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comatosebunny09 · 10 months ago

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off the grid | sylus

summary: his chest swells with emotion. there’s this gnawing feeling in his gut telling him not to leave. that he belongs at your side for the rest of the day, drawing little sighs of his name from your mouth. “fuck the deal,” he husks with pinched brows, dipping down for a taste of your honeydew lips. warning(s): female anatomy described, cunnilingus, bodily fluids, p-in-v intercourse, mating press, unprotected sex, explicit language now playing: fire - sir notes: thank you so much for reading!

He says he has some business to attend to.

Ever the businessman on the move, even while on vacation.

You don’t pose much of an argument. Offer a slight pout, clawing at the side of the king-sized bed where his body’s residual heat and indentation still reside. But you’re surprisingly docile. Trusting, knowing he always comes back to you in one piece.

Sylus promises he won’t be long, locking eyes with your reflection in the mirror. Finishes buttoning his shirt, straightening his collar, and fussing with his cufflinks. He turns with a hand stuffed in his pocket to fully appreciate the view on the bed. And what a pretty picture you pose.

You’re quiet, playing on your phone. Have the gall to be so gorgeous in the calm glow of the sun, hair fanned around you on the pillows like a halo, breasts swelling in his dress shirt. Thighs thick as honey, legs splayed open and inviting on the ivory sheets.

His fingers twitch with the need to touch as something primal stirs in his belly, mouth filling with sand.

You catch his gaze over your phone. Offer a demure smile and a wave before returning to whatever’s got you so enraptured.

His chest swells with emotion. There’s this gnawing feeling telling him not to leave. Telling him he belongs at your side for the rest of the day, drawing little sighs of his name from your mouth, mapping out the contours of your body until the moon sits high in the sky.

It isn’t often he gets to sweep you away like this. Has you tucked all safe in a beautiful bungalow on an island far away, the air dense with salt and the idle crash of ocean waves enmeshed with the soothing cry of distant seabirds.

He scoffs inwardly. Wonders when you made him such a clingy mess as he studies his feet. Shakes his head, sheepishly rubbing the nape of his neck while losing that internal battle with himself.

He leans against the dresser with crossed arms, pondering how long he can stave off this deal he’s worked so hard to orchestrate. And yet—

You giggle, tickled pink by a video on your socials. The sound of it makes his heart pull. Makes his lips crook with a smile. He pads towards you without thinking, wrapping a tender hand around your ankle. Smooths his thumb over the jut of bone with such reverence, watching you with all the fondness of the world. His cute little kitten.

Goddammit.

Sighing, he resigns himself to his fate. Glances off to the side as if the beach beyond the window can offer some sort of solution. An out. He circles back, foolish to think he could resist you.

The twins can manage this, he muses. And suddenly, he’s pulling free the buttons he so carefully fastened on his shirt. Climbing over you like a panther onto the bed, bracketing you between lean muscle and heat.

“Fuck the deal,” he husks with pinched brows, dipping down for a taste of your lips.

You squeak, but the surprise soon peters as you wrap gentle hands about his wrists, your phone on the floor long forgotten. He hums all throaty, smiling against your lips. Kisses honey-slow, committing the texture of your lips to memory whilst easing your hands over your head, twining your fingers together. Pushes a knee between your thighs to encourage them further apart, and the heat of your muff radiates up his quad, burning through the material of his slacks.

He’s glad he stayed. Couldn’t live with himself if he left you like this, all hot and pliant, wasting away in bed. You deserve to be worshipped, savored, devoured.

You melt into the kiss. Keen all pretty for him, arms instinctively snaking about his shoulders, and he swallows the intoxicating sounds you make. Chuckles low and alluring, notching his hips to yours, anchoring you to the bed with his weight half on you.

“Thought it was—oh—important,” you breathe when he breaks away with a soft smack to brand your neck with the heat of his lips. “Your deal.”

Who can think about work when you have the audacity to smell this good? Like night-blooming jasmines and everything inherently safe.

“Was,” Sylus parrots on a deep rasp, mouth on an unhurried excursion over your throat, and your laughter is bewitching. Heady, transitioning into a pleasured exhale when his teeth graze your carotid.

He shackles your wrists together beneath one hand, freeing up his other. And it’s dangerous, skating over the pucker of your nipples, the swell of your tits. Coasting over the ripples of your ribcage, making your body vibrate and curve with excitement.

“Nothing outweighs this.”

He drives his point home, knuckles trailing down your belly, down, down, down to the swell of your pubic bone. You arch, and he bows into you when his palm closes around your muff. And he’s open-mouthed on your neck, sighing hot, his dick heavy and throbbing against the inner curve of your thigh.

Two fingers curl inward, teasing the seam of your cunt. Circling in the way you like until the lewd squelch of your pussy kisses the air. You bite your lip. Head falls back against the pillows, and you do that endearing sad puppy thing with your brows. He admires the sight of you through parted lips and lidded eyes, wondering how he could ever think of leaving you alone.

You’re so pretty like this. So perfect, your lips kiss-swollen and shiny, formed around a whine. You arch so nicely for him as his fingers play between your legs, stroking you until you’re nice and wet. Swollen and pulsing, outer labia spilling over the seat of your panties.

He’s wasted enough time, he thinks, your earthy scent overpowering his senses. He frees your wrists, easing down your body and between your legs in favor of something more appealing. More appetizing. The crooks of your knees find his shoulders. And he’s enamored by how the fat of your thighs crater between his fingers when he holds them apart, slightly hauling your hips up to fasten your thighs to his shoulders.

He licks up the span of your cunt, tasting you through the cotton of your panties. Growls something distant and abrasive, gaze flicking to yours through the headiness. His pupils blow wide, and his heart pounds a war cadence in his skull.

You’re a dream he doesn’t want to ever wake from. A spell that’s bound him to earth, but he doesn’t think he would ever want to leave.

His irises burn like the flicker of a flame. And he doesn’t look away as you ruck your hips up against his tongue, chasing that sparkling edge pooling in your stomach.

You thread your fingers in his riotous hair, guiding him into a choppy rhythm against you, your hips stuttering each time his tongue agitates your clit. He doesn’t fight it. Loves it when you take control, when you take your pleasure. Use him like the docile toy he is, fucking his mouth until he’s red-faced and panting.

He steadies you, briefly taking his eyes off you to drag your panties to one side. His mouth waters at the sight, and he sucks in a ragged breath. Your pussy is all sticky and puckering; gossamer strings of your nectar spread like dew-speckled spider spins between your lips and panties.

He splits you nice and open on two fingers. Spread like a flower bending towards the sun. His gaze finds yours once more before he dives in, working your pretty pussy with a wide and sweltering tongue.

You’re scrambling for purchase of the sheets, keening all nice for him. Rock your hips in tandem with the glacial pace of his tongue, and he reaches out to tangle your fingers together at your sides to anchor you.

You’re so cute; it makes his chest pull. Makes his heart all fluttery, and he’s a flushed, sloppy disaster beneath you. All for you. Just for you.

He ruts against the sheets as he feasts. Grunts into your pussy, not caring that he looks unhinged or that his pants are stained dark with pre. He’s chasing that unfathomable rush of endorphins. Pursuing the upward arc of his own pleasure, mind awash with how pretty you sound. How good you feel. How wonderful you taste, and he’s more drunk off you than any bit of brandy or whiskey.

He eats until he’s full. Until your hips leave the mattress with no intention of coming down, and his hands mold around the globes of your ass to keep you steady. Straining on toes dug into the mattress, calves stretched taut, fingers squeezing his wrists in a vice grip, and your thighs locked around his head.

You’re wet and sloppy, arousal dribbling down the cleft of your ass to stain the sheets. His chin is slick with it, and he licks his lips after reluctantly leaving the bewitching seal of your cunt.

There’s a smile in his eyes. Devilish as you pout, and he lowers you back down to the bed as if you’re glass that will shatter if he doesn’t handle with care. He kneads your thigh placatingly, the heat of his palm promising something better. More filling.

You watch with shrouded intrigue, all hot in the face and panting. Drag your fingers over your lips, biting down on your middle. He could come from the sight alone. You spread open and leaking, gaze screaming fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

Sylus sits back on his haunches. All big and smug, palming the heavy throb of his cock through his slacks. Looks down at you from his nose, your eyes tuned to his every move, tongue swiping greedily over your lips.

You’re an eager little flower whilst he unlatches his belt infuriatingly slow, tugging his pants down with equal sluggishness. Down, down until his dick springs free from his briefs, slapping his belly intimidatingly, a glob of pre-spend dribbling honey-slow from the tip.

“You should see yourself,” he husks around a chuckle, gathering up his pre to smear it around his cockhead, and stroking himself so good. Bites his lip, dragging a languid hand down your sternum. “I’ve hardly had my fill, and you’re already about to blow.”

He traps a pretty nipple between his knuckles and pulls, luring a bitten-off sound from your throat. Angles himself forward to take your nipple between his lips, sucking in that way that makes your thighs quake and your voice come out all shrill and broken.

He then teases a thumb between your pussy lips in search of your entrance. Finds it once more with laser precision, and he rubs at it meticulously, slowly shoving your juices back into you.

You keen and clench around him at the knuckle, thrashing against the sheets, your tongue wrapped around his name. He groans in reply, caught in the haze of it all. You ruin him. Bring him to his knees, but he’d never admit it aloud.

“So eager,” Sylus teases. Like his voice isn’t strained from the effort of pumping his cock into the clench of his hand. Like he doesn’t want to spear you on his dick; feel your velvety walls squeezing the head of him so good.

The thought makes his hips stutter, and he’s squeezing his sensitive tip to reign himself in. “I’ll give you what you want soon enough, sweetheart. Just be patient.”

And you are as he taps his heavy dick against your muff with a wet and sticky plap plap. You ruck your hips up to chase the feeling, squeezing a sound through grit teeth. Hate when he teases, when he edges you like this. But he doesn’t keep you waiting, pressing the mushroomed head of his dick to the pucker of your pussy. Eases home past the tight ring of muscle, pushing into you with a sound as thick as seafoam curdling in his chest.

“So beautiful. So perfect.”

He can’t help himself. You feel so good. So wonderful, swallowing him up to the hilt like that. You sigh in tandem at the union. Relief wading through your bones, and you lock eyes through the dusk as the sun seeks shelter behind the horizon, casting you both in its otherworldly glow. Sylus needs no further goading as he grabs your ankles, driving your legs up until your knees press into your tits.

His mouth falls open. Gazes at you through his bangs clinging to his forehead. Through thick lashes, and you’re even more beautiful like this. Ethereal, and he could never tire of the sight. Of the sounds you make, so pretty for him as he rolls his hips, abs contracting and relaxing with each movement.

He plays a steady rhythm thereafter, rolling his pelvis like the slow drag of a tide as he fucks into you. Feels every detail of the channel of your sex constricting around him, and it takes every bit of him not to fuck you harder. He wants to savor this. Has all weekend to drive you wild; to orient himself with every sensitive clump of nerves in your body. So for now, he’ll take his time.

And he does. Driving into you at a maddeningly slow pace. But then, you’re sobbing and thrashing and clawing at the sheets, and he knows you’re close to spilling over the edge.

He doesn’t stall. Reaches between your bodies to find the unfathomable button of pleasure between your legs. Presses and rubs until your voice is shrill and stuck in your throat. Until you’re a shuddering mess, and the look in your eyes tells him all he needs to know. His own peak creeps progressively up his spine, tingling like static, prickling in his stomach.

He suddenly bows forward, your thighs clenched in his palms as he presses his torso fully against you, mooring you to the bed. Pistons in and out, battering against your cervix, your breaths choppy and intermingled, bodies bathed in a dewy sheen of sweat.

You cling to him with arms snaked around his neck. And his mouth seals to yours, swallowing your pitiful huffs of air. You’re his vice. His IV drip, and he can’t live without you. Doesn’t want to, finding himself chanting your name like a broken hymnal as the beginnings of his orgasm seep through him like magma.

He’s coming before he knows it. Ushered to the brink by your walls shuddering around his dick with your own orgasm. And there’s so much of it, his cum dripping hot and milky white down the inner trajectory of your thighs.

He catches himself on shaky arms before he collapses onto you. Laughs while trying to catch his breath, and you chuckle alongside him, hands perched on his waist, ready to catch him if he falls.

You’ll be the death of him, he muses, craning his head down to kiss you. To write the sweetest words of all against your lips, and he thinks he wouldn’t have it any other way.

masterlist

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus smut #love and deepspace sylus #sylus qin #sylus #l&ds smut #lnds smut #sylus romance #sylus love and deepspace #sylus fic #lnds sylus #sylus lads

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i2rizz · 3 months ago

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You're so welcome! Anytime you get hate, just photoshop that message over it.

As for request: If Isagi, Kaiser, Rin and Sae turned into children for a day, how would they act with Reader trying to care for them until they changed back?

This gives off "dont worry kitten, daddy will take care of them" AND IM GIGGLING SO HARD RN

Anyways I wasn’t sure if you wanted them to retain their memories but in a child’s body, or if you wanted them to fully become children with no recollection of anything. I went with the first option where they keep their personalities and memories, but they’re in a child’s body with the mindset of a child. If you were thinking of something different, let me know and I can redo it!

Also, don't mind the reader not being shocked when seeing them like this. If I added her reaction, the scenarios would get way too long (i was lazy) , so just pretend she was confused and shocked when she first saw them or smth :>

Bllk boys turned into children

Isagi Yoichi

You wake up to the sound of something crashing in the kitchen. Rushing in, you’re met with… a child. A little boy with wide blue eyes, holding a shattered cereal bowl and looking very guilty.

“Who are you!?” you gasp.

“It’s me! Isagi!” the kid wails.

And yup—there’s that panicked overthinking in his voice. It’s him. Just… tiny.

Turns out, Isagi is the kind of child who overanalyzes EVERYTHING.

“Do you think the cereal ratio was wrong?”

“Should I have taken the left path instead of jumping off the couch?”

“Am I… still a genius?”

He follows you around like a duckling, refusing to let go of your hand and insisting he needs “tactical support” to climb onto the couch. He keeps trying to explain football strategies using stick figures and crayons, and by the time he falls asleep curled up in your lap, whispering something about being your number one player, you’re emotionally wrecked.

Michael Kaiser

Kaiser doesn’t cry when he turns into a child. No. He struts out of the bathroom wearing your sunglasses and dragging your blanket like a cape.

"Still hot," he says, throwing you a wink.

You nearly pass out from a mix of confusion and secondhand embarrassment.

Kaiser as a kid is a menace. He draws on the walls (signing it King Michael I), steals your snacks, and demands to be carried like royalty.

“You’re lucky to have me like this,” he says while getting chocolate on your favorite shirt.

But then he trips trying to show off, scrapes his knee, and suddenly he’s crying and reaching for you like the world’s ending. You kiss his forehead, whispering that he's okay, and he sniffles:

"Don’t tell anyone I cried. Not even adult me"

Later, he insists on sleeping in your bed because “there are monsters in the dark, and you’re the only one who can protect me”

Itoshi Rin

Rin is not having it. He’s tiny, mad, and glaring at you from under your hoodie because everything else is “ugly”

“You’re ugly,” he mutters.

You raise a brow. “Rin”

He sighs. “…I didn’t mean that”

Child-Rin is introverted and pouty but clings to you when no one’s looking. He refuses to eat unless you make it, refuses to nap unless you’re holding him, and glares at the mirror like it's personally responsible for turning him into a toddler.

You catch him watching your every move with those moody ocean eyes, and when you ask what’s wrong, he finally admits in a tiny whisper:

“Didn’t want to be small… Can’t protect you like this”

Your heart melts. You kneel, brushing his bangs aside, and say, “You’re still my Rin. That’s all I need”

Cue him hiding his face in your shoulder.

Itoshi Sae

Sae, as a child, is… exactly the same. Just smaller. And ruder.

You find him in your kitchen drinking milk from a wine glass, legs crossed, acting like he’s judging the entire world.

“Why are your floors so cold?” he asks like it’s a personal offense.

You gape. “Sae!?”

He sighs dramatically. “I know. I’m adorable. Don’t touch me”

He absolutely refuses to wear anything that doesn’t match, brushes his hair with your fancy brush, and scolds your cat for not respecting his “space”

But under all that salt? He’s so soft for you.

He tugs your sleeve while you’re washing dishes and mutters, “...Carry me”

You oblige, and he curls into you like he’s never been held before.

Later that night, he falls asleep mid-conversation on your chest, clutching your shirt and mumbling, “Don’t leave me alone when I’m big again either…”

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chericos · 1 month ago

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DRAWN TO YOU. || s. ishigami

Rebuilding the world takes time. So does love. But gravity doesn't ask for permission. The tides don't apologize You've always been drawn to him. And him, to you.

| fic masterlist. | song of the chapter.

i. curiosity | 11.8k words

Kids are mean.

You were six years old when you first encountered Senku Ishigami. It was your first day after being transferred to a school across the country, and you already hated everything— the unfamiliar classroom, the weird accents, even the lunch trays were different. Every little thing seemed to tick you off more and more. And it’s not like the rest of the kids made it any better. After your— extremely difficult to understand and rushed— introduction, the class already moved on from you; the shiny new student they might’ve wanted to befriend, to just another forgettable face.

So that's how you found yourself alone on the playground. You looked around at the other children, all huddled into their own little groups of friends, and you stared at them with envy.

You missed your friends.

You missed your family.

You missed your old house— where the wood floors would creak under your foot if you stepped on them wrong.

You missed the neighborhood cats you used to sneak food to at night. You missed the creek you’d visit every spring and summer, where you’d get muddy and soaked while hunting for pretty rocks and slugs.You missed your old life, the one you had before you had to pack everything up and move with your mom. But above all,

you missed your dad the most.

The thought of him hit you like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t even a whole memory— just a flash: his laugh while lifting you onto his shoulders at festivals; the way he’d whistle off-key while making breakfast; or those weekend trips deep into the woods, just the two of you.

You used to love those trips. He’d kneel in the dirt beside you, gently pushing aside leaves to reveal strange little flowers or odd-smelling roots. He knew them all by name— scientific and otherwise— and he’d always let you carry the worn leather field guide, its pages dog-eared, scribbled with notes, and stained with years worth of dirt and grime.

“This one’s good for sore throats,” he’d say, pressing a leaf into your palm. “And that one? Don’t eat it. Not unless you want to meet the gods early.” he’d chuckle.

You’d giggle with him, even if you didn’t fully understand the weight of what he meant.

Back then, it felt like magic— the way he could heal little cuts with leaves, soothe a fever with bitter tea, or calm your nightmares with a poultice and a quiet story. He was like a mini wizard, the kind who didn’t need spells— just plants, patience, steady hands, and a kind heart. He was someone you admired, someone you wanted to become.

You didn’t know it then, but those moments were planting something deep inside you. A curiosity. A quiet kind of wonder. The beginnings of a map that wouldn’t finish drawing itself until much, much later.

And now, sitting alone on the edge of a strange playground in a strange town, with dirt under your shoes and no one to talk to— you’d give anything to be back in those woods again, his voice calmly naming herbs like they were old friends.

You didn’t even notice that you had begun to cry, the tears falling into your lap before you could rein them back. You were pathetic weren’t you? Can’t even make it one day in this new place before you start falling apart, your mom would be disappointed in you. You blinked hard, bringing the dark colored sleeve of your sweater up to wipe away at your face. You shouldn't be crying. Definitely not here where the rest of the kids could see.

"Hey."

You turned your head quickly, already on edge, but it wasn't another group of kids ready to come and eat you alive. It was one boy. He was slightly taller than you, but honestly you blamed half of his height on his hair— spiky and pale green that stuck out like his roots were battling with gravity itself (and winning). He wasn’t smiling down at you, but he didn't look mean either.

“Wanna see something cool?” he asked, crouching beside you without waiting for permission. You glanced at him like he was insane. He dug into his backpack and pulled out what looked like a pencil case... but not really. It was metal. And humming like some sort of animal, cobbled together with wires and tape.

“…What’s that s’posed to be?” you asked, brows furrowed, wary but intrigued.

“Prototype,” he said. “Kind of a battery-powered brush bot. Not super stable yet, but I got it to move yesterday. Thought it might be fun to tweak it.”

He glanced over at you. “You any good with your hands?”

You hesitated a frown tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Not with machines, nah.”

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. “What then?”

You dug your fingers into the sand. It was warm, gritty, grounding. “Plants,” you said quietly. “Back home, my papa’d take me out into the hills every weekend. Taught me how to tell one leaf from ‘nother, how to crush bark into powder or steep roots in tea.”

You paused, then added with a soft smile, “He always said everythin’s got its use—if ya just know how to look.”

Senku’s eyes lit up like you’d just said something genuinely impressive. “So you know medicinal stuff?”

You nodded, a little self-conscious. “Some, yeah. Still learnin’, though. But I can tell what’ll help ya and what’ll make ya real sorry ya touched it,” you said with a small laugh. “That count?”

He grinned— wide and crooked and full of mischief. “That 10 billion percent counts.”

The two of you sat there in the sandbox, trading thoughts— him rambling about conductivity and how lemon juice could be a weak electrolyte, and you chiming in with how your dad used to use citrus to clean wounds when you ran out of antiseptic.

It was weird. And nerdy. And messy.

But it didn’t hurt the way everything else did.

You went quiet for a second, eyes drifting down to your lap as you started picking at a loose thread on your sweater sleeve. “Kids’re mean,” you mumbled.

Senku blinked, thrown a little by the shift. “Yeah,” he said after a beat, voice softer than usual. “They can be.”

“They didn’t talk to me,” you murmured, kicking at the sand. “In class, they all just looked at me weird… then forgot I was even there. Ran off at recess like I didn’t even exist. That’s why ya found me sittin’ here all by m’self.”

For once, he didn’t have a quip or fact ready. He just… listened.

“But you’re not mean,” you added, glancing sideways at him, voice smaller now.

Senku shrugged like he didn’t know what to do with that kind of compliment. “I’m just curious.”

You smiled faintly. “Still. Makes ya different.”

Then, after a moment’s pause, you added with a teasing grin, “You are weird, though.”

He shot you a mildly offended look, brows arching. “Seriously?”

“Not in a mean way!” you said quickly, waving both hands defensively. “Ya just… real smart. Talk about stuff most kids don’t care about. But it’s kinda nice. Most folks don’t listen when I ramble ’bout plants or whateva.”

He tilted his head, thoughtful now. “Weird’s subjective,” he muttered. “The world only calls things weird until they become useful.”

You blinked at him, then slowly grinned — that big, proud kinda grin that scrunches your nose. “Well, I’m weird too.”

“Wow,” he replied, completely deadpan, eyes back on the brush-bot. “Hadn’t noticed.”

You snorted, elbowing him lightly. “Hey! Ya don’t gotta agree so fast!”

A hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Just making an observation. Science-based.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile lingered anyway. “We can be weird together.”

That got his attention.

His hands paused, the little stick he was using to nudge a wire into place hovering midair. For a second, he didn’t respond. Just sat there beside you, the weight of your words swirling in his mind while the silence lingered in the air between you like the dust motes dancing in the afternoon sun.

“Weird together, huh?” he muttered under his breath, voice low and unreadable.

You nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah. Like a team or somethin’. You do your robot stuff, an’ I’ll mix up weird leaf tea. We’ll be unstoppable.”

He finally looked up, eyebrows raising slightly. “That… sounds absurd.”

“Exactly!” you chirped, beaming. “Absurd an’ awesome.”

Senku stared at you for a moment, then shook his head with the kind of exasperated fondness that only made sense in the weird little bubble the two of you had created. He didn’t say anything else— just went back to fiddling with the bot in his lap, poking at the wires with more focus this time.

But his hands had slowed, the usually sharp motions softened into something more relaxed. Measured.

His mind, constantly moving at lightspeed, didn’t dwell on feelings too long. But still— somewhere in the labyrinth of circuits and formulas, something warm flickered quietly. It settled in the part of his brain he rarely noticed, like the click of a gear slipping perfectly into place.

He supposed... he liked the sound of that.

Weird together.

It had a nice ring to it.

When you got home, the first thing you did — after kicking off your shoes and washing your hands like Mama always reminded you — was race into the kitchen, words tumbling out of your mouth like you couldn't get them fast enough.

You left out the part where you cried.

“I met this boy at recess, Mama!” you said, practically bouncing on your toes. “He had this big ol’ hair stickin’ up like seaweed, an’ he showed me this weird robot thing! Said it ran on batteries, but it looked like a bug!”

She hummed softly while stirring the pot on the stove.

“He wasn’t mean neither,” you went on, tugging at the hem of your sweater. “Didn’ laugh or nothin’ when I talked ‘bout plants. Said I was smart for knowin’ stuff Papa taught me…”

She nodded gently, listening with one ear as she added more seasoning.

The smell hit you just then — rich and deep and familiar. Your dad’s favorite stew. Which meant it was yours too, by association. You blinked, throat tightening. It was too much.

“Smells like home,” you whispered, voice quieter now. “Miss it, Mama. Miss… everythin’ I miss papa.”

Your mother turned the heat down low and came over, wiping her hands on a towel before crouching beside you.

“I know, baby,” she said softly, brushing your hair from your face. “I miss him too.”

You nodded, lips pressed tight. Her hand stayed on the side of your head, warm and steady. Like an anchor.

“But Papa’d be real proud, y’know?” she added. “You talkin’ ‘bout your plants like that. Teachin’ someone somethin’ new.”

“Senku already knew a lot,” you mumbled, gaze fixed on the floor. “He talks all fast an’ big like you gotta keep up or get left behind. But he listened.”

She smiled. “Sounds like a good friend.”

You shrugged one shoulder, trying to play it cool. “He’s weird.”

She laughed—just once, soft. The kind of laugh that reminded you of warm afternoons playing out in the backyard, sun on your cheeks, the scent of cut grass and citrus in the air. The kind of laugh your dad used to say made everything feel less heavy— sweeter, better.

She ruffled your hair gently, like she used to when you were smaller. “Well then,” she said, her smile curling with a hint of mischief, “sounds like he might be your perfect match.”

You huffed a small laugh, leaning into her touch just a little. “Yeah. He said we could be weird together!”

“That so?” She questioned while she wiped her hands off with a kitsch towel and began setting the table.

You nodded, a little more certain this time. “Like a team or somethin’. He does his science stuff, and I talk about my plants. Told him some trees can be medicine and poison, dependin’ on how ya use ‘em. He didn’t even flinch.” You paused, trying to hide the small grin that crept up. “He said I was smart for knowin' that. Like, really smart. Never thought anyone’d call me smart for somethin' like that.”

Your mom gave you a look—one of those quiet, proud ones that filled the space between words. “You’re gonna do good things with all that knowledge in your head, sweetheart.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Y’think so?”

“I know so.”

And even though your throat still ached and your chest felt a little too full, something in her voice settled the storm inside you. Just a little.

Later that night, after dinner and dishes and brushing your teeth, you curled up in bed with your old stuffed seal under one arm and the blanket tucked under your chin. The moonlight filtered through the window, painting soft shadows across the ceiling.

Your mama had kissed your forehead and told you to dream something sweet.

But your thoughts wandered back to the sandbox. To wild green hair and wires and your own voice saying, weird together.

You whispered it once into the dark, just to feel how it sounded in the quiet.

It still made you smile.

And for the first time since the move, you didn’t feel quite so alone.

“I think ever’thing’s gon’ be okay now, Papa,” you whispered. “Think I found somethin’ good.”

And just like that, your eyelids fluttered shut— drifting into sleep full of starlight, trees, and whirring machines and a strange little boy with seaweed hair who didn’t think you were too much.

Just enough.

— — — — — — — —

You wouldn’t leave him alone.

Ever since that fateful day at the sandbox, you had been a permanent fixture at Senku’s side—much to his loud and very vocal displeasure. Not because he didn’t like you (he did, though he’d rather chew batteries than admit it), but because you were noisy.

You were always complaining.

“Why’s it makin’ that smell, Senku? That ain’t normal.”

“If ya blow somethin’ up again, I’m tellin’ ya now, I ain’t cleanin’ it.”

“You gotta eat, y’know! You can’t survive on soda and caffeine gum forever, you maniac.”

You were relentless. A constant stream of chatter, commentary, humming, questions about the plants you found outside school, theories about if moss could maybe conduct electricity if it tried hard enough—and complaints. So many complaints.

And yet… you were there. Always. Even when the wires sparked. Even when the experiments fizzled. Even when he barked at you to go away because he was on the verge of something huge, and your presence was apparently “throwing off the magnetic field.” (whatever that meant)

You still showed up the next morning. Hair done up nice, probably after a full-on battle with your mom that morning. A frilly little dress that was practically begging for mud stains. You never cared.

“It shows the proof of our experiments!” you said once, proudly displaying the dirt on your knees like it was a medal. You never seemed to care about the odd looks you’d get from the other girls in your class when you’d come back from recess with leaves in your hair and your clothes a complete mess.

Sometimes, you brought in weird leaves or roots or half-squished flowers to test. Or a broken pencil sharpener you begged him to “turn into a laser.” Senku swore up and down that he couldn’t do it— yet somehow, a few days later, you’d find that same sharpener back on your desk, outfitted with tiny wires and a sticky note written in the world’s most dramatic handwriting:

"Do NOT use in class."

Or you’d bring in a bug you found under the slide that you swore glowed in the dark. (It didn’t.)

Senku rolled his eyes. A lot. He muttered. He groaned. He said “what now” at least three times a day. But he never told you to stop coming.

And maybe that was the strangest part of it all.

Because slowly, between the beakers and bickering, you carved out a little space in the lab and in his life. And much to his horror…

It felt kinda nice.

Not that he’d ever admit that out loud, of course. He had a reputation to maintain. Cold, logical, scientific detachment, all that (although no one else seemed to notice besides him). But the truth was— he’d gotten used to your voice always bouncing off the class walls. To your weird theories and weirder tea blends that you swore could revive a dead person. To the way you always found wonder in the smallest things— a funny-shaped rock, a heart-shaped leaf— like they mattered more than anyone else ever noticed. (they slowly started to matter to him too)

So when middle school started, Senku wasn’t expecting much to change. Same town, same “science club”— which just consisted of you, himself, and 4 other antisocial, nerdy kids from elementary, same people. You’d still be at his side, poking at things you weren’t supposed to and asking questions you already knew the answers to. Business as usual.

Until you weren’t.

Until he walked into homeroom and your desk— the one that always used to be next to his— was empty. Well, not empty, but was occupied by someone he didn’t care enough to give the time of day due to the small fact that they weren’t you.

By second period, he had memorized your new classroom number. By lunch, he'd run several failed simulations in his head, trying to figure out why the school would separate the two of you when your combined test scores had basically carried the district average.

And to make matters worse, that’s when Taiju showed up.

Big. Loud. Alarmingly enthusiastic. The kind of guy who'd break a microscope slide just trying to look at it. Senku hadn’t even learned his name before the guy was plopping down next to him, acting like they had been best friends since the womb.

Taiju grinned, holding up a diagram he'd hastily drawn. "Yo! That thing you said about dominant and recessive traits—check this out!" He pointed to a messy chart, clearly proud of it. "I think my genotype's got, like, all the best traits, right? Gotta be genetically superior, y'know?"

Senku blinked. "That's not how that works."

Taiju just grinned wider. "Cool! You’ll teach me, right?"

Senku sighed. Loudly. And made a mental note to start eating lunch on the roof. But before he could escape, there you were—jogging across the courtyard with your lunch in hand and wind in your hair like no time had passed at all.

“Miss me?” you asked, dropping your lunch bag beside him and flopping onto the bench, a smirk pulling at your lips. “Doesn’t seem like it. You’ve already replaced me, huh?”

Senku glanced over at you, not missing the teasing tone, before giving a nonchalant shrug. “Don’t mind him,” he muttered, gesturing to Taiju, who was still proudly holding up his overripe orange. “He just sat here for some reason.”

Taiju blinked, looking between the two of you like he was missing. Faced turned into confusion like he just saw a question on an exam that he didn’t know the answer to. “Huh? Nah, I didn’t replace anyone! I was just... sitting here. For, uh, science,” he said grinning sheepishly.

You rolled your eyes, popping the lid off your bento. “Sure, sure. Well, don’t worry, I’m still here.” You leaned over and passed Senku a pickled plum, clearly acting like nothing had changed. “No shared classes this year. Kinda sucks, though.”

Kind of? It was a catastrophic miscalculation, is what it was.

Still, you were here now, settling between him and Taiju like you were re-staking your claim. You casually mentioned your morning—“The comp sci room smells like 5-in-one body wash and emotional breakdowns”—before passing him a pickled plum without asking, brushing a leaf out of his hair mid-sentence. You didn’t even need to say much. It was as if nothing had changed.

And somehow… that made it okay.

(Though he did send Taiju death glares every time the guy got a little too comfortable.)

The three of you fell into an odd rhythm after that. A triangle of chaos. Science club became your base of operations, your shared lab table once again strewn with wires, crushed leaves, and half-empty cans of coffee.

Then, one afternoon, you didn’t show up to the club room.

“Where’s Leaf Girl?” Taiju asked, halfway through melting a spoon by accident.

“She has a name, you know,” Senku muttered without even looking up from his work. “And she joined another club.”

“…She what?”

“Something about crafts, extra credit, and ‘don’t worry, I’m still yours on Wednesdays.’”

(Senku remembered it all too well. The way you said it so breezily, like it didn’t completely throw off the internal equilibrium he hadn’t realized he was clinging to. Like one designated day of the week was enough to balance the equation—like it made up for your absence in all the other variables. You smiled when you said it, like it was a promise. But to him, it had sounded a little too much like a compromise. One he hadn’t agreed to, but accepted anyway. Because you were always going to do what you wanted. And he—he was always going to let you.)

That night, over the phone, was the first time Senku heard the name Yuzuriha.

The next day, you were back at the lab, fiddling with solder like it was embroidery thread. “She’s got good hands,” you said offhandedly, as you worked. “Helped me fix a bracelet in, like, five seconds flat.”

“She seemed nice,” Taiju added, his cheeks pink for some reason.

Senku hummed, calculating. Adjusting.

New variable added to the formula.

You reached into your bag, pulled out a bracelet, and handed one to Senku. “Check it out,” you said, clearly excited. “Me and Yuzuriha are basically besties now. We made each other these. Aren’t they cool?”

Senku looked at the bracelet for a moment. The charms were a little too cutesy for his tastes, and the thread was a touch too colorful for his usual preference. But you were beaming, practically glowing with excitement, like you couldn't contain it.

And for a moment, Senku felt a strange twinge in his chest. A weird, inexplicable feeling he couldn’t quite place. Besties. You’d just met Yuzuriha, and already you were practically inseparable, wearing matching bracelets like it was some kind of permanent mark of your shared bond.

He shook his head, trying to shake off the feeling. It was just a bracelet, right? Just a silly little thing, a temporary distraction. He forced himself to breathe and mentally scolded himself for getting worked up over something so trivial.

Just a bracelet, he repeated in his head. But it didn’t stop the strange feeling from lingering.

It clung to him especially hard the day Yuzuriha showed up to the science club—breezing in beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world. She was all bright eyes and soft energy, giving Senku a polite smile before turning to Taiju with a familiar, “There you are!” like she’d just spotted a friend across the cafeteria. (Which, apparently, she had—they shared a class already, something you’d casually mentioned in passing.)

She floated over to the lab table, completely unfazed by the wires, solder burns, and general chaos. “So this is the infamous lab setup,” she said, nudging a stack of resistors aside to sit for a moment. Her eyes flicked to the soldering iron in your hand, and she smiled—just a little too knowingly. “Did you bring the other one, or is that strictly a ‘Wednesday project’?”

You snorted, clearly trying not to laugh. “Shh,” you whispered, elbowing her lightly. “We don’t talk about that in front of the boys.”

“Right, right,” she said, grinning like it was your shared secret.

Senku blinked. What other one?

She asked a few curious questions, complimented Taiju’s “focus” even as he nearly short-circuited a breadboard, and stuck a cat sticker on the back of his hand for “trying his best.” And Senku just sat there, watching it all unfold like he was observing a perfectly controlled experiment slowly go off the rails.

Then—just like that—she was leaving.

“Ah, my art club’s starting, I gotta run,” Yuzuriha said, dipping into an apologetic little bow as she gathered her things. “But you’re in good hands! She’s basically a genius, you know.”

You laughed at that—bashful, like it caught you off guard—like you hadn’t ditched Senku three times that week with “Sorry, helping Yuzu with the display board,” and “She just needed a second pair of hands.” You waved her off, but your eyes followed her all the way to the door, soft and fond.

Senku didn’t say anything. Not then.

But something in him pulled taut. Like a wire stretched too thin. Like a variable had shifted without warning and no one had bothered to rerun the equation.

Because it hadn’t gone unnoticed. The late arrivals. The quick exits. The half-answered texts and “I’ll be there in five” that turned into not at all. You were still his partner on paper. Still took your place beside him at the lab table when you actually showed.

But lately, it felt like you were just… visiting.

And if that stupid bracelet on your wrist sparkled a little too much under the fluorescents—well. That was fine. It didn’t mean anything.

Just string. Just friends.

He didn’t need a bracelet to prove anything.

Right?

You were late again that Wednesday. Just by a few minutes, but it felt a lot longer when Senku was left sitting there, scribbling aimlessly on his paper. The chair beside him sat empty, the space between them feeling a little wider with each second that passed. When you finally showed up, you didn’t immediately say anything. You just dropped your bag beside him and slid into your seat like everything was normal. You cracked open a can of soda, popping the tab with a soft click, but didn’t even offer him one this time.

“I got caught up with Yuzu,” you said casually, like it explained everything. “She needed help picking out some art supplies. You know how she is.”

Senku didn’t reply. His pen continued to scratch across the page—nothing important, just random equations and doodles. Anything to avoid the awkward silence that seemed to stretch between you. But he knew you weren’t fooled.

“You’re mad, aren’t you?”

He didn’t look up. Didn’t even pause. “I’m not mad,” he muttered, his voice flat. “Just... busy.”

You hummed, unconvinced. “Busy, huh?” Leaning closer, you rested your chin in your hand, eyes fixed on him. “Sure you’re not mad because I’ve been ditching you for art club?” The teasing tone in your voice was light, but there was a softness to it, like you knew exactly how it had been eating at him.

Senku went still. His pen stopped moving, but he didn’t say anything. Not now. Not with the weight of it all suddenly hanging in the air between you. He didn’t know how to explain that it wasn’t the art club— or even Yuzuriha— that bothered him. It was the way you’d been drifting just far enough that he couldn’t quite reach you anymore.

But you didn’t need him to say it. You already knew.

“You don’t have to act all grumpy about it,” you said gently, your voice warm in a way that made the tension in his chest tighten. “You know you’re still my partner, right? I’m just… I’m still here. Even if I’m all over the place with the art stuff.” Your voice softened, almost imperceptibly, as if you were sharing something vulnerable for the first time. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

The words hung in the air, their weight pressing down on him in a way he hadn’t expected. There was something about it—something in the way you said it—that felt like both an apology and a promise. He glanced up at you, surprised to find a small, shy smile on your face. Your eyes were soft, but there was still something in them that reminded him of the person who always kept him grounded.

“I still got your back, Senku. You know that, right?”

For a long moment, Senku didn’t say anything. He just sat there, watching you with that look on his face that always made it hard for you to tell what he was thinking. You were still here. You still cared. Even if the world outside the science club kept pulling you in different directions, you kept coming back.

“Yeah,” he said, quietly. “I know.”

There was a pause, heavy with everything unsaid between you two. Then you broke the tension with your usual teasing grin, the one that never failed to lighten the mood.

“Still my lab partner?”

Senku felt the corners of his mouth twitch, but he kept his expression mostly neutral. “For now.”

You laughed softly, the sound like a little breath of relief. The tension from earlier finally seemed to melt away. “Good. You’d better be ready for when I finally beat you in the next experiment.”

He snorted, the last of the tension slipping out of him. “Not gonna happen. You can’t even tell the difference between sodium and potassium chloride.”

“That’s just what I want you to think, genius,” you shot back, the fire in your voice a familiar spark that made Senku’s chest warm in a way he hadn’t expected. But it was a fire he recognized—one that told him things were okay. That you were okay.

And even if the bracelet on your wrist still sparkled a little too much under the lab’s fluorescent lights, maybe it didn’t matter as much as it had before. Maybe it wasn’t about that at all.

Just a string, right?

Just… friends.

The next day, you showed up to the science club room with a small bag in your hand. You didn’t say anything at first. You just slid into your seat—the one next to Senku—and pulled out two keychains—matching ones, each with a tiny scientific equation printed on them.

Senku raised an eyebrow, half-expecting another one of your weird, random gadgets. But no. This time, it was different. You placed the keychains on the lab table, right in front of him, your face all casual, like it wasn’t a big deal.

He eyed the keychain you’d put in front of him. Of course, it was that equation. The one that everyone knew, that had somehow become synonymous with science itself. E = mc².

"...You really went with that one, huh?" Senku asked, his tone flat but with a trace of surprise. "You know it's not exactly a secret, right?"

You chuckled, your voice softening as you met his eyes. “Yeah, I know. But it’s classic. Can’t go wrong with Einstein.” You nudged his keychain closer to him, and for a brief moment, you glanced down at the one you held in your hand. It wasn’t as famous, but it was still a perfect fit—a clean, precise representation of another fundamental concept, one Senku would appreciate.

"I got the same one for me," you said, voice casual but your eyes glinting with something that felt a little softer than usual. "Just... figured it'd be nice to match, you know?"

Senku stared at the keychain in front of him, a strange feeling settling in his chest. He wasn’t sure if it was warmth or something else, but it was there, undeniable. He didn’t need to ask why you’d done it. He already knew. You were always like this—subtle, thoughtful in ways he didn’t always catch until they were right in front of him.

“You’re way too sentimental,” he muttered, though his fingers brushed against the keychain in a way that felt surprisingly light, a little less guarded than usual.

“Maybe,” you said, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "But what can I say? I thought it’d be funny if we both had one." You attached your keychain to the strap of your bag, then looked over at him with a soft glint in your eyes. "It’s like... a little reminder. Of us, yeah?"

Senku froze for a split second, then slowly processed your words. A reminder. Of you two.

He didn’t know why it hit him the way it did. Maybe it was the way you said it, so casually, as if it was no big deal. Maybe it was because it wasn’t about the keychains at all, but what they symbolized. A connection. An acknowledgment that despite everything—despite the shifting tides between art club and science club, despite the distractions—you still saw him. And more importantly, you still cared.

And then, as if to soften the weight of the moment, you added with a smile, “Also, ‘cause I know Einstein’s your favorite, so by association, he’s mine too.”

Senku blinked, his heart skipping a beat at the unexpected sentiment. He didn’t say anything for a long moment. Instead, he reached for the keychain, fingers grazing the smooth surface, feeling its weight. He was still trying to hold onto his usual cool, but there was something about this, about the gesture, that made him feel... lighter.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” he said, voice low but not quite as dismissive as before. “I’ll keep it on my bag. For science.”

You nodded, a quiet satisfaction in your expression as you got back to work, your hands moving quickly and deftly across the lab equipment. The sound of it—the clinks and clatters—felt oddly comforting, like everything was falling back into place.

Senku didn’t clip the keychain to his bag immediately. Instead, he let it sit there for a few moments, like it was a secret he wasn’t ready to fully acknowledge yet. But when he finally did, when he clipped it to the strap of his bag, it didn’t feel like a decision he had to make. It felt like a choice he wanted to make.

It was just a keychain, after all. Just a string.

Just friends.

But maybe—just maybe—it meant a little more than that. At least to him.

Over your years at junior high, things had changed. The experiments became more challenging, you joined more clubs, your bond with Senku strengthened, and the science club felt more like a second home. But as time passed, you started to notice a shift—slowly, imperceptibly at first.

And then, Mika showed up.

At first, it seemed harmless. She transferred from some fancy academy, and the buzz around her arrival felt like just another passing thing. She had the looks, the presence—everything that screamed "I belong here." And naturally, with the crowd of “new student must befriend” gawking at her feet, she set her eyes on her next feast. Her eyes, always sparkling with that arrogance, quickly found Senku. And since she saw you always hanging around him, she tried with all her might to make your days living hell. Even going as far to join the science club, even though her grades and tests were beyond abysmal, and she seemed to have no real interest in science at all.

Somehow, despite everything, Senku hadn’t pushed her away. In fact, it almost seemed like he welcomed her, even though his reasons were more scientific than social.

It wasn’t like she belonged in the science club, not really. But she’d decided to join, and Senku—being Senku—couldn’t say no. “Why the hell not?” he had said, leaning back in his chair. “More test subjects, more data. It’s useful.”

And that was it. She’d started coming around more often, getting involved with experiments, helping him out with supplies. Of course, Senku did use her, but that didn’t stop her from sticking around, always looking for an excuse to hover near him, watching him with those soft, fluttering eyes.

You didn’t mind at first. You really didn’t. It was just the science club, and you were friends, right? Friends who worked together. But as time went on, you started noticing things that you hadn’t before. Little touches. The way Mika would stand just a bit too close to Senku as they worked, the way she’d giggle a little too loud when Senku made a sarcastic remark, as if she were enthralled by his genius.

It wasn’t like Senku was oblivious— he just… didn’t notice.

Mika would pass him supplies, her hand brushing against his in a way that lingered just a second too long, and Senku would nod, hardly noticing the shift in her behavior. But you did. You felt it every time she leaned in a little too close to him, every time she laughed at something Senku said—like she was trying to make him laugh, like she was trying to make him notice her.

And it was starting to grate on you.

It wasn't jealousy, you told yourself. It wasn’t. You and Senku were just friends. Friends who worked together. Friends who sat next to each other in the lab, who bantered back and forth. That’s all it was. You didn’t need to feel this... weird about it.

But then, everything shifted.

You were on your way to the science club, thinking you’d be able to brush off the discomfort from the day, when suddenly, Mika appeared. She was standing in the doorway of an empty classroom, her arms crossed, a knowing smile playing at the corners of her lips.

“Going to the science club again?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Funny how you never get tired of hanging around Senku. Don’t you think it’s a little... pathetic?”

Her words caught you off guard, but you refused to let them shake you. You met her gaze, refusing to back down. “Excuse me?”

Mika tilted her head, her smirk growing. “I just don’t get it. You’re so... obsessed with him. Is that really what your life’s become? Following him around like a puppy? Or maybe you just don’t know how to let go.”

A knot tightened in your stomach, but you weren’t going to let her get to you. “You’re literally going to the science club too,” you shot back, voice cool but sharp. “Maybe you should look in the mirror before you start throwing around accusations. It’s not like you’ve got any better reason to be there.”

Mika’s eyes flickered with surprise, but she quickly masked it with another smug smile. “Oh, I don’t know. I actually help with the experiments. Unlike you, who’s just there for the ride.”

“I literally do more work than you…” you muttered under your breath. You clenched your fists, but you kept your cool, even as the sting of her words dug deep. “At least I’m not trying to use him for some lame excuse to hang around,” you retorted, your voice dripping with disbelief. “You're not fooling anyone.”

Mika’s smile faltered just for a second before she regained her composure. “Touchy, aren’t we?” she taunted. “Don’t worry. It’s just cute how much you care about him. Too bad he doesn’t see you the same way.”

The words hit harder than you expected, but before you could respond, she turned on her heel, her smirk never fading. You stood there for a few moments, stunned, trying to push the words from your mind. But the weight of her words followed you all the way to the science club, where things only seemed to get worse.

When you arrived, Senku was already there, buried in his notes as usual, his focus unwavering. But Mika was there too, hovering over him. She was standing a little too close, her hand brushing against his as she passed him something. It felt deliberate, like she was putting on a show. You could feel the tension in the air—the way she was leaning in, giggling a little too loudly at Senku’s jokes, as if she were trying to get his attention, trying to make him see her. It made your stomach churn.

Senku looked up for a moment, noticing the change in your behavior. “What’s up? You’re awfully quiet today,” he said, not taking his eyes off his notes.

You forced a smile, though it felt more like a grimace. “I’m fine,” you muttered, looking away.

Mika, sensing your discomfort, seized the moment to step in closer. She leaned against the workbench next to Senku, her shoulder brushing against his. “You know, Senku, I could really help you with your next big experiment,” she said, her voice sugary sweet. “I’ve got plenty of free time now.”

You felt the tension in your chest tighten, every little thing about her touch setting you off. Her proximity to him, the way she seemed to practically be begging for his attention—it was unbearable.

"I’m gonna go," you blurted, surprising even yourself with the abruptness. Without another word, you grabbed your bag and made your way toward the door, unable to stand another moment of watching her fawn over him.

Senku barely registered your departure, his attention already back on his notes. “Wait, you’re leaving?” he asked, but you didn’t answer him. You just left, the door swinging shut behind you.

The cool air of the hallway felt like a relief, but the knot in your stomach only tightened as you walked aimlessly. You needed a distraction, something to get your mind off the complicated mess of emotions swirling inside you.

You didn't even realize how you ended up at the art club until you saw Yuzuhira in the corner of the room, stitching up a new piece for her collection. She looked up when you entered, giving you a warm smile, but the expression on your face must have been telling because she immediately set her pencil down and tilted her head.

“You okay?” she asked softly, her voice a little cautious.

You plopped down on the couch across from her, your frustration spilling out before you could stop it. “I’m fine.” You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “I just ugh…I’m just a little irked”

Yuzuhira raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued but gentle in her approach. “about what?”

“You remember that new girl? Mika,” you spat, your anger bubbling to the surface.Yuzuriha nodded, her hands slowing down just a bit so you knew she was listening. “She’s... it’s like she’s trying to replace me, like Senku is just going to drop me for her.” Your words came out in a rush. “I’ve been by his side this whole time, and now she just waltzes in like she owns the place. And the worst part? She knows it’s getting to me.”

Yuzuhira’s gaze softened, and she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “She’s really getting to you, huh?” she asked, her voice gentle, but firm with understanding.

“Yeah.” You ran a hand through your hair, exhaling sharply. “She’s always hovering around him, always leaning in like she’s trying to make a move. I can’t stand it. I don’t even know what’s worse—her annoying neediness or the fact that Senku doesn't even see it. It's like... like I don’t even matter anymore.”

The words spilled out like they had been building for days, and once they were out, you couldn’t seem to stop. “And every time I’m there, I can just feel her pushing me out, trying to prove she’s more than I am. Like I’m some kind of... joke, and she’s the real ‘assistant’ to him. It’s like I don’t even exist.”

Yuzuhira stayed quiet for a moment, letting you vent. When you were done, she nodded, her expression thoughtful. “I get it. It must be rough. But you know how Senku is—he’s not great at noticing that kind of thing, right? He gets caught up in his experiments. And Mika… she knows how to play the game. She’s not dumb. She knows exactly how to push your buttons, and she’s using it against you.”

You sighed, leaning back into the couch, frustration simmering just under the surface. “I hate that she’s doing this. I hate how she makes me feel like I’m not important to Senku anymore.” Your voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “I hate that I even care. It’s not that big of a deal…”

Yuzuhira’s eyes softened, her gaze a little more knowing than before. But she didn’t say anything about your slip. Instead, she gave you a reassuring smile and spoke gently. “Look, it’s not about what Mika thinks or does. It's about what you mean to Senku. And if anyone’s in your corner, it’s him. He might not see it yet, but he values you. Don’t let her get into your head like this.”

You let out a slow breath, letting her words sink in. It was hard not to let Mika’s constant interference mess with your head, but Yuzuhira's calm presence grounded you. Maybe you were letting this get too far under your skin—but maybe it was okay to feel something too.

You weren’t going to let Mika win—if you could even call it that. Not like this.

“Thanks, Yuzu,” you muttered, managing a small smile as you sat up straighter. “I needed to hear that.”

Yuzuhira winked and picked up her pencil again, casually returning to her sketch like she hadn’t just helped glue your entire heart back together. “Anytime. Now, take a deep breath and let it go. You’ve got a lot more important things going for you than Mika’s drama.”

You nodded, grateful for her calm steadiness. Maybe you couldn’t change everything right away, but you sure as hell weren’t going to let it break you.

For the next two weeks, you held your ground.

You didn’t rise to Mika’s little jabs, didn’t flinch when she casually brushed up against Senku’s side or let out one of her syrupy-sweet giggles at something he hadn’t even said. You trained yourself to ignore the way she fluttered her lashes like it was some kind of anime bit—every little move designed to get under your skin.

And, honestly? It worked. For a while.

You focused on the work. The experiments. The things you and Senku actually built together. You clung to that partnership, even if it felt more distant lately. And the more you acted like Mika didn’t exist, the more it seemed like she didn’t know what to do with herself. Her little “accidental” touches got bolder, more desperate. But you didn’t give her the satisfaction of reacting.

You were in control again.

At least… that’s what you told yourself.

But the thing about ignoring something that’s festering is that it never really goes away. It just waits. It waits for the perfect moment to break the surface. And Mika? She was good at waiting.

And even better at knowing exactly where to strike.

So when Mika, for the fifth time that week, casually brushed a lock of hair out of Senku's face while handing him a vial, your patience snapped.

She was too touchy, and Senku? He wasn’t even noticing.

You were testing a new compound—nothing fancy, just a mix of acids and bases—and Mika had offered to "help" again. She stood by Senku's side as usual, leaning over his shoulder, her finger brushing the back of his hand. Senku barely acknowledged it as he calculated the next step.

"Can you hold the flask steady?" Senku asked without looking at her.

“Of course,” Mika replied, her voice too sweet. “I’ve got it, Senku.”

You were barely listening, your gaze fixed on the way Mika was watching him with that adoring look in her eyes. It was like she was waiting for Senku to notice her, to acknowledge her efforts. Your fingers tightened around the beaker in your hands.

And then it happened.

Mika laughed—soft, breathy, like she’d said something important. She leaned in even closer to Senku, her shoulder brushing his. He barely flinched, just continued adjusting his notes.

That’s when you couldn’t take it anymore.

“You know,” you said, your voice louder than you intended, “if you’re done with your ‘experiment,’ I can help too. I’m not completely useless, you know.”

Mika raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into that smug smile that made you want to scream. "Oh? I didn’t realize you wanted to join in. I thought you were more... into plants and twigs."

Your jaw clenched. “I know more than just plants,” you snapped. “But it’s kind of hard to get a word in with someone who doesn’t know the meaning of personal space.”

The silence in the room thickened.

Senku, still focused on his notes, shot a glance at you. “What’s up? You’re acting kinda... weird today.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, feeling your face heat up. “It’s just—she keeps hovering over you like she’s your personal assistant. And I’m kind of sick of it.”

Mika’s expression shifted, her amusement turning into something sharper. “Jealous much?”

“Of you?” you looked her up and down “Please, don't flatter yourself,” you replied quickly, a little too quickly. “I’m just tired of being ignored.”

Senku, as always, was oblivious. “Ignore you? You’re still here, aren’t you?”

You bit your lip, the frustration growing. “I am here. I’m still your partner, Senku. But it feels like I don’t even exist half the time anymore. You’re too busy with your new... test subject to notice.”

“Test subject?” Mika echoed, blinking like the words had knocked the wind out of her. Her carefully crafted smile cracked—just a hairline fracture, gone before anyone could call it real.

You scoffed, folding your arms across your chest. “Don’t tell me you actually thought he cared,” you said, your tone sharp and bitter in a way that surprised even you. “He’s just using you. That’s kinda his thing, isn’t it?” You rolled your eyes like it didn’t burn to say it out loud, like the words hadn’t been sitting at the back of your throat for weeks, festering.

For a second, no one moved. The lab, usually buzzing with noise and clinking glass, went dead silent. The weight of what you said hung in the air like a chemical cloud—stinging, heavy, inescapable.

Senku finally looked up from his notes, his brow furrowed, expression unreadable. His brain was working, you could see it—the cogs turning behind his eyes—but you didn’t give him time to formulate some smart-ass response. You were already grabbing your bag, heart pounding too fast, hands too hot.

“I’m sick of this” you muttered, voice tight. The words came out fast, messy, like you were trying to outrun everything you hadn’t said until now. And then you were gone—just like that—leaving nothing but the echo of your steps and the brittle crackle of tension behind you.

You didn’t hear anyone follow. Didn’t hear Senku say anything. Just Mika’s breathy little “Senku…” trailing after you, like she was already picking up the pieces you left behind.

Let her.

She could have her little moment in the lab, all fluttery eyelashes and fake concern. You were done. And if Senku couldn’t see what was happening—if he couldn’t see you—then maybe you shouldn’t try to force it.

Senku didn’t speak. Not right away.

He stood in the same spot, staring at the space you had just left, fingers still curled loosely around a pen he’d forgotten he was holding. Mika was saying something again—sweet and high-pitched and meaningless—but for once, he wasn’t hearing her.

Because the only thing he could hear was your voice ringing in his ears. That bitter edge. The hurt underneath it.

For the first time since you started working beside him, the chair next to his felt like a hole. A missing piece. And the silence that followed you out the door felt a lot louder than anything Mika could say.

You were sitting under the old cherry tree behind the school—the same one that always caught the afternoon light just right. Your knees were pulled to your chest, sketchbook balanced in your lap, pencil tucked between your fingers. But you weren’t drawing. Hadn’t been for a while. Just staring down at the blank page, waiting for something—anything—to pull you out of your own head.

The wind stirred gently around you, carrying the faint smell of sakura and something sharper, synthetic—probably a trace of the lab, still clinging to your clothes. You sighed and pressed your forehead to your knees.

Then you heard footsteps. Light on the gravel. Measured.

You didn’t need to look up.

Senku.

He stopped a few feet away, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his lab coat, head tilted like he was observing something too delicate to poke at just yet. He didn’t say anything at first. You didn’t expect him to.

“I didn’t tell her to be there, y’know.”

You didn’t answer. Didn’t even glance up. Just kept your eyes on the sketchbook that hadn’t seen a line in over twenty minutes.

“She’s… persistent,” he continued after a moment. “Like a parasite. Clings to anything that holds her interest.”

“Real flatterin’ way to talk about someone,” you muttered, arms tightening around your legs.

“I wasn’t talking about you.”

That made you look up. Slowly. Eyes narrowed, voice cool. “I didn’t say you were.”

Senku scratched at the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. “Tch… You’re actin’ like I swapped you out for some knockoff assistant. You think I’d pick someone like her over you?”

You said nothing, but the look on your face said everything. And he saw it.

He glanced toward the school, jaw clenching slightly. “She’s loud. Disruptive. And honestly? I barely remember her name half the time.”

“Senku—”

“I didn’t ask her to help,” he interrupted, sharper now. “She just keeps showing up and hoverin’. You think I want that?”

You tilted your head, giving him a long look. “You sure don’t not want it.”

That seemed to hit. He turned to face you fully, expression drawn tight in frustration. “I’ve got acid fumes burnin’ my nose hairs and six different reactions tryin’ to go thermonuclear. If I don’t say anything, it's not because I don’t see it— it’s because I’m tryin’ not to blow the place up.”

A huff escaped you. Half bitter, half amused. “Still could’ve said somethin’. I felt like a ghost in there.”

Senku hesitated. Then, quietly, he moved to sit beside you—not close enough to touch, just enough to share space.

“You’re not a ghost,” he said after a moment. “You’re the reason half my experiments don’t explode up in my face. I’ve got four notebooks that would be literal fire hazards without your notes.”

You blinked, glancing sideways. “That your version of sweet talkin’?”

He smirked a little. “I’m not built for compliments.”

You exhaled through your nose, resting your chin on your knee. “Still felt like I didn’t matter. Like I was just… in the way.”

His voice dropped, quieter now. “You weren’t. You aren’t. I wouldn’t even know how to replace you.”

That made something behind your ribs clench a little. You looked away again, fast, blinking against the heat prickling behind your eyes.

“Ya don’t gotta say stuff just ‘cause I’m upset.”

“I don’t do sympathy,” he replied. “You’re not wrong to be pissed. I should’ve said something sooner.”

You nodded slowly, the tension in your shoulders easing by degrees. “Yeah… well. Just don’t let her try to hold your damn hand again like you’re too busy to notice. I might actually lose it next time.”

Senku huffed, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smirk. “Tch. Wasn’t exactly inviting it.”

The quiet that followed wasn’t heavy this time. It settled between you like something earned. Something understood. You finally lowered your legs and put pencil to paper, sketching out the first line with a hand that didn’t shake anymore.

“I’m still mad at you, though,” you murmured without looking up.

“Fair,” he said with a half-shrug. “Just… don’t try to poison me with apple seeds again.”

That pulled a snort out of you before you could stop it. “That was one time. And it was for science.”

Senku grinned. “Yeah. My near-death experience. Real educational.”

Maybe everything between you would be fine.

Not exactly perfect, but you can work on that.

Mika dropped out of the science club a week later.

You didn’t ask any questions when you noticed she wasn’t glued to Senku’s side on Monday. And you definitely didn’t care to ask when Senku casually mentioned her name had been taken off the attendance registry.

She was useless there anyway.

Never did much beyond hovering around Senku, pretending her presence was helpful while actually just getting in the way. She didn’t participate in any real experiments, didn’t log any solo work—which, last you checked, was kind of the bare minimum for club hours.

You assumed, after realizing that sticking to Senku’s side wasn’t getting her what she wanted, she just moved on. Found some other distraction. Some new person to orbit.

You didn’t care. Not really.

Because this time, when you looked across the lab bench, Senku was looking back.

— — — — — — — — —

You still remember the first time you ever went to Senku’s house.

You were seven. He was eight. And from the moment he invited you over—and your mom said yes—, you spent the entire morning bouncing around like a storm made of nerves and hair clips. You couldn’t sit still, couldn’t stop pacing the hallway, mumbling worst-case scenarios under your breath like some tiny academic preparing for a thesis defense. What if his house was super fancy and you looked like a total dork? What if his dad thought you were weird? What if—heaven forbid—your bangs were crooked?

Your mom had called you into the bathroom with a teasing smile, already brushing out your hair with practiced hands. “You’ve been spinnin’ round so much, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” she said, guiding you onto the stool. You barely heard her. You were too busy inspecting your reflection with all the dramatic weight of someone about to meet royalty (at least in your eyes).

You asked her—insisted, actually—to make your hair look “the prettiest it’s ever been,” and halfway through the process, you almost burst into tears because one of the bobby pins looked slightly off. She patiently adjusted it, smoothed your hair, and promised that everything would be perfect. You told her it wasn’t for anyone special. Just, you know, for science. Science in the shape of an eight-year-old know-it-all with gravity-defying green hair and the most annoyingly perfect answers in class. Definitely not a crush. Just admiration. Academic interest at best.

When it came time to pick your outfit, your mom suggested jeans—you might be running around, after all—but you practically threw a tantrum over it. How could she expect you to go to Senku Ishigami’s house in anything less than your favorite skirt and blouse? Tear-stricken and pouty, you pleaded with all the emotional strength your seven-year-old self could muster, and, in the end, she caved. She always did.

You left the house with your hair pinned to perfection, your skirt freshly ironed, and a bag packed with snacks and handmade flashcards on astronomy and botany, just in case. Before hopping into the car, your mom bent down and asked if you were excited, and you clutched your bag to your chest, whispering, “Do you think he’ll like it?”

She smiled and said simply, “Sweetheart, I think he already does.”

The car ride to Senku’s house felt like the longest journey of your life. You sat in the backseat, gripping your snack bag tightly, your legs bouncing nervously. You couldn’t stop thinking about all the possible things that could go wrong. What if his house was too fancy? What if his dad thought you were weird? What if you accidentally spilled your juice on something?

“What if he’s allergic to peanut butter?” you asked suddenly, your voice tight with panic.

Your mom, the epitome of patience, kept her eyes on the road. “You’ve known him for over a year. I think you’d know.”

“But what if he didn’t want to tell me? What if he’s too polite to say anything and dies quietly?”

She laughed softly. “If Senku ever did anything quietly, I’ll eat your I’ll eat that weird syrup you made outta licorice root and burnt orange peels.”

You grinned despite yourself. “Hey, that was medicinal.”

When you finally pulled up outside his house, your heart skipped. It looked surprisingly normal—to normal. You half-expected plasma panels or robot arms greeting you at the front door, and felt slightly betrayed by the lack of dramatic flair. But just as the thought passed, the door opened and there was Senku, holding it open with one hand while waving you in with the other, already mid-ramble.

“It finally dried, by the way. The mitochondria model. The glue took forever because someone—” he gave you a pointed look, “—used the slow-drying kind.”

You scrambled out of the car, barely remembering to call a thank you to your mom as you kicked your shoes off in the entryway. She called after you, “Play nice! And don’t electrocute anything important!”

You waved vaguely over your shoulder, but Senku was already tugging you inside, halfway through explaining how he'd recalculated the solar panel wattage to better power his “not-even-that-dangerous” circuit board. You only caught about half of it, too focused on the way his house didn’t smell like your own. It wasn’t the usual mix of laundry detergent and herbs—instead, it smelled like antiseptics, printer ink, and something sharp and citrusy, like someone had been cleaning circuit boards with orange peels.

The living room looked like a regular living room, if regular living rooms had microscopes on the coffee table and an anatomy model sharing space with the TV remote. You stared at it with wide eyes until Senku waved a hand in front of your face.

“You’re gonna short-circuit if you keep staring like that.”

“I’m just looking,” you said, trying to sound casual. “It’s cool.”

Senku grinned. “Told you.”

Before you could ask what half the gadgets on the shelves actually did, another voice called from the hallway. “Senku? Is that your friend?”

A tall man stepped into view, smiling warmly beneath a bit of stubble and what you would later recognize as perpetual exhaustion softened by kindness. His lab coat was half-buttoned, his tie askew, like he'd just come back from something important and forgot to change. He looked a little like a grown-up version of Senku if someone swapped out the smug genius energy for soft-dad warmth.

“Hi,” you said, suddenly shy, clutching your bag a little tighter.

Byakuya crouched a bit to your level, his expression kind and easy. “Nice to meet you. That’s quite the supply kit you’ve got there.”

You glanced down, realizing your tote was bursting at the seams—flashcards, notebooks, folded diagrams poking out at the edges. “I didn’t know what we’d be working on,” you said quickly. “So I brought some notes. And samples. And—um—gloves. Just in case.”

Byakuya let out a warm laugh, not mocking but genuinely delighted. “That might make you the most prepared guest we’ve ever had.”

Your eyes darted nervously to Senku, who was now aggressively adjusting the velcro on his slipper like it was the most important task in the world.

“I also made a chart on plant propagation,” you added, voice softening.

Byakuya raised his eyebrows, impressed. “Well, I can see why Senku talks about you so much.”

You blinked. “He—he does?”

Senku let out a loud, theatrical sigh. “Okay, no one needs to start writing a biography. C’mon already. I’ve got chlorophyll samples turning green and exactly two hours to show them off.”

You let yourself be pulled along, sandals slapping awkwardly against the floor, nerves still fluttering somewhere in your chest. But as the hallway filled with his voice again—talking fast and excited and a little smug—you felt it settle into something easier.

Senku led you down the hallway like he was guiding someone through a top-secret laboratory. “Don’t touch anything on the right side of the desk,” he warned. “That’s the unstable compound section.”

You nodded solemnly like that meant anything to your seven-year-old brain.

His room wasn’t what you expected. It didn’t look like a scientist’s lair, exactly—there were stacks of books, yes, and a microscope perched on a tiny desk, but also a chaotic pile of LEGOs in one corner and a model volcano on the shelf that looked like it had erupted one too many times. The whole place smelled faintly of vinegar and rubber cement.

“Okay,” he said, letting go of your wrist. “You can sit there. But don’t knock over the beaker. I calibrated it.”

You blinked at the suspiciously lumpy beanbag chair and dropped into it carefully, adjusting your skirt like it was part of a lab coat. “I brought my own stuff,” you said, reaching into your bag. “Wanna see my flashcards on leaf types? I laminated them.”

Senku raised an eyebrow. “Laminated?” He sounded impressed. “Nice.”

You tried to pretend it was no big deal, but you were definitely glowing with pride.

The next hour passed in a blur of enthusiastic debates about which plants were most efficient for oxygen production, wildly inaccurate microscope observations (“This one looks like a frog but, like, evil”), and a very serious trade-off where you let him borrow your chart on root systems and he let you poke the bubbling goo in a test tube—“But just once,” he warned, “and with gloves.”

At some point, Byakuya poked his head in to check on you both. “Everything okay in here?”

“We’re fine,” Senku said, waving him off without looking up from where he was sketching something vaguely mushroom-shaped in his notebook.

“Yeah!” you added brightly. “Only one near-explosion.”

Byakuya’s eyebrows lifted, but he just chuckled and disappeared again.

When lunchtime rolled around, Senku’s dad called from the kitchen, “Food’s ready! I made tempura!”

Senku stood up immediately. “Finally.”

You stayed frozen in place. “Wait. Do I… take my shoes off again? Or do I say something first? Or—”

Senku rolled his eyes. “You just eat. It’s not a ceremony.”

But when you hesitated, he paused at the doorway, turned back, and offered his hand like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “C’mon. I’ll show you where everything is.”

You stared at his hand for a beat, then took it with all the shy ceremony of a kid who felt like she’d just been handed the moon.

Lunch was loud and warm and a little messy, with you trying not to get tempura crumbs on your blouse and Senku explaining the science of frying oil to you mid-bite. Afterward, you both ended up on the living room floor, heads bent over your laminated flashcards again, giggling over your own made-up quiz show rules.

By the time lunch was cleared and your flashcards were exhausted, Senku had a new plan—because of course he did.

“We’re building a telescope,” he announced, already dragging out a cardboard box filled with what looked like paper towel rolls, bits of wire, and two scratched-up magnifying lenses.

Your eyes lit up. “Like, a real one?”

“A mostly real one,” he corrected, nudging over a ruler and a roll of duct tape. “We’ll have to adjust the focal length using trial and error since someone didn’t bring their refractive index chart.”

You grinned, sitting cross-legged beside him on the living room floor. “I did too. It’s in my side pocket. Next to the iodine strips.”

Senku paused, then grinned. “Knew there was a reason I let you in my lab.”

The next hour was chaos in the best possible way. You held the body of the telescope steady while he muttered measurements, barking out instructions and adjusting lenses with the intensity of a NASA engineer. You argued over angular positioning, almost glued your fingers to the table, and knocked over a juice box in the process—but when you finally stepped out onto the porch to test your “masterpiece,” the two of you were glowing with pride.

“I’m gonna go to space someday,” Senku said, eyes turned skyward, voice quieter now. “Just like how my dad is.”

You looked up from aligning the telescope and blinked. “Really?”

He nodded. “Gonna build a rocket. Maybe not tomorrow, but someday. I’ll get to the moon.”

You didn’t laugh. Not even a little. Because you knew—knew he wasn’t just saying it to sound cool, or because it was a kid thing to say. He meant it. This wasn’t a dream he’d outgrow. It was a mission. And he was going to chase it with every ounce of brilliance and stubbornness in his bones.

And you? You wanted to help him get there.

So you just said, “Can I come?”

He looked at you like the question barely needed asking. Like your place beside him had already been calculated into the launch trajectory.

“Obviously,” he said. “Somebody’s gotta be in charge of on-board medicine. And making sure I don’t do anything reckless.”

You beamed so hard your cheeks hurt.

Later, long after the light had shifted and the living room was quieter, Senku’s dad peeked in to check on you. He found the telescope abandoned at the edge of the rug, half-complete, still warm with purpose. The two of you had crashed without realizing it, curled up in a quiet lump among open notebooks and marker-stained pillows. Your head had drifted to Senku’s shoulder, one of your arms thrown over his chest like you were mid-reach and just forgot to let go. He’d leaned unconsciously toward your warmth, and one of his hands was still loosely clutching a screwdriver.

Byakuya stood in the doorway for a moment, smiling to himself. Then, without a word, he crossed the room, gently laid a blanket over both of you, and turned off the light. And for a second, he let himself imagine a future where two kids who once built cardboard telescopes and tin foil rocket ships actually touched the stars.

an: hi... my last post was a month ago, and honestly, that doesn't even count cause it took me like 10 minutes to write. this is the work that has took over my waking thoughts and I'm so glad to be somewhat happy enough with the first chapter to finally post. I first watched Dr Stone back in Feb and I have been OBSESSED ever since so... thank you @lo1itado11 for the rec (everything I watch is because of her). ALSO I forgot just how awful it is to format on ao3, it genuinely took me 3 hours to get it right. never again (it will happen every time I post)

anyway, this is getting long. next chapter will hopefully be out this or next week. we'll see...

#🍥writing.#x reader #senku x reader #senku ishigami x reader #ishigami senku x reader #senku x y/n #drst x reader #dcst senku #dr stone x reader #dr stone #dr. stone #drst #ishigami senku #senku ishigami #💌 confessions.#wip turned fic #yes this is the thing that's been keeping me awake at night #I am obsessed with this man

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dollyswishingwell · 13 days ago

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Hiii do u think u could write about being pampered by the guys on your period please

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Period (Literally)

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ fluff, just men in love, i love these type of requests, yall tickle my fancy

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ They take extra care on your period

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

- “Noooo, my wife is in pain?! This is a global emergency. Get the tiara. Get the plushies. Get the pink soup.” (It’s just beetroot soup)

- Carries you around the house bridal-style even if you say you’re fine. “Your feet should not touch the floor while you suffer.”

- Sketches funny period-themed comics of your uterus throwing tantrums. Tapes them to the fridge.

- Sprawls across your lap and insists on being your emotional support cat. “I’ll soak up your pain with cuddles and kisses.”

- Brings you cupcakes and then bites one in half to ‘test for poison’. Pouts when you don’t laugh. “Not even a giggle?? But you’re in your special soft week!”

- Clings to you in bed, stroking your hair, whispering, “Your blood is sacred. Like royal ink. I love you even when you’re cranky and pink.”

- “That rhymed”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

- “You’re not lifting a single finger, sweetheart.” He’s already whisking you into bed the second you mutter a soft, “I think it started…”

- Has your pain meds measured out by the milligram, and warms up a heating pad without being asked.

- Silently draws a bath with essential oils, salts, and flower petals like he’s prepping for surgery. Dabs your forehead with a towel when you sigh.

- Prepares a full anti-cramp tray: hot water bottle, dark chocolate, strawberries, oat cookies, chamomile tea… and a designer painkiller if you want it.

- “Let me see that pout.” Kisses it gently, then moves down to kiss your lower belly. “I’d trade places with you if I could.”

- Brings you your favorite fluffy blanket and insists you rest in his lap while he works from home. You fall asleep as he absently strokes your hair with gloved hands. (They’re hand warm gloves cause his cold hands would make your cramps worse lol)

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

- Doesn’t fully understand the biology at first. Why is there blood if you’re not wounded? Are you in danger? Cue frantic googling.

- Once he understands, he’s so gentle. He places a protective hand on your lower belly like he’s guarding your uterus from spirits.

- Doodles silly period comics in the corners of your heating pad packets. “Look, it’s you fighting the Evil Crampon King.”

- Hums lullabies (he’s good) while cradling you like a sleepy cat curled up on a cloud. Kisses your temple every five minutes.

- “What do you want? Name it. Mooncakes? Your pink soda? Baby deer-shaped gummies? I’ll find it.”

- Falls asleep spooning you with his face pressed into your back, occasionally mumbling, “my poor baby… my poor starlight…” in his sleep.

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

- “You’re bleeding, and you still look like a goddess,” he murmurs while draping you in silk loungewear and laying you down on the penthouse daybed.

- Orders the house staff not to speak above a whisper. Replaces your usual tea with a rare herbal blend flown in from the Alps.

- Applies heated balm to your lower belly himself with gloved fingers, moving in slow, teasing circles. “Tell me where it hurts, darling. I’ll kill it.”

- Buys you limited edition pink pads in a velvet box. He custom orders them. “Only the best for my wife’s womb.” You deadpan and chuck them at his head.

- Holds you in his lap, arms around your waist, whispering, “You’re allowed to be angry, you’re allowed to cry. Just don’t hide it from me.”

- Forces you to cancel every appointment. “You’re on royal leave. Bleed in luxury, my spoiled little empress.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

- “Mission canceled. My wife’s uterus is under siege.” Drops his military tone and goes full doting gege mode with soft forehead kisses.

- Fluffs every pillow in the penthouse and lays out all your favorites: bear plushies, warm milk, strawberry mochi, fuzzy socks.

- Knows your cravings down to the brand. He stocks the snack cabinet like it’s a field rations supply drop.

- Gently rubs your lower back with one hand while scrolling through cute movies to play. “What’s my pipsqueak gonna watch today?”

- Wraps you up in his oversized hoodie and lets you hide in his arms while he whispers nonsense praise. “Bravest girl I know. Strongest little bunny. You’re still the prettiest even if you’re grumpy.”

- If someone dares annoy you during your period? Caleb’s already blocked their number and sent a formal cease-and-desist.

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lxvvie · 1 year ago

Text

Couples Shit with Simon Riley, Parenthood Edition:

Thinking it's so cute the way your little bundle of joy scrunches up, especially when she's laying on you and/or Simon.

Simon's irregular sleep schedule making him the perfect playmate for little Miss Riley when she's up and at 'em at night. You remember walking into the living room once and watching Simon just walk around, daughter bundled up in her baby blanket in his arms, cooing and gurgling at her Papa, them having their own conversation, and watching Simon fall in love all over again.

Being hypervigilant to the point that every noise the baby makes prompts you to wake up and panic. The baby whined, you sat straight up in bed, only to see Simon staring at you in concern and baby Riley sound asleep on his chest.

Conversely, thinking something is wrong because you haven't heard the baby cry, waking up in a panic yet again only to be met with Simon and the baby looking at you crazy.

Simon officially becoming a bed for you and baby Riley. It's not uncommon for her to lay on his chest while you're nestled at his side and his arm is around you.

Absolutely, positively loving to put the baby sling on Simon and watching your big beefy lover tote the baby around in it. Also, taking a picture and sending it to the boys. The big bad Ghost? In a baby sling???? Huh. Looks cute on him.

Parental guilt, especially on Simon's end with him being gone on deployments. He made damn sure to see his baby girl take her first steps because he missed it when she began to start fully crawling.

Baby girl being captivated by the scars on Simon's face. And his crooked nose. Loves to grab at his face and you're amused by the way he scrunches his nose when she does so. Apparently baby girl is, too.

You and Simon playing with the baby and next thing you know, you hear a wet fart. Simon chuckles out of amusement and to keep from dying inside because he just changed her nappy. You conveniently had to go walk the cat and made yourself scarce. Meanwhile, baby girl is giggling and gurgling up a storm.

When she gets older, little Miss Riley loves it when Simon carries her like a sack of potatoes over his shoulder. She'll run up to him and go, " 'tato, Daddy! 'tato!" and next thing you know, there's a giggling toddler slung over her dad's shoulder.

Baby girl drawing a picture of her parents at school and Simon's shoulders are bigger than... everything else on his body. Even his head. You're so tickled that you framed it.

Similarly, sneaking one of her drawings into Simon's bag so he'll see it when he's gone. He does and it's all the more reason for him to fight like hell to see you two again.

Having to limit the amount of sweets you buy because Princess Miss Riley has inherited her dad's sweet tooth. Doesn't stop them from sneaking out to go to their favorite bakery.

Baby girl being the best helper ever around the house, especially when she walks on Daddy's back to help alleviate the stiffness.

Because she likes to draw so much, Simon promised his daughter that she can design the next tattoo he gets. Well, it turns into an entire project and you and her proceed to draw butterflies and other cute designs on his other arm. True to his word, Simon gets another sleeve tattoo with those same drawings. Cheers, luvs.

Simon being in the doghouse with little Miss Riley because he was supposed to wake up with true love's first kiss because you and Simon were reenacting Sleeping Beauty for your daughter. Simon may or may not have taken it a bit too seriously and dozed off. Your baby girl is now upset because this means Sleeping Beauty will never wake up again and no amount of treats from daddy can change that. Princess Daddy status has officially been revoked, Simon. For now lmao.

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minniesfiles · 2 months ago

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BLOOM WITH YOU | month 2

❧ PAIRING; wonwoo x reader

❧ GENRE; angst, fluff, light smut

❧ WARNINGS; none

❧ WORDCOUNT; 1k

▁▁▁▁▁▁

series masterlist

𐚁₊⊹

▍16 FEBRUARY 2026

“Stop! That tickles!” you giggled. You squirmed slightly as you stood in the soft morning light with your shirt bunched up beneath your chest and belly exposed to the cool air.

Wonwoo was kneeling in front of you with a pink sharpie in his hand. He looked determined, but also mildly frustrated, as he stared at his latest attempt at drawing a heart shape around your navel. Your belly was still small but no longer entirely flat,

“Babe,” he groaned. He sat back on his heels with the sharpie still uncapped in one hand while the other rubbed at his temple. “Just stay still for one second. I need this heart to be perfect or it won’t look good in the pictures.”

You rolled your eyes and playfully crossed your arms over your chest. “You’ve already drawn four crooked ones. I think the baby will forgive you if it’s not Instagram-worthy.”

Your husband looked up at you with that soft grin that always managed to melt your irritation. “This is for our baby’s album, not social media. I want them to see everything and how much we loved them before they even arrived.”

Something about that simple statement made your breath catch. Even after all the years together, all the heartbreak and the six losses you never fully healed from, Wonwoo still had the ability to see hope. And to believe in it.

He reached forward and pressed a kiss to your belly, right over the half-formed heart, and whispered something you couldn’t quite hear. You felt the warmth of his breath and the soft scratch of his stubble. But most of all, you felt the gravity of his love.

You were ten weeks along. The bump wasn’t obvious yet. If anything, you just looked like you had a heavy meal. But Wonwoo noticed everything. The slight curve of your abdomen. The way your hand would sometimes drift to rest there without thinking. The tiredness in your eyes in the evenings, and the small shifts in your appetite. To him, those little changes were signs of life. It was proof that the tiny bean growing inside you was still holding on.

And so, every week since the hospital talk, he had been documenting everything. He turned your hallway into a makeshift studio, with white backdrop, fairy lights, even a ring light he ordered online “just to get the right glow.”

His camera, which he would often use for moody cityscapes and random low-light portraits, now clicked infinite pictures of you. Either laughing, crying, or eating pickles and peanut butter at midnight. But his favourite was when you’d nap with your head on his shoulder while he rubbed soothing circles on your back.

It had started as a simple idea: a photo every week, just to track the journey. But it quickly turned into a full-on project. Wonwoo was capturing memories. Moments. Little evidence of the love you already carried for someone you hadn’t even met yet.

“Turn a little this way,” he instructed, clicking his tongue as he looked through the viewfinder. “Okay, now place your hands under the bump — yes, like that. Perfect.”

You posed. But at the same time you tried not to laugh at how serious he looked, crouched like a professional photographer with a camera strap dangling from his neck. Like the professional he was, he moved with quiet precision as he snapped photo after photo, then stepping forward to adjust your hair or reposition the lighting with gentle hands.

The room was filled with nothing but shutter clicks and your soft laughter.

╴╴╴╴╴

Later when the mini photo-shoot was over, Wonwoo sat with you on the sofa. Your legs were stretched out over his lap while he edited all the photos he shot. The photos were beautiful. Natural and radiant. You simply looked so happy. Soft and full of a glow you didn’t realised you were carrying.

“See? This is what I want our baby to see.” Wonwoo showed you one photo in particular. It was a candid moment where you were looking down at your belly as you faintly smiled with a hand resting protectively over it.

“I want them to know how deeply they were wanted.”

You pressed your face into his shoulder to hide the sudden wave of emotion. “I’m scared to want this too much,” you admitted. Wonwoo didn’t respond immediately. He just kept stroking your arm gently, his fingers finding their familiar rhythm against your skin.

“We can be scared. That’s okay. But let’s still hope anyway” he finally said.

It was easier said than done.

Every time you dared to hope, every time you picked out names, imagined nursery colours, imagined what your baby would look like with your nose or his eyes — it always ended up with you lying within the four hospital walls.

But this time was different — or so Dr. Jung insisted.

The frequent checkups helped. Every week, she ran another ultrasound, checked your hormone levels, and adjusted medications. There were more tubes and blood draws than you wanted to count, and more nights lying awake wondering if every cramp or twinge was a sign of another loss.

But each visit so far had ended with the same sound: a stable, tiny heartbeat. The baby was holding on.

Dr. Jung was cautiously optimistic. With the added progesterone and hormone therapy, your body was supporting the embryo better than ever before. And with constant surveillance, she said she could catch the earliest signs of complication.

You remembered her words clearly: “We’re not waiting for something to go wrong. We’re staying ahead of it this time.”

It helped having her in your corner. She said the embryo had implanted in a healthy area. Your uterus was responding well to the hormones. Your blood flow was better than expected. The baby had a good chance — better than any of your previous pregnancies.

Still, the fear lingered. It always did.

You remember one night, when Wonwoo was already asleep, where you sat up in bed, hand resting lightly on your stomach. The room was dark, save for the glow of the moon through the window. “Please stay. Just this once…stay” you’d whisper softly.

The next morning, you found a small sticky note taped to the bathroom mirror in Wonwoo’s familiar handwriting.

▏We already love you more than life. Stay with us, little one.”

He never asked if you read it. He didn’t have to.

a/n; short but sweet :)

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hinge · 17 days ago

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Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

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oizysian · 9 months ago

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12 // Cockwarming // Her Favorite Show

Summary: Wanda watches her favorite show.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: dirty talk, biting, slight spanking

Word count: 680

Kinktober masterlist

“Just like that, dove, just …” She guided my hips so that her strap pressed into me, slipping between my folds and entering me slowly. “… take mommy’s cock.”

I let out a whimpering cry, grabbing onto her shoulders to attempt to ground myself as she bottomed out inside me.

“That’s it, that’s it, you’re doing so good.” She cupped my face, pressing a quick kiss to my lips before returning her attention to the television. “Now, be a good girl and let mommy watch her show.”

I whined softly and rested my head in the crook of her neck, resisting the urge to roll my hips against hers. She was holding me, resting her head on my own as she watched whatever old show she had on. I knew she couldn’t possibly be actually watching something while she was inside of me - how could she concentrate? But, if she was watching her show, maybe she wouldn’t notice if I moved a little bit against her.

I heard her giggle at some joke that was said and I bit my lip, thrusting slightly up against her to get some friction.

She brought her hand down and smacked my ass, causing me to jerk against her, a moan of pleasure slipping past my lips.

“None of that. You only have an hour to wait before I fuck you. Until then, keep mommy’s cock nice and warm like a good girl.”

I released the breath that I was holding, trying to calm myself down. An hour. I could wait an hour, right?

She moved her hips ever so slightly and the cock shifted inside me, drawing a whimper out of me. I could almost see her smiling at what she was doing to me, her small movements in an attempt to get comfortable was really just her way of torturing me.

She rubbed her hands up and down my back mindlessly as she watched her show, the simple action almost taking my mind off of how full I felt.

“Mommy,” I whispered into her ear and she hummed softly in response. “I wanna ride you.”

“Soon, princess.”

“But -”

“No buts. Let mommy watch her show or I won’t fuck you when it’s over.”

I pouted, trying my best not to move. How could I ignore the delicious feeling of her inside me, my aching cunt throbbing and clenching around her length.

I closed my eyes and sighed, doing my best not to think about how she felt - how she could feel if she were fucking me. I let out a shaky breath, hot against her skin and she shifted. Now holding my hips, she pressed me down onto her and I moaned softly.

“You’re being so good for me.” She whispered, slowly guiding my hips against her. “Only a few more minutes.”

“Please, I need you now.” I begged, hoping against hope that she’d forget about her dumb old show and just destroy me.

“Patience, darling.” She said softly, pressing a kiss to my crown. “You won’t be rewarded for bad behavior.”

I huffed, nipping at her shoulder in response, then soothing the small hurt with wet, open mouthed kisses.

“That was rather naughty of you, wasn’t it? Biting mommy like that.”

“Sorry mama,” Came my muffled reply. “Didn’t mean it.”

“No?” She asked, obviously not believing me. “I don’t like liars, Y/N. Liars go to bed with their holes full and no release. Do you understand?”

“Yes, mama, I’m sorry.”

The credits to her show began to roll and I fully expected to get fucked.

“Now,” she started, her nails digging into my hips. “Were you a good girl? Or should I plug you up and leave you to rot for the night?”

“I was good.” I said, my voice small. “Please fuck me, mama.”

“Hm, I’m tired.” She said as she turned off the television. “Let’s see how I feel in the morning.”

She wrapped her arms around me tightly, holding me impossibly close so I couldn’t move away from her. She rested her head against the pillows and sighed contently, closing her eyes.

“Go to sleep.”

#oizysian’s kinktober 2024 #oizysian’s kinktober #oizysian writes #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x y/n

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distantdarlings · 6 days ago

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SOMETHING TO BE OWNED // t. riddle

RATING: PG-13 / 3.1K WORDS

Tom Riddle x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* After watching your boyfriend, Abraxas Malfoy, mistreat you for months. Tom decides to explain what love should be. (Song fic)

+ WARNINGS - Sensualilty, Tom is persistent in talking to you, crying, Abraxas is an asshole, implication that Abraxas may have hit reader at some point, language, not fully proofread (let me know if I missed any)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Figure You Out - Voila

---

The way he looked at you sickened Tom.

His eyes would curl over you like a rotting parasitic plant, climbing up your body and wrapping around your chest and throat, suffocating you from the outside in. Your eyes would flicker nervously from his predatory gaze to the floor more times than he could count, trying to draw his attention away from you.

Tom couldn’t fathom what about Abraxas Malfoy was attracting you. The only thing that made an ounce of sense was his family’s money. That was it, though. He was loud, obnoxiously prideful, annoyingly materialistic, and anything but handsome. Still, though, you stayed with him. Always forcing your hand within his, swallowing bile down your throat when he leaned in for a too-wet kiss, concealing a shudder when he wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

Tom didn’t get it. Why stay with him?

Those questions circulated his mind as his group of peers sat around the rounded table positioned in the far corner of the Slytherin common room. They passed jokes around noisily. Every time Abraxas would laugh especially hard, he would slap a gaunt, white hand on the table, and you would jump at the motion. Tom couldn’t help but feel his jaw clench at the notion of you being so jumpy around him. What reason would you have to act this way around him unless he was treating you wrongly?

“Oh, so, speaking of Potions class,” Abraxas started, guffawing unattractively. “Last week, we had to make some kind of…er…I can’t even remember. It was some kind of melting brew we were going to test on whatever the fuck, and—”

“Abraxas?” you piped up suddenly. Your voice was soft like a bell tingling in the distance beneath stone floors. Tom’s expression perked up as you leaned forward slightly from your cramped space between the arm of the sofa and Abraxas.

The blond paused and turned back to look at you. His hands splayed out in a gesture as if to ask what was wrong, though he seemed annoyed. Tom’s knuckles clenched.

“What?” Abraxas demanded.

“You…,” you chuckled nervously, eyes glancing down to your twiddling fingers as the rest of the group stared you down. “Can you not…tell that story? It’s just…It’s embarrassing.”

He paused for a minute, as if considering your words, before shrugging his shoulders. “No, it’s okay, babe. It’s not embarrassing. They won’t laugh.” He turned back to the rest of the group. “You guys won’t laugh, right?”

Murmurs of dismissive agreement went around the group, but Tom remained silent, his eyes staying on yours. Your cheeks flushed wildly as you looked back down at your lap. Whatever this story he was about to tell was, you clearly didn’t want it spoken aloud. Tom’s lips parted to speak.

“Anyways, so we were partnered for making this potion, right? And there was some kind of herb that you had to prepare very specifically before dropping it in. This was totally my fault. I was reading the instructions, and she was doing the work, which is typically what we do in projects like this—we just work well like that, you know? So, I was reading the preparation for the herb and she was doing it, and then I realized a second too late that I missed one super important thing about the prep, and, boom! This fucking thing blows up in her face!”

He’s laughing aloud—spit flying about, hand slapping roughly on the table in front of him. The rest of the boys around the table burst out in noisy fits of giggles. Tom remained silent.

His eyes found you. The blush on your cheeks had made its way up to the tips of your ears, and glistening sparks of tears welled in your eyes. Your lips parted slightly as you tried to hold back the impending sobs.

“It makes the loudest fucking sound! The professor’s looking, and everyone else is looking over. I’m cracking up, of course. Dude, her face is straight black from the soot, and the herb is just puffing in her hands—”

Tom watched as you sniffled once and easily slipped out of your space on the couch, easing your way silently to the common room bathrooms with a hand pressed to your nose. Tom’s hand clenched beneath the weight of his anger.

“And, Merlin, I’m dying laughing and she—”

“Abraxas!” Tom shouted suddenly. “Shut the fuck up for once in your goddamn life!”

He jumped to his feet and made his way after your retreating figure, already concealed by the shadows cast by the narrow hallway. He didn’t bother to linger long enough to see the young Malfoy’s reaction to his outburst. He was only focused on one thing.

Perhaps he was out of his league. Perhaps he had no business trying to talk to you, to check if you were okay, to watch you in the ways he did. Perhaps you wanted nothing to do with him. But, fuck, he knew there was no way you could stay with Abraxas. He wouldn’t be good for you either; he knew that. But he couldn’t stand to see that stupid boy mistreat you any longer. He had to say something.

He weaved through the hallway leading to the single bathrooms, where he could have sworn he’d heard you crying more than once.

He’d watched you for months—the cringing, the choked sobs, the concealed anger. He’d watched the way Abraxas treated you as though you were nothing more than an accessory. You weren’t a beautiful woman, desperate to be loved and held and worshiped. You were nothing to him. You were a status symbol, something to hang his money and title on and watch as you fell behind. It made Tom feel ill.

He didn’t have anything to give you, anything to show you. His possessions were resigned to the things he could fit into the little leather trunk beneath his dormitory bed. He didn’t know love—familial or otherwise. He didn’t know how to touch, how to worship, how to care properly. But he did know how to protect, how to defend, how to fight. Especially when concerning something he cared about. He couldn’t care well, but he couldn’t deny the feelings he felt toward you. You were something he couldn’t explain. But an explanation had never been his concern. Only your well-being had.

He stopped in front of the girls’ lavatory, knuckles lingering inches away from the door’s wooden surface, weighing out his options.

He could turn away from this—not get involved, take an early night in, study a bit extra before tomorrow morning, and pretend like nothing happened. Or, he could knock. He could ask if you were alright, show you what it was like to be properly loved in his own delusional portrayal of it. He hadn’t felt desire like this in a long time. In fact, he rarely felt desire, but the feeling that circulated his body when he thought of you, saw you, breathed you in, could only be described as such. The closest thing he could find to describing the way he felt about you was possession. You were an article of his belongings that he could not lose, could not imagine losing.

But you weren’t a belonging. You weren’t a possession. You weren’t something to be held down.

He knocked.

He heard a distant sniffle and a small voice. “Just a minute.”

“It’s…er, Tom…Riddle,” he said, unsure. He cleared his throat, shrugging a bit of confidence back into his body.

“Tom?”

The door clicked and slowly slid open, revealing your swollen lips and tear-streaked cheeks. You looked positively ethereal. He cleared his throat once more.

“Is something wrong?” you asked. “Just tell Abraxas I’ll be out in—”

“No,” he interrupted. “I was coming to check on you, to see if you were alright. I’m not sure what he’s doing.”

You looked shocked. “Oh, well, I’m alright, Tom. Thanks, though.”

Just as you began to push the door back closed, he spoke up once more, placing a gentle but firm hand on the door. “Actually, I was hoping we could talk.”

“About what?” you asked suspiciously, fingers twitching anxiously against the door.

Tom refrained from rolling his eyes at himself. Of course, you’d be unsure why this quiet friend of your boyfriend’s wanted to speak with you. Tom had barely said two words to you the entirety of the time he’d known you. There would be no reason for him to speak with you, if not to just benefit Abraxas.

“About Malfoy,” he said, clenching his jaw around the name in disgust.

“Why?” you asked, eyes flickering around.

“Allow me a few words, please?” he said, knuckles rolling against the door where he prevented it from closing. You seemed to be questioning his being here. It seemed that his concern that you’d mistake this for him trying to help Abraxas out was weighing on your mind.

“I’m not here because of him,” Tom explained. “It’s about you.”

“Okay,” you finally breathed. “We can go to my room if you’d like.”

“Sure,” he nodded, once again painfully unsure. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. He just wanted you to know what you were worth, what you meant to people other than your asshole boyfriend.

He held a hand out, asking silently for your will to go with him, to trust him with your whole being, just for a few seconds. Hesitantly, you placed your smaller hand into his and sucked in a breath as the two of you whipped upwards in a swirl of magic. He controlled the Disapparation, but you imagined your dormitory, if only to help angle the route. Whether or not you were aware he was a Legilimens didn’t matter to him. He tried not to pry into your mind too much. Still, for just a second, he glimpsed into your quiet brain to see your destination.

Then both of your pairs of feet touched cold, stone ground, surrounded by endless quiet and darkness. You whispered a quiet spell, and Tom’s attention was snagged by the fireplace in the corner as it roared to life, bringing with it easy warmth and ambient noise.

You let out a sigh and, with your arms crossed tightly over your shuddering body, turned back to him. “Alright, Tom, what is it?”

“I think you should leave Malfoy,” he said abruptly, not giving himself any time to question if this was a good idea any further.

Your lips parted in unmistakable disbelief. A nervous chuckle quickly spilled from your mouth before you were able to stop it.

“What…?”

“I don’t understand what you could possibly see in him,” Tom said, shaking his head frustratedly. He took a step closer to you. “Please, understand what I see from my point of view.”

You shuffled your feet nervously, trading your weight back and forth between each one. Your eyes flickered around just as they always did when Abraxas was using you as a symbolic punching bag. Tom flinched at that. He didn’t want you to be nervous around him.

“Please,” he said. “Don’t be nervous. I don’t want you to be frightened of me.”

He took another step closer, drawing your eyes back to him. You couldn’t believe the words leaving this infamous Slytherin king’s mouth.

“That’s silly, Tom,” you scoffed.

“What do you mean?” he asked, trying to force your eyes back to his no matter which way your head turned. He didn’t want to upset you further, but you needed to see your worth. He wouldn’t give up until you did.

“That’s like your whole thing,” you chuckled, your smile genuine for a moment. “Everyone’s scared of Tom Riddle. Even Abraxas.”

“Is that so?” he asked, smirking ever so slightly. It was satisfying to him that such a bighead moneybag was frightened of him. With all of the ego and pride and wealth that Abraxas boasted every single day, it seemed impossible that he’d be willing to bow down to anyone. Except for Tom, it seemed.

“Oh, yeah,” you smiled. “He used to prattle on about how annoyingly perfect you were—your grades, your reputation, your looks…” Your eyes flickered away.

“He said that?” Tom asked, holding back a laugh.

“Yes, he’s said those things multiple times,” you sighed. “He’s so pathetic, I—oh, sorry. I know he’s your friend.”

“Please, that boy is not my friend. Especially not after I’ve witnessed him treat you the way he does.”

“Why does that even matter to you?” you scoffed, refraining from rolling your eyes at his sudden interest in you. For Merlin’s sake, he hadn’t even spoken with you for more than a few seconds at a time before this.

“Because you…” His options for a response rapidly danced in his head. He didn’t want to screw this up. Anything he said right now could completely throw this whole thing off the rails, and that is the last thing he wanted. “You deserve better. Someone better.”

“What, like you?” you laughed meanly, rolling your eyes. “I should’ve known that this was just a ploy to fuck with your friend’s head. Find a soft spot in the relationship, wiggle your way in, and then show me off, right? That’s how this was going to go.”

“No, that wasn’t my intention at all,” Tom responded. You seemed shocked, like you genuinely couldn’t imagine his desires were anything but cruel and selfish. “All I wanted was to check on you and to give my opinion on the way Abraxas treats you. You truly don’t deserve it.”

“And what do I deserve, Tom? Since you know me so well.” You were getting angry. He could tell. He didn’t know what to do to turn this conversation back around, so he decided to give his honest thoughts and hope for the best. If you never wanted to talk to him again after this, at least he’d hopefully been able to sway you away from Abraxas.

“Someone…loving. Someone to know the way you like to be held, like to be talked to, like to be touched as if it were their own desires. Someone who puts your needs before theirs and then some…” Tom took another step toward you. He was now only a foot from you. He could hear your stifled breathing, could hear the sound of your fingernails picking nervously along the side of your fingers.

Though your nervousness had kept you from looking into Abraxas’ eyes as often as you could, the kind of anxiety you felt around Tom was not the same. This kind made it impossible to tear your eyes away from his. His lips parted gently as one of his hands raised between the two of you.

“What else?” you murmured, swallowing thickly, the motion not being lost on Tom’s ever-watchful eye.

His hand rose even more, slowly coming forward just enough to press a slow, cold fingertip to your hairline. He eased a strand of hair away from your face, tracing its length all the way down to where it met behind your ear. You shuddered beneath his gaze and touch.

“He wants you to be something you’re not,” he whispered. You could feel his breath on your face. “You’re not silent, you’re not dumb, you’re not something to be owned.”

Your chest began to move quicker, your breaths shortening and intensifying all at the same time. Tom’s eyes flickered down to where your uniform shirt parted at the third button, only slightly teasing the part of your cleavage and the scattered beauty marks that resided there. If he stepped an inch closer, he’d be able to glimpse your bra.

“You don’t like his music, you don’t like his friends, you don’t like anything about him,” he continued. “The only good thing about him is his money, and I can get you that.”

Your lips trembled. The hand that had pushed the hair out of your face rose once more. His thumb traced across your bottom lip with a featherlight touch, so gentle that you weren’t sure you’d even know it was there if you couldn’t see it. His other hand selected your hand and brought it up between the two of you.

“You need love—gentle and clawing and all-encompassing. Don't you want to be loved? To be satisfied? He cannot give you that. Let me give it to you.” He placed his lips to the palm of your hand, dark eyes never leaving yours.

The tiniest gasp permeated the air between the two of you as he knocked out of the haze you set across his body. He’d walked you up against the post of your bed and had trapped your body against it, knee separating your thighs, lips so close they brushed against yours with every move.

“Fuck,” he whispered, slowly pulling away from you. You let out a deep breath as your body seemed to decompress. “I’m sorry.” His voice was nothing more than a murmur.

“It’s okay,” you responded. “Would you?”

Tom’s eyes flicked back over to you. “What?”

“You asked me to let you give it to me, that love you described…,” you said, voice suddenly a bit more confident than it had been. “Would you give it to me?”

“I can’t love you right,” Tom breathed. “But I could love you in the way I know how—with undying, all-consuming obsession.”

You didn’t say anything. Just chewed your lip nervously, though you seemed to have made up your mind.

---

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