#God and the ancestors are watching

[karenceightteen]

This is why you shouldn’t play with unfamiliar spells and spirits especially if you don’t know the origin. The moment he puts that tattoo on in his supposedly “love era “ I knew he had hades to pay. Ezili dantor doesn’t protect those who harm women and children.

You don’t have to be believing in those spirits, and voodoo and magic to know that. I’m a Christian and I know that.

[off-mozzarella]

Nice catch! :]

Here's a very self indulgent and low effort drawing I made in an attempt to keep my sanity lol

[kacievvbbbb]

This might sound trivial but sometimes when I hear people talking about America and the foundation it was made on I remember Fullmetal Alchemist (Brotherhood) and when Ed found out that Amestris and specifically central city has been constructed in such a way that they form Nationwide Transmutation Circle to create Philospher's stones. And they, especially someone trying to rule like Roy, have to reckon with the fact that all those incidents those bloody wars and genocides that litter their history that they tried to write off as a fault of the administrations as mistakes their nation made, they have to reckon with the fact that does weren't flaws that was the machine running exactly as it was meant to. They could no longer pretend that Amestris was anything other than what it was built to be: a nation of bloodshed. And only after contending and accepting that this was what their nation was built on could they hope to change it.

[deathandnonexistentialdread]

if it is revealed that Atem's strongest deck is him shoving all the God Cards and calling it a day I will be very disappointed in him

[darkpoeticsoul]

[tortoisesshells]

1107.

[depvotee]

THEY COULD NEVER MAKE ME HATE YOU NEVARRA!!!!!!

[real-live-human]

On Death, the Soul, and the Sky III

Arluk is good.

Arluk is tired. Gods, they're tired. They shouldn't be, really. It's barely afternoon, clearing the second floor takes the party less than a couple hours at this point. But as they step back through the gateway from the lich's lair into the Café Acaria, they just feel exhausted. Some of the others make their way to the bar for a drink or a bite to eat, but Arluk doesn't have much stomach for City food these days. They squint. The lights inside seem brighter, harsher, than usual. They continue walking past the bar and head for the bathroom. As they shut the door behind them, the light is blocked almost completely out, leaving the room in near-pitch darkness. They breathe a sigh of relief as they slump heavily onto the couch — they had never bothered to ask why Cadenza put a couch in the bathroom, but they certainly aren't complaining now. They close their eyes for just a moment. The others will probably take an hour or so to rest up as well before heading back in, and they haven't felt this weary in a while.

To be honest, they hadn't really let themself just stop to take stock of things in a few weeks. Not after... all the weird things that had been happening. Those restless ghosts they had somehow managed to disperse twice now, the shield, not to mention the magic that had started manifesting almost without them realising it? If they didn't know better, they might almost... but no. The last time they let themself think like that, they nearly killed two of the party. It's got to be something else, the Citadel is just messing with them. Best to just keep... moving forward. Wherever that is, anymore.

They shift uneasily as a draught of cold air wafts over them. Their ears flick in annoyance as they register the disturbance. Where would a breeze even be coming from? They open their eyes to see that the door has drifted open — and yet, the bar outside is dark and quiet. They can just barely make out a small, dark shape among the empty chairs and tables. They go to get up, before remembering just how exhausted they are. The weight of their armour and the shield strapped to their back — they hadn't thought to take them off earlier, it's rarely worth the hassle between floors — feel like they must weigh ten times as much as usual. They look up to see the dark silhouette still in place, as if observing them. Their fur bristles in frustration as they remain pinned in place. If they could just get up and out of this stupid armour, th

Phulfph!

The first thing they register is the silence being suddenly broken by the sound of fifty pounds of steel clattering down onto the stone floor. It's closely followed by a sudden lightness in their body, and an adrenaline rush of confusion. Without thinking, they find themself scrabbling and twisting around trying to wrest themself free of the sudden tangle of equipment all around them. After a moment they're clear, kicking the heavy chestplate free of their hind legs — and the third realisation hits. They scramble a short distance away on four awkward legs, as a mane starts to bristle all the way down their back. For a moment the room itself looks foreign, as they realise they're viewing it from less than half their usual height. A moment later, they sense the shadowy presence silently moving away, and they turn to follow it. Without thinking, they go to call something out, but all that they manage is a harsh whooping call.

They catch sight of the silhouette vanishing up the stairs towards the front door, and pause a moment. A part of them balks at the thought of running out into the street like this. But the rest is too caught up in the moment to bother deliberating for long, and they bound up the stairs after their quarry. The long, loping gait of a quadruped that had seemed so alien a moment ago becomes natural within seconds, and they practically fly out onto the City streets. The night is moonless, but the stars shine brilliantly and provide ample light to see by. The streets are empty, the windows around them dark and silent. They catch a glimpse of the shadowy figure, a silhoutte of darkness on darkness, disappearing around a corner, and give chase. This continues for some time, how long they don't think to keep track of, and the brisk night air whips through their fur and whistles in their ears.

Eventually, they round one final corner and suddenly find themself on the outskirts of the City. Ahead of them, a ridge slopes down into the distance, where they can faintly see starlight reflecting off of the Glass on the horizon. Their ears go back and they scramble to a stop at the sight of it. A moment passes before they become aware of a presence beside them. There, seated atop a low wall, is the figure they had been chasing. Its silhouette is clearer now, outlined against the night sky. A cat, its eyes two soft circles of yellow light. Again, Arluk goes to say something, but only an inquisitive groan comes out, and their tail flicks as the annoyance with their predicament comes back. The cat tilts its head at them, and they get the sense of being scrutinised, although for whatever reason they feel no apprehension of it. The cat hops down from its perch and pads a slow, wide circle around them as the night breeze stirs gently. Curious, they lower their snout and sniff at the cat as it passes in front of them. Its scent is... familiar somehow, but they can't place what exactly. Do they know it? It pauses, and they register amusement from it.

I expect so, yes.

They start back, the hair on their mane and tail suddenly rising. The cat continues to stare at them unblinking, but despite their surprise, they feel no threat from it. If anything, the cat actually seems to be the one concerned.

It's been too long.

They freeze as the pieces finally begin to fit together in their mind. Is... no, this can't really be happening. They came to that conclusion weeks ago. If they let themself believe this again, it'll just- the train of thought is disrupted by a small paw lightly smacking their snout.

Did you think I would leave a child of Rocu?

Arluk blinks, sitting back on their haunches as the Cat watches them, head tilted in curiosity. Their mind spins. If this is real, then- then everything they had told themself for the last months, that they had been so convinced of... they hadn't been able to dream, but here they are now. The breeze blows through their fur, the chill of it oddly comforting. For once, Arluk is somewhat glad to be deprived of the ability to speak, as they find themself at a loss for words. The Cat purrs softly.

You are not easy to find, but I do not abandon my own. Not for something as small as death. Remember this, ohkay?

Arluk grunts a quiet affirmative. The Cat blinks, and they return the gesture. As they open their eyes again, they are startled by a knocking sound and a sudden rush of brilliant light. Jolting up in a clattering of plate armour, they blink their eyes clear to see the bathroom door has opened, letting in the flood of light from the bar outside. "If you're quite done in here, defender, we're-" Kotone stops in the doorway and just stares at them for a beat, evidently at a rare loss for words.

Arluk quickly wipes their eyes, which they're sure are just watering from the light. "You were- uh, we mean, we're-" they realise their voice is uncharacteristically shaky and cut themself off by clearing their throat. "We'll, uh, be out in a second."

Kotone just nods, curiosity clear on her face, but turns and heads back towards the bar. Arluk leans forward on the couch, attempting to regain some semblance of their usual demeanour. Figuring out what had just happened could wait until... no, they're not doing that again. They know full well what that was. They take a deep breath in and out to steady themself, and pull themself up from the couch. Funny, the armour seems lighter now. With a small grin to themself, they hope they never have to admit to Kotone's face that she had been right.

[entangledwitch]

ugh some stupid teenager yelled something homo/transphobic and sexually threatening at me on my walk home last night and now i'm practicing with my knife again

[ashmacg]

Europeans have been losing wisdom RE: the natural world since we first read that bit in Genesis about having "dominion" over the Earth and other life on it.

Nature is most beautiful when humans have the humility to let it take its own course.

[roseblues]

I’ve thought and done too many weird things to be religious like if I look at a bible for one even one second my skin starts to itch, the air becomes thin as i choke on my own sinner's tongue i fall to the floor face blue, heaving and writhing in pain my eyes roll back and i start foaming at the mouth and other stuff happens and then i wake up

[kcyars99]

Black people stay yo ass off them LA streets, well any streets, because the Republican party has been gunnin' for us. They want to use us to enact the most horrible militaristic policies. Stay your black ass the fuck home.

[gallusrostromegalus]

I got to hold a 500,000 year old hand axe at the museum today.

It's right-handed

I am right-handed

There are grooves for the thumb and knuckle to grip that fit my hand perfectly

I have calluses there from holding my stylus and pencils and the gardening tools.

There are sharper and blunter parts of the edge, for different types of cutting, as well as a point for piercing.

I know exactly how to use this to butcher a carcass.

A homo erectus made it

Some ancestor of mine, three species ago, made a tool that fits my hand perfectly, and that I still know how to use.

Who were you

A man? A woman? Did you even use those words?

Did you craft alone or were you with friends? Did you sing while you worked?

Did you find this stone yourself, or did you trade for it? Was it a gift?

Did you make it for yourself, or someone else, or does the distinction of personal property not really apply here?

Who were you?

What would you think today, seeing your descendant hold your tool and sob because it fits her hands as well?

What about your other descendant, the docent and caretaker of your tool, holding her hands under it the way you hold your hands under your baby's head when a stranger holds them.

Is it bizarre to you, that your most utilitarian object is now revered as holy?

Or has it always been divine?

Or is the divine in how I am watching videos on how to knap stone made by your other descendants, learning by example the way you did?

Tomorrow morning I am going to the local riverbed in search of the appropriate stones, and I will follow your example.

The first blood spilled on it will almost certainly be my own, as I learn the textures and rhythm of how it's done.

Did you have cuss words back then? Gods to blaspheme when the rock slips and you almost take your thumbnail off instead? Or did you just scream?

I'm not religious.

But if spilling my own blood to connect with a stranger who shared it isn't partaking in the divine

I don't know what is.

[rawjutsu]

the babysitter

pairing: megumi x fem reader

summary: you babysat little thirteen-year-old megumi once upon a time, but now, ten years later? you spot him at a club looking way too hot to be your awkward kid from the past. you try to play it cool but end up lowkey embarrassing yourself with some accidental flirting. plot twist: he’s actually a new intern at your job, and suddenly the vibe’s all kinds of heat. after a lot of teasing, tension, and some seriously awkward moments, one night the heat finally breaks—and megumi proves he’s way past kid status.

cw: age gap (4ish years), time skips, power dynamics, sexual tension, piv smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, teasing, 7.9k wc

the coffee table was covered in greasy pizza boxes — cheese for megumi, pepperoni for you and tsumiki, who was currently flopped upside down on the couch like a melting popsicle, humming to herself with her slice dangling over her face.

you were cross-legged on the carpet beside megumi, pink nails tapping your phone calculator while he aggressively stabbed his pencil at a multiplication worksheet like it had wronged him in another life.

"this is so stupid," he muttered, brows furrowed. “why can’t i just use a calculator like everyone else?”

you gasped, hand on your heart like he’d just offended your ancestors. “excuse me?! megumi fushiguro, did you just try to commit math blasphemy in front of me?”

he stared blankly. “...what?”

you giggled and leaned over to squint at his half-erased answers. “babe, what is this? did you write ninety-nine for nine times nine?”

his face immediately flushed. “shut up.”

you grinned and, without thinking, ruffled his hair.

he jerked away instantly. “don’t do that,” he said, cheeks flaming.

“oh my god,” you laughed, “you’re so dramatic. you didn’t care when i did it when you were nine.”

he didn’t answer, jaw tense, pencil gripped like he wanted to snap it in half. his bangs shadowed his eyes, and he’d gotten taller since the last time you saw him — lanky, a little awkward, but starting to grow into it. thirteen looked weird on him. it made him seem older than he was and younger than he wanted to be.

“ah, y/n! you have no idea how much we needed this, thank you so much for babysitting last minute,” mrs. fushiguro exclaimed, cheeks rosy—probably from a little too much wine.

mr. fushiguro just grunted in greeting, wandering over to play-wrestle with megumi and swipe one of his slices.

you popped up with a bubbly little wave. “hi! don’t even worry about it, the kids were angels.”

megumi looked personally insulted by that.

tsumiki chirped from the couch, “we made megumi do math and suffer. it was awesome.”

“doing math on a friday night is illegal,” megumi groaned, still hunched over the table.

“you’re just mad you thought nine times nine was ninety-nine,” you sing-songed while slipping on your shoes.

mrs. fushiguro laughed, digging through her purse. “so, y/n, do you have a boyfriend yet? you’re too cute to be single.”

you laughed, flustered. “not yet, i’m focusing on school right now—finals season is killing me.”

mr. fushiguro emerged with a mouth full of pizza. “that’s good. boys your age don’t know their head from their ass.”

you laughed again, but then megumi grumbled something behind him—loud enough to catch everyone’s attention.

“what does she need a boyfriend for? she has me.”

no one said anything for a second. then mr. fushiguro broke the silence by yanking megumi into a headlock and cackling.

“so you’re into older women now, huh? gotta type already, little man?”

“dad, shut up—!”

“oh, megumi,” his mom added, shaking her head with a smile, “i think y/n needs another seventeen-year-old to call her boyfriend. not a middle schooler in minecraft pajamas.”

you giggled behind your hand, careful not to hurt megumi’s feelings. even tsumiki was giggling watching her older brother get oddly flustered.

“speaking of,” his mom continued, “y/n, can you just double check that tsumiki brushed her teeth? i need toji to look at something in the garage.”

toji blinked, pizza still in hand. “i thought we were doing that tomorrow—?”

tsumiki was already tucked in by the time you padded back into the living room. megumi was standing awkwardly by the hallway now, hands in the pockets of his pajama pants, gaze fixed on the floor.

“hey,” you said gently. “you good?”

he nodded a little too quickly. “you’re not gonna come over anymore, right?”

you blinked. “what?”

“my mom said... tsumiki doesn’t need a babysitter anymore.”

you tilted your head, smile softening. “yeah, she’s getting big. you both are.”

he didn’t reply. just scowled at the floor like it had offended him. you reached out and tugged playfully at his sleeve.

“i’m gonna miss you, gumi,” you said, voice bright but fond. “who else is gonna argue with me about math and threaten to burn my worksheets?”

he mumbled something under his breath that you didn’t quite catch.

you leaned in with a teasing grin, smacked a big pink kiss to his cheek, and said, “you better not forget about me, okay? ‘cause i’m definitely not gonna forget you.”

then you were grabbing your purse and heading for the door, heels clicking cheerfully as you called over your shoulder—

“and stop growing! next time i do see you, you might be 2 heads taller than me.”

megumi stood frozen in the hallway, cheeks burning, hand lifting to touch the faint imprint of your lipstick.

ten years later

the club was packed—sweaty bodies grinding to half-broken trap remixes off today’s top hits, the floor sticky with spilled cocktails and too much cologne. you were deep in the chaos, laughing with your friends between flirty little conversations that ended in free drinks. not trying to pull. just dancing. vibing. glowing.

you were tipsy and stunning—lip gloss poppin', hair perfectly messy, dress barely hanging on. living your life.

and across the dance floor—

“...megumi?”

he freezes like you slapped him. blinks once. twice. because you’re not supposed to be here. you live in a memory, in warm pizza boxes and butterfly clips and highlighter-pink hoodies. you are softness and warmth and the scent of strawberry body spray from the early 2010s. but now—

now you're grown. glowing. sultry. moving your hips to the beat in a way that has no business being legal. and your mouth is still glossy, and megumi is not okay.

you light up. slap some poor guy’s hand off your ass and practically trip your way toward him—your heels clicking like fate. he’s standing by one of the high-top tables, drink in hand, frozen like he’s seen a ghost with a bbl.

you fling your arms around his neck without hesitation, your tits fully pressed to his chest like it’s nothing, giggling in disbelief.

“oh my god—you're drinking?! my baby is drinking?! stop itttt.”

he stiffens. “you—you don’t have to call me—”

“megumi,” you interrupt, dramatically clutching his shoulders. “i babysat you when you still had spider-man sheets. i used to wipe your nose.”

“you absolutely did not—”

“i did! you were like—‘math is stupid’—and you had crusty eye boogers, and now you’re here drinking, looking all…” your eyes drag over him and you wiggle your fingers teasingly. “...grown.”

you pull back just enough to really look at him—and your giggle falters.

because oh. oh.

he’s tall. and broad. and sharp-jawed and annoyingly sexy in that quiet, effortless, completely illegal kind of way.

you blink. "you got hot."

megumi’s brain blue-screens.

"no—i mean—you’ve grown up! that’s what i meant. i used to babysit you!"

you don’t seem to realize how close you are. you’re swaying into him, arm still slung over his shoulders like you’ve done it a thousand times. fingers casually toying with the ends of his hair like it’s your right. like you’re not wearing a backless dress that megumi is painfully aware could slide off with one wrong move.

you, still blissfully unaware, play with the little chain around his neck now. “you work out too, huh? i knew you’d be tall. i remember thinking that when you were like thirteen—‘this kid’s gonna grow up and be hot.’” you laugh like you didn’t just casually ruin his entire night.

megumi stares at you, eyes wide, face absolutely flaming, hands clenched so tightly around his drink it’s a miracle the glass hasn’t shattered.

and then—

“y/n!” a voice calls from the crowd. “there you are!”

yuki slides in out of nowhere, arm snaking around your waist like a protective older sister on a mission. her eyes flick from megumi to your hand on his chain to the way you’re basically draped over him and then back to megumi, whose expression is screaming please kill me right now.

she leans in and stage-whispers, “why are you flirting with a college freshman?”

you blink like she just spoke elvish. “what?? i’m not! that’s—megumi!”

yuki’s brows lift. “...uh-huh.”

“i used to babysit him!” you laugh, slapping megumi lightly on the chest for emphasis. “isn’t that so funny?!”

megumi is dying.

yuki smiles. but it’s tight.

poor kid. he's standing there, stunned, blinking after you like you just set him on fire and walked away.

yuki sighs to herself.

he definitely had a crush on you.

still does.

yuki disappears into the crowd with a look that says good luck, kid, and you're already turning back to megumi with a dazed smile.

"sorryyyy," you giggle, fanning yourself a little. "she’s protective. but isn’t that cute? that she thought i was flirting with you?”

megumi makes a noise in the back of his throat. it might’ve been a laugh. it might’ve been his soul leaving his body. “yeah. cute.”

you don’t even hear him. you're sipping your drink and swaying to the beat again, head tilted, body language loose and open like you belong in the music. the lights shift pink, then blue, then strobe white—each flash catching the sparkle of your jewelry, your glitter gloss, the sweat on your collarbones.

megumi is trying not to look. he is failing.

“god,” you huff, “i feel so old lately. but you—” you gesture at him vaguely. “you’re making me feel ancient right now. you were a child the last time i saw you, and now you’ve got arms and stubble and shit? not fair.”

you set your drink down and stretch dramatically, your chest pushing out and tits practically falling out . you don’t notice the way megumi’s eyes drop—don’t notice the flicker of panic on his face as he forces himself to look away and adjust the front of his pants like he’s trying to pass it off as casual.

he clears his throat. “you don’t look old.”

you beam at him. “aw, thanks, baby.”

baby. oh god. he nearly chokes on his own spit.

the way you say it—so casually—makes something in his chest seize up.

"megumi," a voice calls—bright, amused. it’s another guy his age with pink hair, followed closely by an even bigger and muscular guy with a black man bun. "you good, man?"

pink hair’s eyes flick between you and megumi and light up. he elbows the bigger guy. "yo, he’s so not good. look at him. dude’s malfunctioning."

"i used to babysit him," you offer quickly, like that explains anything. like that makes this less weird.

the big guy snorts. pink hair looks delighted.

"cool," pink hair says. "you babysit all your kids like that?"

you shove at his arm playfully, cheeks hot. megumi is still dead silent, jaw tight, hands in his pockets like if he moves them he’ll do something very illegal.

before you can say anything else, yuki materializes behind you, tugging your wrist. "babe, drink. let’s go. enough flirting"

you squawk, "i was not flirting—he’s megumi! i used to babysit him! and he’s, like, twenty-three now!"

yuki glances at megumi—still stiff, still watching you like you’re made of sin—and hums. "right. poor kid."

you let her drag you away, sipping your drink, heart beating a little weirdly fast. but by the time yuki hands you another daiquiri you’ve long forgotten about your run-in with the kid you used to babysit ten years go.

monday rolls around and you’re in the breakroom, adjusting the office keurig like it’s your sworn duty. your mug says "boss babe, brat edition" in obnoxiously cute pink font, and you’ve just finished swirling your creamer in when yuki sidles up beside you, designer sunglasses still perched on top of her head and an overpriced latte in hand.

“god,” she sighs, “i can't wait for the interns to get here. i’m gonna make them do all my paperwork while i take an extra lunch.”

you laugh into your cup. “it’s barely 9am and you’re already planning your escape.”

“self-care,” she shrugs.

a few more of your coworkers filter in, sleep-deprived and carrying folders. you greet them cheerfully, air-kissing a few cheeks and wishing people a good morning like the workplace princess you are. the heels, the lip gloss, the iced coffee—you’re basically the human embodiment of a good linkedin headshot.

you swipe your tablet from your desk and strut your way to the main conference room, where your poor baby interns are waiting for their intro training—which is just twenty soul-sucking slides of hr compliance and outdated office etiquette. it’s tradition. you consider it a hazing ritual.

you push open the door with a practiced smile, ready to greet the sea of nervous college grads with something cute and perky—

and then you see him.

seated near the middle of the u-shaped table setup, black button-up slightly wrinkled, blue lanyard slung around his neck.

no. way.

your heart stutters, and you blink hard like your brain short-circuited. you double-check the clipboard in your hand like it might say surprise! that boy from the club is also your intern now!

but it doesn’t.

and he’s definitely here. megumi fushiguro. sitting tall and tense, jaw tight, eyes wide.

you don’t even realize you’ve said it out loud:

“…megumi?”

the room falls silent. every intern is now watching you two like this is a k-drama scene.

his mouth twitches. he looks like he might simply evaporate into the floor. “...hi.”

you blink again.

hi??

you’re pretty sure your brain melts a little on the spot. this is the same guy you saw at the club three nights ago—the same guy whose biceps you complimented while slurring something about spider-man bedsheets.

and now he’s here.

wearing slacks.

in your intern orientation.

“oh my god,” you murmur. “you didn’t tell me you were interning here.”

“you didn’t give me a chance,” he says, and you swear—he sounds almost smug.

your mouth drops open a little. you blink at him, stunned and pink in the cheeks, and then remember yourself—right, there are ten other baby employees staring at you, and you’re supposed to be the confident one here.

you clap your hands once, forcing your professional smile back on. “okay! welcome everyone, let’s get started, we’re gonna have so much fun!”

you turn to the screen, clicking your little presentation remote like your life depends on it, and you feel megumi’s eyes burning into your back.

and all you can think is:

this can’t be happening.

tuesday

you’re humming to yourself in the elevator, scrolling through your phone, when the doors slide open and bam—in walks megumi.

alone.

you grin.

“well, well, if it isn’t my favorite little intern.”

he visibly stiffens. “you’ve gotta stop saying that.”

“what? that you’re my favorite?”

“that you used to babysit me.”

you laugh and lean your shoulder against the elevator wall, eyes dragging over him shamelessly.

“sorry,” you say sweetly. “i’ll stop... once i’m no longer picturing those spider-man sheets.”

he groans under his breath.

and you? you don’t notice the way his gaze flickers down to your legs, or the way he’s biting the inside of his cheek when you tilt your head just so.

that night, you’re washing your face and trying to unwind when the memory hits you like a truck: the club.

you groan into your towel.

because yeah, tuesday morning you were all smug and flirty in the elevator, but now you’re remembering just how unhinged you were the first time you ran into him again—like three months ago, at yuki’s birthday thing. loud club, slutty dress, way too many tequila shots. you’d been dancing on him. had your hands on his shoulders. called him “grown now” with a wink. maybe even touched his jaw.

and he just stood there all cool and quiet with that unreadable look on his face while you were acting like a full-blown cougar in heat.

“jesus christ,” you mutter to your ceiling. “i babysat him.”

no wonder he looked at you weird this morning. he probably thinks you’re some thirsty, washed-up ex-babysitter with a weird age gap kink.

you bury your face in your pillow and scream internally for a good thirty seconds.

and maybe that’s why, when wednesday rolls around, you start dialing it back.

you were just trying to get coffee. you swear that’s all you were doing.

but then megumi walked in, sleeves rolled up, forearms all veiny and pretty, with his messy black hair pushed back like he didn’t even try—and your brain short-circuited.

the boy you used to babysit is now a fully grown, hot, adult man. and your body is reacting accordingly.

he mumbles a tired “morning” as he reaches past you to grab a mug, and your breath catches because—what the hell. when did his voice get that deep?

you back up a little too fast and end up knocking over the sugar packet holder. classic.

“you good?” he asks, one brow raised.

“yup,” you squeak, scooping up the mess without looking at him. “totally good. just—coffee. haven’t had coffee. haha.”

he watches you for a second, lips twitching like he’s holding in a laugh.

normally, you’d swat at his arm. tease him. call him a brat.

but instead, you keep your eyes fixed on your mug and tell yourself to get it together.

because this is megumi. you used to babysit him. he probably sees you as some weird big sister figure and here you are practically blushing because he said "good morning."

besides—he’s 23. fresh out of college. probably into girls who go to music festivals and do their skincare routines on tiktok. not a tired 28-year-old corporate zombie whose back hurts when she sits down too fast.

even if he is disgustingly good-looking now. even if he smells like sandalwood and makes your stomach do somersaults.

“okay,” you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than to him. “we’re dialing it back.”

and you do. you don’t touch his arm. you don’t mention his spider-man sheets. you don’t call him baby megumi.

you grab your coffee and walk out like a respectable adult woman.

and megumi watches you go with the faintest frown on his face.

thursday 

something’s off.

you’re quieter today. still sweet, still smiling, but... distant.

he’s not imagining it. you used to bump your shoulder when you walked past, used to throw him little teasing jabs, used to light up when he said something dry that made you laugh.

now?

now you’re polite. reserved. a little stiff.

and megumi has no idea what the fuck he did.

he finds himself watching you, trying to pinpoint when the switch flipped.

it’s not like he didn’t notice before—how pretty you are. how funny. how you make a stupid office feel like something warm.

but now, it’s like you’ve put up a glass wall. you’re still right there, but out of reach.

and he hates it.

he catches you in the break room again, smiling too tightly while pouring your coffee.

"you’re avoiding me," he says before he can stop himself.

you blink, startled. “what? no, i’m just busy.”

“you’re not busy right now.”

you glance at him, then look away quickly. “i figured you’d want some space. i’ve been kind of... annoying.”

annoying? he wants to shake you.

instead, he just clenches his jaw and mutters, “you weren’t.”

but you’re already slipping out the door with your coffee, head ducked.

and megumi’s left standing there, wondering if he imagined the whole connection. if he hallucinated your teasing smiles and flirty comments and the soft way you looked at him on tuesday.

he pulls out his phone, types out a text to tsumiki.

her: “wait you saw her again???” him: “she works here.” her: “megumi. omg. did you tell her you had a massive crush on her.” him: “no.” her: “does she still wear the glittery lip gloss???” him: “yes.”

he sighs and closes the thread.

friday 

someone in marketing shouts it out first: “drinks after work? to celebrate the new interns?”

everyone’s murmuring agreement. even your boss nods.

you nudge megumi’s arm with your elbow, slowly grinning. “coming out with us?”

he hesitates.

you tilt your head. “come on. you should go.”

“for what?”

“get to know some of us outside our desks and business casual wear”

“i already know you.”

“megumii.”

“…fine.”

later that day, yuki catches you lingering by the copy machine and immediately clocks the way your eyes flick toward megumi when he walks by.

“you good, girly?” she says under her breath.

you wave her off. “fine.”

“you’re not flirting with your baby intern anymore.”

“i was never flirting.”

she arches a brow. “babe.”

you sigh. “he’s just... not a kid anymore. i realized that.”

yuki hums. “and that’s a bad thing?”

“it’s just weird, okay?” you hiss. “he’s 23. i’m almost 28. i used to make him chicken nuggets.”

“okay but now you want him to rail you into next week.”

you gasp. “yuki—”

“tell me i’m wrong.”

you don’t.

happy hour rolls around, and the bar starts filling up with tired salarymen and even more exhausted hourly workers. your office has a long table pushed together in the back, half your coworkers already crowding around with drinks in hand while the rest hover near the pool table.

you chew the inside of your cheek, debating whether or not to get megumi a drink. he’s over by the bar, laughing at something one of the other interns said, posture easy and relaxed.

you weren’t exactly avoiding him. you were just… setting boundaries. for yourself. trying to be normal. professional. and now, being in the same dimly lit bar as him—tipsy and tired and way too aware of how stupid hot he is—feels like a terrible idea.

yuki slings an arm around your shoulder and groans dramatically. “can you please just fuck him already?”

you choke on your beer. violently.

“yuki!” you whisper-shout, eyes wide as you glance around to make sure no one heard your deranged little menace of a friend.

she just takes another swig from her pint and leans in closer, lowering her voice but still way too loud. “what? you’ve been eye-fucking him since before you even knew he was working here. and you're too naive to notice he’s been eye-fucking you back.”

“i have not been—wait, he’s been what?”

yuki deadpans. “are you serious right now? if you would stop spiraling for like two seconds, you’d see it.”

she grabs your chin, gently but with intent, and turns your head toward the bar—right where megumi’s sitting.

he’s looking at you.

his gaze flicks away the second your eyes meet, but not fast enough to pretend he wasn’t staring. his ears go pink. he says something to the intern beside him, but his whole body shifts like he's been caught.

your stomach swoops.

still, you shake your head. no. nope. nothing’s going to happen. first of all, you work together now. that’s inappropriate. second of all, you used to babysit him, which is… arguably more inappropriate. megumi probably thinks you’re a freak. he’s probably this close to reporting you to hr.

so, you do what any sane, responsible adult would do: avoid him for the rest of the night.

you play pool with the accounting team, gossip with the customer service reps, and keep your eyes anywhere but on megumi—no matter how many times yuki throws you the world’s most pointed looks across the table.

eventually, people start trickling out. one by one. then in pairs. then in carpools. you’re settling your tab and sipping on some watered-down coke when someone slides into the seat next to you.

you look up—and of course it’s him.

megumi. looking warm and flushed and slightly buzzed. his hair a little messy. his shirt rumpled at the sleeves.

“hey,” he says, voice soft and low.

you blink. “hi.”

he’s close enough that his thigh brushes yours every time he shifts.

you’re acutely aware of it.

the warmth of his body. the clean, faint scent of sandalwood and laundry detergent. the occasional flex of his forearm as he nurses his drink.

you’re not even drunk. that’s the worst part.

you’re just buzzing. nerves and want and something heavy curling low in your belly.

“can we talk?”

your stomach dips. you nod once, trying to look normal—cool, even—as if you haven’t spent the past week panicking over every interaction you’ve had with this man.

megumi glances around, then tips his chin toward the hallway leading to the back patio. “out there?”

you follow him outside, where the noise from the bar softens into a low hum behind the glass. the air is cooler out here, a soft breeze carrying the faint scent of street food and cigarette smoke. there’s no one else around.

megumi leans against the railing, arms folded, gaze fixed somewhere out in the distance. you wait, heart beating in your throat.

“you’ve been avoiding me,” he says finally, quiet but direct.

you blink. “i haven’t—”

“yes, you have.”

you pause. then sigh, leaning your back against the railing beside him. “okay. maybe a little.”

he turns his head toward you, jaw tight. “did i do something wrong?”

the way he says it—so genuinely unsure—makes your chest ache a little.

“no,” you say quickly. “god, no. you didn’t. i just…” you trail off, chewing your lip. “i’ve been trying to be professional,”

“i guess i was just scared i was making you feel weird or something this week,” you continue in a murmur, “with all the teasing.”

megumi nods. “i admit, maybe telling half the office i used to wear super mario underwear was a little much at first, but… it’s you. so it’s okay.”

you glance over. “you sure?”

he looks at you for a long beat. then, quietly:

“i’m not thirteen anymore.”

and oh.

it’s like something in the air cracks. sharp and electric.

you laugh, light and disbelieving, because what the fuck kind of answer is that. “yeah, no shit, megumi. i noticed.”

his gaze drops—slowly. from your eyes, to your mouth, then down to your thighs, crossed tightly under the table.

“did you?” he says, voice low.

your breath catches.

for a moment, neither of you say anything. the bar chatter fades to a background blur. you can feel the heat radiating off his skin, the thrum of something heavy and unspoken between you.

you don’t look away.

“why are you looking at me like that?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

megumi huffs a quiet laugh, one that doesn't reach his eyes. “you really don’t get it, do you?”

“…get what?”

he leans in, just slightly. enough to brush his knee against yours. enough to make your pulse stutter.

“i used to wait up on the couch just to see you when you came to babysit. stayed in my room late on purpose so you’d come knock and say goodnight. i used to think about you every fucking day for years.”

you freeze.

your heart is a runaway train in your chest. “‘gumi—”

he smiles, soft but a little self-deprecating. “i used to have dreams about you when i was, like, fifteen. woke up so hard it hurt. and now you’re here. looking like this. wearing pencil skirts and calling me your favorite.”

you stare at him.

he’s not even teasing. he’s dead serious.

and suddenly you can’t breathe.

you feel hot. your skin prickles with awareness. your thighs clench under the table and you don’t know what to do with your hands.

“is this…” you swallow, trying to keep your voice level, “is this you flirting with me?”

“no,” he says simply. “that was me telling you i want to fuck you.”

your jaw drops. you blink once, twice. you’re pretty sure the earth shifts on its axis.

he glances down, then back up. “if that’s not what you want, just say so.”

you don't say anything.

you can't.

because the truth is, your entire body is screaming yes. every nerve ending has been wound tight all week and now he's just offering himself up like this? looking like that?

you scramble to think, to act normal, to not do something that’ll land you in hr monday morning.

but then he says, softly—

“you’re not my babysitter anymore.”

and that’s the last fucking straw.

you grab your purse.

megumi blinks. “wait—”

“come with me,” you say, voice low and tight.

“…where?”

“away from the bar.”

you grab his arm, weaving through the crowd like you’re on autopilot. the second you step outside, you yank him around the corner into the alley behind the bar—hidden from view but still close enough to hear the bass thumping through the walls.

“y/n, i’m sorry— i didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable, i just—”

you don’t let him finish.

your hands fist in the collar of his shirt and you drag him down into a kiss so heated it nearly knocks the wind out of you both.

megumi freezes for half a second—just one. then he’s moving like he’s been waiting for this all night, hands snapping to your waist and yanking you flush against him. you moan into his mouth, high and breathy, already addicted to the way he’s gripping you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

your fingers roam down his chest, tracing every dip of muscle through his shirt until you reach the waistband of his pants.

he shudders. his breath catches.

you break the kiss and pant against his lips, eyes glittering.

“you’re a great kisser, ‘gumi.”

megumi huffs a laugh and presses his mouth to the underside of your jaw. “wish i could say i learned from the best.”

you blush. blush. at him.

looking away, you clear your throat. “do you… wanna come back to my place?”

megumi lifts his head. his eyes are dark. focused.

“i’ll drive.”

the ride to your apartment is tense and silent—at least, on the surface. but his hand stays glued to your thigh the entire time, his thumb stroking just shy of your inner leg. every red light feels like a test. every brush of his knuckle makes you want to drag his hand higher and make him feel how wet you are already.

by the time you unlock your door, you’re trembling. not from fear—but from anticipation. from knowing this is real.

inside, the door clicks shut behind you.

and suddenly, you hesitate.

you falter. your confidence wavers, like the reality of it all is just now hitting you.

“so, wanna drink something?” you murmur, leaning back against the kitchen counter, fingers tapping lightly on the cool surface, heart thudding with that familiar anticipation.

megumi edges closer, voice low and rough, “no, there’s something else i want way more.”

then, without warning, he’s got you caged in—arms wrapped tight around your waist, pulling you flush to him. but this kiss? it’s nothing like that frantic, desperate one at the bar. this time, he’s slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing the curve of your lips with his own.

your legs coil around his waist, heels slipping off as he lifts you onto the counter effortlessly.

he nips your bottom lip softly, making you whimper, hands trailing up your skirt, skin warm against your thighs. meanwhile, your fingers fumble clumsily over the buttons of his shirt, eager and trembling.

he hums against your mouth, kisses getting messy and urgent, swallowing your moans like they’re his oxygen.

finally, his hands find the place you crave most—spreading your thighs wider, teasing the sensitive skin beneath. he smirks against your lips when he feels your knees shake under his touch.

you gasp when his thumb grazes your underwear, just barely brushing over your soaked clit.

“fuck—you're soaked,” megumi groans, breath hot against your skin.

you giggle, breathless, “can you really blame me?”

his eyes flash darker. “no. but i want to hear you say it anyway.”

you part your lips, about to answer, but then his fingers slip beneath the band of your underwear and stroke your slit once—slow, deliberate, teasing—and your brain just short-circuits.

“oh—fuck,” you breathe, hips bucking into his hand. “megumi—”

“you’re soaked for me,” he murmurs, nosing at your jaw. “and i haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

“then touch me properly,” you whimper, shameless now, thighs trembling.

megumi lets out a low groan that vibrates against your neck. “don’t tempt me.”

but he does.

he pushes your underwear aside and slides two fingers into you in one smooth motion, the stretch making you keen as your walls clench tight around him.

“fuck—‘gumi—”

he groans again at the nickname, curling his fingers until your eyes flutter. “you always say my name like that?”

you nod, delirious. “only when i’m about to come.”

he smirks. “good. gonna make you say it over and over.”

you cling to him, nails scraping his shoulders as he pumps his fingers steadily inside you, thumb finding your clit like he already knows your body better than you do. you’re panting now, hips rolling into his touch, desperate for more.

“look at you,” he murmurs, watching your face like he’s memorizing every twitch, every gasp. “so pretty like this. s’like you were made to fall apart in my hands.”

you whimper, thighs trembling against the counter as his fingers curl just right inside you.

“you always look this good when someone touches you, or is it just me?” his voice is low, rough, and just the tiniest bit smug.

you don’t answer—you can’t—not when his thumb circles your clit again and your hips jerk, chasing the pressure. but he knows. he can feel your body answering him.

“you’ve been acting so shy all week,” he mutters, leaning in to kiss along your jaw. “thought maybe you didn’t want me. but this?”

he fucks his fingers into you a little deeper. you gasp.

“this says otherwise.”

your fingers tighten in his shirt, dizzy from how fast he’s unraveling you. “megumi, i—”

“i’ve wanted this,” he breathes. “since that night at the club. since the second i saw you again.”

you moan when his tongue traces the shell of your ear.

“wanna hear you say it,” he growls softly. “tell me you want me too.”

you nod frantically, panting, “i do—i do, i just—fuck—was trying to be normal, and—”

“fuck normal,” he mutters, cutting you off with a kiss, all tongue and heat and claiming. “i don’t want normal. i want you.”

his fingers curl again, knuckles deep, hitting something devastating inside you. you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders, your back arching off the kitchen counter.

“you’re so close, aren’t you?” he whispers, thumb rubbing relentless circles over your clit. “been teasing me all week like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing. wearing those little skirts. biting your lip. looking at me like you wanted me to ruin you.”

“i wasn’t—!” you try to argue, but your voice breaks into a moan, heat pooling low in your belly like a rubber band about to snap.

he chuckles darkly, and fuck—you feel it more than you hear it. “no? then what’s this?” he presses deeper, watching your thighs tremble.

your breath stutters. “megumi—please—”

and that does it. that makes something snap in him. the sound of his name falling from your lips all soft and desperate.

“go ahead, baby,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw. “let go. i’ve got you.”

you fall apart with a strangled cry, legs shaking, his name breaking again and again from your mouth. he watches the whole thing—soaking in every twitch, every breathy whimper, like it's the most sacred thing he’s ever seen.

when your hips twitch from oversensitivity, his touch finally eases—but he doesn’t move away.

instead, he lifts his fingers slowly, admiring how soaked they are, before sucking them into his mouth with a low groan.

your jaw drops. “megumi—!”

he grins, and for the first time since you reunited, you see it—the boy you used to babysit peeking through the man he’s become. all teasing eyes and smugness and deep, aching affection.

“taste better than i ever imagined,” he says.

you blink. “what?”

his smile softens—just a little. “you heard me.”

you’re still dazed, but you manage to breathe out, “you’ve…imagined this?”

megumi leans in again, hand sliding gently to cup your face.

“i’ve dreamed about this night for years.”

your heart stutters in your chest. “you have?”

“every time i ran into someone who reminded me of you,” he murmurs. “every time i walked past some girl wearing strawberry-pink lip gloss.”

his thumb brushes your bottom lip, gaze flicking down.

“but none of them were you.”

you melt—just a little—before he grabs your hand and starts backing toward the hallway.

“come on,” he murmurs, eyes darkening again. “i’m not done with you yet.”

you let him pull you toward the bedroom, heart pounding, thighs still trembling, a little giggly with disbelief.

“megumi—what are you even—?”

he shoots you a look that shuts you right up. “i just made you cum on my fingers. now i wanna do it with my mouth.”

you whimper.

he grins. “yeah. that’s what i thought.”

he peels the rest of your clothing off you, shedding off his own as well, then lays you out gently on the bed like you’re something precious—until he gets between your thighs. then it's like he changes.

megumi kisses down your inner thighs slowly, reverently, hands strong and sure as they wrap around the backs of your legs to pull you closer to the edge of the bed.

“spread for me,” he murmurs against your skin. “wanna see how pretty you are like this.”

you shiver. “megumi—”

“mm-mm.” he glances up through his lashes, mouth just hovering over your soaked panties. “say it again.”

“...megumi,” you whisper, already breathless.

“no,” he says, nosing at the fabric. “gumi. like you did at the bar.”

your breath hitches. “gumi…”

he groans low in his throat, almost like it hurts. “fuck. you have no idea what that does to me.”

and then he’s pulling your panties down in one fluid motion, tossing them somewhere behind him, eyes glued to your dripping pussy like it’s the first real thing he’s ever seen.

“you’ve been wet for me all week, haven’t you?” he murmurs. “bet you were soaked every time i brushed your arm. every time you ran from me.”

his breath fans against you, and you squirm.

“i—i wasn’t trying to tease you—”

he grins, all sharp teeth and dark eyes. “you did anyway.”

and then he dives in.

tongue flat, slow, devastating—lapping through your folds like he’s savoring every fucking second. you cry out, thighs already twitching around his head, but he just groans and presses in deeper, locking your hips down with his arms.

“fuck, gumi—!” your back arches.

he hums against you, and you feel it everywhere. the vibration, the smugness, the feral little edge in it.

“shit—shit—you’re so good at this—”

megumi pulls back just long enough to say, “you think i didn’t practice for this?”

you stare down at him, wide-eyed, lips parted.

“dreamt about this too,” he pants, mouth already glistening. “used to jerk off thinking about how you’d taste. how you’d sound when i had you like this.”

you whimper, hips canting up—and he grins.

“yeah. just like that.”

his tongue circles your clit, soft at first, then rougher, alternating between slow, torturous laps and quick flicks that have you gasping, sobbing, clawing at the sheets.

“you’re—fuck, gumi—you’re so good—nngh—so good at this, holy shit—”

you swear he moans into your pussy, the praise going straight to his cock. one hand leaves your thigh to slide two fingers back inside you, curling just right, stroking you in perfect rhythm with his mouth.

“want you to cum like this,” he murmurs against you. “all over my tongue.”

you shake your head, barely able to speak. “i—i can’t last—if you keep going like that—”

“then cum,” he growls, low and hungry. “fucking cum for me, baby.”

you fall apart with a sob, hips jerking, thighs clamping around his head—but megumi doesn’t stop. he rides you through it, drinking every drop, licking you like he’s memorizing the taste.

when you finally slump back onto the mattress, panting and twitching, he kisses your inner thigh, then your hip, then slowly crawls back up your body.

“still want that drink?” he teases, smirking as he presses his forehead to yours.

you stare at him, dazed. “i’m gonna die.”

he snorts. “not yet. i haven’t even fucked you yet.”

you're still trying to catch your breath, back pressed to the mattress, chest rising and falling with every shaky inhale. your thighs are slick, still trembling from how hard you came, and megumi’s mouth is shiny with you, lips parted as he pants softly against your inner thigh.

he crawls up over you, body caging you in, and you think you might actually melt into the bed with how warm his weight feels hovering there—how safe.

his face hovers above yours, and you expect another kiss, more filthy teasing—but instead, he pauses.

his thumb brushes gently over your cheek. “are you sure you want this?”

the words are soft. careful. not just asking for permission—he’s giving you the chance to change your mind.

and fuck, that nearly ruins you more than anything else tonight.

you nod, voice barely above a whisper. “yeah. i want you.”

he stares at you for a long second, like he’s etching you into memory. then you ask, just as softly, “do you?”

there’s not even a beat.

“i’ve wanted this since forever.”

it’s quiet. barely more than a breath.

and something in you shatters—your heart, your restraint, whatever filter you had left. your fingers grip his jaw and you pull him down into a kiss so deep you feel it in your toes.

“then show me,” you whisper against his lips. “please.”

he doesn’t hesitate.

one hand snakes between your bodies, and he lines himself up, the head of his cock thick and hot as it brushes against your entrance. he watches your face as he starts to push in—slow, deliberate, careful despite the way his jaw clenches from the effort of holding back.

you gasp, arching into him. “megumi—”

“you’re so fucking tight,” he groans. “shit—you feel unreal.”

he buries himself to the hilt in one long stroke, and you swear your brain short-circuits. he’s thick, stretching you just shy of too much, and you swear you see stars.

he leans in, breath hot against your ear. “i’ve thought about this. every night for years.”

you whimper, arms tightening around his shoulders. “you—fuck—you’re really good at this.”

megumi lets out a dark laugh, cock twitching inside you. “i’ve been dreaming about this night since i was sixteen,” he breathes. “no way i wasn’t gonna be ready.”

and then he moves—pulls his hips back and thrusts in deep, setting a rhythm that’s slow but devastating. every drag of his cock is perfect, angled just right, like he already knows your body better than you do.

you choke out a moan. “oh my god—”

“i wanna ruin you,” he grits, snapping his hips a little harder. “wanna fuck you so good you forget every guy before me.”

you whimper, thighs wrapping around his waist. “you already did.”

that breaks something in him.

he growls low in his throat and starts pounding into you, the soft start giving way to pure, feral want. he shifts your legs higher, hits deeper, and suddenly you’re clawing at his back, gasping his name like a prayer.

“mine,” he growls. “you’re mine now.”

“yours,” you sob, head falling back. “i’m yours.”

he sets a punishing pace, the bed creaking under the force of his powerful thrusts. you can only hold on for dear life, nails digging into his flexing biceps as he pounds into you mercilessly. pleasure builds in your core with each drive of his hips.

his hand slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit, rubbing harsh circles that send sparks through your spine. your whole body tightens.

“‘gumi—fuck—i’m gonna—”

“i know,” he grits, never letting up. “give it to me, baby. wanna feel you fall apart around me.”

you shudder.

"i want you to cum inside me," you plead, spreading your thighs wider in clear invitation. "i want to feel you fill me up, ‘gumi. please."

his jaw clenches as he battles with himself for a moment before finally giving in with a strangled curse. it only takes a few more thrusts before he's coming undone.

"fuck, yes," he groans, hips stuttering as he floods your depths with his hot seed. you clench around him, milking every last drop as your own orgasm crashes through you.

you both slump into a sweaty pile, tangled limbs and ragged breaths filling the quiet room. megumi’s fingers trace lazy circles on your back, warm and steady, as he presses a soft kiss to your temple—his lips feather-light against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“you okay?” megumi murmurs against your skin.

you stay quiet, too out of it, your skin still tingling where his hands roamed, thighs sticky and trembling, breath coming shallow and uneven.

“shit, i knew it. i went too far—fuck,” he rushes, sitting up, searching your face for any sign he messed up.

slowly, you turn to him, sore but smiling, eyes shiny with unshed tears, lips swollen and gloss-smudged. you meet his panicked gaze.

“i’m good,” you whisper, voice raw but sure. “really, i’m more than good.”

he exhales shaky, collapsing back against you, nuzzling your neck, lips brushing over his mark. “fuck, you scared me,” he murmurs.

you pull him down beneath the sheets, arms wrapping his neck. he follows, head on your chest, breath warm and heart still racing.

“you know,” megumi says softly after a moment, “when i said i’ve wanted this forever, i meant all of it—the nice, quiet parts, too. just holding you like this.”

you laugh, slipping a leg over his waist, skin sticky and warm, pulling him impossibly close. the humid night air clings to you both, mixing with the faint scent of sweat and his cologne. “well, you’ve got me now. heads up—i’m kind of addicted to cuddles.”

megumi smiles, that soft, goofy grin that makes your heart flutter, the warmth of his chest rising and falling under your hand. “that sounds perfect.”

before sleep sweeps over you both, you add with a teasing smirk, “not bad for a rookie.”

he freezes, blinking up at you. you grin.

“rookie?”

you shrug, biting your lip like you’re holding back a laugh. “cute, a little clumsy, but with a whole lot of fire. lots of potential.”

his jaw drops a little—you catch the twitch in his eye.

“you’re messing with me.”

you sit up a little, brushing your fingers through his tangled hair, cool against his warm skin. “baby,” you tease, voice soft and playful, “remember, i’m older and wiser.”

he blinks again, still dazed.

you lean close, breath ghosting over his ear, warm and sweet.

“and just wait. tomorrow, i’m gonna show you what you’ve been missing out on.”

megumi’s eyes go wide, stunned and utterly captivated—as if you just handed him the keys to heaven.

you giggle, pressing a kiss to his forehead, snuggling deeper into his heat and the soft rustle of the sheets around you.

[slutoru1207]

No goggles Invincible!Mark x reader smut

MDNI 18+

Imagine: No Goggles Mark finally found you, and he’s not letting you go. He’s playful, teasing, and completely unpredictable—both in battle and in the bedroom. You wanted him gone. He wanted you begging.

The air was thick with tension, your body already trapped between his and the wall before you even had time to react. No Goggles Mark had that look in his eyes—sharp, hungry, like he was a predator who had finally cornered his prey.

“You’ve been running,” he hummed, fingers ghosting down your sides, barely touching. “But why?” His lips curled into a grin. “Didn’t you miss me?”

His voice was playful, teasing, but there was something dark underneath—something that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I hate you,” you spat, glaring at him.

He chuckled. “Yeah?” He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “Then why’s your heart beating so fast?”

You swallowed hard, refusing to react when his hands finally landed on you, gripping your hips like he owned them. He wasn’t careful. He wasn’t hesitant. He pressed against you, letting you feel the heat of his body, the way he was already hard, already starving for you.

His teeth scraped over your jaw, sharp enough to make you suck in a breath. “You’re shaking,” he whispered, laughing under his breath. “Are you scared?”

You hated him. Hated the way he talked. Hated the way your body reacted to him. The way your pussy clenched for him. You were craving him-all of him. You hated it.

But most of all?

You hated that he was right.

His hands slid under your shirt, fingertips dragging over your skin, slow and deliberate. “I could rip this off,” he mused, his voice dipping lower. “But then I wouldn’t get to watch you squirm while I take my time.”

Your breath hitched.

He smirked. “Yeah. I love that sound.”

His lips finally crashed against yours, hot, messy, possessive. His teeth nipped at your lower lip before his tongue pushed into your mouth, not asking—taking. His hands slid lower, squeezing, kneading, pulling you closer until there was nothing between you but heat and friction. He pushed his knee between your legs.

And then—

He pulled back, his golden eyes dark with amusement as he looked down at you. “Tell me to stop.”

Your lips parted, the words right there—but they never came.

He grinned. “That’s what I thought.”

The moment Mark had you pinned beneath him, you knew you were in trouble.

Not the Oh no, I’m in danger kind of trouble. No—this was the He’s about to ruin me kind.

His hands were everywhere. Rough, greedy, possessive—like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed to touch every single inch of you just to prove that he could. He wasn’t just strong—he was unrelenting, stamina for days, pushing you to keep up with him like it was a challenge. He was putting you in so many positions. He had you seeing stars, shit he was making you see your ancestors.

The way his tip kissed your cervix everytime he thrusted, you could feel how tight it was, how warm and slick it was. Everytime he pulled out he could see the mess you were leaving on his dick. The noices your pussy was making.

Squelch

Squelch

everytime he pulled out he would make sure to rub the tip of his dick on your clit.

And god, was he smug about it.

“C’mon, babe,” he grinned, voice dripping with amusement as he flipped you over like you weighed nothing. “I know you can take it.”

He kept thrusting while your legs were on his shoulder, he was going crazy.

pap pap

He would see the outline of his dick everytime he thrusted in you. Mark pressed his palm on your stomach hard while he thrusted.

Your breath hitched

He was so cocky, so unhinged—laughing under his breath when you gasped, barely giving you a second to recover before he pushed you further.

He was enjoying this—too much.

“You like this, don’t you?” he murmured against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Being tossed around, bent however I want. You’re so flexible, babe—should’ve told me sooner.”

Mark flipped you over.

Ass up face down.

He thrusted without giving you a warning and started going at it like a bunny in heat.

Your face burned, the way his dick went even deeper had you acting stupid.

You loved it.

Your orgasm was so close.

pap pap pap

he lowered himself and started rubbing your clit while thrusting at an inhumane pace.

He was holding the bed frame until it broke.

"Haha, oops."

This send you over the edge. You started spasming as you came, mark wasn't stoping. You layed down exhausted as youn kept winning begging him to stop.

“Don’t tap out on me yet,” he teased, pinning your wrists above your head. “We’re just getting started.”

What do you guys think?

[cheriedivine]

𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫

chapter I | next

꩜ synopsis: you’re best friends. just best friends. except when she lingers a little too long at your door. except when she calls you her favorite, and it doesn’t feel like a joke. except when her fingers graze yours and neither of you pull away. except when you start to wonder if she’s wondering, too…

꩜ Pairing: Ellie Williams x fem reader (no use of y/n)

꩜ CW: swearing, weed, creepy guy, slightly suggestive, tension (if u squint).

꩜ WC: 4.9K

꩜ A/N: okayyy soooo, i’m starting a new series, it will be a slow burn so bear with me. Im excited for this and all the yearning to come woohooooo! just your typical loser lesbians who are best friends and there’s tension but they don’t know it yet alright…

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How can we tell something is complicated? Is it because the easy way isn’t available, or because we crave the possibility of more?

Life is full of complex things like the human brain or death or love. Especially love.

The line between love and codependency is blurry, if it even exists. Do we cling to the people we love because we need them or because we don’t know who we are without them?

Still, love is more than need. It's more than survival.

Of course the easy way is not to feel.

But then again. What’s the point of life without love?

Without being consumed by it? Without being absorbed?

Ellie always felt like love wasn’t meant for her. Yeah sure she had been in a few relationships in the past, casual summer flings, but nothing that got too serious. The moment someone wanted to put a label on her she was out the door.

Maybe she was doomed from the start, sentenced to suffer in loneliness for the rest of her life. Maybe it was karma for all the shit her ancestors had done.

Or maybe... she was just twenty-one, and spiraling.

But then she met you.

Her best friend. Her whole world.

You brought sunshine into her life like it was nothing. Like it was easy.

She smiled more. Went out more. God. She even made stupid jokes just to hear you laugh. Saying you made Ellie’s life better was an understatement.

How it started?

It was a casual Thursday. Ellie was tired, the kind of tired that settled deep in her bones. She’d been up since 5 a.m., chasing the sunrise for an early shoot, and stayed late at the studio the night before, hunched over rolls of film, watching images slowly come to life. Now, all she could think about was the couple she’d photographed that morning. Mid-twenties, freshly engaged, smiling like they had the rest of their lives mapped out. Some people had it all figured out, she thought. Settled. Steady. Meanwhile, she was here…at her usual breakfast spot, an old fashioned diner, squinting at her laptop, scrolling through photo edits with aching eyes. Her camera bag sat beside her on the booth seat, worn and stickered to hell. Savage Starlight, Sleater Kinney, a faded rainbow sticker that had started peeling at the corners.

She yawned into her tea, hood up, headphones loosely slung around her neck, when someone placed a plate down in front of her. chocolate chip pancakes, soft scrambled eggs and bacon, her usual.

Ellie blinked up, and you were standing there, wiping your hands on a dish towel tucked into your apron. Your eyes flicked toward the camera case.

“Savage Starlight,” you nodded at the sticker. “God tier taste.”

Ellie froze for a second, then smirked. “You read that?”

“Duh,” you said like it was obvious. “Issue 8 ruined me emotionally for weeks.”

That pulled a laugh out of her, the first real one she’d had all morning. “Same. Still not over that ending.”

You smiled, shifting your weight to one foot, clearly not in a rush to leave. “Cool camera, by the way.”

“Thanks, she’s my baby” she said, suddenly aware of how wrecked she must look. Messy bun barely held up, camera strap indenting her neck. “—I’m Ellie, by the way.” She stuck her hand out, immediately second guessing it.

Was that too old fashioned? Joel really was rubbing off on her.

“I know. I take your order every other Thursday.” you said, shaking her hand.

She blinked, embarrassed. “Right. Sorry. Early mornings kinda melt my brain.”

“No worries,” you grinned, and Ellie noticed the little pin on your apron. A tiny, pixelated spaceship with your name on it, stupid stupid stupid. she thought to herself for not noticing it earlier.

And since that moment, something shifted. It wasn’t anything loud or life altering, not some cheesy movie moment with music swelling in the background. But it was something. A small click, like a puzzle piece sliding into place.

Ellie became obsessed with you, in a way that she needed to be around you or her day wouldn’t be complete, she needed to hear your voice, your laugh, you calling her stupid for a dad joke she made, she just needed you, her best friend.

From then on, Ellie started showing up more often, not just on Thursdays anymore. Sometimes it was Tuesdays. Sometimes Saturdays, right before the lunch rush. She claimed it was for the pancakes, and not the terrible service (she earned herself a playful smack on the head for that). She’d sit at her usual corner booth, camera bag by her side, flipping through photo previews on her laptop, waiting for your shift to end.

Ellie would usually show up with the latest issue of Savage Starlight, sliding it across the counter like some sort of sacred offering. It became an inside joke your “weekly trade deal,” she'd say. In return, you’d draw ridiculous little faces into her pancakes with extra chocolate chips, crooked grins, wonky eyes, sometimes a very unflattering interpretation of Joel. She thought it was hilarious.

You’d complain about the usual chaos, the rude customers, shit tips, kids treating the floor like their personal warzone. Ellie would listen between mouthfuls of bacon, eyes gleaming.

“Sounds like you need a cig break,” she’d propose, already halfway out of the booth.

And that’s how most of your breaks ended up. At the back of the diner, sharing a cigarette with your best friend, the smoke curling into lazy spirals between your fingers. Who would’ve thought the best thing to come out of this job would be the quiet girl who used to sit in the corner booth alone, camera gear spilling across the table and making it a logistical nightmare to serve her food?

You ducked behind the counter, catching your co-worker scribbling down an order on a pad.

“Taking five,” you whispered into her ear, already slipping off your apron and tossing it over the stool.

Ellie was waiting by the door, cigarette hanging from her lips, hands in her pockets, grinning like an idiot. Moments like these, quiet, in company of you, were the highlight of her day.

The metal door creaked behind you as you stepped out into the alley, greeted by the smell of old grease, cigarette smoke, and freedom.

“You have no idea how much I despise this uniform,” you groaned, tugging at the stiff collar of your work shirt like it personally offended you. “Why do they make us wear these stupid skirts and hats?”

Ellie chuckled, flicking the lighter and shielding the flame with her hand. “You look cute, very… militant barista chic”

You gave her a flat look. “It’s a literal open invitation for creepy dudes to stare”

“In that case I’ll beat them to death with my camera tripod” she said around the cigarette, grinning as she passed it to you. “I would like to see you try honestly.”

You took a drag, leaning your back against the brick wall, bumping your shoulder into hers lightly. “I’m just saying, Hooters uniform has more coverage than this… thing.”

Ellie nodded solemnly. “Oh yeah? Are you a Hooters expert now?”

You snorted, passing the cigarette back. “Certainly more than you. I wish I could just spend time with you in your stinky little studio instead of serving Ice lattes to Karens”

Ellie blinked, a flicker of something crossing her face, but she masked it quickly with a laugh. “Obviously. I’m way prettier.”

“Thats certainly one way to put it.”

“Rude.”

You both stood there for a while in comfortable silence, trading the cigarette and small complaints about the day, until your five minutes were definitely more like ten and your co-worker cracked open the back door to glare at you.

Ellie just winked and mouthed bitch. She checked her phone, winced, then let out a dramatic sigh like the world was ending. “Shit. I’ve got a shoot in twenty minutes.”

You blew out a stream of smoke. “Ugh, fine. Go be artsy and productive or whatever.”

“I will. Gotta make the girls look ethereal in a field of flowers or something,” she joked, already stubbing the cigarette out on the wall and stuffing it into an empty Altoids tin she kept just for that purpose.

You rolled your eyes. “Tell them to pose like they're not better looking than me or I’m gonna have a problem.”

Ellie gave you a look, smirking as she slung her camera bag over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’re the muse.”

You flushed but covered it with a sarcastic bow. “Obviously. Anyway, I’m stuck in hell for two more hours, but I’ll text you after. You still down for the movies tonight?”

“Dina threatened me if I bail. Jesse’s picking the movie, though, so get ready to watch something with car chases and unnecessary explosions.”

You groaned. “He has the worst taste. I swear if it’s another Fast and Furious sequel I’m leaving.”

Ellie laughed and started backing down the alley, walking backwards. “You say that every time and yet you stay. For the family.”

You threw your apron at her. She dodged it.

“Text me when you're done,” she called out before disappearing around the corner, entering her beat up truck.

Back inside, the rest of your shift crawled by in a blur of clinking mugs, whiny toddlers, and low tip customers, but it was easier to survive knowing you had a movie night waiting, with your best friends, and Ellie sitting next to you in the dark, probably whispering dumb commentary in your ear the whole time.

You smiled to yourself as you cleared a table. Just two more hours.

The field was nice. Golden hour kind of nice, warm light slicing through the tall grass. Ellie adjusted the settings on her camera, peeking through the viewfinder at the group of girls twirling in their flowy pastel dresses, laughing like they were in a Greta Gerwig film.

“Alright, ladies, pretend you like each other!” she called out, grinning.

They laughed and did that overly exaggerated cutesy pose thing, arms slung around each other, a couple fake-kissing cheeks. Ellie snapped the shots effortlessly, stepping around them with practiced ease. Her brain clicked into auto-pilot when she was shooting. Light, angles, timing. The rest of the world faded at the click of the camera.

Except for one of them.

Cat.

Bridesmaid number three. Mid-20s, pretty, clearly knew it, and knew how to work a camera. She'd been giving Ellie a look since they started, the kind with too much eye contact and a little too much lower lip biting.

"Should I hold the bouquet like this?" Cat asked sweetly, lifting it chest-level and tilting her head just enough to make it obvious.

Ellie didn’t skip a beat, snapping the shot. “Sure…unless you’re auditioning for a rom-com in which case, maybe tilt it a little more—yeah, that’s the angle. Nailed it.”

The girls laughed and whooped like they were in a music video.

Cat winked at her. “You’re kinda funny, camera girl.”

Ellie smirked but didn’t look up from her camera. “Only kinda?”

The flirting kept bouncing like that for a bit. Harmless, surface-level, the way Ellie always played it when she wasn’t invested, just bored. She never let it get too deep, not like with you. After wrapping the shoot and handing off her card to the bride, Ellie was stuffing her camera into her bag when Cat came up to her, twirling a piece of her hair between her fingers like she practiced that in the mirror.

“Hey,” she said, kind of sing-songy. “You should give me your number. You know, in case I wanna book you for something… personal.”

Ellie bit back a grin, already zipping her bag. “Oh, totally. Here—”

She grabbed a pen from her tote and scribbled a number on the back of a coffee receipt. Not hers, obviously. Some random number she made up.

Cat took it, all flirty and hopeful, and Ellie gave her a small salute before heading toward her truck.

As soon as she was out of sight, she cracked up to herself, shaking her head.

“Yeah, good luck with that one.”

She wasn’t mean. Just... not interested. Not in Cat. Not in anyone lately.

Only person she actually wanted to hear from was probably just clocking out of that stupid diner, peeling off that stupid uniform and texting her with some dumb meme or a rant about someone leaving syrup on the counter.

She checked her phone.

No text yet.

She leaned against the side of her truck, thumb tapping lazily against the metal, waiting. Like clockwork, her phone buzzed in her back pocket. A text from you.

It was a photo. Your middle finger proudly raised beside your diner uniform, crumpled and defeated on your bed. “im out. pick me up at 6?”

Ellie chuckled, typing back: “Only if ur wearing the uniform.”

Your response came quick: middle finger emoji.

Still grinning, she climbed into her truck and headed to her studio (which, technically, was also her apartment…but calling it the studio made it feel a little more like she had her shit together). She was planning on washing off the day and changing into something comfortable for movie night at Dina’s.

Meanwhile, back at your place, you kicked off your shoes the second you walked in. Your roommate wasn’t home, probably still stuck at work, so you shot her a quick text letting her know you’d be out late. You peeled off your uniform, and threw on your robe before texting Ellie again, “home. u picking me up at 6 right?”

You stepped into the shower, determined to scrub off the smell of burnt bacon and sticky syrup, letting the steam pull the exhaustion out of your bones. Afterward, you got caught up scrolling on your phone, time slipping past unnoticed… until there was a sharp knock on your door.

“Shit,” you muttered. Then louder, “HOLD ON, I’M COMING!”

Still wrapped in your towel, you darted to the front door and flung it open. Ellie blinked, caught off guard. Her eyes flicked over your towel-wrapped frame a second too long, before she quickly covered her grin with a hand, trying (and failing) to play it cool.

“I am so, so sorry,” you said, pulling the towel tighter around yourself, suddenly feeling too exposed. too self conscious. “I got distracted and totally lost track of time.”

Ellie raised her eyebrows, but her voice stayed teasing. “You sure you’re not trying to seduce me?”

You rolled your eyes. “Ten minutes. Swear.”

You vanished down the hallway. Ellie flopped onto the couch, pulling out her phone and texting the group chat: running late but grabbing snacks first. don’t start without us.

She shifted to get more comfortable, and caught a glimpse through the crack in your bedroom door. Two inches. Practically nothing. Not on purpose… right?

You were slipping on a hoodie, back turned, still in just your bra and pants. Ellie’s face flushed instantly. She snapped her head away like the door had personally scolded her. “Jesus Christ,” she muttered, burying her face in her hands. “Fuckin’ creep.”

Before her spiraling could get worse, you emerged from your room, hoodie on, tugging on your shoes.

“Okay,” you said, grabbing your keys and swinging the door open. “Let’s go.”

Ellie followed, still flustered, and absolutely not ready to unpack any of what just happened.

The sky was starting to turn soft and purple as Ellie pulled out of your complex’s parking lot, her tattooed arm flexing, hand grasping lazily on the wheel, the other fiddling with the volume knob. Some old indie playlist was shuffling through the speakers. Ellie music, as you called it. You leaned back in your seat, hair still a little damp from the shower, hoodie sleeves pulled halfway over your hands.

“So?” you said, glancing at her. “How was the rest of your very glamorous day?”

Ellie let out a snort. “Oh, you know. Just got aggressively flirted with by someone named Cat.”

Your head turned so fast it nearly cracked. “Cat?”

“Bridesmaid number three. Said I looked like I’d be good with a camera and my hands.” Ellie smirked.

You groaned, but came out more like a failed laugh. “Ew. Who says that?”

“She did. With full confidence. Honestly? Kinda impressive.”

You narrowed your eyes at her. “Tell me you didn’t flirt back.”

“I mean, a little. For the bit.”

You gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. “You’re shameless.”

“Hey—she asked for my number, I panicked and gave her Joel’s landline. So I think I redeemed myself.”

That made you burst out laughing, and gave you a weird sense of relief. “Oh my god, imagine her calling and Joel picking up.”

“‘Hello, Miller residence.’ And then just click.”

You were still giggling when you turned toward the window. “You’re evil.”

Ellie looked over at you for a second too long, a crooked smile tugging at her mouth. “You’re just jealous.”

You scoffed. “Jealous of Cat? Please. I wear a dumb visor and serve bacon to men named Dennis who tip in nickels.”

“That’s hot.”

You rolled your eyes. “My shift was hell. I had a kid throw a hashbrown at me and scream because I gave him the wrong syrup. Like. What syrup could he possibly need at age four? It’s all just sugar.”

“Future criminal behavior,” Ellie said. “I would’ve drop-kicked him.”

“Oh believe me, I considered it. But then I remembered I’m trying not to go to jail this year.”

“Personal growth,” she nodded solemnly.

There was a comfortable silence after that. The kind that didn’t feel like it needed to be filled. The kind you only got with someone who knew you well enough to not need noise. But still, Ellie spoke again, a little quieter this time.

“Hey,” she said, eyes on the road, voice soft. “We still have to get those snacks.”

You turned your head, smiling without really meaning to. “7-Eleven stop?.”

“7-Eleven it is.”

The buzz of fluorescent lights and the faint hum of the refrigerator coolers welcomed you as the door to the 7-Eleven swung open with a mechanical chime. Ellie held it open for you with a sarcastic bow. “After you.”

You rolled your eyes smiling. “Wow. So chivalrous. All for a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.”

“What can I say?” she shrugged, grabbing a plastic basket. “I’m a provider.”

You split up for a second, Ellie going straight to the drinks section while you scanned the candy aisle, already filling your arms with too many options. Gummy worms. A Kit Kat. Those sour blue raspberry straws Ellie claimed she hated but somehow always ended up buying.

You were just about to decide between a regular-sized Snickers or the obnoxiously large King Size when a voice behind you broke the silence.

“Damn,” the guy said, eyeing you up like you were on sale. “If I was your man, I’d never let you out the house looking that good.”

You didn’t even turn to look at him at first, just dropped a pack of sour candy into your basket.

“If you were my man,” you said, glancing over with a tight smile, “I’d move states and change my name.”

He scoffed. “Damn, you don’t gotta be a bitch about it—”

“—And you gotta be stupid enough to not take a hint” Ellie appeared behind you, sliding an arm around your shoulders with a lazy grin, completely playing into the moment.

The guy blinked, probably about to say something else, until Ellie looked at him, really looked at him and whatever speech he had left drained from his face. He turned and walked off without another word.

“You find the sour blue raspberry straws?” she asked casually, like nothing had happened.

You nodded, leaning into her like it was muscle memory. “Yep.”

Something always shifted in Ellie when guys like that got too close. She didn’t make a scene, didn’t have to, but her jaw would clench just a little, her voice would drop, and suddenly she wasn’t just your best friend. She was your shield, your protector. And no one got to talk to you like that when she was around.

Once he was out of earshot, you burst out laughing, nearly dropping your armful of snacks. “Babe is new”

“It felt right,” Ellie said, grinning. “And also hilarious. You should’ve seen his face.”

You were still laughing as you dumped your haul on the counter. “Thanks for the save, my prince charming.”

“Anytime,” she said, tossing a couple of sodas beside your loot. “Protecting you from weird dudes is in my contract.”

“Oh yeah?” you raised a brow. “Where’s this contract?”

“In my head,” she said.

You shook your head, still smiling. “We should make it a real thing. Ellie Williams: official candy mule and creepy guy repellant.”

“I prefer the term bodyguard,” she said, pulling out her wallet. “But yeah. Works for me.”

Dina’s apartment smelled like buttery popcorn, weed, and that vaguely sweet candle she always left burning on her windowsill, something with a name like Midnight Fig or Velvet Moon. The TV was already on when you walked in, credits of some old romcom playing, Jesse sitting cross-legged on the floor, halfway through a bag of gummy worms.

“You’re late,” Dina called from the kitchen, not even looking up as she stirred something in a pot. “Movie night rule number one: punctuality. Rule number two: bring snacks. Did you guys bring snacks?”

“We were on time,” Ellie said, kicking the door closed behind her. “But somebody forgot I was picking them up.”

You shot her a look. “I was in the shower. I told you to pick me up at six, not barge in at six.”

“Oh my god,” Jesse muttered. “Just make out already.”

“Shut up,” both you and Ellie snapped at the same time. Jesse loved to poke the bear when it came to you two, claiming it was funny how flustered you both got.

That only made him grin wider.

You dropped onto the couch with a dramatic sigh, pulling a throw blanket over your legs and tossing a bag of hot cheeto chips onto the coffee table. “There. Snacks.”

Ellie flopped down beside you, her thigh barely brushing yours. Not enough to say anything, not enough to move away—but enough to notice. She leaned back, hands behind her head.

“So,” Dina said, walking over with a bowl of something that looked suspiciously like boxed mac and cheese. “Ellie, how’d your shoot go? You flirt with any bridesmaids?”

You groaned. “Don’t encourage her.”

Ellie smirked. “Told you already. Bridesmaid number three. She winked at me and called me ‘camera girl.’”

Dina wheezed. “Wait. Wait. Did she give you her number?”

“She asked for mine,” Ellie corrected, proudly. “I gave her Joel’s landline.”

“Are you trying to get disowned?” Jesse asked, taking a handful of popcorn.

“I’m trying to avoid drama with a woman named Cat,” Ellie said, dead serious.

You shook your head, “You’re impossible.”

Dina squinted between you two, then looked at Jesse. “Tell me they’re not already dating.”

“Not yet,” Jesse said, popping a gummy into his mouth. “But they will be. I give it, like, three months. Maybe two if there’s a karaoke night.”

You threw a pillow at his head. Ellie snorted and leaned closer, her arm grazing yours again.

“Anyway,” Dina said, tossing a remote into Jesse’s lap, “are we watching Jennifer’s Body or are we letting Jesse pick another sad man movie again?”

“Jennifer’s Body,” you and Ellie said at the same time.

The night rolled on. Full of bad jokes, half-eaten snacks, and shared glances neither of you really knew how to deal with yet.

Not tension, exactly. Not yet. But something.

The movie had long since faded into background noise, replaced by gossip and stolen bites of popcorn. Jesse and Ellie kept chucking snacks at each other like overgrown children, until Dina groaned from the armchair, "You idiots are cleaning all this shit up. Y’all are like toddlers when you're together."

They both laughed, Jesse flinging a pillow in her direction, which, of course, kicked off a full-on war. You were winning. Striking Ellie with a pillow like your life depended on it, until she fought back three times harder, knocking you onto the couch and sending the whole group into hysterics.

This was your group. The best friends you ever had.

You’d all met not long after you and Ellie did. Jesse and Ellie were practically siblings, bonded since childhood, while you’d known Dina since high school—trauma-bonded over shitty exes and academic burnout. She knew you like the palm of her handl You definitely were an incredibly different group of humans, but it’s what made things more genuine with y’all.

You and Ellie had a secret running bet about Jesse and Dina. After one drunken party makeout they swore never happened, they’d been in full denial mode, sneaking glances and pretending it meant nothing.

Ellie bet $20 and a month of free rides that they'd never admit it. You, being the romantic, countered with a month of free pancakes and $10 that they would.

(Not that they needed to know about it.)

A blunt or two made its way around, leaving everyone pleasantly buzzed, limbs heavy, laughter echoing off the walls. Jesse and Ellie were laid out flat on the floor. You sprawled on the couch with Dina nestled between your legs, her back to your chest. It was warm, hazy, perfect.

You glanced at your phone. 2:57 a.m. Saturday. No work tomorrow, thank god. You’d definitely get fired for showing up this stoned.

Your fingers idly played with Dina’s hair while she giggled at nothing. Jesse and Ellie were arguing about something in the background, their voices fuzzy through the weed fog. Eventually, Dina stretched and yawned, announcing she was going to bed.

“If anyone’s crashing, cool. Just don’t open the windows and don’t trip balls in my apartment,” she mumbled.

Jesse followed behind, only to get a very loud, “GET OUT OF MY ROOM, I’M NOT HIGH ENOUGH FOR THIS.” He retreated to the guest room in defeat.

Ellie dropped down on the couch next to you, head tipped back, eyes glossy.

"You don't have an early photoshoot with your kittycat tomorrow?" you teased, glancing at her sideways.

"You wish. I might as well just cave and give her my real number," she said with a lazy grin.

“And forget about me?” you said, bumping her shoulder.

"You know I would never."

"Oh, I know. Im just fucking with you" you smirked.

“Oh yeah?,” she shrugged, grin widening. “I think you would like that.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Your favorite one.”

“I think that’s why we’re best friends.”

“Yeah, you’re my best-best-best-friend-ever-in-the-world,” she said, slurring it like a spell. “But shh, don’t tell Jesse. Sensitive guy.”

She held a finger to her lips like she was sharing an FBI top-secret, you laughed, shaking your head.

Shortly after that, you dozed off on the couch, your head resting on her shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. She could smell your shampoo, faintly sweet, and the ever-present scent of maple syrup that always clung to you no matter what. Like it was just… yours. Branded in her brain.

Your thigh was warm against hers, and yeah—it wasn’t weird. You were always like this. Close. Safe.

But then Ellie’s mind flicked back to your apartment. That two-inch crack in the door. The sliver of skin, the bra strap, your back. She’d looked. Not on purpose…but she’d looked. The weed was fucking with her head.

Her chest tightened. Was that weird? Creepy?

But best friends think about stuff like that sometimes… right? Like, it wasn’t a big deal to know your friend was hot, and protecting her from creepy guys knowing you’d treat her so much better In a normal, totally non-weird, completely platonic way. Right?

She tilted her head slightly, watching you breathe, peaceful and soft beside her. Her brain finally quieted.

You were her best friend.

And that would always be enough.

Right?