#enemies to lovers soft version

[immaqulate]

write me in | m.s

— royal! matt x royal! fem reader | ever after high oneshot

— warnings: forbidden romance, slow burn, magical angst, ever after high au (non-canon worldbuilding) emotional pressure, parental expectation, arranged/forced fate themes, no explicit content

You were supposed to marry Prince Nicolas. The kingdom celebrated. The Storybook of Legends waited for your signature. But Nick’s in love with someone else. And the second son, the one no one was watching? — just asked if you wanted to burn the whole fairytale down with him. Legacy Day is coming. The crown is waiting. And you’re about to choose chaos… and love.

requested by moot! | word count: 1.4k | c.ai bot link/into

Legacy Day is four days away.

Your dress is already waiting — pale blue silk embroidered with enchanted thread, laced with magic and tradition. The bodice is stitched with silver roses, the skirt charmed to shimmer when you spin. It fits like destiny. But it feels like a noose.

Everyone says you’re lucky. That you’re fulfilling the dream your mother lived, carrying on the royal lineage with a prince of equal standing. Prince Nicholas of Corona — first son of Rapunzel and Flynn Rider. Tall, charming, golden. The perfect match.

Except for the part where he’s not in love with you.

Nick is your best friend. The one who used to braid your hair when you were sad. The one who taught you how to throw knives at the enchanted training dummies. The one who kissed your hand dramatically and declared you his soulmate when you were eight — before either of you knew what that word meant.

And also the one who is very, very gay.

He’s in love with Asher — a pirate-turned-legacy-wrecker with salt in his hair and a sharp grin that makes Nick forget to breathe. The entire school thinks you and Nick are endgame.

But the two of you know the truth: you’re a decoy. And Legacy Day is the deadline.

You’re sitting beneath the Enchanted Willow, where couples through centuries have made their pledges. The Storybook of Legends lies open on your lap. The page is glowing faintly, waiting for your name.

You stare at it like it’s cursed. Maybe it is.

“You look like someone just told you glass slippers are out of season.”

You don’t have to look up to know who it is. That voice — dry and amused and just slightly smug — belongs to the one person who shouldn’t be here. 

Matthew O’Hair. Second son. Royal spare. Infamous heartbreaker. Heir to nothing and somehow more dangerous than all of them.

You look up. He’s standing a few feet away, hair wind-tousled, collar popped like he didn’t bother with dress code. He’s got that look in his eyes — the one that says he’s already caused trouble today and is thinking about making it worse.

“Prince Matt,” you say dryly.

“Princess Trouble,” he fires back.

You raise a brow. “That’s not my title.”

“It should be,” he says, walking toward you. “Suits you better than ‘future queen of convenient lies.’”

You snap the book shut. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“And yet,” he says, settling beside you on the stone bench, “here I am.”

Silence falls. A few enchanted leaves spiral down from the willow above. Somewhere in the distance, the bells chime the hour.

“I saw Nick and Asher behind the stables this morning,” Matt says after a moment. “They weren’t exactly rehearsing their vows.”

You groan. “Please don’t start.”

“Start what? Telling you the truth?” he says, gaze sharp. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do. My parents—”

“Your parents want you to be happy. Not trapped in a lie so convincing even you’ve started to believe it.”

You glare at him. “Why do you care?”

He blinks. Then he laughs — not loud, but low and bitter. “Because I’ve been trying not to care for the last two years, and it’s really not working out for me.”

The words hang there, heavy and too real.

“I’m not the one fate picked for you,” he says softly. “I’m not the golden heir or the storybook match. I’m the second son. The extra chapter. The guy everyone forgets exists until something breaks.”

He stands like he’s going to leave. Like he said too much. But then —

“You look at me like I’m more than that.” Your breath catches.

He kneels in front of you, not dramatic, but real. His hand hovers near yours.

“I don’t want to be your prince because a book says so,” he murmurs. “I want to be the one you choose. Even if it breaks every rule.”

You look down at your dress. Your future. The book. And then you look at him. And finally, finally, you know what you want. You thread your fingers through his.

“Then help me write a new ending.”

You don’t sleep that night, Not really. You lie awake replaying every word Matt said, every flicker in his eyes, every brush of his fingers. The Storybook still waits, but now your heart’s writing something new.

By morning, the castle is awake and buzzing and so are your nerves.

Legacy Day morning feels… wrong.

The castle’s buzzing with anticipation — polished shoes tapping across marble halls, scrolls unrolled, crowns straightened, destiny rehearsed like a performance. Your gown is cinched tighter than usual. Your mother’s smile is soft, but nervous. Your father keeps adjusting your necklace like it’ll keep you tethered.

And beside you? Nick. Grinning like he’s walking into a party. Except you both know it’s a funeral. Of your autonomy. Of the lie you’ve both helped build.

“I still think we should’ve fake-fainted,” he murmurs out the corner of his mouth. “Big dramatic swoon. Someone catches you. Preferably a handsome pirate.”

You snort softly. “That might’ve worked if I didn’t wear six layers of royal guilt and embroidered trauma.”

Nick’s smile fades. He squeezes your hand once. “Hey. You don’t have to do this. We still have time.”

You open your mouth to answer.. and that’s when you see him.

Matt. Standing near the edge of the crowd, in a dark tailored jacket with a sun emblem stitched just faintly into the collar — Rapunzel’s crest. His hair’s a little more controlled, but his expression isn’t. He looks like he’s watching you through glass, like he already knows you’re about to vanish behind it.

Your breath stumbles. The Oracle steps up to the podium. The Storybook glows open.

And suddenly, your legs start moving.

You don’t wait for your name or for the script. You walk straight off the platform and through the crowd: people gasping, whispers rising like smoke. Your parents call your name. Nick lets out the loudest “YES, WORK, QUEEN” in royal history.

You stop in front of Matt, heart pounding. “You said you’d choose me.”

He blinks. “I meant it.”

“Then choose me now. In front of everyone.”

He hesitates — one second, two — and then he grabs your face in both hands and kisses you like the world’s ending.

And maybe it is. But at least you’re ending it your way.

The crowd erupts. Some in shock. Some in delight. Your mother faints (finally, Nick’s dream is realized). Your father looks like he aged twenty years in ten seconds. And the Storybook? It shudders. The magic glitches.

Because for the first time in centuries, someone chose their own ending. The moon hangs like a promise over the forest.

The enchanted woods behind Ever After High are supposed to be off-limits after dusk — dangerous, too wild to be tamed by royal decree. But that’s exactly why you’re here.

You and Matt, running hand-in-hand beneath tangled branches and glowing blossoms, ducking under silver moss, leaping over roots like your legs were made for freedom.

You left the palace behind an hour ago. Left the rules. The scripts. The gold-plated future. And chose this instead.

“We’re gonna die out here,” you pant, breathless from running and laughing and possibly crying a little.

Matt squeezes your hand tighter. “Technically, yes. But at least we’ll die doing something stupid together.”

You crash into a clearing — soft moss, glowing mushrooms, and the sound of the enchanted lake lapping in the distance. You both collapse to the ground, tangled in laughter and adrenaline.

After a while, you speak.

“Do you think they’ll come after us?”

Matt shrugs, lying beside you, head tilted toward the stars. “Probably. But we’ll be long gone. Nick said he and Asher have a hideout near the edge of the Shadowed Realm.”

You turn to him. “Nick’s gonna kill us.”

Matt smirks. “Nick’s gonna cry, hug you, and then kill me. In that order.”

You laugh again, for real this time. It echoes through the trees like magic. Matt’s smile softens. “You know… I used to hate Legacy Day.”

You blink. “Why?”

“Because I thought it was proof I’d never matter. That I was just the extra. The spare.” He reaches for your hand again. “But today, I mattered. Because you chose me.”

You lean in, forehead to his. “I’ll keep choosing you. Every chapter. Every time.”

He kisses you — slow, steady, like a vow. Like you’re building your story one heartbeat at a time.

And in that quiet space between the trees and the stars, you realize something: You didn’t just rewrite your story.. You started it.

Once, your story was written for you in silk thread and golden ink.

Now, it’s written in dirt-scuffed boots, tangled hair, and the boy who kissed you like the sky was watching. And maybe that’s not the ending they wanted.

But it’s the one you chose. And that makes it your Ever After.

a/n: THIS was so much fun to write.. ugh i love it so muchh 🥺

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[beautyinsteadofashes]

I know we love the slutty ones and the evil ones but i'm trying to explain this very specific niche trope of kinda soft boy or baby girl.

[direwombat]

still figuring out saoirse's timeline but fldsakjf just had the idea of sometime in the early-to-mid 2010s price was dragged to a press conference where he was forced to speak and saoirse was one of the journalists present and her questions were fucking merciless to the point where they start arguing and someone threatens to call security on her to escort her out and while she never took anything quite out of context, the article she wrote afterwards definitely didn't paint price (or any other brass in attendance) in the most sympathetic light. and as the years go on this same interaction continues to play out

established relationship except that relationship is "you're a fuckin' nuisance. a pain in my arse. why do i keep running into you? please stop asking/dodging these questions."

[aoflameandco]

Perfect in every variation 🤧❤

I’ve completed Dragon Ball set (I used references for the composition)

[jo-com]

──★ ｡𖦹˙🍓 ̟ Enemies Online, Lovers Offline?

Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

୨ৎ Summary: You and Lando Norris hate each other. At least, that’s what it looks like online—

୨ৎ Genre: A little SMAU, Enemies with benefits, Smut

୨ৎ Note: Please don’t judge my smut, haven’t written that for like months now i think? Explicit content / 18+ (spicy smut scenes), Language, Fake hate, real sexual tension, Hotel room hookups, Light dom!Lando energy

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

Username she said “i love him” but with ✨rage✨

Username this is not beef. this is foreplay

Username ❎enemies to lovers? ✅lovers who pretend they’re enemies.

Username this is not hate. this is love in lowercase and violence

Username she’s probs tweeting this while sitting on his lap

Username she hates him. which means she’s either dating him or about to

…

Username imagine fighting on main and spooning 20 mins later

Username lando’s version of love language is “fight me then feed me”😭

Username he probs said “you mad?” after this tweet

Username NO CUZ ITS GIVING THAT😭😭😭

Username someone said “bantercore relationship” and this is it

Username Is Mclaren not gonna do something about this or…

Username is this banter or a soft breakup announcement 💀

…

Username this relationship is 90% roasting, 10% emotional damage cuddles

Username high IQ on track, zero when he texts “wyd” at 1am

Username the tweet is rude but the love is real

Username Their love language is definitely verbal attack🥹

Username can they fight less and kiss more pls my heart can’t take it

Username the slow burn is actually fast and messy but i’m obsessed

…

Username the fact he claps back with effort… yeah they’re sleeping together😮‍💨

Username imagine hating someone but still thinking of clever burns for them… in public

Username Nah i JUST know he’s soft for her irl😛

Username Idc they’re my fav couple even if they say they’re not “dating”

Username THE WAY I SEE THEIR POSTS IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER IS INSANE

Username my whole feed is literally just them fighting😭😭😭

…

He pinned you against the door before you could even breathe, his hands gripping your hips like he was trying not to lose his grip on reality. “You always run that mouth on no?,” he growled, lips brushing your jaw, “but the second I get you alone—what, suddenly you’ve got nothing to say?”

You rolled your eyes even as your body melted into his. “I hate you.”

“Yeah?” His teeth grazed your throat. “Then why are you so wet for me right now?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. His hand was already sliding beneath your skirt, fingers hooking into your panties and dragging them down like he owned you. You gasped when his thumb pressed against your clit—teasing, slow, confident.

“Still talking?” he muttered, voice low and dangerous.

“You’re a cocky—”

He cut you off with a bruising kiss, swallowing your insult like he was starving for it. He pulled back just long enough to murmur, “Take your clothes off.”

“Make me.”

That smirk. That goddamn, unbearable smirk.

He lifted you effortlessly and threw you onto the bed. You bounced once, laughing breathlessly before he climbed over you, ripping your top off like it was holding him back from something vital.

“You look so fucking good like this,” he muttered, dragging his lips down your chest. “Laid out. Mouthy. Mine.”

“I’m not yours,” you bit, even as your legs parted for him automatically.

“No?” He pushed inside you in one smooth, devastating thrust—deep, slow, filling. You choked on your own breath.

“Say it again,” he said through clenched teeth, gripping your thighs and grinding into you harder. “Tell me you’re not mine while I fuck you like this.”

You didn’t say it again. You couldn’t. Not when he was rolling his hips into yours like he knew exactly where to hit, not when your nails were digging into his back, not when every moan that left your throat made him groan against your skin.

Lando leaned in, forehead against yours, breath ragged.

“You act like you hate me,” he rasped, pace brutal now. “But no one fucks you like I do, do they?”

You whimpered—high and desperate, your entire body trembling as your release built too quickly to stop.

He felt it.

“Come for me,” he said, voice rough, hips snapping harder. “Come so loud they’ll know exactly who shuts you up.”

And you did.

It hit like a wave, like fire, like heat and hate and something terrifyingly close to love. You came with a gasp, your walls clenching around him, dragging him over the edge just seconds later.

He groaned into your neck, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you.

He let out a deep, satisfied sigh as he collapsed beside you, his arm immediately flinging across your waist like instinct. Like he was supposed to be there.

You were still catching your breath, cheeks flushed, heartbeat matching the lazy rise and fall of his chest against your side.

“…You’re really annoying, you know that?” you mumbled, staring at the ceiling.

He didn’t answer right away—just nuzzled his face into your shoulder with a smug hum. “And yet here you are. Wrecked. Speechless. Obsessed.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched.

“Obsessed?” you snorted. “I literally hate you.”

“You say that,” he murmured, lips brushing your collarbone, “but you’re the one clinging to me like a koala.”

“I am not—” You glanced down. You were very much wrapped around him. Legs tangled. His hoodie half on your body. His fingers tracing patterns on your back.

“…Shut up.”

He grinned, boyish and soft, like he couldn’t help it. “You shut up.”

Silence fell for a moment. But it wasn’t tense. It was glowing. Comfortable. Then he reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. It was nothing. It was everything.

“I like when you’re like this,” he said quietly, barely above a whisper.

You blinked. “Like what?”

He paused.

“Real.”

Your stomach fluttered, but you masked it with a scoff. “Ew. Don’t get sentimental on me, Norris.”

“Too late.”

He turned toward you fully now, his hand finding yours under the blanket. No sarcasm. No teasing. Just… him.

Warm. Gentle. Familiar.

You hated how safe it felt.
You also kind of loved it.

“You still suck,” you muttered, your voice softer now.

He leaned in, nose brushing yours, eyes full of something way too sincere for someone you supposedly hated.

“I know,” he said. “But I’m your problem now.”

[8housevenus]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ placements that feel like a fairytale ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

🧚pisces venus - "i've walked with you once upon a dream," such an exceptional place for venus and a very good lover. thoughtful and remembers little things about somebody. gives even when they have nothing. venus is exalted here, which strengthens the power of venus. rosed-colored glasses, natural lovers. 🌷 ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

🧚neptune in 1st/2nd/7th/9th - 1st/ dreamy appearance, "i wish i could look like you," "i don't know if i wanna be you or be with you," wins people over, sometimes unaware of their influence, stands out in a room full of people. 2nd/ "you sound so sweet," delicate voices, gives the best compliments or receives unique compliments, gets money for no reason or gives money for no reason, very questionable kind of person but it is a likable feature about them. 7th/ unpredictable in love, "tag you're it," loves the chase and the longevity of a new/fresh relationship. people wish they could be with you or have had dreams/thoughts of pursuing you. sometimes people might drop many hints but never say. 9th/ super underrated, people feel elevated in your energy, you bring out a new lens to others, your ability to change and only get better overtime seems super unreal. the type to go mia and then randomly appear in a fancy italian restaurant with 1 million dollars and a rich spouse. they think it and it is, very big planners and attractive to the outside. 🌷 ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

🧚sun in 5th/7th - 5th/ their love is their passion, and their self-expression is one that is bold and unique. this is your "entertainer," placement, understands the role they play in this life. courageous in their love and give an experience that one will never have again. 7th/ people-person, revolves around being open-minded and naturally attracting friends, partners, and even some enemies. a very commendable individual. 🌷 ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

🧚libra/taurus rising - the symbols of beauty and allurance. 🌷 ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

🧚cancer sun - exudes a tender warmth to others. "wifey material, mom friend, therapist," has probably heard it all. cancer sun has seen the vulnerability of everybody they have met, there's a strong trust here and their strength is undeniable. think of fairy godmother. has an emotional depth that allows others to easily fall for them. double points if it is a man with a cancer sun; women will admire this difference about you from other men. 🌷 ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

🧚libra moon - pretty when you cry, everyone stops to hear you talk, such a mediating and magnetic energy, wears their heart on their sleeve and can empathize very well with others they have nothing in common with. all about fairness and equity, wants to be the peacekeeper in most situations. 🌷 ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

🧚venus in 11th/2nd/7th - 11h/ friends will admire you and pick up on your aesthetic and can even try to "become" the same way. you make people feel really good and you are inspiring. 2nd/ you are well kept and seem orderly. soft voice, soft appearance, and loves to smother themselves and others with little gestures. 7th/ ideal partner placement, looking for love in everything they do, has very good connections and dazzles their flirt onto everybody they meet. 🌷 ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

🧚personal planets in 4, 7, 12, 16, 19, 24, 27 degrees - these are libra, cancer, and pisces degrees, can amplify these placements by sprinkling on some of these signs qualities. 🌷 ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

🧚neptune conjunct/ trine sun - dreamy-esque, can't keep you off my mind, is it love is it lust? naturally charming and independent. knows how they make others feel, giving others a sense of hope that makes them cling on forever. usually, the favorite boy or girl for somebody. 🌷 ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

🧚venus conjunct moon/neptune - awareness to what relationships might require, or what other people want out of you. knows how to express themselves properly, can be sweet/seductive one minute, then manipulative/moody the next. likes to change up their style for their partner; very intimate and puts their partner's needs first. will be super feminine for their loved one. 🌷 ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

🧚midheaven conjunt/trine/sextile neptune or venus - enhanced beauty in the public eye. people want to be around you and there's maybe some type of distance between you and your lovers- which makes relationships so much more intriguing. "i've got my eye on you." these people love makeup, jewelry, skin care, anything to appear ideal. 🌷 ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

🧚virgo midheaven - seen as a damsel in distress sometimes; but they are elegant and reserved. they are the ones that people usually rely on and open up to the fastest. their fairytale qualities come from how they act rather than how they speak. they will make sure you are covered and will attract you with their practicality and realness. 🌷 ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

🧚virgo venus - has a purified perception of love, very service oriented and even shy. they are slow and steady in terms of love language, however a virgo venus will always make sure their partner only gets the best. they want to make everything perfect for their significant other, which makes the virgo venus placement seem so admirable. 🌷 ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

🧚cancer venus - soft, sweet, and giving. full of the feminine and embodies the nurturer archetype. magnetic to the opposite sex; babe magnet, and usually wear pastel colors or colors that are bright. they don't like to make themselves unknown to the idea of love. 🌷 ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

🧚moon/neptune in 5th - has such a childlike approach to the world, very full of nostalgia and is deep-rooted in being memorable for others. oftentimes moon in 5th has a dramatized identity about themselves, which gives the fairytale vibes because it can feel almost surreal. neptune can also have this affect, neptune 5th might always get "i wish you were here," or "where's so and so," very memorable and such sweet and delicate impressions to the public. 🌷 ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

🧚sun in 9th - would take their partners through all kinds of experiences, the kind of people to take you higher and change your mind-set on various subjects. very underrated placement and i find it quite fairy-tale like due to the fact that there's always some form of expansion for these individuals and you can see and feel their inner glow when they are in new environments. usually, can have foreigners or various kinds of people fall for them, they quite literally shine in new horizons. 🌷 ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

thank you for reading <3

[redcali]

DESCRIPTION: When Sylus gets slapped with a week’s worth of detentions by you—the school’s fiercest prefect—he suddenly takes a special interest in making your life anything but easy ☆

TAGS: High School AU, Bad boy Sylus x Perfect prefect reader, flustered but falling, suggestive content (esp in the extra scene), romance and fluff, making out behind the school lockers, soft enemies to lovers, Sylus is a flirt, Sylus is a loverboy alert!!. 2.6K words

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Student!Sylus who saunters around the campus with his black leather jacket worn brazenly over his school uniform, and his cronies Luke and Kieran constantly trailing behind him like his shadows. He does what he pleases and gets what he wants; most teachers are too scared to do anything to him because of his wealthy and influential family background, and most students avoid crossing him if they can avoid it.

Student!Sylus who is busy throwing punches at another guy in the hallway when you march up to them, hands on your hips. The small crowd of onlookers see you and hastily disperse, mumbling amongst themselves about how they’re “right about to go to class”

Sylus is quick to notice the gleam of your prefect badge that rests snugly on your perfectly ironed blazer, and a wide smirk spreads across his face. No prefect in school has ever messed with him before. His bright red eyes travel all over you as he gives the bruised boy a light shove. It’s enough for him to stumble and fall onto the floor. Sylus swings his leg over the poor boy, practically straddling him, and looks back to you with a gleam in his eyes.

“You look like there’s something you have to tell me, Miss Prefect.”

“You are right,” you snap back, annoyed at his level of smugness. “I have something for you.”

Sylus grins, extending an arm out and beckoning at you. The cockiness of this guy! 

You try to not stare at his arms and keep your composure as you slap a week’s worth of detentions slip into his outstretched palm. His jaw drops, and the look of smugness is quickly wiped from his face. 

“Miss Prefect!” he yells, incredulous.

“It’s going to be 2 weeks if you don’t get off of him right now,” you warn, and he reluctantly stands, getting off the boy.

You turn and continue walking but Sylus has already jogged up to you. Grabbing you by your arm, he turns you around and gently backs you up against the locker. His other hand comes up to precariously rest on your shoulder. You tense up slightly, looking back up at him. What is he trying to play at? “Miss,” he whittles. “Come on now. We weren’t even fighting – I can bring him over to prove to you.”

“Nope. I don’t wanna argue about this.” You’re adamant. 

“Look, I don’t beg.” Sylus continues, looking down at you with his storm-glass eyes. You continue to glare at him. “Okay, fine! Please.” 

“Please get off of me,” you snap back. You place your hands on his chest, over the white buttoned up shirt of his uniform, and try to shove him away, but he continues to stand rooted to the ground, looking at you with an amused expression.

His chest comes up in short rises and his breath is warm against your ear. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of the situation he currently has you in, and your open palms against his firm hard chest, and heat immediately rises to your face. He finally lets you push him away and you find yourself no longer able to meet his intense gaze.

“G-go to the detention room straight after school today. No excuses.” You mumble, trying to not let the fluster show on your face. You quickly duck away from him and rush off in the opposite direction.

Student!Sylus who suddenly takes an interest in you, the strict prefect girl that has landed him in eons of detentions. Who is she and why is she so unafraid of him? Even his group of friends, who are already far too accustomed to his reckless behavior, find this new version of Sylus rather strange. (Sylus pretends to not hear when his best friends ask him, “Do you have a crush?”)

He tracks you down everywhere in school, throwing books at you in the library to get your attention, purposely choosing the seat right next to yours during lessons, and purposely asking for a various assortment of stationery even though he clearly has them. 

“Sylus,” you say in exasperation. “This is my last pen.”

True to your words, your table is now empty and bare, whilst Sylus’s overflow with varying mathematical instruments, several pens and pencils, and lumps of eraser. Sylus looks down at his table, bemused.

“But you haven’t revoked my detentions yet.”

You roll your eyes, rubbing your temples. Never have you met a student this unrelenting.

Student!Sylus who gets assigned to be your lab partner. You try to hide the horrified look on your expression as he slides up next to you in the laboratory, with the science lab goggles on and proudly holding his blue gloved hands up. 

“I’m really good at this. Seriously.” he tells you.

“Just try to not get in the way whilst I try to finish this as fast as possible. “ You’re moving around your space, grabbing varying bottles of acid to be used.

“Where is the beaker – oh, thank you.”

Student!Sylus who is surprisingly useful in the lab, despite his endless yappings and swaggering around like he owns the place. (Which to be fair, his family probably does) He is quick to find various equipment for you, and as it turns out, has deft fingers that work well with measuring precise volumes and cutting up neat even slices of celery. By the time the lab lesson is over you find him less annoying than you did previously.

Student!Sylus who once again, becomes your lab partner for the next lesson on: frog dissection.

The thing is, you despise gore. Even seeing raw meat at the supermarkets has your stomach turning. And the thought of blood donations haunts your dreams. You try to not show the revolt on your face when you shakily give the dead frog a weak nudge. 

“You hate this, don’t you?” Sylus looks over at you with watchful scarlet eyes.

You just nod, afraid of the bile from coming up your throat if you open your mouth and talk.

Suddenly a wet squelching noise fills the air. You whirl around to come face to face with the insides of frog. 

A wave of nausea hits you and before you know it, you’re overcome with lightheadedness and your legs give away. Sylus is quick to react, grabbing you by the waist and wrapping an arm around you to keep you from falling. He gently guides you to the table and props you up against it. 

For once, his usual look of smugness is replaced by one of genuine concern. 

His features are surprisingly soft like this, and the storm behind his eyes seems to calm down just a little. A hand instinctively comes up, maybe to touch your face or brush at your hair, but he quickly stops himself. You probably hate him.

“Is everything all right?” his fingers dig unrelentingly into your waist, his body warm and firm against yours. The look on his face tells you that he’s not going to let go until he is certain that you are okay.

You nod numbly and he drops his hands. He looks away, coughing nervously into his fist.

Student!Sylus who refuses to let you touch any of the tools afterwards. He makes you sit and cover your face whilst he does his best at the frog dissection at hand. His handiwork is decent, just like from the previous lessons, and the teacher looks at you in admiration as he turns in the work, wondering how on earth you have tamed this animal of a person. 

The corners of his lips twitch upwards as you two walk back to class together afterwards, a hint of shyness peeking out from behind his preening look. You look back at him and your breath catches in your throat. 

With his soft silvery hair falling into his eyes and pretty lips. I can look at him smile like this all day, you think to yourself. 

Student!Sylus who, against all odds, convinces you to skip class with him.

“I cannot believe I’m doing this right now! With you of all people! Rambling about some stupid ‘joyride’ nonsense!” You point an accusatory finger at him. Sylus just shrugs his shoulders. 

You two are standing at the school carpark. A soft breeze stirs the warm air, carrying the scent of sunlit grass. It’s the kind of day that makes you want to stay outside forever.

“Settle down. It’s not a prefect meeting.”

He gives you a gentle shove, and you let out a yelp as your ass hits the leather seat of his Harley-Davidson. With that, he too swings onto the motorbike and it roars to life under his grip. Your arms automatically wrap around him as the motorbike trembles from the power of the engine. Fear suddenly grips through you.

“Please keep to the speed limit – ” he guns down the bike and you two shoot across the carpark with you shrieking and pummeling his back in terror.

Student!Sylus whose cronies Luke and Kieran ambush you one day the moment you step out of a student council meeting. You and your friends look over at them, surprised.

“What’s up?”

“Our bos– I mean, Sylus wants to see you.”

When you arrive at the locker rooms, Sylus is already there waiting for you. He kicks himself off the lockers and approaches you holding something – your scarf. You let out a gasp in surprise.

“Oh my god, I thought I've lost it! Where on earth did you find it?”

“You’ve literally left it back at my house,” he muses. 

For some reason, the way he says it sounds so suggestive and … you don’t know.

A wave of colour rushes up to your face as you turn your head away from him, but a warm hand firmly tips your head back to face him.

“Look who’s flustered,” he drawls.

“What?” Your face is burning. “Why did you phrase it like that?”

“Like what?” 

“Like–like –” your voice wavers as you struggle to meet him in the eyes. “Like we did something at your house, or whatever –”

“Did what exactly?” he speaks slowly, deliberately, his eyes locking onto yours. 

“You know what I’m talking about.” Like you had hung out at his house, despite you being in there very briefly so he could get his stuff. Like you had slept with him in the house. But you obviously don’t say the last part out loud. 

He tilts his head down ever so slightly, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. 

“I don’t,” he murmurs, his eyes scanning over your features once more, as if he’s trying to read you and learn you, to take all of you as a whole and brand it into his mind. “But you’re welcome to explain it to me.”

“You’re insufferable,” is all you say, though your voice is all shaky and small. “And you’re a prat. And annoying. I should have given you four weeks of detention instead.” You cross your arms, trying to hide your nervousness. His hand, warm and calloused and yet so gentle, remains on your chin.

Sylus’s eyes are conflicting and stormy as ever, his Adam’s apple rising and falling ever so slightly as he looks at you with a certain rawness. And then he’s blinking and a new look washes over his features, his jaw set and unflinching.

“If you hate me so much, Miss,” he whispers, his fingers tightening just by a fraction, “Then stop me from what I’m about to do.”

The space in between the two of you warps, thins as he moves in. Your breath catches in your throat, you’re frozen, you don’t even try to stop him as all of a sudden his warm lips are urgently pressing against yours, it’s overwhelming, all-consuming and giddying with the feeling of himhimhim and his soft delicious lips, your heart feels like it’s about to burst but he just tastes too good –

When you finally push him away, gasping and panting for air and clutching your chest, your rationality returns sharply and you’re rounding up to him, face burning.

“Sylus!” You shriek, pummeling at the front of his shirt with your fists. “We’re in school, what on earth are you thinking –”

He grabs you by the front of your shirt again and pushes you back up against the locker, mouth against yours once more with pure and raw need.

extras ｡°✩ ♡ °｡⋆

Student!Sylus who throws sticks at your bedroom window in the middle of the night. You wake up groggily as you push open your window just to nearly be hit in the face with a tree branch.

Your eyes fly open in alarm. You whip your head down, just to see Sylus standing right outside your house at the front porch, innocently looking up at you with sincere eyes and clutching a whole fistful of tree branches. Snowflakes dust his light hair and leather jacket like powdered snow. He looks like he can be dessert. 

“Sylus!” You hiss, gripping the edge of your freezing windowsill and glaring down at him. Chilly air from the winter night blows into your room and you shiver. “It’s currently 2am!”

Sylus looks confused. “What’s the problem?”

Is he serious? You’re chewing your lip, trying to think of an appropriate response, when Sylus suddenly announces, “I’m going up there myself.”

“Sylus, no – “ You wring your hands in exasperation as you turn towards your door. “Fine. But please let me get the front door for you. Don’t try to climb up, I’m warning you – !”

You nearly scream when Sylus’s large hands are suddenly wrapping around your shoulders and effortlessly flinging you onto your own bed. A palm shoots up to cover your mouth before you can scream. Sylus leans over you lazily, his face inches away from yours and his light hair falling into his eyes, which are sparkling with mischief.

“A little slow.” he leans forward teasingly, and you can already feel the heat rushing to your face and your heartbeat picking up. “Wait, I brought you a little something.” He’s still on top of you, pressing you into your own bed, one hand carding gently through your hair and the other sliding into his leather jacket. He pulls out a single red rose. It’s a pretty little thing, standing in full bloom, its velvet petals curling outward in soft, crimson spirals and thorns cut, and he carefully tucks it behind your ear.

“You look pretty,” he tells you with a boyish shyness, a hand gently brushing against your face. You feel a smile tugging at your face, with the way this boy is currently acting in front of you. His fingers brush against your lips as he stares at them, pink creeping up the sides of his face. 

You giggle. “You’re such a softie, Sylus. Where is the smug mean bad boy from school? ” you say pointedly, as you, too, begin tracing the curve and outline his lips. 

“He’s still here … staring at the most gorgeous girl on earth.” The tension between the two of you grows.

A ringed finger experimentally prods at your lips, and you willingly part them. You put on a show for him, teasingly poking your tongue at his finger, wrapping your lips around it and gently sucking whilst staring up at him with wide eyes. Sylus watches, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat and his breathing laboured.

“Miss,” he says warningly, his eyes darting and his breath heavy.  “Don’t start what you can’t finish.”

“Start what?” You look up at him innocently, your heart pounding in your chest. You take a second finger into your mouth, trying to wrap your tongue around his fingers. Sylus lets out a low growl as he shoves you harder against your soft bed sheets.

Oh, you’re in for a long night. 

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

A/N: Hello!!! I hope you guys enjoyed this fic ♡ This one took me forever to write for some reason but it's done now

[lastofdanny]

crossfire // manny alvarez x reader

summary: you're from jackson. he's a part of the wlf. everything about it was wrong, but an undeniable attraction keeps pulling both of you into a territory far more dangerous than everything you'd ever faced.

a/n: first of all tysm for all the love for under your skin pt 1 and 2 ♡ and YES another enemies to lovers with manny because i'm obsessed. of course none of those things from tlou happen in this scenario so let's just stick with this cutie version of manny. this is a one shot so its kinda long and english is not my first language !! hope u all enjoy it ♡

The first time you met Manny Alvarez, he had a gun pointed at your head. 

And he was smiling.

His dark eyes locked onto yours as if he could see straight through you, his tan skin under the dim light, contrasting with the wild curls that fell over his forehead.

“You’re way too pretty for someone who’s about to die,” he murmured, voice rich with mock sympathy. “What a shame.”

You swallowed, trying to ignore the way your heart raced, and the rush of heat that had nothing to do with fear.

With a soft chuckle, he lowered the gun, his fingers brushing against your skin as he did.

“Lucky for you, I’m not done with you yet,” he said, his grin widening. 

Then, with a wink, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you standing there, caught somewhere between relief and something far more dangerous.

─────────────────────────

The second time, there was no hesitation.

You spotted him across the street as the WLF and Jackson’s forces clashed. The dust and smoke made the air hard to breathe, but your focus was on one thing: him, his dark curls damp with sweat, rifle slung while his dark eyes scanned the chaos. 

In one fluid motion, you darted forward, knife slicing his forehead as he quickly jerked back, blood starting to rush down all over his face. 

“Guess letting you live wasn’t such a great idea,” he teased, swiping the blood away, his eyes still sparkling.

The smirk was back within seconds.

"Not bad, mi reina," he called out, his voice carrying through the chaos, full of mocking admiration. “But you’re gonna need more than that to take me down.”

─────────────────────────

Months later, you’d been guarding the outskirts of Jackson, keeping an eye out when you saw Manny behind an old rusted car.

“Well, well,” he said, a slow, teasing smile curling at the corners of his lips. “I was wondering when I’d see you again. Been thinking a lot about you lately.” 

“Sure you want to finish that sentence?”

“It’s hard not to, you know,” he reached up, fingers lightly brushing over the scar you’d left on his face, his touch lingering as if he was savoring the memory. “Guess I’ll always have a piece of you with me now.”

You couldn’t help but notice how the scar had settled into his skin, and hated to admit it kind of made him look even more attractive –more tempting, even.

You tightened your grip on your rifle, aiming at him.

“You’re trespassing."

Manny ignored your words as he took a step closer, eyes never leaving yours. “It’s such a shame we’re on opposite sides. We could have a lot of fun together, don’t you think?”

“Maybe you should let me in,” he said, the familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

“You’re not as clever as you think,” you said, and in one fluid motion, you fired a shot just past his ear, the crack of the bullet cutting through the tense air.  “Now get back. I won’t warn you again.”

Manny took another step back, his eyes gleaming with mischief, clearly enjoying the game. “I’m not the enemy you think I am, you know. But if you keep looking at me like that, I might just become one.” 

You narrowed your eyes, tightening your grip on the rifle. “Keep dreaming.”

“That a threat or you trying to seduce me?” he teased. “Either way, it’s working.”

His lips curled into a grin again, and without another word, he winked and disappeared into the shadows.

─────────────────────────

From that moment forward, the encounters became more frequent. Manny kept showing up no matter where you were, always with that smirk and those irritatingly charming words. And day after day, the attraction between you both grew. 

One day, his figure emerged from behind a crumbling wall and his eyes locked onto yours almost immediately. He was alone, no WLF backup, and he simply stood there, studying you like a puzzle he was trying to solve.

“You’re not very good at this, are you?”

“Don’t you have anything better to do than annoy me?” You couldn’t hide the frustration in your voice, though part of you knew, deep down, it wasn’t really what was getting to you.

Manny’s lips quivered, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Maybe I’m just trying to get your attention.”

“You’ve got it. Now leave.”

There was no hiding it now. The tension between you two had grown to something impossible to ignore, and you weren’t sure if it was the way he always flirted with you, or how his presence seemed to make your skin tingle, but you knew it was becoming harder to pretend you didn’t feel it.

“You know, for someone who’s supposed to be the enemy, you’re kind of hard to resist,”  Manny said, taking another slow step toward you.

You pointed your gun at him. “Easy,” he said, grinning. “Just want to talk.”

“You sure? Might be your last conversation.”

He should’ve been pissed. Should have raised his own weapon. But he only laughed instead.

“You ever relax?”

“You ever shut up?”

“I could. If you kissed me.”

────────────────────────

You knew it was wrong to let him take up space in your mind. But every time Manny came across with that cocky grin and some ridiculous flirtation, you cracked a little more.

You’d found yourself thinking about him way too much, remembering the moments when his dark eyes sparkled with mischief, the way he moved just a little too close, as if he already knew exactly what his presence did to you. 

He was the enemy, and yet your patrols started drifting closer to the places you knew he’d be. You told yourself that keeping eyes on him was necessary, but the truth sat heavier each day: you weren't just looking for him anymore – you were hoping to see him, and started to feel disappointed when you didn’t.

You knew he was trouble, dangerous even, and that it was wrong to want him, to crave his attention. But every time you replayed the sound of his voice, low and teasing, or remembered the way his gaze lingered just long enough to leave you breathless, something twisted inside you.

You weren’t looking for him the next time you met, but still found him on a construction site, blood crusted at his temple, dragging a broken rifle and muttering in Spanish. You should have left him, but something pulled you forward.

Again.

“You look like shit,” you said, stepping into the open, gun aimed at him.

He turned toward your voice, too slow, too tired. And then he grinned.

“Well, well” Manny leaned like he had all the time in the world. “Didn’t think you’d miss me that much to come all the way here."

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t draw your gun. Not yet. “Why are you out here alone?”

He stepped forward, hands half-raised in a mock surrender.

“Scavenging. Or maybe just hoping I’d run into you.”

You didn't answer, and he stared at your gun.

“You gonna finish the job this time, cariño, or just keep admiring the view?”

“You’re lucky I haven’t ended this yet.”

“Well, you never do,” he says, smiling wider. “What does that say?”

“That I’m losing my fucking mind.”

“Or maybe,” he says, taking a slow step toward you, “You’re starting to see what I’ve seen this whole time.”

You didn’t answer. Because part of you already knew. You just didn’t want to face it.

─────────────────────────

Manny stepped out of the shadows again a month later, calm and cocky as ever, gun rested loosely in his hand, now more like an accessory than a threat.

You caught his movement and your rifle was up in an instant, aimed dead at his chest.

“Are you following me now, Alvarez?” you snapped, stepping into the open with your finger brushing the trigger. 

He stopped, hands out to his sides in a lazy show of innocence, the familiar smirk already in his face. “Well, you do make it hard to stay away.”

“Don’t you think it’s funny that I had plenty of chances to kill you, and never did?”

“I had the same chances,” you said. “You’re not special.”

Manny laughed, closing the distance between them with a few easy steps. 

“But I know why I haven’t pulled the trigger," He stopped just a breath away, his eyes locked onto yours, the smirk fading into something quieter. “What’s your excuse? What’s stopping you, cariño?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t, not when he was looking at you like he already knew everything.

He leaned in slowly until his lips hovered just a breath away from yours. His hand brushed lightly against your arm, barely there. Then he paused, lips twitching into a crooked smile.

“That’s what I thought,” he whispered.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. You knew exactly what he meant, but still couldn’t afford to acknowledge it. You were from Jackson. He was from the WLF. Everything about you two was wrong – everything about it was dangerous.

You stepped back, trying to maintain the distance between you, but Manny was quick. In one fluid motion, he was right back in front of you.

“I don’t know what you're talking about,"

“You’re a terrible liar,” he whispered, his breath warm against your face. “You think I don’t see the way you look at me?”

Your pulse quickened as his lips hovered near yours, his words sending a wave of heat through your body. The world around you seemed to disappear, and the WLF, Jackson, the fight – it all faded into the background.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.

You didn’t.

The kiss was fierce, desperate, like both of you had been waiting for it far too long. Manny’s hand slid around your waist, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss as your body reacted before your mind could catch up.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, you blinked, trying to clear your mind. What had you just done?

─────────────────────────

You didn’t see Manny for a while after that kiss, as you started avoiding the routes he used to show up and skipping outposts you knew he might be near. He was WLF, after all, and no matter how much that kiss haunted you, getting close again felt like crossing a line you couldn’t afford. 

But then you started finding the notes.

A bottle by the barn: “Miss me yet?” 

A note under a bike tire: “Bet you can’t stop thinking about it.”

And another one between the gate you used to patrol: “Can’t keep running forever, cariño."

Each one, signed only with an M, sent your heart into a familiar spin.

You were doing your best to brush them off, but then you found one that was impossible to ignore, a torn piece of a map with a red “X”:

“Midnight. I’ll be waiting.”

Still, curiosity, and something else you weren’t ready to name, got the better of you.

The place was far from the patrol routes. An isolated cabin you’d only ever hear whispers about – a risky spot, but you trusted him. Mostly. 

He was already there when you arrived, leaning casually against the weathered porch when he saw you.

“Well, well,” Manny drawled, hopping down. “Look who finally decided to show up.”

“You’ve been annoying me with those stupid messages for days. When are you going to stop?” you asked, crossing your arms. 

“Ouch. Didn’t like my love letters?”

“That’s what you call stalking now?”

“I prefer the term dedicated admirer.”

“What do you want, Manny?”

“Too see you," Manny smirked, stepping closer. “But I wasn’t sure you’d actually come, since you’ve been avoiding me lately and well, you do have a lot of reasons to stay away from me.”

“So do you,"

"You’re right," he said quietly, his voice taking on a seriousness you hadn’t heard before. “We both have reasons to stay away. But we can’t. And we don’t have to.”

“Don’t start, Manny. You know this can’t happen again.”

He stepped closer. “Why not? I mean, you sneaked out in the middle of the night just to see me," He paused, then added, voice low, teasing, “That’s something, right?”

You shoved him lightly, but didn’t step back when he caught you again.

“And you know what else I’ve figured out?” he asked, leaning in. “Every time I’m around, you act like it’s an accident. Like it just happens that we cross paths. But it’s not, is it? You're looking for me.”

You kept trying to think of an answer, a pushback, anything. But nothing came.

Manny smiled again, softer this time. “You don’t have to say it. I already know.”

“I shouldn’t be here,” you muttered.

“But you are. And you wouldn’t if you didn’t want it as much as I do.”

That night, every movement between you was slower. Deeper. There was no rush, just the quiet understanding that this was the only place either of you could be honest.

─────────────────────────

It didn't end there.

You started sneaking away at night, meeting Manny in quietest and abandoned places you knew no one would look at.

One day it was behind an old greenhouse, where vines had overtaken garden rows.

“Told you this place was romantic,” Manny said, holding up a wilted flower with a mock charm.

You snorted. “Trying to impress me, Alvarez?”

“Depends. Is it working?”

“Not really.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re already in love with me.”

─────────────────────────

Then near the river, where an old campfire pit sat unused. You found Manny drawing something in the dirt with a stick when he heard you approach.

“Planning something?” you asked.

“Mapping escape routes,” he teased. “In case you finally admit you want to run away with me.”

You snorted. “I’d get sick of you before we made it three miles.”

Manny’s smirk only deepened, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Three miles?” he challenged, taking a slow step toward you. “You know I can keep you entertained for way longer than that.”

─────────────────────────

Every time it became harder, riskier. The fear of getting caught got you both, but neither of you could stop. It was dangerous, reckless, but every touch, every glance, pulled you both deeper in. 

The risk was a part of the excitement at first. But as the days passed, the weight and meaning of what you were doing kept growing heavier.

It was the way Manny would ask you to stay a little longer, the way the time with him never seemed to be enough, and how you started wishing everything was different. That the rules that kept you apart didn't exist.

You almost didn't make it a rainy night, but managed to find him waiting beneath the half-collapsed roof of an old tower.

“You’re very late. I was starting to get worried," he said, his tone light but with an underlying edge of frustration. 

“Were you scared I wouldn’t come?” you shot back, but the teasing smile on your lips betrayed you.

“Nah. I knew you’d show," he murmured, lips touching your neck. “Can’t stay away from me.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you kissed him as if the rest of the world didn’t matter.

Later that night, you lay side by side, staring up at the sky through the broken roof.

“I did get scared you wouldn’t come,” Manny said, barely above a whisper. His hand tightened around you, but his eyes refused to meet yours.

“Why?”

He hesitated, still looking away, as if searching for the right words. “Thought maybe wouldn't want to risk being around me anymore. Keep doing this for real."

You leaned in, your hand gently cupping his cheek, making him finally look at you. “I’m all in, Manny. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“What if you change your mind?”

"I won't," you said firmly, your eyes locked with his. "I'm exactly where I want to be."

His lips pulled into a faint, almost relieved smile. “Yeah?” He leaned closer, the vulnerability in his eyes slowly giving way to something deeper. “Good. Because I don’t think I can walk away from this.”

“Neither can I.”

You smiled back, kissing him, letting the moment linger. As you pulled away, the question that had been hanging between you finally slipped out.

“You ever think about what happens if someone finds out?” you asked as your fingers touched the scar along his face, the same one you gave him the first time you met, which now seemed like a lifetime ago.

“Every time I see you,” he said. "But it’s always worth it.”

It was dangerous. Reckless. But in the darkness, when it was just the two of you, you didn’t care. All you wanted was him. And he felt the same.

The war might never end, but maybe you and Manny had found something that was worth fighting for, too.

[mortaldreams]

breathing room (m ver.)

pairing: lee heeseung x f reader

genre: smut, enemies to lovers, rivals to lovers

word count: 5.9k

warnings: sexually explicit content (MDNI), swearing, arguing, non-explicit descriptions/depictions of violence, tension of both the general and sexual sort, heeseung is a Talker

note: this is an extended (and explicit) version of my sfw story breathing room, which can still be found on my main blog stllmnstr. but this one has, you know, smut. enjoy!

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

In your mind, Lee Heeseung is nothing but a thorn in your side and an obstacle in your path as you struggle to fight your way way up the ranks in combat training. But even with your knife against his neck and flames in your eyes, he finds a way to catch you off guard.

or,

heeseung doesn't need a knockout. he just needs an in.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Lee Heeseung is having a hard time breathing. 

Partly because he’s pretty sure he just got the wind knocked out of him. A little bit because of the year-old rib injury he had neither the time nor patience to let heal completely. 

And mostly because there’s a blade being held to his throat. 

Yours, to be exact. 

It’s a nice one, all things considered. Despite its lethality, it’s small, delicate almost. From this angle, he can just make out the detailing on the hilt. A series of vines wrap around each other intricately, forming kaleidoscopic patterns that extend all the way from the blade to where your fingers are wrapped around the hilt, knuckles white from the way your hand is straining. 

Jesus, he thinks. If it takes that much concentrated effort for you to not let the knife press any harder against his skin, draw any blood, then maybe he should start taking the threats you throw his way like extra change a little more seriously. 

Lazily, he lets his eyes trace a line from your fingers to your face. Skipping over the rather boring details of the plain black training shirt you wear, he directs his attention to the way your brow furrows in concentration instead. 

Under usual circumstances, a knife to the throat would encourage all of his senses to narrow in on the sensation of metal against his pulse point. Would spur his brain to work a bit faster through all the biological fight or flight mechanisms in a last ditch attempt at survival. 

But these are not usual circumstances. In fact, ever since the two of you were split into separate training cohorts a handful of months ago, this has become a rarity. And the only thing Heeseung wants to do is enjoy it a little more. 

Without his self-preservation instincts kicking in, his brain has plenty of room for other things. The forgiving surface of a training mat beneath him, slightly soft where he lets his body relax into it. The unusually warm air of the training room, courtesy of a busted air conditioner that no one has gotten around to fixing just yet. 

The way your hair falls around your face as you lean over him, chest still heaving from your recent bout of exertion. Your eyes are pure fire, embers and ashes and every stage in between as you sit atop his ribcage, knees on either side of his torso where you pin him to the mat. 

But even as the lead trainer adds another tally underneath your name for another sparring match won, your gaze doesn’t soften. Doesn’t brighten in the afterglow of victory. 

After all, victory only tastes sweet when it’s earned. Judging by the way your lips twist above him, Heeseung thinks the victory he just handed you on a silver platter must be horribly bitter. 

Slowly, he raises his hands in mock surrender. There’s a half smile that looks a little too much like a smirk tugging at his lips when he says, “I concede.”

“No fucking shit.” You flick a strand of hair out of your face. Your knife presses a little tighter against his throat. “Did you even try?”

Heeseung maintains eye contact. “I think I’m doing us both a favor by not answering that one.”

Narrowing your eyes, annoyance makes itself the most prominent of your visible emotions. “Interesting choice of words from someone with a knife to his throat.”

Heeseung all but rolls his eyes. “What are you gonna do? Kill me in front of everyone?” The way he wraps sarcasm up in every syllable is almost as infuriating as the way he just let you win without putting up any semblance of a fight. “You’ve got a mean streak, princess, but that’s a bit much, even for you.”

The pressure on your blade increases, and Heeseung fights a wince as he feels it break the barrier between his skin and blood. It’s a miniscule cut, surface level at most, but he hears the threat all the same. “It’s like you want to die,” you marvel. 

Heeseung’s eyes betray nothing, other than the fact that they can’t quite seem to stray from your own. Does he? No matter how deep inside himself he searches, the answer is always a resounding no. Despite the effort he put into this particular spar, or rather lack thereof, his survival instincts are still kicking. His pursuit of life is still alive and well. 

So no, he doesn’t want to die. Quite the opposite in fact. But if he were to explain in plain terms that he never feels quite as alive as he does in the moments when you’ve got a knife on his throat and hatred in your eyes, he has the distinct feeling you might well and truly make good on your frequent promise to send him to an early grave. 

And it’s not like he means to do it, not really. Heeseung might be a glutton for punishment these days, but there was a time when he tried to get your attention in all the regular ways. As he quickly found out, sweet words did nothing but make you roll your eyes, and his skills on a sparring mat were only as impressive as they could be used to hone your own. 

He was a tool in your eyes. A means to an end as you did your best to work your way up the ranks. 

You never looked at him, the person behind all the hand-to-hand combat training and advanced levels of weapon artistry. 

At least not until he started annoying the ever-living shit out of you. 

Back then, it had been easy. As new recruits, you were in the same training cohort, which meant you had the same daily schedules. As long as Heeseung had the chance to beat you to the last piece of toast in the dining hall at breakfast or tie the laces of your training boots together the night before an early morning, he was guaranteed at least one of your signature glares and a few choice words that would make his grandmother blush. 

Granted, he knows that one-sided hatred is not a very stable foundation to build anything solid on, but he thinks of it in the same way he thinks of sparring. 

He doesn’t need a knockout. He just needs an in. 

A little bit of breathing room. Something that will have his partner lowering their guard, weakening their defenses just enough for him to strike. Once. Twice. Again. Over and over until the match is won and victory rests on his square shoulders. 

Heeseung’s in this for the long haul, and he’s come to find that he doesn’t really care how many bruises he picks up along the way. 

Across the room, the lead trainer heaves a long sigh. 

“Alright, ___, that’s enough. You’ve earned your tally.” The most of anyone in today’s group. But you’re still glaring at him, and he knows it isn’t enough, not for you. “Heeseung, get it together. I expect better from you next time.”

You scoff. “Don’t hold your breath.” 

Expectations are only met when people are held to them, and you doubt Lee Heeseung has even become acquainted with the concept of a consequence. 

Releasing one final, sharp exhale, you pull your knife away from his throat, tucking it back into the sheath on your upper thigh in one fluid motion. Swinging your leg over his torso, you remove your body from his own, give your anger some space to breathe. Without looking back, you let your strides eat up the distance between you and the exit. 

Someone – you think it must be Jay, or maybe Jungwon – tries to catch your attention on the way out, asking about a maneuver you pulled in the middle of the match. A tricky bit of knife work you’ve been perfecting over the last few weeks. 

Something that looked stupid as Heeseung did nothing but stand there, as if your blade was nothing but decorative. Made you look stupid as he stood and watched with nothing but a mildly amused expression on his face. 

You hate him for it. Want to show him just how pretty your knife can be stained with the deep crimson he must bleed as surely as anyone else. 

Lips pulled in a taut line, you unsheath the blade at your thigh once again, this time sending it spinning with deadly accuracy towards the line of trees that skirt the outside of the training facility. 

You don’t miss. You never do. 

It still feels like defeat. 

…..

Heeseung notices when you’re not at dinner later that evening. Despite the fact that you no longer train together, the inter-cohort spars have shifted this week's schedule. You should be here, sitting next to Jay and Jungwon, probably, pointedly avoiding his gaze. 

But you’re not. And he can only think of one other place to find you. 

The training hall is dark when he arrives, but Heeseung is no fool. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, but he sees you soon enough. Silhouette dark against the empty expanse, he has half a mind to intervene before you shred yet another punching bag to irreparable pieces. Instead, he just watches for a moment longer. 

He doesn’t know what to do with the feelings that start to simmer, that always linger. Doesn’t know if it’s admiration or longing or something far worse. 

But he wants to. Wants to examine them until he knows them as intimately as the back of his own hand, until he can recite them by name and express them in ways that don’t make you want to press a knife against his neck. 

And he wants to keep watching, keep looking, keep noticing. 

Even from a distance, even in the dark, he can read the frustration in the set of your shoulders, sense the exhaustion in the way your legs move just behind the rest of your body. 

You need a break. 

He needs an in. 

Across the room from you, Heeseung clears his throat. 

Startled, you nearly fall on your ass mid-kick before you turn to the source. It’s dark, but you know it’s him. Who else would it be? 

Chest rising and falling rapidly with exertion, you finally catch your breath well enough to tell him, “If you’re not here for a rematch, then you have exactly ten seconds to get out of this building.”

A beat passes. 

Another. 

Heeseung exhales. “And if I am?”

Bathed in the dying glow of moonlight, you go still. “Then you better put in your best fucking effort.”

Heeseung is across the room before you can release another breath. It’s ridiculous how quickly he disarms you. And you’re caught off guard, yes, but it doesn’t matter, not really. Your knife in his hands, he throws it to the corner of the room. And then it’s just the two of you. 

Heeseung spares neither time nor effort knocking your legs out from under you, sending you careening towards the mat. Screwing your eyes shut, you brace for the impact of a training mat that never comes, the back of your head cradled in a hand that serves as a barrier between you and the ground below. 

It’s a complete reversal of your earlier roles as he lets his legs fall to either side of you, face inches from your own. There’s no knife on your neck, and he was gracious enough to break your fall. 

But suddenly, you find your breath a difficult thing to catch regardless. 

Above you, his eyes are dark. Your noses nearly touch. “This is what you wanted?” he breathes, and you feel his words as much as you hear them. They dance across your cheekbone, your lips. Have your bones feeling molten, all your hard edges malleable. “You want me to fight you like I mean it? To really fucking spar with you?”

You’ve rehearsed your answer too long to deviate, even as your mind screams with sudden uncertainties. “Yes.”

Heeseung doesn’t spare it a second thought. “Too bad.”

“Why? You have no problem f–”

“I was there, you know.” Unbidden, the hand that doesn’t hold your head falls to the bottom edge of your black training shirt. Heeseung pauses there for a moment, lets his fingers trace the seam. Something in the air shifts, tightens, waits. 

Despite the way he has you caged, your hands are unbound. You could stop this, if you wanted to. Stop him. 

You don’t. 

Slowly, his hand begins to track an upward journey, taking your hem with it. The air of the room is warm, choked with summer heat and the odd sensations that simmer just beneath your skin, but you suppress a shiver anyway as a sliver of skin is revealed. 

You know what he’s after, where his eyes fall to. It’s his fingers that hesitate. Dangle with uncertainty a hair's breadth from the scar that sits just above your hip bone. 

Heeseung inhales, eyes returning to your own for a moment. They’re searching for permission you won’t give and boundaries you won’t set. If he wants to walk this tightrope, he’ll have to navigate on his own. 

It’s a challenge he rises to. On his breath out, Heeseung lets his fingers find a home on the bare skin of your stomach, trace the jagged line that’s a shade paler than the surrounding area. 

It’s a scar you hardly think of, one you can’t believe he remembers. Gifted to you in your early days of training, when a fellow recruit thought the best way to better his ranking was to discard the strict sparring rules set by your superiors and draw blood as a last ditch attempt at victory.

You’d still won, even with a fresh stab wound on your lower abdomen. And he’d been shown the door, like all recruits that break protocol. 

“So what?” Your voice doesn’t come out nearly as biting as you intend it to. You curse the waver in your words. “I get one scar and suddenly I’m delicate?” 

Heeseung glances up, something sincere in his eyes when he matches your gaze. His hand is still on your skin. “We’re all delicate. And we all have the scars to prove it. I’ve just developed a particular… aversion to seeing evidence of it when it comes to you.”

You’re quick to school your features into neutrality. At least on the outside, you won’t give him the satisfaction of catching you off guard. “That sounds like a you problem.”

“Apparently not,” Heeseung counters. “Since I’m not the one begging for a fight.” He holds your gaze when he adds, “And I have to say, princess, if you wanted me to put you on your back, there are much easier ways to ask.”

It’s as if you’ve been submerged in hot water, as if you’ve been burned, when you push him off of you with a speed that’s almost comical. And from the way heat rises in your cheeks, you just might have been. 

Your voice is dangerously low when you tell him, “You have three seconds.”

“Until what?” Heeseung knows better than to be hopeful. 

“Until I find my knife and put it to good use.”

He knows better, yes. But what are limits for, if not to be pushed? 

Heeseung looks up at you from where he still lies on the mat. Propping himself up on one hand, he lets his gaze trace you from head to toe. Lazily, like he has all the time in the world and none of his inhibitions. “Is that a promise?”

You do your best not to squirm underneath his wandering gaze. But evidence of your embarrassment still stains your flushed skin. And from the way his lips start to quirk upwards, you can tell that he’s enjoying this. 

You’re flustered, and he loves it. Loves that when you stutter a bit, start to trip over your words, it’s by his doing. 

Standing above him, your scowl is unconvincing. A stark contrast to the heat that still lingers in your cheeks and the way you can’t quite match his eye. “What is wrong with you?”

“Several things.” Below you, Heeseung bites back a smile. “Would you like an itemized list? Or would you prefer the details of my depravity in essay format? Or I could–”

“Stop it.” Your face is still flaming, but your voice has changed. It’s not shy or breathy or even biting. It’s just… frustrated. A little bit pathetic. Pleading in a way Heeseung wasn’t prepared for. 

“Just stop it.” On the training mat, Heeseung goes still. “God, you do this every time. I come here and I work my fucking ass off every day, and all you do is sit there and mock me for it.” The fire is draining from your eyes. The fight is draining from your shoulders. It’s wrong. It’s not what he meant. But it’s spiraling and he doesn’t know how to stop it. “Is this…” you trail off. Deciding your pride is already torn to shreds, you ask, “Am I some kind of joke to you?”

Heeseung is standing again before you can catch your breath. Crowding your space. Or at least, he tries to. The backwards step you take maintains a steady distance. 

“No.” Now he’s the one that’s scrambling, lost for words. “No,” he repeats. “Fuck, ___” he cards a hand through his hard, pushing it away from his face. “You have to know that’s not what I think of you.”

You scoff in exasperation, but your eyes are starting to shine. Reflect the unshed tears of frustration that have begun to gather in your lash line. Heeseung’s fingertips twitch with the urge to wipe them away. “How would I know that? You always do this.” Your words are coming out too fast, spilling from parted lips in the most painful river of honesty he’s ever gotten from you. 

“You don’t take me seriously. You won’t fight me. You won’t do anything but lay there with that stupid fucking smile.” You’re angry. Clearly. But you’re not getting in his face, not forcing your words down his throat by invading his space. 

No, instead, you’re closing in on yourself. Eyes trained on the ground, you won’t even look at him. Arms wrapping around your torso, it’s as if you want as many barriers between the two of you as possible. “All you do is tease me, because you know it makes me…” Shaking your head, your words die on your lips. 

Heeseung can’t let it go so easily. “Makes you what?”

Slowly, you drag your gaze back to his. There’s no sound here, in the expanse of a barren training room. Just the mingling of your breath with his. The quiet remnants of your anger. You won’t answer his question. You can’t.

Instead, you whisper “I hate you.”

Heeseung takes a step closer. This time, you don’t retreat. He shakes his head. “You don’t.”

Feet planted, you have to tilt your chin to look up at him now. “I do–”

“You don’t,” he interrupts. “You don’t hate me, and you have no idea what to do about it.”

A spark flickers through your eyes again/ This is the kind of sparring match you’ve become familiar with when it comes to him. “Typical,” you bite, voice low. “And so fucking presumptuous, to assume that you know me better than I do.”

Heeseung presses into your space further. You can feel the heat that radiates off of his skin, that threatens to consume you whole. “I tease you, yes,” he admits. “But you’ve never been a joke to me. I take you as seriously as death, princess.”

“Don’t call me that–”

“And don’t act like you’re any better.” Features slackening, your eyes widen as he doubles down. “You want to talk about taking people seriously? Fine.” There are flames in his eyes now, raging through his dark irises. “You never looked at me twice. Never thought of me as anything but a stepping stone to make yourself better. You want me to fight you? You want to use me to test out all your fancy little tricks and improve until you’re the only one at the top?”

He’s close. He’s so fucking close. 

“Fine. I’ll give you what you want.” Fingers sliding beneath your jaw, he cups your chin with a light, but demanding grip. Forcing your gaze upwards, you have nowhere to look but his eyes when he demands, “But look at me while I do it.”

In the span of seconds, you’re on your back again. Trapped beneath him as he pins your hands above your head, both of your wrists entrapped in the grasp of a single hand. Knees on either side of your torso, you’re effectively trapped. 

Frantically, without any of your usual finesse, you begin to thrash, desperately trying to free yourself. His only response is to close his knees tighter, restricting your movement further. 

Fuming, nearly immobile, you bring one knee up in a well-aimed jab. But Heeseung hasn’t been fighting all these months. Not really. 

He predicts your movement with a practiced ease and stops the blow in its tracks. Spare hand wrapping around the back of your thigh, he shakes his head at you. 

“Ah, ah,” he scolds, voice dangerously low. “I thought I told you to look at me.”

Beneath him, your chest heaves. “As if I’d ever listen to you.” But your eyes lock on his anyway. As if you can win this sparring match through sheer will alone. 

Heeseung doesn’t say anything. Hardly so much as blinks as his hand wraps around your thigh a little more firmly. And then, he’s adjusting it. 

Dragging it upwards with a scalding touch until he guides it to wrap around the base of his hips. Again, his touch is light. Something you could break free from if you really wanted to. All of his command lies in his eyes, his gaze that still burns into yours. 

The space just above your cheekbones is flaming again. But this time, for a different reason. 

You feel it more pointedly than you ever have, a sharp, pulsing tug that snakes down your spine and settles just beneath your navel. 

You’re warm there, too. Too warm.

The clothed expanse of your inner thigh, just above your knee, rests against the outside of his hip. But it’s not enough. Does nothing to soothe the building ache, nothing to ease your mounting desperation for friction, for something.  

It’s too much. It’s almost involuntary, the way you start to squirm again,. But this time, it’s not freedom you seek. 

Overwhelmed with sensations you have no idea what to do with, you screw your eyes shut. 

Your body feels like one big muscle, drawn taut, fraught with tension. And it’s so warm, so unbearably hot. 

Shrouded in darkness of your own making, it’s almost worse. You can feel everything. Every desperate pulse that throbs in time with your heartbeat. Every shallow breath that scatters across your overly warm skin. 

The gentle, light pair of lips that ghost over the space between your brows. That brush against the side of your tightly shut eyelid. That comes to rest along the shell of your ear, inspiring a fresh round of shivers down the length of your spine. 

He feels it too. You can tell by the way his breath shudders against you. 

His lips part against your earlobe, touch as light as a butterfly’s wing. “Please,” he begs, and you think you might actually die. If this is what defeat feels like, you’ll hand him his rightful victory. “Look at me.”

You’re still sparring. You’re sure of it. Giving into his demands would feel like defeat. But so does hiding, lying immobile and shying away from sensation as if you’re afraid. 

You are. Afraid, that is. But you’ll die before you let him see that. 

So you obey his command. Eyelids fluttering open slowly, you’re met with the sight of him. Hair falling over his forehead, his nose nearly touches yours. There’s heat in his cheeks and his gaze and his skin. 

Something in him sings with desperation, too. 

Still, there’s a hint of something else. Something softer. Something that almost sounds like fondness when he matches your eye and whispers, “There she is.”

You feel molten, pliant beneath his touch. Again, your hips shift of their own volition as you swallow down the whimper that threatens to escape. 

Heeseung is so intricately attuned to it. Every miniscule movement. Every shallow breath. He notices, feels it too. 

And he’s always held a certain love for this. For the chase. For the build up. 

But his patience can only stretch so far, and he won’t leave you hanging for long. 

You expect it to be bruising, desperate, angry. Everything that’s it’s always been between the two of you when he finally brings his lips to yours. 

It’s not. 

Heeseung’s lips drip with desperation, but they’re slow where they begin to move against your own. Slow and deep and searching, like he’s looking for something he never thought he’d find. 

Late summer heat washes over your skin, and this time, you can’t hide the whimper that drips from your tongue. That he swallows with a renewed vigor. 

It’s as if a light has been ignited. The hand, the one that still cradles your thigh, doubles down in its grip. Drags your leg up further. 

Until he’s just as trapped within it as you are beneath his body. The action brings him closer to you, touching in places that send a fresh wave of shudders radiating from the cradle of your hips. 

“God,” he pants, the syllable sliding past your open lips. “Fuck, ___.” 

He moves his hips again, this time in a more deliberate way. A repeated motion that has you seeing stars. That quells the rising ache in your core just as much as it expands it. 

“You feel that?” he breathes. “Feel what you do to me?”

You shudder beneath him, body slack to sensation. A live wire under his touch. “Please.”

But patience, restraint, are old friends of Heeseung’s. He wants to hear you say it. “Please, what? Use your words, princess.”

You’ll give it to him, whatever he wants. But words are difficult to come by. You can’t form them with your tongue, can’t push them past your lips. You can’t think. “I don’t… It hurts–”

Heeseung might have patience, but the sound of you begging erases what’s left of his self-control in one fell swoop. He’ll finish the words you can’t quite work out. “Yeah? Need me to make it better? Need me to make you feel good?”

But he does want at least one thing from you. With his hand on your jaw, he forces your gaze to his again. “I’ll do it. I’ll give you whatever you want.” It’s a promise. One that bleeds with sincerity. One that’s just as evident in his eyes as it is in his words. “Just need you to tell me.”

In the scant inches that separate your lips, you whisper, “I want it.”

Heeseung is hanging on by a thread. “Want what?”

You unwind it just as quickly. With starlight dancing over your features, half shadowed by his body over yours, you tell him, “Want you.”

And you can feel it, the way his facade of composure starts to slip. The way desperation starts to become his only driving force. 

Even still, you’ve always been something he chooses to treat with care, and this will be no different. 

Slowly, he releases his grip on your hands above your head. 

With movements that soothe as much as they ache, and gestures that feel a little too much like love, he pushes a stray strand of hair away from your heated forehead. 

And then, once again, his hand falls to the hem of your shirt. There’s less hesitation, even if his fingers still shake slightly, as he begins to drag it upwards. Inch by agonizing inch, the expanse of your stomach is laid bare to night air and the wandering intensity of his gaze. 

Your ribcage follows. It’s not cold, but you shudder all the same. 

He stops, fingers suddenly immobile as they trace the top of your ribs. Uncharted territory. A final barrier between the two of you. 

But you’re getting better at this, too. With a firm grip, you bring one hand to grasp his wrist. Looking him right in the eye, you tell him in a heated whisper, “Touch me.”

It’s all he needs. 

Hesitation sizzles against the open air everywhere it bleeds from his fervent touch. 

His hands are on your skin, and his mouth is back on yours. It burns in a way that’s distinct from hatred. There’s no bitter aftertaste, no sharp sting, even as his teeth catch on your bottom lip. 

There’s little grace here, even as he takes his time with you. 

Here on the training mat, it’s a far cry from romance, even if your head swims with dangerous thoughts all the same. 

His breath, his body, his touch are all tangled in yours. As his hips find a home in the space against yours, it feels less like sparring and more like a dance. Careful choreography that your bodies already know. 

Again, he moves against you. The sounds that crawl from your throat and drip through his open lips are obscene. Would be hopelessly embarrassing in any other context, but his touch soothes your anxieties as much as it stokes them. 

Lying beneath him, skin bare to his gaze and his touch and his intentions, you suddenly feel like a novice. An easy opponent. The nervous holder of the lower hand.

But Heeseung never wanted to best you, and this is no exception. Gentle fingers dance across the band of your training trousers. Plain. Utilitarian. Designed for function. 

Your sudden insecurities aside, he doesn’t want to best you. He doesn’t want to win. 

He tells you as much. “Relax,” he coos against your feverish temple. “Just gonna make you feel good.” It’s an iteration of an already established claim. A promise he’s already made. 

But here, trapped beneath his body, consumed by a touch that soothes as much as it burns, you decide that would feel like losing, too. 

“You, too,” you insist, finding the fragmented remnants of your voice. It’s a whisper that lands on his collarbone. He shudders with the insinuation. “I want you to feel good, too.”

Pulling back slightly, he pauses his ministrations. Looks you right in the eye and asks, “Are you sure?”

He might have spurred this, might have brought you here, but you’re burning with it now, too. The desire to see him come undone. Fall apart by your doing. 

You bring one hand to his temple, and he relaxes into your touch like he’s familiar with it. His head cradled in your palm, you say for the third time, “I want to make you feel good.”

He shudders, and for a moment, everything is still. The room around you holds its breath, his gaze locked on yours. 

And then, without breaking eye contact, he rolls his hips again. Slowly. Surely. 

Watches as you struggle to keep your eyes open against the sudden onslaught of sensations. Marvels at the small, desperate sounds he’s dying to swallow. 

It’s still, until it’s not. Until his fingers find their mobility again and the rest of you is laid just as bare as your torso. Until long moments later, your hands are the one to make him follow suit. 

Sweat sticks to your skin, makes every movement, every motion, feel all the more sordid. 

But when he guides your other leg around him and whispers against the shell of your ear, “You feel so good,” something between the two of you feels sacred, too. 

There’s little finesse to the way he finally guides himself inside of you. Little grace to be found in the way your bodies connect, breath and body and soul combining and colliding into one. 

There’s too much sensation, too many months and weeks and hidden dreams for it to be perfect. Too much care and pleasure and feelings for it to be anything but. 

And Heeseung…

Heeseung is seeing fucking stars. 

He’s always found you beautiful, but this is new. This is different. This is just for him. 

Every desperate sound he drags from your throat, every involuntary movement of your hips as you beg for relief only he can give you. It all belongs to him. 

His own pleasure is lost somewhere behind clouded eyes as he watches you struggle to keep your eyes open under the intensity of his touch. He chases something bigger, something far more dangerous than the pathways of his own baser desires. 

He needs it. Burns with the urge to watch you drowning in pleasure for him. Because of him. 

The only thing you’ve ever shown interest in him for is his prowess on a training mat, and he’s desperate to show you that he’s worth more than that. That he can serve you what you need on a silver platter and predict what you want without you having to say a word. 

He’s a quick study. He watches, observes the way your skin flushes with every filthy, adoring, sweet nothing he whispers against your ear. With every inch of pleasure he forces you to swallow. 

You’re shaking beneath him, practically vibrating with the intensity of it all, and Heeseung wants nothing more than for it all to last just a little longer. Stretch into a slighter bigger pocket of infinity that only the two of you are privy to. 

But even slivers of forever have their inevitable ends, and Heeseung senses this one in the way your whimper drags out, in the way the last remaining bits of tension drain from your shoulders while you clench around him. 

He’s no better. In the moments that follow, he crowds himself impossibly further into the heat of your body while he follows suit. Makes good on your wish that he finds his pleasure, too. 

And when it’s done, and the only thing left in the afterglow is exhaustion, he hears you whisper, “Heeseung?” 

It takes him a moment to find his voice. He’s never heard you say his name like that before. All hesitation, no trace of venom. His throat feels scraped raw when he hums against your collarbone, “Mm?”

Your hands are in his hair, a gentle repeated motion that soothes. That has hope surging in his chest. 

“I don’t…” you sigh, fighting against the urge to swallow your less combative words, even now. “I don’t hate you,” you finally admit. Like it’s still a secret. Like he can’t read the truth in the way you wrap strands of his hair around your fingers, in the way you let him rest against your skin. 

But it’s not easy for you to admit, even if it’s obvious, evident in everything that’s passed between the two of you. It still takes no small amount of bravery for you to whisper it to him in the dead of night in an abandoned training room. 

Bathed in the fading remnants of deep seated pleasure and the dying glow of distant moonlight, it almost makes him want to smile. 

“I know,” he whispers. Leaning a little further into your touch, he repeats, “I know.”

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: this was for YOU heeseung girlies ♡♡♡ it's been a hot minute since I wrote anything with actual smut, so I hope this reads alright! let me know what you thought, and as always, I hope you enjoyed ♡

[siilent-wanderer]

One More?

Pairing: actress! aespa x actress! reader

Prompt: The script said one kiss, the drama showed one kiss. But the leaked behind-the-scenes footage? Hmm...

ive version | itzy version | le sserafim version | masterlist

Jimin

The Nation’s Cold Yet Lovable It-Girl

slow-burn, enemies-to-lovers drama

Jimin is the ruthless CEO of a top fashion brand

you’re the passionate, rebellious designer she just can’t seem to fire

the script said just a brief, hesitant kiss

ONE kiss filled with tension and unsaid emotions

but the leaked behind-the-scenes clip??? LMAOOOO

Jimin doesn’t just kiss you

her lips stay, barely pulling away before she goes in again, tilting her head slightly, like she’s savoring every second

her fingers graze your jaw, as if she forgot where she was for a moment

“CUT!”

Jimin just stands there, her gaze flickering down to your lips

"Should we… run that again?" she asks, voice lower than usual

ofc the internet loses it:

"Y’ALL SHE WAS STILL STARING AT Y/N’S LIPS AFTER THEY SAID CUT" "Karina redefined ‘method acting’ because sis was NOT acting." "Her hands?? The way she leaned in for more?? Ma’am, we SEE you" "i know what you are, yu jimin"

during an interview, when asked about the extra kisses, jimin just smirks and shrugs???

"I was in character. What can I say?"

Aeri

The Laid-Back, Effortlessly Cool Lead

modern college romance

Aeri is the flirty bad-girl lead

your characters spend the whole drama dancing around each other

until one night, you finally confess

the kiss is supposed to be one slow, meaningful press of lips before you both part, eyes heavy with emotion

but in the behind-the-scenes footage, Aeri doesn’t move away

she presses another quick kiss

and another

then, she grins — all mischievous and unbothered — before leaning in once more

"Oops," she murmurs against your lips, eyes playful. "Guess I got carried away."

Fans immediately go insane:

"CARRIED AWAY??? GIRL YOU KISSED HER LIKE FOUR TIMES WTH" "That little smirk? That extra kiss? GISELLE" "Ma’am, this is a workplace"

In an interview, Aeri just laughs

"I mean, if you have the chance, wouldn’t you?"

the host stares at her while the fans are SCREAMING

Minjeong

The “Accidentally” Romantic Soft-Hearted Lead

heartwarming, small-town romance

your characters reunite after years apart, realizing they were always meant for each other

Minjeong is the clumsy but utterly lovable childhood best friend who has always been in love with you

the kiss is supposed to be one sweet peck. nothing more.

but in the leaked video, Winter kisses you

then laughs nervously against your lips

then, without thinking, she kisses you again but a little firmer this time

then she pulls back, blinking like she just realized what she did

"Oh. Uh. That felt… nice?"

the crew bursts into laughter because that was the gayest thing they'd witness the entire shoot

the internet immediately eats it up:

"SHE JUST KEPT GOING HELPPPP" "Winter.exe stopped working after kissing Y/N" "someone please tell this girl she’s in LOVE"

in an interview, Minjeong turns completely red and waves her hands frantically

"I-It was just… I wasn’t thinking! It was… ahhh!"

Yizhuo

The Shamelessly Bold Scene-Stealer

passionate, high-stakes romance

Yizhuo is a fearless rockstar who falls for the quiet, reserved lyricist a.k.a. you

the kiss is supposed to be a brief, heated moment, before she pulls away, looking conflicted

but in the leaked behind-the-scenes clip???

she doesn’t pull away

she kisses you once, twice, three times

her hands tangle in your hair as she deepens it just slightly, her body pressing closer

“CUT!”

she finally breaks away...

only to wink at you

"I think we got that scene, right?" she teases, biting her lip

fans go feral:

"NINGNING. WHAT WAS THAT." "She wasn’t even pretending bruh that was REAL" "I want what Y/N has. Immediately. Like RIGHT NOW."

in an interview, Yizhuo just smirks

"I guess I got too into the moment"

she says it so casually, twirling her hair like she didn’t just rock the entire internet

A/N: here's a little something while I wait for the poll to end

[glitzglamgunpowder-if]

"You were destined for a life better than this. A life free from violence, from bloodshed. But here you are once again, it's like you never left."

YOU were a child destined for greatness, for your name to be written into the pages of history. Whatever happened in your past didn't matter anymore. You were born with raw talent and charisma that couldn't be wasted, that people can only dream of. But your innate gift didn't mean your path would be easy. After the circus shut down, you stumbled through life delivering each performance like it was your last. You thought you've reached your peak, until a mysterious offer suddenly throws you into a life of crime.

Content Warnings [Will Be Updated]: Heavy Extremist Religious Themes, Depictions of Trauma, Poor Mental Health, and Violence/Criminal Activity

Play as a male, female, or nonbinary performer

Customize your MC’s physical appearance, façade personality, and choose a pseudonym for them

Befriend or Romance 4 ROs

Dedicate yourself to honing your natural talent

Choose your end goal and earn the fame you have craved your entire life

How do you want the public to perceive you? To be respected, or to be feared?

Learn more about the secrets of your dark past. Will you learn how the circus fell? How you ended up here of all places?

Will you acquire the fame you deserve, or will you fade into history?

Outline of Stats/Routes!!

Alistair/Alice Delacroix - THE RIVAL

AS you adjust to your new life, you hear rumors about your fated rival. One whose mind was poisoned to despise every fiber of your being. It's no surprise they're known for their ambition, their cunning, their ruthless nature. Their path led them to inevitable darkness, but will yours?

Trope: Forbidden Romance/Enemies to Lovers

Samuel/Samantha "Sam" Kaminski - THE BOSS

YOU are an acquired talent on behalf of the current wealthy owner of the elusive Spotlight Syndicate, one of the most popular bars of its time. They're one of the few people who don't question your mysterious past, who trust you as implicitly as the air they breathe. You know deep down they have a soft spot for you, one of their greatest assets, but they're motives are...difficult to discern. But is there a possibility your relationship could go beyond transactional business?

Trope: Boss x Employee/Age Gap

Hendrik/Helena Rietveld - THE BODYGUARD

YOU don't know much about them, nor do they seem willing to give you any more information than necessary for your safety. But one thing's for sure, they're loyal to the ones they serve. And given your new...circumstances, that may be exactly what you need: someone who would travel from heaven to hell and back if their duty called for it. Will you be the first to crack the unsolvable's code?

Trope: Bodyguard Romance/Potential Grumpy x Sunshine

Jesse Lê - THE FRIEND DETECTIVE

YOU never expected to see them again after...never mind that! They stand before you now, a completely reinvented version of themself. A stranger to everyone they encounter. Will you be able to slip off the carefully curated mask they've built and heal from your past together? Or will that smoking gun be laid to rest once and for all?

Trope: Childhood Friends to Lovers -> Detective x Potential Criminal

Physical Description of the ROs!!

Despite being a frequent IF player, this is my very first time trying to create an IF myself as someone with little coding experience (I'm more of a writer if anything). I'm definitely learning as I go, and I understand this may lead to mistakes or disappointment at times, so I preemptively apologize for them. I tend to become overly ambitious, and I want to make sure I always deliver on the promises I make. I say this because some of you may have ask about certain features being implemented and I will have to say "Sorry, I don't really know how to do that yet, but I'll try and learn how!" Hopefully, this will be a fun learning experience, and you all have a fun time on here! Sincerely, Mira <3

DEMO || BETA TESTER FORM || PLAYLIST || BLUESKY

[agneslovestheinternet-blog]

FUCK YOU, don't leave me

Part Five: Thin Line THE FINAL PART (Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four)

Gally x Fem!Reader

There is a paper thin line between love and hate. You and Gally have been using that line as a proverbial jump rope for multiple passion-filled weeks. In the wake of your last argument with him, you both are pulled further towards the affectionate side of said line, much to both of your protests. 

Genre: enemies to lovers, light angst, smut scenes sprinkled throughout

Word Count: 6K Read Time:

Warnings & Info: movie version, arguing, lowk angry sex, betrayal??????

Author’s Note: IT’S DONE!!! Oh my god this has been so fun to write. I had no idea what this series was going to turn into when I started it and it has been a JOURNEY. Thanks to everyone who left a kind comment, reblog, or heart; y’all truly motivated me to keep going when I felt like giving up due to writer’s block lol. Thanks for everything and stay tuned for my next upcoming fics! I’ve got a new, super duper Hurt/No Comfort Teen Wolf series I’m dropping soon and a Maze Runner one shot that’s lowkey a crackfic???? Maybe??? So hope you enjoy those!

<----------------->

Day 37

Gally feels as though a large rock has been dropped straight into his chest cavity. He wasn’t aware that emotional pain could manifest physically until this moment. He wonders how long he can lay here until his crew or his friends come knocking, starting up another slew of well-meaning questions that he might not be able to answer without bursting into tears again.

Fuck, I’m so pathetic. All those months spent preaching about how Glade girls are a distraction and here he is, letting his heart get practically ripped open by one. I’m so stupid. He pulls himself up to a sitting position, almost wincing in pain at the movement. She just wanted to fuck you, why’d you have to ruin it? He pulls his clothes on slowly, his limbs feeling significantly heavier today than any other day.

Day 39

You shouldn’t miss him. You know you don’t have any right to anxiously search for his face across The Glade. But every time you do catch a glimpse of his broad figure, doing manual labor under the hot sun or his bright blue eyes, crinkling with laughter while talking with his friends, or his calloused hands, holding a backhoe as he helps out in the garden, you feel like all of the breath has been sucked from your lungs in one fell swoop.

Despite the torture of your access being cut off from him, you still haven’t even begun to understand your feelings for him. Or how they had managed to blossom despite the thick layer of hatred you had fought hard to smother them with. 

Or maybe it wasn’t that at all. Maybe the hate wasn’t covering up the mushy feelings, but mixing themselves in, like an emotionally taxing cake batter. Love and hate coexisting within your frame drew you like a magnet towards Gally. Whether fighting or, (to put it indelicately), fucking, there’s something within you both that ignites everytime you two are near each other. You hope that that flame hasn’t been extinguished indefinitely.

Day 40

Gally opened his eyes this morning. He thought of you. He closed his eyes late tonight. He thought of you. His dreams aren’t even an escape, as you’ve become the only subject in them. They’re not sexual, like they were before you two hooked up for the first time. They’re embarrassingly soft.

You, nestling against his body in his bed. Your laugh, just ringing on repeat. You, patching up an injury of his in the Med-hut, smiling gently at him the whole time. You, holding his hand under the table in the dining hall as you eat. But the most captivating one by far is the one where your face slowly comes into focus out of a white void. You smile at him for a moment, then speak; “Gally…I love-

He awakens with a start, his bleary eyes wildly searching his darkened hut for anything that will bring him back to reality. When he finally does come to his senses, the ache in his chest starts afresh, fueled by your imaginary confession.

Day 41

“I don’t mean to pry. Just, checking in, I guess,” Thomas had whispered over breakfast this morning.

“You good?” Zart had asked with an uncharacteristically concerned look on his face this afternoon. 

“Seriously, if there’s something going on; you can tell me. I’m here for you, mate” Newt had stated softly this evening, before quickly leaving Gally to eat his dinner alone, as he could tell the Builder wasn’t in the mood for company.

Each display of concern had tightened Gally’s chest and made the air dissipate his lungs for just a moment. Each question sent a kaleidoscope of memories of you spinning through his head. He doesn’t know how to answer them; he doesn’t even know how to answer himself. Racing questions of love and feelings and hatred and lust have been swirling in his head since the moment he sent you away that night. He can’t seem to separate what he’s been telling himself to feel and what he actually feels. And would it even matter if he could?

If he could figure out how he felt about you, would it change the way you saw him?

Day 42

You watch Minho jog confidently back into The Glade after another evidently successful day of dodging death in the Maze. The setting sun casts a romantic backdrop behind him and you admire the swiftness of his gait, the angle of his jawline, the veins bulging in his hands and the way all of those things are getting closer to you as you’ve begun walking towards him as though entranced.

“Hey Minho,” you call out when you’re several paces away from him and he looks up with a smile.

“Hey Y/N; how was your day?” he asks, quickly breaking from the group of his friends forming around him in favor of walking in step with you.

“Fine. Listen; do you wanna go out with me?” you blurt out, surprising yourself with the question as much as him. 

Minho blushes and shock causes the smile to fall from his face unceremoniously. His mouth feels dry all of the sudden and he has a hard time hearing his own response over the pounding of his heart in his ears.

“Um…yeah? Are you-are you asking me out?” he croaks out quietly, feeling as though this moment might just be too good to be true.

“Yeah…” you nod, as if pondering the question yourself. “Yeah I am,” You’re not quite sure why this is the coping mechanism you’ve decided to employ, but you once heard Ariana mutter a crude phrase to Gia when she got left high and dry by a Builder and you’ve always wondered if it’s true; “The best way to get over one guy is to get under another,”

Day 43

Gally was usually in bed at this hour, but he realized he left his jacket sitting on a pile of lumber at the construction site and it was almost certainly going to rain tonight. So he dragged himself out of bed to go and get it and that’s when he heard the telltale pitch of your voice cut through the otherwise silent Glade.

“Minho…” your muffled moan rings out clearly, in a tone of voice Gally is all too familiar with. It’s coming from the Keeper of the Runner’s hut and the soft grunts and garbled compliments in the lower voice that accompanies yours, are no doubt coming from him.

Gally stops dead in his tracks, the cool breeze of night whistling the tall grass around him. The bitter drip of betrayal floods his veins like a deadly poison that effectively stops his heart for a moment. He should be furious, as that’s his time-tested reaction to almost any wrongdoing done to him. He’s territorial and aggressive and certainly not above ripping Minho’s door off its hinges and confronting the both of you for this unexpected menage a trois. He doesn’t, though, as he can’t bring himself to move, let alone cause substantial property damage.

He stands motionless in the field, his jacket balled up in a two-handed, white-knuckle grip, and he waits for the familiar heat of his anger to rush to his temples. But it doesn’t go there. Or to his fists, to prepare him to punch. Instead, it pools gently behind his eye sockets, squeezing his tear ducts until hot tears are streaming down his face for the second time this week.

Gally lets the humiliation wash over him like a gentle wave. He’s used to pushing away feelings like these, trying to remain strong no matter what obstacle he’s faced with. But right now, his resolve weakens and crumbles, like an eroding sand castle. He lets the tears fall without protest and the pain in his chest spreads outward until every fiber of his body seems to ache slowly for you.

Only for a minute though. Just a few moments of weakness. Of letting himself be a boy with a broken heart and nothing more. And then that minute passes. He wipes his tears, he starts back towards his hut, he forces his body to move from its leaden stupor.

It isn’t until he’s laying in his bed several minutes later that the anger finally starts to replace the pain. He comes back to himself, letting his fury cover up the sadness beneath it like the sun eclipsing the moon.

Day 44

The med-hut can often feel like a thatched-roof prison, but today it seems to be the opposite. It is a fortress, shielding you from the litany of awkward encounters that might occur, should you step outside of its boundaries. You move through your to-do list of mundane tasks, your hands completing them easily as your mind wanders elsewhere. 

As you restock the supply closet, it plays the memories of your spontaneous tryst with Minho last night as clear as if you were watching a recording of them. The sound of his gruff voice, the sight of his shoulders glistening with sweat above you, the feeling of his body colliding with yours over and over; these images dance intoxicatingly on your consciousness. You tried to keep your mind on the Runner for most of the morning, thinking of how easily your conversations with him went, how he just seemed to fit into your life without you needing to move anything around to accommodate the space he takes up. 

It also helps that he’s clearly very into you, and probably has been for a while. But no matter how many pros you could come up with for Minho, there was always one, glaring con burning in the back of your mind.

He’s not Gally.

Which is a ridiculous thought because Gally is an infuriatingly difficult person to be around, let alone pursue romantically . He’s an arrogant asshole most of the time. He’s exceedingly angry and decided to hate you the moment he met you. He called you a slut in front of everyone. He’s coarse and prickly and generally unhelpful. He’s nothing like Minho, with his heart on his sleeve and a helpful attitude.

Having sex with Minho felt like what you assumed sex should feel like before you had it; good, but slightly awkward and then over entirely too soon. But sex with Gally felt like something almost indescribable. When he’s with you, he doesn’t just make the world seem better; he makes it melt away entirely. There’s a passion that sizzles beneath every encounter like two live wires intersecting. 

It can’t be replicated with anyone else. So as sweet as you knew the Runner would be to you, something tells you that you’d never be fully satisfied with him. The Builder is the only option for you.

Day 45

Gally moves through the slow-moving dinner line as if in a daze. Once his plate is full, he scans the dinner hall for the emptiest table he can find, until he catches a glimpse of his friends, animatedly talking at a table in the direct center of the room. He feels a pang of guilt reverberate through his chest as it dawns on him that he’s been essentially ignoring them for days now.

As he walks over to their table, he starts to pick up on bits and pieces of their conversation and it becomes increasingly clear that his original path was the correct one to take.

“...believe you got lucky, you dog,” Zart hisses, barely concealing his jealousy. Minho grins knowingly.

“I know. And she’s…” he trails off and widens his eyes, “good,”

“Like she’s done it before?” Newt asks with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah. But who could she-” Minho starts but his sentence is cut through with a barking order, courtesy of Gally.

“Are you talking about Y/N?” He’s standing with his feet spread apart, his dinner tray in one hand, the other balled into a fist. He looks like he’s ready for a fight, and Minho’s never seen that stance directed towards him. The Runner feels his heart rate spike and the heat drain from his cheeks as he struggles to come up with an answer.

“Gally…I ...yes but-,” Minho manages to stammer out but it doesn’t seem to matter much. Gally swiftly pivots on his heel and storms out of the hall in a huff, resigning to eat his dinner in livid silence in the comfort of his own hut.

“What the hell was that?” Zart blurts out as soon as Gally is out of earshot.

“Why’s he so angry?” Thomas asks genuinely.

“I thought you said Y/N and him made up,” Newt says earnestly, searching Minho’s face for answers.

“I thought they did,” Minho whispers quietly, trying to keep the shiver of fear from creeping down his back. He finally gets with you and now Gally’s going to kill him? Great.

“Guess they didn’t,” Zart shrugs, “You might as well start planning your funeral now, Minho,”

Day 46

You had almost jumped out of your skin when Gally had leaned in close and told you to meet him in his hut at nine. He’d said it in your ear as he passed you to get into the meeting room for one of Alby’s “town hall” meetings, as he called them. Just as quickly as he had gotten next to you, he had disappeared to the other side of the room, and had seemed determined to avoid your eye contact for the entire meeting.

You had half a mind to think that this might be some kind of cruel joke as you walked obediently to his abode as soon as it hit nine. But it didn’t matter. You wanted to see him so badly you didn’t care how this could end.

You slink through his door in your familiar way and stand to face him. His expression is unreadable and his body is tense. There’s a strange energy in this room that you haven’t felt all the other times you’ve been here. You open your mouth to greet him but he cuts you off with a coarse command.

“Get on your knees,” It’s not an aggressive statement, just firm. You’re taken aback by his directness, but then become intrigued as a smile pulls at your lips.

“Is that any way to talk to me?” you tease. Gally stiffens and holds firm.

“It’s a fine way to talk to you. Do it,” he repeats in the same monotone.

You comply wordlessly and he makes his way over to you, undoing his belt as he walks. He stands in front of you and lets you do all the work of pulling down his pants, then his boxers, then taking his hard cock in your hands and eventually, your mouth.

He lets his head lull back and his hands find a firm grip in your hair as he tries to lose himself in the pleasure of your tongue swirling around his tip. He tugs on your strands sharply, extracting a strained whimper from that Gally tries to ignore. Everytime he gets close to his mind going blank, a worry manages to slip through the cracks. 

Did she do this for Minho? When they…was he better than me? Did she miss me? Like, at all? Did I miss her? Do I love her? And if I do, what the hell am I doing treating her like this? 

Though you’re growing wetter by the second and determined to make your companion feel good, your mind is far from at ease as well. Guilt rattles your chest at the memory of your tryst with Minho that failed to smother your feelings for the Builder then anger at said Builde’s forcefulness replaces it then a deep pining overtakes that feeling and then your brain finally circles back around to raw sexual attraction.

Both parties can feel that the other is in vacillation between an array of conflicting emotions and it reads plainly in your body language. Gally’s hips are taught and his breathing is shallow and your hands are gripping the backs of his thighs with desperation, as if terrified he might walk away at any moment.

The sexual encounter continues robotically, as if you two are just carrying out a complicated program of instructions given to you by software developers. Clothes come off, lips meet, hands travel downwards, cores pulse with heat but the spark is dead and buried

Gally’s eyes laze out of focus as his hips thrust themselves into you. Your soft moans and the sounds of skin chafing against each other fills the warm air in his hut. He can feel the emergence of an orgasm unraveling his core and pants with pleasure as he plunges deeper inside you, but neither sensation can stifle the mounting dread he feels.

He then ceases his movement abruptly, causing your mind to reel from the sudden lack of friction.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he mutters softly, more trying to convince himself than you.

“What?” you murmur breathlessly, pulling your neck upwards to look him in the eyes.

“I said I don’t want to do this anymore,” he repeats louder, still not meeting your eye line. He pulls out of you and gets off the bed, leaving you in place.

“Wait…what? Gally what the hell are you talking about?” you accuse, pulling your once aroused body up into a sitting position.

“This was a mistake. I never should’ve invited you here. Get dressed,” he rasps, aggression growing in his tone. You scoff with indignation but follow his instructions.

“I’m sorry, what about this was a mistake?” your voice queries, venom filling your tone, “Starting this in the first place or ignoring me for like, two weeks and then suddenly inviting me back?” you continue, your hands fumbling for your underwear as Gally pulls his on in front of you. His back is still towards you, conveying a level of coldness that plants an ache deep in your chest.

“Does it fucking matter Y/N?! I don’t wanna do this, can you please just leave?” he snaps angrily, wheeling around to face you as he pulls his shirt over his head.

“Yes it does fucking matter! Why is your first fucking instinct always to tell me to leave?! We never talked about what happened two weeks ago and now you just wanna avoid discussing whatever the hell is happening now?” your voice rises to a screech as you clip your bra together in the front and spin it around so it’s on correctly.

“What’s there to discuss? If I send you away now you’ll probably just jump on Minho’s dick again so what’s the issue?!” he bellows, stepping closer to you and abandoning all attempts at dressing further. You recoil in shock, a sharp inhale piercing your lungs.

“How the fuck did you know that?” you question desperately, all vitriol lost to bewilderment.

“I heard you, shank. You weren’t exactly being quiet,” Gally mentions, his voice staying cold as ice while his heart burns at the memory of your betrayal.

“You’re fucking insane! Are you jealous of Minho?” you rant, feeling the distance between your words and your feelings grow larger with each passing remark.

“No, I’m not jealous!” Gally snaps, the lie almost burning his throat on its way to his lips, “I just didn’t sign up to fuck a girl that gets passed around to every guy in the Glade!” he yanks the door to his hut open, jabbing the air violently with the back of his hand, clearly motioning for you to leave.

“‘Passed around’?? I have sex with two guys, one of which is a massive prick,” you shoot an acidic glare into Gally’s steely blue eyes as you stomp towards his position at the open door, “and that counts as being ‘passed around’?”

“Well it does count as something that I don’t want to deal with; can you please just fucking leave?!” Gally snaps, his patience running thin, all positive emotions now buried under the burning hatred for you that simmers underneath his skin.

“NO!” you snap, crossing your arms and planting yourself firmly in place in front of the open door. If you two keep yelling like this in your underwear, eventually someone will hear and come over. But you can’t bring yourself to muster anything but apathy for that prospect.

“What do you mean no?!” Gally scoffs, releasing his hold on the door with his right hand and now assuming a defensive stance in front of you, his shoulders rolled back and chest puffed out.

“I mean; no,” you repeat, instinctively taking a step backwards. You are officially out of his hut, meaning you are standing in the grass wearing nothing but your bra and underwear. “I am so sick of all this back and forth, Gally. First I’m a slut, then I’m the girl you lost your virginity to, then you cry in front of me for whatever fucking reason, we stop talking, you invite me back, now I’m a slut again?? Your opinion on me flip flops like, every other day. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that? What the fuck is this? Why are we even doing this at all??” you rant, slightly stumbling over your own feet as the Builder keeps advancing menacingly towards you.

“We did this because we got drunk and horny one night; you’re the one trying to put words in my mouth and make this something it’s not. And I’m sorry I don’t lie down and worship the ground you walk on! If that’s something you want, princess,” he spits the nickname at you like a slur, “then why don’t you just find Minho?” Your voices ring through the clear night like alarm bells and you both can hear footsteps approaching from afar.

“Gally you are so full of shit. I see the way you look at me,” you snarl and the Builder’s face goes white, “If you want to lie to your friends or yourself then go right ahead but you can’t lie to me!”

“Oh, and you aren’t obsessed with me too?” Gally retorts and now it’s your turn to be taken aback with shock, “‘Gally, you’re so smart and strong. Gally I’m glad I can do this for you’,” he mocks in a high-pitched voice.

“I’m not obsessed with you!” you lie, “If you’re actually stupid enough to believe shit I said when you were fucking me than you’re even dumber than you look! But don’t worry, it won’t happen again, because I never wanna-” you step gradually closer to him, your nostrils flaring and eyes glinting as you round out your raving with a pointed finger in his face. Your sentence is abruptly cut off by the bark of your leader’s unmistakably furious voice.

“Stop! What the hell is this about?” Alby demands, taking both you and Gally by surprise, as he rarely swears. You turn your barely-clothed bodies towards him and begin explaining your side of the conflict in blustering detail, your words climbing and clamoring over each other. Alby holds up a palm that sends a hush through the both of you.

“Alright, alright!” he yells to be heard over the raucous explanations you two are providing, “Y/N where are your clothes?” he asks sharply, carefully keeping his eyes focused on your face as you jab a finger in the direction of Gally’s hut. “Go get dressed, now. Gally stay right here,” he orders and you comply instantly, the hot blush in your cheeks dissipating slightly when you reach the hut’s door.

You dress quickly and exit the abode, awaiting your leader’s punishment.

“Gally, Y/N; get to bed, now,” Alby instructs, shoving the Builder’s shoulder in the direction of his hut, “And the rest of you,” he snarls, spinning to address the growing crowd of sniggering boys gathered around this altercation, “If I hear a word of this discussed or spread around tomorrow, you’ll be without dinner for a week!” 

The crowd disperses with a jolt, their leader’s uncharacteristic anger necessitating a quick escape. You steal one last look at Gally before turning to walk away. His face is hardened and angry, but his eyes are welled with tears. He stalks back to his hut and slams the door so loud it shakes the whole building. 

Day 47

“You guys must think I’m really stupid,” you confess shyly, keeping your eyes focused on the rug on the ground. Your friends sit around you in a semicircle. They had hung on to your every word as you clumsily recounted everything that happened between you and Gally in the last two months.

“You’re not stupid,” Gia reassures, placing her hand on your knee and rubbing gently.

“You can’t pick who you fall for, you know” the newest member of your girl group, Erica, pipes up earnestly.

“Yeah, but I can pick what to do about it,” you fidget with your hands and try to steady your tone, “Or what not to do about it,”

“I mean, he’s kind of obsessed with you Y/N,” Lireale responds and you feel your face flush uncontrollably.

“Yeah, I mean he’s always talking about you,” Ariana pipes up, and the rest of the group nods.

“Yeah but it’s more like complaining about me,” you counter unconvincingly.

“Still obsessed with you,” Lireale repeats, “I mean that’s gotta count for something,”

“So I should pursue him because he has an unhealthy attachment to me?” you ask, your forehead wrinkling in confusion. 

“No, you should pursue him because you like him. You tried to distract yourself with Minho and that was a flaming disaster. There’s no other way out of this than through it; you’ve gotta tell him how you feel,” Erica rattles off confidently. The rest of the group turns to face her with stunned expressions that turn into concurring nods in a matter of seconds.

No other way out than through it.

Day 48

The water rushes from the crudely-constructed spigot at a nearly boiling temperature. Gally drops his towel and enters the warm stream, feeling his tense muscles relax under the constant water pressure. He goes through the routine of cleaning himself from head to toe, but when he finishes, he doesn’t move. He just lets the water fall as he attempts to unravel the knots that have formed in his mind over these past few days.

He’s pretty sure that he’s in love with you. 

He’s tried to come up with other explanations for his attraction to you and his want to see you, despite how much you hurt him by getting with Minho and how angry you made him for arguing with him the other night. But there isn’t another one at this point. He’s drawn to you in a way he’s never been to another person. Your laugh, your smile, your sarcastic insults, your nagging jabs, your body, all of it acts as a magnetic pulse that just keeps pulling him back to you, no matter how much he digs his heels in and refuses to budge; he always pulls back towards you.

Day 49

It might not have been the best idea to come clean to Alby. Gally had felt uncomfortable at his own vulnerability the whole time, though he found that once he started talking about you, he couldn’t stop. The Leader had been pleasantly surprised at the Builder’s willingness to open up, and listened intently, nodding along wordlessly through the whole thing.

“What do you think I should do?,” Gally mutters sheepishly once he finishes his tale.

“What do you think you should do?” Alby repeats with a wan expression on his face. 

“I don’t know…I feel like I’m going crazy,” the Builder replies, dropping his head in exasperation.

“I’ve been told love can feel like that,” the Leader responds evenly. Gallys head snaps up to meet his eye contact at the particularly terrifying word.

“I’m not in love with her,” the Builder snaps defensively. He’s not sure he means it, but he still didn’t want to hear someone else tell him that.

Alby shows his palms in an act of surrender. “All I’m saying is that you’ve always been very passionate about her. At first it was with hatred, now it’s with the opposite. There’s a very thin line between love and hate and you and Y/N have been walking that line since the day you met. I think it’s only natural that something like this would develop,” the Leader recites matter-of-factly. Gally’s mind begins replaying all of his memories of you in a new light and he realizes with horror that his leader is right.

Whether with hatred or affection, Gally has never felt more strongly about anyone else.

“So…I should tell her?” he asks nervously, feeling that he already knows what Alby’s answer will be.

“I don’t think you could go on if you didn’t,” the Leader states bluntly. “And that kind of passion doesn’t come around very often. I think if anyone feels like that about another person, it’s worth holding on tight to,”

Day 50

“Can we talk?” Gally asks sheepishly, keeping his blue eyes focused on yours instead of the slightly terrified looks on Clint and Jeff’s faces. 

You take in his nervous frame in the doorway of the medhut, too intrigued to say no. You set down the log book and move to leave without consulting your coworkers.

“Sure,” you say with a nod, trying to arrange your features into a neutral expression.

The walk from the med-hut’s doors to the site of your first rendezvous with Gally occurs in abject silence. Two sets of work boots navigate the woodland path as easily as the breathing two sets of lungs perform, unperforated by words.

Gally reaches the clearing he was aiming for and stands with his back towards you, fidgeting with his hands as his heart rate increases. You cock your head to the side slightly, waiting patiently for his clumsy monologue to begin. 

“Y/N, I-,” he starts, and turns to face you, not taking his eyes off of his rapidly moving fingers, “I’m only gonna say this once and then you can think whatever you want about it and-and if it doesn’t go well then…” he trails off, a slight quiver warbling his voice.

“I don’t think you need to say anything,” you interject boldly, and the Builder’s eyes meet yours.

“You…don’t? What about-” he goes to ask about the fiery argument that occurred the last time you two were in each other’s presence.

“Well, I thought about it, and I think actions speak louder than words,” you explain evenly, stepping closer to him, “Your pupils are huge,” you remark with a chuckle and take his hand in yours, “your hands are…very sweaty,” you continue with a twinge of disgust and Gally’s face turns a deep shade of pink, “And,” you lean forward slightly, bringing your ear to his chest, “your heart is beating ridiculously fast,” you turn his hand palm out and place it on your own chest, “Mine is too by the way,” Gally smiles warmly and you return the gesture.

“So…you don’t think we need to talk about anything that happened?” Gally responds, his mouth dry as a deep yearning makes a home in his chest.

“Oh we definitely do,” you respond slyly, “I just don’t think you need to tell me how you feel about me…” you lean in closer, warmly placing your arms around his broad shoulders, “...because I already know,” 

Your lips brush his as you form those words and at your sentence’s conclusion, Gally pulls you in desperately, his lips connecting to yours with a proverbial smattering of sparks. He keeps his hands planted firmly on your waist, not wanting to let go for anything. The kiss is drawn out and passionate, with two sets of tongues dancing, not fighting for dominance. There’s no expectation for sex or bracing for argumentative comments.

You both just let it be what it is.

When you both finally pull away from the kiss, a blissful sigh escapes from your lips and Gally rests his forehead on yours.

“I don’t think you need to tell me how you feel either,” he adds with a smirk.

-Epilogue-

“That’s the gardens, where the Trackhoes plant all our food,” Newt points out, a lanky finger pointed in the direction of said Trackhoes, who sweat profusely under the midday sun, “That’s the main meeting hall and that,” he continues, pivoting his body to the side and pointing at a thatched-roof building, “is the Med-Hut. If you get sliced, tripped or poisoned, that’s where you’re going to want to go,”

The Greenie commits Newt’s words to memory, but his eyes are soon distracted by another sight; a girl, holding the door to the building open as several boys file past her with large boxes of supplies from The Box in their arms.

“Who’s that?” the Greenie asks, his gaze following your every movement. Newt chortles darkly, drinking in the newcomer's dopey appearance and relishing in the delight of the information he’s about to reveal.

“That is Y/N. She was just made Keeper of the Medjacks a few weeks ago. I wouldn’t stare though,” he grins.

“Why?” the boy asks with his eyes still transfixed. As if on cue, a gruff boy with a toolbelt set around his waist walks into the Greenie’s eyeline, delivering a swift peck to your cheek.

“That’s why,” Newt smiles, clapping a hand on the boy’s shoulder, “See that, is Gally. Keeper of the Builders, a nasty piece of work and Y/N’s boyfriend. If he ever catches you staring at her like that, you had better run or grab the nearest weapon,” the second-in-command advises, watching the Greenie’s face blush and his eyes dart quickly away.

You take your boyfriend’s hand and stroll leisurely towards the Box to pick up the next round of supplies.

“So how much of a fight do you think that new Greenie’s gonna put up tonight?” Gally asks with a mischievous smile, referencing his habit of challenging each new Glader to a fight on their first bonfire night. He only extends this invitation to the male Greenies, (obviously), so he’s been itching for new competition for two months.

“Oh god, go easy on him, baby,” you whine playfully, rolling your eyes.

“Why do you care about that shank?” he asks. 

If he hadn’t been reassured of your complete devotion to him so often, he might’ve had half a mind to be jealous. But the entire Glade is resolutely aware that you only have eyes for him. They’re also aware that Gally has hands for anyone, (besides himself), who dares to have eyes for you.

“I don’t,” you retort sharply, “It’s just that if you beat him to a pulp, I will be the one who has to put said pulp back together,” Gally laughs.

“You could just get Clint or Jeff to do it. Besides, there are worse things to happen at bonfire night, princess,” he smiles warmly, invoking his favorite pet name for you.

“Yeah, like stoking the fire with your elixir, huh?” you ask sarcastically, keeping your facial expression vague.

“Yes, that would definitely be worse,” he replies, his face going slightly pale as realization dawns, “You’re not actually gonna do that again, right?”

“I don’t know…the flames were really pretty…” you start with a smile.

“...Y/N, please, no,” your boyfriend pleads exasperatedly.

“...and Chuck said it looks really cool…you know I was too drunk to notice it last time…” you continue, reveling in your ability to raise Gally’s blood pressure with a joke.

“Yeah and I got burned! I still have scars on my arms,” he snaps, humor still coloring his outburst.

“I know,” you concede roguishly, “But come on, it’s not all bad. It got you this,” you reason, lifting your intertwined hands.

“That’s true, but once is enough,” he smiles, flaring his eyebrows upwards in shock, “Come on, Y/N, seriously don’t do that,” he replies, his tone settling back into sincerity. “No promises, Gally. I’m a bit of a loose cannon, so I’ve been told,” you jest, leaning in to kiss him gently on the cheek, “Just don’t stand so close this time,” you whisper in his ear.

<--------------->

Tag List: @gallyismylittlesilly @my-little-universes @cthood @katie-tibo @sarahstar11 @cxlt-lamb @hellokitty811 @alia0102 @honethatty12 @randallkirkland @strangunddurm @goldenfaced @coaquinbae @oak05

[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝓈𝑜𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒶𝒸𝑒𝒶𝑒 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝑔𝑒𝑜 𝓍 𝑔𝓃! 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: THIS IS PART TWO! If you haven’t read [ 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝓃𝑒 ], make sure you catch up first! Again I'm sooo sorry—I didn’t realize Tumblr had a word count limit, so I definitely went overboard. My bad. (Also, the header? Just for fun—just me being forever haunted by this art.)

Summary—where the tension between you and Geo thickens like venom in the air. What binds you brews slow and sharp, a toxic mix of unspoken truths and something neither of you can name.

It’s fragile. Addictive. And as it sinks deeper, you both know—this isn’t something you can walk away from.

But can you survive what it’s turning into?

Or will it devour you both?

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: Again, this is for my dearest mutuals, @mint0hhh artist of the [ header picture ], and @lu-dao-writes who gave me the setting and plot—plus a few add-ons from anons who asked for angst (you know who you are).

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: geo x gn and self insert! reader, angst (like. hella angst. cried while writing it.), slow burn, in vino veritas, mutual pining, enemies and lovers (kinda), first kiss, queerplatonic relationship, aroace rep, mentions of OCD, hyperawareness anxiety, emotional damage, (i really hurt my own damn feelings with this one.)

Every breath you took carried the bitterness of it.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how much you tried to show who you really were, there was always something hidden beneath. Something toxic, something no one ever bothered to understand. 

You were a plant no one cared enough to take care of, a mind no one ever wanted to see, only the surface—the mask you wore to keep yourself intact, the version of you that was palatable, easy to digest.

It wasn’t about your thoughts, your ideas, your emotions—it was about what they could take from you, what they could mold you into. 

The soft, sweet persona they wanted you to be.

The version they could control.

The version they could consume.

You were always a belladonna—a striking, dark berry with soft, inviting green leaves, so beautiful in its deadly way, yet filled with a poison so potent that no one could ever truly consume you.

Too much to handle. Too much to bear.

A dangerous allure, a beautiful venom that no one could take in without choking on the truth of who you really were. And maybe that’s why no one ever truly saw you. They only wanted the delicate bloom, the surface—the easy parts. The parts were simple to look at, and simple to admire.

They never wanted the poison.

The world didn’t want you for your mind. It wanted your beauty, the image of you, soft and harmless. And no one could handle what was really inside—what you really felt.

They wanted what they could touch without being burned. The pieces of you that were easy to handle, easy to mold, the parts that could fit into the illusion they’d built around you.

Because no one could ever truly swallow the poison.

No one could bear the weight of the truth that came with it.

The pain clung to you, heavy and suffocating, a reminder of everything you couldn’t escape—of the poison everyone seemed to see in you. 

You wondered if you’d ever be more than that, more than the mask you wore, more than the pieces of you that people could control, twist into something they could digest. Before you could even retreat into the quiet of your mind, that damn poison of his move.

Your eyes catches Subaru moving closer, his unreadable gaze settling on you. 

There was something in his eyes—a flicker, something fleeting, like guilt, frustration... maybe even fear?

No, no, no—It definitely unsettled you more than it should have. He reached out, his hand, but the moment his fingers came near you, a surge of panic coursed through you, and you stepped back instinctively as if his touch could kill you.

“Don’t,” you whispered, your voice barely there, trembling with the weight of everything you couldn't say. “Don’t touch me, Subaru…”

But, of course, he didn’t listen.

In a breathless blur, Subaru closed the space between you—his body pressing into yours with a force that felt more like a warning than comfort. He cornered you against the closet wall, his presence overwhelming, his eyes sharp as blades as they bore down on you. 

The tears you’d already let go many times before, finally broke through again, slipping past the mask you'd worn for so long, unraveling everything you’d kept so tightly wound. You stared up at him, your voice lost somewhere between shame and embarrassment, feeling small—so small—beneath the weight of his stare. 

Exposed in every way you hated. 

The words clawed their way up your throat, scraping against the ache in your chest as you beat your fists against him—soft, frantic, useless. He didn’t even flinch. 

“How dare you pull me into this...” you choked out, voice hoarse, each word punching through the silence like shattered glass. “How dare I pull myself into this…?”

You turned your face away, shutting your eyes tight—trying to dam the rising wave inside you. But it didn’t stop. “And yet... you won’t even be in it with me?” Your voice cracked as it dropped lower, almost trembling. “You’re so fucking possessive—but you don’t care. You never even cared how it feels on my end, did you?”

Subaru’s eyes narrowed as your words hit him—sharp, accusing, too full of something he didn’t know how to handle. His brows knit tighter, not in empathy, but in growing discomfort, in the weight of an expectation he’d never invited.

He hadn’t seen it coming. Not like this.

The breakdown—the crash out—was worse than anything he’d ever warned you about. And for a split second, Subaru genuinely thought you’d lost it. Very much unhinged, unpredictable. Maybe even dangerous…? He wouldn't admit it, but yeah, it scared the hell out of him. You looked like you might kill him… And still, he didn’t move.

He just stood there, eerily calm, arms at his sides, expression carved from stone as you unraveled right in front of him. Your voice broke. Your fists hit his chest. And he didn’t flinch. Not once. As if the chaos couldn’t touch him. As if you weren’t even real.

No sympathy. No guilt. No warmth. 

Just that same unreadable stillness he wore like armor.

Then finally, his voice cut through the silence—precise, and cold.

“…I never said I didn’t care.” 

It came out like glass—sharp and brittle as if it scraped against something frozen inside him just to be spoken aloud. His hand reached out—not gently, never gently—and tilted your chin until your eyes met his again. There was no softness there. Just a flicker of restrained emotion, sharp around the edges, as though feeling anything at all was beneath him.

“Not care?” he repeated, his tone suddenly bitter. “Of course I fucking care. And I fucking hate that I do. I don’t even know what the hell it means either. I never wanted this. Any of this.”

Subaru had always kept his distance from things like this. Again, Romance. Sex. Intimacy. They were irrelevant distractions—useless, messy, and stupid. People who chased that sort of connection always ended up weak or dependent. That kind of vulnerability disgusted him. 

And the idea of being part of it? Being someone’s something? 

It made his skin crawl.

“I’m not built for that,” he said flatly, voice lowering, almost like he was confessing something he shouldn’t. “I don’t want it. I’ve never wanted it. Not with anyone.”

There was no apology in his tone—just cold honesty.  

Not cruel, but detached, like he was stating a fact you’d simply failed to see. “I don’t think about people that way. I don’t want anyone like that. Never have. The idea of it—it doesn’t make sense. It’s not worth the time. Not worth the energy. And it’s beneath me.” But there was something else in his voice, buried under the frost. Something like confusion. Or maybe even fear. 

He looked at you then, fully—your tears, your tiredness, your pain—and for a second, it almost cracked through. Almost.

“Why do you care so much?” 

He asked suddenly, and his voice wasn’t sharp this time. It was quieter, rawer. Like he didn’t understand any of this—like he couldn’t fathom why you would put yourself through it.

The question hung there, heavy and quiet.

Why did you care?

Because to him, it was all just poison. 

And he’d never asked for a taste.

You stared at him. For a long, aching moment, the silence stretched so thin it felt like it might snap in half.

Your breathing was still shaky, your hands trembling slightly by your sides now instead of pressed to his chest. You weren’t crying anymore—but that didn’t mean you weren’t hurting. The tears had stopped only because there was nothing left to spill.

You swallowed, hard. 

“Because I see you,” you said finally, voice hoarse but steady.

You glanced down briefly, eyes catching the space separating you both—close, but not close enough. “I know you didn’t ask for this. I know you never wanted anyone getting this close. And you probably hate that I did. That I saw past the version you keep showing the everyone.”

You shook your head slowly, not in regret, but in something quieter. Sadder. “But I care, Subaru. I care because somewhere along the way, without trying, you got to me. Not the cold, calculated guy everyone thinks you are. Not the one who always acts like he’s in control, above like nothing sticks. I’m talking about you. The one who still bleeds, even if you pretend you don’t. The one who freezes up when something actually gets under your skin.”

Your eyes found him again, and your voice lowered, softer now, not pleading—just honest.

“I never wanted anything you couldn’t give. I wasn’t trying to change you, or fix you, or force you into something you’re not. That was never the point.”

You paused for a breath, but it barely helped. 

Everything in you felt tight, coiled, like this confession had been clawing at your ribs for too long.

“I just… couldn’t ignore what’s between us. Like, forget fucking Crowe, like he didn’t convince me shit—I wanted to talk to you on my own. Even if it doesn’t make sense. Even if it’s messy and complicated. I feel it. And I know you do too, whether you admit it or not.” You released a soft sigh, tired, wistful. 

“I’d be lying if I said you didn’t make me feel safe sometimes. And maybe I’m the only person who’s ever gotten under your skin enough to make you feel anything. You try to hide it, but I’ve seen it—how you act around me. You don’t have to say it. I already know.”

Another pause, this one laced with something like resignation. 

Your shoulders dropped just a little.

“I know this isn’t love. Not like people think it should be. That’s not what this is. That’s not who we are.” You took a step back—just one. Just enough to breathe without brushing against his walls, the ones he always keeps up, even now.

“But whatever this is?” You gestured vaguely, helplessly, between your chests. “It’s real. It means something. Even if we never name it. Even if it irritates or scares the hell out of you. We’re both emotional, but we carry it differently. You bury yours. I try to make sense of mine. And somehow, that created something here—between us—that neither of us planned for.”

You hesitated. 

You weren’t sure if your voice cracked or if it just sounded cracked from the inside.

“And maybe you’ll never feel it the way I do. Maybe this will always taste like something bitter to you, something wrong.” You gave a small, bitter laugh—empty, aching.

“Maybe to you, it’s just poison.”

You looked at him then, like you were finally letting something go.

“But even poison has roots.”

Subaru stood there, frozen—your words weighing down on him like they’d been waiting for years to land. His fingers, still wrapped around your wrists, began to loosen. Not because he wanted to let go, but because he didn’t know what the hell else to do.

Because suddenly, nothing made sense. He didn’t get it.

Why you? Why now?

Why here—in a goddamn closet, of all places?

You, with your eyes that didn’t flinch. You, who always said too much and still somehow knew when to stop talking. You, who never looked away from him like the others did.

And now you’d gone and seen him. The version he never let surface. The one buried beneath a thousand deflections and a mask carved so clean he’d started to believe it himself.

He tried to ignore it. Tried to shove it back down like he always did. But your words had already split the surface. The cracks were showing. His armor was rattling loose at the edges, and you—you—weren’t looking away.

That rattled him more than anything else.

His gaze locked on yours, desperate to catch you in a lie. To find some sign that this was just another manipulation, another twisted game. Because that, at least, would be easier. Easier to destroy. Easier to forget.

But you weren’t bluffing.

You stood there, tired and unshaken, not trying to fix him, not trying to win—just being. And that kind of honesty, that kind of quiet truth, scared him in ways he didn’t have names for.

His jaw clenched. His grip faltered.

“…Why do you have to do this?” he muttered, voice barely audible. It wasn’t laced with anger. It was too soft for that. Too lost. Like he was begging you not to pull him further into something he couldn’t control. 

You exhaled a hollow sound that echoed like a laugh stripped of joy. Tired. Real. You didn’t pull away. You didn’t push forward. You just looked at him, like you already knew what he was trying so hard not to feel. His hands dropped from your wrists completely now, hanging at his sides like they didn’t belong to him.

And in that fragile silence, you were still there. Unmoving. Unafraid. 

Just you—the one person who had already called him out, stripped him bare, and still hadn’t walked away.

“Because I wanted to,” you said, quiet—like the answer should’ve been obvious. Your eyes didn’t waver. “You and I… we’re not stupid. We catch on fast, we read people faster. It’s not hard for us to figure out what most others miss.”

our voice dipped lower, steadier now. “And most people? They look at you and see exactly what you want them to. Controlled. Rude. Cold. Untouchable. Like you’re made of stone or something.”

You tilted your head slightly, watching him with a strange sort of calm. “But I’ve been paying attention. Really paying attention. And whether you admit it or not—you’re not as unreachable as you pretend to be.”

Seconds passed.

Heavy silence.

You let out a small breath and shook your head just a little, the barest trace of a smirk tugging at your lips. “Subaru Oogami. Ambitious. Intense. The type of guy who holds his breath until he wins or breaks trying. Always chasing something bigger, something higher—like staying still might kill you.”

"And me?” You shrugged, casual but not careless. “I’m the charming, assertive, overly expressive one, right? Social. Playful. Emotional.” You leaned in a little, tone softening. “But I’m not here to mess with you. I’m not here to fix you either.”

You met his eyes again, unwavering. “I’m here because I see you breaking. Not all at once, not dramatically. But slowly. Quietly. The kind of breaking that no one notices until it’s too late.”

You took a step forward. No drama. Just steady. Just close. 

“I’m not trying to save you, Subaru. I just… I don’t want you to be alone in that silence. That’s all.” You gave a small, sad laugh. “People like us—we don’t scream for help. We just learn to live with the noise in our heads.”

The air between you felt fragile—like if either of you moved too fast, it might all fall apart.

“I’m not asking you to feel the same. I’m not trying to label this, or make it something it’s not.” Your words came softer now like they were just meant for him and no one else. “But whatever this is… it’s real. And I think you feel it too, even if it makes you sick to admit it.”

You exhaled slowly, the weight of your words finally settling. 

“That’s all.” No demands. No strings. No expectations.

You just said it. Because it was the truth.

And maybe, if all he knew was poison—then this was the first drop of something clean. 

Something honest, just to feel.

Outside, just beyond the thrum of bass and drunken laughter, Sol moved through the house like a shadow with purpose. The party noise dulled behind closed doors, leaving only the faint echo of the chaos below as he climbed the stairs—each step quiet, controlled.

His movements were calm on the surface, but just under his skin, something was stirring. That familiar pull in his chest, too stubborn to name and too loud to ignore. He told himself he had it handled. That he had a plan. That this was just another situation to manage.

But his hand flexed at his side.

He hated how unsure he felt.

The hallway was dim, lit only by a soft flicker from motion detected overhead, the scent of cheap cologne and spilled alcohol still clinging to the air. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t need to. He knew exactly where he was going.

And if he was being honest—something about this moment felt like it mattered more than it should have.

Find you, pull you aside, lay it all out. Simple.

He’d waited long enough. He’d seen Crowe with you earlier—grinning like an idiot as he tugged you by the wrist toward the staircase. Sol had caught just enough of the conversation to know Crowe had sent you to grab the party games from one of the upstairs rooms. 

Games. Right. He told himself that’s all it was.

You’d probably grabbed the stuff and got distracted. Maybe sat down. Maybe needed a breather from the noise. Maybe you were waiting for him, even. A small smirk tugged at his lips at the thought… then faded as quickly as it came. Because it had been too long.

He hadn’t seen you since. 

And Crowe had come back downstairs alone.

Sol’s brows pinched together, his fingers threading through his hair in frustration. Okay… okay, chill. You’re overthinking again. You always do this. But that silence—it wasn’t normal. Not for this kind of party. 

Not when it came to you.

It started scratching at the back of his mind. That creeping, whispering kind of worry that didn’t speak in words—just pressure. Gnawing, anxious pressure.

So he started looking.

One room at a time. The spare bedroom—empty. The office? Nothing. The upstairs bathroom—just towels and the scent of cheap soap. The balcony? No sign of you. Just wind and a couple discarded solo cups.

His jaw flexed.

Next came the hallway closet. He tugged it open—still nothing. 

His steps picked up. Sharper. Quicker. His heart started to thud in his chest in that uncomfortable, too-loud kind of way. His palms were sweating now, and that usual smirk? Gone. Stripped off like a mask.

Where the hell were you? He tried one last room—completely empty. 

He cursed under his breath, quiet but seething. Then he stopped. Froze. He heard something. 

Not loud—just a faint sound. Voices, maybe? Soft. Muffled. Like someone trying not to be heard. His eyes narrowed as he followed it. His boots were soundless over the rug as he crept toward the end of the hall. 

The closet door. The very last one.

Sol’s steps faltered as he approached it. Every movement was deliberate, but slow—as if his body already knew what he was about to find. His fingers brushed the cold metal of the doorknob, the chill of it sinking into his skin. He didn’t turn it—Not yet. He just held it there, like if he waited long enough, he could will the entire situation away. 

But his instincts screamed at him, urging him forward.

With a subtle tilt of his head, he leaned in, listening.

Your voice. Soft. Strained. Like you were trying to hold something together, but it was slipping through your fingers. Tired. Was that…? His stomach twisted as he heard the exhaustion in your tone. The words weren’t clear, but the weight of them was. 

You were drowning in something you couldn’t say.

Then came the second voice. 

Not Crowe. Not some random, stumbling idiot from the party.

Geo. Fucking Subaru Oogami.

Sol’s breath caught, his body frozen in place, muscles locking up as a wave of disbelief washed over him. His stomach dropped, a feeling of cold emptiness spreading through him, hollowing him out—No way.

Sol didn’t dare blink. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sliver of light between the door and frame. Every inch of his body was screaming at him to turn and walk away. To pretend he didn’t hear anything, didn’t see anything. 

But he stayed. Sol’s shifted his body slightly, pressing the side of his head closer to the narrow gap, the cool air from the closet wafting over his face. 

His breath hitched in his throat as he glimpsed you and him inside. 

Subaru, who had always carried that cold, invincible air, was barely holding himself together. sharp, brooding features. His usual unflinching demeanor cracked at the edges, the sharpness in his eyes dulling into something almost fragile. 

His shoulders hunched forward, like a man on the verge of collapse. His fists were clenched tight at his sides, trembling as if he didn’t know what to do with himself anymore.

He didn’t speak. Not a word.

But the silence was louder than anything. It was heavy, oppressive—filling the space between you two with more tension than any words could ever create. He didn’t need to say anything. His silence was all-encompassing. 

It told Sol everything.

Subaru was lost. And so were you.

That realization hit harder than any argument. Because at that moment, Sol could see it clearly. Subaru didn’t just look like a man caught in a moment. He looked like someone who had already lost the battle and was too proud to admit it.

The thing that hit Sol the hardest?

You weren’t fighting to get away. 

You were just standing there. And Subaru?

Subaru wasn’t pushing you away. He wasn’t trying to run. He was just... frozen. Struggling to stay grounded in a world that suddenly didn’t make sense anymore.

It was everything Sol feared. And it made him feel small. It made him feel like he wasn’t the one who belonged there. 

What the hell was happening?

You stepped in—just a little. Not because you felt sorry for him, but because you saw things clearly now. 

Subaru wasn’t just being cold for the hell of it. He was worn down, running on fumes. Tired in that soul-deep kind of way. And yeah, maybe those words you dropped hit harder than he’d ever admit. Truth always tastes like poison to the ones who swallow silence for dinner.

You let your eyes stay on him. Really look.

Was he always this pale under bad lighting? Lips parted just slightly, like he was about to say something but couldn't find the words? And those aquamarine eyes—usually so sharp, so damn good at cutting people off before they got too close—now just looked... dazed. 

Not by you. But by the weight of being seen.

He caught it. The look on your face. No pity. No judgment. 

Just… recognition. That unspoken I know what it’s like.

That—more than anything—shook him.

He let out this scoff, low and tired, like the world had finally outed him and you were the last person he expected, “Why do you always do this?” he muttered, his voice rough around the edges. “Look at me like I’m not a fucking mess. Like you get it.”

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to.

You’d already said enough—maybe too much.

Any more honesty and it’d either finish him off or push the whole thing straight into cringe territory. So you just stood there, holding space for someone who didn’t even know how to ask for it.

“Damn it,” he hissed softly, voice fraying. “You're not supposed to understand. You’re not supposed to see me. Not like this.” He took a step forward, close enough that you could feel the slight tremble in his breath, his walls crumbling in quiet pieces. “You look like hell,” he murmured, deflecting—but his voice was soft. “And you still have the audacity to act like you’ve got everything figured out?”

You sighed faintly. “I never said I did.”

That hit him like a punch to the chest. Whiplash, but not from the words—from you. From the way you looked at him like you already knew the parts, he didn’t show anyone. 

Like you’d swallowed the poison and called it by name.

Subaru’s brow twitched, jaw tight, eyes locked on yours. That unreadable expression cracked—just a little. Like he didn’t know whether to flinch or lean in.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t run, didn’t push, didn’t spit venom to make the moment disappear.

He just stepped forward, slow and almost hesitant, like his body moved before his mind caught up. You barely had time to process before he leaned in—close, closer. The space between you shrank until it barely existed at all.

Then—quietly, almost like it startled even him—Subaru kissed you.

There was no warning. No dramatic pause. Just the tiniest shift forward, like gravity pulled him in and he didn’t know how to resist it anymore. His lips pressed to yours, and for a second, time just… paused.

No sparks. No heat. No cliché breathlessness.

Just weight. Heavy, quiet, real.

It wasn’t a kiss meant to ignite anything. It wasn’t desire. It was something else entirely—like he was reaching out with the one thing he did have, even if it didn’t make sense to him. A wordless gesture of, “I heard you.” Of, “I don’t know what this is, but I’m still here.”

He kissed you like he was testing a theory.

Like maybe, just maybe, this didn’t have to hurt. Like maybe everything he’d buried—every dark, rotting thing he never let out—wouldn’t destroy the first person who’d seen it all and didn’t flinch.

And you kissed him back. Softly. Once. Steady. Not because it was romantic, or thrilling, or even something you needed to do. But because it felt like the right response. Like saying, “I get it.” Like keeping the moment still enough for him to breathe in it.

When you pulled back, it wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t cold.

It was just… quiet.

Subaru blinked, the faintest crack in his usual blank armor showing through. He took a half-step back, not like he was retreating—just trying to figure out where the hell he stood now. His voice came out low. Barely there. 

“…Didn’t feel like poison,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, like he was still deciding if that scared him or not.

You just stared at him, wide-eyed, trying to process what the hell just happened. Then nodded slowly. “…Yeah.”

Because deadass yeah—same. You didn’t expect that. Not from him. Not like that. You weren’t even sure if it was a kiss or some weird emotional exorcism wrapped in lip contact. 

But whatever it was—it didn’t kill you. It didn’t kill him. 

And that was... something.

Then—Click.

The door creaked open, sudden and sharp like a gunshot in the silence. Both you and Subaru flinched—not visibly, but in that gut-punch way where your bodies backed away from each other before your minds even caught up. You were both expecting Crowe, maybe Deryl. Someone familiar. Someone stupid enough to laugh and shake their heads and make it a joke.

But it wasn’t them. It was Sol.

And his face—It told a whole damn story in one glance. Your eyes noticed everything quickly—knew it. Shock, plain and raw, like he’d walked in on something he wasn’t supposed to see. Nah—he definitely saw the Hurt, carved right into the way his mouth parted like he couldn’t breathe for a second. Confusion, was visible in the flicker of his eyes like he was trying to make sense of what the hell he’d just walked into.

And then—rage.

Simmering. Controlled. Trying hard not to boil over. Trying so damn hard not to let it turn ugly in front of you. But it was there, all of it, coiled tight in his jaw, his clenched hands, his silence that said everything.

You didn’t move. Neither did Subaru.

And Sol just stared at the two of you—his red-orange eyes burning holes in your skin, trying to carve out an explanation that didn’t exist. His gaze flicked from you to Subaru, and for a moment, there was something almost obsessive in it, like he was weighing the truth of what he'd just seen. 

Subaru was always been the problem.

Subaru was always there. Always hanging around, always too composed to be trusted. That calm demeanor, the way he acted like he was untouchable—like he owned everything around him. Those sharp eyes, those casual touches, those little looks he always gave you—Sol saw them all. He finally noticed it all. Every little thing that made Subaru seem just a little too comfortable around you, too close.

The pieces clicked in his mind, sharp and jagged, and the rage burned hotter. Sol’s voice snapped through the tension, low and furious, but with an eerie calm. 

“You… you really think you can just have them?”

His words were a direct challenge. He wasn’t even looking at Subaru now. His eyes were fixed on Geo, a bitter fire lighting up his pupils.

Geo raised an eyebrow, nonchalantly glancing at Sol, but there was a flicker of something deeper there—recognition. He had caught it. The look in Sol’s eyes. 

He wasn’t just pissed. He was dangerous.

“You really think they want you?” Sol spat, his words dripping with venom. “You think you can just play with them like this? Control them? Manipulate them?” His voice rose in volume with every word, an ugly distortion of what used to be affection. "You’ve been poisoning their mind, haven’t you? Telling them lies to turn them against me. That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?"

Subaru took a step forward, fists clenched. “Look—“

“I know you’ve been sneaking around behind my back, trying to worm your way into their head,” Sol interrupted, stepping closer, his body tense like a coiled spring. “You think you’re so much better than me, huh? Think you can just take what’s mine?”

In a split second, Sol’s hand shot out, shoving Geo hard in the chest. Geo barely moved, but the force of the shove sent the tension in the room spiraling out of control. 

Everything felt like it was about to snap.

“You’re batshit crazy emo-ass dude, like I always knew,” Subaru muttered, shaking his head. But there was no fear in his voice—only disgust.

And that was all it took.

Sol lunged. His hands shot out, grabbing Geo by the collar and slamming him against the hallway with a violent crash. His grip tightened, nails digging into the fabric, pulling Geo’s face close to his with a snarl. “Don’t you dare act like you’re innocent. I saw the way you looked at them. Saw the way you touched them like you had a right to.”

The two of them were close now, too close—breathing in the same air, teeth gritted against each other.

Subaru didn’t flinch. 

Didn’t give Sol the satisfaction of seeing him scared.

With a growl, Sol shoved him again. This time, Subaru reacted. He swung—hard—hitting Sol square in the jaw with a heavy punch that sent his head snapping to the side.

The pain bloomed like wildfire, but Sol didn’t back down. He felt the blood in his mouth, but it only made him angrier. His vision blurred with fury, the edges of everything distorting as the fight burned through him.

With a roar, Sol tackled Subaru to the ground, fists flying. He was relentless—pounding into Subaru’s chest, his knuckles connecting with skin, the blows harsh and fast. But Subaru didn’t give up. He fought back, flipping them over with a growl, using his legs to pin Sol to the floor. His hands grabbed Sol’s wrists, forcing them down, using all his strength to keep him under control.

But Subaru was wild now. The rage was consuming him, burning everything else from his mind. His body writhed under Subaru’s grip, trying to break free, thrashing to land another punch, to hurt him.

The sounds of the music pounding downstairs seemed, like again, miles away, distant as the world outside continued without knowing the mess unfolding upstairs. 

You couldn’t let this happen. Not here. Not now. This wasn’t the time or place to be tearing each other apart—especially not with the party happening right below you, people oblivious to the mess unfolding up here.

You stepped forward, voice forced out through clenched teeth. “Enough, Sol,” you snapped, taking a deep breath as you tried to steady the rising panic in your chest. “This isn’t the time for this. The party downstairs—someone’s going to hear us!”

But Sol wasn’t listening. 

“You think you’re better than me?” Sol’s voice was barely a growl as he tried to get his legs free, to push Subaru off. “You think you have the right to touch them? To take what’s mine?”

Subaru’s eyes narrowed as he tried to hold Sol down. His breath was coming fast, but there was a clear determination behind his gaze. “You need to get a fucking grip,” he snapped, voice low. 

“They don’t belong to anyone.”

The words—those fucking words—hit Sol like a slap in the face. A crack in the dam. He threw his body forward, slamming his forehead into Subaru’s with a sickening thud, forcing him to stumble back. Blood leaked from his nose, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t stopping.

His rage was deafening, drowning out everything but the need to destroy. He lunged at Subaru again, not caring about anything else. And you acted on instinct, grabbing his arm to stop him, trying to hold him back, but before you could even register what was happening, a sharp, sudden pain exploded across your face.

Sol’s fist hit you square in the jaw.

The shock of it was immediate, but it wasn’t the pain that struck hardest. It was the fact that it was Sol—Sol—the one whom you thought you could trust, who’d been there for you in his own twisted way.

You stumbled back, your cheek stinging with the force of the hit, but before you could catch your breath, Sol was already there, his hand reaching out to you with a panicked, desperate expression.

“Shit—shit, I didn’t—” He quickly stumbled toward you, his voice soft, frantic. “Pumpkin... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

But the words didn’t land. 

You pushed him back with all the force you could muster, sending him stumbling backward until he hit the ground with a dull thud.

The hallway went eerily quiet for a second, the only sound was your ragged breath and the thundering beat of the music from downstairs.

Sol sat there, looking up at you, his breath shaky. He didn’t move. 

Didn’t try to get up.

You stood over Sol, your chest tight with disgust, a slow, suffocating poison filling your veins. Every inch of you wanted to scream, to shout every truth you could at him, but the words felt so small against the weight of what had just unfolded. 

You couldn’t make sense of it. You couldn’t undo the mess.

Subaru moved to take a step forward, but you held up a hand, voice as cold as ice. “Stay back, Subaru. I’ll handle this.”

But even you knew you were barely holding it together.

 The truth was, you didn’t want him to control this any longer. You weren’t going to let him break you and then apologize his way back into your life like it was nothing. You weren’t like that.

With a sharp breath, you began, words laced with finality. 

“I don’t belong to anyone.” You let the silence hang in the air, letting it sit between you like a thick, unspoken truth. “And I sure as hell don’t belong to you.”

Your gaze never wavered from his as you continued, each word deliberate, a cold shard of truth cutting through the tension. “What makes you think you and I could ever work out? I don’t even like you, Sol. Hell, I don’t even like art enough to care about that little thing you latched onto. Yeah, we both like horror stuff, but that's not some magical bond that makes us compatible. Do you think that’s enough? That I’d somehow fall for you because you want it?”

A bitter laugh escaped you, hollow and devoid of warmth. 

“It was never going to happen, never in a million years. I don’t have feelings for you, nonexistent. Like whatever past life you and I had together had to be simply a pity, but even modern terms that have been long gone now.” You saw the flash of confusion in his eyes, the shock written all over his face as your words sunk in, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Sol just stared at you, like he didn’t know what the hell hit him. His mouth opened as if to speak, but the words never came, hanging in the air uselessly.

“You need to understand something, Sol,” you continued, stepping back just slightly, making sure your words hit home. “You’re so desperate for the poison that you think it’ll save you. But I’m not the one to give it to you. We were never meant to be anything—certainly not this. I don’t want you. I never did. And you... you’re just looking for something to destroy yourself with.”

You didn’t care that it hurt. 

You didn’t care that his feelings were crushed.

This wasn’t about him anymore. This was about clearing the air—about making him face the truth, even if it shattered him.

Sol was quiet. Instead, he looked down, fingers twitching like he was about to reach for you again. But his movements were slow, hesitant. He could see it now—could see the shift in you, could feel it in the air between you.

And that was enough to stop him.

For a moment, he just sat there, his eyes not meeting yours, his chest still rising and falling with every ragged breath. “I—I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he muttered, voice strained, unsure. His words were softer now, quieter. “I’m sorry... for everything.”

But the apology didn’t feel real. Not after all of this.

You didn’t even flinch as you looked down at him, your eyes cold, your heart colder. “Don’t apologize. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Sol opened his mouth like he was about to say something, maybe try again, but you weren’t going to let him. 

Not now. Not after everything.

Sol's eyes flickered between you and Subaru, rage still bubbling beneath the surface, only now, it was simmering in a way that suggested he was ready to snap at any second. He was convinced Subaru was the issue—he was the one who had interfered. 

His hands clenched into fists once more, and before anyone could react, he launched himself forward toward Subaru.

But in a blur of motion, a hand shot out, grabbing Sol’s arm and twisting it behind his back with brutal force. Sol's breath was ripped from his lungs in a strangled gasp as he was forced down to the ground, his face contorting in a mix of frustration and pain.

You froze. Subaru froze. 

Neither of you had seen it coming.

“Hyugo?” you called out, a mix of confusion and shock in your voice. That’s right he came with Sol to the Halloween party.

The once-MIA student, the carefree and elusive presence you barely expected to have your back, stood there with Sol’s arm twisted at an impossible angle, his face unreadable. He wasn’t the cheerful, playful version you knew—this was a side of him you hadn’t seen before. 

Cold, decisive, and completely in control.

Subaru’s confusion mirrored yours. His eyes flickered between you and Hyugo, his expression clearly saying the same thing: What is happening right now?

Hyugo didn't respond, his grip tightening on Sol’s arm, pressing him into the ground with unyielding force. For a second, it seemed like the entire hallway was holding its breath, waiting for something—anything—to happen.

"Don’t put your hands on my little brother," Hyugo growled, his voice low, the words carrying the weight of a threat so heavy it could’ve cracked glass. You could feel the tension in the air as his eyes flicked between you and Subaru, before landing back on Sol, pinning him like he was already dead in Hyugo’s eyes.

Hyugo then turned his gaze to Subaru. "Get them out of here," he said, tone cold, like he wasn’t even fazed by the chaos. "I already called the cops. Leave now."

You glanced at Subaru, and fuck, his face was a mess of emotions. 

It was pale as hell, looking like he’d just seen something he couldn’t unsee—disgust, anger, confusion, all mixed up into a look you couldn’t even describe. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. But he didn’t say a word. Just took one last look around, then grabbed your arm, pulling you out of the goddamn chaos.

You both made your way downstairs, and as if on cue, the flashing lights of a police car lit up the night, blinding and warning everyone at the same time. Oh shit. The entire party started scattering like cockroaches, people rushing out the doors, running in every direction, looking for an escape. It was a mess.

Crowe was standing near Deryl, Brittany, and Jess, already looking stressed the fuck out as he scanned the scene. “Who called the police??” he barked, looking around for answers like someone had just committed a crime.

Before anyone could respond, he saw you and Subaru, and his eyes went wide. “Did I miss drama?” he asked, “Wait—how did you get out of the closet..?” but when his gaze landed on your face.

“Hella, broken lock” you replied, your tone flat.

Without waiting for any further questions, you turned and started heading straight for the back door, already feeling the weight of everything press down on you. 

“Sorry Crowe, but we gotta dip,” you called back, barely slowing down. “I’m on scholarship. Party planner out.” You didn’t even glance back as you slipped out into the night, leaving the chaos behind.

You moved through the darkened streets, not looking back, your footsteps quick and steady. The cool night air hit your face, but the adrenaline kept you warm. 

Subaru was right behind you, shouting over the noise of the night, “Hey! Slow the fuck down!” He was still trying to catch up, his voice tight with a mix of concern and annoyance, but you were too far gone in your own head to care.

Before you could even make it to the end of the block, Deryl, Brittany, and Jess appeared, practically sprinting after you. Brittany looked pissed off, her hair falling out of place as she muttered curses under her breath as Jess held on to her. Deryl, for once, was being useful—grabbing Crowe by the arm and dragging him along in a half-assed attempt to keep him from falling apart.

When you all finally arrived at the diner, it was like a collective exhale. The neon lights above the early breakfast spot flickered in the darkness, offering a sharp contrast to the chaos you’d just left behind.

You all shuffled inside, and the scent of greasy food and fresh coffee hit you like a wave. Everyone was wiped out, some still catching their breath. Deryl and Subaru seemed to be the only ones still standing strong, while the rest of you were just... trying not to collapse.

No one said a word as you slid into the corner booth, settling between Crowe and Subaru. Their presence was a solid weight on either side of you—comforting in its own, strange way.

The six of you settled into silence for a second, trying to process what had just gone down. Everyone’s eyes were darting around, unsure of where to start, like it was some sort of unspoken rule to not bring up the mess of the night just yet.

Deryl was the first to break the silence, though his voice was still full of energy like he didn’t just witness a fight that nearly ended in a disaster. “So, who’s planning the next party? Because that shit was hype, even if the cops came. I’m just sayin’,” he grinned like the whole thing was some sick joke.

Brittany, on the other hand, was visibly disappointed, slouching in her seat and poking at her menu. “I was gonna get soooo wasted by the end of the night,” she muttered, glancing out the window like she was mourning the loss of the evening. “But nooo, gotta get the cops involved. Real fucking fun.”

Crowe was sitting there, rubbing his forehead, looking like he wanted to crawl into a hole. “This is why I don’t throw parties in my guest house,” he grumbled, clearly stressed. “What the hell was I thinking? My aunt’s gonna kill me.”

You looked at him, blinking for a moment. “Guest house?” you asked, half in disbelief. “You threw that entire thing in a guest house?” You couldn’t help but sigh under your breath. “That’s rich people’s problems right there.”

Crowe threw you a look, leaning back in his seat like he was trying to disappear into the booth. “Yeah, well, I’m not throwing a party at my real house. Not a chance in hell,” he muttered, sinking deeper into the cushions.

You grinned and raised an eyebrow. “Got damn rich people,” you teased, but your mind was already working. You motioned to the table with a nod. “All right, since our night is fucked, how about you all pick up the tab?”

Crowe’s head snapped toward you, eyes widening. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me,” you said with a smirk, “pay for the bill. I did all the work to make sure it was perfect until the cops showed up. So, unless you wanna keep wasting my time, I’m cashing out.”

Subaru, still processing everything, threw you a confused look, but you were already counting the minutes in your head until this night would be over.

Crowe sighed, finally giving in, rubbing his temples like he weighted the world on his shoulders. “Fine, fine, I’ll pay. You guys are seriously killing me, but yeah, I’ll cover the food,” he muttered, glancing at the menu like he wanted to melt into it. Everyone at the table perked up at his words, though you could tell they were still in a bit of shock from everything that went down earlier.

The waiter moved through the group, taking orders as the quiet hum of conversation settled in. The usual noise that felt uncomfortable you first felt when it came to hanging around this friend group.

However, now?

More like the peaceful weight of a night that had finally caught its breath. The chatter that followed was filled with clumsy attempts to fill the silence, like people fumbling to catch up with the rhythm of a moment they hadn’t quite grasped.

Deryl was as animated as ever, his voice loud and scattered as he rambled about finding a new spot for the next party—praying it wouldn’t end with sirens again.

Brittany, still jittery from the night’s chaos, was looking forward to her drink like it was a lifeline, a simple comfort she could hold onto.

Jess, the usually quiet observer, seemed lost in thought, her hands absentmindedly picking at her food. Her gaze was distant as if the events of the night had nudged something inside her—something she wasn’t sure how to deal with just yet.

It was like that—the way the conversation naturally folded into a silence that no one rushed to fill. Something about the way this group connected felt like solanaceae, that fun, intoxicating beauty wrapped in a delicate skin of thorns.

You could feel it in the way each of them interacted—like this quiet understanding of each other’s complexity, how the rawness of who they were was met with unspoken acceptance.

They were like a vine of nightshade, one that, if you got too close, could prick your skin with its sharp edges, but if you leaned in just right, it would wrap around you, tender yet fierce.

Even though they were different, even though they weren’t perfect, being here, surrounded by this strange blend of warmth and edge, felt like finding a place where you could just exist without the weight of expectations.

They cared—maybe not in ways you could always understand, but in ways that were real. There was a comfort here, but it was the kind you had to lean into, the kind that could hurt, but also heal.

And somehow, it felt safe.

Even in the moments of tension or silence, there was a knowing that this was where you belonged—among the thorns, wrapped in the strange, bittersweet beauty of something real.

And then, as if to stir the pot once again, Crowe dropped the topic that no one had thought to touch.

“So,” he started, his tone more casual than before, but you could tell there was an edge to it, like he was trying not to seem too concerned, “you two…” He nodded toward you and Subaru. “You guys locked in that closet, huh? What the hell happened in there?”

You froze, instantly wishing you could sink into the booth. 

You didn’t want to talk about it.

Not with Crowe, not with anyone. 

Whatever happened in there—it stays between You and Subaru. 

The weird, messy thing that didn’t need explaining. But Crowe wasn’t letting it go, his eyes glancing between you and Subaru like he was trying to piece together the puzzle.

Subaru shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but before you could say anything, Crowe mumbled more to himself than anyone else, “I didn’t mean to put you two through that. But... watching you both not talk to each other? It’s messing with my head.”

The weight of the words hit you, and you could feel Subaru’s eyes on you, waiting for your response. You didn’t want to explain, didn’t want to give Crowe any satisfaction of knowing what had gone down. You shrugged it off, pushing the conversation away as best you could. 

“It’s whatever,” you said quietly. “We’re fine now.”

You didn’t say more because, honestly, you weren’t sure what more to say. The tension was still thick between you and Subaru, but that was something you’d handle on your own. Again, you didn’t need Crowe or anyone else trying to meddle.

Just as the conversation shifted back to the party, you absentmindedly picked up your food, taking a bite, only to have Subaru’s hand shoot out in a flash. His fingers brushed against your face, and you barely had time to react before he wiped something off your cheek with a napkin, his voice low and careful.

“Don’t eat with your mouth full,” Subaru said in that familiar, borderline nagging tone, like he was scolding you but in the softest way possible. He wasn’t angry, just a little too invested in making sure you didn’t look like a mess in front of everyone. 

Then, without missing a second, he placed a napkin neatly on your lap, a subtle, almost unconscious gesture that no one else at the table seemed to miss.

The entire table fell silent for a second. 

You could practically hear the wheels turning in their heads. Everyone was staring, eyes wide, mouths slightly agape. Subaru’s quick, unexpected affection caught them all off guard. It was strange, watching him be so… attentive in his own blunt, rude way. He wasn’t exactly gentle, but there was something undeniably tender about the way he took care of you, even if it was just wiping your face.

It was the little things that made it all so damn confusing.

“Yo,” Deryl finally broke the silence, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “What the hell was that?”

Brittany blinked a couple of times, eyes narrowing. She shifted her gaze between you and Subaru, like she couldn't figure out if she was witnessing something cute or downright creepy. "You two... are weird."

“Are you two together?” Jess asked, her voice cutting through the awkward tension. The whole table went quiet, their eyes immediately flicking between you and Subaru.

You let out a sigh, leaning forward in your seat with a smirk. 

“I don’t know, are we together, Subaru?”

Subaru froze, suddenly stiffening. His eyes darted around, probably realizing for the first time how damn odd everything must've looked. His mind must’ve been racing, trying to come up with an excuse, something that could make sense of all this mess. 

He shouldn't have done that.

Especially in front of everyone. 

He scowled, trying to brush it off, but still couldn’t pull his gaze away from you. “Oh, shut it,” he muttered, scooting away from you slightly as he turned to face the others. His eyes went sharp.

“It’s none of your damn business, you nosy fucking idiots.”

“Bruh, they deadass called you by your first name,” Deryl threw in, clearly trying to rile Subaru up.

Subaru’s eyes darkened at the mention of it, his arms crossing tightly over his chest. He gave a low huff, but his voice had that bite to it.

"Shut your mouth, Deryl."

Crowe was staring too, but his gaze was different. More thoughtful, like he was trying to piece something together. He glanced at you for a split second, then back to Subaru, before letting out a deep sigh. Finally, Crowe couldn’t resist adding his two cents, his voice laced with amusement.

“Looks like someone’s acting soft~”

Subaru’s jaw clenched, the muscle ticking under his skin. He wanted to wipe that smug look off Crowe’s face, but he wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of reacting. Not yet.

You couldn’t help but laugh—soft and genuine. You knew it wasn’t really funny, but the ridiculousness of it all just hit you at that moment. Maybe it was the weird energy between you and Subaru, maybe it was the whole mess with the party... or maybe you just liked the idea of breaking the tension, even if only for a second.

But right when the atmosphere lightened a little, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You glanced down at the screen, seeing Hyugo’s name flashing up. Without missing a second, you excused yourself.

“Hold on a sec,” you said, standing up from the booth. Subaru instantly furrowed his brow, watching you.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice a little too sharp.

Of course, everyone at the table immediately jumped on him, teasing. "Yo, Subaru, you can’t just let her leave like that?" Deryl grinned, leaning forward. "What, no ‘be careful’? No ‘call me later’?"

Brittany and Jess were quick to jump in too, their eyes practically glowing with amusement. "What's up, Subaru? You need to go after her?" Brittany asked, barely suppressing her grin.

Subaru growled low in his throat, clearly irritated. "Shut up, all of you."

You bit back a smile as you glanced at him. 

"Relax, I’ll be back in a minute."

Subaru’s eyes didn’t leave you as you made your way to the back area, heading toward the bathrooms. You could feel their eyes on you even as you stepped away, but you didn’t care. You needed a moment to yourself, a quick breather before dealing with more of whatever was happening at that table.

Once you were safely out of their line of sight, you took a breath and reached into your pocket to pull out your phone. 

You needed a moment to clear your head, to get away from the chaos. Pressing the device to your ear, you stepped deeper into the quiet corner near the bathroom, the noise of the party just barely audible through the walls.

"Hey, Hyugo," you said, lowering your voice, feeling the tension still clinging to you like an unwanted weight.

Hyugo’s voice crackled through the speaker, steady and calm, but you could still hear that subtle edge beneath it. "Hey, what’s going on? Are you okay after all that? Did you and my little brother make it out?"

You closed your eyes, leaning back against the cold wall, letting his voice ground you for a moment. "Yeah, we’re fine. We got away with the others. Things got... little messy, but in a fun way. Our friends are straight up messing with him, and joking about the party."

Hyugo let out a laugh, and you could almost picture the happiness pulling at his lips. "That’s so funny. I bet he’s all red in the face. He flushes easily, you know." His laugh rang through, light and genuine, and you couldn’t help but laugh too, the tension in your chest easing just a little.

But then his tone shifted, softened. "You know..." he began again, more quietly now, like he was choosing his words carefully. 

"Don’t listen to Sunny, well… Sol. He’s just…" He trailed off, and you could hear the unspoken understanding in his voice. "He’s complicated. You don’t need to let him drag you down into whatever mess he’s dealing with. You’re better than that."

You felt a weight lifting from your chest at his words. The heaviness of everything that had happened—the chaos, the hurtful words, the confusion—seemed to dissipate a little. 

"Okay," you muttered softly. "I’ll try."

You hesitated for a moment, “Where is Sol?”

Hyugo sighed before saying, "We both got out before the cops saw us,” he said. "But don’t worry, I handled him. I made sure." There was a quiet assurance in his words, like he knew exactly how to deal with his younger brother, even if the details were something you weren’t sure you wanted to picture.

His words were comforting, but it was more than that—there was a dangerous edge to them, a possessiveness that spoke of a bond you knew better than to question. Hyugo wasn’t the type to let things slide, especially not when it came to protecting those he cared about. 

You breathed out slowly, glancing down at the phone in your hand. Time was slipping away, and you couldn’t afford to be away from the table for too long.

"Thanks, Hyugo," you said, your voice tinged with sincerity. "I appreciate you looking out for us.”

He laughs softly, clearly hearing the warm of his voice, "Of course," he said, his tone light but full of that familiar teasing warmth.

"I’d be a terrible older brother if I didn’t."

There was a pause, and you could almost hear him considering something, weighing his next words carefully before he spoke again, his voice lower, quieter.

"But as his older brother..." he said slowly, almost thoughtfully. "Just... take care of my little brother for me. And of course, take care of yourself, okay?" His words were soft but firm like he was entrusting you with something important. "I just want you two to have a better life. A peaceful one, if that’s even possible, with… Subaru."

The sincerity in Hyugo’s voice lingered in your mind, a warmth that pushed away some of the tension you’d been holding. Even with everything that had happened, his words gave you a small sense of reassurance.

Maybe, just maybe, things could get better.

Maybe things with Subaru could be… different.

You sigh softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you respond. “I’ll try. We’re perhaps compatible. Like, he’s a handful, you know.”

Hyugo’s laugh came through again, deep and knowing, like he was in on some unspoken joke. "I know, tell me about it... Thank you, and I’m sorry, I’ll see you sometime around,” he added before the call ended.

For a moment, you stood there, the soft hum of your friends in the background, Hyugo’s words hanging in the air. There was something about him, something different when it came to you. And even though you couldn’t quite place it, one thing was clear—Hyugo doesn’t play about his little brother.

And maybe he did it for you….

Nah, that’s a lie because—you frowned your brows—thinking about Hyugo must know of Sol god awful obsession with you, because ain’t no damn way. Maybe that’s why he said he was sorry at the end once he realized that you have a connection with his little brother… hmm.

Anyway—you were about to head back to the table, the sound of footsteps approaching snapped you out of your thoughts. Before you even saw him, you could feel Subaru’s presence. And then his voice—quiet but piercing.

“Is he gone?”

You jumped, the suddenness of it making your heart stumble. Spinning around, you found Subaru standing there, his figure looming over you like an unspoken warning. His gaze was piercing, searching for something, maybe for a crack in your calm exterior.

“Subaru, please don’t do that,” you said, your voice strained as you tried to steady your racing pulse. His unexpected closeness, that tension between you, still hadn’t fully settled, and now he was standing there, making everything feel worse and more complicated.

“Yeah, Hyugo’s gone,” you muttered, trying to make your tone sound as casual as possible. But your voice was flat, betraying the way your chest still felt tight from the earlier conversation. 

You glanced up at him, a wave of curiosity creeping in. 

“You heard everything?”

For a moment, Subaru didn’t answer. His gaze locked onto yours, unreadable—cold, but with something sharp lurking beneath. Something almost… worried? The intensity of it made the air around you crackle with unspoken words. But instead of responding, he shifted slightly, looking away, as though something was clawing at him that he refused to face.

“I didn’t want to sit at the table with them while waiting,” he muttered, his voice edged with irritation, but there was something else there too—a softness, a crack in the armor. 

“Too many idiots messing with me...” He scowled, as though frustrated by his own vulnerability, and you could see it in the way he tried to pull away, afraid of showing too much. But then, almost as an afterthought, his voice softened again, and his eyes flickered toward you, sharper now but tinged with something unspoken.

“But I came to check on you,” he added, and even though his tone was still laced with that cool indifference, you could hear the slight hesitation beneath it. 

Like maybe, just maybe, he was just worried.

“Don’t need to be so dramatic,” you said, almost laughing. “I’m fine.”

Subaru shot you a look, narrowing his eyes at your comment, but then his posture shifted. “Text that short shit I said thanks,” he grumbled, “but don’t—I swear to god, make it over the top or he’ll never leave me alone on campus.”

You bit your lip, trying to stifle a laugh, “Sure,” you muttered, nodding as you looked at him. His expression was still cold, distant—like a layer of frost between you two. 

But his eyes? They told a different story.

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of it all, the strange pull between you two. “Anyway,” he said, breaking the silence, his voice cutting through the moment. “Let’s get out of these nasty-ass restrooms. I’ll give you hand sanitizer once we’re back at the table.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “Subaru…”

“And you need to drop that art class,” he continued, oblivious to the way you’d called him out. “Start taking your major classes. Plan a better route. Just in case that fucker tries to mess with you.”

“Subaru…” you interrupted again, a little more firmly this time, trying to catch up with his rapid-fire thoughts.

“I’ll start walking with you to your classes since ours aren’t far apart. You can stay with me at my place until we find you somewhere else. I don’t care what my bitch-ass father says. I’ll handle it. That emo-fucker... I don’t trust him. I can’t—”

“Subaru,” you called, cutting him off mid-rant, a touch of annoyance slipping into your voice. “Shit, you're way ahead of my ass.”

He stopped in his tracks, his words trailing off. He blinked, clearly realizing how much he’d blurted out. His face turned slightly reddish pink, his eyes flickering away from yours as he tried to regain his composure. He cleared his throat, muttering under his breath. 

“I know. Sorry,” he mumbled, his tone a little gruff as he avoided eye contact, his usual arrogance faltering just a bit.

You felt a little smile tug at your lips, but it wasn’t out of mockery. More like a realization, something that settled in your chest, warm and heavy. Subaru—despite the tough shell he put up—was starting to show you pieces of the person he used to be.

Or maybe, just maybe, the person he was becoming. 

Perhaps, in that very poison, your truthful words had managed to move him. 

Subaru looked down at you, the faintest laugh escaping his lips, mixed with that little annoyance in your voice. 

The crazy part? 

You were his, and he was yours—something neither of you could quite wrap your heads around. He leaned in slightly, his gaze softer now, the sharp edges of his usual demeanor starting to fade. 

“A Belladonna, you know," Subaru said almost lovingly but annoyed, the words falling between you like a secret just for the two of you.

You blinked at him, momentarily lost in the meaning of it before your eyes softened. The shift was subtle, but it made you appear more alluring than ever. Belladonna?—dangerous, intoxicating, wrapped in mystery and allure.

A poison, sure, but not the kind that burned. 

You were the berry, sweet yet deadly, something Subaru never thought he’d be so drawn to. And yet, here he was, tangled up in the wild, intoxicating forest of campus and your presence.

The kind of danger that didn’t destroy, but wrapped him in its pull, making him crave more. Always more. Subaru was immune to it, somehow, able to take on everything you were without being consumed. And that? That made you even more captivating in ways he couldn't fully explain.

"Didn't think you knew Italian or plants like that," you teased, an amused glint in your eyes.

Subaru sighed, that arrogant confidence of his never fully gone. "One, I speak five languages. Two, I like plants."

You rolled your eyes at his answer, a teasing smirk tugging at your lips. “Aw, first you call me a beautiful plant, now you're pulling out the fancy language?” you scoffed, crossing your arms with mock offense. “Weird, but okay.”

Subaru gave you that look—the one that danced on the edge of a challenge and a confession. “It’s belladonna,” he said smoothly, his voice low, rough with sarcasm, “It means deadly nightshade, a poisonous plant. Don’t go twisting my words like I called you ‘beautiful’ or anything. Don’t get cocky, smartass.”

And yet… the way he looked at you as he said it—his eyes sharp and unreadable, lingering a bit too long on your lips, on the curve of your smirk—betrayed him.

His mouth said one thing, but his gaze? That told the truth.

You weren’t just a poison to him.

You were a craving. Addictive.

Dangerous in the kind of way that pulled him closer, even when he knew he shouldn't. Not toxic—no.

Just potent enough to blur the line between warning and invitation.

You caught the look in his eyes—the way they softened for just a second like he'd forgotten to keep the mask on. That wall of his, the one he built so carefully, cracked without a sound. And in that silence, something honest slipped through.

Then he said it again, quieter this time, almost like it wasn’t meant to be heard.

“…My belladonna.”

No smirk. No smug edge. 

Just the weight of his voice brushing against your skin like a whisper no one else could claim.

The words settled into your chest, blooming slow and warm, stealing your breath without asking. He didn’t have to mean it like that—but something about the way he said it made your heart stumble anyway.

Beautiful poison. Deadly nightshade.

But what Subaru didn’t know—what he clearly didn’t realize—was that you knew that belladonna also meant beautiful lady in Italian. And you weren’t about to tell him. Never. Let him pretend he wasn’t sweet. Let him keep thinking he wasn’t calling you beautiful. 

You arched a brow, biting back a grin. 

“Didn’t think you were the poetic type.”

He rolled his eyes, scoffing like it physically pained him. “I’m not. You’re just dramatic. And annoying. And smug as hell.”

But he didn’t deny it. And he didn’t take it back.

Instead, he glanced away with that familiar scowl—half exasperated, half something softer, "You're lucky I even tolerate you," he grumbled, voice low and rough, but you heard it—that warmth sneaking in like it always did when he got too close.

You were his poison, no doubt—but the kind that lingered sweetly on the tongue. Addictive. Secret. Worth every risk.

You tilted your head at him, a slow smirk tugging at your lips.

“Vice versa,” you hummed. “And yet here you are, still choosing to ‘tolerate’ me. Such possessiveness.”

He rolled his eyes hard enough to see the back of his skull.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he shot back, but his mouth betrayed him—edges twitching up, just barely.

You both knew what was happening. 

He wasn’t running. Wasn’t pushing away. He was already caught. Wrapped up in everything you were. Falling—grudgingly, carelessly, completely—into the mystery of you.

His belladonna.

[skmhlml]

Different anon) Love how you written Shadow Milk! If it’s alright, what would his reaction be, after everything he done to the gang, to Pure Vanilla, and especially to Reader Reader still stays with him, not as in staying at the spire, but like what happened with AWAKEND Pure Vanilla but with Reader with little differences Things gets very rocky at first until they get together, Shadow Milk is still the same, just improved a little(rehabilitation) This is, like, enemies to friends to lovers nghfughg

sorry if it’s long and too specific!

Shadow Milk Cookie x Reader

Date Requested: 6/9/2025

▾Divider made by @sisterlucifergraphics

🧿 After all the chaos, torment, manipulation, and his twisted games— you live. Scarred, worn, changed, but not broken. Not anymore.

🧿 Shadow Milk, for all his theatrics and illusions, did not expect you to make it out with your sanity

🧿 And he definitely didn’t expect you to come back—not to serve him, not to love him, but… to face him. To exist near him as something more than a victim.

🧿 “You should hate me. You should fear me.” “I did. I still might. But I don’t run from the truth anymore.”

—

🧿 You’re not chained to the Spire anymore. Maybe you visit. Maybe he visits you in dreams, or in the liminal spaces where Earthbread’s logic bends.

🧿 There’s tension—his ego bruises easily, and your presence makes it worse and better at the same time.

🧿 Shadow Milk lashes out, slipping back into manipulation at times. You call him out. Cold, clear, and calm.

🧿 He begins to watch you differently—not as a toy or puzzle, but as something stubbornly real. Unshakeable. That threatens him in the best way.

🧿 “You’re… not playing the game anymore, are you?” “I never was. You just thought I was easy to break.”

—

🧿 He still lies. Still thrives in chaos. But now, there’s hesitation. A moment of pause before the cruelty.

🧿 He hates it. He hates that your presence makes him aware of his ugliness.

🧿Sometimes, when he dreams, it’s not screams or laughter—it’s your silence. The look you gave him when he broke you once. That look replays in his mind. That’s the thing that starts changing him.

🧿 “I don’t want to be forgiven.” “Good. I’m not here to forgive you. I’m here to see if you’re worth anything after all that ruin.”

—

🧿 The romantic arc is messy. There’s no soft “falling in love.” It’s slow burns, snapped words, glances that linger too long.

🧿 He tries to provoke you. You stop reacting. That shakes him.

🧿 One night, he asks—not demands—if you’ll stay a little longer. And you do.

🧿 There’s the first touch, tentative, unsure. His fingers tremble, unused to gentleness. When you don’t flinch, something inside him cracks.

🧿 “You still look at me like I’m something… worth looking at.” “Because I want to see who you are without all the illusions.”

—

🧿 Eventually, Shadow Milk Cookie changes—not into a hero. But into something better. For you.

🧿 He never stops being unpredictable, chaotic, dangerous. But now, there’s intent. There’s care, however strange.

🧿 He’ll never beg. But he’ll ask. And when he holds you, he does it like you’re real, not a figment.

🧿 “You are the one thing I can’t twist into something ugly.” “Then stop trying.”

—

🧿 His illusions become gentler around you—less jarring, less cruel. He lingers. In shadows, in rooms, in your thoughts. He reaches for you in quiet moments, not because he needs control—but because he wants contact. You see it in his eyes: he’s scared of what he feels for you.

🧿 the first kiss. It’s not sweet. It’s desperate. Tension finally snaps. Maybe it’s after a fight—sharp words, unbearable silence, his magic crackling with unspent emotion

🧿 He kisses you like he’s angry at himself for wanting you. Teeth, lips, barely breathing between gasps. His hands shake. He hates that you make him feel unbalanced. You grip him back, because you’re not here for the pretty version of him—you’re here for all of it.

🧿 “This… this shouldn’t feel real.” “Then stop lying to yourself.”

—

🧿 as lovers, he's still sarcastic, still a manipulative trickster—but when it comes to you, he slips. He gets jealous easily. Not possessive, but insecure. He doesn’t know how to ask if you’re staying.

His affection is quiet: illusions of galaxies just for you, a familiar warmth in your dreams, fingers brushing your shoulder when no one’s watching. You don’t belong to him, and he knows that. And that’s why it means more when you stay.

🧿 One night, when the stars are wrong in the sky and he’s lying beside you, too quiet:

“I think I love you.” He doesn’t look at you when he says it.

“I know,” you whisper. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”

And for once, he doesn’t run from it.

[lovegasmic]

𝐉𝐔𝐉𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐍 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐒 + 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

✰ call back later — hcs ft toji, sukuna, satoru .

✰ seven minutes in heaven — hcs ft suguru, choso, satoru .

✰ age gap — hcs ft satoru, sukuna ( modern ), toji, suguru .

✰ cuckolding — satoru x f!reader x sukuna .

✰ academic rivals — satoru x f!reader x suguru .

✰ twenty four seven — satoru, sukuna, toji, choso .

✰ first time hit it raw — satoru, toji .

✰ lactation — hcs ft sukuna, toji, satoru .

✰ caught cheating?— hcs ft sukuna, toji, satoru, suguru .

✰ baby, baby daddy — hcs ft sukuna, toji, satoru .

✰ hot milf next door — hcs ft all adults .

✰ hot dilf next door — hcs ft kento, toji, satoru .

✰ working over time — fic ft sukuna, toji, kento .

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

✰ bondage — drabble .

𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

✰ best friend satoru — au — bff: best friends who fuck — expanded version — threesome? — missed call — cheating ex —

✰ bff satoru after a breakup — drabble .

✰ bff satoru after a breakup reversed — drabble .

✰ public pool, forbidden to have sex — fic .

✰ daddy’s best friend — second part — drabble .

✰ cute shy gf — drabble .

✰ squirting — drabble .

✰ sixtynine — drabble .

✰ nasty makeout — drabble .

✰ handjob — drabble .

✰ horrible timing — drabble .

✰ skirt — drabble .

✰ needy — drabble .

✰ overstimulated — drabble .

✰ ovulating — drabble .

✰ facial — drabble .

✰ rough sex — drabble .

✰ super model — drabble .

✰ semi public — drabble .

✰ rub it — drabble .

✰ pussy lover — drabble .

✰ wedding dress — long drabble .

𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐊𝐎

✰ scissoring — drabble .

𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔

✰ brothers best friend — semi fic .

𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

✰ mafia boss sukuna — au — x enemy’s daughter — casualties — yours to keep — a begining .

✰ prostitute reader — drabble .

✰ tit fuck — drabble .

✰ foxian curse reader — drabble .

✰ nice n wet — semi fic .

✰ face fuck — semi fic .

✰ daddy kink — drabble .

✰ degradation — drabble .

✰ boob obsessed — drabble .

✰ jealous of a fictional bf — drabble .

✰ rubbing you through an orgasm — drabble .

✰ period sex — drabble .

✰ soft and in love — drabble .

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

✰ jealous fucking in an alley — drabble .

✰ hot babes in your area — fic .

✰ my strange addiction — fic .

✰ somno — drabble .

✰ breast milk — drabble .

✰ going raw — drabble .

✰ he wants to knock you up — drabble .

𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒

✰ thorns ring — sukuna .

✰ broke — toji, fic found above .

✰ first make out — satoru .

[xandezsims]

[Bodice Ripper Romance Novels]

'Roman Darkmoor Must Die.' The Devil of Darkmoor Collector's Edition, by Henford-on-Bagley's own A.D. Dorian. This (pretend) period romance series follows the varied loves of Roman Darkmoor, the man everyone wants, and wants to kill. Our hero is a bisexual disaster on a mission to get himself off--er, offed--and everyone is dying to help him.

Have you read this?

Happy Valentines Day! In honor of those who'd rather just read a book, we brought you a gift! Because why would you brave a date or spend money when you could be at home with a spicy novel?

Featuring fully-designed covers, familiar tropes, and an actual plot (!), the Devil series is bound to bring your Sims some joy. And it looks nice on a table--or, if you're shy, under a bed. We won't tell. Preview gifs, more info, and download below.

Like enemies to lovers? Hurt/comfort? Forbidden love? What about swordfighting? Magic? Time-travel? If any of these ring your bell, this is the fandom for you! Be braced: the forums are a warzone.

Download: Patreon (free) | SFS

All filed under Clutter or Storage > Bookshelf. The readable books can be bought from a phone or computer, just like any other book. They should also be in the catalogue, set apart by their preview style.

Starring: Etain Bishop as Juliana Lalune Frederick Duncan as Dr. Albert Sterling Fredette Duncan as Lucia del Sol David Duke as Captain Cyrus Astraean "the Traveler" as the Fairy Godmother(/father/parent) and Victor Gray as Roman Darkmoor

Some Facts About this Project:

Dez came up with this in 2022: Harlequin-style trashy novels as unique clutter. The original concept was 2 deco books. It turned into 3 deco books, a full book set, and 5 readable books. So far.

The titles are modeled after 1980s romances. Dez went through hundreds of Simlish fonts, and finally modified the title font character by character to better match the English font, Georgia.

Every bit of text in this is Xan's fault. He went overboard. Back cover blurbs, book pages, the lot. Don't let a writer do anything.

The book pages were meant to be cliche racy novel schlock, but they came out much better than expected. Oops.

We hope you like this--and that, if you do, you'll tell us. Between research, screenshots, photo-editing, font-editing, meshing, writing, testing, designing and redesigning, we spent actual, real-world months on this. And we're proud of it. But it was a lot.

Despite that, Xan is considering a semi-historical version. (Let's be real: dirty books are not a new invention.) So that might happen.

Mini-Credits:

CC on the covers courtesy of about a million people, including @soft-simmer @happylifesimsreblogs @lady-moriel @midnight-moodlet @trillyke @strangestorytellersims @plazasims @kotcatmeow @candysims4 @okruee and about a million other people. I'll make a proper shoutout when I have time to count it up.

Poses by @sciophobis @helgatisha @natalia-auditore @sewersims and @solstice-sims. Couldn't have done this without you.

@alwaysfreecc @maxismatchccworld @mmfinds @sssvitlanz

...If you made it all the way here, congrats! You earned a cookie. 🍪