you an answer, not when you looked at him like that - innocent-looking wide eyes, cheeks pink from the wine. and was there a large, screaming part of him that wanted to entice you with his bedroom habits?

perhaps.

he nodded once, a dimpled smirk appearing across his pink cheeks.

"i have," he spoke, deep voice cutting through the laughter.

everyone paused at his words - you'd all half-expected him to evade the question altogether. but here he was, divulging life-altering, world-ending information that had your brain short-circuiting in one fatal blow.

the silence was deafeningly loud, and your expression shifted in a way that had azriel knowing exactly what you were thinking. your eyes had widened and glossed over, your mouth was agape. his smirk grew, forming into something more playful.

and to prove his point, he sent one more shadow your way to lightly twirl through your fingers and caress up your arm, looping around your neck gently.

cass sent a low whistle into the dead silence of the room, croaking out a laugh. "well, fuck, az," he chuckled, downing the rest of his drink.

"you win," cassian added, awestruck - shaking his head in defeat.

you didn't even hear what was happening around you, too focused on azriel - his darkened gaze as he peered down at you, and the feeling of that tendril of shadow tightening around your throat in silent challenge.

a/n: i'm so sorry. i'm spamming u with all of these ideas but hear me out, i have to get them out immediately. pls don't hate me. but this one had me sweating lmfao. sucker for sexual tension as always!!!

[bodybaggage]

Oh, It’s On!

DP X DC

Ensue the prank war…

---

It all started with a simple question posed by Dick as he lounged on the Batcave’s most uncomfortable piece of furniture, which he affectionately called "the Bat-Stone."

“So, has anyone actually tested the limits of Danny’s ghost powers?”

Tim looked up from his laptop, always the first to take a bait. “You mean, besides the constant intangible phase he does to avoid Damian’s batarangs?”

Stephanie, who was tending to her bo-staff but was actually poking Cass with the end of it—grinned. “I’m in. If nothing else, we’ll get some decent entertainment. Better than watching Bruce brood in the dark.”

Cass, normally the least likely to engage in such activities, simply tilted her head with a curious look that might have been interpreted as a quiet agreement. She might not speak often, but Cass had developed a taste for subtle chaos.

Jason cracked his knuckles with a smirk. “Sounds like a good way to pass the time. And besides, I’m bored.”

Danny, floating into the room with a glow of mild suspicion, was not as oblivious as they might have hoped. “You guys aren’t planning anything, are you?”

Dick waved a hand dismissively. “Us? Plan something? Come on, Danny, we’re innocent.”

Danny gave him a deadpan stare. “That’s literally the opposite of what you are.”

The challenge was set, and everyone knew it. But Danny, being the ghostly trickster he was, didn’t wait to be pranked first. He struck with precision.

---

The first inkling that things were amiss came when the Batmobiles began moving on their own. Jason was the first to notice, his usual vehicle—a sleek, red tank of a motorcycle—had rolled up to him as if it were a loyal dog wanting to go for a walk.

“Alright, who’s messing with my ride?” Jason demanded, but the vehicle simply honked twice in response, the sound oddly cheerful.

“It’s not me!” Tim called from across the cave, where his own ride had begun circling him like a shark. “I swear, I’m not touching anything!”

Danny floated nearby, feigning innocence with an expression that screamed, I totally did this. “You sure your cars aren’t just excited to see you?”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “This is war, ghost boy.”

---

The Batcave, typically a place of stoic professionalism, had devolved into a battleground of pranks. Stephanie had rigged Danny’s usual hangout spot with a pop-up scarecrow (it looked suspiciously like Scarecrow, but with a clown wig) that would jump out at him whenever he tried to sit down.

The trap backfired spectacularly when Danny phased through the seat, sending the scarecrow careening into Cass, who simply caught it midair with one hand and set it down gently. Without saying a word, she gave Stephanie a look that said, ‘Nice try, but no.’

“Okay, point to Danny,” Stephanie conceded, wiping away tears of laughter.

In retaliation, Danny decided to step up his game. The next morning, Alfred calmly entered the Batcave with a tray of tea, his hair glowing an eternal green. Not a word about the change, not even a glance in the mirror—Alfred was far too professional for that.

Bruce, however, did notice. “Alfred, did you do something... different with your hair?”

Alfred, ever unflappable, set down the tea tray. “Just trying out a new look, Master Wayne. I believe it’s quite... refreshing.”

Bruce nodded slowly, not entirely sure if Alfred was joking. “It’s very... unique.”

Danny had to leave the room, barely containing his laughter. The dry humor had struck a chord, even with the ghost kid.

---

As the prank war escalated, it became harder to tell who was pranking who. Jason found his helmet filled with ectoplasm, while Tim’s gadgets began mysteriously glitching out, causing them to display random memes whenever he tried to access files.

Stephanie set up a system of water balloons throughout the cave, each strategically placed to drench whoever activated the trap. The grand finale was a large balloon precariously perched above the entrance, ready to douse the first unlucky victim.

Unfortunately for Damian, who had been staunchly standing next to Bruce to avoid any involvement in the chaos, his loyalty did not save him.

“I am not a part of this, Father,” Damian declared, stepping slightly closer to Bruce.

A soft ‘click’ echoed in the cave, followed by a loud splash as the massive water balloon above exploded, soaking Damian from head to toe.

Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Damian, I thought you said you weren’t part of this.”

“I am not!” Damian insisted, dripping onto the Batcave floor. He glared at the ceiling as if it had personally offended him. “This was not intended for me.”

Danny appeared next to him, intangible and dry. “I guess the water balloon had other plans.”

Jason, Tim, Stephanie, and Dick burst into laughter, while Cass allowed herself a rare smile. Even Bruce couldn’t hold back the faintest twitch of his lips.

---

The chaos continued throughout the day, culminating in a final showdown where Danny—now fully embracing his role as master prankster—made every Bat-Suit in the Batcave walk out of their cases and perform the ‘Michael Jackson’s Thriller’ dance.

Bruce had walked in just in time to see his most serious suit do the moonwalk.

“That’s it,” Bruce declared, finally done with the madness. “No more pranks in the Batcave.”

But as he said it, his own suit’s visor flipped up to reveal a pair of glowing green eyes that winked at him before going dark.

Danny’s laugh echoed through the cave. “You’re gonna have to catch me first, Bats!”

Bruce sighed again, mentally preparing himself for the next round. It seemed that in the Batcave, chaos would always have a ghostly signature.

[inkyquillstories]

A Body Swap Study

Author’s Note:

This is a long one but I hope you enjoy it. Had this story in mind for a while but I was looking for the perfect pair of men to use. The pics here are the SFW version. If you wanna see the full NSFW version, you can see them on my discord: https://discord.gg/mMY9wSu4rS

There’s considerably less photos in the tumblr post than the one on discord

A Body Swap Study: Posters had begun appearing throughout the city, each one promising an opportunity too good to be true. The details were vague yet enticing: a groundbreaking psychological and neurological study seeking male participants between the ages of 18 and 60. The commitment was significant—a full year in a secured facility—but so were the incentives. Housing, meals, and an eye-watering sum of money were offered in exchange for participation. A non-disclosure agreement was mandatory, hinting at the study’s highly confidential nature. Some dismissed it as a scam, but for those desperate enough, it was an irresistible lifeline.

Silas was one of those people. A twenty-year-old aspiring actor in Los Angeles, he had once been confident that success was just around the corner. Yet, after countless auditions and endless rejections, he found himself unable to pay rent, with no prospects in sight. Handsome, fit, and brimming with charisma, he carried himself with the bravado of someone who had the world at his feet. But behind that confidence lay a man aware of how precarious his situation had become. When he saw the poster, he barely hesitated before signing up. It was money, stability—just for a year. How bad could it be?

Rob, on the other hand, had just lost his job. It wasn’t the first time. Overweight since childhood, he had grown accustomed to the silent judgments and casual dismissals of others. He was highly intelligent, kind-hearted, but plagued with insecurities that made it difficult to navigate social situations. His appetite was insatiable, his body unaccustomed to exercise, and he often sweated excessively, making him self-conscious about his appearance. When he stumbled upon the poster, it felt like a godsend. He needed money, and if spending a year in a research facility was the price, so be it.

The research team was flooded with applications, but two names stood out: Silas and Rob. Their physical and psychological differences made them ideal candidates. When they arrived at the state-of-the-art facility, they were greeted by Dr. Hank, a middle-aged man with an air of quiet authority. He welcomed them into a sleek, modern space filled with cutting-edge technology and a team of eager scientists. As Silas and Rob exchanged glances, their immediate impressions of each other were hard to ignore.

Silas couldn't tear his eyes away from Rob, his gaze flickering between disgust and disbelief. The sight of him—slouched and bloated—made something twist deep in Silas’ gut. How could someone let themselves reach this point? Rob's clothes hung loosely on his frame, but it was clear the fabric couldn’t fully conceal the rolls of flesh beneath. His face, once vaguely youthful, now sagged with an unflattering weight, his skin stretched tight around the folds like it was struggling to keep up with the overwhelming bulk.

The size difference between them was so stark it almost seemed like a cruel joke. Silas stood tall, lean, a picture of discipline and control. And then there was Rob, who looked as though he'd long given up on any semblance of self-respect. His greasy hair hung limply, a stark contrast to the neatly combed strands Silas took so much pride in. The small beads of sweat on Rob’s forehead seemed to reflect a deeper, unspoken struggle—one that Silas couldn’t quite place but that filled him with an uncomfortable mixture of superiority and contempt.

A huff of disbelief escaped Silas before he could stop it. How does someone let themselves go like that?

Yet, even as the thought crossed his mind, he scolded himself. He knew nothing of Rob’s life, his struggles, or how he had ended up this way. It wasn’t fair to judge him for his body alone. Still, it was difficult not to feel a sense of superiority.

Rob’s gaze lingered on Silas, and for a moment, he felt a sharp pang of envy twist in his chest. Silas exuded a kind of effortless confidence that Rob had always longed for, something he could never seem to grasp. His eyes traced Silas’ lean, sculpted form, the way his clothes fit him perfectly, as if every inch of him had been meticulously designed for maximum impact. There was a magnetic energy around him, a self-assuredness that Rob could never seem to summon, no matter how hard he tried.

It was frustrating—almost maddening—watching Silas move with that kind of ease, as if nothing in the world could faze him. Rob had dreamed of that confidence, had imagined walking into a room and commanding attention without even trying. He’d fantasized about being in shape, about going to the gym and chiseling his body into something that might make him proud, but the reality of his lazy habits, his poor diet, and his inability to break free from his patterns always held him back.

But standing next to Silas now, the gap between them felt painfully insurmountable. He couldn’t ignore the stark contrast: where Silas was sharp, defined, and disciplined, Rob felt sluggish, soft, and weak. A bitter jealousy simmered under his skin, but there was something else too—a strange, almost involuntary thrill at the sheer difference between them.

As his eyes briefly scanned Silas’ body, he felt a jolt, a tightness in his chest that he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just envy. There was a certain pull to Silas—something more than just admiration. Rob didn’t quite know how to label it, but there was a raw, magnetic attraction in the way Silas stood, in the way his presence seemed to fill the room. It stirred something deep inside Rob, a hunger he’d never fully understood, an aching desire to somehow be that person, to embody that power, that control.

But, even as these thoughts circled in his mind, he pushed them down, focusing instead on the fleeting hope that this experiment, whatever it was, might be his chance to finally change. To escape his stagnant life and step into something new. The envy was still there, but now it was tinged with a desperate yearning, an almost primal desire to shed his old self and embrace whatever might be possible with Silas’ image, if only for a moment.

Dr. Hank soon gathered them for an explanation. The study, he revealed, was not just about the brain—it was about identity itself. The goal was to explore what happened when the mind was gradually reshaped to fit a new body. This wouldn’t be an instant switch. Instead, over the course of months, every aspect of their lives would be systematically exchanged. By the end of the experiment, their minds would fully adapt to their new identities.

Both men were horrified. The idea of losing themselves, even temporarily, was unnerving. But Dr. Hank calmly reminded them of the immense compensation they would receive. He assured them that the process would be entirely reversible and that Silas and Rob would return to the outside world when the study concluded. It was a small comfort, but comfort nonetheless. With some hesitation, they signed the NDA and the consent forms, sealing their fate.

After signing, they were introduced to the rest of the research team and given a tour of the facility. It was more luxurious than either of them had expected—a strange fusion of laboratory and resort. There was a buffet, a gym, an arcade, and even outdoor spaces like a pool and lush green parks. Each man was given a private room, equipped with all the comforts of home. For a moment, it almost felt like a vacation. Almost.

The first phase of the experiment was simple: a swap of personal objects. They were instructed to exchange clothes in front of each other, a task that made Silas uneasy from the start. As he pulled off his fitted designer t-shirt, he couldn’t help but glance over at Rob’s exposed body standing before him. The difference between them was almost jarring. Rob’s stomach protruded noticeably, his belly soft and rounded, the fabric of his shirt clinging tightly to the folds of flesh beneath. His arms were thick, but the weight wasn’t muscle; his skin, slick with residual sweat, reflected a life of neglect.

Silas’ gaze lingered briefly on the stretch marks crisscrossing Rob’s torso, a stark contrast to his own firm, meticulously cared-for body. It wasn’t a feeling of disgust, not exactly, but a deep sense of disbelief at the reality of the man in front of him—someone who lived in a completely different world, a world Silas had never been forced to acknowledge until now.

As Rob peeled off his jeans, Silas’ eyes flickered downward despite himself, taking in the full extent of the contrast between them. Rob’s thighs were thick, heavy, pressing against each other with every movement, the skin slightly chafed where they rubbed together. His calves, though large, lacked the definition Silas was used to seeing on his own body, and his knees seemed almost swallowed by the surrounding flesh. Silas couldn’t help but notice the way Rob’s stomach sagged slightly over the waistband of his underwear, the elastic digging into his skin, leaving faint red marks. His hips were wide, his lower body carrying the bulk of his weight, and even the way he stood—feet planted firmly apart for balance—was so different from Silas’ own natural stance. 

As he slid Rob’s oversized, sweat-dampened shirt over his head, Silas was hit with an immediate discomfort. The fabric, heavy and loose, hung off his own frame like a sack, draping over his well-defined muscles in an unfamiliar way. The scent of Rob’s body—a mixture of stale deodorant and the lingering musk of someone who didn’t care much for hygiene—clung to the fabric, making Silas wrinkle his nose. The jeans were even worse—baggy and stretched out in places that seemed unnatural. They hung off him awkwardly, as if he were a child playing dress-up in his father’s old clothes. His discomfort deepened, the weight of Rob’s existence—his habits, his choices—pressing down on him in a way that felt almost suffocating. Silas swallowed hard, fighting the unease rising in his chest. This wasn’t just an exchange of clothes; it was a glimpse into a life he had never truly understood, and the reality was far more unsettling than he had imagined.

Meanwhile, Rob’s hands trembled slightly as he peeled off his old, sweat-stained t-shirt and handed it to Silas. He had seen fit men before—on television, at the gym he had always been too intimidated to enter—but never had he stood so close to someone like Silas, let alone stripped down before them. His eyes traveled over Silas’ body, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. Silas was everything he had ever wanted to be—lean, toned, effortlessly powerful. His chest was firm, each muscle subtly defined without being overly bulky, his stomach tight and sculpted, as if he had never known the struggle of excess weight. His shoulders were broad, his arms chiseled, his entire frame carrying a natural confidence that came from discipline, from a life of control.

As Silas removed his last layer, Rob felt a pang of something deeper than envy—an aching realization that they were built for entirely different worlds. When he stepped into Silas’ crisp, perfectly fitted clothes, the waistband snug against his stomach, he felt like an imposter. This wasn’t just an exchange of fabric—it was a fleeting, painful glimpse into the life he had always wished for but had never been able to reach.

Rob’s eyes traced Silas’ form with an almost analytical intensity, absorbing every detail of the body he had always longed for. His chest was firm and smooth, his pectoral muscles subtly defined, rising and falling with steady breaths. His collarbones jutted out ever so slightly, accentuating the lean, angular structure of his upper body. Silas’ arms, even at rest, carried an effortless strength—biceps and triceps taut beneath his skin, veins faintly visible along his forearms, a sign of low body fat and rigorous training. His stomach was a masterpiece of discipline, each muscle carved into a set of defined abs that tensed slightly with every shift of his posture. Lower down, his hips were narrow, his waist trim, leading to long, toned legs with thighs firm and proportionate, the muscles apparent even in stillness. His calves were sharply contoured, the kind Rob had always envied in runners or athletes, shaped by years of movement and effort. Even his stance was different—relaxed but assured, as though he had never once worried about how much space he took up. Rob swallowed hard, not out of embarrassment, but from the sheer weight of the comparison. Silas’ body wasn’t just different—it was proof of everything Rob wasn’t, everything he had always wished he could be.

Rob couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy mixed with awe. Was it really possible for a person to look this… perfect? He had always admired fit men from afar, but seeing Silas up close like this made his own body feel even heavier in comparison.  

Sliding into Silas’s clothes was an entirely different experience—one that filled Rob with a strange, exhilarating thrill. The shirt was snug, hugging his body in ways he wasn’t used to. It was strange, almost suffocating, but he didn’t hate it. In fact, he reveled in it. The fabric was soft, clean, and carried a faint scent of expensive cologne—nothing like the lingering musk that clung to his usual clothes. When he lifted his arms again, the motion brought a fresh wave of Silas' scent—an intoxicating mix of soap, skin, and something subtly masculine that Rob couldn't quite place. He inhaled before he could stop himself, a flicker of something heady and unfamiliar stirring inside him.

The jeans were impossibly tight, and he struggled to button them over his stomach, but he relished the sensation of wearing something meant for someone like Silas. He stood up straighter, tilting his chin slightly, imagining what it must feel like to actually *belong* in these clothes. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to believe—just maybe—this experiment could give him more than just money.

Aside from that, they also exchanged wallets, IDs, and phones. The symbolism was clear—this was the first step in becoming each other. From that moment on, they were required to wear each other's clothes. It felt ridiculous, even surreal, but they reminded themselves that it was all temporary. Just a year, and then they would return to normal. Or so they thought. That afternoon, Silas and Rob sat across from each other in one of the facility’s sleek, minimalist lounge areas. A small recording device sat between them, its red light blinking steadily, a silent witness to the exchange that was about to take place. Dr. Hank had given them clear instructions—share everything. Every detail of their lives had to be known by the other, down to the smallest habits and personal quirks. If they were going to live as each other, they had to be each other. 

Rob cleared his throat, rubbing his hands together nervously. "Alright… I guess I’ll go first," he said. "My full name is Robert Daniel Whitmore. I was born in Chicago, Illinois. I’m twenty-six. Only child. My mom raised me on her own after my dad left when I was a baby. We didn’t have much growing up, but she worked hard to give me a good education. I was always the smart kid, the one with his nose in a book. I studied computer science at the University of Illinois, but I never really fit in. I… I always felt like an outsider, you know?" His voice softened, eyes darting away. "And yeah, I’ve always been… big. I tried to lose weight a few times, but food was kind of my escape. It still is." 

Silas listened, arms resting on the back of the couch. He forced himself to absorb everything. It wasn’t just words—it was supposed to be his new reality. "Alright," he said, exhaling. "I’m Silas Maddox. Full name Silas James Maddox. Born and raised in Los Angeles. I’m twenty. I have one sibling. It’s just my dad, sister, and I after my mom passed away when I was a kid. He’s a talent agent, got me into acting when I was little. Did a bunch of commercials, tried for bigger roles, but nothing really stuck. I work part-time as a waiter, but acting’s always been my dream. I hit the gym every morning, keep myself in shape—image is everything in my business. And, well…" He gave a dry chuckle. "Let’s just say I’m used to getting attention." 

Rob nodded, trying to picture himself in Silas’s world. The glitz, the constant pressure to be seen, to be perfect. It was so far from his own reality that it almost felt like fiction. Meanwhile, Silas tried to imagine Rob’s life—long nights behind a computer, the loneliness of always being the outsider, the struggle of trying to change and never quite succeeding.  

For the next few hours, they drilled each other on details. Favorite foods, childhood memories, allergies, daily routines. Silas now had a mother who sent long-winded texts about his health. Rob now had a father who expected him to make it big in Hollywood. The longer they spoke, the more their lives intertwined, and the more unsettling it became. By the end of it, they weren’t just learning—they were becoming.

Afterwards, Dr. Hank paced in front of them with a clipboard in hand. The sterile white walls of the facility seemed to press in on him, making him feel trapped in something far more intense than he had expected. He glanced at Rob, who looked equally uncomfortable, shifting in his seat, his thick fingers fidgeting with the hem of Silas’s former shirt. Dr. Hank finally stopped pacing and turned to them with a sharp, expectant smile.  

"Alright, let’s begin," Dr. Hank said, adjusting his glasses. "Silas—" He paused, then corrected himself with a smirk. "No, I should say… Rob. Let’s hear you introduce yourself."  

Silas hesitated. He swallowed the lump in his throat, his jaw tightening before he finally spoke. "Uh… My name is Robert Daniel Whitmore, but you can call me Rob." The words felt foreign, wrong, like an ill-fitting costume.  

Dr. Hank nodded encouragingly. "Good. And how old are you, Rob?"  

Silas clenched his jaw. He wanted to say twenty, but he knew that wasn’t the right answer anymore. "I’m twenty-six," he muttered.  

Dr. Hank’s smirk widened. "And tell me, Rob, between you two, are you the fit man or the overweight man?"  

Silas exhaled sharply through his nose. His instinct was to scoff, to argue, but he caught himself. That wasn’t what Rob would do. That wasn’t what he was supposed to do anymore. "I… I’m the overweight one," he admitted, his voice quieter than before. The words felt like acid on his tongue. 

Dr. Hank nodded approvingly before turning to Rob. "And you—Silas—let’s hear it."  

Rob sat up straighter, as if already stepping into his new role. "I’m Silas James Maddox, but you can call me Silas," he said, his voice steadier than Silas had expected. "I’m twenty years old." He paused, then smirked slightly. "And I’m the fit one." 

Silas narrowed his eyes at Rob’s confidence, while Dr. Hank merely chuckled. "Excellent. Now, let’s make sure this sticks."  

For the next hour, Dr. Hank continued his relentless questioning, drilling into their heads who they now were. Silas had to repeat again and again that he was Rob, that he was the older, overweight man. Rob, meanwhile, seemed to grow more comfortable each time he stated that he was Silas, that he was the younger, athletic one. By the end of the session, Silas felt mentally exhausted, as if his very identity was being pried from his grip.  

Dr. Hank set his clipboard down with a satisfied nod. "Good work, gentlemen. From now on, there are no mistakes. You will refer to each other, and yourselves, by your new identities. The more you embrace it, the easier it will be."  

Silas let out a slow breath, glancing at Rob. He had no idea just how deep this experiment was going to go. And worse—he had no idea if he was ready for it.

The weeks that followed the initial introductions were grueling, both mentally and physically. Dr. Hank made it clear that the next phase was about full immersion. But it wasn’t just their identities that were being exchanged. Their diets were next. "If you’re going to live as each other," Dr. Hank had said, "you’ll eat as each other. Starting now."

The new Silas—Rob, still in his own chubbier frame but tasked with assuming Silas’s habits—stared at the plate in front of him: grilled chicken breast, steamed broccoli, and a side of quinoa. Across the table, the new Rob—Silas, with his muscular build but wearing Rob’s baggy clothes —eyed a towering burger, fries glistening with oil, and a milkshake dripping with whipped cream.

“You actually eat this stuff?” Silas muttered, poking at the burger with a mix of disgust and curiosity. Rob smirked, shoveling a forkful of quinoa into his mouth. “Better than rabbit food,” he shot back, though the dryness of the healthy meal made him wince.

What neither of them realized, however, was that the food had been tampered with. The meals, though appearing perfectly ordinary, had been subtly altered by the research team. The healthy dishes prepared for Rob were enhanced with compounds designed to make nutrient-dense foods more palatable, triggering cravings for lighter fare. Meanwhile, the indulgent meals given to Silas had been treated to mimic the addictive flavors of greasy, calorie-laden comfort food. Their bodies wouldn’t gain or lose a pound—Dr. Hank had ensured that—but their preferences were another matter entirely.

At first, the meals were torturous. Rob struggled to finish the modest portions, his stomach growling in defiance as he longed for something heavier. Silas, on the other hand, grimaced with every bite of greasy fries, his usual discipline warring with the newfound compulsion to clean his plate. But as the days turned into weeks, the changes began to take root. Rob found himself enjoying the lightness of a spinach salad, while Silas’s hand reached for a second helping of lasagna without hesitation. They didn’t notice the shift—not consciously, at least. But Dr. Hank did. From behind the mirrored glass of the observation room, he watched with quiet satisfaction as the experiment progressed exactly as planned. The transition wasn’t just about knowledge anymore. It was about instinct. The lines between Silas and Rob were beginning to blur, and neither of them could see it yet.

The gym was pristine, almost clinical in its design, with mirrored surfaces and gleaming equipment that looked barely touched. Silas and Rob stood in their respective rooms, separated only by the large glass wall between them. Everything had been designed to be identical—the machines, the placement of the dumbbells, even the lighting. It was as if they were inside a perfectly symmetrical illusion. The only thing breaking the reflection was the fact that the man staring back at them wasn’t their own.  

Silas adjusted the snug, moisture-wicking shirt he had been given, shifting uncomfortably. It clung to his torso, emphasizing his lean, muscular build.

Across from him, Rob wore the same outfit—except on him, it stretched awkwardly over his stomach and arms, highlighting every roll and bulge. Silas tried to keep his expression neutral, but he could already feel the discomfort creeping in.

Dr. Hank’s voice crackled over the intercom, instructing them to begin their workout, ensuring they mirrored each other’s movements perfectly.  

Rob exhaled and gripped the dumbbells, his fingers tightening around the cold metal as he pulled them upward in a slow, deliberate bicep curl. His eyes immediately darted to the glass wall, where “his” reflection—Silas—moved in perfect sync. The thick veins running down “his” forearms bulged with each rep, his biceps peaking, flexing, contracting like coiled steel beneath his skin. His shoulders, broad and sculpted, rolled with effortless precision.

Rob felt a thrill surge through him.  

The illusion was mesmerizing. It was like looking into a mirror, but instead of seeing the soft, pudgy form he had known all his life, he saw strength. Definition. Perfection.  

He relished every second of it.  

He transitioned into shoulder presses, pushing the dumbbells overhead. His delts flared, the striations in “his” muscles appearing more defined with each movement. He admired how “his” pecs tightened, the sweat glistening over smooth, firm skin. It was intoxicating to see “his” body move with such effortless power. He had never looked so good—never *felt* so good. The glass wall was no longer just a tool for training; it was a portal into the life he had always craved. 

His favorite part of the session was squats. As he lowered his body, he savored the way his quads flexed and stretched, the way his hamstrings tightened with tension before he pushed back up with ease. The sheer athleticism reflected back at him made his pulse race. This was his body now. The reflection belonged to him. 

Silas, on the other hand, could barely stomach what he was seeing.  

Every movement felt wrong.  

Each rep, each squat, each contraction of his muscles only reinforced the horrifying illusion. He lifted his arms for a bicep curl, but instead of seeing his strong, defined arms moving in the reflection, he saw Rob—a version of himself that had become thick, heavy, and painfully out of shape. His once-chiseled forearms now looked soft. His chest, which had once been tight and strong, now appeared bloated, lacking any of the sharp contours he had worked so hard to maintain. 

He swallowed hard, trying to keep his breathing steady as he moved through the motions. The glass wall was unrelenting, forcing him to watch every painful second. The worst was when they moved to planks—he held himself up on his forearms, trembling not from exertion, but from disgust as he saw “his” stomach sag slightly, a clear reminder that Rob’s body was nowhere near as taut or conditioned as his own.  

It was unbearable. 

Rob, however, was still entranced. He smirked, flexing his arm slightly in between sets, watching “his” bicep bulge and harden. He turned slightly to get a better view of “his” back in the reflection, grinning at the way “his” lats flared out, creating the V-taper he had always dreamed of having.  

Silas caught the expression on Rob’s face and felt something bitter rise in his throat.  

Rob was enjoying this.  

His hands clenched into fists. He had spent years crafting his body into peak condition, years sculpting every muscle, and now, here was Rob—lazy, overweight Rob—basking in the illusion that he had built this physique. That it belonged to him. 

Silas wanted to scream.  

But there was nothing he could do except continue the workout, moving in perfect sync, locked in this cruel, twisted reflection of reality.

Mid-workout, the gym was filled with the rhythmic sounds of exertion—dumbbells clanking onto the rubber flooring, controlled breaths exhaling between sets, the occasional grunt of effort. Sweat glistened on both men’s bodies, soaking through their clothes as they pushed themselves further.   

Then Dr. Hank’s voice crackled through the intercom.  

"Now, switch gym clothes. All of it."

Silas stiffened. Rob’s breath hitched in excitement. That meant everything they were wearing. 

With no choice but to obey, Silas peeled off his tight, sweat-drenched compression shirt, grimacing as the cool air hit his damp skin. He looked down at his chiseled torso—his torso—before reluctantly reaching for Rob’s oversized, moisture-soaked tank top. The fabric was thick with sweat, carrying the unmistakable scent of Rob’s exertion. As he pulled it over his head, he shuddered at the way it clung uncomfortably to his body, the foreign musk invading his senses.  

Rob, on the other hand, grinned as he grabbed Silas’s sleek, fitted gym shirt. The material was thin, designed to hug every contour of Silas’s sculpted physique. As he slipped it on, he gasped—it fit. It actually fit. The snug compression wrapped perfectly around his man boobs, his flabby arms, emphasizing every ridge and valley of fat. He felt powerful. He also enjoyed smelling Silas’s musk on his own body.

Silas tugged at the loose tank top draped over his frame, feeling utterly disgusted. The fabric sagged at the chest, pooled slightly around his waist—*it didn’t belong on his body*. He tried to ignore the way it smelled, the way it reminded him with every inhale that this wasn’t *his* usual scent anymore.  

Then came Dr. Hank’s next command.  

"Silas, stand in front of the mirror and flex."

Rob’s pulse quickened.  

Silas hesitated, jaw tightening. Slowly, he stepped forward until he was directly in front of the glass. He knew what he would see. It never got easier. The reflection staring back at him wasn’t his own—it was Rob’s. His breath hitched slightly, the weight of the reality sinking in.   

Behind him, Rob watched with barely contained excitement.  

Silas lifted his arms, forcing his biceps to contract. The thick, rounded muscles peaked, veins pulsing beneath the surface. Rob mirrored the movement behind the glass wall, watching with hungry eyes as “his” body flexed in response. 

"Continue flexing through a full routine, Silas—keep mirroring Rob."  

Silas moved through each pose reluctantly, muscles rippling as he transitioned from a front double bicep to a side chest flex, his abs tightening with every motion.  

Rob, however, relished every second of it. He struck the same poses, mimicking the movements exactly, grinning as he watched his reflection respond. It was intoxicating, seeing himself like this. Strong. Dominant. Perfect. 

He hit a side tricep pose, watching the muscles coil and stretch, the lines crisp and well-defined. Sweat trickled down his forehead, dripping onto his chest, making his already toned body gleam under the gym lights.  

Silas, meanwhile, felt his stomach twist with resentment. He was being objectified—by Rob, of all people. He could feel the way Rob was drinking in the sight of “his” reflection, the way his eyes lingered on every flex, every contraction. 

"Now, continue your workout." said Dr. Hank

Silas turned away from the glass wall, thankful to be done, but Rob was still fixated on the illusion. He grabbed the barbell with renewed energy, eager to lift, to feel *his* muscles working.  

Silas did the same, but with every movement, he could feel Rob’s oversized tank top shifting awkwardly against his body, could smell the lingering musk of Rob’s sweat. His skin crawled.  

And yet, when he glanced up, Rob was staring at his reflection with utter admiration. The realization made his blood boil. Rob loved this. Loved the body that wasn’t even his.  

And worst of all—Silas couldn’t do anything about it.

After the grueling workout, their bodies were glistening with sweat, muscles sore yet warm from exertion. Dr. Hank’s voice crackled once again over the speaker.  

“Now, head to the showers. Same procedure applies—mirror each other’s actions.”  

Silas let out a slow, shaky breath. His body was screaming for relief, but the thought of yet another humiliating exercise made his stomach churn. Rob, however, practically vibrated with anticipation. He followed Silas out of the gym, every step feeling more natural—like he belonged in this role.   

When they arrived at the showers, Silas froze in the doorway. Just like the gym, it was designed to reinforce their mirrored roles. A false mirror stretched across the length of the shower stalls, but Silas knew better by now. It wasn’t a mirror at all—it was a transparent glass wall. On the other side, Rob stood in the exact same spot, his eager eyes locked onto Silas like a predator finally cornering its prey.  

“Similar in the gym, Silas leads. Rob follows.” 

The words rang in Silas’s ears like a death sentence.  

Rob moved himself forward, standing in front of the shower controls. Silas’s hands moved on autopilot as he turned the knob, warm water cascading down his body, rinsing away the sweat from the brutal training session. Every movement—every flex of muscle, every lift of his arms to wash his hair—was him copying Rob with unwavering precision. 

Rob’s eyes raked over Silas’s reflection—his reflection, in his mind—watching the way the water slid over his toned chest, down his sculpted abs, trailing lower and lower. He swallowed, enthralled by every defined muscle, the way Silas’s shoulders tensed, the sharp angles of his jawline when he tilted his head back into the stream. Even the way Silas ran his fingers through his wet hair looked effortlessly cool, effortlessly right. 

Rob mimicked every motion perfectly, but there was a difference. Silas was enduring this. Rob was savoring it.   

For Silas, this was another level of hell. Every time he opened his eyes, he wasn’t greeted by his own reflection, but by Rob’s body, doing exactly what he was doing. He scrubbed his arms, his chest, but every movement was mirrored by a body that wasn’t his—one that was softer, rounder, completely alien. His jaw clenched as he reached up to wash his armpits, his biceps flexing involuntarily—only to see Rob’s reflection doing the same. It almost felt hypnotic. 

His stomach twisted when he moved downward, washing his torso. The glass left nothing hidden. Every action was performed in sync, and even though he was looking at Rob, his mind hated how natural it felt—how his brain was beginning to accept that the body staring back at him was his own. 

Meanwhile, Rob was in heaven. He took his time, watching Silas’s every motion like it was a performance crafted just for him. His favorite part? Seeing the shifting expressions of frustration, anger, and helplessness on Silas’s face. It fueled him. It made him bask in the reality that he was winning—he was Silas now. 

When the shower ended, Dr. Hank’s voice returned.  

“Now, put on your clothes.”

Silas let out a slow breath, desperate to escape this psychological torture. But the torment wasn’t over yet. Their clothes had already been laid out for them—Rob’s outfit on Silas’s side. Silas’s outfit on Rob’s side.   

It was deliberate.  

With no choice, Silas grabbed the oversized shirt and loose sweatpants that reeked of Rob’s scent. The fabric felt wrong against his skin, swallowing his frame in a way that disgusted him. He tugged the shirt over his head, feeling like he was drowning in the unfamiliar cloth, the musk clinging to him. 

Rob, on the other hand, was ecstatic. He grabbed the fitted t-shirt, sliding it over his shoulders, marveling at how perfectly it contoured his chest, how snug it felt against his arms. He pulled on the athletic joggers, admiring the way they sat on his hips. 

When they stepped out of the showers, it was almost laughable how much they looked like each other. The real Silas, dressed in Rob’s oversized clothes, looked tired, burdened, out of place. The real Rob, dressed in Silas’s perfectly fitted outfit, looked energized, confident, as if he had never not been Silas.  

Without another word, they walked to their respective bedrooms. Or rather, each other’s bedrooms.   

Silas stepped into Rob’s room, the scent of junk food and unwashed clothes filling his nostrils, making him gag. Rob stepped into Silas’s room, inhaling the crisp, clean air with a satisfied smirk.   

This was exactly how it should be.

The psychological and the physical phases had started. Now it’s the social phase. At first, managing each other’s social media accounts had felt like a chore—a game of memorization, carefully choosing words and tones to match their new identities. But as weeks turned into months, it became second nature. Silas found himself scrolling through Rob’s old messages, responding to conversations about coding projects and online gaming as if he had always been part of that world. The new Rob was very hooked into gaming to escape his new reality.

Meanwhile, Rob was thriving, slipping effortlessly into the role of Silas Maddox. He flirted with confidence, set up dinner plans with strangers who had no idea they were speaking to someone completely different, and basked in the attention that came with being an attractive, fit young man. 

The dating profiles became a particular source of amusement for Rob. He had never experienced so many matches before—his inbox was flooded with eager messages, women (and even a few men) vying for his attention. But photos were crucial. Every potential match wanted proof that the man they were talking to was real, and that’s where Silas came in. Rob would direct him meticulously, instructing him to pose just right, flexing in ways that accentuated his muscles. "A little more light on your abs," Rob would say, adjusting the angle. "Turn your shoulders a bit—yeah, perfect." Sometimes Rob would do a picture for Silas to copy. Silas found the whole thing humiliating. His body had become a product for Rob to use, a tool to maintain the illusion. But the paycheck, the contract, the experiment—he reminded himself it was all temporary. 

Rob, however, had never felt more powerful. He scrolled through his matches, feeling giddy at the thought that people saw him—well, saw Silas—as desirable. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t invisible. He was the man others wanted. And with every post, every video, and every flexing picture he had Silas send, he felt himself sinking deeper into his new identity, wishing that maybe—just maybe—it didn’t have to end.

After a few more weeks, the next phase began. They were given necklaces that were simple, unassuming—thin chains with a small metallic pendant, cool to the touch as Dr. Hank placed them around their necks. Silas eyed his warily, rubbing the pendant between his fingers, but it felt ordinary. Rob, however, was eager. He had learned by now that every step of the experiment brought him closer to fully embodying Silas, and he welcomed it.  

Dr. Hank cleared his throat, beginning the usual round of questions. “Rob, what’s your name?” asking Silas.   

Silas exhaled sharply before answering, “Rob Whitmore.” But as soon as he spoke, his eyes widened. The voice that left his mouth wasn’t his own—it was deeper, heavier, unfamiliar. It was Rob’s voice. He pressed his fingers to his throat in shock.  

Dr. Hank smirked. “Good. And how old are you?”  

Silas hesitated. He knew the answer. He had rehearsed it for weeks. But now, with the strange weight of the voice coming out of his mouth, it felt disturbingly real. “I’m twenty-six.”  

Dr. Hank nodded and turned to Rob. “And you? What’s your name?”  

Rob swallowed hard. A shiver of anticipation ran through him. “Silas Maddox,” he said, and his heart nearly stopped. His voice—Silas’s voice—was smooth, confident, effortless. He let the words settle in his mouth, repeating them in his head.  

Dr. Hank continued. “How old are you?”  

“Twenty.”  

“And are you the overweight man or the muscular one?”  

Rob almost smiled. “Muscular.”  

The words sent a thrill through him. He glanced at the glass wall, catching sight of Silas in his reflection, and for a moment, it was as if his mind filled in the gaps. The voice, the posture, the way he had been living—He was Silas.  

Silas, however, felt the opposite. Every answer he gave pulled him deeper into a reality he didn’t want to accept. His voice was wrong. His name was wrong. He had been forced to embrace so many parts of Rob’s life already, but this was different. This was intimate. It wasn’t just about acting anymore. It was starting to feel real.  

Later that day, Rob stood in front of the glass wall of the gym again, watching "himself" move in sync. He had loved these sessions before, but now, knowing his voice matched the man in the reflection, it felt perfect. He wasn’t just imagining being Silas anymore—his brain was solidifying it as truth. He grinned as he curled the weights, feeling stronger, more alive. 

But beneath that thrill, a fear lurked. What if, at the end of all this, they took it away? What if he had to go back to being Rob? The thought unsettled him, gnawed at the edges of his excitement. He clenched his jaw, pushing the thought away. 

The next contraption was introduced a few weeks later. The contact lenses sat in two small cases, perfectly clear, almost indistinguishable from ordinary prescription lenses. Dr. Hank explained their purpose, though both men already had a feeling of what was coming.  

Rob picked up his set first, glancing at Silas one last time before carefully placing the lenses in his eyes.

A quick blink, then another—his breath caught. Silas was gone. In his place stood himself—or rather, how his old body looked like. Chubby and hairy.

Rob looked at the mirror and saw Silas’s toned arms, sharp jawline, and athletic stance. Rob’s eyes widened in astonishment. He turned his head slightly, watching “himself” do the same, but from a different angle. His heart pounded in his chest as he raised a hand, watching his "reflection" move in perfect sync. 

He quickly turned his gaze downward to confirm what he feared—and excitement exploded in his chest. His stomach—Silas’s stomach—was flat. No overhang, no soft flesh pressing against his shirt. He reached down and pressed his fingers into his belly and pecs, expecting firmness, expecting definition—  

—but all he felt was flab. 

The illusion wavered just for a second. He could see abs, but beneath his hands, he could feel the soft rolls of his true form. His breath hitched, but rather than disappointment, an intoxicating thrill ran through him. It was almost perfect. Just one more step. 

On the other side of the room, Silas hesitated before slipping in his own lenses. He blinked a few times, forcing himself to look straight at Rob. 

Except it wasn’t Rob anymore.  

It was him. His own face, his own body. Standing over there. Moving in real time.  

A cold wave of nausea hit him.  

He swallowed hard and turned his gaze downward. Panic swelled in his chest. The first thing he saw was Rob’s thick arms. His belly bulged under his shirt, round and unfamiliar. His body looked like Rob’s. But—instinctively—he pressed a hand into his gut. 

His own firm abs were still there.  

For a moment, relief flooded through him. He wasn’t actually trapped. It was all just a trick. His fingers dug in deeper, feeling the muscle underneath. He could feel his real body, even if his eyes told him otherwise. But the sight was suffocating.  

“Excellent,” Dr. Hank said, jotting something down. “Now that you both look the part, there's no need for shared workouts. You can train separately and continue your regimen alone.”  Rob grinned, unable to stop himself from turning back to the mirror. His hands glided over his "abs" again, despite the deception. His mind was already starting to believe it.  

That night, alone in his room, Rob stood before the full-length mirror, peeling off his sweat-dampened shirt. The fabric slid from his skin, revealing the defined lines of his chest and stomach—or rather, Silas’s chest and stomach. He ran his hands over his "chest," brushing over the sculpted pecs he saw. He looked perfect. The only flaw was that he could still feel his real body beneath the surface. 

Despite this, his fingers ghosted over his reflection in the mirror, tracing the sharp definition of his jawline, his broad shoulders. He flexed an arm, watching the muscle shift, tightening with strength that—just weeks ago—he could never have imagined.  

He tilted his head, drinking in the sight of himself. This was who he was now. The body of a man who belonged in the spotlight, on magazine covers, admired by everyone who laid eyes on him. His fingers dragged slowly down his stomach, stopping just above his waistband. His old body—his real body—had been soft, flabby, weak. But now? Now, he was powerful. Now, he could strut into any room and command attention. 

A knock on the door snapped him out of his trance.  

Dr. Hank entered, holding a small case of pills. “This should help reinforce the connection between your mind and body,” he explained. “Rob will feel heavier, as he should be, and you, Silas, will finally feel lighter and stronger.” 

Rob snatched up the pill eagerly, barely hearing the rest of the explanation before swallowing it down. . Silas, however, hesitated. He looked at the grotesque reflection in the mirror—his reflection, bloated and unfamiliar. A deep pit of unease settled in his gut before he finally shoved the pill in his mouth, swallowing hard. 

It didn’t take long for the effects to sink in.  

Rob let out a slow breath as warmth spread through his limbs. His fingers pressed into his stomach again—except this time, there was no flab, no resistance. His body felt tight, compact, efficient. He flexed his arms again, his grin widening as he felt the tension in his biceps, the solid weight of strength coursing through him.  

He turned back to the mirror, running his hands over his chest, over his stomach, up to his shoulders, reveling in every single inch of his sculpted frame.  

“Oh yeah,” he murmured to himself, tilting his head, shifting his stance just slightly to emphasize his best angles. He threw a few casual poses, watching the light dance across the definition of his abs. Every movement felt fluid, natural. He had become Silas in every way that mattered. 

Then he turned his gaze across the room.  

Silas sat hunched on his bed, staring down at himself with a look of absolute horror. 

His fingers gripped the flesh at his waist—except this time, it moved under his touch. It sagged, the weight pulling in ways that felt unbearable. His whole body felt sluggish, heavy, bloated. His stomach sat on his lap, the subtle bounce of soft fat foreign and horrifying. He clenched his fists, resisting the overwhelming urge to scream.  

His breath turned shallow.  

This wasn’t a trick anymore. The lenses made him see it, but now? Now, he felt it. 

His gut clenched as he slowly raised his gaze toward the mirror.  

Across from him, Rob smirked, basking in the glory of his—Silas’s—body, flexing without a care in the world. Silas’s stomach twisted as he watched the man move, admire himself, preen like he had earned that body.  

Rob turned slightly to the side, taking in his reflection from another angle, running a hand through his hair before meeting Silas’s gaze in the mirror. He caught the flicker of envy in Silas’s expression—raw, unfiltered resentment. 

And he loved it.  

He let his smirk widen as he stretched his arms above his head, exaggerating the movement, rolling his shoulders just to feel the strength radiating from his muscles.  

"Man," he sighed, dragging his hands down his torso again, relishing every inch. "I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this."  

Silas gritted his teeth, his hands tightening into fists.  

Rob turned to him, eyes gleaming. “How’s it feel?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement. 

Silas didn’t answer. He refused to give Rob the satisfaction.  

But that smirk—that knowing, arrogant smirk—never left Rob’s face.  

He stretched again, yawned, then gave one last glance at his reflection, dragging his fingers across his stomach one final time before heading to bed.  

Silas, however, had trouble sleeping that night. He sat in front of the mirror, trapped in the body he once mocked, his own physique stolen by the very man who didn’t deserve it. Eventually, he got tired and fell asleep. 

The facility was silent in the dead of night, save for the occasional hum of machinery and the rhythmic beeping of monitors. Silas and Rob lay unconscious in their separate rooms, their breathing steady, their minds deep in drug-induced sleep. The sedation had been precise—calibrated to ensure that neither man would stir as they were carefully transported to the sterile, steel-lined chamber. The walls of the room were lined with machinery that pulsed with an eerie blue glow, their function known only to those who worked under Dr. Hank’s meticulous guidance.  

In the center of the room stood two massive pods, each one large enough to contain a full-grown man. Their curved glass surfaces were clouded with condensation, hiding the intricate network of wires, tubes, and electrodes that snaked along the interior. 

Dr. Hank observed as his team worked in practiced efficiency, preparing for the final phase of the experiment. He approached the control panel, his fingers dancing over the buttons before gripping the lever.  

“This is it,” he murmured, almost to himself.  

He pulled the lever.  

The hum of the machines deepened into a low, resonant vibration. The pods lit up from within, a blinding white light flooding the room as energy surged through the complex system. Inside, the bodies of Silas and Rob twitched involuntarily, muscles seizing as the technology did its work.  

The process took mere minutes.  

When the glow finally dimmed, the pods hissed as they depressurized. The lids slowly lifted, revealing the men inside.  

Where Silas had been placed, Rob’s body now lay still. 

Where Rob had been placed, Silas’ body now remained. 

It was seamless—perfect. Every detail, down to the finest fingerprint, had transferred flawlessly. The bodies had been switched completely.  

Dr. Hank leaned in, inspecting them closely.  

"Turn off the necklace and the lenses," he instructed.  

A technician complied, pressing a button on a nearby console. The faint energy signatures that had once manipulated their senses flickered out.  

Neither man would notice.  

When they woke up, they would feel exactly the same.  

And that was the true brilliance of it all.

The morning light filtered through the blinds as the new Silas stirred awake, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders. Immediately, something felt different—better. He felt light. He felt strong. Ultimately, it felt right. 

He sat up, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, and as he moved, his body responded with a sharpness he had never known before. There was no sluggishness, no resistance, no weight dragging him down. His muscles felt compact, efficient, ready to move. A slow smile spread across his lips as he ran his hands over his stomach, reveling in the tightness of his abs, the firmness of his chest. It felt real now—undeniably real. 

Standing up, he took a few steps toward the full-length mirror, his breath hitching as his reflection greeted him. Silas.  

He turned slightly, rolling his shoulders, flexing his arms just to feel them move. A rush of warmth spread through his chest. This was his body now. He felt like he was really Silas. 

On the other side of the facility, the new Rob groaned as he woke up, the simple act of rolling over suddenly feeling off. His limbs felt heavy, his movements slower, less responsive. He furrowed his brows, shifting onto his back and blinking up at the ceiling. Something wasn't right. 

Sitting up took effort—too much effort.  

His breath caught as his stomach pooled in his lap, the weight of it unfamiliar, foreign. His fingers dug into the soft flesh at his sides, and a wave of unease rolled through him. The pill must still be working, he told himself. The effects will wear off soon.  

Dragging himself out of bed, he made his way to the mirror, bracing himself before glancing at his reflection. His breath hitched. He saw Rob. 

No. That’s himself, he told himself. 

He frowned, running a hand through his hair. He was still getting used to seeing himself like this, but now, it felt real. The weight on his body, the sluggishness in his movements—it was all too much.  

Before either man could dwell on it further, Dr. Hank’s voice crackled through the intercom.  

Gentlemen, report to the main room. They arrived at the usual session, sitting across from each other as Dr. Hank regarded them with a pleased expression.  

“We’ve made some advancements,” Dr. Hank began. “To further reinforce your new realities, we’ve integrated AI into your devices. From now on, when you look into a camera, the camera will see yourselves—as you should.” Though in reality, there was no AI added. The truth is, they just completely swapped bodies.  

Silas—the new Silas—felt a rush of excitement as he grabbed his phone and opened the selfie camera.  

There he was.  

The sharp jawline. The clear skin. The perfect physique.

He turned his head, testing the angles. His reflection followed flawlessly, every movement natural.  

He had no reason to doubt it. He didn’t need Silas to take photos and videos for him anymore. 

Rob—the new Rob—hesitated before doing the same. His stomach twisted as he raised his phone and stared at the image on the screen.  

His lips pressed into a thin line. The AI was too good. The way it moved, the way the light caught his features—it was as if he were really looking at himself in the mirror. 

His grip on the phone tightened.  

“Everything you see, everything you feel, is a result of our process working exactly as it should,” Dr. Hank said smoothly. “You are exactly where you’re supposed to be.”  

Neither of them questioned it.  

The day continued as usual. Their meals were switched—Silas enjoying his healthy protein-heavy diet while Rob choked down the carb-heavy, high-calorie meals he had once despised.  

At the gym, Silas—the old Rob—felt the rush of strength surge through him as he lifted the weights effortlessly. His body responded with power, precision. Each curl, each press, each motion was a testament to the reality he had embraced.

Across from him, Rob—the old Silas—was struggling.  

The weights that used to feel light now burned in his arms. His breath came heavier, his movements slower. He watched as the new Silas worked out with ease, flexing in front of the mirror, admiring his own reflection.  

The new Rob gritted his teeth. He hated how it felt. How natural it was beginning to seem. Not only that, he can smell his own musk. The old musk of Rob which is now his own. 

He wanted to believe this was just a trick—just the pills, the lenses, the AI.  But with every movement, every step, every moment…  The truth settled deeper into his bones.  And neither of them knew.

The final phase had arrived.  

Dr. Hank stood before them, his expression unreadable as he clasped his hands behind his back. Silas and Rob sat across from him, the weight of the moment pressing down on them.  

“For the next six months,” Dr. Hank said smoothly, “you will be living as each other in the real world. No more controlled environments, no more structured drills. You will be immersed completely.”  

The old Silas shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “But… we haven’t actually swapped bodies.” His voice, now permanently sounding like Rob’s, was filled with doubt. “How the hell are we supposed to pull this off?”  

The old Rob, in contrast, leaned forward eagerly. “Yeah, I mean… I know we’ve got the AI, the lenses, the pills, and all that, but outside, how do we make sure people don’t see the truth?”  

Dr. Hank gave a slow, knowing smile. “That’s already been taken care of. All necessary arrangements have been made.”  

Silas frowned. “Arrangements?”  

Dr. Hank didn’t elaborate. Instead, he motioned to the assistant standing by the door. “Before you go, we have one last exercise.”  

The old Silas’s stomach churned as the familiar process began once again. The final drill.  

Dr. Hank turned to the new Rob first. “What’s your name?”  

The old Silas clenched his fists but forced himself to answer. “Rob Whitmore.”  

“How old are you?”  

“Twenty-six.”  

Dr. Hank’s smirk widened. "And tell me, Rob, between you two, are you the fit man or the overweight man?"  

The new Rob exhaled sharply through his nose. His instinct was to scoff, to argue, but he caught himself. That wasn’t what Rob would do. That wasn’t what he was supposed to do anymore. "I… I’m the overweight one," he admitted, his voice quieter than before. 

Dr. Hank nodded approvingly before turning to Rob. “And you?”  

Rob grinned. “I’m Silas Maddox.”  

“How old are you?”  

“Twenty”  

“And are you the overweight man or the muscular one?”  

The new Silas smiled. “Muscular.”  

Dr. Hank’s gaze flickered between them, and then he continued, pressing deeper into their identities. Childhood memories. Family histories. Personal quirks. Every answer solidified the transformation, reinforcing who they had become.  

Silas relished every moment, answering with enthusiasm, loving the power of fully stepping into Silas’s life. He stole glances at the reflection of his body in the glass, flexing slightly when he thought no one was looking.  

Rob, on the other hand, responded reluctantly, hating every second of it. Each answer felt like another nail in the coffin of his old self, trapping him further in this deception.  

By the end of the session, Rob felt hollow. Silas, however, felt exhilarated.  

“Good,” Dr. Hank finally said, pleased. “You’re ready.”  

The men were escorted out of the facility and sent on their way.  

Silas stepped into the world, meeting his "friends" and "family." They greeted him warmly, embracing him, laughing with him as if he had always been Silas. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing—only acceptance. 

Rob arrived at his "home." Everything about it felt familiar even though it shouldn't be. Then everyone he met—his coworkers, his neighbors—treated him exactly as they would Rob. 

Both men felt a deep, unsettling shock.  

How was this possible?  The world saw them exactly as they saw themselves. And they had no idea that it wasn’t just perception anymore.

Six months passed.  

Silas thrived. He had embraced his new body, his new life, and everything that came with it. Every morning, he woke up feeling strong, powerful, and confident. The gym had become his second home, a place where he sculpted his already perfect physique and basked in the admiration of others. He had even landed a few acting gigs—something the old Silas had always struggled to achieve.  

It was as if fate had corrected a mistake.  

He wasn’t just living as Silas; he was excelling at it.  

Meanwhile, Rob endured each day with growing frustration. He hated the way his body felt—heavy, sluggish, uncooperative. The workouts that had once been second nature were now grueling, humiliating tasks, and soon, he gave up on them entirely. Instead, he found comfort in food and video games, settling into the life he had been given, biding his time until the swap was reversed.  

Because it would be reversed.  

…Wouldn’t it?  

The thought nagged at him more and more as the months passed. He had been counting down the days, waiting for Dr. Hank’s call, waiting for the experiment to end.  

Then, one evening, the call finally came.  

Both men were summoned back to the facility. Silas arrived in a crisp, well-fitted shirt that accentuated his muscular build, his presence commanding the room effortlessly.

Rob, in contrast, arrived in loose, comfortable clothes that did little to hide his weight gain, his expression filled with equal parts relief and desperation. 

Dr. Hank greeted them with his usual composed demeanor. “Gentlemen, congratulations. The study has concluded.”  

Rob exhaled sharply, shoulders relaxing. “Finally. So, we swap back now?”  

Dr. Hank smiled, tilting his head. “That was never part of the agreement.”  

A silence heavier than anything they had experienced before settled over the room.  

Rob’s stomach twisted. “What?”  

“The process was designed to be entirely reversible,” Dr. Hank clarified, his voice infuriatingly calm. “But I never promised that it would be reversed.”  

Silas said nothing. He simply stared at Dr. Hank, his expression unreadable.  

Rob shot Silas a pleading look. “You want to switch back… right?”  

Silas met his gaze, and for the first time in six months, Rob saw something in his eyes that made his stomach drop.  

“No.”  

Silas didn’t want to switch back.  

He had won.  

Panic surged through Rob. “No. No, no, no. You can’t just—”  

Rob removed his contacts and yanked his necklace but everything looked and sounded the same. When he looked at Silas, he still saw a muscular and handsome man there. 

“Dr. Hank already told me that the contacts and necklaces were off months ago.” Silas said. 

Dr. Hank simply gestured to the door. “You’re free to go.”  

Silas left without hesitation, stepping back into his perfect life without a single glance backward.  

Rob remained frozen, his world collapsing around him.  

And when he finally stumbled out of the facility, no one—not his coworkers, not his friends, not the world—would ever believe that he had once been someone else. Not that he could, given his non-disclosure agreement.

The End. 

[sugurusfavemonkey]

CALL IT FATE - ONE: FINGERS DANCING WHEN THEY MEET

summary: your roommate left and the bills were staring to pill up when three knocks to your door bring you Ino Takuma: say hello to your new roommate. The easygoing boy quickly worms his way into your life and heart.

pairing: Ino Takuma x reader

word count: 2.5k

content: college AU, short series, afab!reader, fluff, some crack, cursing, miscommunication (you think Ino is gay), strangers to friends to lovers (and they were roommates!), smut to come in future chapters (MDNI)!

prologue || one || two || three

♪playlist♪

The talk with Ino Takuma went even better than expected: he was eager to share more of himself with you and easily acquiesced with your terms, sitting straight up and nodding dutifully with each ground rule you spewed out, his eyes never once straying from you. It was flustering to have his undivided attention like that and your cheeks felt warm throughout the entire affair.

Eventually, you settled on an agreement. Which you were more than happy with since beggars can't be choosers. You had just realized you were about to run out of options when he came knocking, so when Ino mentioned fate it had seemed very fitting to your current situation.

"So… when can I move in?" you wouldn't' be surprised if he was literally shaking in anticipation as he questioned you.

"Well, the room is already vacant, so…" you shrugged, motioning towards the room you had shown him not even fifteen minutes before.

"Great!" Ino scratched his chin in thought, mumbling about his schedule under his breath until he seemed to reach a conclusion, "we're already at the end of the month so I can break my lease with no issues… I guess this weekend could work."

"Alright. Give me your phone and I'll save my number in it." you extended your hand toward him in wait for the device, but he merely stared at you.

"You're… giving me your number?" Ino questioned in utter confusion. He seemed so dumbfounded you had to suppress a smile.

"Uhm, yes? We gotta communicate somehow, right?"

"Oh," snapping back to attention, he quickly pulled his cell out of his pocket and handed it to you after unblocking it, "Yeah! Right."

"I'll get off your case now," Ino said as he stood up. You followed suit under the guise of being polite. "See you Saturday?" there was this earnest hopefulness to the way he verbalized the question and your smile grew soft.

"Sure," you shrugged, eyes glancing elsewhere for a second but not long enough that you missed the way his eyes lit up at your assenting, "see you Saturday, Ino."

"You can call me Takuma, you know. We'll be living under the same roof, no need for all that mumbo jumbo." he mentioned casually as you guided him to the door.

"It's only fair you call me by my first name too, then."

His soft murmur of your name with something akin to devotion had you blushing furiously, a common occurrence around the skater boy it seemed.

"Bye, Takuma." You waved before closing the door as soon as he passed the threshold if only so you could breath properly again.

"You don't understand! It wasn't just fate. I think she's my soulmate!" Ino recounted animatedly and it was easy to see that, had his hands not been busy with three precariously stacked cardboxes, they would have been moving along with the words spoken.

"There's no such thing as soulmates, Takuma." His blond friend retorted patiently, his own arms pilled with boxes as they ascended the stairs to the third floor. "It was probably simply a strong attraction. It's all a chemical reaction."

Ino glanced from his peripheral to his friend. It was easy to forget how pragmatical Nanami tended to be, but he knew it was mostly a front behind which the blond student hid. "Way to kill the mood. Where is your whimsy, Nanami?"

"About a few thousand kilometers away in my hometown, where I left it along with my childhood."

"We'll see if you still think that when you fall in love," Ino huffed petulantly.

"You're not in love, Ino, "he sighed, "you barely know the girl."

"Okay. Maybe I'm not in love in love. But I could see it happening, man. I was so excited about finding the apartment but then she opened the door and... boom," he stopped on his track to convey the appropriate level of dramatics to his narration and then sighed dreamily. "it was like a scene straight from a movie!"

Meanwhile, Nanami kissed his teeth and shook his head, but the slight upturn to the left corner of his lips let Ino know he found the whole thing amusing.

"Ino! Hey! I was wondering when you were coming in. Need help with those boxes?" Your voice made both men look up as soon as they reached the floor. It seemed they caught you just as you were about to leave, but you only opened the door wider for them.

You reached up to pick the box at the top of the pile from Ino, but he maneuvered them to the side so you couldn't. He tsked playfully and kept on walking right by you, his blond friend following close behind.

"Nah-ah-ah. Leave the heavy lifting to the strong men! And it's Takuma for you."

"Alright. Takuma." Your eyes then moved to the second man, head pending slightly to the side, "and you must be Nanami?" you wondered as you tailgated them, hands clasped behind your back.

Ino practically threw the boxes down once he reached what would be his new room and watched with his hands on his waist as Nanami carefully set his set of boxes down right beside the others before turning to regard you with a polite smile.

"Kento is fine. It's very nice to meet you. I believe we share a class. Thursday morning?"

"That's right. It's impressive that you've noticed. I usually keep to myself."

"As opposed to me?"

"Yes? You sit right in front and you answer most questions from the professor before anyone else even has the time to assemble a response."

"I'm right here." Ino suddenly cut you both off and you nearly jumped in surprise. You raised your eyes to his face only to find his expression one of discontentment, brows furrowed and lips pursued.

Nanami chuckled, immediately clocking onto his friend's motive. "Sorry. Could I have a glass of water?"

"Yeah, of course. I'll be right back!" You promptly moved to gather him a glass of water.

Ino watched and waited until he was sure you were out of ear shot before whisper-shouting:

"No dice. I saw her first."

"I'm not gonna attempt anything, Ino," Nanami kept his tone even and volume regular in contrast. "You know me better than that."

"I know, but-"

You strolled into the room without much thought, catching the ending of their conversation, "…you're always so charming and polite."

You cleared your throat afraid you had just interrupted a moment and nearly threw the glass in Nanami's willing hands, "here you go."

"Thank you."

You nodded, swaying back and forth in an attempt of grounding yourself because the awkward silence was making you nervous. Thankfully, Ino decided to break it.

"We still have a few boxes left," he motioned to the door with his thumb.

"You sure you don't need my help?"

"Nope. We can handle it. I think one more trip and we're done actually. Right, Nanami?"

"Three at minimum I'd say."

Takuma tried to elbow his side but he simply sidestepped the hit as he moved to the exit without further ado leaving the both of you behind.

"You're gonna stay at home tonight?"

"Yeah, this moving thing really tires me out."

You hummed thoughtfully, "I was thinking of ordering pizza for dinner tonight, would you like to share?"

"I'd love that!"

"Any specific toppings?"

"I'm fine with whatever as long as there are no olives."

"Got it. What about Kento. He staying?"

"No!" Takuma cried out and then winced, trying to measure out his tone for the next words, "no. I'm pretty sure Kento mentioned he needs to study today."

"On a Saturday night?" You lifted one brow in question.

"That's Nanami for you. Very… committed."

You frowned. That sounded a bit of an overkill if you were being honest, but who were you to judge.

"I'll, uhm, I'll go pick up the rest of the stuff."

You decided to ignore his strange behavior and opted to let him know you'd leave the door open instead. Takuma nodded silently in response.

...

"Stop being a weirdo!" Ino murmured to himself as he darted down the stairs.

Ino wasn't a loud or rowdy roommate and kept his mess within the confines of his own room. He made an effort to spend some time around you whenever you were hanging out in the living room or kitchen, watching your favorite shows or even helping you bake some recipe you found on your phone. Minus the very few occasional pieces of clothing you've found strewn about (which Ino always picked up as soon as you pointed out) and dirty dishes left on the sink (it could have been worse - he could've been just letting them wherever), things were smooth sailing all throughout your first month of living together. You really couldn't complain.

It had been over a month since he moved in. The day had been going perfectly: no strewn clothing, no dirty dishes, just immaculate and profound peace. That is, until Ino decided to trot around the apartment with that stupid black beanie of his crooked at an angle over his brow. The beanie was a staple in his wardrobe, usually paired up with a black sweatpants, black sweatshirt duo. You tried to ignore it and keep on reading the material assigned by your professor last week, but the nagging thought seemed to be stuck to the front of your mind until you couldn't help but blurting out:

"Your beanie is crooked."

"What?" Ino paused on his way back to his room, a mug in one hand, a banana on the other and an adorably confused expression on his face.

"Your- nevermind." You dropped your textbook aside, stood up and walked right up to him, "just let me…" you turned his shoulders so he was standing straight in front you before pulling the edge of his beanie this way and that until it seemed to be sitting straight across his brow. "There!"

There was a pregnant pause in which it downed on you what you had done. You stepped back with a gasp, hands flying to your mouth, meanwhile Takuma simply gawked at you.

"Oh my god, I'm so so sorry. I shouldn't have just manhandled you like that!"

Slowly, a bright beam formed on Takuma's face and he dismissed your worry with a casual wave of his arm, coffee sludging dangerously close to spilling against the edge of the mug.

"No, no! It's fine. It's completely fine. You can touch me anytime!"

Another pause.

"Wait. Fuck! That came out wrong," Ino hissed. He appraised you with an apologetic glance, "I meant it's totally okay that you 'womanhandled' me."

"Dumbass." you murmured fondly when he wiggled his brows at the invented word before you parted ways.

You were arriving back at the apartment, one arm straining to carry the groceries and your phone between your shoulder and ear as you unlocked the door.

"You gotta come! You're my best friend and she's been my girlfriend for two years yet you've barely spoken to each other! I want the two of you to get along!"

"Hime, baby, we do get along. I think Shoko is pretty cool. If we haven't mingled much it's because of our conflicting schedules. You know that."

Ino instantly stood up and rushed to aid when he saw you struggle with the key stuck on the lock and nearly dropping the bags.

"See? Another reason for you to come. Both of your schedules align!"

Takuma took the bags from you and kicked the door closed. You mouthed a small thank you before driving your focus back onto your conversation over the phone.

"Nope. I'm pretty sure my schedule says shower and laying on my couch."

"I'm not gonna let you rot on your couch on a Friday night!"

"But I wanted to finish watching that one show and-" you tried to plead your case, but...

"Pretty please?" her little whine was all it took for your resolve to crumble.

"Ugh. Fine!"

"Yes! Be there at 8!"

"Hime-" there was a click and the line went dead. "Did this bitch just hung up on me?" You looked to your phone in anger as if it would convey the feeling to the other side of the line.

"So… You got plans?"

You glanced up at Ino's inquiry taking notice of the way he was sprawled on the couch after dropping off your shopping bags in the kitchen. "Feet. Off the couch."

He promptly sat up, dropping his legs to the ground, an embarrassed smile aimed at you.

"Yes, actually. I was forced into an outing to celebrate Iori and Shoko moving together. Which is funny because it's been like two months." You spoke while walking to the kitchen. Soon Ino joined you in putting the groceries away.

"They were probably just waiting for things to slow down."

"I know, but still… feels kinda meaningless."

Ino hummed in agreement as you handed him the things that went in the upper cabinets and he stashed them away.

"We never celebrated our own moving in together." He mused without interrupting the mechanical task.

You waited until he closed the cabinet and turned back to you. He rested his back and hands against the counter regarding you lazily.

"We could." you threw out casually.

"Could what?" his eyes followed as you crowded in on him, spreading his legs so you could fit in between them as you adjusted his beanie with a gesture so familiar it came nearly unconsciously to you.

"Celebrate it, "you went to step away, but Ino took a hold of your waist, keeping you right where you were. "You could come with me and then it would be a double celebration." You nearly swooned at the way Ino looked into your eyes, as if searching for something. "Nanami will probably be there," you babbled nervously.

"Really?"

You visibly deflated at the hopeful tone of his voice. Silly you, catching feelings for a guy who clearly has a crush on someone else.

"He's good friends with Shoko, isn't he?" you shrugged

"I meant, you think me moving here is worth of a celebration?" Ino caught both of your hands in his and gave you one of his puppy dog-eyed looks, which instantly melted any hesitation you might have been feeling.

"Of course I do! I couldn't have wished for a better roommate, Takuma." You admitted quietly.

Takuma laughed freely before dropping your hands and abruptly gathering you into a tight embrace going as far as pulling you off the ground. You laughed along with him as he twirled you around.

Ino put you back on your feet cautiously, like he would handling something precious, never letting go of your waist.

"I'm pretty sure it was fate or something like that that brought us together because you are the best roommate ever and I'm the luckiest guy in the world to have you," you felt your heart pounding in your chest, "as my roommate."

You swallowed hard, briefly patting his chest and weakly pushing him away. "Alright. Go back to... whatever it is you were doing. Hime told me to be there at 8."

It would do you no good to develop a crush on your roommate... you had to get yourself together.

<< prev || next >>

taglist: @lavenderdaydream97 @ilovemyhusbandnanami @iluvmusicxoxo @tunnelvisionlove @sweetwonieee @takuma-talkz @indiewritesxoxo

[andy-15-07]

hey! saw request is open, can you write about pedro pascal having friends with benefits with reader for a while? and maybe with friends to lovers trope? thank youu!

More Than This

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 2014 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The clinking of glasses and the low hum of conversation filled the dimly lit bar. (Y/N) swirled the ice in her drink, her gaze drifting across the room. She'd been coming here for months, ever since she'd met Pedro. Not met, exactly. More like… collided with. Literally. She’d been juggling a precarious stack of books, he’d been rushing to catch a friend, and the resulting crash had left them both sprawled on the floor, surrounded by scattered pages and apologies.

That awkward meet-cute had blossomed into an easy friendship. They’d discovered a shared love for old movies, spicy food, and long, rambling conversations that stretched late into the night. And then, one particularly wine-fueled evening, the conversation had taken a decidedly different turn.

“So,” Pedro had said, his eyes crinkling at the corners, “we’re friends, right?”

(Y/N) had nodded, a little breathless.

“Good friends?”

Another nod.

“Friends who… enjoy each other’s company?”

She’d laughed, a nervous flutter in her stomach. “I think that’s a fair assessment.”

“Okay, good,” he’d continued, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Because I have a proposition.”

And that’s how they’d ended up here, months later, navigating the tricky terrain of a friends-with-benefits arrangement. The rules were simple: no feelings, no expectations, just… fun. Easy, right?

(Y/N) chuckled to herself. Easy was definitely not the word she’d use.

Pedro arrived, sliding into the booth across from her. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, his smile warm. “Traffic was a nightmare.”

“No worries,” (Y/N) replied, her heart doing a little flip-flop at the sight of him. He looked good. Too good. His dark hair was slightly tousled, his eyes crinkled with amusement, and his smile… well, his smile was lethal.

They fell into easy conversation, catching up on their week, sharing jokes and stories. The laughter flowed, the air crackled with an undeniable chemistry. It was moments like these that made (Y/N) question the wisdom of their agreement. How could she not develop feelings for someone so charming, so funny, so… Pedro?

Later, back at (Y/N)’s apartment, the mood shifted. The playful banter faded, replaced by a charged silence. Pedro leaned in, his hand brushing against hers. A shiver ran down her spine.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low and husky, “this is working out pretty well, don’t you think?”

(Y/N) swallowed, her pulse quickening. “It is,” she agreed, her voice barely a whisper.

His gaze locked with hers, and the air between them thrummed with unspoken desires. He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw. (Y/N) closed her eyes, savoring the touch. His lips were close, so close. She could feel his breath on her skin.

“Pedro…” she breathed, her voice laced with longing.

He hesitated, his eyes searching hers. And then, he pulled back slightly, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

“Maybe I should go,” he said, his voice suddenly tight.

(Y/N) frowned, confused. “Go? Why?”

He shrugged, a nervous gesture. “It’s getting late. And… well…”

He trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished. (Y/N) stared at him, her heart sinking. Had she misread the signals? Had she crossed some invisible line?

“Okay,” she said, her voice flat. “Sure. Goodnight.”

Pedro nodded, a strange look on his face. He stood up, and with a brief, almost awkward, wave, he was gone.

(Y/N) was left standing there, alone in the quiet of her apartment, a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her. She was confused, hurt, and more than a little frustrated. What had just happened? And more importantly, what was going to happen next? Their agreement, so simple in theory, suddenly felt incredibly complicated. And (Y/N) had a feeling that things were about to get a whole lot messier.

The following days were a tightrope walk. They saw each other, but the easy flow of their interactions was stilted. The comfortable silences were now filled with unspoken tension. At a shared friend’s barbecue, (Y/N) watched Pedro from across the yard. He was laughing with someone else, but his eyes kept flicking back to her. The intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down her spine. It wasn’t the casual, friendly look she was used to. It was something… more.

Later that evening, as she was leaving, he caught her by the arm. “Hey,” he said, his voice low. “Can we talk?”

They walked a little away from the party, finding a quiet spot under a large oak tree. The air was cool and the stars were beginning to appear.

“About… the other night,” he began, his voice hesitant. “I… I wasn’t trying to blow you off.”

(Y/N) looked at him, searching his eyes. “Then what was it?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s… complicated. I… I felt something. Something real. And it scared me.”

(Y/N) understood. The vulnerability of real feelings was terrifying, especially when they were playing by rules designed to prevent exactly that.

“I get it,” she said softly. “It’s scary.”

He looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and apprehension. “But… I don’t want to keep doing this dance. The… the ‘friends with benefits’ thing. It’s not working for me anymore.”

(Y/N)’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you want, Pedro?”

He stepped closer, the space between them shrinking. “I want… more,” he whispered, his voice husky. “I want to know you, really know you. Beyond… the benefits.”

(Y/N) held her breath. The air between them crackled with unspoken desire. She reached out, her fingers brushing against his cheek. He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes.

“Me too,” she whispered back.

He opened his eyes, his gaze locking with hers. He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, tentative kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of longing, of vulnerability, of the tentative beginnings of something real.

They pulled back slightly, their foreheads touching. “So,” Pedro said, a small smile playing on his lips. “What now?”

(Y/N) smiled back. “Now,” she said, “we figure it out.”

They spent the next few weeks doing just that. They went on real dates, not just late-night hookups. They talked for hours, sharing their dreams, their fears, their vulnerabilities. They discovered new things about each other, deepening their connection in ways they hadn’t expected.

One rainy Saturday, they found themselves at (Y/N)’s apartment, curled up on the couch, watching an old movie. The rain outside was coming down in sheets, creating a cozy atmosphere inside. Pedro reached out, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw. (Y/N) closed her eyes, savoring his touch.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, lingering kiss. It was a kiss that spoke of comfort, of intimacy, of a growing love. The kiss deepened, becoming more passionate, more urgent. His hands moved to her hair, his fingers tangling in the soft strands. Hers found their way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

The world outside faded away, and there was only the two of them, lost in the moment, consumed by their feelings for each other. The kiss broke, leaving them breathless and flushed. They stared at each other, the unspoken words hanging in the air.

“(Y/N),” Pedro whispered, his voice husky, “I…”

He trailed off, unable to articulate the depth of his feelings. (Y/N) smiled, understanding. She didn’t need words. She knew.

She reached out, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I know,” she whispered back.

He leaned in again, his lips meeting hers in another kiss, this one filled with tenderness and longing. It was a kiss that sealed their fate, a promise of a future together.

The rest of the evening unfolded in a blur of whispered conversations, shared laughter, and the quiet intimacy of two souls finding solace in each other’s arms. The physical expression of their intimacy was implied, a natural progression of their emotional connection, a shared understanding that went beyond words. The details remained private, a sacred space shared only between them.

As the first rays of dawn peeked through the curtains, they lay entwined in each other’s arms, their hearts beating in unison. They had found something special, something real, something that transcended the boundaries of their initial agreement. They had found love.

And as they drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other’s embrace, they knew that their story was just beginning. The road ahead might be filled with challenges and uncertainties, but they would face it together, hand in hand, heart to heart. For they were more than just friends. They were lovers, partners, soulmates. And their love story, like the best stories, was just beginning to unfold.

Weeks turned into months, and their relationship deepened with each passing day. They navigated the ups and downs of life together, supporting each other through thick and thin. They celebrated each other's successes and comforted each other during setbacks. They learned each other's quirks, their pet peeves, their secret dreams. They built a life together, a foundation of love, respect, and unwavering support.

One crisp autumn evening, they found themselves back at the bar where it all began. The same dim lighting, the same low hum of conversation, but everything felt different. They were different. They had grown, both individually and as a couple.

"Remember this place?" Pedro asked, his eyes twinkling.

(Y/N) smiled. "How could I forget? The scene of the great book collision of '22."

Pedro chuckled. "And the birthplace of our… unconventional arrangement."

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow playfully. "Unconventional is one word for it."

He reached across the table, taking her hand in his. "It was complicated," he admitted. "But it led me to you."

(Y/N) squeezed his hand, her heart swelling with love. "It was definitely worth the complications."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, simply enjoying each other's company. The easy camaraderie that had defined their early friendship had returned, but it was now infused with a deeper level of intimacy and understanding.

"You know," Pedro said, breaking the silence, "I've been thinking…"

(Y/N) looked at him, her eyes filled with anticipation.

He took a deep breath, his gaze locking with hers. "I've been thinking about the future. About… us."

(Y/N)'s heart pounded in her chest.

"I know we've only been together officially for a few months," he continued, "but it feels like… like I've known you forever. And I can't imagine my life without you."

He paused, his eyes searching hers. "(Y/N), will you… will you marry me?"

(Y/N)'s breath caught in her throat. Tears welled up in her eyes. She had dreamed of this moment, but she never thought it would actually happen.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "Yes, Pedro, I will marry you."

A wide smile spread across Pedro's face. He stood up, pulling her into his arms. He kissed her, a long, passionate kiss that spoke of love, commitment, and a future filled with happiness.

The bar erupted in applause, and they pulled apart, laughing and blushing. They were surrounded by well-wishers, offering their congratulations. But in that moment, they only had eyes for each other.

They had come a long way from their awkward meet-cute and their complicated "friends with benefits" arrangement. They had found love in the most unexpected of places, and they had built a relationship that was strong, resilient, and filled with joy.

As they left the bar that night, hand in hand, they knew that their story was far from over. It was just the beginning of a new chapter, a chapter filled with love, laughter, and a lifetime of happiness together. They had found their happily ever after, not in spite of their unconventional beginnings, but because of them. Their love story was a testament to the power of connection, the importance of vulnerability, and the enduring magic of finding your soulmate in the most unexpected of places. And as they walked off into the night, they knew that their love story, like the best stories, would continue to unfold, page by page, year after year, a testament to the enduring power of love.

[solxamber]

Heartbyul, "for you anything" , comfort pls 🥹🙏🏽 could you please make the character say it? Have a nice day 💜💜💜

i didn't know if you wanted hurt/comfort so I made just fluffy

Light of My Life || Trey Clover

For the Holiday Event! || Prompt: "For you, anything." ; Genre: Fluff

The door to Trey’s room creaked open, and the two of you stumbled inside like a pair of zombies. Both of you were utterly drained from the day.

"Never… again," Trey muttered, dragging himself to the couch and flopping down like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

You groaned in agreement, tossing your bag onto the floor and collapsing next to him. "I swear, the freshmen are plotting our downfall. Why is it always us?"

"Because no one else has the patience to deal with them," Trey replied, running a hand through his hair. "Do you know how hard it is to stop Ace and Deuce from throwing cake at each other while Cater’s livestreaming? And Riddle’s just in the corner writing his execution list? I had to confiscate a fork as a weapon today."

You snorted. "I spent half the day as NRC’s official delivery mule. ‘Hey, can you bring this to the library?’ ‘Oh, while you’re at it, can you swing by Sam’s shop?’ ‘Hey, Prefect, got a sec?’ Spoiler alert: I didn’t have a sec."

Trey sighed, his head lolling back against the couch. "Rough day."

"Yeah," you agreed, leaning your head against his shoulder. "Can we just… sit here forever?"

There was a pause, and then Trey shifted slightly.

"I’ll make dinner," he said, starting to rise.

You grabbed his arm, pulling him back down. "Trey, no. You’ve been refereeing a food fight all day. Sit down."

He smiled softly, shaking his head. "No way. You deserve it."

"But you’re just as tired as I am!" you protested.

He placed a hand on your cheek, his eyes warm and unwavering. "For you, anything. You’re the light of my life, you know that?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a wave of guilt wash over you. "Trey…"

"Don’t worry about me," he said, his smile widening as he stood up and headed to the kitchen. "Just sit tight. I’ve got this."

You watched him go, feeling simultaneously touched and terrible. It wasn’t long before the delicious scent of your favorite dish began to waft through the air, and you couldn’t help but smile.

When he returned with two plates, you reached out and gently tugged on his sleeve. "Hey. Thank you."

Trey sat down beside you, handing you a plate and pressing a quick kiss to your temple. "Always."

As you ate together, the exhaustion of the day began to fade away, replaced by the quiet comfort of each other’s company. Trey might have been tired, but he looked content—his shoulders relaxed, his smile easy.

And as you leaned into him, your plate balanced precariously on your lap, you couldn’t help but think: maybe the chaos was worth it, so long as you had Trey by your side.

Masterlist

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Smutty Shorts- Thanksgiving Edition

Ransom Drysdale x Kitten (Precarious Agreements Series)

18+ Only Blog.

“I should fucking make you scream my name, Kitten.” Ransom had his palm covering your mouth while your head leaned back against his shoulder, anything you were saying was muffled. 

That didn’t stop you from crying out his name against his large palm covering the lower half of your face as you push your hips back against his cock, fucking yourself on him just around the corner from the Thromby’s dining room. 

Which was currently occupied with his loud bickering family. Ransom just had to drag you away and instead of taking you to one of the many rooms, he had you pinned to the wall separating you two from the others. 

Your eyes rolled back when his cock pounded into that sweet spot, your hand slapping loudly against the wall. “Shit Kitten!” He whispered harshly, Ransom bit against your neck in retaliation when he heard one of his family members ask what that was. He stilled, gathering you in against his chest. “Quiet.” 

You tried your best, but your pussy was still throbbing around his cock and it left him moaning harshly against your ear, snapping his hips once more and making you thump against the wall. It really was just a matter of time before someone would find you two fucking. 

And at this moment, you really couldn't give a shit.

[littlelamy]

The air feels heavy with comfort, the world outside irrelevant. A thunderstorm crackles in the distance, its soft rumble a perfect soundtrack to the lazy day stretching before you like a silk sheet. The only things you care about right now? Rafe, the couch, and the towering stack of rom-coms queued up on the screen. The rest can wait.

The plush couch practically swallows you both, oversized cushions giving way to tangled limbs and slow sighs. Rafe is sprawled in that effortlessly confident way only he can pull off, one arm slung lazily across the back of the couch, the other draped over your shoulders, his fingers absently stroking little circles into your skin. It's maddeningly gentle, just enough to send goosebumps rippling across your arm and down your spine, but not enough to be outright distracting. His touch lingers, as though he’s savoring the feel of you curled into him like this.

The movie plays on the TV, some classic rom-com that never fails to make you laugh—though you’ve barely been paying attention to the dialogue. Popcorn sits untouched on the coffee table, along with a half-empty box of assorted chocolates. You’d started the day determined to pace yourself with the snacks, but Rafe had been the first to break that unspoken agreement, popping a caramel-filled chocolate into his mouth with an exaggerated, sinful groan that made your cheeks flush and earned him a playful swat to the chest. The bastard had only grinned in response, his blue eyes twinkling like he’d already won some private game.

Your legs are tangled beneath the fuzzy throw blanket, and you can feel the heat radiating off him even through the fabric. His scent—woodsy cologne and just a hint of the peppermint gum he’s been chewing—fills your nostrils every time you shift a little closer, your nose brushing against the cotton of his well-worn T-shirt. It’s stretched snug across his chest, a sliver of skin peeking out where the fabric rides up just above his waistband. Your fingers twitch with the urge to touch, to skim your nails lightly down that strip of exposed skin and feel him shiver beneath you.

“Not paying attention, huh?” His voice is low, teasing, as he glances down at you, catching the way your eyes lingered for just a beat too long. He doesn’t bother hiding the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, his thumb now tracing slow, deliberate strokes along your collarbone. You’re painfully aware of how the strap of your tank top has slipped down, leaving the thin fabric precariously close to revealing the curve of your breast. And judging by the way his eyes flick down for just a split second, he’s noticed too.

You play it off with a roll of your eyes, nuzzling deeper into his side. “Shut up and watch the movie,” you mumble, though there’s no heat in your tone. Your fingers toy idly with the hem of his shirt, brushing against the warm, firm plane of his stomach. His abs tighten under your touch, just for a second, and you can’t help the tiny, triumphant smile that plays on your lips.

Twenty minutes later, you’re both a lost cause. The movie’s still playing, but the dialogue’s just background noise now, a soft murmur under the sound of your combined breaths. At some point, Rafe had shifted, pulling you into his lap so you’re straddling him, the blanket forgotten on the floor. His hands rest on your hips, fingers slipping just under the waistband of your leggings, his thumbs making lazy circles on your bare skin. You’re keenly aware of the way his touch is just shy of too low, the teasing pressure sending little sparks shooting up your spine.

Your hands are on his chest, fingers splayed over the firm muscles there, your thumbs grazing the peaks of his collarbones. He’s watching you like he doesn’t care if the rest of the world burns to ash, his eyes dark and soft all at once. The tip of his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, and it’s all you can do not to lean in and bite that same lip, just to hear the growl you know he’d let out.

“Chocolate or me?” he murmurs, one brow quirking up in that infuriatingly cocky way that always drives you crazy. His hands squeeze your hips gently, and you swear you feel his thumbs dip just a fraction lower. “Be honest.”

You let out a breathy laugh, leaning down until your faces are just inches apart. Your hair falls forward, brushing against his cheeks. “Is that even a question?” you whisper, your lips grazing his with the barest hint of a touch, enough to make him tense beneath you.

And then his hands move—one sliding up your spine, his fingers splaying wide across your back, the other cupping your ass through the soft fabric of your leggings. He pulls you closer, grinding you against him just enough to send a delicious ache pooling low in your belly. His lips capture yours, firm and unrelenting, and you swear you taste the lingering sweetness of chocolate on his tongue. Your hands move of their own accord, sliding up into his hair, tugging lightly until he groans against your mouth.

The bowl of popcorn teeters precariously on the edge of the coffee table before finally tumbling to the floor, forgotten entirely. The storm outside grows louder, the patter of rain against the windows mixing with the muffled moans that escape you as his lips trail down your neck, his teeth scraping lightly against the sensitive skin there. Your tank top shifts further, the thin fabric barely covering you now, and when his lips brush over the curve of your shoulder, you can’t help the way your back arches into him, inviting more.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know you should care about the mess you’re making, the popcorn scattered on the floor, the chocolates now smudged into the couch cushions. But with the way his hands are roaming over your body, his lips teasing and tasting every inch of exposed skin, you can’t bring yourself to give a damn. The storm rages on outside, but here, in this little cocoon of warmth and tangled limbs, nothing else matters.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

O Chilly Night

Warnings: no warnings because I let this be a sweet one. however I could see this Steve getting dark after this story hehe.

Summary: You go skating and fall in a way you don't expect. (plus!reader)

Character: skinny!Steve Rogers

Day Twenty-Two of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - i didn't fall on the ice, it was a trick 

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The blades glide beneath your feet as your legs move without thinking. The noise of sharp edges slice across the ice as bodies float in pairs and trios, swirling and swerving in laps around the grand oval rink. Electric lights sparkle all around, intertwined with holly and berries in a festive scene. Cheery laughter and cutting whoops fill the crisp air around the clouds of warm breaths. 

Patricia and Joyce skate behind you, slower as they aren’t so confident in their balance. You keep a relaxed pace and spin to face them, moving backwards as they cling to each other. Joyce chatters and touches her cheek. 

“It’s awfully cold out,” she complains. 

“We’ve been inside all month,” you counter. “I’d rather this than to sit at the typewriter a moment longer.” 

“Mm, I’d rather the warm office,” she grips and Patricia nods in agreement. 

You chuckle, “well, Merry Christmas to you.” 

“I’d like it a lot more if it was in June,” Joyce leans into Patricia. 

“We can get some cocoa after, there’s a stall nearby,” you say. “I told you to bring a scarf.” 

“Thank you, mother,” Joyce sneers. 

“Would you like mine?” You ignore her venomous retort. 

“No, I want to stop. I’m dizzy. This is boring,” she whines. 

“Well, there are benches,” you shrug, “you could take a rest.” 

“Fine, but I’m not waiting on you all night,” she sniffles and cups her nose. 

“I’ll come with you. These skates are too small.” 

You smile through the tug in your cheeks. You thought your new coworkers would enjoy the night out. The rink seemed to be a nice seasonal attraction. Market stalls, skating, and even a horse-drawn sleigh. You might try that next. They seem more comfortable sitting down. 

The head for the closest exit and you turn to skim away, keeping a mellow pace. A raucous thunder of laughter and jeers rise from the other end of the rink and you peek over to see the reason. A group of six men pass by a body on the cold surface. The ice seems to steam around the small figure splayed there. 

No one stops. No one even seems to care and more laugh at the poor soul’s plight than worry for it. You sweep down the center of the ice, swooping between other skaters, and stop to bend over the man in his wool coat. His cap is off his head, pillowing it over the ice, and his scarf is twisted down his front. You didn’t expect a man, not at his size. He's rather spindly and the fall might’ve broken something. 

“Sir,” you eke out, “are you alright?” 

He groans and opens his eyes. They are big and blue around his beakish nose. His gives a pained grimace. “I must be. I thought if I kept my eyes closed I might melt into the ice.” 

“Did you hit your head?” You wonder. “Can you get up?” 

He stares at you, his irises gleaming in confusion as he searches your face. He looks around then nods. “Yeah... I’m good,” he assures you. “Thanks for asking.” 

“Here,” you offer your mittened hand. “You shouldn’t stay down there or you might stick.” 

His forehead creases and his mouth upturns. He snorts, “that’s silly.” 

He looks at your hand and reaches for it hesitantly. You grasp him and do your best to plant your skates. He’s not very heavy. You get him on his blades but he wobbles precariously. 

“Sorry, I’m no good at this.” He clings to you as his feet slip. “My friend wanted to come but...” he glances around. “He’s late.” 

He’s not very tall, even on the skates. And somehow standing, he doesn’t look much bigger than he did on the ice. The hollow of his throat is deep and his jacket is at least two sizes too big. His cheeks and nose are red from the cold. 

He finally lets you go and puts his hand out to balance himself. You bend and scoop up his hat. You hand it over as your cheeks bulb in a smile. 

“You sure you didn’t hurt anything?” 

He stares at the hat before he takes it and covers his messy blond hair. “Just my ego.” 

“We all fall when we learn. That's how you learn, what matters is you get back up,” you say. 

“Yeah? Well, it helps if we have someone to help us up,” he snorts. 

“I guess,” you shrug. “It’s just what you do.” 

“Really? Cause everyone else just laughed at me.” 

“That’s more their problem than yours, I’d say,” you tut. 

“Well, thanks. I appreciate it.” 

“Not at all. Merry Christmas, sir.” 

“Yeah, uh, you too,” he looks down sheepishly. “Can I ask how you got so good at this?” 

“Not by honest means. I used to sneak out when my mother wasn’t looking,” you snicker. “Kept a better eye on me after I fell under the ice.” 

He laughs, “hm, guess I’ll have to keep practicing.” 

“Um, I hope your friend shows up soon. Mine are waiting,” you point over your shoulder. “But, uh, do you want some help to the edge? You can lean on the posts.” 

“I think you’ve done enough,” he chews his cheek. “Think I see my buddy.” 

He raises his hand and you turn to look. You can’t see much over the bodies all around you. You’re not sure how he can see more than you. Oh well. 

“Well, have fun and... be careful,” you slowly turn and drift away. You should go find Patricia and Joyce. 

You step off the ice and sidle to the side. You look up and down the benches but don’t see them. There’s families, dads on one knee tying their kids’ skates, mothers checking their coat buttons, and adolescents impatient to go out and find their friends. 

You go around the perimeter, walking on your blades, but don’t find your fellow typists. You stop to change into your shoes, knotting the laces of your skates to hang over your shoulder. You hook your bag strap over them and get up to search the picnic tables. 

Your feet hurt as you come up fruitless in your hunt. You finally give into the disappointment and sit on your own. You stare at the stall as you mull over whether to get a cider or cocoa to soothe the wound. They left you. So much for friends. 

You untangle your skates and set them on the bench next to you. You rub your mitts together and contemplate whether it’s even worth it to spend the nickel. You shield your hurt behind a smile that aches in your cheeks. You miss home. You don’t know why you moved to the city. Like that man said, people just laugh at your pain. 

“Excuse me, miss,” his voice startles you as the thought of him seems to summon his appearance, “I didn’t get your name.” 

You look up at the thin man, his nose even redder than before. He holds two steaming mugs. You blink and utter your name. “What’s your name?” You ask. 

“Steve,” he grins. 

You look at the cups, “you found your friend?” 

“Sure did, he’s racing on the ice,” he says. “I don’t wanna break my tailbone so I thought I’d step off. Er...” he looks down at his hands, “can I sit with you?” 

“Oh,” you look around at the full tables. “I guess. I’m taking up a lot of room, aren’t I?” 

He sets the mugs down and sits. He sniffs and scratches his nose as he beams at you. He’s speechless as you try to figure out what to say. 

“Um, I got you cocoa,” he slides a cup across. “To say thanks.” 

“You...did?” Your brows rise in surprise. “That’s so sweet, you didn’t have to do that.” 

“I don’t mind,” he assures you. “So, where are your friends?” 

Your lips straighten. You can’t lie, you’ve never been any good at it. You reach for the mug, your mitten brushing his, and you pull it closer. 

“They left.” 

He hums, “really? Why would they do that?” 

You shrug, “too cold, maybe.” 

“Nah, I'd say they’re too cold,” he scoffs. 

You laugh softly, “you’re too nice. It’s my fault. I asked them and wouldn’t take no for an answer. I just thought...” you trail off. “Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.” 

“Sure it does,” he leans his elbows on the table as he cups his hands around the mug. “If they don’t think so, then toss them. They’re missing out.” 

You look up at him and blink away the heat in your eyes. Perhaps he isn’t the friend you expected, but you think you made one nonetheless. You smile and blow over the mug. 

“Thank you, Steve,” you lift the cup, “for everything.” 

“It’s nothing,” he pushes his shoulders up as he stares at you with his bright eyes. “It’s just a cup of cocoa. You’re the sorta girl who deserves anything she could dream of.” 

[cherryredcheol]

"dumpling"

tldr: all the ways jun uses your nickname a/n: i love him so bad. i've been waiting to post this forever.

slobbers: around a mouthful of food

“dumpling,” he sprays it, more than says it, but you look at him nonetheless. your chopsticks paused midair, a clump of noodles hanging precariously over the rug; the rug you’d picked out together for your new living room. he liked this rug, but the one in your new bedroom was his favorite. 

“this is going to be fun. living with you, i mean. it’ll be a good time.” he stumbled over his words, overwhelmed with feeling but unable to express it. you seemed to get the point, smiling wide as you opened your mouth to slurp your noodles. he meant it too, this first night in your shared place together was just the start of, what he hoped would be, an amazing adventure. 

‘i love you, dumpling.” he smiled at you, confident you felt the same even if you hadn’t nodded in agreement enthusiastically at his words, cheeks still too full of lo mein to give a proper response to his soft words. as he watched you swallow your dinner, he leaned closer, bringing a gentle hand to your cheek, “you’ve got sauce on your face.”

taunts: when he’s winning a game

“dumpling” your head whips around, hearing his sing-songy voice from the darkness ahead. or was it behind? you can’t tell. this wing of the hybe building was dark at this time of night and it had been his wonderful idea to play hide and seek…in the dark. and now he was hiding somewhere in a building you aren’t that familiar with, tormenting you from the safety of said darkness. 

“i see you…” you whipped around again, aiming your phone flashlight at the dark corner of the conference room. were those footsteps you heard? how is he so quiet? maybe you should put a collar with a little bell on him, one to match your cat at home. lost in thought, you almost miss the movement against the wall. turning quickly, you brandish your flashlight. 

“ah! my eyes!” his hand goes up, protecting his pupils from the bright light in an entirely dark room. you hold the flashlight in place, pleased to see him struggle after he tormented you with this little chase around the dark halls of hybe. plus, you were scared if it was dark again, he’d slink off somewhere else and the game would start all over. he waved the hand not covering his eyes at you,  “put that thing down, and let's go home. i’ll give you your prize for winning…”

cackles: at your expense

“dumpling!” he barked out in a laugh. you grabbed quickly for a napkin to dab the steaming broth off your cheeks. you two were out on a hotpot date and you had slurped your noodles a little too hard causing hot, spicy soup to splash across your face. you were not hurt, just embarrassed, especially as he continued to laugh at your fumble. it even splattered onto your cute top.

“are you okay?” he giggled even as he asked this, passing you another napkin to get the sprinkle off your forehead. you took the napkin, but not without pouting at him, hoping to garner some sympathy. He laughed harder, making your pout into a full-blown frown, something he never wanted to see, especially if he caused it. 

“i’m sorry, dumpling. are you alright?” he reached for your hand across the table, offering some comfort to you, easing the embarrassment you felt. feeling your hand wrapped up in his did make you feel better. and the broth wasn’t that hot. maybe the pouting wasn’t necessary. his caring demeanor broke as he let out another giggle, “you’re just so cute, dumpling!”

calls out: while dead asleep 

“dumpling~” you’re only half awake when you hear it. his back was pressed to yours and you had assumed he was asleep. he’d had a long day and had basically passed out as soon as you two had gone to bed. you’d stayed up and played on your phone for a little while before settling down yourself. 

“dumpling~” you heard it again, clearer this time and more whiny. this time you rolled over, your front now pressed to his back. you debated waking him up, knowing he had to be up early for his schedule, but when he called out a third time, your debate ended. shaking him lightly you woke him up. 

“what’s going on? are you okay?” he was confused as to why you had woken him up, assuming something must be wrong. he was still half-asleep so he only half understood when you explained to him he’s been calling out to you in his sleep. you were just about to ask if he was having a bad dream when you were cut off by his stomach rumbling, “i think i’m just hungry, dumpling.”

whoops: when he’s proud of you

“dumpling!” he shot up from the couch as soon as he saw ‘winner’ flash across your half of the screen. you’d been in an intense mario kart tournament with wonwoo and you had just won the final race, winning the whole thing in a completely unexpected upset. the rest of the boys stared at the screen, a little shocked at the result.

“i knew you could do it!” he folded you into a bone-crushing hug, celebrating like you’d just won gold at the olympics instead of some silly video game. but he was proud of you and wanted you to know it. he pulled back to look at your face, a smile stretching across his entire face. he pulled you back into his arms, relishing in your victory. 

“i’m so proud of you,” he whispered in your ear, causing your cheeks to heat up, bashful about his confession in the room full of people, despite that it was said for only you to hear. he pulled you out of the hug for real this time, and planted a soft kiss on your cheek, deepening your blush. “wonwoo, since you lost, you have to fund our next date.” 

[missstratford]

hi! how are you?:) i wanted to request some draco fluff wherein he and reader are in a secret relationship during 6th year, but draco sees either ron/harry confess to her and she didn't turn them down completely as she panicked and couldn't think of a reason, besides telling them that she's taken. it turns into a kind of a big fight but they eventually make up + their relationship is revealed at the end. rest of the details are up to you^^

hopefully you enjoy the holiday season~

A/N: Hi anon! this was such a sweet request I couldn't help but write this one. Hope you like this. Happy Holidays!💞

The pale afternoon sun bathed the stone steps in a soft glow, making you squint as you climbed toward the Owlery, its fleeting warmth offering little relief from the sharp winter air.

Mellow hoots from a few anxious owls welcomed you in as you caught sight of the tall figure standing farther inside.

“Celeste, OOF, you’ve nipped me quite enough lady.” You heard him murmur softly, his hands briefly grappling with the brown owl as he secured the letter.

“Thought I’d find you here.” You smiled, walking closer to Draco. His fingers absently wove into yours as he set the impatient owl free.

He turned to gaze into your eyes, an adoring smile gracing his lips. “Sent a letter to Mum, haven’t spoken to her in a while.” He said bringing his lips closer to yours.

“I haven’t seen you all day,” you murmured against his lips. He made a soft sound in the back of his throat in agreement, his lips pressing gently against yours in a slow, deliberate kiss, as though savouring the sweetness of the moment.

You pulled away with diffidence, “Someone could walk in-“, your utterance drowned in the urgency of his kiss with renewed vigour.

His fingers cradled your face tenderly like it were porcelain. You held on to him desperately as though the two of you were torn apart lovers meeting after years. You parted while he kissed your temple, the two of you making your way out.

You walked beside him, dropping your hands from his hold, a protest made way to his mouth, “We could get caught.” You interrupted.

“I wouldn’t mind.” The suddenly blow of wind carried his lingering words.

There it was, the topic much debated between you and Draco. You couldn’t bear the scrutiny that would accompany the announcement of your relationship. He was a cauldron filled to the brim with love for you, his resolve dripping away from the rim day after day.

You moved apart to keep a respectful distance making it look like you were nothing more than mere acquaintances catching up.

“The Yule Ball is barely two weeks away.” You spoke up, a feeble attempt to drop the point of contention.

“Yes, and I’m not going.” He said.

You paused, looking at him in surprise. "What do you mean, you're not going?"

Draco's gaze softened, his eyes lingering on you before he spoke. "I can't, not without you by my side." His voice was quiet, but there was a weight to it, the words steeped in frustration and reluctance. "Except I’d rather not give anyone a reason to gossip."

Your heart ached at the hint of vulnerability in his tone. You both knew the reality of your situation, how precarious your secret relationship was. The truth was, you loved Draco to a point where you feared your relationship would lose the delicately guarded intimacy, the doting tenderness, and the quiet respect you had for one another the moment it was exposed. There was a part of you that feared the world would tarnish what you had, reduce it to something shallow and public—something to be dissected by prying eyes. Draco knew it too. The weight of unspoken understanding hung between you, the fear that once the truth came to light, everything precious and fragile about the bond you shared would be lost in the chaos.

"But it’s the Yule Ball, Draco," you pressed, gently taking a step closer, "it’s the one time everyone can let go, even if it’s just for a night."

He bit his lip, the conflicting emotions swirling on his face. "I understand... I just wish—"

"That we could be open?" you finished for him, your expression softening. "Me too. But not yet, not like this."

The wind picked up again, sending a chill through the air, and you shivered, though you weren’t sure if it was from the cold or the heaviness of the conversation.

Draco’s hand found yours once more, his fingers warm against yours. "Let’s just get through this year," he murmured, "then we’ll figure it out."

☆*»»»«««*☆

The mindless prate of Professor Binns still rang in the back of your mind as you ambled away to the Great Hall in desperate need of food.

Your steps faltered as Harry Potter unexpectedly halted you, his presence a sudden interruption in your path.

“Hey” he smiled, eyes catching yours. “Hey” you murmured in reply, hunger and confusion addling your brain. What could he possibly want? You’d barely exchanged a handful of words in class, and never enough for him to stop you in the hallway for a conversation.

“So, um... you’ve heard about the Yule Ball this year?” he asked, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. He shifted awkwardly on his feet, his eyes flickering to the floor before meeting yours again. “I mean, I’ve been thinking... maybe, um, we could go together? To the Yule Ball, I mean.” He cleared his throat, his face flushing a deep red. “Not that I expect you to say yes, or anything. I just thought... well, it might be nice, y’know?”

There was a long pause, his hand rubbing his neck as though he were searching for the right words. “I’ve liked you for a while now... and I thought I’d, well... ask.” He let out an awkward laugh, his smile a bit uncertain but genuine.

Your brain seemed to freeze, panic setting in. You scoured for excuses, I have a boyfriend .No. I have a boyfriend whom I adore and will eventually marry. No.

Leave me alone or I shall hex you to death? Absolutely not.

Your instead choose to say, “Harry, I... I really don’t know what to say. I’m flattered, this is really nice, but I—well, I can’t really think straight right now. I’m just... I’m not sure it’s the right time, you know?”

You watch Harry nod politely, “Right... I get it. Just know that I meant what I said. Whenever you're ready, or if you ever are... I’ll be here." With a gentle smile he turns and leaves.

You turned around, instinctively searching for the familiar face of your friend, instead, your gaze met Draco's. A sense of calm washes over you, the quiet reassurance of his presence grounding you. Knowing that he wasn’t far away made everything feel just a little bit easier.

You raised your brows as if to say that was close. In response,Draco clenched his jaw and walked away in the opposite direction.

☆*»»»«««*☆

The Astronomy tower seemed desolate that night with your sole presence treading back and forth in anticipation of Draco.

You convinced yourself to wait another few minutes before retiring to bed when you heard subdued stomps making its way up the stairs.

The dark silhouette revealed itself to be Draco as he stepped into the moonlight.

“Well you’re early.” You said unable to keep the frustration from seeping in your voice.

“I assumed you were waiting for your date," Draco drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Wouldn't want to interrupt, of course."

His attitude took you aback and you blinked, momentarily thrown off. "What?" you asked.

“You’re little date with Potter. Is he turning up soon?” He titled his head, rudeness gripping his tone.

“Have you lost your mind, Draco? I’m here to meet you, my boyfriend, unless you think you’re not?” you bit back, confusion evident in your tone.

“You tell me.” He said quietly. You felt a pang in your heart.

“I heard him ask you to the Ball earlier today,” Draco said, his tone sharp, as he moved closer, eyes narrowing. “You didn’t say no. Funny how your answer seemed to change when it came to me.”

“I panicked!” you said, voice rising. “I didn’t know what else to say except that-“

“That you are with me," he finished, his voice tight with frustration. "Is it really so difficult for you to love me openly, that you’d happily entertain Potter’s advances?" He gritted his teeth.

“I didn’t happily entertain anything.” You shouted. “And I am not afraid. It’s just that…that I-“you trailed off not knowing what to say.

“Know this,” Draco said, his voice soft but fierce, "I trust my love for you enough to stand in front of all of the world and scream it at the top of my lungs, without fear of losing you."

“Do you trust your love for me? That’s what you need to answer.” With that Draco left you standing with a bleeding heart.

☆*»»»«««*☆

You found him the next morning. Having creeped into his dorm, into his sheets. Before the sun could greet Hogwarts, you greeted your love.

“I’m sorry” you mumbled into his back as your hands hugged him from behind. “Come here” he whispered, voice thick with sleep. Turning around he engulfed you and peppered kisses to the top of your head.

Both of you lay there in lazy embrace finding solace in each other’s arms.

“I’m sorry too.” Draco spoke after a while. “I understand your fear. But I want you in my life forever, love. I don’t want this to stay just an amour.” You heard his muffled voice as he buried his face into your neck.

"Draco Malfoy, did you actually propose to me, then?" you asked, humour lacing your tone.

Draco huffed out a laugh, “Next time, in a few years. I’ll do it properly.” He grinned. You kissed him lovingly affirming his thoughts.

You walked in the Great Hall with a light spring in your step. You carefully navigated around a group of excitable fourth years, making your way toward the Gryffindor table.

Harry caught sight of you and quickly stood up, a hopeful gleam in his eyes. “Good morning. Have you made up your mind then?” he asked, excitement stirring his patience.

“Harry, I’m really sorry. You see I should’ve mentioned that I’m going with my boyfriend.” You gestured subtly toward Draco, who sat at his table, oblivious. “I hope you understand.” With an apologetic smile you turned and left a fumbling Harry behind you.

“Good morning again,” you grinned as you slid into the seat next to Draco at the Slytherin table. Draco glanced at you, his usual cool expression softening with the tiniest hint of a smile. “What—” he began, but you cut him off, “I love you,” you said, your voice steady, before planting a soft kiss on his lips.

He chuckled softly, his hand finding yours under the table. “About time you said it out loud,” he murmured, his tone warm and affectionate. “I’ve been waiting for that.”

As you both settled into the moment, the weight of the world—Hogwarts, expectations, and even the gossip—felt like nothing compared to the joy in his eyes. You were both free now, no longer afraid to let the world see what you shared.

[pretzel-box]

Sebastian trolling on intercoms, he has this one line where he says he’s stuffing urbanshade’s operatives in the drawers. My req is walking in on Seb stuffing them in the drawers and going, “dude wtff” and then proceeds to help out just because. Then it’s his turn to go “dude. wtf”

u can ignore this if u like, take care, toodles :3

Tags: Mention of dead bodies, gn!reader, can be read as established relationship, bonding over weird activities

Words: 1k

Being constantly on your own meant learning the art of multitasking, managing both the mundane and the ridiculous without complaint or backup. That's one of the first things Sebastian had perfected. No matter how brutal the mission or how complicated the intel, it always came down to doing the dirty work solo. He had a particular distaste for asking for help, especially from the expendables sent by Urbanshade. Not that they could be much help anyway—Sebastian had long suspected that most of them lacked the basic smarts to handle even the simplest tasks.

He once likened them to dogs: you throw them a bone, and instead of catching it, they'd get hit in the face. That mental image gave him an odd sort of satisfaction as he worked.

But today was testing even his limits.

He was crouched over a body, struggling to cram a fully massacred Urbanshade operative into a drawer not designed to hold anything larger than some spare parts and tools. The operative was limp and heavy, their arms and legs flopping uselessly as Sebastian tried, for the third time, to fold them in enough to close the drawer.

He let out an exasperated sigh, rolling his eyes as he shoved a leg into place. “Another day, another operative stuffed in the drawers,” he muttered sarcastically to himself. “I swear, Urbanshade should just invest in bigger cabinets if they want to keep sending these guys.”

He gave the drawer another forceful push, but it stubbornly resisted.

Suddenly, a voice echoed down the corridor. “Sebastian, what the actual—” You appeared in the doorway, your expression a mix of shock and disbelief as you took in the bizarre scene. “What the hell are you doing?”

Sebastian didn’t even look up, his voice steady and dry. “They ran out of closets. And I ran out of patience.” He gave the drawer a final shove, managing to stuff half the operative’s body inside, though one arm still dangled precariously from the side. “You’d think Urbanshade would plan for this, but here we are.”

For a moment, you just stood there, trying to process the absurdity of what you were witnessing. The operative, the drawer, Sebastian’s complete lack of concern—it was all too ridiculous.

“Well…” you sighed after a moment, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I guess I’ll help.”

Sebastian finally looked up, one eyebrow raised in mild surprise. “You’re seriously going to help me?”

“Clearly, you need it,” you replied, stepping forward and rolling up your sleeves. “There’s no way this guy’s fitting without some… creativity.”

Without another word, the two of you got to work. The silence between you was punctuated only by the occasional grunt as you both maneuvered the operative’s limbs into the most unnatural positions possible, trying to make him fit into the narrow space. You had to bend the legs awkwardly, twist the arms into near-impossible angles—it felt like playing a weird game of human Tetris, but the stakes were somehow more absurd.

At one point, the operative’s foot got stuck between the drawer and the frame, and you had to push down hard on his leg while Sebastian yanked at the drawer to create enough space.

“This is not what I signed up for,” you muttered under your breath, gritting your teeth as you pushed with all your strength.

Sebastian grunted in agreement, though there was a faint smirk on his lips. “Welcome to my world.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of bending, twisting, and shoving, the drawer slide shut with a satisfying click. Both of you stood back, breathing heavily from the effort, staring at the now-closed drawer that held the awkwardly folded operative.

You wiped the sweat from your forehead and turned to Sebastian, crossing your arms with a smirk. “Dude, what the actual hell.”

Sebastian chuckled, leaning against the drawer with his arms crossed, the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes. “I could say the same to you. You just helped me shove a guy into a drawer.”

“Hey, I wasn’t going to leave you struggling,” you shot back with a shrug. “Besides, if we’re going to survive in this hellhole, we’ve gotta get a little creative, right?”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening slightly. “Fair enough. But I didn’t expect you to jump in so willingly.”

You couldn’t help but grin as you leaned against the wall, crossing your arms. “Well, if I’m being honest, I wasn’t going to pass up on something this ridiculous. I mean, it’s not every day you get to help someone stuff an Urbanshade goon into a drawer.”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he glanced at the now-closed drawer. “I knew I liked you for a reason.”

The two of you stood in companionable silence for a moment, the absurdity of the situation sinking in. It wasn’t the first bizarre thing you’d encountered down here, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but at least you had someone to share the insanity with.

“Well,” you said eventually, pushing off the wall, “since we’ve finished this little project, what’s next? Filing cabinets? Maybe the supply closet?”

Sebastian snorted, straightening up as he stretched his arms. “I think we’ll save that for tomorrow’s entertainment. But hey, if you’re free, I might call you in for backup.”

You rolled your eyes, but the grin on your face remained. “Sure, because I definitely have nothing better to do than help you play hide-the-body with Urbanshade’s finest.”

He shrugged, smirking as he headed toward the door. “It’s either that or sit around waiting for the next crystal hunt. Your choice.”

You followed him out, the tension easing with every step. In a place like this, where the line between sanity and chaos blurred more with each passing day, it was a relief to know that, at the very least, you weren’t facing the madness alone.

“Who knew stuffing people in drawers would be a bonding experience,” you quipped, shooting him a playful look as you walked down the corridor.

Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head. “You’d be surprised what counts as bonding in this place.”

And with that, the two of you disappeared into the shadows of the facility, ready to fill some more furniture with unnatural stuff.

[gingerteawrites]

BY THE HEARTH: RUSH

A/N: Guess who is back in school... I am SO sorry for the delay, between the holidays and moving back to campus for the new semester, your girl has not been able to catch a break. As such, today's installment is extra short. But you guys have been waiting so long, and I wanted to give you a little something, so please enjoy. I hope to update within this upcoming week. Thank you as always for your patience and continued support of BTH! Kisses.

Read previous part here

Content: Royalty!AU, Nanami x female reader, king Nanami, Princess Y/N, Widower Nanami, Toddler Yuuji, hurt, angst. Not beta read

Banner by: @cafekitsune

ACT XI

“I do not know where to draw that line anymore,” his deep voice held raw honesty. “I seem to have lost control entirely.” His thumbs caressed the back of your hand and your heart threatened to jump out of your chest. “How about you draw it this time. Please tell me where to stand.”

The words the king had uttered were such a simple request.

You knew what you should say. Your mind had already formulated the most appropriate response. Keep it cordial, know your place. A puppet queen, a mock mother.

As much as the words made you wince, they were true. That was the place you had been learning to find, the entire reason for your presence in this palace. This would be what the king had wanted from the beginning right? Someone to do just what needed to be done.

But no matter how much you understood this, your heart protested the outcome. From the depths of your being, you knew that doing the 'proper' thing would only leave you miserable. Despite yourself, you had started to want more. Yearn for more. More of the responsibility, more of this kingdom, more of him. Playing pretend just would not do anymore.

So you lifted your joint hands to your lips, kissing the king’s knuckles. More brazen than you had ever imagined you could be with him.

“I want no line,” you spoke against his skin, and watched his eyes widen. Was it too much to ask? Your mind raced. Had you broken what little was left of this precarious partnership?

Shocked was understatement. Nanami was utterly stunned. He thought his ears betrayed him, lips slightly parted in surprise.

“Y/N,” he whispered after a few beats of silence, voice hoarse, unpolished. “Are you sure?”

“No line,” you repeated, “No uncertainties about where to cross. I want the real thing. I want my place here to be real.” your voice carried an unmistakable resolve.

Nanami nodded, eyes fixed on your joint hands. He had asked you what you wanted, and you had been honest. And like the upright man he was, he would honor your request. He owed it to you.

But the illusion of duty was slowly fading into the background. The degree to which your request pleased him was not something that escaped him. He wanted this. Taking in a deep breath, he confronted the fact. He really wanted this. And somehow you had invited him in.

The man brought your joint hands to his own lips, kissing where your lips had just been. A silent vow, a sacred agreement.

“Very well, Y/N,” he dropped them gently, hand finding the curve of your cheek. Moving with a shakiness that betrayed the tsunami of emotions held within, he pulled you to him, close enough to feel his breath fanning against your face and yours stuttering. “No line, right?” So many words left unsaid. You wanted the whole thing, right? You wanted him, right?

Your own body shook, eyes fleeting from his lips to his eyes. His own heart threatened to break through the cage of his chest at the action.

The proximity made every circuit in your mind go haywire. His hand on your jaw, the other on your waist. His breath mingling with yours. You wanted all of this. All of him. You nodded, a final confirmation, unable to formulate any more words.

And with that, Nanami brought his lips to yours.

The kiss was neither advance nor conquest. Neither meant to be ravishing nor demanding. His lips moved with too much softness, too much restraint. Still, the delicate brush of his lips against yours made a tingle travel through your entire body. Simply electrifying. Your eyes fluttered close, leaning into him. You wanted more. Your hands found his shoulders, an anchor to press yourself closer. Chest to chest, you felt his breath grow heavier. You molded your soft lips harder against his, and he finally conceded, granting you his own fervor.

His tongue swiped against your bottom lip, and you felt your knees grow weak, taken in the torrent of sensations and emotions. His body, solid like an oak held your weight. The scent of amber filled your senses. The smoothness of the silk of your dress glided under his fingers. He tightened the hand around your waist, needing you even closer. The feel of you, the scent of you.

After what felt like a mere blink of an eye, you parted, sharing in each other’s air as your chests heaved, chasing after your breaths. Senses alight from the moment exchanged. He watched your lips, entranced by the sheen gloss covering them. By everything about you.

The thoughts of duty and propriety had all but vanished, replaced by an unadulterated want to never be parted. He wanted to go in for another kiss. To taste you, open and willing. But he stopped himself, taking in deep breaths. He did not want to push.

“No line,” you repeated, eyes focused on his. You needed to hear him say it. That this commitment would be real. His fingers slipped from your cheek to the curve of your jaw, tilting your chin up. Staring into the depth of your eyes, he breathed. “No line.”

No more tiptoeing. Only openness, only honesty. This was what this partnership, this marriage would operate on from now on. Such was the agreement, and though the prospect terrified the broken part of him, Nanami’s heart welcomed it eagerly. You were no puppet queen, no mock mother. You were real.

His queen. His wife. And you were deserving of everything he could give to you, even if that was himself.

This was my first time writing a kiss scene like this, so I hope it wasn't too awkward...

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated (❁´◡`❁)

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