#why do they look like they are near a fire ?

[yourstrqly]

  ➳   PILATES + F1  ⁺   ✢

you ask the drivers to join your pilates session. includes the f1 grid 2025 (except aston martin & lawson) and dilfs (räikkönen, vettel, webber, button)

ᡴꪫ my poor bby alex but nico was on fire (how did a tractor beat a ferrari?) Also hello, my hiatus ends with this

ᤎ༉ williams

aa23 — wakes up one morning and decides he wants to see (not join) what pilates is about — you make him wear athletic wear, saying that he can get a glimpse for a few minutes and then do his required workout — but suprise! joins the class when he's asked by the pilates instructor if he wants to try — "its torture bunny, how are you doing it once a weak? Can't feel my arms" (he's all sweaty, a massive grimace on his face while you pout sweetly, body just slightly covered with sweat) — redemption arc incoming

cs55 — gifts you pilates reformer so you both can workout from home — doesn't think to even try it out but his fitness coach sees it and makes him use it — it becomes part of his daily workout routine — buys a second reformer because now you can do his routine together — "look at us mi amore, finally a couple workout routine" (he looks like a puppy saying it, bright eyes, big smile)

ᤎ༉ mercedes

ka12 — kimi and you plan dates based on the tiktok trend 'alphabet dating' and its your turn to plan a date based on the letter p — for a while now you wanted to try pilates but didn't go so it's the ideal idea to do it with your emotional support bf — "its horrendous cuore mio, don't make me do it again" (you won't, but you can't wait to show his sister the video)

gr63 (platonic!reader) — you and carmen plan the monthly girl's day at her and george's place, and you decide to ask carmen to join you for a class as you have seen pilates trend all over social media — george the ever so chatty guy, comes in at the moment and wants to know what pilates is — so you book a pilates class for the three of you — george is into it and gets every penny out of the class

ᤎ༉ alpine

pg10 and kika! (love herrr) — kika is the first to try pilates and swears by it, thats why she's making you tag along to her pilates classes (she even bought you matching sets!) — you don't enjoy it much but do it anyway because you feel stronger and love kika's excitement whenever you join her — pierre, feeling slightly left out, watches the pair of you get ready in matching pink sets and decides to swap his morning run (and black clothes) for a pilates session (and pink shirt and shorts) — like you, pierre doesn't like it as much as kika though he loves the fact you're all doing it together and secretly likes the colour coordinated fits

fc43 — doesn't get the hype around it — you try to bribe him with a paid dinner, shopping spree and other things but nothing seems to work till he comes around and makes a suggestion — "i'll join you if we'll have car sex guapa" — will spill the fact he had sex in his car in an interview

ᤎ༉ racing bulls

ih6 — "that's a torture device, bebe, to stretch and kill a man. i won't go even near it." — he does after encouraging words (and a week long sex ban) — very hesitate to use it and mostly lays on it, watching you putting all work it — is very vocal on how good you look and compliments your flexibility

i dont write for liam, sorry!

ᤎ༉ red bull

mv1 — doesn't care for the sport and you can't get him to join — still is a supportive bf and buys you cute sets and trinkets but also pays for the classes

yt22 — takes one look at it and regrets his decision — powers through the class, face mirroring his hate for it but tries and fails to put on a brave face — afterwards he sips on a strawberry matcha, eyes wide as you happily talk about buying a reformer for your shared home (he can't say no when you're that excited but is dreading the view of the toture device in his home gym)

ᤎ༉ ferrari

cl16 & alex — alex and you see pilates all over tiktok and decide to give it a go — while you stay consistent, alex much rather enjoyes her cardio and does it in the meantime — but once in a whild she will join you for a beginners class (its just a hobby, you don't take it too seriously) and books it for the three of you, so charles doesn't have an out — he's pretty confident he'll be better than alex but his confident attitude dwindles when you arrive and he's the only man — a man in a women dominated field! — after adjusting a few times, he'll definitely end the class on a high, cocky smirk on his face

lh44 — isn't too happy about it and doesn't enjoy it a bit but will be better than you — is definitely planning a revenge

ᤎ༉ kick sauber

gb5 — "you want me to do what?" — he's not thrilled but his ego will absolutely push him to do his best and top yours — will make you pay for the class and matcha afterwards — occasionally joins you when you go to a class just to brag in front of your girlfriends that he's better than you — doesn't realise that his cocky attitude is a big reason why you continue with pilates (he's hot like that)

nh27 — he'll do it without complaining but you take one look and know he doesn't like it but will push through the class (he does the sets more or less lazy) — class finished? great now he can freely gossip about the pilates moms' drama — "Nein, nein, she said that Claire's chocolate cake isn't made out of fresh ingredients but cake mix box. But says it's her grandma's recipe. Poor granny, her reputation might aswell be gone." — asks you once a month to book a class for him too just for the gossip

ᤎ༉ haas

ob87 — is doomscrolling when you get ready for your first pilates class ever, nervous smile decorating your lips as you put your hair up — instantly asks you about plans and if he can drive you — the class has free space which gives you the chance to pleading look up your boyfriend "can you join? i'd feel so much more secure" — will do it even though he doesn't exactly wear the right stuff but he's a man in love and how can he say no to your beautiful face?

eo31 (bff!reader) — its estie bestie who has to listen to you complain about wanting to pick up sports again but you don't — thats why he books you a pilates class — doesn't realise the consequence of his action because you will book him a pilates class too under the disguise that you're joining his workout routine

ᤎ༉ mclaren

op81 — come on, that man is gone for you and will do it once for you without protest — during the class his irritation will grow but he'll keep it to himself and lets you rant about your difficulties and accomplishments when you share a snack on your way home

ln4 — he views pilates as a typical girl's sport and doesn't even think about doing it himself but you catch him off guard when you make him join you in front of the tv, a video on its display and a few things like towels and weights laying besides the mats — you'll absolutely destroy him but won't notice it because you're locked in — he's panting at the end, laying sideways to watch you

ᤎ༉ dilfs

kr7 — complains about back pain for days, so you ask him to join you — immediately says no — but you stay persistent and search for pilates at home videos on youtube — finally get him to join you but only because you'll give him a massage afterwards

sv5 — on tuesdays, he religiously pulls out everything that's needed for a good pilates session at home — its a ritual and it started with you wanting to be fitter after seeing him workout (he didnt pressured you, it motivated you) — is a dedicated motivation speaker, says stuff like "Meine Süße, two reps and then breath", "You're doing amazing, oh look at you, legs toned and abs on display"

jb22 — honestly he doesn't care for pilates at all but seeing you wear those cute sets? sign him up — which you did — "She wants us to do that? Hell no" (does it anyway) — as long as you go to his sport with him, he'll go to your sport

mw (whats his racing number? 15? someone tell me pls) — supportive but won't go to pilates or do it at home after seeing videos — "I love you but i'll not do it. Hush it, stop with your eyes, darling." — will ask lily, oscar's girlfriend, to go with you and pays for it

[fromdove]

ㅤㅤ ⁞ 𝓑RUCE 𝓦AYNE

ㅤㅤㅤ𝓦HEN 𝓗E'S 𝓘N 𝓛OVE 𝓗EADCANONS !

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ୨୧

— bruce wayne when he's in love hcs ᵎᵎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

— bruce wayne x fem!reader ᵎᵎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

© fromdove— All rights reserved. Reposting, translation, or modification of these works is strictly prohibited, regardless of whether credit is given.

∿　 　 . `💭` ㆍ

ok so. bruce. yeah. bruce in love. god. where do we even BEGIN??

⤷ first of all. he doesn’t even know it’s love at first. he thinks it’s concern. which is hilarious. like babe why are you “concerned” that i didn’t text you back for two hours. why are you staring at my location dot like it’s a bomb countdown. why are you outside my building like “you didn’t seem okay.” no, mr bat. that’s called caring. welcome to it

⤷ once he knows he loves you, once it clicks, it’s game over. like. you’ve won. you’ve captured the flag and the bat and the emotionally unavailable man behind the mask. the batcomputer has been updated to prioritise your location. alfred knows your coffee order. and lucius has seen probably your selfies by accident.

⤷ he does grand gestures to make your life easier. he will clear your schedule with a level of quiet power that would make an oligarch weep. he will pull strings you didn’t know existed just so you have an extra day off to rest. you ask how it happened. he just shrugs. says, “someone owed me a favor.” you’re afraid to ask who.

⤷ you try to have a normal night. a cute little stay-in date. movie. popcorn. fuzzy blanket. and he’s like “do you prefer 4K UHD or IMAX formatting??"

⤷ are you dating bruce wayne or being placed under 24/7 romantic surveillance. jury's out. you say “i’m kinda hungry” and 90 seconds later he’s got a reservation at the most soul-crushingly exclusive rooftop in gotham. your heel breaks and suddenly lucius is designing ergonomic stilettos. this man hears “i like daisies” and your apartment now looks like the florists’ union exploded. you cough once and suddenly there's a team of private physicians on standby and your apartment has a retinal scanner. you're like “i’m just going to target” and he’s like “take the reinforced car. with a panic button. and body armor. just in case.” JUST IN CASE WHAT, BRUCE. BLACK FRIDAY??

⤷ you’ll say something dumb like “what if ducks wore pants” and he’ll go all stoic like “ducks don’t have a pelvis structure conducive to that.” and you’re like. ok batman. thank you for that.

⤷ he’s so in love but so terrible at processing it. like he can literally track six mob families at once and somehow still be baffled when you say “i like spending time with you.” he stares. blinks. blue screen. rebooting…

⤷ and god. the possessiveness. like in a batman way. like someone breathes in your direction and he’s already memorizing their dental structure for potential breakage. “i don’t get jealous.” ok. sure. “i simply don't trust their intentions.” uh huh. oh. oh okay. stop being good at this???

⤷ when you fight?? oh boy. it’s a showdown. the emotional cold war. he says something sharp. you throw it back with fire. he’s like “i see you’re being emotional.” and you’re like “i see you’re being a jackass.” doors slam. hours pass. he shows up at your door at 2am with flowers. and a bag. “i brought you jewelry.” REAL FUCKING DIAMONDS. you melt. he wins. he always wins. he hates that he always wins. and then he apologizes. like fr this time. “i was... imprecise. and inconsiderate. i regret that.” you forgive him but you also throw a pillow at him. he cant work well knowing u fought and ur mad at him

⤷ “we have plans tonight. dress practically.” practically for what, bruce. you’re like “can we go to a museum?” and he’s like “i’ve arranged a private after-hours tour with the curator and secured the rooftop for dinner.” and you’re like 😭 i just wanted to see the dinosaurs. can we atleast get pizza. please.

⤷ he’s so awkward when he wants affection. like. he doesn’t ask. he just stands there. near you. like a confused statue. you’re watching tv and he’s lurking in the hallway. not saying anything. not moving. just. present. and when you finally go “do you want a hug??” he’s like “i wouldn’t object.” wouldn’t object. wow.

⤷ he kisses your wrist. not your hand. your wrist. where the pulse is. and it’s so tender you actually forget how to function. he does it like it’s a routine. like muscle memory. like that’s where your lifeline is and he wants to remind you he’s always right there. always.

⤷ he’s like “i cross-referenced your schedule and added buffer time between tasks to reduce burnout.” you’re like “thanks dad.” and he just. blinks. “i’m not your father.” IT WAS A JOKE. I SWEAR TO GOD.

⤷ you get used to the long stares and the over-prepared dates and the sudden security upgrades. you get used to him showing up at 3am because he “heard a rumor about increased gang activity near your block.” (before you moved in with him)

⤷ he won't let you pay for anything. ever. even a coffee. even gum. even when you try to trick him. he will venmo the bodega guy. you will be carrying a tote bag and he’ll grab it and hold it. he insists. he insists. bruce is not casual. about anything. he’s intense. obviously. like. duh. he’s not gonna be normal. about anything, least of all you.

⤷ you’ll be standing next to him at a gala and your heel will start hurting and he’ll murmur, dead serious, “i’ll buy the brand and shut it down.” like. ??? bruce. be normal. please.

(he’s never normal.)

⤷ “i’m not controlling, i’m just ensuring your safety” like ok bro why is there a tracker in my earring

⤷ also he doesn’t like attention. but he likes when you give it to him. likes when you fix his tie. likes when you straighten his cufflinks. likes when you get in his space just to annoy him and he goes “what do you want” dude ur batman figure it out?? tf??

⤷ he's obsessed with your safety. the man just appears. like you didn’t invite him. no one invited him. but you’re walking home and boom. there he is. in the shadows. bro shows up on a fire escape in full batsy costume like “hey” you’ll be like “how did you know where i was” and he’ll blink. once. slow. he’s like “i’m batman.” ok??????? um???????/ did u need something??? police help

⤷ he stares. jesus christtt. always with the staring. like you’ll be brushing your hair or pouring cereal or literally breathing. and he’s just. gazing. contemplative. like he’s solving a goddamn mystery. you’re like “what.” and he says “you’re very…important to me.” and you’re like ??? what does that mean ??? hello ???

⤷ he lets you touch the batsuit once. you make fun of him for it and he gets genuinely offended. but then you kiss him and say “thanks for protecting me batman” and bro almost combusts

⤷ he doesn’t smile a lot. like. ever. except you. you make him smile. and not just smirk smile. like. actual. real. warm smile.

⤷ bruce wayne = terrible texting. like. atrocious. he doesnt like texting. hes too old fashioned istg. he texts like a military directive. “ETA: 3 minutes.” “Location secure.” “Status update?” and then when you send him a heart emoji he replies “❤️ acknowledged.” what does that even mean. you say “did you see that video i sent” and he’s like “i don’t open links from unverified sources, you shouldn't either.” you say “you’re cute” and he just replies with a question mark. like. have you ever spoken to a woman

⤷ he’s TOUCHY but only in this obsessive hyper-controlled way. like hand on the small of your back when you walk into a room. always checking your pulse with his fingers during cuddles like it’s about affection but also science. forehead touches at 3am. wrapping you in his coat even when he’s freezing. “you’re colder than me.” bruce your lips are practically blue. please

⤷ he’s not good with words. but when he does say stuff. it’s always weirdly profound. like you’ll be eating fries in bed (YOUR idea ofc) and he’ll just go. “i never thought i’d have this.” and you’re like. what. fast food? a mattress? my socks??? eating fries in your bed?????? and he’s like “no. peace.” (well yes to the eating fries in bed ... never done that in his life before.. but he wants to try and express his feelings. just let him) and then after he says that you have to go cry in the bathroom for five minutes. oh. ok then. love. i guess.

⤷ you give him the password to your phone. you make him laugh. you keep bandaids in your purse for him. idk what that would do for a gunshot wound but its bat themed bandaids so. he makes you feel safe. like real safe. like apocalypse safe. like kingdom come safe. like ride-or-die safe.

⤷ he’s so tired. all the time. but he never says no when you ask him to stay. even if he’s bruised. even if he’s busy. he’ll sit on your floor in a $20,000 suit and listen to you talk about your weird coworker (who he'll definitely deal with)

⤷ he’s an observer. and not in a creepy way. in the “i’m making sure you’re safe and sound” way. also. like when you’re talking, he’ll catch the little things you don’t say out loud, the way you bite your lip when you’re nervous, or how your hands fiddle with your sleeves when you’re cold. he remembers. every. little. detail.

⤷ speaking of him being an observer, he memorizes everything you say. you mention one time that your mom used to get you those dumb lemon lollipops and three days later they’re in his desk drawer. you joke about wanting a tiara and he deadass bids on one in a silent charity auction and doesn’t tell you. you just find it one day on your nightstand and he’s like. “it’s nothing.” IT’S LITERALLY DIAMONDS???????//?/?

⤷ you make him laugh. maybe not loudly. but it happens. sometimes he’ll chuckle and press his face to your neck and whisper something dry and you’ll cackle and he’ll look at you like you hung the stars specifically for him to stare at from his penthouse window while sipping on a whiskey and thinking about a sense of moral responsibility that’s eaten most of his joy

⤷ he doesn't let anyone else drive you home. ever. unless he's If he’s Batman-ing, then he'll hire a TRUSTED driver that he's done a full background check on (so thoroughly it’s scary). but when he can, he's always there. silent. gloved hands. tired eyes. he's had a long night. he's seen too much. but you're there. and that’s the only thing that makes any of it feel remotely survivable.

⤷ he doesn’t trust people. like at all. like he has backup plans for his backup plans. but he trusts you. like. fully. quietly. deeply. like if you say “i want to move to paris and work in a bookstore” he’ll say “alright. give me a week.” and he’ll find a bookstore. and a brownstone. and a plane. and he’ll go with you. he proves time and time again how much he loves you. again and again. and again.

⤷ he doesn’t fall easily. he doesn’t even stumble. he calculates proximity. projects detachment. he walks around with that stupid little batman jaw and his trillion-dollar trauma and thinks he’s above emotions. thinks love is a vulnerability. a liability. a risk factor. thinks he can out-strategize intimacy like it’s a hostile takeover. ok sir. ok gotham’s most emotionally repressed man. ok batboy (emo depressed edition). until you. oh my god. until YOU.

⤷ suddenly he's looking at your face like it's an encrypted file he can’t crack. HE'S SUPPOSED TO BE BATMAN FOR CHRIST SAKE. what is this??? suddenly he's pulling up in that bulletproof matte black vehicle he calls a car just to drive you three blocks and “make sure you get home safe”. just say you want me to have all your babies?

⤷ he is SOOOOOOOO subtle about it. and by subtle i mean unhinged. he's like "i don’t care." and then buys the company you said your co-worker works at because he thought they were flirting with you. you mentioned liking cats once? now there’s one on his lap.

⤷ oh em gee. you’ll be standing in line for coffee. like a person. and he’ll be behind you. close. closer. hand on your waist like someone might try to steal you and he wants to make sure they know he invented violence. he trained with those damn tibetan monks.

⤷ bros looking down at you like you hold some secret nuclear code. and the cure to....idk world hunger or something. ur his god. he's ur guardian angel that does what he's told. what YOUUU tell him. he folds every time. acts like he's annoyed but like shut up we know you're going to do what i say anyways 🙄🙄🙄 me strong guy me batman blah blah blah

[verricherri]

you call and i arrive ma cherié 🍒❣️ have a couple random requests that so will spam your inbox teehee, no pressure to write tho! <3

reader gets her menstrual cup "stuck" and panics, she doesn't want spencer to help take it out but he does and fluff/smut ensues....

Just Breathe (NSFW // MDNI)

A/N: My biggest nightmare is my menstrual cup getting stuck and ending up in the ER like “hi hello I need professional help and zero eye contact.” BUT. here’s Spencer Reid — like the dream man he is. Warnings: If period talk isn’t your thing, feel free to skip, but personally? An orgasm a day keeps the cramps away Masterlist Feedback and reposts are appreciated  ☀️

You’ve been in the bathroom long enough to lose feeling in both feet and every last shred of dignity.

You’ve squatted, you’ve breathed, you’ve tried to “relax” like the forums say — but your damn menstrual cup won’t budge. It’s stuck. Like emotionally-attached kind of stuck. And the longer you try, the more you spiral.

Which is exactly when you hear it.

“Babe?”

You freeze.

Spencer’s voice is gentle, just outside the door.

“You okay in there?” “…Yeah,” you croak. “Fine.”

Pause.

“You’ve been in there twenty-three minutes. That’s 8.5 minutes longer than your average shower plus oral hygiene routine.” You groan. “Stop with the stats, Reid.” “You don’t sound fine,” he says. “You sound… frustrated.”

You lean your forehead against your palm. There’s no saving this.

The door cracks open. You poke your head out.

Spencer’s in plaid pajama pants and a worn Caltech t-shirt, hair sleep-mussed, eyes full of concern.

“…My cup’s stuck,” you admit. He blinks. “What kind of cup—oh.” You give him a look. “Yeah. That one.” “Okay,” he says simply, like you just told him you misplaced your keys. You shuffle awkwardly. “I’ve been trying. My hand’s cramping. My uterus is staging a revolt. I feel like a goddamn Tupperware container.” “Suction lock,” he nods, already processing. “Happens when the rim seals too high near the posterior fornix. Add muscle tension, it’s like trying to pull a plunger off a mirror.”

You stare.

“…Why do you know that?” “Because I love you. And because I wanted to understand everything that affects you — not just emotionally, but physically. So I learned."

You snort despite yourself.

He leans in, voice soft.

“Do you want help?” You blink. “Help… how?” “I wash my hands. You lie back. I find the rim and release the seal. No big deal.” Your face is on fire. “That is absolutely a big deal.” “Not to me,” he says. “To me, it’s anatomy. And you. And the fact that you trust me enough to ask.” You hesitate. Then: “Okay. But if this gets weird—” “We stop the moment you say.”

---

Spencer washes his hands like he’s prepping for surgery. Thorough. Focused. You catch yourself watching him — the way water glides over his wrists, the roll of his sleeves, the precision of those impossibly long fingers.

He glances at you in the mirror. “You’re staring.” “Just… mentally preparing.” “I’ve delivered a child in less-than-ideal conditions,” he says with a tiny smile. “Helping you with this? I promise — it’s not even remotely uncomfortable.” You nod. A breath. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

You’re on the closed toilet lid, towel wrapped around your hips, heart pounding in your ears.

Spencer kneels in front of you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Scoot forward. And try to relax your pelvic floor — think melting butter, not steel door.” You bark a nervous laugh. “Do you flirt like this at the BAU?” “That wasn’t— I wasn’t trying to flirt. I just wanted you to have a helpful visual.” Then, after a beat, quieter: “But… if it helps, I don’t say things like that to anyone else.” He glances up again. “Still good?” You nod. “Alright. I’m going to feel for the base. Tell me if anything hurts.”

You take a shaky breath. And when his fingers make contact — warm, steady, gentle — you almost forget how anxious you were.

“Tilt your hips a little. Good. The seal’s strong. No wonder you couldn’t get it.” “I told you—” “Shh. You’re doing amazing.”

His voice is low, focused, soothing. And when he finally releases the seal and eases the cup out, you actually sigh in relief.

He doesn’t toss it.

He rinses it.

You stare as he rinses the cup at the sink — gentle, thorough, not even slightly grossed out. He’s handling it like it’s just another lab instrument. Like it’s normal. Like you are normal.

He turns the tap off and dries it carefully before setting it back in its little container. Then he looks over his shoulder, casual as ever.

“You're supposed to wash it with warm water and mild soap after removal to avoid bacterial contamination. You can also boil it between cycles, or use a 70% isopropyl solution, but it depends on the brand, and—” He cuts himself off. “Sorry. You probably know all that.” You blink at him. “No, I mean—yes, but… you’re doing it like it’s second nature.” He shrugs, drying his hands. “I’ve read before. Menstrual products. Pelvic floor tension. Cervical positioning—” You tilt your head, amused. “Spencer.” “Right. Sorry. I just meant... you shouldn’t be the only one who understands your body. I care about you, so I learned.”

That hits you right in the chest.

“I think I just fell in love with you again.”

He blinks, caught off guard. Then gives you that soft, lopsided smile that ruins you every time.

“Are you still cramping?” You nod. “A little.”

He sits beside you, drying his hands again — mostly to keep them busy.

“There’s a statistically significant link between orgasm and pain relief, particularly during menstruation. It’s the oxytocin — it spikes during orgasm, which helps reduce the release of prostaglandins, which are the primary cause of uterine contractions and cramping.” You raise a brow. “Spencer.” “Also dopamine and endorphins. Plus, the muscle contractions during orgasm help relax the uterus post-release, which—sorry. I’m rambling.” “I’m not complaining.” “Okay, good, because—” he breathes in, grounding himself “—I could get your heating pad. Or… I could use my fingers. Only if you want.” “You’re prescribing it?” “No,” he says seriously. “Prescriptions come with dosing requirements and side effects. This is just… a suggestion. Based on research. And love.”

You stare at him.

He fidgets. “Was that weird? That was weird.” You shake your head, smiling. “It was very you.” “Then I’m glad,” he murmurs, finally settling beside you. “Because I really, really want to help you feel better.”

You nod, the tension in your shoulders finally starting to melt.

He stands, then pauses.

“Would a warm shower help first? Before… anything else.” You glance up. “Yeah. That actually sounds good.” “Okay. Yeah. I’ll, uh—set the temperature.”

You watch as he turns toward the shower, rolling up his sleeves instinctively, even though they’re coming off. He adjusts the knobs, testing the water with the back of his hand like he’s handling evidence.

“Too hot can increase blood flow,” he murmurs. “But if it’s comfortable, it can also relieve muscle tension.”

Then he looks at you — and there’s something so gentle in the way he says:

“Do you want help with…?” You nod again. Quietly. “Yeah.”

He moves slow, untying the towel around your hips like it’s something sacred. Then he peels off his shirt — awkwardly, like it’s a crime scene hoodie — and drops his flannel pants next.

When you’re both bare, he offers his hand again.

“Come on,” he says softly. “Let me help you feel better.”

The water steams behind him.

And this time, when you step in together, it’s not just for relief.

It’s for all the things you’ve never let anyone else see — and all the ways he shows you he’s safe to be seen.

---

The water hits your back. The steam rises. But it’s his fingers on your stomach that make your body melt.

“Still okay?” he murmurs behind you. “Yeah,” you whisper. “I’m going to use my fingers. Just me and you, and how you trust me.”

Your eyes flutter shut.

He turns you gently, back pressing to the tile. His hand cups your hip, the other sliding between your thighs.

“You’re bleeding a little,” he says softly. “You know I don’t care, right?” “I know.” “Good.”

Then he presses in.

Two fingers — slow, deep, and absolutely filthy. You gasp, eyes flying open.

“God—” “Not God,” he murmurs, “just your boyfriend.”

He starts to move.

Slow thrusts. Thumb circling your clit. His other hand presses to your stomach like he wants to anchor you to the earth.

“You’re already dripping,” he growls. “Not just the water — me. You want this so bad.”

You moan, hips grinding forward.

“That’s it. Fuck yourself on my fingers. Just like that. I’ve got you.”

You’re barely breathing. Every word makes it worse — better — everything.

“This is what you needed. Not a heating pad. Not ibuprofen. Me.”

He thrusts deeper.

“You think this changes anything? You think I don’t want you like this?”

“Spence—”

“I want all of you,” he says. “Messy. Bleeding. Soft. Loud. Ruined. Always.”

Your legs tremble. Your voice breaks.

“I’m gonna—”

“Cum for me. I’ve got you. Let go.”

And you do.

Your orgasm rips through you like a wave — sharp, overwhelming, perfect. You cry out, collapsing into him as your whole body shakes.

He doesn’t stop until your knees give out and he’s catching you.

Holding you.

Kissing your temple.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs. “You’re so okay. You’re mine.”

[aryaryxoxo]

Thinking about… #katsuki bakugou x neighbor!reader

Bakugou stood stiffly by the door, arms crossed, watching in barely contained irritation as his so-called "friends" made themselves at home in his room.

“Man, I didn’t know your room was this big!” Kirishima exclaimed, lifting one of the dumbbells near the corner with a whistle. “You’ve got your own mini gym in here!”

“Why are you all here?” Bakugou asked, voice flat and clearly unimpressed.

“Hanging out,” Kaminari replied casually, flopping onto his bed like it was his own.

“Yeah, and your mom invited us in,” Sero added with a grin, leaning against the wall. “Said we could wait here while you finished showering.”

“Thought you might want some company,” Kaminari chimed in, already halfway through a bag of chips he found on Bakugou’s desk.

Bakugou’s eye twitched. He didn’t remember asking for company. Or anyone touching his dumbbells.

“Whatever,” Bakugou muttered, tossing a towel over his shoulder. “Just don’t make a mess.”

Time passed, and somehow, he forgot all about his friends barging into his house—mostly because he was too busy kicking Kirishima and Kaminari’s asses in Mario Kart.

“Take that, shitty hair!” he barked, smirking as Kirishima’s kart spun off the track.

“Bro, come on!” Kirishima groaned.

“Unfair!” Kaminari yelled, already halfway out of his seat in frustration.

Just as Bakugou was about to fire off another smug comment, his bedroom door creaked open.

They all turned.

“Suki, I finished—oh.”

You stood in the doorway, clutching a stack of romance manga to your chest. Your eyes widened when you spotted the group sprawled across the room.

“I didn’t know you had company,” you said quickly, already stepping back. “I’ll go���”

“Wait—” Bakugou, who had been sitting on the floor just seconds ago, suddenly scrambled to his feet and rushed toward you. “The new volume just came in yesterday. You can read it first.”

What happened next left the three boys speechless.

Bakugou smiled.

A real, honest-to-god smile as he gently took the stack of manga from your arms, pulled out the newest volume, and handed it to you like it was something precious.

“Come over tomorrow,” he said, almost shyly. “I’ll make popcorn.”

Kirishima’s jaw dropped. Kaminari choked on his soda. Sero looked like he’d just witnessed a supernatural event.

“You good, bro?” Kirishima whispered.

“No,” Sero replied, eyes still wide. “No, I’m not. Who the hell is that, and what did she do to Bakugou?”

(Meanwhile, Bakugou and the mystery girl are talking about their plans for tomorrow, Bakugou’s hands seemingly place gentle behind her back.)

[sylestine-redacted]

Something Else

f!reader x astartes

A/N: wanna be part xenos and bred by an an astartes? shamefully needed to get this idea out.. it took all day..brb will be studying all night now

Cw: NSFW, dubcon, size difference, belly bulge, implied psychic bonding?

They told you to stay out of the upper decks.

Too close to the kill-teams. Too many eyes. Too many minds that might see through your skin.

You went anyway. You always do.

The lower decks are stifling. Cramped. Filthy with sweat and old oil and human desperation. But the upper levels? There's air there. Still recycled, still metallic, but laced with ozone and war-blood. And something else. Something… cleaner.

You stood alone at the observation port. The void shimmered beyond the blast-glass—distant stars smeared like crushed gems across velvet. You pressed your fingertips to the cold surface and tried to breathe in the silence.

Then the door opened.

You didn’t need to turn. You felt it.

His presence rolled in like heat before a fire. Weighted. Hungered. The scrape of ceramite against the deckplate was almost polite—he didn’t stomp like the others. He glided. Like a predator conserving energy.

You turned.

Astartes.

Tall. Black-armored. Helmet off. Face carved from the worst kind of beauty—cruel, immortal, inhumanly symmetrical. His gaze snapped to yours.

And held.

He looked at you the way predators look at prey that shouldn't be here. Something flickered across his features. Not surprise. Something more intimate.

Recognition.

You lowered your eyes. But it was already too late.

He took a step forward.

You didn’t move.

Another.

His voice slid in—low, rough, unfiltered by vox. "You don't belong here."

You said nothing.

"You smell like them," he murmured. Not loud. But the words sank in deep. “Not these wretches. Something older. Finer. Rotten through with psionic stink.”

Your throat tightened. You felt the skin between your shoulder blades prickle—useless vestigial instinct screaming run, even as your legs refused.

He took another step. Now he was close enough for you to see the fine web of scar tissue across his jawline. The flecks of dried blood near his throat. The dilation of his pupils.

"Not a psyker," he said softly. "Not human. Not quite."

His gauntlet rose—not to strike. To touch. A finger brushed your jaw, tipped your chin up. The leather of his glove was tacky with someone else’s blood. It smeared your skin.

“You’ve been hiding,” he whispered. “Pretending.”

His hand dropped to your throat. Not choking—just holding. Measuring.

“Did you think no one would notice? That I wouldn’t smell the xeno in your blood? Feel it under your skin?”

You tried to pull back. He didn’t let you.

His face lowered. Breath washed hot over your cheek. “Do you know what happens to xeno filth when we find it?”

You nodded. He smiled.

“Then why,” he said, voice rasping now, “do you smell like desire?”

Your mouth opened. No sound came out.

His thumb stroked the hollow of your throat. You shivered.

He laughed. Quiet. Mean. “Oh. Oh, little heretic.”

His other hand came up—pressed flat to your stomach, possessive. “Maybe I’ll study you. Personally. Find out just how human your cunt really is.”

You gasped. His grip tightened.

He didn’t move to fuck you. Not yet.

But his armor was hot now. His body against yours a wall of heat and pressure, and you could feel it rising—between his legs, thick and wrong and hard.

“You’re mine now,” he said.

And the door closed behind him.

...

His other hand still rested on your throat.

Not crushing. Not yet. Just... holding. Like he was gauging your fragility. Watching the pulse beat against his fingers, the tremble of your voice box as you tried not to whimper.

You felt him. Every inch of him. Pressed close. The reek of sweat and sacred oils. The hum of armor systems still active. And beneath all of that—flesh. Heat. Something thick and hard that had no right pressing up between your thighs like that.

And then—his voice. Not cold anymore. Ragged. Low.

“I should end you.”

You nodded. You wanted to. You didn’t.

“But now…” He leaned down. Breath hot against your temple. “Now I just want to see if you can take it.”

His fingers flexed. Not on your throat—lower. Between your legs. Palm flat against your mound, pressing in, not gentle. Testing.

You cried out. He smiled.

“Mm. Soft. Alien.” He pressed harder, grinding his palm over you in slow, cruel circles. “But you’re wet. Little whore.”

“I—I can’t—”

He laughed. Brutal. Sharp.

“You can. You will.”

Then he lifted you.

No warning. Just metal hands on your thighs, lifting you off the ground like you weighed nothing. Your back slammed into the wall. You scrambled for purchase—his shoulders, the thick collar of his armor. But there was no control. He had you caged, legs spread over his hips, and between you—

Throne.

You looked down and saw it.

His cock.

Not out yet—but straining, monstrous, behind his undersuit. The sheer size of it shocked something in your core—shame, yes, but also a heat that made your stomach clench. It throbbed visibly. Long, thick, impossibly wide. And it was aimed right at you.

He saw your face. Grinned.

“You understand now.” He pressed forward, letting the sheer mass of it rub against the soaked crotch of your uniform. “You feel how big I am. You feel how badly I want to ruin you.”

You shook your head, but your hips betrayed you—arched toward him. Grinding. Needy.

His eyes darkened.

“Oh. Look at that. The little xeno bitch wants it.”

He bit at your throat—sharp, a mockery of affection—and tore your uniform open with a flick of his gauntlet. Fabric shredded like paper. Cold air met hot skin. His hand cupped your bare cunt, fingers sliding through the slick already pooling there.

“So fucking wet,” he muttered, almost reverently. “Your xeno cunt wants to be split.”

He pulled back. Undid the clasps at his waist.

And then it was out.

You gasped.

It wasn’t a cock. It was a weapon. Veined. Flushed dark with heat. The tip already drooling thick strands of precum, heavy and angry with need. He lined it up between your thighs, not even trying to enter—just dragging it along your slit, letting the head bump against your clit, then lower… lower… until it pressed against your opening.

You weren’t even stretched yet. He was testing your edge.

You shook your head again. “You’ll break me.”

He smirked. “Good.”

You shook your head. Your body trembled. Your cunt clenched around nothing, a fluttering panic—and yet your hips rolled forward. Seeking. A traitorous little tilt. You hated yourself for it.

He felt it.

"Filthy xeno cunt. You’re greedy."

Then, with a low sound—almost a groan—he pressed.

Just the head. Just the first inch.

Your body fought. Muscles locked. Slick flooded out of you. Your breath hitched so high it felt like you might faint.

And still he pushed.

Slow.

Inexorable.

The wide, blunted tip forced your opening to spread wide—too wide. You whimpered. Your legs kicked against his sides, reflexive, desperate.

He didn't even flinch.

"That's it," he growled, voice like gravel dragged over steel. "Open for me. Let me in."

You felt the stretch. Felt it around the head of his cock—hot, slick, but unrelenting. Your lips parted around him like a mouth forced too wide. You couldn’t stop it.

And then—he passed the ring.

That tightest point. The one that meant you were no longer just brushed or tested.

He was inside.

And you felt it everywhere.

Your cunt sucked around him in a spasm of terror and heat. Your back arched against the wall. Your fingers scrabbled at his shoulders—no armor now, just the muscle-hard press of ceramite-threaded skin.

You tried to say something.

It came out a sob.

He grinned.

“There,” he hissed. “That’s your limit, isn’t it?”

He didn't push deeper yet. Just let you feel him. Let your body twitch and quiver around the sheer mass lodged inside. He held still—but his cock throbbed, thick pulses that made your inner walls tremble involuntarily.

“You're clamping down so tight,” he said, almost admiring. “Like you're scared I'll go further."

You opened your mouth. “You—can’t—”

He leaned down. Licked the sweat from your cheek. Whispered:

“I haven’t even started.”

And then—just a little more.

A half inch.

Enough to make you cry out again, your body trying to accommodate, your cunt fluttering wildly as it tried to pull him in and push him out at once. Conflicted. Overwhelmed. Alive.

His hands slid up your sides. Held your ribs like they were fragile armor plates. He looked down again—where you were joined. Where your pussy stretched around his girth like a ring of slick velvet, and your belly began to swell with the pressure.

And then he pressed his palm there.

Flat to your stomach.

And pushed.

You screamed. He moaned.

"Look at that," he whispered. “You're bulging for me already. Beautiful.”

He hadn’t bottomed out. Not even close.

And he wasn't going to stop.

...

You could feel your pulse through your cunt. Not in that soft, aching way that comes with arousal—but like it was being crushed, your blood forced around something impossibly thick. Him. Still barely inside.

He hadn’t moved. Not yet.

Just the head and a little more. Enough to split you wide and hold you there, trembling, open, shaking.

His breath steamed against your neck. You heard the hiss of his inhale through his teeth, the tension in his muscles as he restrained the full thrust he so clearly wanted.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, almost thoughtful. “Like you’re afraid of what happens when I go deeper.”

He tilted his hips.

Just a centimeter.

And your body twitched around him like it was trying to expel him. But it couldn’t. Your entrance was wrapped tight behind the thick flare of his cock’s head. You were locked. Pinned open. Caught in the worst kind of stasis.

“You should be scared,” he whispered, hand returning to your belly.

His thumb pressed into your abdomen. Right over the firm bulge distending your flesh—his cock. Not imagined. Not symbolic.

You were stretched so deep, you could see him in you.

“I can feel myself,” he murmured, rubbing your skin like he was stroking your womb through the outside. “Right here.”

You whimpered. He smiled.

“And I’m not even halfway in.”

His hips drew back. The shaft dragged through you like it was tearing through layers of resistance. You sobbed. But the sound had no strength. You were sweating, soaked, dripping around him—and clenching, helplessly, like your body wanted to trap him.

"You can feel it now, can't you?" he growled. "The way your alien cunt wants this. Wants to keep me in. Milk me. Breed."

"No," you gasped.

He laughed.

"You say no," he hissed. "But your body’s dripping like a fucking slut."

Then he slammed forward.

One brutal thrust.

All of him.

You screamed. Your body arched against the wall, nails scraping against his shoulders, legs twitching. You didn’t think he could do it. You were sure he’d never fit.

And now he was buried to the hilt.

And your belly—Throne, your belly—bulged full and high, his cock a grotesque shape stretching your flesh tight. Your womb felt bruised. Your mind white-out. Not pleasure. Not pain. Something worse. Something better.

He didn’t move right away.

He just held you there. Full. Split. Claimed.

You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. Your pulse fluttered in your throat, in your cunt, in your mind.

And then his voice—low, guttural, close to coming apart.

“That’s it.”

He rocked his hips once. Just a little. Enough to make your belly shift under his cock.

“You took it.”

He moaned. Honest. Low. Shameless.

“Oh fuck, you took all of me.”

Your mouth opened—but nothing came out.

Your cunt, impossibly, squeezed again.

And he felt it.

"You're gonna keep doing that," he rasped, forehead pressed to yours. "Over and over. Clenching down like you want to milk my cock. You’re starving for it, aren't you?”

You couldn't nod. But you didn’t say no, either.

You just whimpered.

And his smile turned vicious.

“Good girl.”

Then he pulled back. And slammed back in.

You screamed.

He did it again.

And again.

And again.

Fucking you against the wall like you were just something to use. A hole for heresy. A sleeve to empty his hatred and hunger into. And with every thrust, your body broke more rules.

You should have torn. Should have passed out. But instead… you adapted. Gripping him. Pulling. Begging.

You weren’t just taking it.

You were hungry for it.

And that’s when he whispered it—low, cruel, hot against your neck:

“You’re mine now. You’ll never take another cock again.”

Then he bit you. Not gentle. Not love.

A claim.

...

Your world had gone white.

There was no more resistance. No more fight.

You were full. Beyond comprehension. His cock seated deep inside you like a relic driven into corrupted stone. You felt him everywhere—every pulse, every twitch, every breath—as if your cunt had grown nerves in places it was never meant to feel.

You didn’t think you could survive another thrust.

But he hadn’t moved.

He was still inside. Still hard. Still pressing so deep you swore your lungs ached.

And then—something changed.

Not movement.

Pressure.

Inside you.

A slow, subtle stretch—not from him thrusting, but from your own body. The rippling tremor of inner muscles adjusting. Fluttering. Twitching. Welcoming.

You gasped.

He felt it instantly.

His eyes snapped to yours. The look in them changed—from hunger to something darker. Possessive. Reverent. Like he’d found divinity in the shape of your cunt.

“Oh,” he breathed. “You’re not human.”

You shook your head, weakly.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t move.

He just watched your body ripple around him. Slick walls spasming gently—no longer clamping, no longer resisting. Just… flexing. Milking.

You could feel it. Each roll of muscle pulling at the girth inside you. A rhythm. Not yours.

Your body had made a decision.

“Throne,” he whispered. “You’re meant to take me.”

His hand found your belly again. Pressed hard. You could feel his cock throb inside you in answer, like your womb had wrapped itself around him, drawing him deeper. Holding him there.

“I should kill you,” he rasped, breath catching. “I should purge you for this.”

You whimpered—but the whimper twisted into a moan.

Your cunt squeezed.

His eyes rolled back slightly. His fingers clenched. You could feel his restraint fray—every muscle in his body tight as a bolter cable.

“You’re not fighting me anymore,” he said, breath hot on your throat. “You’re feeding off me.”

Then—

A spark.

You didn’t mean to.

You didn’t know you could.

But something unfurled inside you—psychic. A pulse. A ripple of emotion and pheromone and bond, raw and unschooled, but alive.

He felt it.

His entire body jerked.

His cock throbbed, painfully hard, swelling inside you.

And he growled.

“You bonded to me.”

You blinked. “What—?”

His hand closed around your throat.

“You tied yourself to me, little whore. Xeno trick. Biological witchcraft. I felt it. Your fucking womb tried to latch.”

You opened your mouth to protest—but he slammed his hips forward, grinding his cock even deeper, punishing, brutal.

Your body welcomed it.

Your belly swelled again.

You moaned.

“You wanted me to breed you.”

His voice was breaking now. Fractured. Lust-drunk.

“Wanted me to fill your cunt with gene-seed and blasphemy.”

He pressed harder against your stomach, both hands now, watching the obscene bulge shift beneath his touch.

“I should tear it out of you.”

You nodded, eyes brimming.

He thrust again.

You shuddered. Slick gushed out around his cock, dripping down your thighs, soaking his hips.

“I should cut it out,” he snarled again.

You moaned louder.

His head dropped against your shoulder. Breathing ragged. Jaw clenched.

But he didn’t stop.

He rocked into you once more—slow, deep, devastating.

And whispered:

“…but I want to see what hatches.”

...

You didn’t think he’d move again.

Not after what he said. Not after the bond. That strange, pulsing pressure that flared in your gut and brain like some biological sin awakened too soon.

But he did.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Like he didn’t want to waste a single second of the way your cunt gripped him now.

He began to pull out—inch by inch. You could feel every ridge of him drag along your walls, every bump of vein and flare of girth that your body had adapted to just enough not to break. Your belly deflated slightly, the obscene swell relaxing—

—and then he thrust back in.

You screamed.

The stretch renewed, ripping a fresh moan from your throat, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. You were still so tight, still barely fitting him, but now you clenched to hold him in. Your body betrayed you. Again and again.

“That’s it,” he hissed, one hand bracing your hip, the other gripping the meat of your ass. “You feel that? That’s how a heretic worships.”

He pulled out again.

Slower this time.

Letting you feel the long, punishing drag of his cock through your pulsing cunt. Your legs shook around his waist, muscles locking. Your insides spasmed. The empty stretch made you whimper.

And then he thrust back in with a brutal, grinding roll of his hips—hips made for war, for battering, for sieging, and now they were fucking you open like a battlefield.

You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe.

Each stroke left your insides molten, your clit throbbing untouched, slick pouring down your thighs as your body begged for more. Not pleasure. Not yet. Just pressure. The terrible, addictive fullness of being used by something bigger than you.

He grunted—low, guttural, losing control.

“You like that,” he growled. “You fucking like this.”

You tried to deny it—but your hips bucked. Your cunt squeezed again.

And he felt it.

He pressed you harder against the wall, both hands on your hips now, dragging you down onto his cock like a toy. “Say it.”

You shook your head.

He thrust hard. The wet slap of his hips against yours echoed in the chamber, filthy and rhythmic.

“Say it.”

You choked on your moan, tears running hot down your cheeks. “I—I like it—”

“Louder.”

“I like it—! I l-like being fucked—”

He cut you off with a savage thrust.

You nearly blacked out.

Your belly stretched so taut with the bulge of him you looked pregnant with cock, your insides rearranged by his length, his shape—a perfect mold of ruin.

And then he slowed again.

Pulled out until only the fat, swollen head of his cock remained inside—pushing just at the entrance, your cunt clinging to it like it didn’t want to let go.

You sobbed.

He watched.

Watched your hole flutter and twitch, desperate to be filled again.

“You’re gonna cum for me,” he said, voice low and shaking. “You’re going to soak my cock like the little xeno fuckpet you were bred to be.”

You shook your head—no words now, just shock.

He leaned forward, voice in your ear, breath hot.

“You’ll cum when I do.”

Then he fucked you in earnest.

Savage thrusts. Brutal rhythm. One hand clamped around your throat, the other around your waist, forcing you down onto his cock again and again. Flesh slapping. Wet squelch of your slick with every impact. His cock bruising your womb, grinding your clit with each forward drag, your belly bulging and bouncing with the force.

You couldn’t speak anymore.

Couldn’t think.

You were just a body. A hole. A sleeve wrapped tight around a cock built for devastation.

And you were so close.

So fucking close.

You felt it rise—hot and sharp and unforgiving, like a chain snapping. A need that went past pleasure and into something primal.

And he felt it too.

“Cum,” he growled. “Fucking cum on me.”

You did.

You screamed through your orgasm, body convulsing around him, cunt spasming so tight he moaned, slamming deep one last time—his cock buried to the root, locked, twitching.

And then he came.

It wasn’t a spurt.

It was a flood.

You felt it rush into you—hot, thick, copious. Your cunt overflowed immediately, hot seed pouring around his cock and dripping down your thighs, your womb cramping, struggling to hold it.

And your body… tried.

It closed around him. Sealed. A clenching suction like your insides wanted to drink him dry.

His head fell to your shoulder.

He growled. Moaned. Laughed—low and wrecked.

“You were made for this.”

He didn’t pull out.

He couldn’t.

Your cunt held him too tight. Greedy. Needful.

And he just breathed against your skin.

Waiting.

You couldn’t move.

Your legs wouldn’t answer. Your arms hung limp, shoulders trembling against the cold steel of the wall. Your head lolled to one side, sweat-damp hair stuck to your cheek

And still—he was inside you.

Fully seated.

You were so full.

The weight of it pressed down, thick and warm and wrong, his seed sloshing inside you with every twitch of his cock. You couldn’t hold it. Could barely even feel your pussy anymore—just the endless, aching stretch, the trembling walls slick with spend and spit-slick friction.

You’d passed pleasure. Passed pain.

Now you were just ruined.

Your belly bulged, high and round, his cock still buried to the root. You could feel it pulse again, another lazy shot of cum spilling out and adding to the mess inside you.

And he watched.

Hand on your stomach.

Thumb stroking the obscene swell of his own cock through your skin.

“Look at you,” he whispered, reverent and cruel. “You kept all of it.”

His voice was low. Thick. Wrecked.

“I didn’t think you could. But your slutty little hole just keeps sucking it in.”

He rocked his hips—just an inch—and you whimpered, slick and seed gushing out around his cock, flooding your thighs.

“Listen to that,” he breathed. “Fucking dripping. You’ve got no room left, little heretic. I filled your womb, your cunt, your guts. You’re a leaking mess.”

You whimpered.

You should have been ashamed.

You were soaked. Filthy. Pinned to the wall by his weight, held there by nothing but the thick shaft plugging your ruined hole.

But you didn’t want him to move.

You wanted him deeper.

He leaned close. His mouth at your ear.

“You want more, don’t you?”

You nodded. Barely conscious. Barely human.

He laughed.

“You don’t deserve it. You should be on your knees with your mouth open, cleaning your own filthy little cunt off my cock.”

You moaned.

“I should fuck your throat next. Make you gag on the taste of your own breeding. Make you beg for what’s dripping out of you.”

He gripped your thighs tighter. His cock twitched again. More seed spilled out, thick and heavy and endless.

“Look at it,” he growled, dragging a finger through the spill leaking out of your stretched entrance. “You can’t even hold it in.”

He smeared it up your slit. Over your clit. You jerked—too much. Far too much. Your nerves were shredded, spasming, too tender to touch, too ruined to resist.

And still—your hips bucked.

He smiled.

Then—he pulled out.

Slow.

And everything came with it.

A flood of hot cum poured from you, thick and white and endless, drenching your thighs, the floor, your ruined cunt still twitching open like it was trying to find him again.

You sobbed. You twitched. Your belly finally deflated, your pussy gaping, lips stretched wide and raw and emptied.

And then he looked at it.

Bent down. Spread you open with two fingers.

“Look what I did to you.”

You whimpered.

“I wrecked it.”

He leaned in.

Licked the mess off your cunt.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

“Ruined little thing,” he murmured, his tongue flicking over your twitching clit. “You’ll never stop wanting this.”

And your body agreed.

Because your cunt clenched, even now. Even empty.

Still hungry.

Still his.

---

When he leaves you—legs shaking, pussy raw, his seed cooling on your thighs—he doesn’t say goodbye.

He just looks back.

Smiles.

And says:

“Next time, I’ll knot you.”

-----------------probably will be continued----‐----

Unintelligible noises... yep... yep... idk who gave me hands...

Tagged: @incrediblethirst

[lilhypernova]

[2:01PM] Sniper.

“There she is..My lil beauty..come to sniper..”

Did he know it was wrong? Yes, Yes he did.

Did he care? No.

His Sheila was just the cutest thing on this base.

So what if she was on the enemy team? That was a problem Sniper could easily solve with a little persuasion.

—

Your team refused to listen to you at all. You felt like you were being watched. Stalked even.

During battles, you could feel the same pair of eyes on you as you crossed the field to help your teammates out with something they needed. When you would turn to confront whoever it was, you discovered that it was Sniper. But not your sniper. The BLU Sniper.

You remember feeling your breath hitch when he steadied his rifle at you, assuming he would shoot. But instead…he just watched, his head tilting slightly as you made eye contact. You broke eye contact, and it made him smirk, before he fired narrowly missing your head.

Stuff like this continued throughout battles, he would follow you around, always smirking, eyes hidden behind those damn aviators that he wore. Sometimes he would confront you himself, he was taller than you, always using his lanky form to cover you easily, hovering over you, never killing you.

Just…admiring?

And each time you told your team about this, begging for someone to help you, they didn’t take you seriously, Why would the enemy sniper be following you like a lost puppy? It made you frustrated, You just wanted to do your fucking job!

So you took it upon yourself to confront him.

Near the end of a match, you managed to catch him. Using your strength, you managed to force him to turn and face you, your gun now raised and pointed at his chest.

“What..Is your problem?” You finally asked him, glaring at him, your hands were trembling from how mad you were, and he seemed to find that funny.

“Your shakin’ roo.”

“ANSWER MY FUCKING QUESTION BUSHMAN.” You shouted pushing your gun closer to him, and your actions only make him laugh at you.

He laughs for a bit longer before he suddenly lunges at you, snatching your gun away and pinning you back against a wall, and you went to scream for your team when he slammed his hand over your mouth.

“Scream. And I’ll blow your brains out and have My Medic put you back together.” He whispered the threat in your ear, making you freeze, he then smirks before slowly pulling back just to look into your eyes. He lifts his aviators and grips your chin.

“Ain’t it obvious.?” He starts before leaning closer to you. “I like ya..like ya way more than those stupid RED Blokes ever will.”

He pulls your body closer, wrapping his other hand around your waist. “Been watching you, Sheila..watching how you’re treated ova’ there..thinking..what’d i give to have her be mine.”

You went to push him away. “excuse me? We are enemies! You’ve lost your mind!” You squirmed in his grip and he only smirks.

“You’re acting like I’m givin’ ya a choice.”

You didn’t have time to react before he placed a clothe over your nose, you squirmed in his grip, pushing and trying to get away from him, but he starting dragging you towards the BLU base.

He was surprisingly strong for someone so lanky (little did you know he’d been practicing for this moment, and his rifles aren’t light ya know) so you could feel yourself getting tired. He only smirks as he presses a kiss to your cheek as once you go limp in his arms, he changed to carrying you bridal style.

“Hmph..’bout time ya stopped fightin’..welcome to your new home Sheila..”

—————————————————————-

-> Hi everyone! Nova here!! On lilhypernova, you will find my more dark and..down right filthy stuff that i didn’t feel like fit on my main page! Most of these will be based off things that just randomly come to mind! this one was based off this one TikTok I seen! This One 😊

-> You guys can place requests here! I’ll post an actual FAQ soon.

[rippleclan]

RippleClan: Moon 103, Part 2

On their way to the Gathering, a large dog tears out from AshClan territory and mauls Vervaincough.

[Image ID: A huge red dog stands behind an unaware Vervaincough as someone yowls, "Dog! Dog! Dog!"]

There was a lot to do to prepare for the Gathering that night. RippleClan had recovered enough from the Ocean's Assault to properly contribute to the Gathering again, and thus loaded their baskets with fresh-kill and goods for trade. It seemed Oilstar invited everyone who could attend that night, perhaps a show of strength to the new leader of AshClan. Lichenstar was on Lavendertwist's mind as well, but for different reasons than his respected leader. The collared historian sat with his children by the artisan's den, his shadow cast over them both.

"Our Clanmates are going to make a lot of harsh comments about Eelstar tonight," Lavendertwist warned his kits as Frostdancer packed pouches of salt along a heavy cord and Gingerspring groomed himself. "I don't want your mother to have to hear any of it. Even though she left AshClan, she cared for her father, and she deserves a chance to mourn him."

"I would never make it worse for her," Frostdancer huffed, scooping the last pouch into the pot of salt at her paws. "I assume you're talking about cats who don't know when to stop talking." Frostdancer glared at Gingerspring as she tightened the pouch in her teeth.

"I talk with AshClan cats all the time," Gingerspring scoffed. "I'm the perfect mourner around them. She doesn't have to worry about me. She should worry about the stories you like to tell at the Gathering."

"I'm not going to talk about the Ashes in the Water tonight!" Frostdancer snapped.

"Your mother also doesn't need any fighting tonight," Lavendertwist groaned, batting both kits on the head. "You're littermates! You can both get along for your mother's sake."

"I won't say anything about Eelstar tonight, Dad," Gingerspring promised as Frostdancer pulled the heavy necklace of salt pouches around her neck.

"I'll takee that, at least," Lavendertwist sighed, purposefully ignoring the bitter look Gingerspring shot at Frostdancer.

"Grab your baskets, everyone!" Oilstar yowled near the camp entrance, adjusting the leaves in her fur. "We need to leave now if we want to beat AshClan to the Leader's Stone! Let's keep on our paws tonight!" Wildclaw hurried out of the nursery, the smell of her recently adopted litter whafting off her pelt. She took her place beside Oilstar and led the way out of camp. Lavendertwist scrambled into the crowd, searching for the gray and white pelt he so adored.

"Lavendertwist!" Elmsprout's tail stuck over the crowd. Lavendertwist shimmied past his Clanmates into the heart of the group, where Elmsprout walked alongside Halibutdusk.

"Are you ready for tonight?" Lavendertwist asked, nuzzling his mate as he matched the Clan's pace.

"Ready for the whole Gathering to ask me how I'm coping," Elmsprout sighed. "That's why I asked Halibutdusk to sit with us tonight. I could use a buffer."

"I'm going to assume that is a compliment," Halibutdusk hummed with a flick of their ear.

The snow outside of camp was smushed down by countless paws trekking back and forth. Oilstar and Wildclaw led RippleClan along the pawprints of earlier border patrols, deep and trailing, easily disrupted by excited paws and heavy baskets. The sunset was dull with the heavy clouds, more like a black pelt dragged across the land than a beautiful color show. At least the pride of RippleClan kept everyone warm.

"I hope the clouds aren't a bad sign," Elmsprout sighed as RippleClan reached the dark treeline, abandoning the glow of the camp fire. "I heard that generations ago, the Clans would have canceled the whole Gathering over this."

"If StarClan wants us to meet in winter," Halibutdusk pointed out, "we have to tolerate a moonless night."

"I can just hear AshClan worrying about Eelstar's spirit," Elmsprout groaned. "They'll say my father sent the clouds for one reason or another!"

"I'll keep them off you tonight," Lavendertwist promised.

It wasn't long before RippleClan found the border of WheatClan and AshClan and started the next leg of the journey to the Leader's Stone. Just as Lavendertwist leaned in to lick his mate's cheek, absorbed in conversation, Vervaincough stumbled into him, pushing against the flow of the crowd.

"Sorry, Lavendertwist!" Vervaincough gulped, scampering backward out of the rush of cats. "I'm just trying to get to the back."

"Vervain, will you make sure to see me later tonight?" Halibutdusk asked. Vervaincough drifted further back, but Halibutdusk dragged their paws. "The clerics are sharing ancestor sightings tonight. I want to see if they've spotted your mother and sisters in StarClan."

"I promise to sit with you," Vervaincough called, jogging backward. She hurried to the far back of the crowd, where Slushtrail wandered with her gaze drifting around the dark trees. Vervaincough gently nudged Slushtrail and spoke softly with the brown and white mediator. Lavendertwist quickly remembered the tom who was supposed to be walking alongside his sister, a tom Lavendertwist mentored, a tom who could have done so much more. Lavendertwist's scar burned with bittersweet memories.

"I should join that tonight," Lavendertwist muttered as he, Elmsprout, and Halibutdusk rediscovered their pace. "It would be nice to better understand how Tallowheart is doing. And Billowhaze. And… Splashtuft."

"Poor Drumtooth," Elmsprout whimpered. "He and his brothers just don't know how to react. I think it's why those three volunteered to stay behind tonight. They need some time to really work through his disappearance. And don't get me started on Floodsplash. She finally goes back to her duties after the flood, and she plummets into a depression with Billowhaze's death. Maybe the new kits will balance out all the loss."

"I don't like gossiping about mourning cats," Halibutdusk muttered, ears twitching down.

"I'm not trying to be cruel," Elmsprout insisted. "I'm letting you know how they're coping."

"To be fair, Elm," Lavendertwist groaned with a twirl of his tail, "a lot of cats will be 'letting each other know how you're coping' tonight. And I don't think you like that." Elmsprout mrowed softly, caught in her hypocrisy. She dipped her head and cleared her throat.

"Maybe I should see if Terracottafoot has seen my father in StarClan," Elmsprout admitted. "I… I do hope we can meet again in Silverpelt." Halibutdusk and Lavendertwist nodded.

"Dog! Dog! Dog!" Lavendertwist almost didn't hear the yowl above the chatter of the crowd. He glanced behind him, the first to turn his head.

The dog came from AshClan. Lavendertwist saw it charge across the border, ignoring the frantic yowls of AshClan cats behind it. It was a muscular white beast with a curling tail that blended into the shadowed snow. Thick slobber dribbled along its pointed chin. A hundred tragedies filled Lavendertwist's mind. Dogs with foaming mouths, infecting survivors with a disease no cleric could ever hope to cure.

By the time the rest of the Clan heard what Lavendertwist heard, the dog was right behind Vervaincough.

The dog collied with Vervaincough like a kit stumbling over a moss-ball. Snow flew around them like an explosion. A spray of blood soared out from the chaos. RippleClan panicked. Some pushed forward, mediators and artisans who lacked the training to take down such a big dog. Others surged against the fear, hurrying to Vervaincough's aid. The black codekeeper's cries pierced the night like a stalking owl.

Lavendertwist was almost lifted off the ground by the opposing forces pushing against him. Halibutdusk, meanwhile, shouldered Ravenweaver aside as she ran past them and broke free of the swarm. Lavendertwist followed their path, jumping over Elmsprout. Four AshClan warriors surged across the border just as Lavendertwist, Halibutdusk, and the other RippleClan warriors reached Vervaincough and the dog.

A sea of warriors smashed into the slobbering dog. A dozen different pelts, black and ginger and brown and blue, smeared against the dog's scruffy white fur. Warriors of both AshClan and RippleClan dragged the dog off the quivering red-stained mass that was Vervaincough. Lavendertwist never even laid a paw on the dog; the rest of his Clan dealt with the beast with such a feral fury that he could turn his attention to Vervaincough.

Vervaincough was a mess of deep bite wounds. Blood pooled around her collarbone. Her lean muscles quivered with painful spasms. Wild silver eyes shook as Halibutdusk crouched by their daughter's face, noting each and every lethal blow.

"Dad," Vervaincough croaked, paws twitching.

"I'm here, I'm here, I'm not letting you go," Halibutdusk stammered, shoving their muzzle under Vervaincough's bloody shoulder. They lifted their daughter up. Vervaincough's neck dangled, dripping into the snow. Halibutdusk's blown-out amber eyes barely took in the swarm of fury at their side, a horde of warriors that slowly wore down the dog's strength and beat it into the snow. Halibutdusk turned to Lavendertwist, who stared horrified, and screamed, "Help me!"

Lavendertwist bolted to Halibutdusk's side. He slipped under Vervaincough's flank. His pelt grew sticky with her blood. Memories of his near-fatal neck wound returned in a terrified haze. Lavendertwist dug his jaw into his skull and fought the memories off. The dog was no longer moving, but the warriors still beat into it, completely consumed in their outrage. Lavendertwist and Halibutdusk could not wait for an explanation from AshClan or orders from RippleClan. They simply ran, balancing Vervaincough on their backs.

The pair retraced the Clan's path back to camp. It made it easy to move through the snow, although Lavendertwist and Halibutdusk were not of the mind to appreciate that. Gray skies turned black as the night strengthened its hold over the territory. Lavendertwist's back burned with Vervaincough's intense heat. His legs felt as though they would fall off in his effort to match Halibutdusk's wild pace.

As Lavendertwist and Halibutdusk reached RippleClan's forest and the smell of saltwater returned to the trees, Vervaincough's haggard breathing slowed.

The brambles lining the camp entance tore at Lavendertwist's side when he and Halibutdusk returned. Honeybuzz, Drumtooth, and Leathermask sat around the camp bonfire, sharing tongues when the smell of blood hit their noses. A horrid mrow escaped Drumtooth's throat when he saw Vervaincough.

"A dog," Halibutdusk panted, running past the three borhters to the medicine den. "A damn dog came out from AshClan! Help her! Honeybuzz, help her!" Vervaincough tumbled into Estherfern's nest; no one had the time to care about who's nest was whos. Honeybuzz slipped between Halibutdusk and Lavendertwist and crouched beside Vervaincough's wounds.

Lavendertwist backed out of the medicine den. He almost bumped into Leathermask and Drumtooth, who watched wide-eyed from the entrance. Mitespark, belly heavy with milk and eyes droopy from the strain of kitting, peeked out of the nursery, trying to gauge what was going on. Waspdawn and Vasco crept out of the quarantine den, still a little shaky from yellowcough but strong enough to investigate the panicked sounds in the medicine den.

That was when a desperate, hopeless wail broke through the camp. Lavendertwist didn't have to look inside to know it was Halibutdusk. He didn't have to look to know what happened.

It all happened so fast. Lavendertwist's head buzzed. Was the rest of the Clan coming back to camp? Were they still going to the Gathering? This was supposed to be a fun night. Why did Lavendertwist's Clanmates have to suffer like this? Couldn't RippleClan have a season where someone didn't die?

"Dad!" Lavendertwist's skin jumped. Gingerspring hurried into camp, a basket of herbs bouncing against his chest. Dried plants flew out of the basket in Gingerspring's wild run. He stepped on the bloodstained snow, staining his pads.

"Dad, how's Vervaincough?" Gingerspring huffed, skidding to a stop in front of his father. "I came back in case Honeybuzz needs help. Oilstar is handling the dog, I think—"

Lavendertwist wrapped himself around Gingerspring. The blood smeared onto his back rubbed onto Gingerspring, camoflagued in his orange fur. Halibutdusk's wail rippled deep into the hearts of everyone in camp.

"Dad?" Gingerspring gulped. Lavendertwist pressed harder into his son. Gingerspring shoved his muzzle into his father's shoulder.

When you're a father, it is important to count your blessings. No one knows when they could slip away.

(Lavendertwist: 69, male, historian, playful, great singer, good storyteller)

(Frostdancer: 19, female, artisan, confident, masterful storyteller)

(Gingerspring: 19, male, cleric, charismatic, human expert, good hunter)

(Oilstar: 107, female, leader, charismatic, ghost speaker)

(Elmsprout: 70, female, caretaker, charismatic, trusted advisor)

(Halibutdusk: 95, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Vervaincough: 38, female, codekeeper, insecure, understands nature, good mediator)

Quickpaw joins Wolverineheart, Thundergale, and Midnightpaw training. The half-blind warrior gives them both hope for the future.

[Image ID: Quickpaw and Midnightpaw, now in an adult sprite, sit in front of Wolverineheart and Thundergale.]

---

Quickpaw pounced first, living up to her prefix. Midnightpaw braced himself. His paws sank deep into the wet sand of Battle Beach. He kept his head at an angle, uncovered eye focused on Quickpaw, bandaged eye shielded. But could he keep it so?

Quickpaw spun around Midnightpaw. His bandage flashed clear for just a moment before he countered and faced Quickpaw once more. Quickpaw repeated her move. She lept over Midightpaw, and Midnightpaw once more countered. This wouldn't be as easy as it seemed. Midnightpaw's form was softer and rounder than other toms his age, but growing muscle stretched under that fluff. It was the sort of build that made Quickpaw assume Midnightpaw's fighting style was brutish and slow. But perhaps that was intentional.

Midnightpaw batted at Quickpaw's face, overwhelming her whiskers with too much input. Midnightpaw spun on his front legs. He kicked Quickpaw in the side.

"It seems unfair that he can go for my face, but I can't go for his," Quickpaw groaned as she locked herself around Midnightpaw's unprotected front legs. Midnightpaw dropped all his weight on Quickpaw's head. Sand smeared into her nose.

"You can explain to Estherfern why the scars on his eye reopened, then!" Wolverineheart called from her perch in the grass, laughing. Thundergale sat at her side, focused on each apprentice's moves. The sisters' brown pelts glowed in the morning light that richocheted off the gray winter sea. The snow had faded with an uncharacteristically warm day, but the deep cold that once more claimed the land promised more snow soon to come.

Midnightpaw laughed and let Quickpaw up. Quickpaw snorted out sand and shook out her pelt.

"Floodsplash taught me the trick with my eye," Midnightpaw purred, licking sand off Quickpaw's chest.

"You're good," Quickpaw panted. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You have more moons of sparring under your paws than I do."

"And I'm just better," Midnightpaw chuckled, sticking his tongue out. Quickpaw smacked Midnightpaw's shoulder, laughing.

"Alright, alright, let's review how you did," Wolverineheart said. She and Thundergale joined the apprentices on the sand. Quickpaw sat tall and polite, just as her SlugClan mentor taught her. Midnightpaw, meanwhile, laid on his back and watched the older mollies upside-down.

Wolverineheart nodded to Thundergale. Thundergale purred and began to sign. A touch of shame warmed Quickpaw's face. She was a historian now, she should be able to understand one of her most famous Clanmates. Yet Thundergale's quick flicks of her paw, the little twitches in her whiskers, all looked the same to poor Quickpaw. At least Wolverineheart could translate.

"You're really mastering Floodsplash's technique, Midnightpaw!" Thundergale signed with a purr. "Hopefully your eye heals well and you won't have to worry about guarding that side of your face. If Estherfern gives you bad news, though, I think you can handle yourself in a fight. You should work on partner fighting next. If you have someone else to watch your bad side, you don't have to be as cautious."

"It feels…" Midnightpaw hummed, with Wolverineheart translating back for Thundergale, "manageable, I think that's the word. It feels alright to not notice everything. Does that make sense?"

"It does to me," Thundergale assured him. She then turned toward Quickpaw. "Quickpaw, I could tell you struggled since you couldn't hit Midnightpaw's face. Try to take it as a chance to learn. Practice more moves that target the legs and tail. You don't want to rely on just a few battle moves."

"I know more moves," Quickpaw huffed. "It threw me off when I wanted to smack Midnightpaw's face, but had to remind myself I couldn't."

"Consider it a challenge," Thundergale suggested.

"Do you think I can graduate?" Midnightpaw asked, tail tilting up in misplaced hope. "I did well, right?"

"Midnightpaw," Wolverineheart sighed. Her kits may have only been a half moon old, but she had already mastered a maternal, disappointed tone that made Quickpaw's heart catch and the sound of her own mother slip through her ears. "We talked about this. You've missed a lot of training. It will take a few more moons before you're ready to be a warrior."

"I'm an adult now, though," Midnightpaw whined. "I beat Quickpaw. I can hunt. Isn't that enough? I can't still be in the apprentice's den when the new kits become apprentices! What sort of big brother would I be if I can't graduate?"

"I understand, I promise I do," Wolverineheart purred. She stopped translating for Thundergale, instead patting her sister's shoulder and moving closer to the two apprentices. She spoke in softer tones, gentle eyes flicking between Quickpaw and Midnightpaw. "I know you're both excited to graduate. You want to be responsible, respected. You're both a year old now, and I know Boughfur and I are trying to give you some space because of that. Just trust that you'll graduate before too long. This will all be a distant memory this time next year. Does that help?"

"Quickpaw has to graduate with me," Midnightpaw huffed, slapping a paw against her back. "It wouldn't be right for her to get left behind." Quickpaw couldn't find her words for a second. One moment, Midnightpaw was begging to graduate, the next he wanted Quickpaw at his side? What a strange tom.

"I'm the older one here," Quickpaw chuckled, shaking her head. "What makes you think you wouldn't be left behind?"

"Because I can do this, and you can't," Midnightpaw hummed, mischief glinting in his eyes. Midnightpaw smashed his flank into Quickpaw with a sudden twist, throwing the brown apprentice off her feet.

"We'll see about that!" Quickpaw roared, laughter bubbling through. She rolled back up just in time to brace for Midnightpaw's charge.

As Quickpaw and Midnightpaw traded blows and gouged the sand, Wolverineheart stepped back, rejoining Thundergale and loafing as she watched. Quickpaw could hear Wolverineheart's deep purr over the beat of her own heart and Midnightpaw's quick swipes. She dodged Midnightpaw's second swipe and locked herself around his back leg.

She wouldn't lose this time!

(Quickpaw: 13, female, historian apprentice, ambitious, good swimmer)

(Midnightpaw: 12, male, warrior apprentice, oblivious, always wandering)

(Wolverineheart: 35, female, warrior, troublesome, student of science)

(Thundergale: 35, female, teacher, adventurous, great hunter, good speaker)

Halibutdusk’s angry comment during a border meeting with the new leader, Lichenstar, leads to a fight. Leathermask walks away with a badly torn pelt while Asterblaze sports a deep bite wound.

[Image ID: Halibutdusk, Rapidleaf, Asterblaze, and Leathermask stare down the new leader of AshClan, Lichenstar, a ginger and gray tortoiseshell. Halibutdusk growls, "You killed her. do you know that? your clan’s inattention drove a rabid dog into my daughter." Under Rapidleaf, it reads LEVEL UP! LONESOME → SNEAKY. Under Asterblaze, it says + CONDITION: BITE WOUND. Under Leathermask, it says + CONDITION: TORN PELT.]

(Halibutdusk: 95, nonbinary (they/them), warrior, gloomy, masterful storyteller, clever)

(Rapidleaf: 121, female, warrior, sneaky, prophecy interpreter)

(Asterblaze: 50, male, caretaker, thoughtful, inventor and innovator)

(Leathermask: 51, male, warrior, confident, good fighter, eloquent speaker)

Weevilsight comes back shivering with frostbite while asking WheatClan to help with Midnightpaw’s eyes.

[Image ID: Estherfern says to Weevilsight, "His scars have almost healed, weevilsight... you wasted your time." Under Weevilsight, it says + CONDITION: FROSTBITE.]

(Estherfern: 137, female, cleric, adventurous, great mediator, prophecy seeker)

(Weevilsight: 38, female, cleric, daring, deep StarClan bond)

[preemptivejustice]

Arthur acknowledged Marc’s arrival with nothing more than a glance. Not welcoming, not drawing attention to him, but noting that he had chosen to arrive here; there was no need to single him out, the same as the rest of the group. 

The woman with the scar cleared her throat. She didn’t uncross her arms, but she did speak, her voice rough and quiet. 

“I don’t remember what happened,” she said. “… To my arm. Not exactly. I… I remember the sound. Of my fire alarm, uh… I remember how it smelled. After everything, y’know. But… but I think my brain skipped the in-between? It’s like… like I was there, and then I was gone, and then I was screaming.” 

A silence followed her, one where Arthur only nodded - listening, interested, though not saying anything that might pressure her in any direction. 

The man by the window glanced over. “… I was in the kitchen,” he said. “No combat zone. No battlefield. Was my mother’s birthday - would’ve been, if she was alive.” 

Someone in the group made a sound at that, almost sad - nothing more than proof that they were listening. 

“I was making eggs,” the man continued. “Then I wasn’t. I was on the floor, the pan was fucked, I thought there was fuckin’ — glass in my hands, and I couldn’t get it out. But there wasn’t.” 

“Was it a memory?” Someone asked, briefly pulling Arthur’s gaze before he looked back to the man. 

He shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t know what it was.” 

Arthur nodded again. “A lot of trauma doesn’t announce itself,” he voiced. “It doesn’t come back in order, or fully formed. It stays in the body.” 

He looked over the group, for a moment - everyone was listening, even if some were still choosing to stare pointedly at the floor. 

“When we talk about memory,” he continued, “We’re also talking about absence. About silence. About moments we’ve tried to forget. Does anyone have anything like that? Getting it out of your body can be a great way to work with it.” 

A moment passed. Then two, then three. 

“… I don’t think mine’s a memory,” said the teenager across from Marc; freckled, short hair, sleeves pulled over his hands. “But I still feel it. Every time I brush my teeth, I mean. And - and I know that sounds stupid, y’know, but - I get this tightness in my chest? Like I can’t swallow? Like - like something’s gonna go wrong. So I just… decide to do nothing. And then I feel like shit all day.” 

“It’s not stupid,” Arthur replied, almost immediately. “The body doesn’t need something to be rational to respond to it. It just needs to have felt something once.” 

Someone hummed, either in agreement or comfort. Then came the next voice, thin and papery, from an older woman; she also held a cane, leaning it in her hands as she sat. 

“I used to keep a pair of shoes outside my bedroom door,” she informed. “For thirty years. I don’t know why - my husband thought it was silly, he said someone would trip. But if they weren’t there, I just… couldn’t sleep.” She tilted her head. “Last year, my niece found them and asked if they were her mom’s. I don’t know why she did that - her mother died when she was four.” 

The teen muttered ‘Jesus’, at the same time Arthur nodded. 

“Trauma anchors itself,” he answered. “It doesn’t leave just because you don’t look at it. It can build routines and habits, like what you see in yourself; and it can build other things, for people like your niece.” 

There was another hush after Arthur’s words, as everyone listened. It was in the air how much they actually listened to it versus how much they just pretended to, but he didn’t mind; the purpose of the group was to socialize, to understand that you weren’t alone. 

“… I used to wake up to sirens,” said a man near the back, quiet. “Not real ones. Just the sound in my head. Every night at two or three in the morning, I’d get a full adrenaline spike. Throw on my boots, try to figure out who needed me.” 

A few people hummed, nodded. Arthur did as well, his eyebrows furrowing again; something he only did when he took a mental note. 

“I don’t really talk in these,” spoke a woman to Marc’s left. Her voice was quiet, but she was smiling gently. “But I like hearing everyone. It makes me feel less… I dunno. But… last week I cried because someone bumped into me and said sorry. And it was just so nice.” 

“I get that,” agreed the teen. “My roommate said good morning once, and it was a lot.” 

Arthur didn’t speak much during the group, though he smiled and nodded frequently; his eyes always shifted to whoever was speaking, listening softly, politely. He never pushed anyone to talk, never demanded more; though he did find himself wishing that Marc would open up, speak any at all; even just in response to someone else. 

Marc ends up following that schedule he's been given.

...Somewhat.

It turns out that having meals at set times is actually the easiest for him to do; No, he's not enjoying the process of consuming food - which isn't the kitchen's fault, because everything is rather decent in quality and taste, all things considered. He's just lacking an appetite, and nothing he consumes makes him feel better in any shape or form... but he does manage to eat a suitable amount. Enough to keep him going, enough to make sure his body won't crumble and fall apart. ...As bitter as the coffee is, he's actually enjoying that one the most; A habit of his he can keep holding onto, having a cup of coffee in the morning. It feels... good. Secure. Familiar. Would be even better if he were to allow himself a bit of sugar or milk to go with it...

He's not there yet - allowing himself to even have that one cup of coffee in the first place is almost dancing at the edge of being too much, too generous, so he's going with a plain, black one for now.

The rest of that schedule that Harrow has created for him turns out to be a bit more of an issue - because Marc does not really want to go and see what's going on in the community room, does not want to join anyone doing anything. Since the other had phrased said task rather broadly, however, Marc decided to take it quite literal - found something going on, took a seat a bit further away, watched it happening. Looked at some guys working on a puzzle, then looked at a young girl painting at a closeby window.

...Trying to not come across as super creepy while doing that, yeah. He's, uh, not really eager to be seen as a weirdo... for rather obvious reasons.

He ended up doing that for a bit, then went to get himself something to read; Apparently there's a library existing within this facility, and Harrow had ordered him to go there, pick something up he'd like to read through. That task turned out to be rather easy to do as well - Marc sure as hell did not expect the library to look the way it does, and he also did not expect it to hold so many different books to begin with... many topics, many genres, almost anything a heart could ever desire.

Journaling, however? That's something he hates - he knew he would, but once he'd sat down in front of those stupid empty pages, he'd stared at them for almost a whole hour without writing a word. Everything had felt wrong, not worth it to be noted down, too stupid... all of that combined.

---He did manage to write something into it, in the end, despite it all - one single sentence, written in neat, slightly curved letters: I don't like writing journals.

--

He's never too late for anything, prefers to be early, if Marc can somehow manage to do that. And despite having decided the evening before that he would not join that stupid group meeting - because honestly, why should he? - he's... well, here.

Having stopped at the door frame, glancing into the room, Marc watches other people take a seat at whatever chair they seem to prefer; Harrow's already there, ready to start it all off---

Marc could still leave, turn around and make his way back down to his own room. Enjoy the peace and quiet there, the solitude, the white walls and white floors and white ceilings. He could change his mind about it all, could nope the fuck out and do something else...

But it's written onto his schedule and... what else is he even supposed to do? Drawing? Solving a damn puzzle? Well, he could read another book, but... he technically isn't asked to do that until later today, so...

...A sigh, Harrow's voice beginning to echo through the room - as much as it can, with it always being so quiet, level. Means that Marc is now a tad bit too late, if he's being strict with himself... Shit.

A swallow, a lick of his bottom lip, and Marc finally kicks his ass - enters the room with quiet, tentative steps, walking over to where the rest of the others are already sitting and waiting for whatever is going to happen; Eyes are on him, Marc can tell, and he has a brief, rather awkward lookaround before taking a seat on one of those empty chairs - ends up sitting closest to Harrow in a suitable distance.

Arms cross in front of his chest, a firm, slightly unhappy yet somewhat curious expression on tired features - a drilling gaze thrown at someone who stares at him, which causes that guy to finally look away. Good. Marc hopes it stays this way.

[astrakim]

The Space Between Us

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

enemies to lovers | slow burn | bed-sharing | fluff, angst, emotional smut

>genre: childhood rivals to lovers,

friends-forced-to-share-a-bed, emotional tension,

slow burn

>word count: 17.9k [combined]

>summary: They started as neighbors. Then came a stupid night - and suddenly, Heeseung and Y/N were enemies. Years of rivalry, endless tension, and a thousand unspoken feelings between them.

When a group trip forces them to share a bed, everything changes. Jealousy flares. Secrets unravel. And the line between hate and desire blurs in ways neither of them expected.

What if the enemy was never really the enemy?

>series warnings: suggestive tension, mutual pining, soft vulnerability, swearing, kissing, a lot of staring, protected sex (wrap it yall), oral (f.rec), fingering, heeseung is a flirt, misunderstanding, Sunoo lowkey OR highkey being a menace matchmaker, thats all ig let me know if I should add anything.

Reblogs and likes are really appreciated!

Enjoy your read!

Day 4:

The group decides on something calmer for next day: A lakeside picnic spot about thirty minutes from the cabin. Sunoo insists it’s “aesthetic and peaceful,” but I know it's just an excuse for another million candids and stories for his socials.

The van ride is chaos again. Sunghoon tries to DJ, Jake eats half a pack of gummy worms before noon, and someone’s foot ends up on my thigh — again.

“Can we not do this every time?” I mutter, shoving Heeseung’s leg off me.

He just smirks. “You didn’t mind yesterday.”

I don’t dignify it with a response, but the flush crawling up my neck gives me away.

When we arrive, the lake shimmers under the sunlight, trees swaying, and a few boats bobbing on the water. Everyone scatters — some heading for paddle boats, some for hammocks, some to set up the food.

I think I’ve escaped into peace until I hear:

“Y/N and Heeseung — you’re on firewood duty!”

“Why us?” I groan.

“Because watching you two carry logs and not kill each other is entertainment,” Sunoo yells from his picnic blanket.

Heeseung’s already beside me, smug and ready.

“This feels like punishment,” I mutter.

He falls in step beside me as we walk into the shaded woods. Our steps are quiet. So is the air between us.

I pick up a branch. “Don’t even think about throwing leaves at me.”

Heeseung grabs one anyway. “But your hair would look good with them.”

I squint at him. “Was that a compliment?”

“Wasn’t, not a compliment.”

And just like that, we’re bantering again. But it’s lighter. The jabs don’t hit like they used to. Every teasing line is dipped in something softer, like we’re testing how much of our old friendship still exists beneath the sharp edges.

Later, back at the lake, I’m standing near the dock when Jake comes up beside me. We’re laughing at something — maybe a squirrel stealing food — when I feel it.

Eyes.

I glance over and see Heeseung across the water, sunglasses perched low on his nose, arms crossed, but he’s definitely watching. When Jake nudges my arm, Heeseung tilts his head and turns away, just a second too late.

He’s jealous.

Not the tantrum kind. The quiet, seething kind. The kind that doesn’t ask for attention but demands it anyway.

It weirdly makes me... smile.

---

We’re roasting marshmallows later— again, everyone circling the campfire. The mood is golden and warm, literal and emotional. Heeseung sits beside me this time, not across. Our knees bump once. Neither of us moves.

When I try to toast a marshmallow and it falls in the fire, he slides his perfectly roasted one onto my stick. Doesn’t say anything. Just... does it.

I turn to him. “You’re being weird.”

He shrugs. “I’m just being nice.”

“No, you’re never just nice.”

He grins, leans a little closer. “Maybe I’m trying to impress someone.”

The air shifts.

My stomach flips.

I swallow. “Try harder.”

Heeseung laughs, low and real, and then — he bumps his shoulder into mine. Not hard. Just enough to make me sway.

“Cute fox looks good on your bag, by the way,” he says, pointing at the plush I’ve kept tied to the strap.

I roll my eyes. “Stop flirting.”

“I’m not,” he says, grinning wider. “You’d know if I was.”

—

That night, the bed feels too warm and not wide enough. We’re still not touching — but we’re closer than we’ve ever been.

I lie awake a while, listening to the soft rhythm of his breath.

He shifts. “Still awake?”

“Mmhm.”

“Thinking about how you stole my marshmallow?”

I smile into my pillow. “Thinking about throwing another one at your face.”

He chuckles, then after a pause: “You’re easier to talk to now.”

“Is that an insult?”

“No,” he says, softer. “It’s a relief.”

My heart does something stupid in my chest.

I keep staring at him

“What?” he asks, quirking a brow his tone suddenly teasing.

“Your hair. You look like an anime character.”

He tosses the pillow at me. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

I grin. “You’re not the main character, Lee.”

“Right. I’m the misunderstood rival. Girls love that.”

I throw a pillow back at him. It’s playful. So is the grin he sends back.

Eventually, we settle into bed. Only one pillow between us this time. The silence is a little thicker, not with tension — but with something else. Awareness.

“I bet you dream about me,” he says suddenly.

I turn to glare at him. “Why would you say that?”

He smirks, rolling onto his side to face me. “Just a hunch. You talk in your sleep.”

“I do not.”

“You do. Last night? Mumbled something like ‘shut up, Heeseung’ in your dreams. Kind of sweet, actually.”

I stare at him. “I will kill you in your sleep.”

But the corners of my mouth betray me. I'm smiling again. He sees it, and for a beat, the room quiets.

He doesn’t break eye contact. “You’re not that hard to read anymore.”

I blink. “Is that a challenge?”

“No,” he says, soft. “It’s a compliment.”

And with that, he rolls over and turns off the lamp.

I lie awake a little longer, wondering when his voice started sounding like a memory I missed.

Thinking about how her little crush on her stupid rival neighbour who also had the power of making her heart do somersaults or her nights a little intense ( which she will never agree to) when she stared at him through her window —not staking accidently grazing her eyes at him, his hands, at the way he’s……

She snaps out when she feels heeseung move in his sleep, fluster to even think about him like that when he’s right besides him close, too close.

Cursing herself she starts to fall asleep trying not to think about how good he smells besides her.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

Day 5:

Sunoo’s voice was practically vibrating. “Okay, listen, I found this place online last night—it’s like a secret riverside town or something. Boats, food, a forest trail. All cute stuff. We’re going.”

No one objected, especially not Y/N, who was just glad for a distraction from the awkward energy that still lingered after last night’s shared-bed tension. She kept her eyes firmly away from Heeseung at breakfast, but she could feel him looking. Of course he was.

The riverside was annoyingly pretty. Colorful little boats bumped gently along the docks, and the air smelled like grilled shrimp and damp stone. There were tiny shops tucked between wooden cabins, and vines growing wild along hand-carved bridges.

Y/N walked with the group until someone slowed beside her. She didn’t have to look to know.

“You always stare at the water like it stole your dog?” Heeseung said casually.

“Do you always sneak up like a serial killer?” she shot back.

He just smirked. “Only when the victim’s cute.”

She blinked. “Are you—”

“Flirting? Yeah.” He turned ahead again, hands in his pockets. “Try to keep up.”

And she did. Except her thoughts kept circling. This wasn’t how it used to be. They used to bicker like it was war. Now... it felt like he was teasing her. Pulling at something soft. And she hated how her chest reacted like a traitor every single time.

The others eventually broke off to check out a bridge market while Sunghoon and Sunoo went scouting for the so-called “secret fireworks hill.” Y/N sat on the low stone wall by the river, catching her breath, watching the gold glint of water.

A shadow fell over her shoulder.

“Mind if I—” Heeseung didn’t finish the sentence, just sat beside her.

They were quiet. Long enough for her to forget they were supposed to hate each other.

“You’ve got something on your face,” he said finally, and she looked at him in time to see him reach out—slow, deliberate—and swipe a grain of sugar from the corner of her mouth.

She froze.

He didn’t pull away.

Their faces were close. Too close. That look in his eyes—Y/N had seen it before in mirrors, late at night, when she swore she’d moved on. But it was here now, right in front of her, and it made her stomach twist painfully.

Before anything else could happen, Sunoo’s voice called from a distance. “You guys coming or are you gonna have a whole moment down there?”

They jumped apart. Y/N stood too fast. “Yeah—coming! Not having a moment!”

Heeseung just laughed softly behind her, and she hated that it made her want to smile.

The sky was cotton blue with frayed white clouds hanging like lazy thoughts. The morning breeze rolled off the river, carrying a coolness that nipped pleasantly at Y/N’s skin as she stepped out of the van.

“This place is unreal,” Sunoo practically squealed, spinning in a full circle as the group filed out behind him.

It was a quiet riverside town tucked into the folds of a wooded valley. Not touristy — more like something you stumbled on by accident and didn’t tell anyone else about because it felt too precious. There were cobbled paths, floating food stalls, tiny bridges laced with vines, and the faint smell of charcoal-grilled seafood in the air. The river moved slow and wide, mirroring the sleepy rhythm of the town.

Heeseung stretched with a yawn, shirt riding just enough to make Y/N’s gaze flick away too fast. Unfortunately, she caught Sunghoon smirking at her.

“I’m fine,” she blurted before he said anything.

“Didn’t say a word,” he said, smiling knowingly.

Y/N turned to Sunoo instead, pretending she hadn’t just been caught thirsting over her mortal enemy. “What’s the plan, captain?”

Sunoo grinned, clapping his hands. “Alright, split into pairs or something. Float market’s that way. There’s a forest trail with a lookout point, and apparently fireworks happen at sunset — very spontaneous and romantic,” he added with a not-so-subtle look between her and Heeseung.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You people are exhausting.”

“You’re welcome,” Sunoo chirped. “Go fall in love or whatever.”

She slipped off toward the riverside with her hands shoved in her pockets, walking just far enough to feel alone — until a voice came up from behind, cocky and warm.

“You always stare at the water like it owes you money?”

She didn’t turn. “You always follow people like a stray?”

Heeseung stepped beside her anyway, way too comfortable in his loose cream tee and that godforsaken smirk. “Only when they look like they’re trying not to cry in public.”

“I’m not crying.”

“I said trying.”

She looked at him properly then — the sunlight catching on his lashes, hair wind-mussed, face open and unreadable all at once. He wasn’t smiling now. Just... watching her.

“What?” she said flatly.

“You’re quieter today,” he said. “Almost feels illegal.”

“Maybe I’m tired of arguing.”

“Or,” he said, angling his head, “you’re scared I’ll win.”

She snorted. “That’s generous of you.”

But still, she didn’t walk away. And neither did he.

They wandered the market with the others — or at least near enough. Heeseung always seemed to drift close whenever she stopped. They kept bickering, of course, about whether mango is a superior fruit (it is), or whether she looked weird walking with her hands behind her back (she didn’t). But the edge was missing. Somewhere, in the space between shared marshmallows and late-night pillow fights, the fight had dulled into something... tentative.

Like they weren’t enemies anymore. Just two people who didn’t know what to do with all the tension left behind.

Y/N stood near a vendor selling steamed buns when a grain of sugar got stuck at the corner of her mouth. She went to wipe it—

Heeseung’s fingers beat her to it.

She froze, eyes darting up to meet his. His hand moved slow, wiping the sugar like it was deliberate — like he wanted her to notice his touch.

She did.

“You’re staring again,” she murmured, voice suddenly dry.

“You’re letting me,” he said, not moving.

“Guys!” Sunoo’s voice broke the spell like a hammer. “Come on! We found the lookout. Fireworks start in like— 3 hour! We have to have our lunch before. Move your asses!”

Heeseung stepped back. His hand fell away.

Y/N swallowed. “I wasn’t—”

“No, yeah,” he said quickly. “We should... yeah.”

They followed the others towards their lunch spot.

—

After lunch, the group decided to explore a scenic hiking trail Sunoo had found online — full of lookout spots, wildflower fields, and riverside photo ops. Everyone was buzzing with excitement, and Sunoo was already mapping out where to get the best selfies.

Y/N was chatting with Jake near the trailhead, laughing as he mimicked Sunghoon’s grumpy morning routine. “He literally walked out with one eye open and cursed the sun,” Jake said.

“It was way too early,” Y/N giggled. “You looked like a zombie, too.”

Jake gave a mock offended gasp. “Excuse you, I looked like a charming, forest-dwelling prince.”

“You looked like you needed three espressos and a reality check.”

As they laughed, Heeseung’s eyes followed them.

He had been leaning against a tree with his arms crossed, sipping water and pretending he wasn’t watching her. But his jaw tightened slightly. He wasn’t stupid — Jake was charming, easy-going, and worse, comfortable around Y/N in a way that didn’t make her roll her eyes every five seconds. She smiled differently around him. And even if it was probably nothing, Heeseung hated it.

Sunghoon called, “Let’s get moving before Sunoo turns into a GPS again.”

The group started walking, Y/N still by Jake’s side.

Heeseung casually walked faster, slipping between Jay and Sunoo until he was right beside her. He matched her pace like it was effortless.

“You really hanging around Jake all day now?” he said under his breath, just enough for her to hear.

She looked at him, surprised. “I didn’t realize there were assigned seats for trails now.”

Heeseung smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Just saying. He’s not that funny.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “You’re jealous.”

“Of Jake?” He scoffed. “Please.”

She leaned closer, taunting, “You so are.”

He turned to her fully now, walking backward with a smug grin. “If I wanted your attention, Y/N, I wouldn’t have to fight Jake for it.”

“Oh?” she raised an eyebrow. “Confident today, are we?”

“I’m always confident,” he said, winking.

She was about to fire back something biting when a butterfly fluttered past them, and Heeseung — smug bastard — gently caught it on his palm, holding it out to her.

“See?” he said. “Even nature wants me to be your favorite.”

Jake, up ahead, yelled, “Y/N! Come take a selfie!”

Heeseung immediately stepped closer, his hand grazing hers as he brushed past. “Nah, she’s busy.”

She blinked. “I can answer for myself, you know.”

He just tilted his head. “Can you, though?”

Her heart flipped in her chest. He was so close — that familiar teasing tone back, but there was something new behind it. An edge. A silent dare. A new tension.

And when Jake looked back, confused, Y/N just waved him off and kept walking.

Heeseung smiled to himself.

Point, Lee Heeseung.

They followed the others up a stone path that led into the trees, the air turning cooler and dimmer as branches wove together overhead. The tension didn’t disappear — it wrapped tighter around them, quieter now. Like something alive between the spaces where words used to go.

—

By the time they reached the trailhead, the sun had dipped low enough to set the river ablaze in gold. The trees filtered the light into a haze, casting long shadows across the mossy path. It wasn’t steep, but the walk made everyone slow down, breath syncing with the rustle of leaves overhead.

Y/N was walking just ahead of Heeseung when she heard him mutter behind her, “You’re not gonna survive the climb in those shoes.”

She turned. “I have survived this far.”

“Barely,” he said, nudging a rock with the tip of his shoe. “Not my fault if you sprain an ankle and end up rolling back down like a dramatic rom-com montage.”

“Oh please. If I fall, I’m taking you down with me.”

He smirked. “Promises, promises.”

The trees around them stretched higher, the canopy thickening. The others were chatting ahead — Jay and Sunghoon deep in some debate, Sunoo yelling at Jake to stop picking wild berries unless he wanted to hallucinate in front of everyone.

Y/N slowed down, letting her fingers trail against a branch. “You flirt a lot, you know.”

Heeseung glanced sideways at her, unbothered. “You’re the only one I do it with.”

She blinked.

His eyes twinkled, smug. “What? You think I talk about people rolling down hills with Jay?”

“No, I—”

“Exactly.” He grinned. “Special treatment, sweetheart.”

God, she hated how fast her cheeks warmed at that.

He didn’t say anything more. Just kept walking beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world. They didn’t touch, but their arms brushed once or twice — accidentally, but not entirely.

The lookout was a clearing of flat stone, surrounded by a ring of pine trees. The river glittered below, the town just distant enough to look like a watercolor. Someone had already left old benches and a few foldable stools, probably for tourists who stumbled on this place.

The group dropped their bags, half sitting, half sprawled on the grass.

Jake tossed a soda to Y/N, then another to Heeseung. “You two are finally not arguing,” he said. “Weird.”

“We’re maturing,” Heeseung deadpanned.

Y/N added, “Or we’re planning each other’s assassinations. Who knows.”

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “Just kiss already.”

“What?!” she and Heeseung said in unison, nearly choking on their drinks.

Sunoo burst into laughter. “Oh my god, that was so synchronized. I swear your mouths are always in sync except when your brains are.”

Y/N turned to glare at him, but he was already grinning like a gremlin, fully enjoying the chaos. Jay muttered something about “a decade of tension,” while Jake pretended to be a wedding officiant.

“I’m going to kill all of you,” Y/N announced, standing.

But she couldn’t shake the way Heeseung had gone quiet beside her. Not awkward — just... thoughtful.

When the group started heading toward a nearby field where the fireworks were supposed to be, Y/N got momentarily distracted reading a sign about local bird species. She was only ten seconds behind, but the trail split ahead. And when she followed the wrong fork, she didn’t realize until she looked up and saw a clearing — and no one else in it.

Just Heeseung.

He was already there, sitting at the edge of a wooden dock that jutted into the wide river.

“How are you here?” she asked.

He turned slightly. “Was gonna ask you the same thing.”

“Everyone else went the other way.”

Heeseung shrugged. “Guess we took the better detour.”

The quiet settled thick again, not awkward anymore — just dense. Like neither of them could breathe the same way when they were alone like this.

He nodded to the dock. “You coming or what?”

She hesitated, then sat down beside him — feet dangling just above the water. It was still warm from the day, but the breeze had turned cooler. Distant voices echoed somewhere upstream, but here, it was just them.

The first firework cracked open the sky with a low boom — red, then silver, exploding across the clouds.

Y/N gasped, leaning forward. “I didn’t think we’d get to see them from here.”

Heeseung glanced at her — not at the sky, not at the river.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she whispered.

“It is,” he said.

She turned to him. His eyes were already on her.

And he hadn’t been talking about the fireworks.

Her breath caught.

She knew this look. She’d seen it in flashes, stolen glances, late nights in their shared room when neither of them were asleep. But this was different. This wasn’t teasing or smugness or games.

This was bare. Open.

“You’re looking at me like I’ll disappear,” she whispered.

“I don’t want you to,” he said simply.

Her heart hammered in her chest — loud enough that she was afraid he could hear it. Or maybe he did, because he leaned closer, just a breath away now.

And when she didn’t move — didn’t stop him — he closed the gap.

His lips met hers like they’d been waiting years.

Soft at first. A question. A touch that asked, are you sure?

And her answer was in the way her hands moved to his chest, not to push, but to pull him closer.

The fireworks exploded again, louder this time — a fanfare of gold and blue behind her closed eyelids. She didn’t see them. She felt everything else.

But then she broke away.

Just slightly.

Heeseung’s breath was ragged against her cheek.

They stared at each other, too many thoughts colliding all at once. Her fingers still clutched the fabric of his shirt. His hand was still at the back of her neck.

“I—” she started.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, standing.

She blinked. “What?”

“We should go find the others,” he said, voice tight.

The fireworks continued in the background, bright and loud and completely wrong now.

“Right,” she murmured. “Yeah.”

Neither of them looked at each other the same way the rest of the walk back.

And when they returned to the group — who were too distracted by the fireworks finale to notice their shift in energy — neither of them said a word.

Jake threw an arm around Heeseung’s shoulder, saying something about sparklers and snacks.

Sunoo asked Y/N if she had fun. She said yes. Lied easily.

But when she glanced over, Heeseung was already looking at her — and then he looked away just as fast.

Something had changed.

And neither of them knew what to do about it.

—---

They didn’t walk too close on the way back.

Every time their hands accidentally brushed, one of them would flinch. Every time they tried to speak, nothing came out.

The fireworks had ended, but the tension lingered in the air like smoke—dense and unspoken.

By the time they reached the campsite, their friends were still up—laughing over card games and late-night snacks like the night hadn’t just cracked open for two people quietly falling apart.

And Heeseung—he smiled. He laughed at something Sunghoon said. He passed Jake a marshmallow like everything was fine.

It made Y/N’s stomach twist.

She didn’t know what she’d expected. Maybe for him to look at her differently. Maybe for him to pull her aside, to ask if she was okay or if she felt what he felt. Maybe for something—anything—to make that kiss make sense.

But he didn’t.

And she didn’t ask.

Instead, they ignored each other. Just enough to be obvious. Just enough for everyone to notice.

“Okay,” Sunoo whispered, brushing his teeth beside her in the bathroom later that night. “What happened?”

Y/N stared into the mirror, silent.

“You two have been walking around like you kissed and now regret existing.”

Y/N scoffed. “We didn’t— I mean… nothing happened.”

He gave her a look. “Right.”

“Talk it out with him, at least try to yeah?”

Y/n just nodded not able to say anything.

After some time Sunoo dragged everyone to go to the lake for stargazing.

The lake shimmered quietly in the moonlight. Y/N sat on the edge of the dock, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes fixed on the black water that rippled with every passing breeze. She could feel Heeseung behind her, close enough to feel the weight of his silence, but not close enough to touch.

He sat down beside her without a word.

For a while, neither of them said anything.

The air was heavy.

Not just with tension — but with everything they hadn’t said for years.

“You wanted to talk,” Heeseung finally said.

Y/N exhaled. “Yeah.”

She didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.

They sat by the lake, where the moonlight shimmered on the water and the rest of the world faded into silence.

It had taken days to build up to this. Days of shared beds and near-misses. Of one kiss under fireworks and an ocean of confusion since.

Y/N drew in a breath, staring at the rippling water. “Why did you stop talking to me back then?”

Heeseung flinched like she’d slapped him. “I didn’t know how to explain it.”

She turned to him. “Try.”

Heeseung’s shoulders dropped. His voice was rough, quieter than the breeze. “That night we hung out — before high school started… the movie, the snacks, that stupid blanket fort. It felt different. Like... more.”

Y/N’s heart ached. “It did.”

He looked at her then, eyes sharp with surprise. “You thought so too?”

“Of course I did,” she said, almost angrily. “And then you ghosted me.”

He looked away again, jaw clenched. “I thought you didn’t feel the same. I thought… if I stuck around, I’d ruin it. Or make it worse.”

She stared at him. “So your solution was to vanish?”

“I was fifteen and stupid,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know what I was feeling, and then I overheard you—by the lockers.”

Her breath caught. “What did you hear?”

“You told your friend it was a weird night. That it didn’t matter.”

Y/N blinked. “Heeseung, I said it was a weird night because you ghosted me. Because I didn’t understand what I did wrong.”

He froze.

“I was hurt,” she whispered. “You were suddenly cold. Like none of it meant anything to you. I said it was weird because it was. You acted like we never meant anything.”

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Then— “So I messed it up twice.”

Y/N gave a small, broken laugh. “Yeah. I guess we both did.”

They sat in silence again, softer this time. The space between them wasn’t angry anymore — it was filled with something that almost felt like mourning. Mourning the years lost to a misunderstanding.

Heeseung looked down at his hands. “I thought you hated me.”

“I thought you forgot me.”

Their eyes met.

And it finally made sense — the tension, the years of bickering, the careful distance that never let either of them move on.

Y/N exhaled shakily. “It was never hate.”

Heeseung’s lips twitched into a sad, crooked smile. “No. Never.”

She nudged his shoulder with hers. He didn’t move away this time.

For the first time in years, the silence felt okay.

And when they walked back to the cabin that night — still not quite holding hands, still not quite ready to say what was blooming between them — the weight between them felt lighter.

Like something old had finally healed.

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

By the time they made it back to the room, the others had all gone quiet. Lights were dimmed. A few whispers and laughter trickled out from the hallway, but their room was still.

Y/N stepped inside first, the weight of their conversation still settling in her chest. Heeseung followed behind her, his movements quieter than usual.

She reached for her bag, voice barely above a murmur. “I’m gonna shower first. That okay?”

He nodded, already turning toward the bed. “Yeah. Of course.”

Her fingers paused on her towel, heart flickering. He still said things like that — softly, without thinking, like it was second nature to put her first.

In the bathroom, the hot water did nothing to settle the way her chest felt twisted. Not quite hurt, not quite healed. But lighter. They’d said the things they’d never dared to say — finally peeled back the years of silence and seen what was still there beneath it.

When she stepped back into the room, towel around her shoulders, she found him lying on the bed — this time on his back, one arm resting across his forehead.

He turned his head toward her. “All yours.”

She climbed into her side of the bed — though it felt strange calling it sides now. The line between them had been crossed, erased, and redrawn so many times she didn’t know where it even existed anymore.

They lay in silence for a moment, the fan humming gently in the background.

Y/N cleared her throat. “Thanks. For talking to me earlier.”

Heeseung let out a breath. “I should’ve said something a long time ago.”

She looked over at him. “You’re not the only one who messed up, you know.”

He turned toward her now, propping himself up slightly. “Yeah. But I was the one who ran away.”

She gave him a small smile. “You’re here now.”

And for the first time in days, Heeseung smiled back — soft, hesitant, but real.

“I won’t run again,” he said quietly. “Even if it’s weird. Even if we don’t know what this is.”

Y/N’s heart stuttered. She nodded, pulling the blanket a little closer. “Okay.”

They lay there, facing each other, inches apart.

Neither of them said anything else.

But this time, when their hands brushed beneath the blanket, neither of them flinched.

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

Part 3???

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

taglist: @m3wkledreamy @chadiyuu @kittympirty @elairah

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

Helloo! Been in a bit of an angsty mood lately so would it be possible to request a fox x gn!reader fic where reader pines for him one-sidedly for a while but as time goes on, he starts to gradually return their feelings?

Absolutely love your work and heavily looking forward to reading all that you put out! ❤

“Not Just Protocol”

Commander Fox x GN!Reader

You didn’t mean to fall for him. Honestly.

Working with the Coruscant Guard had been meant to be a stepping stone—a temporary bureaucratic post until the Senate sorted your reassignment. But then he walked in. Stern, no-nonsense, all red armor and unreadable expression: Commander Fox.

And now, six months later, you were still here. Still watching the way his shoulders tensed every time the Chancellor summoned him. Still catching glimpses of the rare, tired half-smile he gave when his brothers said something vaguely amusing. Still pretending not to feel your heart jump every time he addressed you by name instead of rank.

You thought maybe, maybe he liked you, once.

That one time he waited outside your office at the end of your shift. You were late leaving, and when you finally came out, he was just standing there in the hall, arms crossed.

“Wasn’t sure you’d made it out. There was a report of blaster fire near the plaza.”

You blinked at him. “…You were waiting for me?”

He shrugged. “Protocol. You work near Senate Row. High-value personnel need escorting when threats occur.”

You nodded. Tried not to hope. Told yourself it was just protocol.

⸻

Over time, you learned how to read him—quiet signs, tiny changes in posture, the occasional glance when he thought you weren’t looking. You started bringing caf to the barracks early on rotation days, always one extra for him. He never said thank you. But he always took it.

It wasn’t much. But it was enough to keep you going.

Until it wasn’t.

⸻

Weeks passed. The war worsened. Fox became even more distant. He rarely stopped to speak with you anymore, always on his way to briefings, or interrogations, or whatever fresh disaster had landed in his lap.

You started to wonder if you imagined everything.

Maybe he never looked at you differently. Maybe the caf was just caf. Maybe he was just being kind. You were a civilian, after all. One of thousands. Why would he—

“Hey.” A familiar voice cut through your spiral.

Thorn. One of the lieutenants. Cheeky, too observant for his own good.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” You smiled thinly. “Just thinking.”

“You do that a lot when Fox is in the room.”

You blinked. “What?”

Thorn grinned. “You’re not subtle, mesh’la.”

Your face flushed. “I—what—?”

“Relax.” His voice softened. “You’re not the only one.”

That made you stop. “What?”

“Fox.” Thorn looked at you meaningfully. “He’s not as unreadable as he thinks.”

You stared. “That’s… not possible.”

Thorn just patted your shoulder. “If you’re gonna give up on him, fine. But don’t do it thinking he doesn’t care.”

But that was exactly why you were giving up.

He hadn’t spoken to you directly in days. When you tried to catch his eye during the last strategy meeting, he looked through you. And when you left a spare caf at his station that morning, it went untouched.

That was it, you thought. Maybe you’d clung to nothing too long. Maybe it was time to let go.

You didn’t bring caf the next day. Or the one after.

You started closing your office door more often. Leaving the Guard reports in sealed data packets instead of delivering them in person. Not petty, not dramatic—just… distancing. Quietly. Softly. The way you’d come into his life.

You weren’t sure he even noticed.

Until he did.

You were walking home alone one night—late again, too tired to call for a speeder. The Coruscant rain had started to fall in slow, heavy drops, and your boots splashed against the edge of the lower-level walkways.

“Hey.”

You startled. Turned around.

Fox.

No helmet. No armor, just his blacks and a soaked red cloak pulled over his shoulders.

He looked as tired as you felt.

“You weren’t at the checkpoint,” he said.

“I wasn’t scheduled to be,” you replied carefully.

“You usually come by anyway.” His voice was quiet.

You blinked. “You noticed that?”

He looked at you. Really looked.

“I notice everything you do,” he said.

The rain filled the silence between you. You swallowed.

“I thought you didn’t.”

“I know.” His jaw tightened. “That’s on me.”

You didn’t say anything.

He stepped closer. Just enough to reach for the edge of your sleeve.

“I don’t say things the way other people do,” he said. “Not because I don’t want to. I just… I’m not used to it.”

Your breath caught.

“You’ve been kind to me when you didn’t have to be,” he went on. “You show up. You listen. And I didn’t know how to deal with that.”

“I thought I was just annoying you,” you whispered.

“You were the opposite,” he said. “You scared me.”

That surprised a laugh out of you. Soft, incredulous. “Me?”

“I’m good at following orders. Running security. Dealing with threats. But when it comes to—” He hesitated. “You. I don’t know what to do. I thought if I kept my distance, it would fade. But it didn’t.”

Your pulse was pounding. You opened your mouth, unsure what to say.

He beat you to it.

“You stopped bringing caf.”

That made you blink. “That’s what tipped you off?”

He gave a small, crooked smile. “That’s when I realized I missed you.”

The world felt very still for a moment.

Then, softly, hesitantly, you said, “Fox.”

“Yeah?”

“I wasn’t going to wait forever.”

“I know.”

“I’d started to move on.”

“I know.” His voice wavered. “But I’m asking—if there’s still a chance—I want to try.”

You looked at him.

All rain-soaked and uncertain. Guard down for once. Just a man trying to be brave in a different kind of battlefield.

You took his hand.

“I don’t want caf anymore,” you said, barely louder than the rain.

He frowned. “Oh.”

“I want you.”

His eyes softened. “You’ve had me this whole time.”

[gnabbang]

not a lot, just forever

word count: 1.8k

authors note: i don't want to get married but lowkey writing this made me realize why people do-

.・゜゜・　. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄　・゜゜・

He was sick to his stomach. Which made no sense to him. He could preform in front of strangers, hundreds of thousands of strangers. He could face the scrutiny of others, could smile through flashing lights, the loud clicking of cameras ringing in his ears (even days after an event), but the thought of marrying her. Finally marrying her, that was his undoing. That’s what would finally bring him to his knees.

He’d had months to prepare for it. Months of planning to propose, then the months that followed said proposal, now planning for their wedding.

He wasn’t getting cold feet, no, quiet the opposite. His feet were hot, burning with a fire so excited he could hardly stand still. He wanted this, more than he’d wanted anything. More than he wanted that second chance to be with his members after his initial elimination.

He wanted their life together to start. Their forever. They’d already been together for almost two years, but those were the dating days, they were going to enter the married days.

He wouldn’t have to wonder if she was going to leave him, because once that ring was on her finger he was holding onto her, and never letting go.

He was at the alter, his feet shuffling back and forth, trying to peak around the corner, where he was sure she was waiting. He hadn’t seen her all day, he felt as if his hands were already forgetting the feel of her.

It was one of her stipulations when they were planning, she wanted their first look to be at the alter. Not before. She said she couldn’t describe why she wanted to do it, she struggled putting her feelings into words so he trusted her. But now he was wishing that he could see her, hold her, and just be near her.

He felt an arm on his shoulder, gently tugging him back to his starting position. He looked over at one of his groomsmen. “Channie hyung, what do you think is taking so long hm?” He looked back over to where she would be walking about bit at his bottom lip in anticipation.

He heard Chris laugh beside him and gently bat his back. “Breath Felix, she’ll come. Give her a second,” He tried, he even stood still for a couple seconds before turning to where his groomsmen were, Chris, Han, Minho, Hyunjin, Changbin, Jeongin, Seungmin, and was about to tell them he was going to go check on her, make sure everything was okay when he finally heard the music start playing.

He saw one of her bridesmaids walk, then another, and then another. It felt like ages before he finally saw her. Her arm was wrapped around her fathers and when he finally laid eyes on her, instantly he had to grab onto Chris to make sure he didn’t topple over.

Tears were in his eyes, a hand over his mouth as he looked at her. His legs gave out on him and he crouched for a second, the palms of his hands pressed into the sockets of his eyes, trying to slow his tears.

He shook his head and stood up quickly, he didn’t want to miss a second of her walking down the isle towards him, towards their happily ever after.

As she got closer, and the details of her face became clearer, he saw with a small jolt of surprise that she looked different. Not in a bad way, and not in a way he could truly put a finger on, she just did.

Her father brought her to where he stood and as soon as she was in arms reach, his hands were holding hers. He looked at her father, love for him swelling up in his heart. He raised her- she was everything that he was, but better (Her dad’s words not his).

He let one of her hands go, immediately feeling the aching emptiness as he wrapped her Dad in a quick hug, which he returned, patting him on the back, but eventually letting go. He hugged his daughter, kissing her cheek and letting tears spill freely down his cheeks.

Finally, her attention was on Felix. Solely on him. They moved through the service, but he didn’t remember much, all he could focus on was her.

She was smiling slightly and had that dazed sort of look on her face, like she couldn’t believe they were actually here. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, a reassurance that she wasn’t the only one feeling like such.

Once it came time for vows he reached into the pocket of his suit. They had both agreed to do two sets of vows, one for the ceremony, and one for after, when it was just the two of them together.

He cleared his throat and smiled at her.

“Today, as I stand here before you, not only do I see the woman I love. I see the woman I’ve prayed for, hoped for, and dreamed of. I never thought that I would be here, and especially not with you. You were a dream I never expected to become a reality. But you are, we are. There is a quote from your favorite movie, Tangled. “You were my new dream.”

He stopped for a second to clear his throat a second time and gather himself.

“Since the moment I met you I’ve had to check and make sure you were real, that we were real. Since I met you everything has changed. In a world were all I can see is darkness, there you were. An angel sent radiating love. Love that I was lucky enough to get bestowed upon me. To be on the receiving end of your love, of the light that is you, its- its an indescribable feeling. I hope I make you feel even half o even half of what you make me feel. You brought me peace where there was noise, and gave me a love I didn’t even know was missing. But I know its there now, and I will spend the rest of our lives together to make sure I am deserving of that love, and make sure you know you deserve it. Everything. You have given me everything I never knew I needed, so I promise you. I promise to be your listener, a steady hand for you to hold when life descends into chaos. I will walk with you when the road of life we’re walking on his smooth, and carry you when it gets hard. I promise to see you fully, to never take you for granted, to recognize your strength, your bravery, the beauty that lives inside your soul, even in those small moments. Moments where you remember something I had told you months ago I liked. Moments where you wake up before me and make me breakfast, just because you “want to make sure my baby is fed”. I promise to celebrate your dreams, no matter how big, no matter how small. I will protect your heart like its the most precious thing I’ll hold, because it is. You are the most special thing in my life, I chose you, and I will chose you over and over again. I chose you one the mornings I wake up before you do and I get to just watch you sleep, every night before bed when you read to me, no matter what it is, I chose you for the rest of my life. You are my home, and my forever. From the moment I met you there has only been you, and it will stay that way, forever more. Across lifetimes, across states, across vast distances, I will always find my way back to you.”

He stopped fighting back tears halfway through, why should he? He loved her, and everyone knew it. He refused to be ashamed of his love for her.

She was crying as well, she stopped trying to stop them because she knew there was no point. Her bridesmaid handed her her vows and she cleared her throat glancing up at him before the paper in her hands.

“Since the first time we met you have been my home. Not a place, but a feeling. You are a steady hand, a quiet strength, a heart I knew I could trust. You are my dream. You are my forever. You’ve given me everything I could ask for. Not material things but memories, and a love that only happens once a life time. Just like you said, from this lifetime to the next, to all the ones that come after this you are my forever. My soulmate in the truest sense of the word. You have loved me when I couldn’t love myself, you’ve held me when the ground beneath my feet was unsteady, but most of all you’ve trusted me. You’ve trusted me with your heart, with your soul and I promise to cherish that, to never forget what a blessing that is.”

He knew she didn’t like public speaking, knew how nerve racking this was for her, not only speaking in front of people, but having them hear her deepest thoughts, hear the love she had for him. She was a more conservative person, similar to Minho.

They both loved quietly, but with their whole bodies.

She finished her vows, and as they both said their “I do’s” and he slipped that ring on her finger, he felt the final piece of a puzzle click into place. Felt his world, which he had always felt was a little bit tilted on an axis, right itself.

Once they were told they were allowed to kiss, the waited no time, he’d been waiting for this moment since he proposed.

His hands were gentle as they cupped her face, he didn’t want to ruin her makeup. He tilted his head as he leaned in, letting his eyes roam over her face, trying to capture this moment, their first kiss as husband and wife.

The thought made him giddy.

He kissed her, gently, tenderly. Her hands went to his waist, slightly gripping his suit jacket, like she was struggling to stay standing and needed him as an anchor.

As he pulled away and looked at everyone that had been invited to the wedding, close friends and family, he wanted to cry again. Not because of sadness but out of pure disbelief and happiness. He couldn’t believe this was his life, that she was his wife, that he was getting the happy ever after he had always dreamed of.

He felt her hand squeeze his, a reassuring squeeze. He turned to look at her, smiling lopsidedly. “You’re stuck with me now,”

She snorted and nudged his shoulder with hers. “Not for long though,”

He looked at her, his expression going serious. “Just forever,” he murmured. She nodded and squeezed his hand again. “Our forever.”

[chu16a-blog]

Drabble – You licked what?

Pairing: Benji Dunn x reader

Summary: You and the team are out for a drinks after a mission. YOu end up with some sauce next to your lips. Benji is going to help you with it.

Warning: Still don't own mission impossible, benji dunn and this picture.

Part II

You licked what?

The mission had been a success, and not the usual barely made it out alive, let's not talk about it until the trauma sets in kind of success. This one had been clean. Sharp. No civilian casualties, no fires (unless you counted the one small explosion, which Benji insisted was "controlled"), and the data was secured. For once, there were no immediate follow-up operations, no dead drops or double-crosses.

So, when Ethan suggested grabbing drinks to celebrate, a rare luxury in their line of work , everyone said yes.

You all found yourselves tucked into a corner booth of a dimly lit, slightly too loud pub, half-eating, half-drinking, and all in varying stages of exhaustion.

Benji sat beside you, already two drinks past his usual limit, his cheeks pink and eyes wide in that innocent, slightly unhinged way he always looked when he'd had a bit too much. Across from you, Luther and Ethan sipped their beers like war-hardened veterans. Which, to be fair, they were.

Benji slammed his hand lightly on the table, startling a nearby basket of fries. "I do stay calm under pressure!"

You tried not to laugh. You really did. But it came out anyway, a snort hidden behind your drink.

“Sure, sure. Like that time in Vienna when you were so stressed you walked straight into a glass door.” You said.

Benji’s eyes went wide. “That door was invisible!”

Luther snorted. “It’s called a clean window, Benji.”

Ethan grinned. “Alright, alright. But at least you didn’t break your nose like last time you tried to do a fancy roll.”

Benji’s face went beet red. “That was one time!”

Benji crossed his arms, clearly offended. “Look, I can disarm a triple-encrypted, fingerprint-synced thermobaric device with ten seconds left on the clock. That’s calm. That’s cool.”

“Yeah,” you said, biting back a grin, “but only if there’s no sneaky glass doors or rogue floors around.”

Benji crossed his arms, clearly offended. “Look, I can disarm a triple-encrypted, fingerprint-synced thermobaric device with ten seconds left on the clock. That’s calm. That’s cool.”

“Yeah,” you said, biting back a grin, “but only if there’s no sneaky glass doors or rogue floors around.”

Benji opened his mouth, ready to defend his entire legacy, but you shoved a fry into your mouth before he could say anything. A drop of sauce, something spicy and red, landed right near the corner of your mouth, just shy of your lip.

Benji, mid-rant, blinked. “Uh—hey. You’ve got—something. Right there.” He gestured vaguely toward your face.

You blinked back at him. “What?”

“There’s, like… sauce.”

You wiped your cheek. “Here?”

“No, no the other side. A bit lower.”

You tried again, even more off-target.

Benji groaned, leaning forward with a drunken giggle. “Okay, you’re hopeless. I’ll just—let me…”

And before anyone could process the movement, he reached out and gently dabbed at the corner of your mouth with two fingers.

Unfortunately for him, you misread his intention entirely. You grinned and without thinking, or maybe fueled by your own level of inebriation, you wrapped your lips around his finger and sucked the sauce off.

Benji Dunn.exe has stopped responding.

Across the booth, Ethan nearly choked on his beer.

Luther muttered, “He’s gone.”

Benji yanked his hand back like you’d electrocuted him. “You—Why would you do that?!”

You laughed so hard you nearly fell into him. “You said I had sauce!”

“I didn’t think you’d—mouth engage! What was that?!”

You leaned into his side, still giggling. “I dunno. Thought you could handle it. You’re calm under pressure, right?”

Benji opened his mouth. Closed it. Turned bright red.

“You can’t just do that!” He muttered, flustered and completely unable to meet your eyes.

Ethan, still wheezing, raised his glass. “To Benji. Calm, cool, and completely defeated by one seductive fry.”

“It was unexpected!” Benji yelped, throwing his hands up. “There’s no training manual for that!”

Luther added, “Next time, maybe bring some gloves.”

“Admit it,” you teased, bumping your shoulder into his. “You liked it.”

As the laughter died down and the night wore on, Benji slowly lifted his head again, eyes meeting yours with a shy, crooked smile.

“Okay, fine. I might like have like it a little.”

You leaned in close, almost nose to nose. “I know.”

He blinked. “How?”

You winked. “Because you didn’t pull your finger away immediately.”

Ethan clinked his glass against Luther’s. “Place your bets. Two more missions before one of them figures it out?”

Luther nodded. “They’ll probably kiss by accident before they realize.”

“Wait, what?” Benji squeaked.

You just laughed harder.

[xoxolaw]

+ THE TURNING POINT

this is an interactive story. if this is your first time seeing this, then hop over to introduction - to get the idea behind this story.

+ CONTENTS

+ CH A4

It started with a text from Baku.

---

Baku 🐻

“Pack your bags, losers. We’re going camping.”

“Tomorrow. No excuses.”

“I already got the van. We’re leaving after school.”

---

Y/N blinked at the message, then at the string of confused responses beneath it—Gotak asking if there would be bathrooms, Jun-tae asking who was going to cook, and Si-eun… saying nothing.

She looked up from her phone to find Baku grinning proudly across the cafeteria.

“Why?” she asked flatly.

“Because,” Baku said, slamming down a juice box next to her lunch tray. “We’ve all been tense as hell. You—” he jabbed a finger at her, “—need to breathe actual air that isn’t hospital or school hallway. Si-eun’s been walking around like a haunted NPC. And Jun-tae almost died.”

“I wasn’t going to die—”

“You wheezed like a 70-year-old smoker just from standing up.”

“Fair,” Jun-tae admitted.

Gotak perked up. “Are we bringing tents? Or renting a cabin?”

“Both,” Baku said. “We’re setting up near a lake. My uncle owns a place in the hills. There’s space for tents, a fire pit, and no signal. Which means no texts. No calls. No ghosts from school. Just stars and meat.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You just want an excuse to light stuff on fire and throw Gotak into a lake.”

Baku grinned wider. “Can’t I do both and still help you all heal emotionally?”

CHOICE

refuse to go on the trip - continue to CH AD1

go on the trip - continue reading

The road curved upward, trees thickening on either side as the sun dipped lower. The cramped van was filled with noise—Jun-tae’s cursed playlist blaring one moment, Baku yelling at Gotak for bringing “half the convenience store,” and the backseat shifting from side to side with every bump.

Y/N sat sandwiched between Gotak and Si-eun, arms folded as she tried to tune them all out. Si-eun had his earbuds in—though she doubted they were playing anything—head tilted slightly toward the window, gaze distant.

The engine rumbled steadily beneath them, and the soft rocking lulled her eyes half-closed. Eventually putting her to sleep.

Somewhere between one sharp turn and a badly sung chorus of “Gee” from Jun-tae, her head naturally found its way onto Si-eun’s shoulder.

He stiffened. Just for a second.

Then… relaxed.

He didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. Just let her stay there, her hair brushing lightly against the fabric of his hoodie, breath soft and even against his collarbone.

In the rearview mirror, Baku caught a glimpse—and immediately grinned.

Jun-tae leaned over the seat. “Hey. Guys. Look.”

Gotak blinked. “Is she…?”

Baku mimed taking a photo. “Bro. She’s out. She’s literally drooling on him.”

“Look at his face. He’s frozen. Like a statue.”

Si-eun didn’t respond. He just stared out the window, deadpan, like he could force his soul to leave his body if he concentrated hard enough.

Jun-tae leaned over the seat with the biggest grin. “Si-eun. Buddy. Is this your first time being used as a pillow? You okay? Need to call a medic?”

“She’s asleep,” Si-eun said through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, but you’re awake, and that’s what’s funny,” Jun-tae shot back.

Gotak turned around and gave Si-eun a thoughtful nod. “You’re handling it well. I’d be sweating. She’s like, full deadweight mode.”

“She’s not that heavy,” Si-eun muttered before he could stop himself.

The van erupted.

“OHHHHHHHHH?” Baku whooped.

“NOT HEAVY? BROOOO—” Jun-tae nearly choked himself trying to laugh quietly.

Gotak’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “So, you’re saying you carry the weight of her emotions AND her body now? Romantic.”

“Shut up,” Si-eun snapped, ears going a dangerous shade of red. “All of you. Shut up before I throw you out of this moving van.”

“She’s cuddling,” Jun-tae sing-songed. “She’s snuggling. You're her emotional support tofu block.”

“I will unplug the van’s aux cord and end this playlist forever,” Si-eun threatened.

“You wouldn’t,” Jun-tae gasped.

“I would.”

“Don’t do it, man!” Baku called back. “We need this tension-breaker playlist before we all trauma-dump in the woods!”

Meanwhile, Y/N stirred a little but didn’t wake. She shifted even closer, head now tucked neatly into the crook of Si-eun’s neck. Her hand brushed against his sleeve, fingers curling lightly in her sleep.

Si-eun visibly stopped breathing for three seconds.

Baku glanced in the mirror. “He’s panicking. Look at him. Dude looks like he just got assigned as her boyfriend in a group project.”

“More like final boss of emotional intimacy,” Gotak added.

“I hate all of you,” Si-eun said quietly, eyes forward, ears glowing red, heart probably doing backflips.

The teasing died down only when Jun-tae eventually fell asleep with his mouth open, Gotak pulled out ramen from one of six backpacks, and Baku started humming along to an old love ballad blasting from the speakers.

But even as the road twisted higher into the forest and the sky turned deep violet, Si-eun didn’t move.

He just let her sleep.

And maybe—just maybe—smiled a little.

They were nearly at the top of the hill when the van hit a particularly rough patch of gravel. Si-eun braced slightly, careful not to jostle her.

He didn’t need to worry long.

Because Baku, for reasons known only to himself and whatever spirit of chaos possessed him, suddenly shouted:

“WE’RE HERE, BABY!!!”

Y/N startled awake with a jolt, jerking upright like someone had dumped a bucket of water on her. “What the hell, Baku?!”

Her hair was tousled, cheek slightly pink from where it had pressed against Si-eun’s shoulder, and her expression was pure, half-asleep irritation.

“You trying to give me a heart attack?!”

Baku just cackled as he slammed the brakes. “Look alive, princess! Nature awaits!”

Jun-tae turned his face to the window to hide his shaking shoulders. Gotak looked like he was biting the inside of his cheek to keep from cracking.

Si-eun cleared his throat and casually shifted away, turning to look out his window like nothing had happened. Like he wasn’t just being used as a very flustered human pillow for the last twenty minutes.

Y/N rubbed her face, still groggy, completely unaware. “God, I was having a dream about grilled meat and then you screamed in my soul.”

“You’re welcome,” Baku chirped. “Now let’s go embrace dirt and emotional vulnerability!”

“I'm embracing a punch to your throat.”

Gotak handed her a water bottle. “You slept through the worst of Jun-tae’s playlist. You’re lucky.”

“I feel deeply blessed,” she muttered, sipping. “Why is my neck sore?”

Si-eun was still staring out the window.

Gotak and Jun-tae shared a glance but kept their mouths shut—for now.

The van rolled to a stop in front of a clearing surrounded by trees, a glimpse of a glittering lake just beyond. A cabin sat nestled to one side, and a wide open space stretched beside it, perfect for tents and a bonfire.

Baku jumped out first. “Breathe it in! No signal! No teachers! No school! No responsibilities!”

Jun-tae stumbled out behind him. “My leg’s asleep. I might not make it.”

“I brought the snacks!” Gotak announced, hauling out three overstuffed bags like a loyal mule.

Y/N slid out last, stretching her arms high overhead, jaw cracking with a yawn. “This better be good, or I’m pushing you into the lake,” she told Baku.

He beamed. “With love?”

“With rage.”

And Si-eun?

He stepped out silently, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes scanning the trees like they might laugh at him too.

But he didn’t say a word about what happened in the van.

Neither did she.

Not yet.

They unloaded the van in varying states of enthusiasm. Baku immediately started yelling instructions like he was leading a survival mission.

“Tents there! Food here! Fire pit—Gotak, dig something before I start digging you into the dirt!”

Jun-tae flopped dramatically onto the grass. “I already regret this trip. Just bury me here.”

Gotak tossed him a marshmallow bag. “Sweeten your death.”

Si-eun helped Y/N with the tent, neither of them speaking much. She handed him the poles; he hooked them into place. It was quiet. Comfortable.

The others would just snicker whenever Y/N and Si-Eun would get close to work on something and as time passed, it was starting to get on her nerves.

“Why are you guys snickering so much amongst yourselves!!”

Jun-tae immediately sat up, face too innocent. “Us? Snickering? Never. We’re just... appreciating nature.”

“Yeah,” Gotak said, mouth already half full of chips. “Like how naturally you and Si-eun gravitate toward each other.”

Baku gasped dramatically. “Are we watching a slow-burn in the wild? Should I narrate like a documentary?” He cleared his throat, adopting a terrible British accent. “Here we see the elusive Tsundere Male and his equally emotionally constipated female counterpart... sharing tent pegs, bonding in awkward silence, hearts pounding while pretending nothing’s happening—”

“I will choke you with this sleeping bag,” Y/N growled, face already heating.

Si-eun, still hammering in a stake, muttered under his breath, “You’ll need a bigger sleeping bag.”

The silence that followed was deadly.

Jun-tae wheezed. “Wait. Wait, did he just—did he just flirt?”

Gotak looked like he was witnessing a miracle. “Bro. That was bold.”

Y/N whipped around. “Was that supposed to be a flirt?!”

Si-eun’s ears turned red again, but he didn’t look up. “...No.”

“YES IT WAS,” Baku yelled from across the clearing. “WE ALL HEARD IT.”

And after that it was just her running behind Baku, to beat the hell out of him, until night fell and they set up a campfire.

By the time the fire was crackling and the sky above bloomed with stars, the group had settled into a loose ring around the fire pit. Gotak passed around skewers, Jun-tae burned three marshmallows in under a minute, and Y/N tugged her jacket tighter against the chilly breeze. Si-eun sat beside her, close enough that their arms almost brushed when she moved.

Almost.

“Alright,” Baku said, eyes gleaming with mischief as he poked the fire. “Who’s going first?”

“I vote not me,” Jun-tae said, chewing a half-melted marshmallow.

“I’ll go,” Gotak volunteered. “But mine’s more of a true crime story.”

“Oh, I love those,” Y/N said. “Nothing like murder to help me relax.”

Si-eun gave her a sideways glance. “That’s… concerning.”

She smirked. “You’re still here.”

“I’m regretting it.”

“Liar.”

The others watched their back-and-forth like a tennis match, too entertained to interrupt.

Gotak cleared his throat dramatically. “Anyway. This one’s about a guy who went hiking up in these very hills. Went missing for days. When they found his camp, it looked totally normal—tent zipped, gear untouched. But no sign of him. Just one thing out of place…”

Everyone leaned in.

“A trail of muddy footprints. Leading out of the tent,” Gotak said. “But none leading back.”

Jun-tae blinked. “So… what, he walked into the woods barefoot?”

“No. The prints were too small to be his.”

Everyone stilled.

Gotak smiled, a little too calmly. “They say he got taken by something. That it wears your shape. And walks into your camp when you’re asleep.”

Jun-tae threw his marshmallow stick into the fire. “Okay. No. I’m sleeping in the van.”

Baku cracked up. “It’s always the guy who talks the most who gets scared first.”

“I’m not scared. I’m being strategic.”

Y/N leaned a little closer to the fire. “Tell me it’s not a real story.”

Gotak just shrugged.

Beside her, Si-eun was staring into the flames, jaw tight.

“You okay?” she whispered.

“I’m fine,” he said. A little too quickly.

She nudged him with her elbow. “You sure?”

He hesitated. Then nodded. “As long as you don’t wander off into the woods in the middle of the night, we’ll be fine.”

She smiled a little. “That almost sounded like you care.”

He looked at her. Just for a second. Eyes unreadable. “I do.”

And then—

Baku screamed.

Everyone jumped.

“What the hell?!” Jun-tae nearly fell backward.

“Footsteps,” Baku said, pointing. “I heard footsteps.”

They all went quiet. Listening.

There was… something. Crunching leaves. A soft shift in the distance. The rustle of branches.

A beat passed.

Then a thud.

Y/N instinctively reached out—and her hand landed on Si-eun’s.

Neither of them moved.

“Okay,” Baku said, standing. “It’s probably a deer or something. Gotak, you’ve got flashlight duty.”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re the only one brave enough not to cry.”

“I don’t cry, I process my emotions honestly,” Gotak said, already grabbing the flashlight.

Si-eun stood too, subtly stepping forward to block Y/N’s side from the trees. She noticed.

Didn’t say anything.

They followed the light into the brush, flashlights sweeping across trees and shadows. Every little sound felt louder. Closer. Realer.

But it was just a deer. Or maybe a raccoon. Maybe.

They returned to camp mostly intact.

Mostly.

Except now no one wanted to be the first to fall asleep.

Eventually, Gotak passed out. Jun-tae curled into his hoodie and mumbled something about needing therapy. Baku climbed into a tent and shouted, “If I die, remember me as a hero!” before disappearing into his sleeping bag.

Only Y/N and Si-eun remained outside, the fire a dim glow between them.

“Still not scared?” she asked.

He looked at her. “I’m not scared of ghost stories.”

She smiled. “Good.”

A quiet moment.

Then—

“Thanks,” she said. “For earlier. In the van. I didn’t realize I… uh, used you as a pillow.”

He was quiet. Then: “You were tired. It was fine.”

She hesitated. “You didn’t push me away.”

He met her eyes now. Calm. “Didn’t want to.”

A beat.

Y/N’s heart stuttered. But she only nodded. “Okay.”

Another long pause.

“We should sleep…” Si-Eun said and she gave him a nod, putting off the fire and going to their respective tents.

continue to CH A5

crafted for you with love by - xoxolaw

[twistedsistas-stuff]

School Daze’

Sammie Moore x reader.

Modern 90s/2000s College AU!

Wrd count; 12,440

Warnings: come on yall know me by now 😏(smut) Sammie Moore……

——————————

Back in school, you wasn’t ever that girl folks looked twice at. Glasses too big, always ducked off somewhere, eyes to the floor like you was scared to be seen. You kept to yourself mostly. Not all the way solo—you had a lil crew. Two, maybe three homegirls, but y’all was all on the same wave. Quiet. Closed off. Real lowkey.

But your girls started poppin’ over time—glowin’ up for real. Got they first lil boyfriends. Started rockin’ with dance teams, joinin’ clubs, throwin’ on them cheer uniforms. Meanwhile, you stayed tucked in. No boyfriend, no flings, no nothin’. Head always in a book, studyin’ for some exam that wasn’t even on the radar yet. Two semesters ahead, tryna be grown before you had to be.You did have one lil crush though—if that’s what you could even call it that.

His name stayed floatin’ down them hallways like the beat of a marching band on game day. He had that kinda presence—loud without even sayin’ nothin’. You used to tag along to his games with your girls, sittin’ up in them bleachers pretendin’ like you was there for the team. But truth was, you barely even cheered. Just watched. Quiet. Nervous. Lowkey fascinated.

You liked Sammie in that way where just hearin’ his voice made your heart do flips. Couldn’t even look him in the eye. That country accent? Whew. Only ever caught it when he passed by, talkin’ to his boys or flirtin’ with some girl in 3rd period.

Then one day he was gone. Transferred schools—somethin’ about bigger chances, better shine. You ain’t ask too many questions.

And just like that, the crush faded. So did that version of you.

Your girls held you down, pulled you outta that shell. Got you dressin’ different. Walkin’ different. Laughin’ louder. You was still shy, yeah, but you had a lil swag now. Started feelin’ yourself. Steppin’ into that new vibe. That grown woman glow-up.

And for the first time… you was feelin’ real good. Like, damn, this might be my season.

Delta U had that feel to it. That’s why you chose it.

Like somethin’ out a Spike Lee joint or a Jill Scott song—Black, loud, full of soul. First week on campus was like a block party and a family reunion all wrapped in one. Greek orgs out on the yard strollin’, grills fired up on the lawn, somebody’s cousin tryna DJ off a Bluetooth speaker while the Ques already sweatin’ through they shirts. Whole campus smelled like shea butter and BBQ chicken. It was Welcome Day. And your dorm? A whole mess of chaos and lip gloss. You was posted up on the edge of your bed, half-dressed, heart racin’. “I don’t think I wanna go, y’all,” you mumbled, barely audible over the music comin’ from the hallway.

They all groaned in unison like a tired choir. “Here she go again, y’all,” one said, floppin’ down on the bed across from you.

“Girl, don’t piss me off tonight,” your other homegirl snapped, already halfway through her winged eyeliner.

Then the ringleader of the crew—the bold one with the rat tail comb always ready to check somebody—got dead in your face. Eye to eye. That comb damn near touched your nose.

“Look, bitch,” she said real calm, too calm. “It’s fine-ass niggas outside. The sun out. You thick as hell. And guess what? We in college now. Not high school. Not church. College. So guess what we doin’? We goin’ out.”

She spun away like she dropped the mic. You sighed, stood up, and turned to the mirror. Took yourself in.

Them little jean shorts was hangin’ on by faith and friction. Your thighs was thangin’. Your chest sittin’ real proper thanks to the double-bra combo your homegirl swore by. You turned side to side, let out a tiny smile.

You knew you looked good.

“Aight, y’all… I’m ready.”

You turned back to face the room, grinnin’ from ear to ear.

The whole squad paused for half a second—then exploded. Screamin', tongues out, feet stompin', hypin’ you like you just stepped on stage at Homecoming.

“OKAY MISS MA’AM!”

“YES THICKNESS!”

“We outside tonight!”

Y’all laughed, yellin' over each other, snatchin’ purses and keys, lip glosses flyin'.

Ready for whatever the night was gonna bring.

And in that moment? You wasn’t shy no more.

You was just her.

Y’all finally hit the yard, and it felt like the ground was vibrating beneath your feet. Bass thumpin’ so hard your chest caught the beat before your ears did. Speakers stacked on folding tables, Greek letters spray-painted on bedsheets hangin' off dorm windows.

Boys in jerseys sweatin’ and flexin’. Girls in sundresses glistening in the heat, edges laid, gold hoops swingin’. DJ shoutin’ over the mic, “WELCOME TO DELTA U, CLASS OF LEGENDS!” and the crowd goin’ stupid.

Y’all walked through like you owned the place, hips swayin’, laughs high-pitched, bodies glistening in that 5 p.m. sun. Somebody handed you a red cup—pink punch with that bite in it. You took a sip and coughed low, but didn’t let it show. Your girls was already two-steppin’ near the speakers, hips rollin’ to the beat. Dudes slid up behind ‘em, tryna catch a vibe.

“Ayo, ma, you got a man?” one dude tried, leanin' in a lil too close.

Your homegirl turned around slow, gave him a once-over. “I got three. All of 'em crazy.”

“Damn, you can’t just say no?”

“I did say no,” she said, turning right back to the beat like he ain’t exist.

Another boy tried your other friend: “You dance like that in church too?”

“Only if Jesus show up wearin’ grey sweatpants.”

He stood there stunned while she twirled away, drink in hand, and you laughed—finally loosening up.

You were buzzed just enough to stop overthinking, but not enough to stop squintin'. Your lashes too long for your glasses, so everything looked like it had that soft blur to it.

You kept glancing around the yard, eyes skimming faces. Not really lookin’ for nobody… just watchin’. Floatin’

Then—bump.

Hard shoulder to your arm. Your drink flew out your hand like it got snatched by the air.

“Shit—!”

Your cup hit the grass with a soft splat, pink liquid staining the blades.

Your girls turned fast.

“Damn! You can’t say ‘scuse me, nigga?” your girl barked, already turnin’ up.

His boys stepped forward like what’s up then, all arms folded and necks cocked.

“Man, y’all too loud for no reason. It was an accident.”

“Accident is trippin’ over a curb. He bodied her like she ain’t got bones!”

“Nah, y’all better back up ‘fore we get un-Christian out here.”

You stayed quiet, eyes still low, focused on that cup layin’ sideways in the grass. Lips pressed tight.

You didn’t like scenes.

Didn’t like heat that wasn’t from the sun.

Then you heard it.

“I’m sorry ma.”

“I ain’t mean to.”

That voice.

Soft drawl. Familiar rhythm. Sounded like old gum wrappers and middle school yearbooks. Like gym bleachers and hallway whispers.

You blinked.

A hand—big, warm, steady—came into view. Reached down, picked up your cup like it was glass instead of plastic. And as your eyes followed his fingers up to his wrist, to his arm, to his—

“...Sammie.”

You said it out loud before you could catch yourself.

All your girls paused mid-argument. Froze. One even blinked twice like she needed confirmation.

“Oh mf! Why didn’t you say it was you?” your homegirl shouted at him, pushing her lipgloss back into her purse.

He looked at her for a second, then back at you. Smiling like trouble you knew better than to want.

“I remember you,” he said, voice low, rich.

“Quiet lil thang.”

He stepped back just a bit, eyes dragging over you real slow. Licked his lips. That old

Sammie habit.

You tried to hold it in, but your smile betrayed you. It was comin’ anyway, soft and shiny like the gloss your girl put on you.

Your girls noticed. Of course they did.

They looked at each other eyebrows raised, hands covering grins, whisperin' fast.

You panicked. Had to say something.

You cleared your throat. “I remember you too… benchwarmer.”

“Oooooooohh!”

His boys hollered behind him, all hands to their mouths, jokin’ like they was on the schoolyard again. Sammie dropped his head, one hand rubbin' over his waves, that crooked smile sneakin’ back out.

“It’s like that, ma?” he said, eyes locked on you.

“Maybe,” you replied, real smooth. Then turned around like it was nothin’.

You walked off, hips steady, heart doin’ flips. Your girls followed close behind, mouths pressed shut just enough to stop screamin’. Y’all didn’t have to say it—but they knew.

You wasn’t just out here now.

You was in it.

The party was long gone, the music a ghost now, just bass memories still rattlin' in your chest.

Your dorm was dim, lit only by the soft blue TV glow and a phone light somebody forgot to turn off. One of your girls was already knocked out across her bed, one shoe still on. The other halfway under the covers, lashes askew, mouth wide open. They didn’t even bother changin’.

You laid there for a second, buzz finally faded, makeup itchin', body tired but restless.

So you got up. Showered slow. Let the heat wash over you until the bass left your bones.

Now you were in your real skin. No lashes, no gloss. Just you. Clean. Barefaced. Sports bra, cotton shorts, big t-shirt. Edges puffed up, bonnet tied loose. Slippers slid on, keycard in hand.

You went lookin' for a snack—first the mini fridge, then the cabinets. Nothin’ but dry-ass ramen, ketchup packets, and your roommate’s suspicious yogurt.

You sighed, tugged your t-shirt lower, and shuffled down the hall to the vending machines.

The hallway was quiet, just the hum of old AC and the click of your steps.

You stood there, starin' through the glass like it was gonna speak to you. Your finger hovered over the buttons. Hot Cheetos? Snickers? Twix?

“Damn, the machine got you stuck like that?”

You turned, slow.

Sammie.

Leanin' in the doorway like he belonged there, hoodie half-zipped, white tee underneath, chain glintin’ under the cheap fluorescent lights. Eyes real low. Smile even lower.

You rolled your eyes. “Why are you even in here?”

He stepped forward with a smirk.

“Co-ed, baby.”

You sighed and pressed B7. The machine groaned, then thunked out your Twix. You bent to grab it, not even thinkin’ about it.

Sammie thought about it though. Thought about it real hard.

His eyes trailed up from your calves, slow like honey. To the curve of your thighs. To the way them shorts barely held on. He bit the inside of his cheek.

Cornbread-fed. Just how he liked ‘em. He was from the South—he didn’t believe in women who couldn’t hold a plate or carry a man’s whole attention without even trying.

You stood back up, unbothered. Turned to him.

“Get a good look, pervert?”

You slid past him.

“I don’t know… let me see again,” he

grinned.

You smacked his arm lightly. “Horny lil’ boy.”

“I was jokin’, you know that, mama,” he said, stepping up close behind you. His arms slid over your shoulders like he done it before.

“Boy, if you don’t get off me—”

He laughed but held on tighter. “Why you bein’ like that?”

“I ain’t bein’ like nothing. Boy, you got all these girls on you already. Drama ain’t for me.”

He leaned back, blinked like you just told him the sky was purple. “And it’s for me?”

You gave him that be serious look. Chin tilted, eyes narrowed.

“I’m serious,” he said, voice low now. “Them girls just… girls. That’s it.”

You looked at him like he was wearin’ stupidity on his chest instead of that chain.

“Boy, you don’t even make sense.”

You didn’t wait for him to try again. You turned. Walked.

“Goodnight, Moore.”

Back in your dorm, you slipped into bed, pulled the blanket up, popped a DVD into your player— Brown Sugar—just somethin’ soft and familiar.

You watched the screen flicker, eyes growin’ heavy.

He wasn’t in the room.

But he was in your head now.

And you hated that.

The dining hall was loud like always—linoleum floors, the smell of syrup and turkey bacon mixin' with cheap coffee and last night’s regrets. You sat at your usual table, bonnet still on, hoodie zipped, tray full of breakfast you barely picked at. Your girls were all around you, gigglin' between bites, still full off last night’s turn-up.

“I know you not gon’ sit there and act like that ain’t Sammie Moore had you stuck at the vending machine like a redbone deer in headlights,” one of your girls said, grinnin’ wide.

“I was not stuck. I was mindin’ my business.”

“Chile please,” another said, mouth full of biscuit, “you was starin’ like he had a scholarship between his lips.”

You rolled your eyes, sippin’ your orange juice. “I don’t even like what he stand for. He drama. I ain’t come to college for all that. I’m tryna keep it cute, keep it clean, get my degree.”

“Cute and clean, huh?” your friend teased.

“Is that what they call that ass you had out last night?”

You swatted her with a napkin, smilin’ despite yourself.

That’s when some boys walked over—three of them, tall and lookin’ like trouble dressed in varsity jackets and gold chains. One had dreads, the other two low fades. But it was the one in the black tank and Cuban link that caught your attention first.

He locked eyes with you like he already knew your name.

“’Scuse me,” he said, voice low and syrupy, “didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m Smoke.”

You raised a brow, not budgin’. “I don’t do nicknames.”

He smiled slow, head tilt slight. “Then let’s get it right. Elias.”

That name sat nice on his lips.

You felt your spine react before your mouth even moved.

You cleared your throat, coolin’ the smile that wanted to creep. “Okay then, Elias.”

“Okay then,” he said back, eyes takin’ you in respectful—but not shy.

He turned a little so he wasn’t blockin’ your homegirls. “Y’all should come out tonight. We throwin’ somethin’ over on Palmer. Real easy. Just vibes.”

He looked back to you. “Be good to see you there.”

Then just like that, he turned and walked off, smooth like the song playin’ low from somebody’s speaker nearby. You blinked, caught off guard.

“Uhhh–HELLO?” your girls said in unison, smacking the table.

“You better get your ass in formation!”

“Girl, who was THAT?”

“Baby I’m wearin’ heels tonight—I don’t care if my ankles bleed.”

You laughed, tray forgotten, heart a lil' fluttery. “I mean… why not?”

And right on cue—like somebody summoned him with your thoughts—Sammie walked up, his boys trailing behind, chain swayin’ over his chest, durag tied down, eyes already scanning the table.

“What y’all so juiced about?” he asked, a lazy grin on his face.

You didn’t even flinch. “Elias invited us to his party.”

His smile dipped, just a second. He looked off to where Elias and his boys were posted up.

“Word?”

“Mhm. Said it’d be good to see me there.”

You said it calm. But your girls caught the shift—Sammie’s jaw tightenin’, the light in his eyes dimmin’ just a touch. He played it off though, noddin' once.

You tilted your head, leaned forward just a little.

“You jealous?”

He looked down at you, lips pressed but still smirkin’.

“Nah. Ain’t no reason to be.”

You stood up, the air thick now, the table quiet like the cafeteria just paused for y’all.

“You want me,” you said, eyes never leavin’ his.

He stepped up, close, eye to eye. He was taller, but you ain’t back down.

“I do,” he said, noddin’ once.

That heat was back—heavy like the Delta sun in July. You felt it, and you liked it.

You looked in each of his eyes slow, readin’ the want sittin' behind them lids.

“Drop the hoes then, Moore.”

You popped your gum, eyes draggin’ down his chest and back up like you were takin' inventory. Then you turned and walked off with your girls, hips swingin’, all of them whisper-screamin’ behind you like high school all over again.

Sammie and his boys were still there, stuck in place.

One of his boys leaned close, clapped his shoulder.

“Better get busy, my boy.”

He didn’t say nothin’, just smiled slow, hands in his pockets as he watched you leave.

He had a type, sure.

But you weren’t a type. You were a whole damn category.

And Sammie Moore wanted all of it.

Music knockin’ low from the speaker—some classic R&B remix with a new-school beat. Perfume in the air. Heat from flat irons and the smell of edge control mixin’ with laughter. You and your girls were in full formation, baddie-mode activated.

Legs out, arms oiled, bangles singin’ every time y’all moved. Lip gloss poppin’, shades sittin’ right on top of your brows. You had on a lil Baby Phat-style jean romper, hugging every curve like it got hands.

Pumps to the sky. Hair curled up with that midnight bounce—your mama would’ve smiled seein’ them braids had finally done what they was supposed to.

You posed in the mirror, tongue peeking between your teeth, adjusting your hoops.

“Damn, I love college,” one of your girls said, doing a slow turn in the mirror.

Another smacked her gum, tossing her curls. “Both them boy crews? Whew. It's like God dropped fine into the registration office.”

“Okay, but who you tryna lock in with?” they asked, looking right at you.

You smirked, sliding your shades down your nose.

“Let’s see who show up tonight.”

They screamed. Laughed loud. Even the shy one was gigglin’. You all looked too good to be humble.

You raised your arm up, gold bracelet catchin’ the light.

“TO COLLEGE!”

They all clinked their red cups with yours. “TO COLLEGE!”

The energy was different on this side—lower, smokier, but just as electric. Loud bass thumped from a Bluetooth speaker, weed smoke curling up to the ceiling fan.

Sammie was leaned back on the futon, durag hangin’ off, T-shirt stretched over his chest, black jeans crisp. One of his boys rollin’ a blunt, another lined himself up in the mirror with a phone flashlight.

“Bro…” one of them said, already crackin’ up.

Sammie looked up, raising a brow.

“You really gon’ act like we ain’t watch ole girl stiff-arm you in the caf this morning?”

The whole room broke out laughin’.

Sammie shook his head, grinnin'. He could take it.

“Aye, man…” he exhaled, takin’ the blunt slow. “Y’all wild. I ain’t even on that lil groupie run no more. I’m tryna make her mine. Real talk.”

One of his boys mugged up, snatching the blunt.

“Man, here you go with that soft shit again.”

He hit it, exhaled deep, voice cuttin' through the smoke.

“All I know is—her girls? Man... them girls look like they stepped out a Vibe magazine.”

The room lit up with head nods, somebody clappin’.

“They bad bad.”
“I’m talkin’ curated bad.”

“Shit,” another said, sittin’ up, “we could all lock in tonight.”

The whole room paused, lookin’ around.

“Oh nah, y’all niggas trippin’,” one laughed.

Sammie stood, brushing his shirt off, lookin’ in the mirror like he was about to sign a deal. Ran his hand over his waves, durag in one hand, gold watch glintin’ under the light.

He looked through the mirror at his boys, confidence written all over his face.

“Let’s roll.”

They stood like a unit—too loud, too good-lookin’ for their own good.

The four of you stepped out that car like destiny walkin’ on heels. Laughter on your lips, gloss shinin’ under the porch lights, hips swayin’ to the beat echoing out the open doors.

Elias was the first to greet y’all.

“Whewww—look at this,” he said, leanin’ against the porch post like he been waitin’ all night. “If y’all was any finer, I’d need a warning label just to breathe.”

You smiled without tryin’, lookin’ away as your girls giggled. His boys peeled off fast, gravitatin’ toward your crew like bees to fresh honey.

Elias took a step closer, hand brushing the small of your back.

“You came,” he said, voice low and smooth.

“I said I would,” you replied, tryin’ like hell not to let his cologne live rent-free in your chest.

“Come on, let’s grab a drink.”

He led you through the crowd, shoulder to shoulder with strangers, the house alive with bass and bodies. Somewhere between the kitchen and hallway, a Soul Train line was tryin’ to start.

Girls were twerkin’ like it paid the rent. Air hot. Thick with weed. Full of life.

Y’all stopped at the drink table—red cups stacked, Jungle Juice swirling in a Gatorade cooler.

“You want sweet or strong?” Elias asked, already pourin’.

“Strong,” you said, takin’ the cup from him—fingers brushing, eyes meeting.

Leanin’ against the counter, y’all fell into that low talk. He told you about his major, his plans, how he liked how you carried yourself. Quiet confidence, he called it.

You were just startin’ to let your smile relax when—

He walked in.

Sammie Moore.

Black tee clingin’ to his chest, pants sittin’ grown-man low, chain swayin’ like a whisper.

That smirk already cocked on his lips like he knew the script before the scene started. His eyes scanned the room once—twice—

Then locked on you.

You. And Elias.

You felt it in your neck, your spine, the base of your stomach.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t speak. Just dipped his chin, gave you that look, and walked deeper into the crowd—dap-tappin’, noddin’ to the beat like it was just another Friday night.

But it wasn’t.

Elias leaned close, voice soft in your ear.

“That your man or somethin’?”

You shook your head, steadyin’ yourself.

“No.”

He grinned. “Good. Come dance with me then.”

You followed him to the living room-turned-dancefloor, Jungle Juice in hand. The song shifted—Aaliyah’s “One in a Million” remix slid in low and sensual.

Y’all moved close. That slow grind—just enough to spark heat but not burn. Elias knew how to move. Hand on your waist. Breath near your ear.

But your eyes kept driftin’.

Across the room—Sammie, posted on the wall. Watchin’. Not hiding it. Jaw tight. Eyes hard.

He wasn’t sayin’ a word, but his body was yelling loud.

That look? That look said you had no damn business lookin’ that good with somebody else.

The song faded. Elias leaned back just a little, like he might say something deeper.

But then—

You felt it.

A hand on your wrist.

“Lemme borrow her real quick,” Sammie said, low and gravelly, eyes never leavin’ yours.

Elias raised his brows, but you already knew. You nodded at Elias, heart thumpin', and let Sammie guide you away.

He pulled you down a short hallway, the noise behind y’all fading into a hum.

“Boy, what the hell is wrong with you?” you said, tryin’ to snatch your arm back—but not really.

Sammie turned, steppin’ close ‘til the wall kissed your back.

“You was lookin’ too good to be up on him like that,” he muttered, voice thick.

You blinked at him, lips parted, chest tight.

“Elias don’t got nothin’ to do with you.”

He smirked, leanin’ in, his breath all up in your space.

“Then why you keep lookin’ at me like he do?”

No answer. Not with his hand braced beside your head, not with that fire in his eyes like he was daring you to lie.

Your breath caught. His face inched closer.

“You know I want you.”

You swallowed, eyes lockin’ with his.

“I told you,” you whispered. “Drop the hoes, Sammie.”

He paused.

Then smiled.

“Watch me.”

Next day, class hit—but your mind was somewhere else. Still buzzin’ from the party, from the hallway, from the way Sammie looked at you like you was the only thing in that room.


You slid into your usual seat in the back of the lecture hall. Hoodie on, lips glossed, eyes low. Tryna stay out the way.

Then the door opened—and the whispers started before you even turned around.
It was him. Sammie Moore.


Steppin’ in like the whole classroom was his stage.

Girls straightened in their chairs.
You could hear the lil, “Hey Sammie,” “Oh my God he in this class?” floatin’ through the air like perfume.


He didn’t give none of ’em no play. Just scanned the room, eyes movin’—’til they locked on you like a bullseye.
Then he grinned.

Next thing you know, he joggin’ up the stairs—loud, on purpose—then flopped down next to you like he’d been doin’ it all semester.
His arm slid over the back of your chair, all casual, like it belonged there.

You ain’t say nothin’ at first. Just stared straight ahead, pretendin’ like your heart wasn’t thumpin’ out your chest.

“Morning,” he said, voice low and lazy—like y’all just rolled outta bed together. “You miss me?”

You sucked your teeth, tryna hide your smile. “Boy, get on.”

He chuckled, leaned back, spread his legs wider like he paid rent in the seat.

That’s when they walked up—two girls in Fashion Nova fits, tryin’ to play it off like they needed help with the syllabus.


One leaned in too close, eyes skippin’ past you like you ain’t even there.

“You really not gon’ say hey to nobody now?” she said, twisting her mouth. “You actin’ brand new, Sammie.”

He didn’t even blink. Didn’t shift. Didn’t smile.


“Nah. I’m good.”

The other girl gave you the slow once-over, nose turned up. “You ain’t even all that. He gon’ treat you the same way he did the rest of us.”

This was exactly what you meant.
You wasn’t even gon’ say nothin’. You ain’t need to.

But Sammie turned—slow. Looked her dead in the face.


And when he spoke? His voice dropped into somethin’ you hadn’t heard before—deep, steady, real.

“I don’t talk to girls like this,” he said, jaw tight. “But for her? I will. So back the fuck up.”

Silence.

You blinked. Looked at him like… who is this?

He was still watchin’ them, unblinking. Daring one of ’em to say something.


They didn’t. Just rolled their eyes and stomped off, heels clackin’ down the stairs.

You turned back to him, still lowkey stunned.

“You don’t talk to girls like that?” you said quiet, voice almost teasing.

He leaned in, looked you dead in the eye.

“Nah. Never had a reason to.”

Your heart dipped, flipped, did all types of flips.

You looked at him like you wanted to be mad… but you wasn’t.
Not even close.

Class started. Professor talkin’ about somethin’ you couldn’t even pretend to care about.


‘Cause next to you? Sammie’s knee kept brushin’ yours. His arm still draped behind you. And that look on his face?

Like you was already his.

Professor Davis was old-school. Always came in wearin’ some too-tight slacks, cologne from the ‘70s, and vibes like he been waitin’ all year to catch somebody slippin’.


He clapped his hands once—loud—snappin’ everybody out they whisperin’ and giggling ’.

“Aight class, listen up. Time to separate the passers from the repeaters. First project of the semester starts today. Two-person teams. Full breakdown due in three weeks. I’m assigning partners—don’t come cryin’ to me.”

You sat up straight. That anxious flutter startin’ in your chest.


You always took school serious. GPA clean. Ain’t no way you was about to let some random boy mess that up.

Professor started callin’ names off his clipboard, pairin’ folks up one by one.
“Danielle and Marcus… Tiffany and Kayla…”

You tuned most of it out, until— he looked up pen pointing through the seats before his eyes landed on you.

“You… and Sammie Moore.”

The whole row went: “Ooooooooh.”

You closed your eyes, breathed deep. Lord, why me?

Sammie? Of all people?

You turned your head slow, like maybe you heard it wrong.

But there he was—grinnin’ like he just won a Grammy.


Mouth wide open. Gold flashin’.

He slapped the desk once and leaned into your space, breath smellin’ like spearmint and sin.

“Oh, this gone be fun,” he said, teeth gleamin’.

You sighed. Loud.

“I ain’t never even seen you with a syllabus, Sammie.”

He threw his head back laughin’. “Ayo chill on me! I’m tryna turn over a new leaf. Be a scholar n’ whatnot.”

You side-eyed him. “You ever even own a textbook?”

He pointed at your bag. “Nah… but you do.
And since we partners… closed mouths don’t get honor roll.”

You blinked, jaw tight. “Lord.”

He leaned closer, voice low, smooth. “What? You don’t trust me?”

You crossed your arms.

“I don’t even know you.”

He grinned wider, tapped the desk twice. “Well. Guess that’s what the project’s for.”

Sammie kept it one hundred.
He said he’d put in work—and he did.
Showin’ up every day like clockwork.
Sometimes early, posted up outside the library like he belonged there.

“Thought I’d get a head start,” he’d say, flashin’ that cocky half-smile.


“Or maybe I just like lookin’ at you tryna act like you ain’t impressed by a nigga.”

You’d scoff, but you never sent him away.
Truth was—he was tryin’. Hard.

He’d sit across from you, brow furrowed, tryna follow your notes while low-key givin’ you his own kind of test.

“Yo, derivatives?” he said one day, flippin’ his notebook around with dramatic flair. “These just wild disrespectful.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself—and he grinned like he just won the championship game.

“There she go,” he said. “Knew I could crack that mean girl shit eventually.”

You tried to play it cool. “Focus, Samuel.”

“I am focused,” he said, eyes lockin’ on you just long enough to make your heart skip.


“On the sexiest tutor on campus. Don’t blame a nigga if you distractin’.”

Every time he talked slick like that, you swore you wouldn’t react.


But your cheeks always gave you away—heat risin’ like you caught a sunburn indoors.

“That a blush?” he teased, leanin’ in like he tryna get a better look. “Don’t start fallin’ for me now.”

“In your dreams,” you shot back. But even you heard the smile in your voice.

From then on, study sessions were never just about the project.


He’d pass you a highlighter and let his fingers graze yours.


Let y’all knees touch under the table like it wasn’t on purpose.


Lean over your shoulder like he tryna read the worksheet—when really, he just wanted to breathe you in.

“Okay, brainiac,” he’d say when you breezed through a problem. “You really just be out here rememberin’ formulas off the dome like that? You sexy as hell.”

You froze. “Sammie.”

“What?” He shrugged, all fake innocence. Eyes scanning you full of anything but. “I’m just sayin’— brains and looks? That’s dangerous.”

It wasn’t long before you started leanin’ in too.


Not ‘cause you had to.
But because you wanted to.

Little things added up.


A hand on your back when he leaned closer.
The way his eyes tracked every word when you explained something. Really listened.


Like you was the only person in the room.

He still messed up equations. Still talked too much. Still flirted like it was second nature.

But he was showin’ up.
Every time.


For you.

And somewhere between late-night study grinds and lowkey heart flutters…
Sammie Moore stopped bein’ the boy from the back of the class and started becoming the one who had you smilin’ between blinks,
blushin’ between smile lines and fallin’ just a little harder every time he cracked a joke.

College life meant party life—and here y’all go again.

Your girls talkin’ you into steppin’ out with ’em.


You was easier to convince than usual. All it took was them bringin’ up Sammie.

“How close is close?” one of ’em asked, nudgin’ you.


You tried to play it off, but that blush crept up quick.

“He just… I mean…”


You rolled your eyes, but you told ’em. How fine he was. How deep his voice got when he was focused. How you couldn’t hold out much longer.

“Who said you had to?” one of them smirked.

Another girl leaned in, fanning herself. “I bet he talk you through it too,” she said, and y’all lost it, laughin’ all over again.

You grabbed your gloss, touched up in the mirror, and tried not to smile so hard.
You was feelin’ yourself tonight. And you should.

Y’all finally headed out—heels clickin’, perfume thick in the air, dressed like you had something to prove.
Which maybe you did.

Or maybe… you just knew Sammie was gon’ be there.


And tonight, you was gon’ let him see it.

The party started before y’all even hit the door. Lights low. Bass heavy. Air thick with perfume, weed, and sweat. Everything bathed in that purple-blue glow like a dream you wasn’t supposed to wake up from.

Y’all pulled up together—but separate.
You and your girls all sharp edges and lip gloss, heels clickin’, skin glistenin’ like honey under neon.


Them and Sammie? Posted on the opposite sidewalk, black tees, gold chains, eyes cuttin’ through the dark like heat.

It was automatic.


You stepped out the car and locked eyes with him.


Sammie already waitin’. Already smilin’.

“Damn,” he said under his breath, loud enough for the fellas to hear. “Y’all see this?”

You tried not to, but you blushed. Again.

Your girls noticed. Teased you. One popped your arm with her clutch, whisperin’, “Girl, if you don’t go say hey—”

But you ain’t have to.


Sammie was already crossin’ the street. Already comin’ to get you.

He stopped in front of you, the world hummin’ low behind his eyes.

“You wear that for me?”
His voice hit your chest first, then your knees.


You looked him up and down—black denim, clean kicks, rings on his fingers, that gold chain you always noticed when he was leanin’ over your notes.

“You think everything for you,” you murmured, tryin’ to sound unaffected.

He just grinned. “Only the good shit.”

Your girls and his boys fell into that easy, flirty back-and-forth.


Laughin’, flirtin’, dappin’ each other up like this was just another night.
But you and Sammie?


Y’all was in your own bubble. One step slower. One look longer.

And when the door to the club cracked open, that bassline slid out like smoke—and Sammie turned to you.

“Aight,” he said, reaching for you smooth and easy, like he already had the right.


Arm slid over your shoulder. Firm. Warm. Protective.


“Come on. You wit’ me.”

And just like that, you let him guide you in.

Walkin’ through that crowd like you was made for it.


Shoulder to chest, his hand droppin’ to your hip when somebody brushed too close.
Eyes on the DJ, the dancers, the lights—but always comin’ back to you.

Inside, it was wall-to-wall heat.


Bodies movin’. Drinks spillin’. Hooks loopin’. Lights stutterin’ like camera flashes in slow motion.

Sammie leaned down, lips close to your ear.
“You good?”

You nodded, barely able to hear yourself think.


But his arm didn’t move. Stayed locked around you like it belonged there.
And for the first time… you let it. Let yourself settle into it.

Let yourself feel how good it felt to be next to him—not just in study halls or library booths, but here.


In the lights. In the noise. In his world.

Some girl tried to come up. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.


Just kept his body turned toward you like she wasn’t even there.

“You drink?” he asked, mouth back at your ear.
You nodded again. And just like that—he was leading you through the crowd, still holdin’ you close.

You felt eyes.
Felt envy.


Felt the beat thumpin’ in your chest.

But most of all—you felt safe.

Like maybe, just maybe… this boy was serious.

Like maybe… you was ready to find out.

Sammie didn’t say nothin’—just nodded toward the back, hand still resting heavy on your waist as he guided you through the bodies like he had a key to every room in the house.

Past the living room speakers, past the swayin’ couples, past the girl in red heels dancin’ like she ain’t have a care in the world.

The kitchen was cooler, quieter.
Dim light from the stove clock. Ice clinkin’ in cheap glass cups.


Somebody’s cousin passed by with a bottle tucked under his arm and a blunt behind his ear. Didn’t even look twice at y’all.

Sammie stepped to the counter, opened the fridge like it was his place.

“What you drink?” he asked, back still to you.

You shrugged, leanin’ against the island. “Pick for me.”

He turned, brow raised. “You don’t drink like I do.”

You tilted your head, smirkin’ just a lil. “Try me.”

He chuckled—low, lazy.
“This gone be funny,” he said, grabbing a red bottle and somethin’ brown from the corner.


Poured heavy in two cups, eyes low from the weed hummin’ through his system.

Then he took a sip.


Slow.


Eyes on you the whole time.

Mouth still on the rim when your gaze dropped—followin’ the line of his throat, the way he pulled back from the cup slow, lips glossy, glistening under the overhead light.

He wiped his hand down his mouth, rings glintin’, and your eyes tracked every. damn. move.

Then—he licked his lips.
Just once.

Your gaze dropped there, couldn’t help it. You watched his tongue slide across those thick lips, the gold of his slugs lookin at you.

He stepped in closer, the space between y’all shrinkin’ like breath in cold air.


Held your cup in one hand, lifted your chin just a touch with the other.

“Go 'head,” he said, voice dipped in honey and dare. “Let’s see if you real.”

You opened your mouth, and he pushed the cup to your lips—fingers gentle, but sure.
His other hand slid back, found the nape of your neck, thumb pressin’ just enough to ground you.

You drank.

All the while, his eyes never left you—low, watchful, wantin’.


That tilted POV got you dizzy, heat spreadin’ slow down your spine.


He smelled like kush and cologne and the sweat on his skin. You looked up from under your lashes, caught his mouth twitchin’ like he was thinkin’ somethin’ he couldn’t say out loud.

You dropped the cup without speakin’.

He let it fall—plastic, not glass—no spill. No need to say nothin’.

His thumb brushed your bottom lip, slow.
Wet. Glossy. Warm.

He hummed low in his throat.
“Sweet,” he said. Could’ve meant the drink. Could’ve meant you. Didn’t matter.

Then he pulled back, just enough to breathe, fingers curlin’ around yours.
Didn’t tug. Didn’t pull. Just led.

Back through the smoke and color.
Back to the music, where it was louder, hotter.


Back to the floor, where the bass made your bones hum and the lights turned his eyes to fire.

Hand in hand.

You and him.

And this time… you didn’t let go.

AYEEE my first req of many whoever requested this it got too long baby this coming in parts but enjoy thiss one 😏

Next up is : @yourm0mish0t Sammie x Reader cause yall can’t get enough. It’ll come soon so here’s a title ‘songbird sins’ #staytuned #stayloyal #stayfreaky

[hotwings0203]

Thinking about being the bitchy queen/princess of a small but valuable province, your kingdom miniscule enough to be forgotten on a map but virtually inaccessible from its geographical location. Your land prides itself in its natural resources, and the production of various textiles and sustainable weaponry that comes with the stones etched along the perimeters of your walls.

Tw: noncon

Your subjects love you, love your fierce protectiveness over them as if they were your own flesh and blood, the way you take the time to sincerely listen to the local feudal lords' complaints against the minor skirmishes your occasional militants and them encounter, love the way you stroll through the paved cobblestones among them, ignoring the way your political advisors hiss at you to show some decorum and have some pride in your royal lineage.

You're one of them, yes, but none would be so bold and disrespectful as to think you were weak.

Your back bends to greet children and elderly who can't straighten to bow to you, but you stand tall at the same height as kings and queens whose kingdoms make yours look like a grease stain on the map.

Your pride and confidence in your subjects and kingdom inspire your military to train until callouses replace soft skin, to fight until they bleed from the inside out. The defenses on the perimeter stay low, but alert as to not draw attention to any outsider who wants a taste of the paradise you've created within.

So then why do you tremble against your throne while the walls of this very kingdom come crashing down before you?

Even if half of your land wasn't covered in wildfires set by the foreigners, even if your people didn't scream his name in terror before they were slain in front of their own children, you wouldn't have believed he'd found you.

But he did, decades later, intent on fulfilling a promise he'd uttered when you both bowed to each other in your last time ever meeting.

Until now, it seems.

You lay sprawled on the grand chair in the same position you did when his militia blasted flaming catapault ammunition at your castle walls, knocking you and your advisors backwards. It took near everyone out, if not knocked down on death's doors, but it merely kept you pinned in fear to your throne with a few cuts and burns.

Outside the windows you can see your subjects being slaughtered like animals, more blood than stone splattered on the streets. Women and children scream as the raiders chase after them with glee, their husbands and brothers watching in cuffs as violation after violation occurs before them.

The trees teeming with apples which you always loved to gaze at during particularly boring meetings are now all burnt or on fire, slashed away at for no reason except to ensure that your demise is all the more uneccessary and humiliating.

You sense him before you see him.

It's not the way your blood freezes in your veins, nor the slow sounds of his steps echoing in the corridor gaining proximity to you that screams danger to you.

It's his smile, soft and serene looking at you all the while everything you've ever loved and nurturned falls to ashes at your feet.

But he takes his time with his kill, he's done his worst and now it's time to relish his victory.

You wish you could scramble backwards even further as he leisurely treads one blood and mud-caked boot in front of the other, but the falling stone around you provides more discomfort than safety. All you can do is tremble and tense up as he reaches a few feet from you.

Standing over your crumpled body, simply watching you with a cocked head.

You can hear the blood pounding in your head, the tension palpable to be cut with a knife when he finally breaks the excruciating silence.

"Did I not warn you I'd be back for you, princess?" He speaks as soft as his gaze, and you almost can't hear him over the syncophany of buildings crumbling and screams tearing through the dusk.

"Its queen," you surprise yourself equally as much as him with the lack of warble in your voice, but you still don't meet his eyes fully.

Interest piqued at your misplaced rebellion, he crouches down to your eye level and squints at you in mock disbelief.

"That's funny. Last I heard, a queen has a kingdom. And well, this one..." he trails off, biting back a snicker but it's still a stab to the heart.

You bite your lip and will yourself not to cry, but he sees it anyways through the smoke curling around your destroyed throneroom.

"Look at me."

He places a gloved hand under your chin, firm yet gentle, and forces your head up to look up at him.

Covered in soot and ash, hair falling out of its intricate up-do, nose red and twitching in an attempt not to break down, silky robes now cut with rubble.

He's hard, and you blanch at the realization.

"God, you look just as good as you did years back. I wanted to ravage you then too, but your father-"

"Dont you dare talk about him-" Your head snaps up to snarl at him but his voice doesn't even waver as he cooly overrides you.

"-screamed like a pig when he died, yes, but trust I enjoyed pissing over his grave almost as much as I'll enjoy defiling his little girl and making her my cumslut."

Your previous rage is replaced by fear again, because you know if he's come this far, it's not just to taunt.

He chuckles a bit at your gaping mouth, and playfully sticks a finger inside before you gag and swat him away. He doesn't allow you to move farther back though, because he locks his hand behind your head and shakes it a bit for good measure to ensure you're listening.

When he leans in to croon more filth at you, you see his eyes take on a strange glint that wasn't readable before from the smoke coating your vision. His eyes aren't soft anymore, theyre wild with triumph as his lips curl into a salacious grin.

"I watched you for years," he breathes in right next to your ear, and you can't help but whimper and curl in yourself more. "You stayed here, naive and pure only because I let you have your safety. You belonged to me from the start, whether you wanted it or not."

His hand dips to your stomach, and just as fast as you flinch away he snakes it up to grab your tits and knead them like dough.

"These tits," he moans as he begins to lick and bite at your ear, inhaling the cinders along with the perfume of your hair.

"This neck."

His mouth moves down to suck on your unmarred throat, creating blossoms of blue and purple hues on the expanse of your skin. He pays no mind to your shrieks at him to let you go, at his audacity to touch royalty in such a perverse manner-

"This fucking cunt, and all of you belong to me."

And he finally seals the nail in the coffin by shifting his boot until it nudges up against your clothed mound. You gasp and writhe under his iron grip, but it only agitates his adrenaline further and he quells the fire in you by pressing the toe of his show down hard against you.

He sighs as if a great relief has been lifted from his shoulders as he leans back and watches you arch your back under him, breaking finally and letting your choked cries escape you as he slowly grinds his boot in circles over your cunt, enjoying the way you look up at him with nothing but hate and despair all the while you buck under his ministrations.

"I wonder how your peasants would feel if they saw their beloved queen getting fucked on all fours like an animal right on this very throne," He muses conversationally, as if your writhings meant nothing.

"D-don't you dare," you gasp as he moves his boot up so that his heel catches a particularly delicious cruel stimulation of your abused clit. "This has nothing to do with them, you've done enough-"

"On the contrary, my little princess, you're not getting fucked in every hole by the sword handles from the men in my army, so, no, I haven't done nearly enough yet."

You dare to open your eyes to catch his bluff, but your heart drops when his lock on yours and reflect nothing but cool indifference.

He retreats his foot and lets go of your hair, standing up to his full height now.

"Wait!" You squeak desperately, for you know by now his promises mean nothing but the worst for not only you, but everyone in your proximity.

Silence permeates the air again as you quickly try to catch your breath, your doubled form heaving and fingers curling in the gritty floor at the humiliation of your unbecoming.

He allows you a minute or two, but the longer the silence treads the less patience he has to get to what he'd been waiting years for.

"Speak, or you'll be screaming instead."

Where his voice was lilting and dangerously soft before, it now drops to an octave and holds no room for bullshit.

You shake and squint up at him through the tears cascading down the soot on your cheeks.

"P-please tell your men to retreat. My people have done nothing to warrant this."

"P-p-please suck my dick princess and maybe theyll warrant some mercy instead!" He mocks in a perverse high pitched whine, and all pretenses of you treading carefully are dropped.

He can't be serious, you think.

But he anticipates it, and tries to hide back his smile by masking it with the same low tone he used before

"I'm serious."

"Fuck you," you growl, unable to bite your tongue.

"Oh, I plan to. But not until every remiaining subject of yours is watching you get split apart by me. I imagine my army will want some reward for the very fine damage theyve done to your little hovel, but don't worry- I'm sure keeping you drugged will save part of your sanity when everyone's had a turn with you."

He enjoys the stricken look on your face as he bites his lip ever so slightly and adjusts his slacks as they grow tight from his growing erection, and turns on his heel to walk out of the room.

It takes every fiber of you to kill your ego and swallow down your pride at what you must do to appease him before a new level of wrath befalls you and your people. You call his name out one more time with a new tone of hesitation and softness, trying to make up for your bitchy attitude before.

He hums in question, but hes still not surprised when he looks over his shoulder and watches you crawl a few paces over to him with your head down, your jewelry ringing like tiny bells across the stone floor.

You wince when you hear him whistle low at your state, but you keep your head down all the same.

"I'll listen to you," you utter quielty.

"What was that, slut?" Your arms shake a bit more, but you will yourself to continue for the sake of your kingdom.

He places the same boot that had fucked you earlier under your chin and lifts you up to meet his lecherous gaze. Loving, victorious, knowing, and satisfied.

Bile rises to the back of your throat.

"I'll l-listen to you," and your heart settles ever so slightly when you see his eyebrows relax, and his posture soften.

But it does nothing to quell the goosebumps erupting on your skin as he speaks his turn now.

"Damn straight you are. You're gonna bow to me, I'm gonna be your fucking god if you don't want every last one of your subjects to strung up by their intestines, and your land burned so that your little legacy here will be nothing but a myth for centuries to come."

"Do you understand me?"

"Yes," you whisper as the last tears are blinked out of your burning eyes.

"Yes, what?"

you desperatley search his dark, lust-filled hues for a shred of mercy.

But he lifts his chin and you know you won't get off so easy.

"Yes...sir?"

"Yes, my king," he corrects.

"Yes, my king," you parrot back, and your nails bite your palm as you mutter the poisonous words on your tongue.

He finally pulls back and turns around, letting your head fall down to look at the cracked floor and granting you a moment to collect yourself. You furiously wipe away your tears with shaky wrists when he calls over his shoulder,

"Try not to cry too hard like a bitch. Its either king, or master."

[eriace]

partners in crime ; shin asakura

oneshot & fluff ↪ in which a telepath and his best friend dance around feelings, denial, and awkward bubble tea encounters until someone (finally) holds someone’s hand. ↷ shin asakura ; sakamoto days

↳ an order of frappuccino (extra caramel :b) from anonymous in the comeback cafe event !

SHIN ASAKURA PRIDED himself on a few things.

His telepathy. His unwavering loyalty. His lightning-fast reflexes. And the very important, extremely sacred, totally unshakable fact that he did not have feelings for his best friend.

Nope. Not even a little.

So what if he always saved the last piece of melon bread for her? So what if he accidentally memorized all the ways she styled her hair depending on her mood? So what if he reflexively offered her his jacket when it was even a little bit cold out?

Pure coincidence. All of it.

“Shin,” she deadpanned one morning as he held the umbrella over her while standing in the rain. “You are literally getting soaked.”

He shivered, “I’m waterproof. You’re not. Science.”

She blinked slowly, unimpressed. “You’re not a GoPro, Shin.”

Still, she took the umbrella without another word, and Shin pretended he didn’t feel like he’d just won the Nobel Prize in chivalry.

Now, anyone who knew Shin knew he had an edge. Being able to read minds meant he could always see people’s true intentions. And unfortunately, it also meant he had to listen to everyone’s nonsense—whether he wanted to or not.

Take today, for example.

He and Y/N were on a low-stakes recon mission at the mall. Shin was trying to focus. Really. But his brain was flooded with:

He looks so cute today. His hair’s doing that fluffy anime boy thing again. I wonder what he’d do if I held his hand. Oh god. Abort mission. Why am I thinking this near a telepath??

His brain short-circuited.

“Did you just—were you—thinking about holding my hand?” Shin asked, voice pitching slightly too high.

Y/N paled, “Whaaat? That’s so weird! Haha! Who would even—? What’s a hand?”

Shin narrowed his eyes. “I have a literal mental transcript. Don’t gaslight me.”

“Okay, first of all, rude.”

She turned sharply, cheeks glowing pink, and marched toward the food court like her shoes were on fire. Shin stood frozen for three seconds before scrambling after her.

They didn’t talk about it. For a week.

But everything felt…weird.

Weird like: Shin almost knocked over an entire shelf at the convenience store because her fingers brushed his when they reached for the same soda.

Weird like: She stopped narrating her thoughts near him, but sometimes he still caught the softest blips.

I hope he doesn’t hate me. I miss talking to him about dumb stuff. His stupid little forehead is so cute.

One day, he found her sitting on the rooftop of the convenience store, kicking her feet, bubble tea in hand.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She didn’t look at him. “Hey.”

Silence.

“You ever gonna hold my hand or not?”

She blinked. “You can’t just say that out of nowhere—”

“You were thinking it,” he argued, a little pink himself. “For like three hours that day. I had to live through that.”

She made a noise halfway between a laugh and a groan. “You are so annoying.”

But when he held out his hand, she didn’t hesitate.

Her fingers slid into his, warm and sure.

After that, things shifted.

Not drastically—Shin still made sarcastic comments under his breath, and she still rolled her eyes like it was a sport—but the energy was different.

Shin had always been hyper-aware of Y/N, but now it felt earned. Like he didn’t have to hide behind sarcasm or pretend he didn’t memorize the way she laughed.

And for the first time in forever, he found himself grateful for the chaos of his ability.

Because he could hear it, now—every soft, fluttery, giddy little thought she had about him. And she didn’t even try to hide it anymore.

I really love his dumb face. He’s gonna be the death of me. I hope he never stops looking at me like that.

Shin grinned at her across the ramen table one evening.

“You’re thinking about kissing me, aren’t you?”

She squinted. “No, I’m thinking about dumping this spicy broth on your head.”

Pause.

“…And then kissing you.”

He nodded seriously. “Acceptable sequence of events.”

© eriace ;; don’t repost my works.