#the things people say in passing and act like are normal is something else

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

Fallout leaves you scrambling for who really has your back and who doesn't. The Empire reaches the western sect and lays down the law. You're given one hell of an apology. 

[Invincible Variants X Reader]

"Tch, that many times that fast isn't possible." Clearly you've never had lesbian sex. NSFW

[Part one] [Ao3] [24] [Chapter Index]

25 * Alliances [15.3k]

        Behind Mohawk's boots, the stars passed by. Unknowing, uncaring of your plight, spasming on the floor, drooling at the mouth. You tried to imagine there was something out in the universe that would save you. Something righteous that wouldn't let this happen. But no God comes bashing trough the window, you were left to fend for yourself like you had in prison, under Machine Head, in the desert. It was never-ending.

        You didn't see him as you were facing the window, but Gray was at the top of the stairs, fists clenched. You didn't hear him, were too scared to move and set off another spasm fit. But he heard everything, wanted to step in when he heard you scream, saw you drop to your knees. Heard your heart hammering in terror- but that was it, you were still alive- weren't you? He knew Mohawk would take some sort of disciplinary action. Viltrumites were not a forgiving people. If Gray's version of you had acted like that, a higher up would have killed her before he even got a say. The fact you were alive after that clear disrespect was paramount to Mohawk's care for you. Still, he hadn't told Gray about this... collar, he'd called it. Supposed it could corral you, but did he really have to go to such barbaric measures? Gray would have started by taking away more simple pleasures and amenities like his mother had done when he disobeyed as a child. You were a human from an Earth unclaimed by the Empire, you didn't know what you were up against.

        Mohawk didn't look at Gray. The man was an afterthought that Mohawk knew wouldn't step in. Gray was already proving to be a good lap dog, you could learn a thing or two from him.

       Mohawk spoke, "Oh, don't pout." You weren't pouting, you were in acute shock. "You knew I'd have to curb your bullshit eventually. This is really your fault for acting out." Now that you were subdued, hurting, his voice took a smooth, balmy tone. "I still care about you. I wish things didn't have to be this way." Only your eyes moved, rolling in their sockets towards his voice, set reddened on him like a sick dog. Your mouth moved but no sounds come out, throat pulsing with pain. "Don't look at me like that, I mean it. I'll take it off once you learn to behave, but until then." Mohawk knelt down and got a better look at your face, pressed to the floor and stupid. He reached toward your neck, sleeve dragging in your pool of spit, and tugged on the metal heart in the collar's middle. "I've gotta keep a better handle on you is all. Doesn't mean I love you any less."

        Kregg's voice buzzed in his ear.

        "I have to go. Duty calls, you know?" The only response he got was the malice twinkling in your teary eyes. He patted your cheek. "I won't take you along. You can go wherever you like, except you know, the stuff I've restricted because it's too dangerous for a human. Just be back in bed by one o'clock. If you're not well..." Another tug at the collar, but there's no humor in his voice like there normally was. "It's got a tracker, I'll find ya." 

        You couldn't roll out of the way as he leaned forward to place a kiss on your tear-slicked cheek. Mohawk paused as he pulled away. "Shit, right we don't have clocks you could read." Kregg said something else in his ear. Ever since he got back, it was all work, no play. "I'll just have someone get you if I'm busy."

        He rose to his feet and finally caught Gray's eye. "I told you to leave, didn't I?"

        Behind Gray's back, his hands were fists. "You did, sir. But.." His eyes flickered to you, just as much a weakness to him as you were to Mohawk.

        "Well-" At that moment, Markus burst into the room. He heard the scream from nearby and rushed over to find this- you twitching on the ground. He went to grab for you but Mohawk blocked him with his legs. "She's fine. Just a little disciplinary action."

        Markus thought you'd get a talking to. Thought maybe the Emperor would be more like himself, fuck you and not let you cum as punishment but this was certainly not that. "She doesn't look fine."

        Markus looked around Mohawk. Saw you shivering and crying. Saw the collar locked around your neck and was transported back in time. You'd been a collared submissive in his dimension, nothing as flashy as what Mohawk had you in, but it was the symbolism that mattered. You'd wanted it, asked for it even when he was hesitant. He came around to it, loved pulling you around but with consensual preamble. This was beyond that. You hadn't wanted this. You resisted. You were scared, he could hear your heart's stuttering beats. He was reminded of your face right before he snapped your neck. 

        "Might be touchy for a few minutes but my sensors say she's completely fine." Mohawk replied. You still hadn't turned to look at them, he could barely make out your face in the glass. 

        He wanted to rip the Emperor's head from his flared collared shoulder. But he couldn't. There was too much at stake, your safety for one. All Markus could do was feel a deep mourning in his chest. He'd find a way to dig you out of the grave you dug yourself. He'd pull you out kicking and screaming if he had to, as long as he could get that horrible thing off you. 

        He had to at least try saying, "Are you sure about that? She doesn't respond well to-"

        "Who's the Emperor?" 

        Markus shut his mouth. Mohawk smirked, "Good. Now, I want you both with me, there's something we have to attend to down in medical." Where Markus had just been. 

        "We're taking her there?" Gray asked, voice hopeful.

        "No. She needs time alone to think." Mohawk said.

        "Then I'm not going." Markus said.

        "Neither am I."

        Mohawk's eyes narrowed on them. "An' here I was thinking you two were shapin' up to be real ass lickers. Look at you, standin' up to me. Should kill you for that." He didn't sound it, but Mohawk was mildly impressed. Everyone in the empire bent a knee to his will, but not these other versions of him despite being so thoroughly outnumbered and outclassed.

        "You know you can't." Markus said, stepping closer to you. "Do what you need to do but I'm not-"

        "Go." Talking burned like bile coming up a raw throat. They all turned to you. Still in the same spot on the ground. 

        Markus's brow pinched, "I'm not leaving you."

        If he wanted his stupid plan to work, he had to. If you ever wanted to free again, he had to. You didn't think about that in the moment though, you could only think about the humiliation of them seeing you like this. Scorned them for not being faster, for not stopping this before it happened. Angry at everyone and everything. "Just go." 

        "Mm. Look at you agreeing with me already." Mohawk went for the stairs. "Should'a done this sooner."

        The duo was hesitant behind Mohawk, throwing concerned glances over their shoulders but if they wanted to rise the ranks, get enough intel to navigate this place and bide time until Angstrom was usable? They had to go, so they did. 

        Again, you were alone. 

        Scared, angry, and hurting. Knowing the only way to thrive was to act the same way you had under Machine Head. Never reacting to his jabs, doing whatever he said. You had made it work sometimes content with things, but this was worse. Not only because of the mixed feelings involved but the fact that you had gotten a taste of freedom with Machine Head's death. In the desert there was danger, but you heeled to no master. It was nice not holding your tongue, being happy, yourself- while it lasted. You should've known it would end like this.

        Except this wasn't the end. You weren't dead. After some time you peeled your spit-stuck cheek off the floor and sat up. The first place you went was the kitchenette, looking for scissors. There was a tiny pair, good for cutting ends off plastic wrapping. It didn't make a dent in the flexible material wrapped around your neck.

        You left the observation deck entirely. The whole place tainted. This whole ship tainted because wherever you went, Mohawk would know where to catch you. You meandered aimlessly, looking for a place to curl up to hide and cry. There was Mohawk's room but there way no way you'd go there voluntarily. There was the lab, but you couldn't get in without Mohawk, weren't even supposed to be in there without supervision. Maybe Mark's cell if you could find it. Wouldn't it be so satisfying for him to see you like this? He'd say you deserved it, should've seen it coming. The thought makes you want to hurt him but you can't anymore, you'd been thoroughly declawed.

        You wandered aimlessly. Ended up a few levels higher than where you'd been. When you saw him down the long hall wearing grays and having that face, it didn't register that he doesn't have a mohawk. You turned, head down, and looked for a door to disappear in but go corpse still when he calls out, "Oh shit, hey (Y/n)!"

        You were coming up with things to say, biting, but not enough to warrant another round when he swings around your front. So clearly not Mohawk you almost sighed with relief. 

        Seb took one look at you and said, "Whoa, you look like shit."

        You scowled, "Don't act stupid. You knew this was coming." Your voice came out raspy. You immediately regretted it, thinking he could have a remote control too. You flinched, expecting a shock. 

        Seb blinked. "What?" He was too busy checking you out to notice the collar until you lifted your chin. "Whoa? Is that new? Emperor dude get it for you, huh? Kinda cute." He reached out to tug on it teasingly, "Didn't think you for someone who'd be into-" but paused when you flinched away.

        "Don't play dumb." Except you didn't think he was, you're fishing for answers. Wondering if Markus's horrified face had been genuine, if Seb's was, if Gray's hesitation had been knowing.

        "Look dude, I'm plenty dumb but I can't be dumb if I dunno what we're talkin' 'bout." 

        You pulled on the collar as you told him what it was. By the end of it, you were about to keel over crying but you held it in, barely. 

        "Uh oh..." Seb scratched the back of his neck just for something to do with his hands, "No. No, I didn't know about that. Do you uh, want some help?" You silently nodded, lips sucked in trying not to cry. Seb reached out but didn't touch before he asked, "This isn't gonna kill you right?"

        "I don't think so." Your laugh was humorless. "The last time it shocked me so hard I almost pissed myself." You had to try. Mohawk said only he could take it off, maybe it extended to the variants. "Do it."

        "Please don't piss yourself." His hands came to either side of the collar, gently curling under the material. You braced for impact that didn't come- not until he started to pull.

        Your body was melting everywhere, all at once. The tears came loose, your knees turned to jelly. Seb caught you before you fall, kneeling down and letting you go limp against him. He stopped as soon as he felt a tickle in his fingers that was much, much worse for you.

        "Holy shit. Holy fucking shit." He believed you but thought you were exaggerating. Rex always had. Mohawk really was crazy.

        Across the ship, Mohawk felt a vibration in his wrist cuff,  lifting his arm to look at it. 1 shock administered. Followed by a pull up of the nearest camera, snug into the corner of a hall. He saw your heaving back, Seb holding you upright on the ground. He knew at least one of them would be sympathetic to your plight, try and help when they shouldn't. Not that he'd told Seb not to but come on, man, bro code.

        Gray peaked over his arm but didn't catch a glimpse, looking away when Mohawk glared. Markus got a peak while he was distracted. At least you were alive enough to cry. He could tell by the shake of your back.

        You were conscious but couldn't get your legs back under you. Everytime you tried, something would twitch or go too loose or tight and you'd fall. Seb kept you upright, head hooked over his shoulder.

        "Dude, stop, you gotta lie down." He floated slow, scared he'd somehow give you shaken baby syndrome moving too fast. The journey wasn't far. In the end, you realized he was a few flights and a hall away from Mohawk's room. 

        You were in a haze. Uncontrollably dripping tears onto Seb's shoulder until he laid you down onto his mattress. You looked up at an empty white ceiling and didn't look away for some time. 

        Seb hovered over you, constantly scared you'd die or seize out. He'd been with Rex through plenty of bad trips and a few overdoses. Sometimes he thought Rex wasn't going to make it, that he was going to be totally alone in the world because nobody got him, not like Rex did. But he always found a way to pull through. Rex survived Dad's suggestion of killing  him for being a 'bad influence', survived the takeover of Earth because he cooperated. Rex didn't survive the rebellion, Eve got revenge for what Rex had helped Seb do to those Guardians losers. He'd been so alone for so long, just coasting by while Dad or other Viltrumites bossed him around. Then he met you and Oliver, but guessed he wasn't allowed to have nice things because Oliver was dead and you were just a human stuck in an impossible situation. He couldn't lose another friend. 

        Somehow he played it cool. Casual when your neck stopped randomly tensing and your hand stopped curling into a fist. "So uh, why would he do that?"

        Your eyes moved to him. Stood by the open hole in the wall that was his dresser, hung with four duplicates of the same outfit he was wearing. The room was jail-cell tiny and just as unfurnished. A bed and a dresser and probably a bathroom hidden in the walls. The sheet you were laid on was blue. You wanted to get up, get away from the color like it'd done this to you but you knew it was a bad idea. 

        "He made me a dog." You said.

        Seb cringed and turned away. You thought he was feeling the sting of second hand embarrassment at your crying, he hadn't handled it well before. In reality, Seb was digging out a hidden bottle from his closet. "Uh. One'a those alien guys showed me where they kept some'a the meds. Think he thought I was the Emperor at first or soemthin' cuz he let me take this whole thing." He presented a white bottle, stamped with Viltrum's logo. Alien language labeling its contents in tiny text. "All I know is, I drank a whole bottle and I got pretty drunk the first night back. So for a human I wouldn't take more than a cup full but..." He held it out to you, "Want some?" He wasn't good with comforting words, but he was good to get drunk with.

        You took the bottle and shimmied up onto your elbows. Seb sat himself at the foot of the bed, watching as you poured the milky liquid into a bottle cap and threw it back. It burned going down, hit your stomach like a bomb, you had to keep yourself from puking it back up.

        Mohawk watched your vitals on his wrist screen when he should have been paying attention to the Martian bio-engineer. Your heart rate and blood pressure were a given to monitor but he'd also had an atmospheric breathalyzer installed and somewhere near you, something fatally alcoholic had been introduced to the environment. He lowered his wrist, knowing you'd be fine. The old you had kept a bottle of that same toxic poison hidden for emergencies awhile ago. Almost drank yourself to death before he found it and got rid of the thing. Killed a decent number of medical wing staff to get the point across to never give you random drugs. Hopefully, you didn't develop a taste for it. Synthetic Eskewnian blood was hard to synthesize and too useful to run out of.

        You leaned over the bed, holding your head as light-headedness washed over you faster than with codeine. Seb took the bottle and drank deeply. He lowered it, sheer white liquid rolling down his chin.

        "Man, that tastes like ass." You didn't respond. He glanced at you, face grave. So he took a breath, and as though he was the head of a bomb squad, asked quietly and carefully, "Do you wanna talk about what happened?"

        "No." You snapped. "Literally anything else. Please."

        Seb had stories, stupid ones but he drew blank after blank. The Empire had infected his mind. Made him remember what he'd rather forget. It came out, hot and bitter like puke, "You know, I was part of the Empire in my universe too." You gave him a withering look. "What? It's not about your..." Calling Mohawk your boyfriend right now felt mean, "That dickhead." He corrected. You looked away and he took it as a go-ahead. "All this shit's crazy new to me too. Like, I knew they'd be uptight and all but geez man these uniforms? Go right up your ass if you're not careful." He waited for you to laugh, you didn't. "I mostly stayed on Earth as a like, enforcer for the rebellion you know? I didn't care about it though, it was all my Dad's idea. I just kinda coasted by, did enough stuff they wouldn't be mad at me." Even if he had gone above and beyond, Dad would still have found a way to be disappointed. Just the nature of their relationship.

        You were swaying slightly in your seat now. "Soooo, what's coasting on Viltrum, committing only partial genocides?" You recalled what Omni Man said on TV. What the media openly speculated he had planned.

        Seb sighed and leaned forward on his knees, "Yeah, but like, I stalled a lot. Not cuz I'm a pussy or whatever but cuz these guy's are always on your ass to work. It's like can a guy please take a month to find a rebel planet but mostly smoke Saturn's seventy-fourth moon gas station weed?"

        "When I said I didn't wanna talk about it I meant all of this shit. Even that stupid planet." You slurred.

        "Ah, shit my bad."

        "No," you waved him off, changing your mind on a dime, your brain a soup from both the alcohol and repeated shocks, "It's fine. I should know more about this stupid shit anyway, cuz guess whose gonna be forced to be empress one day!?" You looked around, faux searching before pointing at your chest, "Me!" 

        "Jesus. That's gotta be heavy. And you can't say no if he's got you in a shock collar like a freakin' dog." Seb kicked out his feet. "Man, Oliver would hate it here. He was smarter than me, he'd probably have figured out how to piss off by now. Wouldn't wanna be around all these scary ass old heads with sticks rammed up their asses."

       "You're smart." You said only because you were drunk, "You can figure stuff out."

        "You can too." Seb said, "You're in a better position than I am to do shit. I just get told to guard empty hallways and write down the temperatures. You got way more opportunities to like, spy."

        "Oh." Seb said stupidly. "Just don't get caught then?"

        "Plan's already blown before it started dude." You pulled at the collar, your terror of messing with it delayed from the alcohol, but a shock didn't come. You go on, "This thing's got a tracker. Probably knows I'm drunk. He knows everything I'm doing all the time, dude."

        Seb went pale. "Shit. Uhm." He scooted closer, lowered his head to be in line with your neck. "You know I'm just jokin' right bro? Lil bit'a drunk thoughts from a dumbass. I love this place actually, way better than my last apartment. Good beds, no roaches." He had no idea if there was a microphone and camera or not, but he was taking zero chances.

        You laughed at him. "You're a shitty liar."  A flash of your earlier encounter with Mohawk made you cringe. You couldn't believe you let him finger you like that. Then the meeting, maybe you did want to talk about it, "Can you believe that shit at the meeting?"

        Seb rolled back onto his palms, "Pretty crazy dude. I thought that old lady's head was gonna explode." He paused to take a drink. Continuing when his lips weren't wrapped around the bottle rim. "Soon as you left, she was like 'lets murder (Y/n)' and everyone was like 'uhhhhh no you decrepit, weirdly sexy old lady, stop.'"

        You decided to ignore most of what he'd said. The fear that should have come with that knowledge was dulled in your inebriation. "Is she the oldest bitch here?"

        "Uhhh, she looks old so that's a bad sign for how far she is up the empire's ass. Lucan, the bald guy, he's like three thousand and looks thirty so she's like... seven, eight thousand? I dunno."

        You blinked, not even really comprehending what that meant. Omni man had implied they lived a long time, but eight thousand years? Your head dipped as you looked down at him, "How fucking long do you guys even live?"

        "Uhhhh." Seb rubbed at his temples that now throbbed with subtle drunkenness. "Think Dad told me one time uhhh... Man, I think I was like fifteen and really high so lets say... Forever? But hey, Viltumites are always going to war and killing eachother, so they still die a lot."

        You groaned and pulled at your face. "God. All this alien bullshit makes my head hurt."

        He laughed and patted your thigh as he said, "That's just cuz you're drunk off mystery juice."

        True. "Ok yeah, but you know what I don't get then? If he's going to live forever and I'm here," your arms felt light and floaty as you held them overhead, "wearing this," you pointed down to your neck, "when I'll live max eighty years. Why couldn't he be obsessed over some immortal bitch instead of me?"

        "I mean, our medicines probably will hella extend your life but like. He loved you before he knew about most of the alien shit, so there's that. Also, no offense, you can't fight back like a Viltrumite could." The longer Seb talked the more he realized, "This is so fucked up, dude." You sat up, head bobbing. "Whoa bro, don't move so fast."

        "I'm just..." You wanted to get up walk around, try and forget. Your legs still feel weak and you could barely sit upright. You ended up flopping to the side, head falling limply on his shoulder. "This sucks."

        Seb went tense but didn't push you off. It was nice having someone who actually wanted him around. "Should you be doin' that? He's probably watchin' us right now."

        "He doesn't care what happens to me." You slurred and when he was still stiff under you, you added, "I'm not gonna fuck you by the way."

        "Didn't say that."

        "Sorry I just-" You ached all over, head light and stupid. "-Feel like everyone wants something from me all the time."

        "Look bro, you're hot and all but I'm not gonna fuck around when you're all sad n' shit." He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, "Boner killer and like... I think you just like need a buddy right now, ya'know?" He knew, because he needed one too. He'd prefer if the companionship came with some sex but that could be later, when things weren't so messed up. 

        You leaned harder into him, cheek squishing on his shoulder. "Thanks."

        ***

        "So you can do it?" The Emperor asked.

        He'd kept a running tab of who did what in the desert. Phantom worked with GDA tech, had it all over his suit. If anyone could turn that awful ringer into an implant, it'd be Phantom.

        "It'd take time to fix it. Then convert it from Earth tech to Viltrum tech." Phantom was sat back in the same room you'd found him in. The alien doctor finishing up the last of the calibrations after his own limbs had sent thousands of volts into his muscles. Mohawk stood framed in the door, his two newest sentries stood on their side of him, forcing their faces blank. 

        Phantom had run into the debilitating frequency before. After his Dad was imprisoned, Phantom was summoned to Atlantis to atone for his father's slaying of King Aquarus. The GDA thought they wanted him to marry the queen but he was actually tried by combat. He fought a monster that screeched so loud his eardrums burst and rendered him nearly useless. Mohawk nodded along to the story, because he had received the same summoning, but just killed everyone living in Atlantis. Killed the monster so fast he didn't get a chance to hear it. The first time he heard it was fighting the Reanimen in your reality. 

        Before Angstrom came to Grayson, Cecil had been threatening to put a chip in his head, to control him. After everything Dad did he'd gotten rougher with criminals, killed them when he hadn't before. Cecil thought he was just lashing out, that he'd heal but on the inside Phantom had rotted entirely. There was no sweet hero left in him, only a mourning, murderous thing that wanted you back by any means necessary.

        The Empire didn't have the tech to replicate the hyper-specific frequency just yet, but something needed to be done about Scars and Lensless. Thula and Lucan were strong, fast, and wise beyond their years but they were needed on the battle front when they get closer to the rebel planets. They couldn't be babysitting those assholes the whole time. The solution, a chip implanted in their brain that screeched at them anytime they got out of line, just like Grayson had been threatened with. 

        "Our scientists can help speed that along." Mohawk's words weren't generous. He needed as many eyes as possible on Phantom to keep him honest. He knew the little freak was a planner, if he worked alone he'd try to put something in the code. And of course, the Emperor was always right, he was already thinking of ways to use this opportunity to his advantage. 

        "Thank you." Phantom said robotically. "For that and," his mechanical limbs moved, not as smoothly as he'd like, but it was better than before, "these. I know that must've been costly on your part." He was thankful but he still had concerns, "But..." Mohawk's lips thinned, Phantom knew he should show submission, especially after he swore loyalty not two minutes ago but he had to ask, "Why keep them alive in the first place? I know you need soldiers but can't we find people from other planets who would fight for us? Those two are an unnecessary risk."

        Markus and Gray agreed though they didn't show it.

        Mohawk surprised Phantom by saying, "Look, I don't want them around either but we need all the Viltrumites we can get. They're already causing problems." On the way here, a servant came running to Mohawk, frantic about the murdered pilot in the cockpit. Viltrum ships didn't technically need to be steered, for the most part it was self sufficient, powered by algorithms they'd been improving for centuries, the pilot was there in case those systems broke down- which they never did. Pilot was a position for idiots, that was why an alien with half a brain was stationed as one.

        Scars had killed the thing before poking and prodding around the cockpit. Hunting for secrets, a way to take full control of the ship. Thula had let him, knowing the pilot was useless and the tech was near infallible. It was a blatant show of disrespect for Mohawk's belongings and she had sent him a message that was ignored as he was busy with you, before sending a servant to intercept him.

        Then there was Lensless who was always trying to get Lucan to fight him. Lunging at him whenever and wherever he could. The two ended up bashing through a few walls that the servants were still trying to repair. Mind you, this is all before meal time. They needed to be put on a tighter leash. 

        "I can't dispose of them yet, it'd be easier for everyone if they could do stuff without taking up my lead officers' days." Mohawk said.

        There was an added bonus of letting them roam the ship without babysitters. If you ran into them alone, they'd nip at your heels, chase you around like a bunch of rabid school boys. Without the assumed protection of Thula and Lucan to stop them, you'd be so scared you'd run right back into Mohawk's arms, his protection. You'd come to see there were scarier and worse versions of him to hate. You'd come to forgive him to know you were wrong. 

       Phantom could almost see this thought on Mohawk's face, because he'd have done the same thing. In fact, if he played his cards right, you'd run into his arms instead. "Understood. Show me the lab and I'll get right to work."

        ***

        For awhile, you sat drunk, leaning on Seb. Wetting the collar of his uniform so close to what his supersuit had been but in gray with Viltrum's logo on the chest. Even though you'd taken a third of a shot, your head still swam a half hour later. You should-

        Something in Seb's uniform vibrated. He lifted his forearm. A rectangle in the fabric glowed to life, displaying blue text. Mealtime available until 37:30. "Do you wanna go get lunch?"

        "You read my mind."

        "Actually this little fuckass iPod read your mind." 

        "That is not an iPod."

        "Tomato tah-mato."

        Seb led you down the halls and downstairs. Explaining the whole way while you both stumbled over your feet. Soldiers had strict time schedules they had to adhere to. You caught Seb between tasks. He was supposed to take a whole hour to check oil reserves that the ship did for itself anyway. He half-assed the job and went to take a nap when he ran into you.  

        If he missed his time slot, the door to the mess hall simply wouldn't open for him. It was now or wait thirty hours till his next designated meal time. He'd survive, he'd gone a lot longer without eating in the desert, but he preferred to eat. They helped him almost forget the smoked and dried taste of his own flesh.

        Oh, that was another fun fact you'd somehow missed in your misery, the whole ship ran on Viltrum time where days weren't twenty-four hours but fifty. When Mohawk said be back by one, he meant tomorrow morning. Twenty-something hours from now, while he worked all the way through that time like it was nothing. Jesus. 

        The door opened just fine, even with you in tow. Unlike other rooms, the furniture was out without the probing of a floor button. A handful of thick tables waited all with a single chair pulled up. Surfaces metal and shining under harsh white light. There was no kitchen staff milling about or window to order food from. Seb trotted to the closest table and borrowed a chair from an adjoining table. 

         He flopped down on the chair, tall high-back and white, and patted the one next to him. You slid into it, asking, "Do Viltrumites like... Photosynthesize or?"

        Seb snorted as he touched a finger to the table. A screen flashed. Ah. Of course, another hidden screen. It was a menu, showing off today's options from the kitchen without photos and all the descriptions were vague. Meat dish with fiber. Gluten, that's it, just the description gluten.

        "Whadd'ya want?" Seb asked. "This one's my favorite." He tapped on hydrating meat dish adding it to his order. You stared at the screen, too drunk for this. "I know it's a lil weird at first, but everything I've had here isn't actually bad, better than those bugs." 

          After what Mohawk did, you weren't very hungry but you knew you should eat, couldn't remember the last time you had. It'd also help with how drunk you were, keep the buzz but not the stumbling. So you pointed to the thing that seems the most normal within your tastes. Seb added it to the order and sent it to the kitchen, no payment required. Viltrum erased all need for currency exchange. They did things for each other to keep the empire running without the corrupting force of money. If only Argall could see his empire was a corrupting force to the rest of the universe.

        Seb told you the kitchen was under your feet, you remembered vaguely Mohawk telling you it took up a whole level. When they were ready the dishes would be sent up through the thick table support which was actually a chute. You killed time trying to joke but everything fell flat. You still couldn't believe the collar was there, though the longer you wore it, the less you felt the weight.

        The door slid open, bringing a familiar huffy voice with it.

        "Okay, okay- I'm going inside." You saw a Mark step inside, one-eyed and skirtless, followed closely by Lucan. Lensless dragged his heels, uncaring that Lucan was pushing him into the mess hall. "Look, we made it, will you fight me now?"

        "No sir." Lucan sounded exasperated, adding flatly, "Perhaps once you've eaten."

        "You said that last time." Lensless countered.

        "Eat." Lucan said.

        "What if I don't?" Lensless spun on him, grinning and cracking his knuckles, "You gonna try n' make me? Gonna fight me?" 

        "No." 

        "Uggggggghhh. Everyone here is soooo lame." His head rolled on his shoulders. His working eye became a disc when he spotted you, slumped over a table with Seb who looked just as surprised to see him. "Oh! (Y/n)! Thank God I was getting so bored with this loser." He floated over and pulled up a chair that he slammed down next to yours. 

        Seb leaned down just to be fully visible past your frame. "Uh, she's already sittin' with me dude." Was the best defense he had.

        Seb hadn't seen Lensless or Scars anywhere besides the meetings. He liked to keep it that way, with how things ended in the desert. Everytime he thought about Scars he got so angry the blood rushed in his ears and he couldn't feel his fingers, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was weak. Needed to use all the free time his slacking gained him to get stronger. Avenge Oliver. Protect you.

        "Do you know how friends work? Did you know you can have multiple at a time? Crazy, right?" Lensless scooted his chair so close it scraped against your own. His shoulder brushed yours as he tapped at the order screen and snagged himself a protein dish (living). He turned over his shoulder, "Hey Lulu, what do you w- Why are you sitting over there?" He pouted at the man, sat three tables back. Relieved to have two seconds without the man glued onto his boot. 

        "Watching you." Lucan replied dryly. If he was being honest, Lucan was happy for the partial break in Lensless's constant steam of violence-seeking attention. Lucan was stronger, better than the boy, but any retaliation or reaction only riled the boy up more. He could only passively deal with this annoyance for so long. 

        Lensless huffed but made no more arguments as he sent his order through.

        "Sour puss." His attention snapped back to you, "That meeting was crazy, right? You've missed the last few. Where have you been?" He sounded like a long-term gal pal. Even shuffling closer like you wanted him there. You held your tongue, it wasn't like you could make him move away.

        You didn't reply. Seb voiced your discomfort, saying, "She doesn't wanna talk to you, bro."

        "Aww! You're letting me do the talking for both of us! You're so considerate (Y/n)." Lensless half hugged you, pulling you hard to his side by your waist, nuzzling his face into your neck. The way you went stiff at the contact was expected, but the feeling something that wasn't skin against his face was not.

        He pulled back a bit, ignoring your clear discomfort.

        "Hey," he unwound his arm from your side and reached for the collar, "What's this?"

        The way you jerked back and slapped his hand told him it wasn't, "Nothing," like you said.

        "It's obviously a necklace." Seb added.

        "Yeah." You scooted away, bumping your chair into Seb's. "A necklace."

        Lensless took that moment of silence to properly observe you, he saw telltale burst blood vessels in your eyes, irritated by recent sobbing.

        "You sound nervous." Lensless said casually. "Don't lie to me." Yet there was an underlying threat in his tone. If Lucan didn't reign him in, you and Seb were on your own.

        "I'm not, I just don't like being around you." You lied. 

        Lensless leaned forward, scrutinizing you with a single, mischief gleaming eye. Two trays of food rose up in the center of the table and he shot out of your personal space. Reaching for the gray tray holding a fleshy head with eyes still rolling in its sockets. Brains purple and glistening, tiny useless arms trying and failing to get it off Lensless's dinner tray. You and Seb watched in mild horror as he pulled out one of the things' eyes and popped it into his mouth. Shuddering with satisfaction as he bit down and raw eye juice splashed over his tongue. 

        "Look, we match." He said when he swallowed. His food was screaming.

        "Oh man." Seb sounded sick. "I wish I wasn't so hungry." He pulled your shared tray closer. His food was some sort of alien appendage, luckily very dead and without any eyes. It was purple with suction cups doused in a sauce that smelled of hot honey. He got to eating right away, slurping disgustingly with no use of the provided utensils. You picked at your food, trying not to think about the collar pressing on your throat every time you swallowed or how Lensless's food was still alive but could no longer scream.

        Lensless yammered on about everything. His new schedule- full- his work- mega boring- how Scars was doing- always training or trying to lose Thula.

         "I thought we'd have the same meal block together but I guess they knew that'd be a bad idea." He said, stirring the alien's open brains with a fork. "Which is true but kinda boring for me, so I'm so glad I get to sit with you. But I wanna hear about that guy he killed today. I had to make a servant tell me, but I wanna hear it from the actual guy himself. You know, he's really cool if you get past the edgy thing. He's great, really, you should hang out with us sometime (Y/n)." 

        Seb wiped slippery grease from his lips with the back of his hand. "Nobody wants to be your bro, bro."

        "I wasn't talking to you." Lensless chirped. "You're weak and that's suuuper boring but you," his eyes landed on the collar, oh no, "you haven't used your powers on me yet to make me shut up or go away. I think this is longest you've ever let me talk. Why is that?"

        "I'm practicing ignoring you." You said.

        "Mmm. No, that's not your style. You're always veryyy," he rolled his wrist, thinking, "forward even when it's like, really stupid to be. Just kinda weird. Are you feeling okay?" He laid a palm across your forehead. 

        "I'm drunk so I'm great, thanks." You tilted your head back but his touch didn't leave. No matter how you moved, he kept a hand on you. "Get off."

        "Mmmm, nah. Not unless you make me."

        Seb reached around you, grabbing Lensless by the wrist. "She said stop." 

        Lensless didn't move but he smiled. "What? Are you gonna fight me? That'd be kinda fun."

        They both know Seb would lose. Lensless would have a grand ole time painting the room with his blood. Lucan wouldn't do shit about it until Seb was near death. Then and only then would he take him to the medbay because he was needed for the Empire. 

        Seb wasn't used to being the weaker person. He was literally Invincible. He killed heroes and villains alike. Aliens and humans. He wasn't weak but Lensless was just... better. He wasn't used to being nervous. He could take a beating, but a fight here meant you in the crossfire and he couldn't lose another friend. "You're not gonna fight me on the ship, dude. We'd break a bunch of shit."

        "He might." Lucan deadpanned between bites of some glutinous jelly.

        "I think I will." Lensless dropped his fork, letting the prongs slip into the congealed brains. He pulled his fist back, angling it to swing around your neck and knock Seb's already notched nose more to the right. "If you don't want me to hit him, you better stop me (Y/n)."

        With their arms caged around you like locked bull horns, with Seb's life suddenly in your hands, you were scared. 

        "I..."

        "I can handle it." Seb barked. "This time I'll fuckin' kill you, shithead." Despite his words, he didn't swing first. 

        "Oh yeah?" Lensless's grin grew impossibly wider. 

        It'd been a few (Earth) days since they last fought. There was no way Seb had gotten any stronger since then. He was going to get fucked up for you. The only person you wanted hurt right now was Mohawk. "Stop it."

        "Hm. I don't feel the urge to stop? Are you really using your powers?" 

        "Don't." Seb urged. 

        "I can't, asshole." Your confession made everything go still. In that moment, Lensless's food mercifully died. 

        Lensless pulled his arm easily out of Seb's grip. Reaching around your flailing hand, pulled at the collar, jerking you closer by the neck. "I thought that's what it was. Lemme see." He pressed his thumb to the collar's middle, gently flipping the inside toward him. Surly enough, a small metal disc was inlaid to the alien leather. "Shock collar, nice! I mean kinda sucks you can't use your powers on me. Honestly, I wish I had a shock collar and you didn't and you also had the controls but-"

        "Dude." Seb said warningly, "Let her go."

        "God, you are so annoying. Do you ever shut up?" Lensless muttered, running a thumb over the disc. Imagining you shocking him with twenty-million volts. What a dream.

        "Seb, it's fine." You said. You could deal with Mohawk shocking you to near-incontinence. You could deal with an overly persistent, one-eyed Mark. Seb knew it wasn't fine, felt the salt burn of a bruised ego that you were protecting him. He let it slide because he thought you needed a win.

        "So why's this on you anyways. It's sooooooo cute on you but like, doesn't he want to expand the empire? Your powers could literally help. What is he, stupid?" He let the collar go, snap back into place around your neck before he idly felt along the metal heart on its outside. 

        Lucan didn't say anything despite him insulting the Emperor.

        "Some people don't get boners when I tell them to break their own legs."

        "Stop it!" Lensless playfully smacked your arm, not wanting you to stop. "You're embarrassing me! But ugh, I can not believe he doesn't like you using your powers. What a loser. Oh man, Marky's gonna be so mad when I tell him."        

        "Who?" You asked.

        "Shit. Don't tell him I called him Marky it makes him really mad." At your furrowed brow, he said, "You called him Scars."

        All at once, your guts were liquid. Mohawk was bad enough on his own. If Scars caught wind of the collar, it'd be over.

        "If you tell him I'll kill you." You spat. 

        Lensless can hear the fearful skip of your heart, can't keep the smile off his face at your reaction. "Look at you trying to threaten me right now. You're precious. What are you gonna do to stop me, use your powers?" 

        "I'll tell the Emperor you did some creepy shit to me." You said.

        "He's super mad at you right now, isn't he? I bet he'd be happy something bad happened to you. Plus, he'd check the cameras and whatever monitors are in that thing." He was right and it hurt.

        You had no other choice, grimacing as you said it. "Fine. What do you want in exchange for you not telling him?"

        "Dude-" Seb started, that was a bad fucking idea.

        Lensless didn't have to think. He said, "Hold my hand." He held out his palm facing up, "Just till we finish eating."

        You blinked at him. "Are you serious?"

        Lensless did a fake little pout, "Pleaaaassseeee?"

        You did it. Threaded your fingers between his, which wrapped warmly around yours. Oddly moisturized and soft. He occasionally squeezed your hand for assurance whenever you were quiet too long. You couldn't believe how easy it was, holding his hand, slotted perfectly into yours. Just like Mark's had.

        Lucan eyed your joined hands. Thinking it was pathetic, how weak he seemed to your forced affection. Surely the Emperor wasn't the same?

        Lensless continued chattering on and as promised, when mealtime was over (Lucan told him his time was up), he reluctantly let you go. You stacked the trays and watched as the center of the table descended, taking the dishes down to the kitchen.

        "By the way, next time you see me, I expect a kiss on the cheek when you say hello." Lensless said.

        "What? No. I already did what you asked." You hissed.

        "Sweetie, you were a gangster, you should know how extortion works." He clapped you affectionately on the back. "Oh and, I prommy I won't tell Marky, but if he sees that?" Lensless hissed through his teeth, "Yeaaaah, that's gonna go so bad."

        He left with Lucan, going down the hall with a happy wave and advised you to, "Wear a turtle neck or something!" 

        "God," Seb watched him go with a sneer, "I hate that guy."

        ***

        You ended up shadowing Seb for the next few hours. Following behind him like a ghost. Standing outside the room of whatever task he was set to do if the door decided to slam in your face. Mohawk had already set limits on where you could and couldn't go. Though the ship was massive, you felt the walls pressing in.

        You wanted to stay away from the room. From Mohawk. But time kept marching forward and your legs were getting tired. You found your way back to the room alone before one. He'd be pleased, much to your distaste but you weren't back early for him. 

        Mohawk found you in the closet, wearing her old clothes, asleep on the stool. You were still, peaceful, with the bodysuit you'd borrowed from him thrown on the floor. The clothes you were wearing were wrinkled and frumpy, dug from the depths of her wardrobe. He hadn't seen that hoodie and sweatpants combo in years, only worn on lazy days when you wouldn't leave the house back on Earth. You'd stolen it away, a little piece of Earth you wouldn't let him corrupt.

        He took you back to the bed. Preferring you'd wear the pajamas but knowing if he woke you up, you wouldn't be so pliant in his arms. He took solace in how you snuggled up to your pillow, contentedly humming. Again, seeing it as proof you wanted this deep down. 

        Mohawk knew you were hurt, emotionally, physically. But after the day of work all he wanted to do was hold you. So he did, after changing into his pajamas. He wasn't sorry, not at all. The collar was deeply sexual to him and he didn't intend to take it off. In the moment, he was soft and vulnerable. Hoping one day you'd come to understand why he had to collar you. Hoping one day you'd accept that you liked it.

        When you woke up, you were alone, but you could smell his cologne in the air. Found a black hair on his pillow. You left the room and a pattern was set. You found Seb if you could, wandered the ship if you couldn't. Avoided the others, only wore loose high necks. Felt time and boredom chipping away at you in this smooth empty ship, devoid of human touch. All hard edges and shiny walls. 

        You ate very little. You'd gone far longer in the desert, grown almost used to the hunger pangs. You slept twice a day by Viltrum standards. Every morning and night when you were in the room there was a tray waiting by the bed full of Earth foods Mohawk knew you'd like. You brought most of it to Seb, who'd complained about his eating time table. 

        You never slept in the bed if you could help it. Always falling asleep in the closet only to occasionally wake up on the bed. Mohawk was busy nearly all the time, quietly bent over his desk mulling over reports or on a video call with a distant alien ruler, cementing their loyalty to the empire. 

        Today was another day, except it wasn't. Your few hours of sleep were actually during the middle of Viltrum's day. Again, you fell asleep on the stool and Mohawk, again, brought you to the bed. You woke up, saw him at the desk and decided you didn't want to pretend to sleep. You ignored the tray of food and Mohawk sat at his desk and headed for the door.

        "Wait." It was the first thing he'd said to you in days. Whenever he was in the room, you pretended to be asleep. He knew you weren't but he still gave you space, as long as you didn't disrespect him. The collar had certainly worked in making you more respectful, but he couldn't quite count your silence as a victory.

        You went rigid at once. Suddenly angry and afraid, you shouldn't have gotten brave. Should've stayed in bed. 

        "We're gonna be stopping the ship in a few minutes." He said, not looking up from his papers. "Dunno how much you remember of that meeting, but we're almost where we need to be." You didn't respond. Not trusting yourself to not say something rude, you knew he'd shock you if you did. "I want you to stay in here while it's happening. My room is the safest place on the ship in case anything happens. Which I doubt will. The planets we're going to won't stand a chance." He turned to you then, offput by your silence. Only when he sees you does he realize, "I'm not gonna hurt you for talkin' you know?"

        "Are you sure?" It was a jab despite your best efforts. 

        He smiled, missing your voice even if it came with barbs. "I don't mind you being snarky, babe." He considered getting up, he wanted to touch you. This part of his plan was mostly for you, for her. You wouldn't fully understand, but he didn't want you to, not yet. "There's going to be ships from the Coalition there. I'm going to destroy them myself. Then the planets they asked for help? I'm going to kill every last worthless being on them, because they took you from me with their pathetic ideology. I won't let them do the same to you."

        You still had no idea what the Coalition was, why she had worked with them or what had even happened that led to him finding out. It felt like he wanted reassurance, to know if you were grateful or angry or something else. You were indifferent.

        "I don't care that you're killing people. I don't know why you're so fixated on me betraying you, I don't think it'd even work, there's no point." You bet she'd say something different, that she'd cry to hear his plans. The other you was brave for going against him, knew more about space politics than you ever would. She had the bandwidth to care, when all the care for other people's lives had been sucked out of you so young. You were nothing compared to her, a shell, a shadow, but here you were, Mohawk's pet all the same. Projecting that image of her onto you when you didn't even know where Viltrum was. 

        Mohawk was quiet for a moment, he made a mental note to see if there were any human safe depression medications on the planets that were set to be culled. "You've only been sleeping a few hours. You should get some more rest." Was his nice way of saying you weren't leaving the room till he deemed it safe. 

        You looked to the door, wondered if he'd shock you for disobeying. He definitely would. The thought makes all the fight leak out of you. You crawled back into bed, knowing he'd drag you back if you went to the bench. You didn't mind the comfort Martian silk brought.

        When he left to take his revenge, you were asleep. On your temple, he plants a kiss.

        ***

        The warship was stationed at the solar system's edge. Nowhere near as close as Kregg would've liked, but Mohawk wouldn't risk the ship being blasted- even if their artillery would only maybe scratch the ship's shell. He wouldn't have you fearing for your life.

        He, the council, and the Marks left the ship. System defenses set high if anything foreign got too close. The plan was one person per planet, hit hard, fast. Leave nobody alive, and when it was done, record a message featuring the heads of multiple planetary leaders. An official universe-wide announcement that the Empire was back and not to be trifled with. 

        Of course, the Coalition had ships monitoring the planets. The nosy assholes had numbers on their side. All a bunch of useless bleeding hearts from hundreds of planets with some sob story. Boohoo, the Empire killed my whole family! What a bunch of idiots. Being spared was a gift. A gift Mohawk and his men would take back.

        The Coalition ships stood no chance. All it took was a body shooting through their hulls like a bullet to make them implode. Then they scattered from planet to planet, wearing the stark Viltrum grays and whites that meant death to anyone who saw it. 

        It was carnage. The council worked through their planets methodically. Ensuring through hours they leveled every city and tore the heads off every man, woman, and child they saw.

        The Marks were messier. Gray was the closest to the council members. He ended lives quickly, leveled buildings by the square mile, going section by section, the way Conquest had taught him. Lensless who had worked with the empire and done this sort of thing many times, let people go on purpose just to hunt them down later. He rejoiced in being free from his babysitter like Scars also had for the mission. Killed lovers in front of lovers. He was the fastest but he made sure they all died slowly. 

         Phantom tried to kill fast but he was still unused to his new limbs. He heard purple-skinned people cry for mercy in a language he didn't understand and killed them anyways, unable to make himself care. He used the haze of strikes and arcs of blood as a meditation of sorts. He hadn't been in control in so long. It cleared his mind, gave him some time to plan his next move.

        Seb had killed so called rebels before, wasn't afraid of doing so, but on this scale he felt like a huge dick. He didn't have strict instructions like he usually did in his home dimension, he just had to kill all of them. But it was them or him so he did it, not happily, but as mercifully as he could.

        Mohawk and Scars had something in common. They both went hard on the aliens they found, left no room for mercy or running. Just a death that was long enough to feel some fear, then it was over. Letting out steam at their respective situations, thinking about you, always thinking about you.

        Markus being one of the physically largest of the Marks, was given the planet with the most advanced defenses, the planet most of the Coalition members were said to be staying on. Kregg wanted to test his mettle, see if he was strong as he looked. He was. The planet's population had dropped to zero in under four hours. It wasn't an easy job, he had to fight downright disgusting, and he definitely should've taken his time like the others, but he had to be the first one back to the ship.

        And he was. Flying so fast the layer of blood coating his body dried and burned off of him. He didn't bother to change, to lift the ozone stench of alien blood off his person. He went right to Mohawk's room where he knew you'd be. 

     The door slid open, DNA sensors thinking he was the Emperor, revealing you asleep in Mohawk's bed. The light from the hall slid across you in the dimmed room. You stirred, groaning and dreading talking to Mohawk. You knew any kind of violence riled him up, were dreading whatever he had planned. You sat up, rubbed your eyes to the sound of bootsteps coming closer. The door slid shut. It was Markus's silhouette you found outlined faintly in the light of a distant sun.

        He didn't wait for you to get out of bed to tell you what'd happened. Hundreds of thousands dead at his hands. The solar system would be completely dead in a few hours. You just blinked up at him, you knew you should cry for the loss of life. Should weep at the empire's cruelty but you just felt numb, glad it wasn't Mohawk. You didn't care who was dead or how, it felt a little hypocritical to start caring about murder now after all the times you'd done it. 

        You wondered how much the other you would hurt for these people. You could never be a good enough person to care. 

        All you could say was, "That fast?" Because sometimes it took you a long time to kill even one person if they were stupid and stubborn enough. A whole planet of people was gone like that.

        "I haven't had any free time to see you, so I made some." He replied, arms unfolding from the Viltrum solider standard behind his back, he'd adapted in only a few days.

        Your laugh was humorless. You could've gone to see him if you wanted to. You'd been getting a better sense of the ship's layout. A decent sense of Mohawk's schedule. If you asked a servant, they would've pulled the right strings, but you hadn't. In truth you hadn't wanted to see him for all his talk of playing along to stay safe then letting the collaring happen.

        He knew you were angry. Were receding into yourself.

        Especially when you said, "All I've got is free time." Just to rub it in his nose that you could've seen him but chose not to.

        Though he'd planned this meeting he was still nervous. Always thrown a little off-kilter by your mean streak, she had never talked to him like this. Would have already been draped over his shoulders after coming back from a mission, never asking what he had done, only how he was. 

        "I'm sure if you asked for a schedule they'd make one for you." He said stiffer than he wanted. He hadn't wanted the conversation to be about work, but he didn't want to play the rude implication of your statement. He sat on the corner of the bed to be more casual even though he didn't feel it. 

        You retreated from the bed as soon as he sat down, meandering over to the desk. Looking out the window at the line of planets that got more distant the closer they got to the sun. One of them had chunks floating off it, the planet's glowing core exposed and cooling rapidly in the ice of space. You wondered who was tearing that world apart. Why they'd go so far. It was Mohawk after finding out the head Coalition officer overseeing this solar system was from that planet. So he tore it apart more savagely than he had planned to. Just helping the guy out in the afterlife, sending his whole family and planet down to hell with him.

        "I don't want to do anything for the empire." You looked down to the organized stacks of paper. One pile was stamped with the empire's sigil, the other didn't, unread. All of it was too complicated for you to understand. "Plus It'd just be follow the Emperor around and give him head every five hours."

        "I see your concern." Markus couldn't find an argument he'd win, because you were right. Mark wasn't very subtle, had pushed you further than he meant to, "I hope you've been taking care of yourself. It's no easy task keeping Mark from crowding you."

        You turned, leaning your ass on the desk, partly sitting. "And how are you doing that?"

        "Gray and I have advised him to give you some space and have offered an ear when he walks to talk." Markus had meal times in the same block as the Emperor most of the time. Had nodded along to whatever he said. Offering advice where needed but never crossing the line.

        "He's not just busy, you know, being the Emperor?" He understood your skepticism, he hadn't been there for you. He should have come sooner, stood up to Mark more than he had.

        "He is, but he wants to keep you at his side at all times. But I know that's not who you need around you." Markus said.

        You weren't surprised. Again he was insisting he knew what was best. It annoyed you. "Oh? And who do I need?"

        "Somebody who wouldn't hurt you." 

        He said it so genuinely you had to break eye contact.

        "You won't hurt me?" Your voice was a mix between caution and disbelief. Markus only caught the glint of hope because he knew you so long.

        "Never." He planned to never hurt this version of you, had been painfully honest with you from the start. When she had found out who he really was he had no choice but to snap her neck. That would never happen with you, he wouldn't lose control like that, would be honest about what he was from the beginning. 

        When you glanced up you could see it in his eyes, he was thinking about her. You felt no pity for the corpses floating in space, but you felt a shred for her, someone who'd lost her life the way you'd lost your autonomy, "I don't know what you want from me, Markus. I'm not the same person. I can't give you what she gave you, I can't give any of you what the dead me gave you."

        Markus wanted to touch your cheek but he doesn't want you to get squirrely and move away. He stayed in place on the bed, hands folded on his knee. "The important things are still there, I love you the same." He let the words sink in a moment before adding, "I want to do what I can to make this place better for you." He means it fully and it helped you'd been married since you were eighteen. Even if you were different, he knew all the right things to say. 

        You felt a flutter of butterflies at the statement and sucked your lips in to any expression off your face. You tried to bite at him but it came out softer than you had wanted, "You care so much about me but you let another guy electrocute me." 

        "I didn't know about the collar (Y/n), he didn't tell any of us. I came as soon as I heard you yell, I was terrified for you."

        "You didn't do shit." You had told him to leave you alone, had insisted it. You don't think it would have helped if he had stayed, but you were still mad. Still felt powerless and lied to despite his insistence. 

        "I know." He took the attitude on the chin, "That's why I'm here now, to try and make up for it." 

        "How are you going to do that? Gonna take me on a fuckin' date? Gonna pick flowers from some dead alien's garden to give to me?" 

        He would if he could. Thought of the flower thing actually but thought it tactless. You didn't need a big gesture right now. You needed someone steady and loving. Someone who cared unlike Mark. Mark 'cared' but was clearly a selfish partner, couldn't admit when he was wrong. Not fit for you. You needed delicate handling while Mark was rough, always shoving the blame for his own actions onto you as he complained when Markus and Gray were shadowing him. As they so often did now.

        "I don't trust you. I don't trust anybody on this ship but Seb because he's the only one not licking Mark's ass." You said. It stung to call Mohawk, Mark. Stung because of the two other people you truly associated with the name, but everyone was calling him that now. Everytime you heard it from Seb or the muttering servants, you thought of someone else.

        "I don't care about him at all." Markus said, but it wasn't harsh. "I'm only doing this so one day I can protect you. He has to trust me to listen. I want you to be safe and happy, and I can't do that if he hates me." He wished you knew how much he meant it. Mark ran a good empire, a great one really, but he was obnoxious when he didn't have to be. Loud. Flashy. Markus still couldn't believe they were the same person, that he had to suck up like he had to his Father, just to protect you. It was humiliating, but it had to be done. 

        You couldn't believe it took you so long to realize, you had just woken up but the thought made a trill of fear squeeze your stomach. He came to the Emperor's bedroom. He was less than a few feet away, casually sitting on his bed. There were implications in the action, an underlying loyalty that wasn't to Mark or his Empire. You looked at him now and saw what he had been trying to tell you the whole time. When you fought back, you were only shut down harder than before, you weren't the only one who had to put their head down to survive. The good little Viltrumite soldier was a show, probably one he had put on for years before coming here, the real Markus was the one sitting in front of you. Uncaring of the rules when no one was around, only willing to play along to a point, and that point was you not trusting him. The trill of fear for him morphed into something yearning within you, this was seditious. An act of rebellion that would get you both in trouble. You could both get something out of this, a revenge of your own. 

        "The last time I needed you in the desert, you wimped out." You said slowly, still staring at him. You watched his brows furrow at the implication, watched the mole under his mouth move as he frowned slightly. Markus was left reeling, unbelieving you were actually coming onto him at a time like this. "You gonna pussy out this time if I ask you to prove it? Prove you don't care about him." You went on, doubled down. Markus remembered the desert sun, you practically begging for him, him leaving to let you cool down, only to come back to the sound of you fucking Seb.

        Markus crossed the room in a single fluid motion. Leaned back on the desk, he towered over you, his boots kissing your socked feet. "If you want proof that I love you, that I would always choose you, I can give that to you."

        But he stayed back, not quite touching you yet. He hadn't come with devious intentions. He'd come to be a friend, a chivalrous husband, not a full-blown rebel. Yet here he was, unable to resist your pull. 

        He knew he shouldn't. You were still vulnerable. Throat bruised from Mark's initial grab and collaring. You hadn't slept with him since then, he would've heard Mohawk bragging about it. You weren't endeared to him but Markus could easily get back in your good graces.

        His hesitation melted when you brought a hand tentatively to his chest, tracing down his body with light fingers. The way his body reacted to the barely there touch was a reminder he hadn't had you since the desert. And before that, in months, since before your death at his own hands. It'd been a long time. You were still unstable, hurt, but you were looking up at him like you needed this to be okay. He just wanted you to be okay, that's why he came for a second chance in the first place. He'd dreamed of your body beneath his night after night until he went near mad in his own dimension, in your shared home, shared bed. Here you were, offering yourself to him to fix it, to stabilize the both of you. 

        He couldn't resist. Closed the distance with a hand gently cupping your cheek. The kiss was closed-lipped, slow. He was all softness and caressing, careful touches to your waist where as you were unmoving, the hand on his curled in on itself. Like you were still unsure, trying to discern from his kiss if he was telling the truth. He wanted to prove it and started by hitching you up onto desk by the bottoms of your thighs. 

        That made you move, kicked something into the right gear because the hand on his chest moved up to his neck, touching the skin where his suit ended. Steadying yourself with the contact. It was a nothing gesture to you, but everything to him. Now that you were here, wanting, under him, it was hard to control himself. But he knew you needed to be properly unwrapped like the gift you were. He settled for darting his tongue along your lower lip. Waiting for entry that was granted after a moment's hesitation.

        In the desert, he'd tasted like stale spit and the jerky you hated so much. Here, he tasted like the peppermint mouthwashing tablets when his tongue lathed over yours. It wasn't long until your breath started to hitch and your body stared to grow warm. He knew just how to twist his tongue, knew how much you liked the press of his hand into your back so your bodies were flush. Your thighs splitting around his hips.

        You were caged into a Mark, but this time of your own free will. Your defenses melted alarmingly fast. You needed this and he knew it. His caress over your frumpy clothes broke you down, You had asked for this but it was still a shock when he touched you over the sweats. Pressed his fingers into the cloth, rubbing up and down your slowly heating entrance. You gasped and shuddered as he expected, remembering how he first had you in those caves so many months ago. Back then he ran out of time, was worried the others would find you both and punish you for something he had done. Now he knew he had time.

        Time to tease. Time to pull your hoodie up your body and let it fall to the ground. To again hold your breasts in his hands, massage your peaked nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You felt just like her but you shuddered more violently, unused to the touch in the way she was. You dug your heels into his back and tried to immediately start grinding on his rising dick like a rabbit.

        "Slow down." He said, pulling away from the kiss to see your face. He found your eyes glassy with need. 

        "Speed up." You retorted.

        Instead of replying, he bent down and captured a nipple between his lips. Looking up at you under raised brows as he sucked, tongue working over the sensitive skin. You moaned, tried to hold the eye contact but it was too embarrassing and it felt too good not to roll your eyes back. He hummed contently, going from one breast to another. Sucking, watching you, rubbing your twitching pussy through your sweats. 

        It wasn't enough, didn't fully convey his devotion. He hiked your hips up and pulled down your pants. Leaving you fully exposed, splayed open on the Emperor's desk. So ethereal in the distant space light. Glistening for him so soon after he started, just like he knew you would be. 

        "You're beautiful." He rasped, capturing you again in a kiss. Fingerpad going to your clit. Circling, pressing with the perfect amount of pressure to make your hips jump. You moaned openly into his mouth. Pressed your bare chest to him, wrapping your arms around his back trying to pull him ever closer. It was all he'd wanted for so long.

        One finger pleasuring your clit became two. You were bucking into his hand now, struggling to keep the kiss going with how well he was working you. But you did for the closeness, the human contact you'd been missing, surrounded by all these people, you'd never felt so alone. Markus took the opportunity to slide down to your entrance, easily pushing in two fingers. Listened to that song of, "oh fuck," that fell from your lips.

        He pumped into you unhurried, thumb rolling over your clit. You hips brought you down fast onto him, you were trying to chase a quick release. Markus allowed it this time, zeroed in on your g-spot until you came. Hard and squeezing. He didn't stop as the roll of muscles slowed, he kept you moaning, kept your head in the clouds. 

        He took your nipple into his mouth as he added a third finger, a tight fit but you groaned and quickly adjusted. Pumping with his whole arm, filling you thick then pulling out to the fingertips. Over and over. He switched between breasts, coming up for air to kiss you methodically where your kisses had gone sloppy already. He knew you were close when you tensed around him, so he sped up for only a moment, but it was just enough to make you squeal and cum. Again he sees the orgasm through, but doesn't stop the roll of his fingers. Your hips snapped into him desperately, but he didn't pick up the pace, had already conceded to your impatient nature.

        "Easy." He just smiled, kissing your forehead and lowering to his knees. 

        After months of waiting, he was finally eye level with the only thing he'd ever pray to. Markus kissed down a wellworn path, bouncing from thigh to thigh, took your supple skin between his lips and sucked. Enjoyed the hitched breaths he pulled out of you. Finally, he was close enough to your apex to smell the sweat, the want that made you so silken and pretty. He looked up, legs hooked over his shoulders, fingers idly filling your cunt. You looked down at him, hunched over, heaving, starting to shine with sweat. He couldn't help it as he said, "You're perfect."

       Down he went, going right for the kill that made your heels kick into his back. He drooled as he lapped at your clit, tasting that flavor he knew so well. It was a shame that the taste faded as more of his spit coated your cunt but the bane was evened out by the boon of you cumming on his face. He didn't slow, tongue far from tired as your hips rocked against his face. He moaned, caught your eye as his tongue went from flat to lethal sharp. Watched as your face went from wanting to cumming again.

        Your hand shot down, twisted into his salt-pepper hair and pulled. It didn't hurt, but it make his cock jump in the tightness of his suit made him moan again into you. A stream of swears fell past your lips, your body was hot and heaving, the pleasure coming in waves, each more intense than the last, leaving you breathless. You were starting to struggle to keep yourself upright, to not thrash and throw all the papers to the ground. You nearly fell back when his fingers left you all at once.

        Markus muttered to himself, "Need more." Before he dragged you forward by the back of your ass until you were practically sat on his collarbones. You didn't expect it, but his tongue shoved into your entrance was a welcome change. It was soft, didn't go very deep, but it wasn't about depth for Markus it was to taste more of you, to lap up your cum.

        One of his hands busied itself rubbing at your clit. The other pinched and rolled your nipple. You didn't think you'd cum but you did, squeezing around his tongue, giving him just want he wanted to the muffled praise, "Good, hahhh, so good for me," as his fingers replaced his tongue which again latched onto your clit. 

        You were trapped in hold, gasping, mind being wiped further with every subsequent orgasm. Eight, you think the count was. By then, you'd fallen back onto the desk. Arms thrashed when you weren't holding onto his head, knocking the papers to the floor. 

        Markus rose from between your legs, baptized from the nose down. You tasted yourself in his kiss as his fingers drilled into you. "Markus I- fuck!" You keened, back peeling sticky off the table as another orgasm was forced out of you.

        "Shhh, it's okay." He said against the incoherent babble pouring out of your slick lips. "I've got you."

        Your eyes, shiny with tears opened unfocused, "Markus- fuck me."

        He chuckled, dark eyes honeyed, "What do you think I've been doing?" You throbbed around his fingers, he’d slowed down to let you think a bit, but it was still too much. He knew it, didn't let up, continued to bully your cunt just waiting for you to beg.

        You pulled at his suit, "Take it off, please, I want you inside me.”

        He wasn't one to listen to begging when he steeled himself, but hearing you say please changed things. He pulled out of you, leaving you empty and throbbing. You were carried to the bed, laid down over the sheets, legs hanging over the sides. Looking down your body at him, you could see, "Fuck, you're so hard." 

        How could he not be when you were splayed and desperate for him? Gasping the longer he went without tearing his clothes off and plowing you into the mattress, "Please, Markus, please." He'd already been rock hard, but he felt himself throb every time you pleaded. 

        The suit was gone. Thrown into the same heap as your clothes. He threw himself over you, kissing you harder while the bottom of his bare cock slipped against your dripping folds. You whimpered under him, pulled at his back saying, "Come on, come on."

        "Be patient." He snipped against you, purposefully grinding his length over your clit. Taking great pleasure in your extended suffering without something to fill you up. "You can be patient, can't you?"

        "I can't." You made a good case, bucking against him, whining so sweet when you were never this pliant before. "Please."

        His cockhead barely pressed into you and your eyes rolled back with a gasp.

        "Look at me." He said, steadying your thrashing head with a hand. You leaned into the touch unconsciously, and it took you a moment to unscrew your gaze, to meet his. "Good," he pushed in an inch further, stopping when your eyes fluttered closed, "(Y/n)." There were those pretty eyes again. "I know it's hard but you have to look at me." 

        "W-" you shuddered as he slid in another inch, "Why?"

        "Because," he purred, "this is my favorite part."

        All at once, he was buried to the hilt. Holding you down as you thrashed. Cunt throbbing hard around his thick intrusion. He didn't wait, knew you were very ready for the onslaught. Hips clapping into yours, dragging his cock nearly all the way out then ramming it back in. It only took a handful of strokes for you to cum again. 

        Markus felt his cock twitch inside you but he pushed down the need to fill you. Months ago he wouldn't blink at the feeling, now that his dry spell was over he needed to bring his stamina back up to standard, cumming on only your ninth orgasm was unacceptable. 

        You were only spared the few seconds he needed to bring himself off the edge, then you were right back to being tortured. You tried to keep up, to thrust your hips back into him, but you'd already gone so limp from his earlier use. Markus ended up doing most of the work, not that he minded using you this way. Not that he knew you would either, in time you'd come to realize you liked being fucked like a toy. He'd let that realization simmer for another day.

        Number ten came with a scream. Your nails clawing at his back, your teeth on his shoulder. He kept his pace but was rutting inside you, barely pulling out when you felt so good around him. Eleven followed shortly after.

        It's after twelve you said, hardly coherent. "I can't- I can't anymore." You were fluttering around him, twitching, letting him guide you down onto his cock. Mind completely smashed.

        Markus wanted to be sweet so badly, to coo and slow down to reassure you, but it was hard not to be mean the way he knew you liked when you were this gone.

        "You can." He resolved to be soft but stern.

        "No." You shook your head, pussy clenching around him with thirteen just around the corner. "I c-can't. Please-"

        He didn't stop, didn't even slow down.

        "Don't you want me to cum?" He asked chidingly.

        The thought of him cumming inside you nearly made you sob. "Please- Please I want you to cum in me."

        Markus wasn't expecting that but grinned anyway. "Yeah?"

        "Please," you untangled your fist from the bed to hold his hips rocking into you, your nails digging in like you could make him stop or speed up, you didn't even know what you wanted anymore, "please, fuck, I need it."

         Again he almost does but he controls himself. Makes you go raw-throated with orgasms until all you were tight with them. Crying that you couldn't cum again but you always did. He always goaded you back to sanity by whispering, "Just one more," then after you came, he kept going. 

        You tried to protest, but your words meant nothing. You were back to begging every time you were close which, as time went on, is always seconds after the last orgasm. 

        When you're well past fifteen, he lets the mental blocks float away. Said to you, "One more for me? Just one?"

        You can't even nod but a whine comes from your throat that sounds like another, "C-caaan't."

        "Do it for me, baby." Markus bore down on you, finally letting himself circle the drain. Listening keenly for the telltale hitch of your breath as you were about to cum. You did with a final shudder. Markus lunged to kiss you as his cock throbbed, and he filled you with hot release. He was frozen there, hips stuttering as his orgasm left him almost dizzy. Going soft in the mix of your juices. He wanted to stay there forever, and for a long time he does.

        When he finally rolled you over to lay on his chest, sweaty and stupid with dopamine, his cock slipped out and your combined cum leaked onto his thighs as he rubbed your back telling you how good you'd been. You just breathed wetly into the crook of his neck.

        The first thing you said when you were coherent enough to speak was, "I don't think... I don't think I've ever came that many times."

        "Really?" He was surprised to hear it. You had dated him hadn't you? What was that other Mark doing? 

        "Yeah. That was like, a lot."

        "Mmm, it's about average. Maybe a little under if we take a break." He said. 

        "I can't tell if you're joking, my brain's not working."

        "I'm not." Markus ran his fingers down the curve of your back, smiling when you arched into him. Still sensitive and wanting even after he'd pushed you so far. "We'll get you there eventually."

        "You're trying to kill me." But at least he was an ally. Well and truly proved his love and loyalty. You can't think of anyone who'd be stupid enough to fuck the Emperor's girlfriend in his bed. 

        As much as he wanted to stay with you, Markus had to leave, not before cleaning up the room and showering with you, where he made you come undone again. Filled you once more and let it all seep down the drain.

         He left with a lingering goodbye kiss and a promise to make things better. You found it hard not to believe him. When the door shut, you finally picked something off of the food tray and ate.

        There was a long debriefing when everyone returned. Most of them were clean of blood from how fast they flew except for Lensless who went slow to stay gory. Markus was praised highly by Kregg for his efforts, a rare smile accompanying it. Mohawk clapped him on the shoulder, grinning with all his teeth when he promoted Markus and Gray both to official Emperor's guard. When they finished celebrating he thought he'd return to a wanting you who masturbated in his time away, at least according to the vitals monitoring you. Mohawk didn't like the observation staff watching him all the time so he hadn't had cameras installed in his room. None of them tipped him off to anything strange, so he didn't check the cameras to the hall for a Markus-shaped blur. Didn't think to sync the timetable of his entry and exit with your spiked vitals. 

[ttjisung]

BABY l. jeno

camboy!lee jeno x fem!reader

in which jeno finds it easier to destress himself on stream, that is until you catch him

cw: MDNI! smut, unprotected sex, cumming inside, fingering, squirting, another haechan feature cause i want him lowkey, generally inappropriate things lol idk how else to describe it! this wasn't proof read so beware of spelling mistakes (wc: 3k)

If you were to be asked, you’d confidently describe your relationship with Lee Jeno as trustworthy – loyal, even. Yet the truth was that Jeno had a secret he had been keeping for years now, one so outlandish it sounds straight out of a girl’s wet dream. It wasn’t that he thought you’d judge him, he just worried you’d ask him the origins of his secret, and he’d have to explain that it became his channel to take out some stress because of you.

Jeno’s secret was simple and straightforward – for the past year or two, he’d hide out at his apartment every weekend alone, turning on his web-camera and becoming a new identity. He hated calling himself a camboy, seeing it as an impeachment on his own self. Camboy felt too official, he was just a horny young adult looking for a way to let it out. That being said, what complicated the situation was that you were the cause of his need to do so. All of the times you’d compliment him after he’d send a workout selfie, so oblivious to the gym roleplay he’d act out later on, wishing his hand was you in tight shorts and a sports bra. Even something so innocent as saying his hair was cute had him thrusting into his palm and pulling on his own hair in the late hours, acting like it was you in front of him, instead of the hundreds of nameless accounts that would flood his chat. 

Jeno swore he’d get away with his little double-life, knowing you’d be caught in a grave before HotLonelyStuds. That’s why his own world came crashing down on himself during a hangout, when Lee Haechan approached him privately, an evil grin on his obnoxious face. “I have a confession.” The way he stated it seemed genuine, yet the way his eyes glinted towards the older male let him know his intentions were anything but. 

“Go ahead.” “Head? I’m sure that’s what you want, Dr. Lee.” Jeno’s heart dropped at the implication behind the sentence, way too specific to pass as a normal sexual innuendo. It was only when Haechan opened his phone up to his Twitter likes, already flooded with several homemade pornos, pointing out the most recent. Jeno wasn’t even aware that people were reuploading his clips – he swore it was a privacy breach, not allowed on the website he used. He recognized the specific stream, a night where he felt particularly needy. You had told him about a physical you received at your latest doctors’ appointment, and his fantasies ran wild. Admittedly, it wasn’t normal to feel so horny because of something so simple, yet as soon as he imagined himself on top of you, stripping you slowly on a patient’s bed, there was no going back. Albeit weird, he swore there was nothing special about the clip until Haechan clicked on it, of course he did. 

“Fuck… Need you so bad, baby. Let Dr. Lee take care of you.” Jeno’s voice was hoarse, ringing from above as his camera panned down to his cock that was already out of his white dress pants and leaking in his hand. He flicked his wrist gently, agonizingly slow, taking his time and imagining it was your small, delicate hand instead. In his daze, his thumb unconsciously ran over his tip, forcing a gasp out of his throat, alongside an uncontrolled small whisper of your name. The whisper was so light, it could easily be played off as an incoherent moan to anyone else, yet Haechan (who swore up and down that Jeno was in love with you) begged to differ.

“Why did you even watch all of it to find that out, perv.” Jeno’s first response was defense, trying to play it off and even pass the shame onto Haechan. What he should’ve taken into account was that if there was one word to describe the male, it’d be shameless. “Eh, ‘was bored. What matters here is you, Dr. Lee, and your infatuation with a little someone-” 

“Who?” You spoke up behind the two, frowning at the way Haechan jumped up and immediately turned his phone off. “Hey, I wanna see.” You whined, saddened at the fact that you were out of the loop. “It was porn.” Haechan was quick to yell out, patting Jeno on the back and rushing back into the living room. 

“Were you actually watching that stuff, Jen? I don’t care but like… You told me you don’t.” The disdain in your voice assured Jeno about one thing – you could never know the truth. Not only would it freak you out, he felt as though you’d be offended that he’s been lying to you about how truly sexual he is. Being the only two of your friend group that didn’t continuously sleep around, you felt even more connected with him when he’d back you up, telling you it’s normal to be reserved at your age; making you think he relates, when the truth was that as soon as you’d go home and his lights would turn off, his camera would turn on. 

“No, of course not baby. He was just being weird.” The way the familiar nickname rolled out of his mouth smoothly assured you, and you simply nodded with a small grin. “What were you up to before Hyuck flashed you?” You giggled at your own word choice, moving away from Jeno to open the fridge. “Not much, ‘was honestly waiting for you to realize I was gone and look for me.” For some reason, an unusual feeling of unease washed over him at your reaction to his words. You took it lightly, like you take everything. No matter how shamelessly he’d flirt with you, you’d always just smile and look away until the conversation would stray elsewhere. He was sick of acting like it didn’t affect him to see you dismiss him so easily, yet he supposed it was partly his fault, as he never clarified that he meant what he said – you probably just assumed he didn’t. 

“Wanna escape to my place? I’m honestly a bit bored.” Jeno wasn’t bored, he just wanted you all to himself, truthfully. “Sorry, Jen. I have a paper due tomorrow and I’m only halfway done. I was about to head out. Maybe another time?” He simply nodded, masking his disappointment with a shaky breath. Embarrassed from your reoccuring denial, he decided he’d go home anyway.  He had a new idea for a stream anyway, one that projected your relationship as loudly as the rest. It never hurts to do an extra video or two, knowing the pocket change he’d make could serve to take you out for a pastry. 

Tonight, the roles were reversed on HotLonelyStuds, as Jeno’s hand stroked himself quickly, moaning at the sensation. “Take it, fuck. Take it all. Rejecting me when you know you want me? Could’ve been us right now, baby.” His words were muffled, his teeth gritting in an unnaturally stressed way as his other hand reached his throat, pressing harshly. This stream was particularly rough, and although he’d refuse, Jeno knew the true reasoning behind his labored actions. He knew the truth was that he was sick of you ignoring him, when he was always there. Every time you’d complain about your lack of experience, every time you’d cry to him about feeling immature, he wanted to scream in your face that he’s right here! He always has been right there, pliant and willing to help you overcome your inexperience. 

The frustration built more and more, and before Jeno knew it he had come twice, painting his already covered abs white. On his third, he was too immersed to notice the familiar jingle of your spare key – the one he had given you as soon as he moved into his new apartment, letting you know you were welcome any time. 

Clearly, that might’ve not been the case as a loud gasp escaped you. Not bothering to knock on Jeno’s bedroom door, not even having heard his loud groans, you were welcomed with the sight of his heavy dick in his hands, upper body completely bare. Jeno’s eyes were held shut with pleasure until he recognized a stream of light on him that hadn’t been there before, the buzz of his hallway lamp amplifying the already-deafening silence that the two of you shared as you finally made eye contact. In shock, Jeno couldn’t bring himself to cover up. It wasn’t until you shrieked and ran out of the room that he pulled his pants back up, shutting the stream off with no explanation and running after you.

“Baby… I swear it’s not what you think-” “I know what I saw, Jen…” Your frown was making him panic, and he felt tears brimming in his eyes at your words. He was so fucked. “I just… Why didn’t you tell me? You know I don’t care-” “That’s the problem!” Sick of ignoring the obvious, he moved next to you, holding both your wrists in desperation. “You never care. Fuck, you don’t even care right now that you saw my dick out. Even less, that it was because of you.” His words sparked confusion in you, understanding what he was saying but refusing to believe what he insinuated. Surely, Lee Jeno hadn’t been fucking himself in front of a camera because of you. How would that even work?

“I don’t even care anymore, either, Y/n. Don’t care that you caught me, because maybe at least for those three seconds that you saw me, you might’ve had a small part of you in your head saying it’s hot.” “I don’t get it, Jen.” “Yes, you do.”

It wasn’t until you felt Jeno’s breath on your face that you realized how close he had truly gotten, and it was only when he grabbed your wrists that you realized, maybe it doesn’t feel so bad to be held by him like that.

Against your better judgement, your next action was brash as you cupped his face, pulling him in towards yours. The kiss was messy, Jeno’s teeth biting your lips until they began to feel sore. His arm snaked behind your back, lessening the space between you until there was nothing. “Gonna show you what I’ve been doing, baby. All for you.” “W-wait, Jen.” Before he could even push you onto the couch behind you, you pulled away. With every step you took, Jeno’s heart broke more, and his anger grew. Who were you to kiss him, and then reject him not even a minute later? 

In his fury, Jeno failed to realize what you were truly doing until your hand found his and you led him back to his room. His mind became foggy once he saw you approach his computer, searching for something. “Where is it, Jen?” “Where’s what, baby?” “The camera.” At your words, his eyes widened. There was no way you were really doing what he thought you were doing. There was no way you were going to let him fuck you in front of his viewers. 

Feeling as though the opportunity would pass at any second, Jeno jumped up quickly, gently pushing you aside to open the website and program the webcam to turn on. Soon after, the red flickering light on his computer confirmed the fact that it was on, and his hands were back on you, sliding down towards the back of your thighs and pulling you onto him. 

The kiss grew heavy once more, Jeno so focused that he didn’t even give context to his viewers who had never seen him with another girl before. Had he read the chat though, he’d be pleasantly surprised to see the positive feedback. Maybe he would’ve even seen Haechan’s texts that were flooding his phone. WTF? I TOLD YOU, YOU WHORE, that quickly progressed into encouragement, fuckk dude, lift her shirt up a bit, always wanted to see her pretty tits.

Unknowingly, Jeno fed into Haechan’s perversions as he also grew tired of the fabric holding you back from him. His big hands held onto your waist before lifting you up and turning you around, so you’d be sitting on his lap facing towards the camera instead of him. The light whimpers you’d let out at his every move gained traction from the chat, who were now spamming comments asking Jeno to fuck the shit out of you. Well, who was he to deny his fans?

You felt Jeno’s lips attach to your neck, as well as his long fingers slipping under your shirt, cupping your bare tits. He hated the fact that you never wore a bra near him, leaving little to his imagination when he wasn’t allowed to touch you. A shit-eating grin replaced his focused expression as he heard your breath hitch when he finally pinched your nipple, stopping for a second to effortlessly rip your shirt off over your head. Now exposed and riddled with goosebumps, Jeno sucked harder, leaving blemishes and marks all over your shoulder. His hands tweaked each nipple, pulling harder to draw more reactions from you.

This time, instead of a gasp, you simply grinded down on him out of instinct, the feeling finally pulling a moan from Jeno’s own throat. His chest still bare from when you had walked in on him earlier, pressed against your back as he held you close, pulling your little shorts off alongside your panties in one swift move. 

You were embarrassingly wet, hating yet loving the way Jeno stared at you through the screen of his own computer. He watched you with hunger in his eyes, as if he was going to devour you, and the worst part is that you began to like the idea. 

Your eyes shut close as you felt his fingers run down your slit, wetting them before he bullied two into you at once. You winced from the pain, not having time to recover before Jeno was thrusting in and out of you. His frustrations escaping him in the form of passion as his other hand planted gentle circles to your clit. Your cunt began to clench around him, a pit in your stomach forming as you let out moan after moan. It was only when he added another finger that you squirmed, the pit fully dropping. The shock on Jeno’s face was evident as a clear liquid covered both you and him once you came. Never in his life would he have expected you to squirt. He didn’t let out though, continuing to thrust his fingers in you until you fully rode out your high, clawing at his hands from the overstimulation.

Although he stopped, the breath you were catching got stuck in your throat once you felt something much larger than his fingers prodding at your cunt. He was big – honestly not a shock to you, who always heard him brag to the rest of your friends before he swore celibacy in solidation with you. Nothing could prepare you for the feeling of his tip pulsing in you, or his strong arms wrapping around you to hold your inner thighs, spreading you out to the camera, full pussy on display.

Hearing your gasps, Jeno stopped to let you adjust, yet it didn’t last long as you clenched around him. Albeit slower than he wanted to, he entered inch by inch until his cock was fully enveloped by your heat. You felt so good, how he knew you would. 

“‘Gonna move now, baby. Hold on to me.” You nodded although your eyes were painfully squeezing close. Jeno couldn’t take the slow pace as he thrusted in and out gently, and you granted his wish as you looked up towards his direction. “Y-you can move, Jen.” His moan was loud as he finally bottomed out, not nearly in as much control over his actions as he was before.

As soon as your pained whimpers shifted to soft gasps, he finally sped up, holding onto your thighs with a bruising grip. His moans were muffled as he whined into your neck. You felt every ridge and vein on his cock, stuffed deep inside of your cunt. Looking at the computer’s display, you felt yourself clench even more at the sight. With a clear view of Jeno’s face, the way he bit his lip and shut his eyes, you felt closer than ever. Jeno was close behind, not being able to take the tight squeeze you had around him anymore.

His pace fastened, thrusting up into you, pistoling in and out with desperation. “So good, fuck baby. You’re squeezing me so tight, ‘wanted this as bad as me?” Your fucked out face was evident as you simply nodded your head, eyes rolling up into your head. With one more hard thrust, you came once more, followed quickly by him. The feeling of his spent shooting inside of you fogged your mind up, and you had to clamp a hand to your mouth to silence yourself. 

Regaining his breath, he lifted you until his dick was fully out of you, laying you comfortably aside before standing up and approaching his laptop. Waving with a successful grin on his face, he shut the computer off. Putting on the nearest boxers on his bed, his next destination was the bathroom, where he gathered a warm wet towel to clean you up. 

You weren’t asleep per se, when he came back, yet your refusal to open your eyes accompanied by your lack of speech told Jeno that you were too exhausted to function, so he let you lay down. In truth, he always dreamed of spoiling you, taking care of you after fucking you to sleep. The only indicator that you were still awake was the small squeeze you gave his hand when he laid behind you, swelling his heart with several emotions. The moment was perfect, one that would forever be remembered in his head as heaven, until he picked his phone up to check the time. 

Can’t believe she squirted… screen recorded all that by the way dude, never thought I’d be so turned on watching you both lol

Jeno didn’t think twice before blocking Haechan’s contact, putting his phone down and cuddling back into you.

a/n: haiii guys i just realized i haven't made anything about jeno yet and ugh i was watching the poison track video he looks so goodddd that look is what i had in mind while making this i hope you guys enjoy :3

[dustysalmon]

Steb x Reader Headcanons

Steb ns//fw alphabet

Warnings: nsfw (below the cut)

Being a paramedic, Steb's protective instincts always kick in, even at home. He's hyper-aware of potential hazards and is often worried you will get hurt. He is always happy when you ask him to teach you some first-aid stuff

While Steb perfectly understands you, he cannot communicate verbally. He uses sign language, and truly appreciates the fact that you learnt it to understand him, even though you believe that is the least you could do

Because of the way he communicates, Steb is very sensitive to physical contact, and he can read expressions and body reactions extremely well. He adores holding hands with you, or simply brushing his fingertips against your skin (he very much enjoys the way you tremble under his touch whenever he does it)

Steb expresses love through acts of service. He loves cooking for you, especially seafood. He often does the fishing himself, picking the very best ingredients for you

Steb is definitely more on the introvert side, very calm, but also very attentive to the people around him. He is quite discreet and gets a little anxious in very noisy or crowded spaces

If you're comfortable with water, he WILL take you swimming whenever he can. His favourite thing is having you climb on his back while he swims as fast as possible

He absolutely cannot dance but always finds himself moving to the beat due to feeling the sound vibrations very strongly, he also just loves music in general. And he does have a playful side, doing extra awkward moves to make you laugh. He loves your laugh

Now about that fish stick...

Because he can't tell you what he wants, he likes to guide your hands and movements. He himself is very deliberate and exploratory. His nipples are highly sensitive, and you've made him cum a few times just by licking and sucking on them

It gets extremely messy when he cums, you weren't prepared the first time. Buckets after buckets of hot sticky fluids. Needless to say the sheets were done for. Also, the gills under his eyes move when he orgasms, they do so until the aftershocks have passed. Sometimes they even keep moving in the afterglow if he came particularly hard, it always mesmerises you

Shower sex is a big thing for him, it gets him going like nothing else. He loves coming up behind you as you shower, he starts washing your back, but then his hands are all over you, your nipples, your chest, between your legs. There's something about your naked wet body that makes him go absolutely crazy. But he's aware shower sex it's not the best for your species, so you don't do it often.

Steb doesn't speak, but boy oh boy does he moan. And being hyper sensitive doesn't help. Whether you're teasing his nipples, sucking on his cock or fucking him, you're gonna hear him whine, groan and whimper. He gets a little embarrassed about it, but knowing how much you love it makes him feel a little better

Steb's species have extremely sensitive genitals, especially the males. For that reason, his cock is normally tucked away in a genital pouch. It opens naturally with arousal to release his sex

Steb's cock is also equipped with small gills that are only here for one purpose: pleasuring his partner. And they do their job very well

Ever since Steb came into your life (literally and figuratively), you've stopped buying lube. His species produces a ridiculous amount of lubricant that is more than sufficient for the two of you

Steb loves giving you oral, loves seeing how much pleasure he can give you with his mouth alone. His tongue is much longer and stronger than a human's. He'll never forget your reaction the first time he plunged it deep inside you. He is not against receiving but he always gets scared about the idea of cumming in your mouth and basically drowning you

[demie90s]

WAIT CAUSE NOW I NEED MORE OF CLINGY MEANCE READER

ᴜᴄᴏɴɴ ᴛᴇᴀᴍ x ᴄʟɪɴɢʏ!ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

All She’s Got

MASTERLIST | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:You’re the clingy one. The one always riding shotgun, always hugging someone, always showing up early just to be around them. It’s never been a big deal—until a joke hits too deep. And Geno reminds the team exactly what you don’t have.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ:angst with comfort, team bonding, found family

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:emotional sensitivity, light teasing gone wrong, offhand joke triggers emotional reaction, subtle abandonment themes, Geno being dad-coded, crying, reconciliation

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~1k

ᴠɪʙᴇ:clingy but pure, soft heartbreak, Geno with that “get it together” bark but “I see you” energy, team realizing they are your family even if you never said it out loud

“Please don’t start today.”

That was the first thing Inês said when you wrapped both arms around her from behind, chin resting on her shoulder like a clingy toddler in sweats.

You grinned. “Start what?”

“This codependent circus act,” she deadpanned, trying not to smile. “It’s 8 a.m., bro.”

“It’s called affection,” you replied, nuzzling your face into her hoodie. “Sorry you hate joy.”

KK passed by, shaking her head. “You don’t even have boundaries. You just show up.”

You shrugged dramatically. “That’s what sisters are for.”

“I’m not your sister, girl.”

“Sure you are.”

She gave you a look, one of those “you’re so unserious” faces before tossing her bag into the bleachers and pulling her hoodie off. Practice hadn’t even started yet, and already the gym was filled with noise, water bottle clunks, the screech of sneakers. Normal stuff.

You were always attached to someone—KK, Paige, Nika, Ice, even Ayanna when she let you. If someone sat, you sat on them. If someone filmed a TikTok, you were in the back doing something chaotic. It was known. You weren’t shy about it either.

“God, you really don’t get tired of hugging on people?” KK muttered as she unwrapped tape from her fingers.

You didn’t hear the edge in her voice until she added, “You act like you don’t have anyone else.”

You laughed at first, just instinct. So did a few others. Even she smiled—barely.

But your laugh was thin. Because something about the way she said it—joking, but not—made your chest feel tight. Your hands dropped from Inês’s waist. You walked off without saying anything, grabbing a ball like you suddenly remembered you had a reason to be here besides annoying people.

And that’s when the silence started.

Not loud. Just quiet.

You went through warmups fine. Played like normal. You weren’t sulking or anything—God, that’d be dramatic. You just… didn’t do you. Didn’t yell. Didn’t lean into anyone. Didn’t giggle when Paige airballed or call KK “baby blue” for the color of her sleeves.

No one fully noticed at first. Not until you skipped high-fives after layups and sat by yourself during water break. Paige furrowed her brows. Ice nudged Nika. Even Ayanna mouthed, “She good?”

Geno noticed before anyone.

“Hey,” he called across the gym. “You sick or something?”

You looked up fast. “No, Coach.”

“You sure? You’re moving like somebody stole your dog.”

A few laughs. You smiled too—fake.

“I’m good.”

He stared at you for a beat, then let it go. “Then stop sulking and run it back. Let’s go.”

The gym filled with squeaks again. The usual grind.

But something stayed off.

You weren’t just quiet. You were careful. Like you didn’t wanna be too much. Like you didn’t wanna take up space.

⸻

After practice, while people changed and Geno hounded someone about missing a screen, you were already packed. Bag slung over one shoulder, hoodie up, eyes kind of empty.

“Hey,” Paige called. “You heading out?”

“Yeah,” you said, too soft. “Just tired.”

Nika stood up. “You want—”

“Nah, I’m good.”

You walked out before anyone could stop you.

⸻

An hour later, the locker room was mostly cleared. Geno leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed. The girls were mid-convo, tossing jokes around, arguing over who left a banana peel in someone’s shoe, when he cut through all of it.

“Next time one of you decides to joke about her being clingy, maybe ask why she is first.”

Silence.

Nika sat up straighter. “Coach?”

“You ever hear her talk about her siblings?” he asked.

They shook their heads.

“She doesn’t have any,” he said flatly. “No siblings. No cousins around here. Her parents don’t come to games. She’s got no one on campus. No one but you. And the second she acts like she needs you a little too much, somebody makes a joke.”

KK looked like she’d just been hit.

“She didn’t say anything—” Inês tried.

“Because she’s used to not being said anything to.”

Geno’s voice wasn’t loud. But it landed.

“She shows up every day trying to feel close to somebody, and you’re all she’s got. So maybe the next time she’s hanging on your arm or sitting too close or texting too much? Maybe say thank you. You’ve got sisters. She doesn’t. But she thinks you’re hers.”

And then, just like that, he stepped out, muttering something about film edits.

KK sat frozen.

Paige rubbed her hand down her face. “God.”

“She said I was her sister this morning,” KK whispered. “I told her I wasn’t.”

⸻

The group chat started blowing up two hours later.

P Buckets : dude we messed up

HEY ARNOLD: she didn’t even look mad bro

Portugal Baddie: she always says we’re her people

Croatian Baddie: because we are

Brady Baby: i feel like shit

Yanna Banana: i’ll cook for her

P Buckets: just say sorry before geno rips us again

HEY ARNOLD: fr she can have all my hoodies

Croatian Baddie: she’s our sister. period.

⸻

You didn’t respond that night. But the next morning, you showed up like normal. Bag on your shoulder. Hoodie too big. Slight limp in your step because your legs were still dead from suicides.

As soon as you stepped into the gym, KK ran over and threw her arms around you, almost knocking you back.

“Good morning to you too,” you mumbled into her shoulder.

She hugged you tighter. “You are my sister. Don’t listen to dumbass KK from yesterday. She’s a liar.”

You chuckled. Barely.

Then Paige pulled you into a hug from behind. Then Nika hooked her arm around your neck. Then Ayanna handed you a granola bar with a deadpan, “For emotional support.”

And when Geno walked in and saw you sitting dead center, surrounded by the team, he just nodded.

“You better run faster today,” he grunted.

“Love you too, Coach.”

[yurinaa-world]

Helloo!!!!!!!!!!!

may i request the amphoreus men w this? imagine like shy reader who literally gets flustered when getting praised and complimented so when character witnesses blushing while being complimented, they get jealous easily and drags reader away?

If you do not like this request, Feel free to ignore.

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Mydei, Phainon, & Anaxa x Gender-Neutral reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: with a reader gets flustered when getting praised and complimented (but they can't help but jealous when someone else makes you blush)

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, & Spelling Mistakes

💫𝑀𝓎𝒹𝑒𝒾 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒞𝓇𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝒫𝓇𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒦𝓇𝑒𝓂𝓃𝑜𝓈"

He praises you, maybe far more than others, but there's nothing wrong with that; he does adore you far more than other people. He’ll huff out praises here and there, like ‘you look nice, today,’ or ‘that suits you well’ (don’t forget, he’s probably has his arms wrapped around his chest, while he says it). Which always leaves your face slightly red in the face, with even realization as you try to take in his words.

He likes it. Can’t help but let out a small dry laugh every time. And he means them, too. That’s the worst part. He’s not one for empty flattery.

Yet what he dislikes is when others try to pursue with their own empty flattery just to get your attention, which is dramatic since it’s just a compliment from Phainon about how good you look that day.

Mydei, a man known for not backing down from a challenge (especially if it’s Phainon), and using such a basic word as good to describe is disrespectful to your very beauty—it’s pretty dramatic. 

Is he jealous, yes. But he knows how to one up.

"Good?" he echoes, voice low, just shy of mocking. "That’s all you’ve got?"

Because Phainon doesn’t know—not the way he does. They haven’t memorized the way your laugh sounds when it’s startled out of you, or how your fingers curl when you’re flustered, or the exact shade of pink that dusts your cheeks when the praise lands just right. 

And maybe he’s being unfair. Maybe it was just a passing comment, harmless. But Mydei has never claimed to be fair. So he leans in, just slightly, his next words deliberate, calculated—

"You’re radiant today," he says, quiet enough that only you can hear. And then, with a glance back at Phainon, all sharp edges and challenge:

 "See? That’s how it’s done."

💫𝒫𝒽𝒶𝒾𝓃𝑜𝓃 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑜 𝑜𝒻 𝒜𝓂𝓅𝒽𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓊𝓈"

He’s your national cheerleader. Whenever you do anything, you get a compliment. The bonus is seeing your cheeks turn a rosy colour. He can’t help but abuse your weakness. He’s terrible and cruel, but he just can’t stop himself! 

He feels less bad when he sees you brighten up a little for the rest of the day. BUT! It’s not like he says things that he doesnt mean! He’ll affirm every word he says if you ever feel that he’s lying to you in any way (he definitely isn’t. He’s just so smitten by you, how can he not go overboard?).

Now, can you blame him when he can’t help but get sassy when some else makes you red in the face like he does, purposely, when the entirety of Okhema knows he is yours. They act shamelessly eccentric (then the normal should) when they’re around you.

“Is something wrong?”

Even though you couldn't feel it, your face still had that pink hue to it as Phainon's hand was intertwined with yours. That pink would be something that he would constantly rave about is now caused by someone else's words.

"Hmm." He leans down, studying your flushed cheeks with exaggerated scrutiny. "Nope. Doesn't count."

You swat at his arm. "What are you talking about?"

“Your face is usually a darker red when I compliment you.”

Before you can protest, he’s already spinning you around to face him, cupping your cheeks with both hands. "Let’s fix that."

And then—because he’s Phainon—he hits you with the most shameless, over-the-top compliment imaginable. Something so absurdly sweet that you do turn the exact shade of pink he wanted. Before giving you a big kiss.

"Ahhh, there it is!" He grins, triumphant.

💫𝒜𝓃𝒶𝓍𝒶 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒸𝒽𝑜𝓁𝒶𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝒜𝓂𝓅𝒽𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓊𝓈"

Anaxagoras. He’s a man of knowledge, but no amount of knowledge and words can compare to how biased a person can be when it comes to someone they love. In his mind, it's nonsense; he has no basis in the slightest. 

He’s just accepting facts. 

You are beautiful when you blush at one of his sentiments toward you (they’re his fans' way of saying compliments). Honestly, to use such a neutral term as sentiment when he’s basically complimenting and kissing your feet. 

And you know what! He’ll accept such accusations like a man; he’s not ashamed. He could write a paper about how your face slowly gains its bright hue as you take in his words, your lips pressing together and your eyelids rapidly closing.

That luxury he can’t help but get drunk off of, but what he dislikes is when others try to see that side of you (even though it’s pretty easy to get out of you).

His hand cupping your chin while squeezing your pink hue cheeks together like pufferfish. “It seems your face doesn’t have that much hue when someone else compliments you.”

"It's not fair," he grumbles, fingers still squishing your cheeks, but gentler now, like he's worried he might actually make you upset. "I put in so much effort. My compliments are meticulously crafted. Poetic, even. And yet—" He huffs, "—some fool says 'you look nice today' and you give them that little smile?"

He sings like whiney wife, complaining about something so small. You hoesntly don’t what to say to his jealous.

His eyes just scan your entire face but just giving up and kissing you on the lips as his other hand made it around you head.

Now, you’re face is even redder.

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[shizuturnspages]

Imagine yandere diluc, ayato, wriothesly, zhongli with an oblivious reader who wasn't aware that they're in a relationship with them like they thought they were best friends. They live together and basically do the most couple things and believe that they were best buddies

Love your writing, stay healthy no pressure from me if you don't want to write this

🩷🩷🩷

More Than Just Friends

Synopsis: You were just friends. At least, that’s what you always told yourself. Living together? Best friends do that. Sharing food? Nothing unusual. Sleeping in the same bed when it got too cold? Just something friends did for comfort! You never questioned the way they always touched you so casually—brushing your hair back, adjusting your collar, holding your wrist when you walked together. Or how they always knew everything about you—what you liked, where you were, who you spoke to. You never noticed how their eyes darkened when others got too close. Because to you, they were just your best friend. But to them, you were theirs. Pairings: [Separate] Yandere Diluc, Ayato, Wriothesley, Zhongli x Oblivious Reader

Diluc – The Overprotective 'Best Friend'

Living with Diluc Ragnvindr was like sharing a home with a protective older brother—at least, that’s how you saw it. He had always been a little overbearing, a little too invested in your well-being, but you assumed that’s just how he was.

After all, wasn’t it normal for friends to:n

Cook every meal for you to make sure you "stay healthy"?

Escort you home every day because "Mondstadt isn’t always safe"?

Casually mention that you don’t need to date anyone because "you have me"?

You figured it was just his way of looking out for you.

"Hey, Diluc," you called out one evening as he handed you a steaming cup of dandelion wine. "Have you ever thought about getting a girlfriend?"

The silence in the room was deafening.

The redhead froze, his usually composed expression unreadable.

"I don’t need one," he finally said, voice eerily calm. "I already have you."

You snorted. "Yeah, yeah, but imagine if you did. You’re kind, responsible, and—"

He set his glass down with a little too much force.

"Why would I need anyone else when we already live together?"

"Uh... because we’re best friends?" you replied, confused.

His eyes darkened. "Friends?"

"Yeah? Best friends?"

Diluc let out a soft sigh, shaking his head. "Of course," he muttered, more to himself than to you. "You’re so innocent."

You didn’t understand what he meant. But the look in his eyes sent an odd shiver down your spine.

Ayato – The Sweet but Possessive Companion

"You’re acting like my boyfriend."

The words were spoken in passing, a joke, a tease.

But Ayato froze.

His gaze locked onto yours, something dangerous flickering beneath the usual warmth.

"Am I not?"

You laughed, brushing off his words. "Of course not, silly! We’re just roommates. Best friends! Partners in crime!"

The way his jaw tensed should have been a warning.

Best friends. Roommates.

No. No.

You belonged to him.

You didn’t notice how no one ever got too close to you in the Kamisato Estate. How people avoided even looking at you when Ayato was near.

How every single letter addressed to you was intercepted before it ever reached your hands.

You were his.

And one day, he’d make sure you understood.

Even if it meant locking you away forever.

Wriothesley – The Overly Attentive ‘Roommate’

Living with Wriothesley was a mix of comfort and mild confusion.

For one, he always insisted on walking you everywhere.

"Fortress of Meropide can be dangerous," he’d say. "Better safe than sorry."

"But we’re just going to the marketplace?" you asked one day.

He tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness. "Doesn’t matter. I’d rather be with you."

And that wasn’t all.

You had noticed how he touched you—not in a way that felt inappropriate, but in a way that seemed… too familiar.

An arm around your waist when guiding you through a crowd.

A hand resting on your shoulder when he spoke to you.

And the way he pulled you into a hug just a little too often.

One evening, as you were sipping tea, you sighed dramatically. "Wrio, we should get matching rings."

The way he stilled should have clued you in.

"Matching rings?" he repeated, voice slow.

"Yeah! Friendship rings! To show we’re best buds!"

There was a long pause before he chuckled, but there was something… off about it.

"That’s not a bad idea," he said, grinning to himself.

You didn’t know that the "friendship rings" you had unknowingly suggested were actually engagement rings in Fontaine tradition.

And he wasn’t planning on correcting you.

Zhongli – The Devoted ‘Friend’

Zhongli had always been exceptionally caring, going above and beyond for you.

At first, you thought it was just how he was.

He always pulled out your chair before you sat down.

He always remembered your favourite foods, ensuring they were prepared daily.

He always gave you soft, lingering looks, as if watching over something precious.

You had assumed it was just his nature.

That was, until one day, you joked, "I can’t wait to meet my future partner!"

Zhongli’s tea cup stopped midair.

He set it down gently, too gently.

"Future partner?" he echoed, his expression unreadable.

"Yeah! You know, when I get married someday."

His amber eyes seemed to darken.

"You speak as if you do not already belong to someone."

You furrowed your brows. "I don’t?"

He sighed, a patient but warning look in his gaze.

"Y/N," he said softly, too softly.

"Has it never occurred to you why we live together? Why I dote on you so?"

"Yeah, because we’re best friends!" you chirped.

The silence that followed was so loud.

Zhongli only smiled, though something in his gaze sharpened.

"You are too naïve, my dear," he murmured, almost fondly.

But you would learn soon.

Because whether you understood it now or not, you were already his.

[strwberri-milk]

can i request the boys thinking mc is cheating bc she’s been acting off and hanging with other people, then they confront her but learn later that it’s something else that’s been going on (like her wanting to keep a problem hidden from them) angsty or fluffy ending it’s up to you im just craving angst 😓

Zayne doesn't want to directly confront you. He's terrified that somehow, he'll mess everything up and that right now, not knowing is better than confirming his fear. He'll just continue observing you for a bit, trying to figure out if there's something that can definitively point towards you actually having an affair. Your behaviour is strange but he won't feel too concerned until you start actively pulling affection away from him. That's when he's going to really start panicking. He doesn't know what he's done or said to make you take such a drastic step in your relationship and this is absolutely going to devastate him.

He'll talk to you one evening after you come home late. He tries to open it up by telling you that if it's something he's said or done to you then he's sorry and he promises he'll do whatever it takes to fix things between the two of you. It's you, and it's always been you. He can't even fathom being with anybody that isn't you. He'll ramble a little for once, not really able to accurately use his words as he tries to express how much he loves you.

You realise very quickly where he's going with all of this, immediately shutting him down as you tell him that you aren't seeing somebody else. He listens with bated breath to try and comprehend everything you're telling him, praying that you aren't lying to him because if you were, it'd definitely break him.

You'd probably have to ruin the surprise if you wanted him to feel fully secure after this conversation, especially since you also were hanging off of people when you normally don't seem to. He might feel a little insecure about your relationship for a while before settling into the routine again with you, but as long as you're wholly honest with him it'll pass fairly quickly.

Xavier wants to follow you around but he also knows it'd piss you off if he did. He'll just start paying more attention to events when the two of you are together and even more attention to things if it seems you're purposefully not inviting him to something. He's trying to understand why and what for, not wanting to directly accuse you but his jealousy definitely ramps up.

You'd have to talk to him as he slowly starts to escalate, becoming more pissy if you have plans with friends or when he responds poorly to you taking calls in his presence. He doesn't really say too much but he does make it very clear just how displeased he is with the look on his face or the way he practically grabs you whenever you're doing things with him.

He gets a little rougher with you overall - not in a painful way, in a distracted, irritated way. He doesn't want to hurt you on purpose and typically you don't really respond to this difference in pressure because it's nothing crazy but you can tell that he's starting to really internalise everything that's happening around him. When you do talk to him he listens with a furrow in his brow, trying to figure out if you're telling him the truth, or this is some elaborate lie for you to throw him off your scent.

He believes you pretty quickly but he is also going to be really skeevy about letting you do things without him for a bit. He just wants to spend time with you after all and after all this emotional turmoil you owe him a few stress-free dates.

Rafayel is not pleased. He makes it clear the second he thinks something is wrong by being colder and less affectionate with you. He isn't wholly above following you and figuring out who you're hanging out with, trying to figure out if there really is a chance that you are trying to have an affair.

You'd get some emotional whiplash from how differently he's acting, how he's making it clear that you've wronged him somehow but he isn't going to talk to you about it. He's avoidant, waiting for you to admit the truth. He's also patient, which means you could be iced out for weeks if you decide not to talk to him about what's happening.

He might spoil the surprise for himself if he goes fully into surveillance after which he'd just tell you that he figured out what you were hiding from him. You'd be a little disappointed but also more concerned as to how he managed to figure it out without tipping you off. He won't tell you at all about how he got the information - just that he did.

If he decides not to stalk you a little you'd have to ask him why he's so mad at you. He'd tell you that he's just treating you the same way you've been treating him, and that as far as he's concerned, this is deserved. You'd have to tell him the truth and why you've been hiding all this information from him - after which he will brighten up significantly. He'll say something about how he's never doubted you, yadda yadda yadda but he's definitely more clingy now than before from his nerves finally starting to settle.

Sylus doesn't want to monitor you either and decides to give you the benefit of the doubt. He's fairly secure in your relationship and knows that he hasn't done anything to make you want to cheat but he does feel himself faltering if you're becoming prone to laughing at your phone or trying to hide it from him. He won't ask for it but you can see that he's starting to get suspicious.

He would leave it alone until you reveal to him your surprise. By then he's still feeling fairly anxious but when you reveal that your behaviour was all just a result of you trying to plan something for him then he'll relax a little, thanking you for the effort you went through. You can tell that he's very glad that you've finally come clean when he holds your hand tightly, practically clinging to you as he thanks you.

He'll plan some more elaborate dates for you after the reveal, making it clear that he's missed your attention being solely on him. You don't really mind though since he's basically throwing money at you, spoiling you silly and reminding you just how much he's willing to do for you.

[livinghalfway]

Younger Years Pt. 11

Masterlist

Summary: Damian gets temp de-aged to 6yrs old; cue him asking where his twin is. This is how everyone finds out about Danny's existence. Word Count: 1936

Everyone is still on edge from learning that Jason had been taken as well. After a bit of investigating though it seems Jason was actually taken a couple days before any of them knew anything. Which was an even bigger hit to his Father's already cracking emotional state. Especially since a day has already passed, and no helpful information about where Jason or Danyal are being kept has been found. 

Damian luckily doesn't have to be subject to it as Bruce is currently at the Watchtower having an emergency meeting regarding the GIW and the Anti-Ecto Acts. He had originally demanded that he be included in the discussion, but was quickly persuaded against it when given the task of investigating Danyal's friends and family. 

In hopes of figuring out why the GIW actually took Danyal. His friends have given them something to work with, but now they need to figure out the true story.

So now he is here sitting in the cave with Tim, Steph, Cass, and Dick going over what everyone has found so far. Duke is of course out doing his normal patrol, and keeping an eye out for any  movement from the GIW. 

“Danyal’s adoptive parents, Jack and Madeline Fenton, are ecto-scientists, inventors, and self-proclaimed ghost hunters. Their lives practically revolve around knowing everything ‘ghosts’ including how to get rid of them.” Damian is quick to start the conversation once everyone is settled. “Which does include Danyal based on his so-called ecto-levels.” 

“Do you think they could have done something to him on purpose; in the name of science and all that?" Steph immediately asks. The thought had crossed Damian's mind as well the more he read about the two. 

"Does that seem like something they would do? Making their son into the very thing they're hunting? What would be the point?" Dick counters with his own questions. A scowl on his face, clearly getting angry at the prospect, "To study him?"

“We’ve dealt with crazier and worse people before. With everything you know, do you really doubt that some parents would do something like that? It would give them the chance to monitor him through every stage of his transformation.” Tim has disgust on his face as he thinks about just how likely a situation like that would be. 

"The two said it was one of the parent’s experiments that caused his ecto-levels to rise." Cass reminds them all of Sam and Tucker's words. "That part was true." 

"Then what parts were lies?" Steph questions. 

"Alone." 

"Which doesn't disprove the theory that it was done on purpose." Dick says disappointedly at the fact. 

Steph cuts in immediately after him, "All this theory talks when it seems like his friends have all the answers, why aren't we just questioning them more about this?"

"Bruce, banned everyone from approaching them without him present." Tim flatley replies. 

Damian still couldn't believe his Father had done that; his anger towards that man only seems to be rising every day. He knows he could have gotten the answer they need from the two without any trouble. 

Batman went easy on them during that interrogation, and they all know it. 

“Let’s go ahead and move on to a different talking point than.”  Dick not so subtly redirects them to a different talking point. Knowing that if it continued Damian would not be able to hold himself back from interrogating them despite the order not to. “Does anyone else have any information they want to share?”

“Phantom, he’s a ghost hero that protects the town from other ghost’s attacks. The Fenton’s of course label him a menace, and have been attacking him since his first known appearance.” Tim announces as he pulls up a blurry photo of Phantom up on screen. 

While the image is distorted it is clear to see that the hero wears a black suit, and has pure white hair. What’s strange though is that Damian thinks the blurry figure almost looks familiar in a weird way. Like he’s seen it before. 

“So all ghosts can distort cameras then?” Steph stares curiously at the image. 

“Jason doesn’t do that though.” Cass notes, “Maybe the ecto-levels affect the cameras?”

“Which means Danyal’s levels are high enough to affect them.” Damian hates the implications of that. He doesn’t even want to think about what that could mean for Danyal’s health. If he loses his brother once more because of it, it might just break him. 

It would be cruel of the universe to give him the chance to have his twin back in life only for it to take him once again. 

Dick, who is always somehow aware of how he is feeling, looks towards him with worry. “Hey Dami, would you mind talking to me for a few minutes in the med bay area?” 

“Of course,” He knows that it is no use arguing right now, and honestly Damian isn’t sure he has the strength to right now,”lead the way, Richard.” 

The two stand and Dick waves off the others concerned glances. “You guys continue this; we’ll be back in a bit!” 

Silently, he follows Dick into the med bay watching as he closes the door behind them, efficiently separating them from the others. 

While sitting down on the cot Dick pats the spot on the bed beside him; a quiet offer to sit next to him. Damian almost refuses on principle, and probably would have in any other situation. Ever since finding Danyal in Gotham Damian has found himself not acting like himself.  He hates that he’s having these emotional outbursts. 

“Baby bat, I know everything has been crazy around here with everyone focusing on finding Danyal and Jason, but how are you feeling right now? How do you feel about … reuniting with Danyal?” Dick keeps his tone gentle and soft as he speaks. 

“Reuniting? I would be foolish to hope for that to describe what my meeting with Danyal will be like. At best it will be a brief acknowledgement of one another, and at worst a conflict.” 

“I’m sure that’s not true, Damian. It’ll definitely take some time for both of you, but I believe in the end you’ll both be able to heal from this together.” 

"Time is not always enough, sometimes you have to amputate to heal." He angrily retorts despite knowing that Dick is only trying to comfort him right now. "If that means by the end of this Danyal needs to never see me again then so be it. Just knowing that he is alive and well will have to be enough.” 

Dick sighs sadly and tucks him into his side; he allows it for now. “I will follow your lead when it comes to Danyal, but I do want you to know that it’s ok to want a relationship with your twin. Talk to him, show him that this is something you’re willing to try and rebuild.” 

Damian doesn’t say anything in response right away to that. He wants to believe everything will work out, but he knows the truth. While his twin was considered the kinder of the two it does not mean that Danyal wasn’t just as stubborn when it came to holding a grudge. Forgiveness might not be something Danyal will ever bestow upon him. 

“I- I will try.” 

“That’s all you can do, kiddo.” 

No words are spoken after that; just the two sitting in comfortable silence. Eventually though they do stand to make their way back to the others. There is much that still needs to be discussed after all before patrol tonight. 

Walking back into the main area Damian expects to find everyone in the middle of a discussion. What he finds instead is the three of them completely silent as they look at three images displayed side by side. The first is of Danyal outside of the planetarium, the second being a still shot of when Danyal was taken, and the other an image of Phantom. 

The others notice their approach, and share nervous glances with one another. Just before he can question what has them all in a twist Damian finally notices the differences and similarities between all the images. 

Despite all the shots being blurry it is clear to see that Danyal, outside the planetarium, and Danyal, being taken out of the alley, have very big differences. Absolutely none of the colors are matching up together. The biggest outlier being the stark white that does in fact match up with Phantom though. 

The flash of green from the alley. They had all assumed that it must have come from one of the weapons the GIW agents were carrying, but could it have been something different?

Could- could Danyal be Phantom?

That wouldn't make any sense though Damian thinks to himself, and yet the more he stares at the screen the more he thinks it must be so. 

His father's orders be damned, he's going to go to Sam and Tucker, and get his answers. Which is exactly what he planned to do until he turned around and saw his father, still standing near the Zeta tube, analyzing the three images himself.

Based on the frown growing on his face he'd guess that his Father has also come to the same conclusion as him. 

"Father, I demand we go to Manson and Foley for proper answers now!" 

Instead of answering him though Bruce looks towards Tim, "Report." 

"Upon looking into the Amity Park hero, Phantom, we came across a blog by Wes Weston who claims that the hero is actually Daniel Fenton. Investigating this further we started to review all the footage of Danyal that we have." Tim gestures towards the screen. "That is when we noticed the color change from when he enters and exits the alley." 

"The blog, how much of their evidence holds true." 

"It's been sent to Babs, and is being investigated as we speak." 

"Hm." Finally, Bruce looks towards him. "Patrol starts in an hour, we'll go to them later tonight. For now let's-" 

Bruce would have continued to speak, but an incoming comms call from Signal takes over the batcomputer. Immediately taking action Cass answers the call, and opens up his cowl cam as he speaks. "GIW van spotted! In pursuit from the rooftops." 

Once the cameras live footage they all watch as Signal jumps from rooftop to rooftop as he follows the vehicle driving below. Based on the building Damian would guess that he was on the edge of Crime Alley. 

"Signal continue pursuit, but don't approach." Batman orders. 

"Copy." 

After another twenty minutes or so the van finally enters the empty parking lot for a frankly plain looking building. Damian would have thought an organization like this would be more showy. Which means that it was a deliberate choice to keep things hidden in plain sight. 

With the van now fully parked in front of the building doors Tim takes control of the camera, and zooms in. Even getting one confirmed identity of someone who works here could unlock them all. 

Two individuals dressed in white spet out of the driver and passenger seat. Their faces are clear on display. 

Then the back doors open as well; two individuals. 

A man and woman dressed in orange; with smiling, happy faces. 

Jack and Madeline Fenton. His brother’s adoptive parents. 

As Damian watches them both freely enter the building he knows one thing for sure. Danyal being taken was no accident, and he’d bet that his twin’s so-called friends Manson and Foley are involved somehow as well. 

He’s taking them all down.

[astrobydalia]

September Observations

This post has a TW I do not allow the repost on any others platform

© astrobydalia

Something I forgot to mention in this post about 8th house synastry!! I've noticed for some reason this overlay tends to manifest more positively when the house person already has 8th house placements in their natal chart (not a guarantee tho). I feel like its because this makes the house person be more naturally in their power and the planet person no longer feels like they can have control over the house person. In these cases instead of envy the planet person feels admiration and "positive" obsession over the house person like "Im obsessed with you, queen!🥰​😍​🤩​" kinda vibe

If Libra Moons didn’t have the ability to detach fast they could easily pass as water moons 100%. They are such hopeless romantics and love having someone to love be that friends or partners. And yes they can be codependent but only to an extent imo. I’ve seen Libra Moons actually detach surprisingly fast specially if they feel like you don’t match their energy

Im sorry but Libra Suns are not people you can count on imo. They have this very elitist/opportunistic mindset when it comes to people. They treat people based on some kind of unspoken social hierarchy they have in their minds like how successful or intelligent or interesting you appear to be for example. They'll be loyal for as long as they see benefit from associating themselves with you, otherwise they'll be distant, elusive and flighty af. Socially they appear to be super chill but they aren’t like at all, they’re very passive-aggressive and extremely judgmental of others

If you have Venusian MC/10th house (Libra or Taurus MC/10th or Venus in the 10th house), I've noticed people care what you think of them and really feel the need to make a good impression on you, specially the sex you're attracted to romantically. This placement makes people feel like your love and affection is a privilege to have, that’s why a lot of trophy wives have venusian 10th house/MC

Jupiterians (Pisces/Sagittarius but specially Sagittarius placements) are just the best people to be around tbh. Even when they have other toxic placements/energies in their charts, I’ve noticed they are ultimately all about the ✨vibes✨. They detach from negativity quite fast and avoid getting too deep into drama and controversy cause really all they want is to chill and have fun. The “no worries, bro” kinda people. The negative side of this tho is they tend to turn a blind eye when they get called out on their own issues and/or have a tendency to be dismissive when it’s time to take things seriously

^^^You’d say Venusians relate to this peaceful description too but tbh I didn’t include them cause Venusians tend to have a lot of repressed shit and are secretly all about drama (but watching it go down from afar tho)

I’ve noticed water mercury tend to be more diplomatic and charming with their words, the way they speak about things tends to be more soothing yet nebulous/confusing/cryptic. However earth mercuries are more direct and critical which makes them more prone to openly talking shit LMAO

There's a lot of posts victimizing and romanticizing Lilith in the 1st house/conjunct the ASC but I've seen this placement a lot in bullies and genuinely fraudulent people?? I've seen Lilith energy is commonly prominent in the charts of criminals too. Like​ idk why people act like the hate Lilith gets is ALWAYS unjustified 💀 They can truly be really dark and shady individuals that’s literally what Lilith signifies (this does not apply to everyone of courseeeeee)

Furthermore, I'm sorry to say this but prominent Lilith natives have a habit of living too much in the victim mindset and constantly make everyone else the problem as a way to justify their shitty behaviors

What I’ve noticed with Lilith natives who are not sketchy people (so just normal decent individuals) is that they have huge self-destructive and self-derogatory tendencies. They tend to become very cynical of the world, lose hope in their own value and humiliate themselves behaving in ways that are rebellious to them but make other people think the native has no self-respect

Libra/7th house Lilith tend to assume the worst in others. Envy placement. They struggle finding genuine and healthy relationships

I've noticed MC ruler in the 12th house is common in the charts of sex workers since 12th house is related to bed pleasures, secret affairs, etc

The sign that actually behaves like a child irl is Gemini. That’s why I've noticed Gemini placements always want to be the 'cool and fun parent' just like Phil Dunphy

TW: mentions of c**** abuse and s******.

I've noticed Cancer energy (Leo too but mostly cancer) is very common in the charts of p*dos, gr**mers and s*xual predators. No placement will determine someone being this way!!!

Chiron in the 1st house/conjunct the ASC/Harshly aspecting chart ruler is common in the charts of people who have or have tried to commit s******

End of TW

An underrated god complex indicator is Sun-Mercury conjunction. I can't stress enough how much these people's ego revolve around their intellect. Their entire personality to them is being the smartest person in the room

When it comes to pride and ego (Sun) fixed and mutable suns are the most likely to have a superiority complex

Mutable Suns take the most pride on their own knowledge and judgment, deeply believe they know better or have most if not all the answers. They have a tendency to often dismiss, correct or contradict others

Fixed Suns take pride in their own ‘essence’ if that make sense. They LOVE the idea of being special and irreplaceable. Feeling like there’s something intrinsically unique about them

Cardinal Suns are okay tbh. They can have other negatives but when it comes to ego theirs is usually pretty balanced I noticed. They usually take pride in their ability to level-up and improve themselves which often makes them rather competitive or in extreme cases have this heavily predatory mindset when it comes to what they want

This will not be accurate for everyone of course but when it comes to future children if you have Water/Earth moon you are most likely to have girls whereas if you have Air/Fire moon you're more most likely to have boys

Air Venus people are the most open-minded when it comes to taste in general. I've noticed they're the type to enjoy almost every music and movie genre, they can appreciate different aesthetics.... They're also the most likely to date outside their race I've seen cause they can really find beauty in all sort of features as long as it looks overall good/attractive to them. It's not that they don't have preferences, but they're type be open to being impressed and mentally stimulated

EARTH and Fire Venus people are the most selective when it comes to their taste. They know exactly what they want and like. In the case of earth Venus this can be to the point of strong reluctance to try new things. Fire Venus appear open minded cause they have this attitude of trying everything once but the usually have a very hard-set type of things they will actually commit to

Water Venus people aren't that open about their tastes. They hide or repress them cause they really tend to be into obscure or hidden stuff. If you ask them what they like, they'll give you an evasive and generic answer, specially if it's in the context of small talk

I've noticed Capricorn and Scorpio Moons have an innate understanding of the uglier sides of human nature which is what makes them pretty cynical (scorpio) and pessimistic (cap). They are hyper-aware of how most people can be bought and corrupted. This makes them AMAZING business people tho.

Aries ASC natives embody the active, wild and spontaneous stereotype more than the other aries placements. They come across as pretty chill at first but there's actually very little they won't dare to do, they love adventures

I've noticed Venusians can do really good in anything related to sales or business counseling, because they are good at estimating and promoting the value of things

I know we relate Neptune to otherworldly and glamorous vibe but all the people that I've met who made me go "wow, girl, you don't feel real" were people who had air signs in their big 3. They’re not real people, they’re concepts, I swear that’s the vibe they give me💀💀

Also, air signs in the big 3 is an underrated fame/success indicator imo. Nowadays networking is everything in order to succeed and these natives naturally attract popularity and connections SO easily. They effortlessly use their charm and likeness to gain opportunities

I once saw an observation that said Gemini risings give off dumb blonde energy and Im here to confirm it’s true, specially when Mercury is also in an air sign. This happens cause they're up in their minds all the time but this makes them appear VERY disconnected from their environment so they really just be looking like this 24/7 😀​😃​😄​😁​😆​🙂​ and that's why they come across as empty-headed. They also often have this manic pixie dream girl energy which results in people not taking them seriously. This is enhanced when you see that they have a tendency to get talkative about superficial or random topics but their more intelligent or deep thoughts they keep to themselves for some reason.

Taurus Moons actually are actually very very very strategic??? Other earth moons look messy af beside them. They're so grounded that they know exactly what they want, how they wanna get it and they are so sure of themselves they have no issue taking their sweet ass time with it. Every single step they take is so intentional and "organized" if that makes sense, but they pull it off as natural and spontaneous??

Also this is an obvious thing to say but Taurus Moons are so emotionally stable. They work extremely well under pressure, will literally be the calm person admist a chaos or extreme situation. I've seen Cap/Virgo moons getting triggered many times but Taurus moons???? I've known some of them for years and I've never seen them triggered EVER no matter happened which as a water moon that's fucking insane to me 😭​💀​💀​ Like sure depending on their personality they can be more or less expressive of their feelings but its always on their own terms, they don't let other people or situations just get reactions out of them if that makes sense

I've noticed Mercury in the 4th house creates a divided and scattered family. Just like Mercury in the 10th house indicates traveling for work, Mercury in the 4th indicates traveling because of your family. The people I've seen with this placement have all of their family members scattered around the world living completely different lives

Sun-Neptune harsh aspects are very impressionable people and very easily influenced

Also, a lot of people point out Sun-Pluto aspects have like a hidden dark/toxic side to their personality but I've seen it's actually Sun-Neptune that match this description

Libra placements can potentially be very disciplined and do well in demanding and/or serious occupations like corporate, military or athletes since Saturn is exalted in Libra.

Venus in the 1st house can tend to only value the superficially good things in them (lovable, likabale, beautiful, etc) and are more concerned with the image they present rather than building a real personality deep down. This make them ignore or downplay their flaws thus not reacting well to criticism and/or when someone does not like them.

All the men that I’ve met who were actually providers and had this involved father and husband vibes always had VIRGO, taurus and cancer placements

Men with capricorn placements aren’t providers, they’re just controlling af😭😭 They will also be emotionally distant and manipulative af too if they do not have other energies in the chart to balance it out

Honestly water suns (sun in a water house natives too) fascinate me. They just go around life casually hiding who they really are like they don’t have the most intricate personality deep down. All of them have mysterious and intriguing vibes it's not just scorpio!!!

5th house placements (including vertex) will stay behaving like teenagers regardless of their age. The song "forever young" by alphaville really describes them

Neptune in the 1st house/asc are prone to attracting lots and lots of creepy individuals because they have this aura where people project all sorts of delulu and twisted shit on them. Mentally and/or emotionally unwell people feel very attached to these natives unfortunately

Leo MC/10th house really does indicate a career where you're some kind of performer. That’s why many celebrities (specially ACTORS and singers) are Scorpio risings. This can also apply to careers like politics, public speaker, standup comedian, etc. All of these involve some level of fame ofc

Cancer MC/10th house indicates being some kind of creator (cancer=birthing something new, bringing something to life). This a lot of times relate to some art form of course but it can be other things for example a friend of mine has this placement and she works in science and she told me she works in a lab with substances and materials she created herself (idk how it works but you get the idea)

Pisces Suns have a major in gaslighting from the university of never taking responsibility. This can be the case for any unevolved pisces placement but I’ve noticed the lying to your face and twisting reality is much more blatant in Pisces Suns for some reason. They make arguments in such a way that you can tell something of what they’re saying is off but you can’t exactly prove them wrong either so 🤷🏽‍♀️💀

Mercurial placements (Gemini/Virgo) and Venus in the 3rd house may really love wearing rings or lots of bracelets, big watches, etc. Accessories that bring attention to the hands essentially

Libra placentas may or may not want to be "liked" but Libra Moon is a placement I've seen is genuinely liked by everyone. They have this calming and loving energy to them. Celebrities with this placement are generally unproblematic (Anne Hathaway, Emma Stone) or if they are problematic they can easily recover from backlash (Ariana Grande, Leo DiCaprio)

© astrobydalia

[monserelates]

P.S. He still can't know ; James Potter

⇨ f! reader x james potter

part 3 pf the p.s. series

⇨ summary: You find an old letter James wrote to you during fifth year confessing he loved you but never sent. You're now dating someone else. Chaos ensues. Secrets uncover.

⇨ warnings/notes: use of y/n, angst, not proofread, Emotional cheating themes, heartbreak, tension, crying, James spiraling, reader torn between two people, longing, and one (okay maybe a few) very old love letters.

a/n: okay i actually loved this episode, includes more girlhood than all that but i promise things will get more exciting.

⇨ word count: 3.2k

The Great Hall buzzed with the usual morning chatter — clinking cutlery, owls swooping low with parcels, a third-year bursting into tears over a Transfiguration essay. And yet, for Y/N, everything was muffled. Distant. Like watching the world through glass.

She sat beside Lily, toast untouched, fingers wrapped too tightly around her cup of tea. It had gone cold twenty minutes ago, but she hadn’t noticed. Or maybe she had. She just didn’t care.

Across the hall, Amos Diggory laughed at something a friend said. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t even look up.

They had broken up the night before.

No fighting. No drama. Just… stillness. She told him she wasn’t in it anymore, and Amos, Merlin bless him, had nodded like he already knew. Like he had for a while.

Y/N hadn’t slept.

“You okay?” Lily’s voice was quiet, almost apologetic. Like she knew better than to pry but couldn’t stop herself.

“Yeah.” Y/N’s voice came out thin. Too smooth to be honest. “Just tired.”

Lily’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t push, but the air between them tightened anyway.

Down the table, Marlene and Dorcas were trying — and failing — to act normal. Marlene sent her a sideways glance every few seconds, lips twitching with the effort of not asking a thousand questions. Dorcas offered her a slice of marmalade toast without a word. Y/N shook her head.

Then came it. The shift.

James Potter walked into the Great Hall, hands jammed into the pockets of his robes, hair looking like he’d fought sleep and lost. He moved like someone who was trying not to look for something.

But then his eyes found her.

He faltered. Just a step. Just for a second. Enough to notice if you were paying attention. Y/N didn’t meet his gaze, but she felt it — heavy and loaded and ..knowing?

The boys followed behind him like shadows. Sirius cracked a joke that made Peter snort and Remus roll his eyes. But James? James didn’t laugh. He barely sat down.

He was at the middle of the table. She was on the edge. It might as well have been inches. The silence between them buzzed louder than the entire hall.

She could feel the weight of the unsent letters burning behind her eyes.

He knew she’d seen them. And now he did not know how to act.

James stood suddenly, muttering something to Remus, who gave him a look but didn’t argue. He walked past her on his way out.

And for a fleeing second, he slowed.

The scent of him—vainilla, broom polish, and something sharp like cinnamon—brushed past her. Her fingers curled around her teacup. Her breath caught.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t stop.

Didn’t even look at her.

The moment passed, and he was gone.

Lily whispered, “You’re allowed to talk to him, you know.”

Y/N shook her head once. “Not yet.”

Her tea had gone ice cold by the time she tried it.

..

James spotted her the moment he turned the corner — standing outside the library, arms folded, books clutched tight to her chest, face unreadable. The flickering torchlight caught in her hair, and for a second, he just stared.

He didn’t plan this. Or maybe he had. He'd been walking aimlessly for the last fifteen minutes, telling himself it was coincidence. But here she was.

And he couldn’t not try.

“Hey.” His voice was quiet. Careful. Like she was something made of glass.

Y/N didn’t look up immediately. When she did, her face was polite. Too polite. He knew her, for God's sake, he spent and still has every waking moment thinking about her.

“Potter.” A nod. Distant. Like he was someone she used to know.

James winced at the way it sounded — his surname, formal and sharp like an old scar reopened. Not James. Not even nothing—just Potter. Like he was a stranger. Or worse, not important. It cut deeper than he’d admit.

“Didn’t think I’d run into you here,” he said, leaning a shoulder against the wall, trying to seem casual. He hated how stiff his voice sounded.

"Why would you even say that James, are you dense?" He said to himself.

She offered a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “It’s a library, James. Not exactly a secret location.”

He laughed once, short and nervous. “Right. Yeah. Just meant—never mind.”

A beat of silence stretched between them.

James shifted, hands stuffed into his pockets. “I, um—How’ve you been?”

Y/N blinked slowly. “Great.”

It was a lie. They both knew it. But she said it like it was fact. Like it would be embarrassing to suggest otherwise.

He nodded, staring down at his shoes, then back at her like he wanted to say something else. Something important. “Listen, I—”

But she was already stepping away.

“You don’t have to pretend, James,” she said softly, almost kindly. “We’re fine. Everything’s fine.”

That smile again — brittle as ice.

And then she was gone. Disappearing into the library without giving him the chance to finish the sentence that had been burning in his throat for days.

James stood there a while longer, staring at the spot where she’d been. Then he let his head thump gently against the wall behind him.

“Brilliant,” he muttered to no one. “Absolutely brilliant.”

..

The dorm was quiet for once. Marlene and Dorcas were off at practice. Lily was probably finishing some Prefect patrol. And Y/N… Y/N sat alone on her bed, knees pulled to her chest, her uniform still rumpled from the day, her tie barely undone. Suddenly all the feelings tumbled onto her--not in a loud, thunderous way, but settling into her heart, aching.

The late afternoon sun spilled across the room in long golden stripes, catching dust motes that floated lazily in the still air.

She didn’t cry.

Not yet.

Her fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of the drawer where she’d hidden the letters.

His letters.

They were still there. She hadn’t dared to read them again since that first night. As if rereading them would somehow make it worse — like letting the words echo again would seal something irreversible.

She stood up, walked over to the full-length mirror beside her wardrobe, and stared.

She looked the same. Slightly tired, maybe. Her cheeks were a little hollowed, like she hadn’t been sleeping well. But otherwise — unchanged.

She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the cool glass.

“What do you want?” she whispered to herself.

The reflection didn’t answer.

“Do you want him to chase you?” she asked, softer this time, voice tinged with frustration. “Do you want him to hurt the way you know he did?”

Still nothing.

“Because he is hurting. And you know it. You see it.”

Her jaw clenched. A familiar ache bloomed behind her ribs.

“You loved him,” she said, bitter now. “Before Amos. Before the letters. You loved him when he didn’t know what to do with your feelings. When he laughed too loud and looked at other girls and never looked at you the way you looked at him.”

A beat.

“And now he has looked at you like that. You know he did. You read it. Every word of it.”

She shut her eyes tightly, like she could squeeze the memory out of her brain. But it stayed. Every “I couldn’t say this out loud,” every scribbled “I miss her,” every stupid little drawing in the margins of his letters.

Her voice cracked.

“So why does it still feel like I’m the one losing?”

She pressed her hands against the mirror, fingertips smudging the glass.

“I broke up with Amos,” she whispered, her voice wobbling. “I don’t even know if it was because of James or just because I couldn’t lie anymore. But I did it. I did the right thing. So why do I still feel like I’m in the wrong?”

She dropped her head.

Silence.

And then, in a breathless murmur, like a confession too fragile to say out loud—

“Do you still love him?”

Her reflection blinked back.

She didn’t answer.

Because she already knew.

What she did not know is what she was going to do about it.

..

The Gryffindor common room buzzed with the usual early evening chatter — games of Exploding Snap in the corner, someone practicing levitation charms too close to the drapes, the crackling fire casting gold across the walls.

But the mood around the two friend groups? Tense. Observant. Completely distracted by the same two people pretending the other didn’t exist.

James was slumped in a chair by the window, chewing the end of a sugar quill like it owed him money, his eyes occasionally flicking toward the sofa near the fireplace.

Y/N sat curled there, a book in hand, but her eyes hadn’t moved from the crackling fire in nearly ten minutes.

Lily flopped onto the couch beside Marlene and Dorcas with an exasperated sigh, setting her Charms book aside. “They’re still doing it.”

Marlene didn’t even look up. “Still not speaking?”

“Still not looking.” Lily gestured with her chin. “She’s avoiding his entire aura.”

Dorcas raised a brow. “You know that’s not how magic works.”

“I teach him,” Lily said, deadpan. “You don’t have to be a Seer to feel that tension radiating off him like a bloody fireplace.”

Marlene glanced over her shoulder, then winced. “Oh, Merlin. He’s staring again.”

“He’s brooding,” Dorcas corrected. “Let’s be accurate.”

"I saw them this morning in front of the library, the tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife. I'd rather hex myself than being alone with the two of them in a room-- it's saddening, really." Peter said, staring at the two of them.

Across the room, James’s chair creaked as he shifted, pretending to be very invested in his notes. Sirius, sprawled beside him, didn’t bother hiding his disgust.

“You’re a mess, mate.”

James didn’t look up. “I’m not.”

“You’re rewriting the same sentence for the fifth time.”

“It’s a thesis statement, Pads. It matters.”

Sirius snatched the parchment, reading it aloud with mocking flair: “The Patronus Charm is a deeply emotional piece of magic, rooted in joy, hope, and— Merlin’s balls, is this about her?”

James lunged for the paper. “Give it back.”

Remus, seated nearby, sighed into his book. “You’re both exhausting. Just talk to her.”

“She doesn’t want to talk.”

“She doesn’t know you want to talk.”

James gave him a pointed look. “She knows I know she knows.”

Peter blinked. “Wait—she doesn’t know that you know that she knows.”

James froze. “Wait. She doesn’t?”

Sirius dropped his head into his hands. “I swear, if I hear the word ‘know’ one more time—”

From behind them, Professor McGonagall’s voice cut in, dry as parchment. “If you boys spent half this energy on your actual coursework, you might pass your N.E.W.T.s.”

They all snapped to attention.

She sipped her tea. “And yes, Potter. She knows. We all know. The portraits know.”

She walked away muttering, “Honestly. It’s like watching two Hippogriffs do a mating dance and missing every cue.”

Remus winced. "I did not enjoy imagining that."

Back on the girls’ side, Y/N had shifted in her seat, one arm curled around her legs as she pretended to read. Lily watched her quietly.

“She’s cracking,” she said softly. “Bit by bit.”

“She was never really okay,” Marlene replied. “Just… patching herself together with pride.”

Dorcas looked at them both. “What do we do?”

Lily gave a helpless shrug. “We wait. But not forever.”

A beat.

Then, softly, as Y/N’s eyes flicked to James — just for a second — and then away again:

“This is getting really hard to watch.”

..

Marlene hadn’t meant to snoop.

She really hadn’t.

She was just looking for the missing tube of starshine lip balm they all passed around—and Y/N’s trunk had been half-open anyway. It wasn’t like she’d planned to stumble across a folded, time-worn letter tucked between an old copy of Hogwarts: A History and a forgotten Chocolate Frog card.

She nearly put it back.

But then she saw the handwriting.

Y/N’s.

And at the top, two words—"James Potter."

The breath caught in her throat.

She hesitated only a second longer before slipping it out, fingers already trembling.

December 18th, 1975 Somewhere between courage and heartbreak

My Dearest James,

I don’t know why I’m writing this. You’ll never read it. You’re probably laughing with Sirius somewhere, chasing Bludgers or charming your way out of detention.

And I’ll keep pretending I don’t care. Because that’s what I’m best at—pretending.

But if I don’t write this down, I think I’ll come undone.

The truth is—I think I love you. And it’s ruining me.

You get under my skin in the most infuriating, impossible way. You make me angry and breathless and terrified and so alive I don't know what to do with myself.

Every time you grin at me like I’m the sun, like your world revolves around me, I want to scream. Because how do you not see it? How do you not see that I’ve been yours for longer than I care to admit?

But then you’ll joke. You’ll flirt with someone else. You’ll be so effortlessly you, and I’ll remember that I’m just the girl who rolls her eyes at your antics, who never says the things she really means.

You make it easy to hide, James. Because if I say it out loud—if I say I love you—then what?

What if you don’t love me back?

Or worse… what if you do?

Because I’m not ready for that kind of truth. Not when I still don’t know how to quiet the voice in my head that says I’m not enough. Not for you. Not for the kind of love you’d give.

You love big, James. Loud. Brave. Unapologetically. I don’t know how to do that.

All I know is that I dream of you more nights than I don’t, and every time you touch my hand—even by accident—my whole world stutters.

I’m scared. Of ruining things. Of wanting more. Of losing you.

So I’ll fold this letter. I’ll hide it. I’ll pretend it never existed.

Just like I’ll keep pretending I’m not in love with you.

But maybe… If one day you feel it too—if one day this all makes sense to you—

Then maybe you’ll understand why I never gave this to you.

And maybe then, you’ll come find me.

Yours always,

Even when in doubt,

– Y/N Y/I Y/L/N

By the time she finished reading, her hands were shaking.

Marlene sat back on her heels, staring at the parchment like it had scorched her. Her chest felt too tight, her eyes glassy.

“Merlin,” she whispered.

She pressed the letter against her chest, heart hammering. It had been written in fifth year. Fifth year. Y/N had been carrying this—feeling this—for years, and none of them had known. Not Lily. Not Dorcas. Not her.

And James?

He had no bloody idea.

Marlene blinked back the sting in her eyes. It felt like looking at a map of someone’s heartbreak, carefully hidden in the dark for so long it had almost fossilized.

“No wonder you’re scared,” she murmured, almost to herself. “You’ve been bleeding for him this whole time.”

She didn’t know whether to feel furious or heartbroken or helpless. Maybe all three.

Because this? This wasn’t just a crush or a passing heartbreak.

This was a girl who had loved in silence—too afraid to speak, too brave to walk away. A girl who had written her soul onto a page and buried it because she thought she’d never be enough for James Potter.

Marlene exhaled shakily.

She folded the letter back with slow, reverent hands, like it might shatter. And for a moment, she just sat there, knees drawn up to her chest, clutching it in the quiet.

Then, almost silently, she asked the room:

“What the hell do I do with this?”

..

The girls' dorm was too quiet. Suspiciously quiet.

The moment she stepped inside and noticed her trunk slightly ajar, her heart dropped like a stone in her chest.

She lunged toward it, yanked it open—empty.

The letter was gone.

“No—no, no, no.” Her voice cracked. “No.”

Her eyes darted around the room like she might’ve just misplaced it, like maybe her brain was playing a cruel trick, but deep down she knew.

The letter. That letter. Her fifth-year ghost of a confession—the one she never meant to send, never meant for anyone to read—was gone.

Her door creaked.

“Marlene?” Y/N’s voice snapped like brittle glass.

Marlene paused in the doorway, a half-eaten chocolate frog in her hand, suddenly very, very guilty.

Y/N didn’t wait. “Did you take it?”

Marlene blinked. “Take what?”

“The letter,” Y/N hissed, the panic sharpening her words. “You know which one. Don’t lie to me.”

Marlene shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t—technically—take it.”

“Oh my god,” Y/N breathed. Her hands flew to her hair. “Did you read it? Did you SHOW him?”

Marlene flinched. “Of course I didn’t show him! I’m not evil.”

“But you read it.”

Silence.

Y/N’s knees hit the edge of her bed. “I trusted you. Marlene, I trusted you with that part of me.”

“You left it in your trunk,” Marlene said quietly, “like you didn't mind if it was found.”

“I wasn’t ready.”

Marlene stepped closer. “You still aren’t. That’s the problem.”

Y/N’s voice broke. “He can’t read that. Not now. Not when I don’t even know what I want.”

Her lip trembled, and then the tears came fast and hot, making her swipe at her cheeks furiously like she could erase the entire moment.

Marlene sat beside her and didn’t speak for a while. She just offered the last piece of her chocolate frog, which Y/N took, sniffling.

A few minutes later, Lily and Dorcas burst into the room, summoned by one very cryptic howler Marlene had sent earlier that just said: "Emergency. Emotions. Bring snacks."

They took one look at Y/N’s blotchy face and the tension in the air and immediately knew.

“You told her?” Dorcas asked Marlene.

“She figured it out.”

Lily folded her arms. “What letter?”

Marlene reached under her pillow and pulled it out—Y/N's old, aching confession, still folded, still dangerous.

Lily read the first few lines and gasped. “Bloody hell.”

Dorcas whistled low. “You were in it.”

“I was fifteen,” Y/N groaned, covering her face. “And delusional.”

“No,” Lily said, sitting on the floor dramatically. “You were in love. That’s not delusional.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“It's cinematic,” Dorcas corrected.

There was a beat of silence. Then:

“What are we going to do with it?” Lily asked. “Because you can’t keep pretending you don’t feel anything, Y/N. And neither can he.”

Y/N didn’t respond.

Dorcas raised a brow. “So we intervene?”

Marlene smirked. “Subtly.”

“Soft chaos,” Lily nodded.

“Ethically ambiguous meddling,” Dorcas agreed.

Y/N stared at them like they were mad. “You’re not actually planning something.”

“Oh, we absolutely are,” Marlene said.

Y/N groaned. “Guys—”

But her protests were drowned out by the sudden sound of parchment unfurling, ink bottles uncorking, and the rapid-fire clatter of girlhood conspiracy.

Plans were already being made. Timelines. Locations. Distractions.

“If they won’t fix it themselves,” Marlene muttered with a wicked grin, “we bloody will.”

And in that moment, Y/N realized something chilling: she might have just lost control of her own love story.

But did she love her girls? Obviously.

keep reading

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[earlysunshines]

fright night

kim minji x fem!reader

synopsis: in which your university’s halloween festival leads to you and minji beating around the bush — finally.

warnings: making out. like the best makeout scene i've written in a bit i think. ohmygdoajsdf ; minji is a loooooser but we all know this ; pining ; dumb gay women ; FLIRTING. they want each other SO BAD i was giggling writing this im ngl ; SO cute i loved writing this ohmygod ; anything else not mentioned ; not proofread

a/n: lately i’ve been going insane bc of minji like she’s just so gf… so… she’s so… i need her

kim minji is an idiot, she’s literally the dumbest person you know.

well, academically she’s actually a genius, but she’s clumsy and clueless nine times out of ten. unfortunately yet fortunately(?) for her, this is only more of the reason for you to be completely in love with her.

which is why your roommate is dealing with another one of your little attempts to deny your feelings again.

“i think i should just die.” you groan into yunjin’s bed. she watches you, your body lifeless after you roll over to face the ceiling. “everything was just normal.”

“‘just’ as in… a month ago…?” your roommate snickers, folding a t-shirt and placing it next to your torso. “i think you’re the only person i know who doesn’t enjoy being in love.”

yes: you’re in love with kim minji.

no: you do not enjoy being in love with her at all.

it’s not that she’s an asshole, it’s just the fact that everyone is also in love with her. she quite literally has a line of girls (and men, but none of them stand a chance) waiting for her. she’s kim minji, one of your mutual friends who happens to be the captain of the university’s soccer team—which is why the clumsy aspect of her is often overlooked. so to most, she’s just hot, but she’s more to you, much more.

and you? you’re just trying to get by. you’re not in the spotlight, you haven’t gotten hit on in months — you and minji are two worlds apart.

“this is a waste of time. she only sees me as a friend, she’s cute and athletic. compared to her the most astonishing thing i can do is make a t-shirt and wide-legged jeans to sell on depop.”

“you should make a t-shirt that says ‘kim minji i want you so bad please marry me—“

yunjin is cut off when her just-folded shirt is thrown right at her face. she groans and throws it right back at you.

“i hope you get the same fate as a side character in a horror film.” you groan, sitting up and glaring at her.

“aw, thanks.” she says dryly, rolling her eyes. “hey, speaking of horror… the halloween festival is soon. are you going?”

“i fear.” you sigh, shoulders sinking a bit.

your partner in crime outside of your dorm, danielle, had convinced you with a look filled with sparkly eyes and a sweet smile to help out with face painting. there would be a variety of people passing by and you were notoriously known for being able to draw really well despite being a fashion major. “art is art,” danielle had shrugged, and so she bribed you with some coffee to really commit to it.

“danielle got me to do the face painting stall.”

yunjin’s eyes widen as she sets down a sweater. “did she?”

“yeah. i’m the only one within the circle – other than hanni – who can draw more than a stick figure.”

“you’ve got that right.” yunjin snickers. “you think your wife will be there?”

“minji?” you tilt your head, to which yunjin responds with a raised brow. she got you there. “oh, um. maybe? why?”

“don’t act all unbothered now.” your roommate scoots you over so she can pick up a pile and stack them somewhere else. “if she’s also doing something for the event, i see it as an opportunity.”

“why would i willingly do that to myself? im going to look desperate.”

“minji is an idiot, we both know that. why would it matter? i think she’d be flattered to have you there. hasn’t she literally taken you home like… three times? girl, stop overthinking.” yunjin scoffs. “plus, you never look desperate. you’re a little too good at acting like you don’t care. don’t you think you’re driving her away? it’s like, you’re so normal and even distant in real life, i don’t want to say nonchalant because it’ll boost your ego, but unfortunately, that’s what you are.”

“you—“ yunjin raises both brows as you start to speak.

“she probably wants you too. i’ve noticed you guys talking more — don’t think i don’t notice you guys next to each other in between classes, even if it’s with your circle. kazuha asked if you were dating actually.”

“really?”

yunjin giggles, turning away from her closer and back at you. she stands right in front of you, towering over and looking into your eyes scarily.

“you want that girl so bad.”

“i can’t.”

“no, no. listen to me, you’re going to take this halloween thing as an advantage to make a move and also look hot. i don’t know how many more complaints about you being a bomosexual i can take.”

“i hate you.”

“okay then pay full rent.”

“i love you?”

yunjin laughs, picking up another pile of clothes and putting it away.

—

hanni is the one to text you out of nowhere the day after, something about “minji wanted you to eat with us, but heeseung is at the cafe.” 

you squint at the message. you had just reached your class, and now you’re being invited over to grab a bite with the girl you want so bad while the guy who wants you so bad is in the same area. there is no way you should be saying yes, you can’t. one: you need to get over minji. she’s out of reach, a mere dream. two: heeseung will be checking you out the whole time and might throw in a compliment or two. 

“i’ll be there in five.” you respond, sighing and pinching the bridge of your nose.

…

the café seems a little busy, but that’s not surprising considering it’s around lunchtime and the cafe is not too far from the university. the second you step in, your eyes find minji across the room. she’s mid-laugh with hanni, but the moment she spots you, her smile stretches wider, something bright and giddy in her gaze. it’s that soft, familiar look she gets sometimes—too open, too much—but you’re just as bad, trying not to look like you’re seconds away from smiling like an idiot as you walk up.

“hey, you,” she greets, her voice warm as she sidles closer, her shoulder bumping yours as you both look over the menu.

“hey loser,” you reply, nudging her back a little harder, a playful rhythm forming between you. she pushes back with a smile, and you retaliate, each shove barely more than an excuse to keep lingering in that small space between you two. she laughs, cheeks a little flushed, and you can’t help but feel like coming over was the better decision.

you order first, dismissing minji’s offer to pay for your lunch. she frowns but nonetheless lets you order first. you order a sundried tomato and mozzarella panini, stepping to the side after and glancing at minji, who’s still staring at the menu.

hanni and danielle have already ordered, so you wait near the counter for minji so the two of you can meet up with the rest together. 

much to your dismay, heeseung’s voice breaks through your little bubble. he steps closer, leaning against the counter a little too casually. “so, do you always come here, or did you just need an excuse?” his smile is easy, maybe a little too practiced, and his gaze lingers as he looks you up and down, more intense than friendly. 

you try not to visibly cringe, offering him a polite smile. “not really—just here with friends today,” you say, keeping your tone light but cool. but he doesn’t quite take the hint, his eyes not quite leaving yours. he definitely thinks there’s something in the air, something other than his cologne that is way too strong for your liking.

“you look cute.”

“oh um, thanks?” you purse you lips into a forced smile, watching him smirk confidently. 

“what are your plans after this? got class?”

before you can think of another way to steer the conversation away, you feel an arm slip around your waist, pulling you close, and you look over to find minji at your side. her smile is wide and a little mischievous, and there’s a hint of something defiant in her gaze as she looks right past heeseung, keeping her hand snug on your hip.

“oh, y/n!” she says brightly, voice layered with just enough enthusiasm to sound like a joke but there’s an edge that makes it feel like more. “i remembered something so funny, it’s about yunjin. you know, during practice she got hit in the head.”

she doesn’t even look at heeseung as she tugs you back toward your group, keeping her arm around you a beat longer than necessary. heeseung’s face twists slightly, frustration crossing his features, but minji doesn’t give him a second glance. she launches into a conversation about her classes, her hand slipping away from your waist as she nudges you with her shoulder once more, an unmistakable grin still tugging at her lips.

you two get the chance to converse with danielle and hanni, who are more than happy to have you there. you can feel heeseung and his group eyeing you from a mile away, but that doesn’t matter because minji is in front of you and keeping eye contact the whole time you complain about him.

both your order and minji’s are called out at the same time and for a second, it’s just the two of you again as you both walk up to the counter. her voice and her closeness are enough to erase the last few awkward moments.

 “you looked like you were having fun back there,” she murmurs, half-laughing, and you can tell by the gleam in her eyes that she noticed everything. 

you laugh, trying to shrug it off. “couldn’t have done it without you,” you say, brushing her shoulder with yours. she looks down, almost bashfully, a hint of pink coloring her cheeks as she smiles—a smile that lingers long after heeseung fades into the background once again and you two rejoin the others.

…

before you make an excuse to leave, although it’s not really an excuse more than a complaint about your professor assigning a grueling reading, you hug everyone. when it’s you and minji, you two hold onto each other for a split second longer than social norms until she pulls away. minji smells like flowers and vanilla – you could drown in her scent.

“are you going to the halloween festival this weekend?”

“oh, yeah. danielle is forcing me to volunteer.”

“that’s funny,” minji chuckles, “because hanni is forcing me too.”

“is that so?”

“uh huh, pumpkin carving moderator or something.” she says, biting the inside of your lip. “we should um, do you wanna walk around after? maybe drop your shift early and i’ll do the same.”

you grin, pushing minji’s shoulder with two fingers playfully.

“couldn’t find any other girl lined up for you to hangout with?”

“what other girls?” minji asks, genuinely confused. 

you’re being an idiot. yunjin would so punch you in the face right now, so you come to your senses.

“i– nevermind. i’ll see you around.”

minji waves. “bye.”

…

after you leave, minji settles into her seat beside hanni and danielle, trying to keep her expression neutral. she fails, the smile on her face noticeably smaller and her eyes a little more dim. her friends have known her too long; hanni catches on first, a knowing smirk spreading across her face.

“you look like a disappointed puppy,” hanni says, nudging minji with a grin.

“what? no,” minji replies, clearly flustered. “what are you saying bro.”

“you were practically glowing when y/n walked in,” hanni teases, leaning in. “and then suddenly turned into a sad little puddle when she left. you want her soooo bad.”

minji’s cheeks turn a soft shade of pink, and she tries to laugh it off, glancing at danielle as if for backup. but danielle’s watching her too, a gentle, encouraging look on her face.

“it’s okay, minji,” danielle says softly. “it’s… pretty obvious, you know? you like y/n a lot.”

minji rolls her eyes, looking away. “maybe i do. but it doesn’t matter. y/n’s just… she’s too… normal, you know? she’s always so unbothered, so unfazed by anything. she probably doesn’t even want me. i’m always chasing her.”

danielle shakes her head, a knowing smile touching her lips. “i wouldn’t be so sure, minji. just because y/n’s good at hiding her feelings doesn’t mean she doesn’t have them.” she places a reassuring hand on minji’s arm. “trust me, i think there’s more there than you realize.”

minji lets out a small sigh, her gaze dropping to her hands. “it’s just… sometimes it feels like i’m the only one who’s feeling this way, you know? like i’m the only one getting flustered or waiting for her to look at me like… like i don’t know, she see’s me as a good friend.”

hanni wraps an arm around her, squeezing her shoulder. “please. y/n’s about as subtle as you when you’re around. i don’t know how you don’t see it.”

danielle laughs softly, nodding. “give it time, minji. y/n might just need a little nudge, and besides…” she pauses, glancing around conspiratorially before leaning in. “if y/n didn’t feel something, you wouldn’t have caught her staring at you like that when she thought no one was watching. plus, the whole nudging your shoulders the whole time. you two are like fucking thirteen year olds in love, it’s kind of gross.”

minji looks up, hope flickering in her eyes as a faint, shy smile tugs at her lips. maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t imagining it.

—

“im literally going to kill myself.” is the first thing yunjin hears when you get home, followed by you dropping your bag and crashing against her on your couch.

“girl what happened?”

“kim fucking minji. she’s insane, she wants me to die, i can’t do this, i resign from being a lesbian can i please resign.”

“well!” yunjin laughs, pulling you in. you lean on her shoulder and cover your face with your hands. “do you want to tell me what happened?”

through your hands, your voice is muffled as you explain, “basically hanni invited me to grab lunch with her and dani and minji. she looked so cute and like, we kept bumping shoulders and she kept smiling when she did it and then i ordered and—”

“you’re rambling–”

“and then i waited for my order while she ordered and heeseung started flirting with me,”

“ew, heeseung?”

“the bane of my existence— yes. i told him i was a lesbian at least three times! oh my god, anyway that doesn’t even matter, i don’t even care because—yunjin. huh yunjin.”

yunjin blinks at you as you stand up, pacing back and forth on the carpet now. she can’t help but laugh at you when you stop in front of her and groan, “jennifer huh.”

“wow, this must be serious.”

“minji fucking grabbed me by the waist like some wattpad story and then kinda shooed heeseung away and yunjin her hands are so nice and they were on my waist and i want her so bad. yeah. i’m gonna just die.”

yunjin pulls you by the wrist so you’re back next to her. she looks at you with a raised brow, waiting for you to recover from your high (if that counts as a high, but maybe you’re just insane). 

“she wants you.”

“she’s playing with me.”

“you’re insane. you know hanni asked if me if you like minji earlier, right? talking about how minji looked so devastated after you left.”

“what?”

“oh my god. you know what, i’m done with you. you’re such an idiot that it’s pissing me off.”

you whine, pulling yunjin by her forearm and pulling her back, which earns a scoff. yunjin looks at your little pout and puppy eyes, but doesn’t give in. instead, she pushes you off, leaving you to deal with the events of the day on your own.

before she disappears into her room, she sighs, “you’re gay and useless.”

you sink into the couch a little more. “thanks.” 

—

the weekend comes by all too fast. even with your time consuming assignments, it feels like you’ve blinked and now you have to deal with the whole festival.

you’re in a snug white cropped baby tee that shows a decent amount of your abdomen, your hair is styled just a bit, and the makeup on your face is a little more glittery and highlighted than usual. on your back there’s angel wings that complete the look. 

(“she’s going to want you so bad, trust me.” yunjin assures as she does your eye makeup.

it’s nothing much, just some darker warm tones with a faint hint of purple and highlighter to make you really look like an angel.

“and…” yunjin adds a bit of highlighter to your cheekbones. she pulls away and gazes at her work, bringing her pointer to her lips and biting on it jokingly. “heyyy gorgeous.”

“shut up.”

“minji’s going to want you so bad.”

“shut. up.”)

yunjin drives the two of you to the festival, she also looks really good. while you’re an angel, she’s a devil, showing off her toned body from soccer so she can pick up some girls that night.

(“you’re such a hoe.” you groan, doing her makeup to make her eyes smoky and lips plump. 

she rolls her eyes while putting on her little horns in her hair, checking herself out in the mirror. 

“how do i look?”

“like a hoe.” you assure firmly, earning a shove. then, you slide a finger down her collarbone teasingly, winking at her. “a really hot one.”

your roommate chuckles. “save that for minji, y/n.”

“i hate you.”)

the halloween festival is lively, lights flickering under dark skies, and you slip through the crowd in your angel costume with yunjin. you’re not even sure if anyone’s noticed your costume details, but the reactions make it clear you look… well, good. or maybe that’s just yunjin who’s doing the attracting, but a man winks directly at you and you have to force back a look of disgust.

as you make your way to the face-painting stall, you catch sight of minji leaning against a booth, dressed as patrick bateman. she’s really hot, that’s for sure, and it’s nothing new. the loose, slightly unbuttoned dress shirt shows her collarbone, and you can’t help but think about how your lips would feel on them. the loosened tie around her neck makes her look really good; you feel like she’s pulling you in without trying. despite the purposeful tousled look, she looks effortlessly put-together, but the smudge of fake blood on her cheek adds a wild edge (and makes her look even hotter). 

her eyes land on you, and her expression shifts just slightly before she pushes off the booth, walking over with a slight smirk.

“wow,” she says, looking you up and down in a way that feels way too intense. “you’re really… pulling off that angel look. you look really good, y/n.”

you giggle, trying to play it cool. “you look pretty good yourself,” you reply, letting your gaze drift over her from the blood on her cheek to the undone buttons of her shirt. “i didn’t know patrick bateman could look this… hot.”

a faint flush creeps onto her cheeks, and she lets out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. “yeah, well, didn’t know ‘angelic’ could look so irresistible,” she teases, but her voice softens as her eyes linger on you.

for a beat, the two of you just stand there, the energy between you charged. you’re painfully aware of the way she’s looking at you—like she’s holding back from saying or doing something, thouh—and you can’t stop yourself from mirroring that, a hint of want in your gaze. she clears her throat, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“well, i better get to moderating— i don’t want people accidentally slicing themselves instead of a pumpkin.” she murmurs, finally breaking eye contact but not before giving you one last once-over, her eyes lingering a moment longer than necessary. she brings her hand to your hair, using a finger to push away some of the strands framing your face. you gulp a bit, then again after she brushes her knuckles against your cheek. “i like this. the makeup.”

i like you. you fight back the confession.

“thanks.” you swallow, nodding. “well, i should,” you start, playing with her tie out of a burst of confidence. you tug on it just a little, catching her by surprise. her breath hitches just barely. “--get going. i’ll see you.” you say, dropping the piece of fabric in your hand. 

as you head toward your booth, the thrill from your brief encounter with minji lingers, leaving you more than a little distracted and hoping she feels it too.

…

you’ve painted more faces than you can count on one hand in only an hour, much to your surprise. if you were to do this full time you’d for sure develop arthritis the second week on the job. 

after your tenth person — some kid who just wanted two flowers on her cheeks — danielle taps your shoulder. you turn around, humming in response.

“you look beat,” she says.

your shoulders are drooping, your posture is much worse than when you started, and you’re moving your wrist in a every angle to stretch it out and relieve the soreness. 

“you think?”

“hanni says she’ll be over in a bit.” danielle assures, patting you on the back and massaging your back lightly. “the stall will close soon so we can all hangout after.”

“thank god. are the other activities closed?”

“not until before midnight – i think.” you sigh in relief, but danielle adds, “could you grab some stuff from the supply closet though? maybe some more white, blue, and red paint? maybe grab yellow and green too.”

she gives you those eyes again, earning a chuckle. “yeah, yeah. okay.”

“great! just go down and turn right, there’s a brown shed — it’s not creepy, i swear. it’s kind of modern actually.”

“something tells me you’re lying.”

“me? lying?” 

you roll your eyes and stand up, then you trudge on over down the gravel. you roll your shoulders back and massage your neck a bit, then fix your costume a bit. it’s funny; you’re at a whole festival and this is the only time you’re exposed to the groups of people, bright lights, and excitement all around — at least for longer than a minute.

turning the corner you reach a shed, one that matches danielle’s description. 

danielle isn’t a liar, she never lies — well, she never lies about anything serious. it’s quite modern inside, seemingly new due to the fresh paint smell. it’s lined with wooden shelves, each holding different items. the corners are filled with various decorations, ranging from not only halloween decor but also christmas and even valentines day themed trinkets. you laugh at the little cupid poster in the back, but recollect yourself and focus on the “task” at hand.

you have to rummage through the costumes in the corner to find a small box with face paint in it. the light in the shed isn’t on (there isn’t a switch, only some rustic-type light hanging from above in the middle of the building), so you use your flashlight to help you see clearer. 

it takes a bit more time to find the yellow bottle of paint, which is in your hand until you drop it from the sound of the door opening so suddenly.

you jump, gasping ever so lightly before turning around to see a very striking patrick bateman.

minji stands in the doorway, still looking as good as before, looking at you with a perplexed expression.

“what are you doing here?” she asks, looking around the area.

“minji,” you close your eyes, “you scared the shit out of me!”

“i’m sorry…” she says, jutting out her bottom lip and suddenly every ounce of fear is drained from your body. “i didn’t know you were in here.”

“danielle sent me to get more paint.”

“that's funny,” minji steps towards you, looking at the two paint bottles on the floor. “hanni sent me to grab trash bags.”

you don’t respond for a second because minji steps under the antique light above her. it illuminates her face in the best way possible, highlighting the smeared on fake blood and her features. you feel your throat tightening as you stare.

minji’s gaze softens, she steps closer.

“do you know where i could find trash—”

“yes, um, yeah, probably in the corner.” you choke out.

she chuckles, you swallow lightly. 

you take the stretch of silence to pick up the two bottles that had dropped out your hand and turn the flash on your phone off. you fix your tank top because minji is still within radius, but she’s busy looking for the trash bags, still.

“i’ll see you later?” you say softly. minji’s head whips around, and there’s a slight frown on her face. before she can respond, you hear a click coming from the door, then stare at the handle with furrowed brows. you reach over to twist the knob, but it barely budges. “what the hell?”

“what?”

“i think it’s locked. did you lock it?”

she shakes her head, her brow furrowing as she steps over, nudging you aside to try the handle herself. she pulls, twisting the knob a little harder than you did, but the door still doesn’t move an inch. 

“it’s locked.” she mutters, glancing at you with a hint of worry. “i think we’re stuck.”

you both stare at each other for a beat, the realization sinking in, and suddenly the small shed feels much smaller. you look away first, sighing before turning on your phone.

“i’ll call danielle.” you say, voice steady, though there’s a slight tremor as you dial.

“i’ll try hanni.”

you both dial. danielle doesn’t answer and you huff. you wait for minji, her phone against her ear, and the defeated groan is enough to tell you whether hanni answered or not.

“i guess they’re busy.” minji says, slipping her phone back into her pocket. 

for a moment, silence stretches between you both again, an awkward tension settling in. minji shifts, making a weird noise as she brushes dust off her shirt. you can’t help but find it cute. then she adjusts her loose collar, making you clear your throat and glancing around for any other possible way out; there’s none.

the only thing you catch is a window, a window that’s far too small and high for anything to happen.

“we’re stuck.” you mutter, looking back at minji.

“do you think dani and hanni will realize we’re missing?”

“they might be busy…” you pinch the bridge of your nose, resting your head against the door. “i have no idea how we’ll get out.”

you’re stuck with minji. kim minji. the hottest and cutest girl you’ve ever laid eyes on. the girl you think of way too much for it to be platonic. the girl who’s in a costume that genuinely has you considering ruining a friendship. the girl who’s leaning back against the shelf behind her right now, crossing her arms, and who’s eyes are flickering over you as she smiles.

“your costume is really something.” her voice is casual, like you’re not stuck in a shed. there’s also a warmth in her tone that isn’t hidden in the slightest. “i like it a lot. you look heavenly.”

if minji’s trying to ease the tension, she’s doing it very well. her stupid dad joke earns a laugh from you, and now you’re leaning against the door with one side of your body as you keep eye contact.

“thank you minji, your looks could really kill.”

she laughs, gums showing and eyes crinkling. you want her so bad. 

“that one was worse than mine.”

“no it wasn’t!”

she rolls her eyes. “it was.” she steps closer leaning her head against the same door and staring hard at every single feature of your face. she glances at your lips briefly, then back up. “bet you’ve turned more than a few heads tonight.”

“maybe,” you feel your voice growing quieter. “but i was stuck at the booth.”

“if i were at the booth i think i’d purposely stay just to see you. you look really pretty tonight y/n, i mean it.”

you blush. “maybe.” there’s a grin that you can’t keep off your face. “i’d say the same for you.”

she chuckles again, looking down at her slightly blood-stained dress shirt. “yeah, i think i took the pumpkin carving part a bit too seriously. got more guts on me than on the pumpkins.” she holds up her hands, still faintly stained with an orange hue, and shakes her head. “i’ll probably smell like pumpkins for a week.”

minji watches you turn to the side, covering your mouth to stifle a giggle. 

turning back, you’re mid-laugh when your eyes catch on a smudge of blood across minji’s cheek, just barely out of place. your hand moves without thinking, reaching up to brush it away with your thumb. the laughter fades, the shed shrinking around you, and everything slows, the only movement her skin warming under your touch.

minji’s gaze locks onto yours, intense and unblinking, and there’s something behind it that makes your heart skip. her eyes are barely liddied now, she swallows, biting down on the inside of her lip, before a slow, uncertain smile begins to take over her face. 

“you look so good right now,” she murmurs, her voice low, almost rough. her hand reaches up, covering yours, holding it there against her cheek, like she’s trying to commit the moment to memory, almost like it’ll end anytime – soon, or now.

you’re close enough to feel her breath, the slight catch in it. “good enough for you?” you ask softly, a smile playing at your lips, your words teasing, but your heart racing.

she chuckles, but it’s quiet, and her gaze doesn’t waver. “better than good,” she whispers, her hand falling from yours, trailing down to your waist, her fingers grazing the bare skin there, gentle, hesitant, like she’s testing the feel of you, seeing if you’ll pull away, but you don’t. minji smirks. “are you… seeing anyone?”

the question hangs between you, heavy and thrilling. you shake your head, your pulse pounding beneath her touch. “no one at all.”

she exhales, her voice barely above a whisper. “good.” her fingers press into your waist just a little more, her gaze flickering down to your lips, and you watch, almost dizzy, as she wets her own, her tongue darting out, just barely, the movement so subtle you’d miss it if you weren’t so close.

your hand moves from her cheek, trailing slowly down to the open collar of her shirt, brushing along her collarbone. her breath hitches, and her head tilts slightly, just enough for your fingers to press against her skin, her eyes closing for the briefest moment before she meets your gaze again. you don’t realize how close you’ve drawn until you feel her breath warm against your lips.

she glances at your lips for what seems the tenth time. you two are clearly vibrating on the same wave length, it’s evident.

then, with the faintest, almost imperceptible smile, minji closes the space between you, her mouth soft, warm, pressing into yours, a little unsure, like she’s savoring every second of it. her hand at your waist tightens, pulling you closer, her fingertips grazing the curve of your hip as she leans in, her other hand moving to cradle the side of your face, her thumb grazing your cheek. the world around you slips away, and all that’s left is her—the warmth of her lips, the feeling of her touch, and the overwhelming sense that every daydream you had is getting outdone by this moment. this real moment.

it’s so real when she pulls away with rosy cheeks. she looks at you nervously, as if she didn’t just take the oxygen from your lungs.

“was that alright?” she asks, sounding unsure. it’s cute, she’s cute, god she’s so cute.

“perfect.” you mumble.

your hand moves to where her tie is, it’s loose around her collar, making it easier for you to tug her right back into you. she gasps from surprise and groans into your lips, kissing you hard.

her fingers press into your skin and you shiver, parting your lips ever so slightly to sigh softly. minji smirks against your skin, trailing to your jawline with light pecks as you release your grip on her tie and snake your hand around her neck.

“i’ve–” a kiss to the side of your throat, “wanted to—” a kiss lower, “do this for—” and a soft kiss to the base of your neck, “so long.” 

your breath shakes after she finishes the sentence, she kisses your neck once more.

minji parts, moving you over so you’re is against some random, heavy box on the side of the shed and now both arms are around your neck. you’re a few more kisses in, mixed with content sighs and groans and handfuls of hair before you two almost bite each other’s lips off from the sound of the door opening. 

you barely have time to pull away, minji’s lips are still a breath from yours, her hand lingering at your waist. you both turn to see danielle, hanni, and yunjin standing in the doorway, eyes wide. you and minji spring apart, the movement so fast that it would be funny if you were witnessing the situation.

danielle’s shock morphs into a grin as she exchanges a look with hanni, and yunjin just has a hand over her mouth.

hanni’s mouth drops open before breaking into a smirk, her eyes flickering with pure satisfaction. 

“oh my god.” hanni breathes, relief in her voice. “it actually worked.”

before you or minji can respond, utterly confused considering they all look relieved rather than disgusted, yunjin takes one look at you and minji and bursts out laughing,

“i knew it! i knew you two would finally do something if we left you alone long enough.”

minji blinks, looking as if she’s still processing. you glance between them, your cheeks warm. “what?” you say exasperatedly, “what do you mean ‘finally’? what— what is all this?”

The three of them exchange looks before danielle nudges yunjin forward, her grin growing. “so uh, we might’ve had a little something to do with the door locking. maybe on purpose. maybe. perchance.”

“definitely on purpose.” hanni adds, crossing her arms. “we were all tired of watching you guys dance around your feelings. you two needed a push.”

minji stares at them with a mix of embarrassment and dawning realizaiton. then she glances at you, her face flushing before turning back to the trio.

“you all planned this?”

hanni nods, looking like she’s enjoying this way too much. “you guys are hopeless. you know? everyone could see that you two wanted each other except you two. who the hell nudges their friends like that? you both are like middle schoolers with their first crush.”

you exchange yet another glance with minji, who’s biting her lip. there’s a surprise mirroring on her face, and honestly it’s really cute. adorably cute. 

despite all the embarrassment, you can’t help but laugh, a little breathless.

“so… this was all a setup?” minji says, looking at them with a half-laugh, half-disbelieving shake of her head.

danielle shrugs, stepping aside to give you both room to leave the shed. “well, it worked, didn’t it?”

yunjin’s grin is teasing as she waves you both out, her eyes bright with excitement. “yeah, finally,” she echoes, a satisfied smirk on her face. you glance at minji, who’s still looking at you, and a shy, almost playful smile tugs at her lips.

and as you both step out of the shed, shoulder to shoulder, the knowing smiles of your friends after they glance behind, there’s a giddiness accompanying the space between you and minji.

they all explain something about your booths being over because you two were too busy making out — you barely listen — and minji nudges your shoulder again when they’re far enough to not hear her.

you turn, tilting your head a bit before she leans down a bit to mumble, “you know, i heard that if you don’t kiss me again, for at least an hour, bloody mary might show up in your room tonight.”

a laugh escapes your lips and you push minji, who’s grinning at you like an idiot. you roll your eyes and reach out to hold her hand, she squeezes yours excitedly. 

“that’s a new one. are you sure it’s true?”

minji quickly cups your cheek and steals a kiss, parting away to make sure your friends don’t turn around and tease you two relentlessly.

“that one just got rid of all the bad energy from before.”

“what bad energy?”

“the one that’s building up every second you don’t kiss me. it also builds up if you don’t go out with me for lunch tomorrow. or ever.”

you roll your eyes once more, then glance at your friends before kissing minji’s cheek.

“i can’t risk any of that, can i?”

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

#5 or 50 for the touching prompts please ✨

this is irt this post!

steddie | M | 934 | shutting you up

He should’ve been fine.

He purposely waited until after all possible scheduled practices were done for the day, after the lights had been snapped off for the night, and there were only about ten minutes left before the doors were locked.

There should not have been another soul in the entire school.

And yet.

“Munson!”

Eddie yelps, jumping at least six feet off the floor at the sound of his name. He wheels around to see none other than Steve Harrington himself leaning out the nearby janitor’s closet.

“What the–”

“Get over here, quick!” Steve beckons, glancing up and down the hallway.

“Uh…”

“C’mon!”

“What is happening–”

“Just–” he huffs, darting out of the closet to grab Eddie’s arm and haul him back in with him.

“Dude! What in the hell are you doing??” Eddie complains as Steve shoves him amongst the frankly unusual amount of mops in the corner.

“Shh!” Steve says, pulling the door closed and peering back out the wire-crossed window.

“No! Tell me what you’re doing here so late!”

Steve looks back at him, baffled. “You’re one to talk!”

“I’ve got hobbies too, your majesty, I’ll have you know that—”

Steve’s head whips back around to the window and his hand comes up to clap down over Eddie’s mouth (not hard to do when the closet is only about two people deep and one and a half wide).

“Someone’s coming..” he whispers.

Eddie bats the hand away and asks “What are you waiting for??” at a normal volume.

“Shut up, Munson.” 

Steve’s hand once again comes up to Eddie’s face, the crook between his thumb and pointer finger resting under his nose and his palm and fingers pressed over the entire rest of the lower half of his face.

His hands are huge.

Holy shit he’s gonna have a damn heart attack.

Belatedly, Eddie realizes that Steve’s been hurriedly whispering at him, “--and they’re always already in my locker no matter when I get here, so whoever it is must be leaving them after hours right? So I just stayed here after practice and have been watching my locker to see if I can catch them in the act!”

Oh.

Oh Jesus Christ.

Thank fuck Steve pulled him in here. 

He would have died on the spot if he’d been caught putting the next note in his locker.

“Where are they?” Steve asks himself, looking up and down the hallway. “They’re gonna lock the doors in like eight minu— Dude, are you alright? Your pulse is going nuts.”

Steve’s looking back at him now, pushing his ring finger more purposefully into Eddie’s pulse point. Eddie feels his heart rate jump.

“Are you– shit,” he pulls his hand away, “Was it that? Sorry..”

Eddie just stares at him.

A muffled squeak pulls his attention back to the window, “Someone’s coming!” 

He’d hoped that Steve had been enjoying the notes he’d been leaving, lifting his spirits after that disastrous breakup with Wheeler.. but the pure excitement on Steve’s face at the prospect of seeing what cute girl was leaving these notes for him was something else entirely.

He’s gonna have to weasel out of this somehow.

“Steve–”

“Shh! Here they come!”

Sure enough, someone lopes into view through the window…

Darry, the school Janitor, whistles merrily on by with his keys spinning on his finger.

He passes, the squeaking of his boots going with him.

Steve turns around.

The high of Steve’s excitement curdles in Eddie’s stomach at the look on his face now.

“They didn’t come.”

Damn.

“Hey, don’t worry about it Stevie, I’m sure she just wasn’t able to come tonight.”

Steve sighs. “Yeah, they’ll probably just come tomor— what did you just say?”

Eddie rewinds the last bit of their conversation, not hard to do when you’ve only said the one thing, “Uh.. she wasn’t able to come tonight?”

Steve steps closer to him, Eddie steps back on instinct.

“Before that.” another tiny step forward.

Another tiny step back, “Uh, Don’t worry about it?”

“After that.” another step.

Another step– Eddie’s back hits the wall. “I–I don’t know?”

Steve is barely a hair’s width away from him. “What did you call me?”

“...Stevie? Why, am I not allowed t— oh shit.”

Oh holy shit.

You stupid motherfucker.

“Y’know who else has been calling me ‘Stevie’ recently, Eddie?”

Eddie’s mouth has gone as dry as a desert. He swallows around nothing, licking his lips to respond.

Steve’s eyes flick down momentarily.

…. Oh there’s no goddamn way.

“Me?”

Steve smirks, “Can I have my note?”

Eddie sighs, reaches into his pocket, and produces the folded scrap of paper.

He takes it, staring down at the ‘Stevie' scrawled across the front.

“Steve, listen, I–”

Instead of opening it, Steve tucks it into his pocket and reaches up instead, hooking a hand around the back of Eddie’s neck and pulling him into a kiss.

He presses fully into him, his other hand holding Eddie to him by the waistband of his jeans.

It takes a moment, but eventually Eddie gets with the program and spins them, pressing Steve into the wall behind them with a leg between his.

Breaking apart with the movement, Steve breathes out a “Holy shit.” then pulls him back in, rolling his hips for good measure.

“Holy shit.” Eddie repeats, this time into Steve’s mouth.

Breathlessly, Steve says “Are you gonna make out with me or not, Munson?”

“Oh don’t you worry sweetheart, I’m going to do that and more.” Eddie grins, rolling his hips forward in response, “But I’ve got a much better place to do it.”

Twenty minutes and one and a half blowjobs later (Eddie was never going to last long after getting Steve’s dick in his mouth the first time), Eddie watches bone jellied-ly as Steve fishes the note out of his pants pocket from where they’d been kicked off to the back corner of his van. “Oh god, you’re gonna read that now?” “Why not?” Steve shrugs, sitting back down on the haphazardly spread out comforter. “Shit’s embarrassing!” Steve levels him with a look. “More embarrassing than coming ten seconds after I got my mouth on you?” “...Yes.”

shoutout to @tinytalkingtina who responded to an old comment of mine on one of their fics and inspired the little bit of secret admirer-ness of this one!!

[seilahdiaries]

୨ৎ you and everything french. 𝐒. 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒

. . . four times you’ve tried catching Soda’s attention, and the one time you did.

imagine ! જ⁀➴ ⋮ ⌗ 𝓯! reader warnings . . . none

🪽 tysm for the recent likes! i love you all and i hope you guys enjoy thiss, guys i love writing a silly reader. listen to the song while reading! now playing . . . i can see you - taylor swift

you’re not exactly sure when your crush on sodapop curtis started.

maybe eighth grade, the year he got taller and when you started noticing little things— like the way his voice changed when he laughed or the way his pretty eyes sparkled when he did something he wasn’t suppose to.

despite that, you guys never really talked. it was always just mere you dropped this, or do you have a pencil? nothing that would mean he noticed you or thought of you in another way other than just his classmate.

then sandy happened— and you told yourself you were fine with it, ignoring seeing them hold hands and make out in the hallways. and you were respectful, you stopped writing his initial and yours with a heart, you hummed songs instead of romanticizing every word he said, and you waited. waited till it went away.

and it almost did. until it didn’t.

when a few months ago, a spur of events came and they were no longer together anymore. and you— sweet and slightly delusional— felt the tiniest of hope and decided it was the right moment. felt that maybe this would be it.

this year would be it, is what you told yourself. except you were a soc. and he’s a greaser. and your friends— charlotte may and blaire kavinsky weren’t exactly cheering for this relationship.

blaire had even frowned when you brought up, “i’m not saying he’s a bad guy,” she reasoned, “i’m saying greasers can be trouble.”

charlotte just pursued her lips and told her, “when you do this, wear the white ribbon in your hair— the one that makes your eyes look soft.”

people tell you you’re pretty, you wear dainty clothes, people smile at you in the halls and boys even offer to carry your books just so they could smell your perfume. but none of them are him.

and this time you’re gonna try, really try.

and now, while you’re halfway through history and your pencil snaps. the tip sliding into the corner of your desk.

you stare at it for a second, when an idea pops in your pretty mind. then glancing sideways.

he’s right there. one row over, one seat back.

you glance once again. he’s leaning forward on the desk, the curve of his sharp jaw resting on the palm of his hand. he’s not even pretending to take notes, just watching the window like he’s not sat in history class, just somewhere else entirely.

your heart picks up a little, you’re not wearing the white ribbon today. but your hair is blown out, and your sweater is a soft pastel, you feel okay— brave enough.

you turn in your seat slightly, and in a mere whisper, you whisper, “hey.. do you have a pencil?”

he blinks out of his day dream, looks at you. his eyes are warm, and a little sleepy. but without a word, he reaches into his bag and pulls the pencil out.

bitten, stubby and no eraser. the wood at the end splintered like someone got bored and took their frustration out on the poor pencil.

he passes it over without looking twice. you take it, and just as your fingers coated with a milky pink polish brush his, you hear a sound— a pfft from in front of you. charlotte.

you bite the inside of your cheek, offer a quiet, quick “thanks,” and try to act normal. you immediately glance up, her shoulders are shaking.

of course she’s laughing.

it was charlotte’s idea.

“you should absolutely write him a note,” she said, standing in your room the night before with her arms crossed.

blaire, half-asleep on your bed in a lilac silk robe, muttered “this is a bad idea.”

but you did it anyways.

pink stationary and little gold hearts in the corners. you wrote it curled on your fluffy rug at midnight, with vanilla cashmere lotion on your legs and the ronnettes playing softly.

and because you’re you, you lightly sprayed the paper with your perfume.

just a little, so if he opened it, he’d know. and it would smell like sweetness and daydreams.

you, charlotte, and blaire showed up early to “help” your english teacher organize the class library. which really meant the two of them distracted her while you tiptoed over to the shelf, find the copy which you thought was his and slip the note inside.

and when third period came, you sat with the two girls in the front left corner, pretending not to look over at sodapop, who’d sat with his friends in the way back.

he looked tired, you noticed. but your heart was pounding.

while you were in a conversation with the girls, a boy you didn’t even know— skinny, glasses and fluffy hair walked up to the front of the room.

handing her something— something pink. it caught your eyes for a second.

the teacher squinted at it, “oh?”

the boy smiled, “i think someone lost this, i found it in my copy.”

then, without any remorse, she read it aloud.

“you probably won’t notice this, but i notice you. everytime you smile i fall in love all over again. i’m not brave, but maybe this is enough.” “—p.s if you ever want to walk me home, just say the word.”

you felt your entire soul drop to your stomach, you froze.

someone let out a howl, others clapped and sodapop? soda laughed. all bright and boyish just like you said in the note and definitely not in love with you.

blaire was wheezing, charlotte looked like she was biting the corner of her lip to keep it from making it worse. you sat there, hand half over your mouth and with the nastiest side eye ever known.

“atleast you made him laugh?” charlotte said with no help.

the smell of your perfume lingered above everyone like a cloud of sweet and feminine. the worst part was he never even looked at you. or did he recognize that perfume?

a pleated white tennis skirt that fluttered with every breeze, a matching sweater draped over your collarbone and your hair loosely pulled back in a soft low ponytail that brushed against the middle of your back.

you were playing doubles at the country club after school, a friendly match between you and spencer— a tall, preppy friend that was definitely not your type, but easy to be around— and blaire and charlotte on the other side.

things were going well and you were about to serve again when you heard a voice— faint, familiar.

you turned and there he was.

sodapop curtis in a black t-shirt and dirty jeans. walking with steve and laughing at something with his head tilted back. he wasn’t looking at you, not yet atleast.

your stomach dropped so fast you almost dropped your racket, but your grip tightened, now or never.

you stepped into position, and tossed the ball up. your form was great, elegant even. you swung—

smack.

a shriek.

blaire dropped her racket and doubled over, hands flying to her face.

you stood frozen for a full second, eyes wide, mouth open.

charlotte burst into laughter. and spencer let out the loudest “OHHHH!” you’d ever heard. followed by a wheezy “what was that?”

your hand slapped over your mouth, “ohmygod— blaire— im— im so sorry!” you cried out, abandoning your racket and running to the net. “i wasn’t—i didn’t mean— i swear i didn’t mean to!”

“you almost sent me into another dimension.” she groaned out from behind her hand.

“do you want ice? a milkshake? i’ll buy you a million. name anything. anything.”

charlotte finally calmed her laughter down and crouched down beside her, gently nudging her shoulder “atleast you’re not knocked out.”

you were kneeling now, right infront of her, frantically brushing hair from her cheek, full of worry and guilt. and sodapop— he was the last thing on your mind now.

until blaire said it, muffled and slightly incoherent.

“he saw.”

you blinked, “what?”

blaire raised a brow. “sodapop. he looked over and laughed. so did steve.”

charlotte nodded, trying to suppress the sudden giggle that threaten to slip. “he definitely saw. probably thinks were insane.”

you sat back on your heels, cheeks flushed.

“great,” you deadpanned, “my reputation is violence now.”

blaire grumbled, “he better fall in love with you. my cheeks already swelling.”

you groaned into your palms, “i’m never showing my face on this court again.”

you had started the day cute, you wore your cable-knit ralph lauren top, your hair soft and loose again, catching sunlight like honey. the iced coffee you sipped on had extra vanilla, just how you liked it.

you, charlotte and blaire had wandered into the boutique on fifth that always smelled like sugared cookies and tulips. fashion magazines sat by the register, racks were stocked with cute and comfy sleep wear sets, frilly tops and baby pink silks.

“ooh, this,” blaire gasped, holding something sheer and ridiculous. “put this on. immediately.”

“you’re kidding,” you replied, already laughing.

but you did— and the next one. and the next.

soon, your dressing room was filled with chiffon and pastel. you did twirls in every outfit, the curtain whipped open dramatically each time and the sounds of charlotte and blaire hollering and laughing filled the time.

you were mid-spin in a soft pink tulle dress that made you practically float, layers of ruffles around your knees and the back only half-zipped because you’d given up trying. when blaire said—

“wait, wait, hair up. you really need to let the neckline breathe.”

“i don’t have a tie.” you whined, staring into the mirror.

blaire immediately spotted a silver clip— meant for closing snack bags but nonetheless grabbed it.

in one messy swoop, your hair was pulled into the worst bun of your life and clipped up with the plastic chip bag clip. loose pieces framed your face at odd angles. “oh yeah, this is totally it.” charlotte declared, legs kicked up on the plush bench and macaron from the sample plate halfway in her mouth.

“pose. right now. give me…” blaire thought for a moment, “bridal ballerina.”

so you did. standing on tiptoe infront of the dressing room mirror, arms raised. laughing and ridiculous, your cheeks were warm from all the twirling.

and just then— the bell above the door chimed.

you didn’t think anything of it, until charlotte froze mid-laugh.

“um,” blaire said, sharply. “..don’t freak out.” her eyes wide.

you blinked, “what?”

you turned around. and there he was. sodapop curtis.

standing by the front desk with a perfectly neutral expression as he talked to the sweet old lady receptionist, glancing around as if he didn’t just walk into your personal crash scene, until they paused. on you.

you didn’t even think before you dove behind the nearest cardigan rack like your life depended on it.

you crouched there, heart in your throat and frozen among the sweater vests and moist rose air from the humidifier.

you could hear everything— the soft music, the buzz outside, his sweet voice and the girls whispering near the dressing room.

you barely breathed until the bell chimed again and the door closed.

“okay,” blaire said, appearing above. “you can come out now.”

you peeked before standing up slowly, dazed.

charlotte leaned back on the couch, sipping your coffee. “he didn’t laugh.” she said, eyeing you. “didn’t look twice, or look amused.”

you stared at her, “..what do you mean?”

“he just looked,” blaire shrugged, “picked up a skirt. paid. then left.”

you were quiet, staring down at your feet.

“maybe he thinks i’m weird.”

charlotte blinked, “you are weird, you literally froze then threw yourself into the sweaters.”

“not helping,” you groaned.

you layed down on the couch with a dramatic sigh, layers of tulle surrounding you like cotton candy. blaire brought you your chip clip and a macaron, placing it on your stomach solemnly, like a lost possession.

you didn’t even laugh.

the event had finally calmed down. something with fundraising for the clubhouse garden, but when the chocolate fountain came out— no one really remembered.

your once- perfect makeup didnt survive the chocolate, even with charlotte warning you not to lean in so close. but you laughed it off.

it didn’t matter, anyway. you’d stopped caring since the boutique embarrassment. you had spent so long trying— years! not just four times. and not once had he ever seen you, not the way you wanted him to.

and now you found yourself here— barefoot in patchy grass and under a dusky lavender sky. your fingers were sore from picking up tiny foil stars and tissue paper confetti— spencer was suppose to help you while the rest of the club mingled inside.

but he ditched.

at this point, you gave up and collapsed into a patio chair, one leg tucked beneath you, sipping lemonade from a small, flimsy styrofoam cup.

your long white sundress, feminine and romantic blew with the small breeze with delicate straps and a neckline just shy of sweet. your kitten heels sat forgotten a few feet away from the porch steps. and your previous blowout fell flat from the humidity, clinging to the sides of your face.

the porch was quiet now, the crickets sang in the bushes and your eyes unfocused. even when there was a small thud from nearby, your rosy lip caught between your lip blissfully unaware.

“s’nice out,” came a voice from the slight shadows.

you blinked. sodapop.

your guess was he jumped the fence, sneaking in.

he walked up to the porch, hands in his pocket. you had barely seen him since the boutique but yet— you didn’t find yourself sitting straighter, tucking your hair behind your ear or licking your lips. you simply looked at him.

“didn’t know anybody was out here,” he added, glancing sideways at you. “figured everyone was inside playing bingo with the mystery meat.”

you let out a small snort before you could help it.

his smile ticked up, just a little. a subtle one, like as if you blinked you’d miss it. “are you good?”

you helped up your cup, “barely.”

“messy hair. no shoes.” he nodded with mock-seriousness. “brave woman.”

you laughed quietly. there was no butterflies, no trembling fingers. you weren’t trying and it all felt so normal, and maybe that’s why for once— it worked.

he didn’t sit beside you, but leaned against the porch railing a few feet away.

he looked at you again, a little longer this time. then, like it just came to him— “i like your dress.”

you blinked. “oh. thanks.”

a pause came over, you were tired. frizzy. and messy. you glanced at your light pink nails wrapped around the cup.

“i thought you thought i was weird,” you said softly.

soda blinked, taken off guard. “what?”

“never mind.” you shook your head, already regretting it.

but he tilted his head, continuing to just.. look at you. then said, “i don’t.”

you looked up, startled by how his voice genuinely sounded so gentle and sincere. but before you could say anything else, charlotte’s voice came from inside, muffled from the walls and hollering your name.

you exhaled, almost disappointed.

“guess i should—”

“see you tomorrow?” he asked.

you looked up at him again, he didn’t smile. not fully. but there was something in his eyes— and it was the look that you’ve been dreaming of since middle school.

you nodded, “yeah. see you.”

and he simply stepped back into the shadows, on his way to cause some trouble. but what you didn’t see— was the quiet, soft smile you got out of him when he turned away.

and then blaire popped out of nowhere, “charlotte’s been looking everywhere for you!”

there was a quiet, lazy smile on your face with flushed cheeks. did you finally do it?

[movingmusically]

Hello! I saw this prompt years ago but have never seen anyone actually write it. I think you'd be perfect for it! Austin and co-star (reader, obv) have a sex scene together that they're filming. It is so intimate and spicy that reader actually (accidentally) has an orgasm. No one knows except her and Austin. The film crew are oblivious. They just think the acting was phenomenal. She's super embarrassed and tries to avoid him after. But eventually, they have to talk about it, right? I'll let you decide how to end it. The only thing I ask is that Austin is a sweetie (cause we know he would be) and that it doesn't have a sad ending. Hope you will write this! If not, i understand. Thank you!

Word Count: 8.2k

Masterlist

Unspoken - Part 1

You hadn’t known what to expect, exactly.

Austin had been friendly over Zoom, warm and low-key, but it was hard to tell what someone would be like in person—especially on a set like this. Small crew, no distractions, nowhere to hide behind glossy production. If it didn’t work between you, the whole thing would fall flat.

But it did.

From the read-through onwards, it had felt easy. Not instant chemistry—a quiet kind of comfort. The kind of working rhythm that didn’t need effort. He asked good questions, knew his lines without showing off, made quiet jokes when the room got too still. He was generous without making a show of it.

You got used to him fast.

By the end of the first week, it was already normal—splitting snacks, borrowing chargers, leaning your heads together over the sides of marked-up scripts. The film demanded closeness, and you slipped into it like it had always been there. Long takes, low lighting, scenes built on shared silences. Half your scenes were filmed with your knees touching.

It wasn’t flirty. You never caught him looking at you the way actors sometimes look when they forget where the cameras are. It wasn’t that.

He was just kind.

And that made it easy to match him.

You’d sit beside each other in makeup, legs stretched out, talking about nothing. Pass each other notes when the blocking didn’t make sense. Trade bad coffee on the days where breakfast had been skipped.

It helped that the film itself moved slowly. Years of friendship, worn soft around the edges, turning into something else. It was about trust. About timing. About all the ways people stop themselves from saying what they really mean.

And maybe that was why it worked so well between you.

You weren’t trying too hard.

You didn’t have to.

So when the call sheet landed in your inbox that Friday and Scene 87 was there—INT. BEDROOM – NIGHT—you tapped the attachment open, noted the time, flagged your sides, and closed it again.

You’d known about the intimacy scene from the start. It had been in the script, flagged clearly, nothing ambiguous about it. You’d spoken to your agent. Met with the intimacy coordinator, Lizzy. It had all been handled. Tidy. Professional.

You hadn’t thought about it in weeks.

The first rehearsal was set for late morning.

No cameras. No costumes. Just you, Austin, and Lizzy on one of the quiet rehearsal stages—black tape marking out the bed frame, a couple of chairs off to the side, printouts and notes and breath mints on the foldout table in the corner.

You’d dressed for comfort—oversized hoodie, joggers you could move in. Something low-effort. Unremarkable. You were early. Austin arrived a couple of minutes later, T-shirt soft and familiar, hair still damp like he’d only just rolled out of a shower and straight into daylight.

He gave you a smile.

“Hey,” he said. “You sleep?”

“Define sleep.”

He nudged your elbow with his. “You’ll be great.”

Lizzy talked you through everything. No acting yet. No emotion. Just spacing. Breath. Weight distribution. A choreography of intention.

This hand here. Pause. Step across. Sit. Press of the hips. Shift weight. Hold. Reset.

It was fine.

Fine in the way things are when you’re concentrating hard enough that your body doesn’t have time to interpret what’s happening. Every moment had a cue. Every touch was mapped. There was no room for awkwardness when there were angles to hit, timing to remember, direction to follow.

Austin was calm beside you. Clear. Always asking before he touched you. Always quiet when he did. “Here okay?” “This side?” “Let me know if anything’s off.”

It made it easier to breathe.

And then—somewhere in the second hour—your body slid into position over his, knees bracketing his thighs, hands placed exactly where Lizzy had marked, and your eyes met at the top of the next beat.

It didn’t last long.

Half a second, maybe less. Long enough for something to catch low in your throat.

It wasn’t his expression—it was the stillness. The weight of being seen from that close, that carefully. Like you were both holding a match between your teeth and trying not to breathe too hard.

Then Lizzy reset the moment. Adjusted the timing. Moved you on.

You exhaled. Stepped back. Pulled your hoodie on.

Your skin felt warmer than it had when you arrived.

You didn’t wake up thinking about the scene.

You had errands to run before your call time, and a voice note from your sister about some family drama you didn’t want to get dragged into. You had other things on your mind.

But your body remembered.

Not the shape of the scene, exactly. More the feeling of being in it with him—close and quiet and not entirely sure where your breath was supposed to land. You’d shaken it off last night, told yourself it was nothing, but something had settled low in your stomach and hadn’t moved since.

The second rehearsal was longer. Slower.

You got there five minutes early again. Austin was already inside this time, barefoot, stretching in that loose, lazy way that somehow made him look like he belonged there more than anyone else. He glanced up as you walked in.

“Morning,” he said, soft and a little rough around the edges.

You dropped your bag by the wall. “How’s the caffeine situation?”

He smiled. “Better than yesterday. Tastes like actual coffee.”

Lizzy appeared a moment later, warm as ever. “Alright, team. Let’s pick up where we left off.”

This session was about layering. You’d done the bones of it—now came the rhythm. More eye contact. Partial dialogue. Transitions between physical beats. Still clothed. Still private. But closer.

You moved through the choreography again, syncing your breath to his, feeling his hand find its place at the small of your back like it had always been meant to rest there. The movements were slow, deliberate. Lizzy’s voice floated in from the edge of the room, guiding but never interrupting.

“Let the hesitation sit. Don’t rush past it. You don’t know if you’re allowed to want this yet. That’s where the tension lives.”

You nodded. You did know that. You’d read it. Felt it. But when you looked up and found Austin’s eyes already on yours—steady, unreadable, entirely focused—it landed somewhere lower than the page.

His hand shifted slightly. Not new choreography. A gentle adjustment, thumb pressing into the curve above your hip. Your breath caught for half a second before you remembered what came next.

You hit your mark. Let him guide the movement. Said the line. All of it exactly as planned.

But it felt different now.

Not intimate exactly.

Kind of… charged.

Like your skin was paying more attention than it should.

You tried not to overthink it. You were tired. You’d had too much coffee. It was just a long week.

But when you stepped away during a break and uncapped your water bottle, your hands were shaking slightly. And when he brushed past you to grab a copy of the notes, your body tracked him before your eyes did.

It was only awareness, you told yourself. That’s all.

Still, when the rehearsal wrapped, you left without saying much. Just a wave. A quiet, “See you tomorrow.”

And when you got home, you didn’t turn the shower on right away. You stood there, in the centre of your bathroom, trying to name what you were feeling.

And failing.

By the third day, it was muscle memory.

The basic choreography had sunk in—weight, timing, the way your breathing had to shift depending on whose hand was moving where. It wasn’t second nature exactly, but it no longer required so much conscious effort. Your body knew what to do before Lizzy even called the beat.

You’d kept your hoodie on through warm-up. Stretched your arms, read through the notes again, checked your cue lines even though there weren’t many in this part of the scene. But when it came time to start, you pulled the hoodie off and folded it neatly to the side.

You were down to joggers and a sports bra now. Modesty garment already in place beneath the waistband—silicone-lined, taped down. It didn’t cover much, but it did enough. You were quietly grateful for it. That, and the way Lizzy explained everything like it was just another technical element—same as a light cue or a lens change.

She ran through the new additions with her usual steadiness.

“Austin, your hand will go under the waistband. Just placement—over the shibue. No movement. You”—she turned to you—“will roll your hips twice. That’s the entire rhythm for today.”

You nodded. “Got it.”

Austin looked over. “All good?”

“Yeah,” you said. “All good.”

You lay back, joggers soft beneath your fingers, and let your legs bend into position. Austin settled between your knees, braced one hand beside your shoulder, and waited for the mark.

On cue, his hand moved under the waistband—warm, steady, fingers spread wide enough to cover the space he needed to hit. The contact wasn’t rough, wasn’t wandering. Simply there.

You rolled your hips once.

Then again.

Not a grind. Not even a proper press. Only the motion. The suggestion. His hand stayed still.

It didn’t feel like anything, really. A moment of pressure and a reminder of how close the camera would eventually be. The modesty garment stayed where it was supposed to. That was the only thing you registered—that and the fact that your exhale felt a little too controlled when you came back down.

The scene paused.

You sat up and adjusted your waistband. The edge of the shibue tugged slightly where it had been taped, but it was fine. Not enough to worry about, but enough to feel it.

Lizzy marked the note, nodded once. “Again when you’re ready.”

You glanced at Austin. He gave the smallest nod.

You breathed out. Repositioned.

You were fine.

Just warm all over, and very glad the garment did what it promised.

You knew the choreography now.

Every beat had been mapped. You’d talked it through with Lizzy and Austin, with the director, with wardrobe. You’d written your own version of the scene in your notes—a series of bullet points, clean and factual, so it didn’t feel like anything else.

But standing on set that afternoon, barefoot on the edge of the taped-out space, it hit you that this would be the last time you ran it before the cameras were rolling. That the next time you did this, you’d both be fully undressed—just the modesty garments left between you, and not much else.

You adjusted the waistband of your joggers for the third time, even though it didn’t need it.

Austin was sitting on the edge of the bed frame, script in hand, thumb running a slow line down the margin. He looked calm. Focused. Not performing yet—allowing the moment to settle around him.

Lizzy’s voice broke the quiet.

“Alright. Today we’ll run the full scene, blocking and pacing. We’ll work in the breast contact—touch, mouth—if you’re both still comfortable. We won’t pause unless someone calls reset.”

You nodded. “Yep.”

Austin echoed it beside you. “All okay here.”

The hoodie came off before you stepped into place. You handed it to the wardrobe assistant and kept your arms folded across your chest until Lizzy gave the go.

Then you lay back on the bed. Arms at your sides. Skin already prickling from the air.

Austin climbed in carefully—one knee first, then the other. His hands moved with that same, steady confidence they always had. He kissed your shoulder first, then your collarbone. Not rushed. he eased you both into it.

Then his hand came up.

A cupped, warm press to your breast. Placed deliberately. You could feel the heat of it seeping through your chest in a way you hadn’t fully registered in the abstract.

His head lowered next.

He hovered above you—mouth angled toward your breast, close enough that you could feel his breath as it passed over your skin. He held that position while Lizzy circled behind the camera line, checking visibility, framing. You stayed still. So did he. No contact.

Only the space between.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just held the shape of it while Lizzy walked around the perimeter, watching angles, checking marks. Her voice was a background rhythm. Reassuring.

Then came the final cue.

Austin’s hand slipped under the waistband of your joggers again, warm and still over the modesty barrier. His other hand braced beside your shoulder.

You rolled your hips. Once. Then again.

You felt the pressure land the way it was meant to. Controlled. Calibrated. Friction implied, not enacted.

Then stillness.

Reset.

He pulled back carefully. Rolled off the mattress. Extended his hand without needing to ask.

“You alright?” he said, voice low, just for you.

You nodded as he helped you sit. “Yeah. You?”

He gave a small smile. “Glad it’s with you.”

You looked at him properly then. Not in character. Not through the lens of the scene. Him. Quiet. Steady. Present.

“Same,” you said.

And you meant it.

You got there early.

Not because you were nervous—more out of habit now. One last quiet moment before everything tipped into movement. The lights were set, soft and low, casting the bed in that kind of glow the DP loved. There was a stillness to it that felt almost too peaceful for what was about to happen.

You heard the door open behind you but didn’t turn right away.

Austin’s footsteps were familiar now. So was the quiet.

He came to stand beside you, hands in his pockets. Didn’t say anything for a second. He looked out at the space like you were both about to do something much simpler. Like any other scene. He was calm in that quiet, grounded way he always was right before a take.

He glanced at the bed. Then at you.

“Well,” he said, easy, “if this is the day I forget everything we rehearsed, now’s a fun time to find out.”

You huffed a soft laugh. “No pressure.”

“Nah,” he said. “We’ve got it.”

It wasn’t cocky. Just said with the kind of calm certainty that made your shoulders drop a little.

He looked at you properly then—a beat longer than necessary. Not searching. Simply present.

“We’re fine,” he said. “Feels like we’ve already done it a hundred times anyway.”

“We kind of have,” you said. “But clothed. And with a smaller audience.”

He smiled at that.

And that was enough.

When Lizzy’s voice came through the monitor—“We’re ready when you are”—he didn’t even blink. He tipped his head slightly toward the bed.

“Shall we?”

You nodded once. “Let’s go.”

And together, you stepped into the scene.

You were already on the bed when they called action.

Sitting near the edge, legs folded under you, fingers curled lightly in the hem of your t-shirt. This part of the scene didn’t ask much of you except stillness. Waiting. The kind that held its breath.

You heard the door creak softly as he entered.

The sound of him was familiar now—bare footsteps, quiet breath, that stillness he carried when the scene asked for it. You stayed still, like the script said. Eyes down. Shoulders held a little too tightly.

He stopped just inside the room.

“You left,” he said, voice low. Like it might break something if he spoke too loud.

You looked up.

He was already watching you. T-shirt rumpled slightly, hair a little messy like he’d been running his hands through it. His mouth opened, then closed again. You waited.

“I didn’t want to say something I couldn’t take back,” you said.

He nodded. Not because he agreed. Because he understood.

“I didn’t want it to end like that,” he said. “Not with you.”

That was the moment the scene turned.

The shift you’d rehearsed. The beat the whole film had been circling.

He stepped closer and sat beside you on the bed, steady and familiar. The mattress dipped under his weight. His hand found balance behind you. His knee brushed yours.

Neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t empty—it was full of every version of this that never happened. Every almost. Every nearly.

You turned toward him.

He was close. Closer than usual. The kind of close that made silence feel like a question.

His eyes flicked down—your mouth, your hands—then came back up to meet yours again.

You moved first—only slightly.

He met you without hesitation.

The kiss was soft. Gentle. A breath before it landed. You could feel the warmth of him, the way his lips moved against yours like he’d already memorised the shape of it. His hand rested lightly on your leg. Yours slipped up to his chest.

The second kiss came a little deeper. Not rushed. Certain. The kind of kiss that filled a room without raising its voice.

His mouth tasted faintly of mint.

You stayed with it, let it build, felt it start to root somewhere deeper than rehearsal.

Still in character. Still focused.

But something in your chest had shifted. Something slow and warm and creeping.

You weren’t tracking marks or pacing anymore.

You were just kissing him.

And he was kissing you back like it meant something.

His hand slid up beneath your shirt. Warm across your stomach, steady as he pushed the fabric up. He knew the beat. You’d rehearsed it. You shifted to help, lifting your arms, letting him ease the fabric over your head. He dropped it off the side of the bed. You were already breathing differently.

You reached for his shirt in return, fingers brushing his skin as you pulled it over his head. He let you. No pause, no shift in rhythm. Now skin against skin, your chest rising against his with every breath.

You kissed him again.

And this time, as your mouths met, you moved—slowly—easing one leg over his lap, settling against him.

The bed creaked softly beneath you. His hands came to your thighs, anchoring you there. One slid up, fingers splaying lightly at your waist. The other stayed low, grounding you.

You felt the shape of him under you. Not against your bare skin—not yet—but close. Closer than rehearsal. The weight of him, the pressure of his hands, the way his eyes kept flicking between your mouth and your eyes, like the scene was happening in two places at once.

His lips trailed lower.

Down your jaw, your throat, the curve of your collarbone.

You tilted your head slightly to give him room.

His hand came up to your chest.

Fingers spreading. Thumb brushing across your breast.

You felt your nipples tighten at the contact—part from the cool air, part from the way he touched you. Careful. Measured. You’d practised this, but it felt different now the barrier of your sports bra had disappeared. He cupped you fully in his palm, and then—

His mouth followed.

Warm, soft, unhurried. Lips closing around your nipple, tongue catching enough to make you shift slightly in his lap. You kept your breathing even, stayed in character, but your body was already reacting. The scene didn’t ask for more than this yet. But you could feel something gathering. Low and quiet.

Then he looked up.

His mouth still on your skin. His eyes meeting yours.

And for a second, everything else dropped away.

You were just watching him watch you.

You inhaled, chest rising against his mouth.

And you felt yourself begin to lean into it.

His lips lingered another second, then lifted.

His hand slid from your breast back down to your waist, and with a shift in his weight, you both began to move, easing back across the mattress. You stayed close, bodies aligned as you let him guide you down.

He hovered over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other trailing lightly over your ribs. The rhythm didn’t break. This was where the pause lived. A breath. Something unspoken passing between two people who’d been circling this forever.

Your legs bent beneath him. The sheet rustled.

Then his hand slipped lower.

Fingers sliding beneath the waistband of your shorts, past the edge of fabric, finding the smooth barrier taped carefully into place. His palm settled there, warm and solid. You’d rehearsed it, but it landed heavier now. Like your body had started listening more closely.

You rolled your hips—once.

Then again.

The pressure landed right where it was meant to. Precise. Calibrated. But sharper than you remembered.

You felt it instantly. A flicker of heat. Something low and tightening that hadn’t been there in rehearsal. Your body responding like it didn’t know the difference between performance and something else.

You blinked.

Tried to breathe through it. Tried to shake it off.

It’s choreography, you told yourself. Muscle memory. Contact over fabric. Nothing real.

But your chest felt tighter. Your limbs too aware of his weight above you, the way his gaze tracked every shift in yours.

You could stop. That thought surfaced—quick and quiet. If you tapped out, they’d cut. Reset. No one would question it.

But you didn’t.

Because nothing was wrong.

He hadn’t broken the scene. He hadn’t pushed or rushed or taken anything that wasn’t given. He was exactly where he was supposed to be, moving the way you’d rehearsed, watching you like he always did—with focus, with care, never with pressure.

You held still.

There was a flicker of heat low in your stomach. You noticed it. Filed it away. Only your body reacting to pressure, to breath, to rhythm. It would pass.

You’d trained for this. Layered every beat, anchored every moment. You could hold this.

Austin didn’t falter. His touch stayed steady. His eyes never left yours.

There was no hesitation in him. He was all presence, all intention.

So you stayed with him.

And he kept going—rhythm unchanged, breath slow, every movement shaped by the scene you were both holding in place.

He eased his hand back out from beneath your waistband.

No rush. It was part of the scene. The breath before the shift.

You let yours out slowly, fingers moving to the hem of your shorts. He reached for them too. Together, you pulled them down, until you had to lift your hips to help. They slid free with barely a sound. He tossed them aside.

Then he sat back on his heels and reached for his own waistband.

You stayed where you were, watching. A second too long.

His sweatpants came off easily, the soft fabric catching briefly at his knees before falling to the floor. You hadn’t meant to stare. But something about seeing him now—fully undressed except for the small, skin-coloured patch covering what the camera wouldn’t see—pulled your focus.

The shape of him. The way his body moved. The way he carried the stillness without tensing.

You’d never seen him like this. Not really. You’d mapped every moment, but now there was no extra layer. No fabric between the weight of him and the heat of you.

Your skin prickled. You blinked, looked away.

This was still a scene. Still choreography. You knew the rhythm. You knew your cues.

You lay back.

He followed.

Came over you slowly, hands bracketing your ribs, one thigh nudging between yours as his body lowered into place.

Then he kissed you.

It was meant to be soft. Familiar. A continuation of what came before.

And it was—until it wasn’t.

His mouth moved against yours like it always had, but this time, as his hips settled into position, his tongue brushed over yours.

The faintest flick. Tentative at first, then firmer.

You didn’t expect it.

The breath caught in your throat. A sound slipped out—half sigh, half noise you didn’t recognise.

You felt him pause, for a heartbeat.

Then the kiss deepened.

He held the shape of your mouth with his, steady and warm, letting the scene carry on like nothing had changed.

But something had.

Your fingers curled against his back. Your legs shifted slightly wider. The rhythm began—hip to hip, friction finding its place.

You were still in character.

Still hitting your marks.

But the sound you’d made hadn’t been planned.

Your body was reacting before your brain could reason with it.

He moved again.

Controlled. Deliberate. His hips pressing forward in the pace you’d agreed on, fabric brushing fabric, pressure steady between you. There was no rush, no fumbling. Only that quiet escalation the scene called for.

You felt him shift his weight slightly, adjusting the angle. His hand stayed firm at your waist, the other beside your head, fingers flexing once into the mattress. Your legs shifted higher, wrapping around his waist for the mark.

Then came the sounds.

Small, intentional—part of the scene.

His breath, unsteady but measured. A soft grunt on the next roll of his hips, just under his breath. The kind of sound meant to suggest release without exaggeration. Practised. Real enough to land.

You felt it all.

The weight of him. The tension in his arms. The way his jaw brushed yours when he dipped close, exhaling like he was on the edge of something.

He was performing it.

You knew that.

You’d heard it in rehearsal. You’d run it with Lizzy counting beats at the foot of the bed. But now—now with him above you, eyes flicking between your mouth and your face, his body rocking against yours like you were the only two people left in the world—it felt like more.

You lifted your hips to meet him again.

The friction was too good. Too exact. Every pass catching perfectly over the spot you were trying not to think about.

The heat bloomed fast.

You tried to breathe through it. Tried to stay with the scene. But your body wasn’t listening.

Austin let out another soft sound, low in his throat as he pressed into you again.

That’s what did it.

Not the contact. Not even the movement.

But that sound.

And then it hit.

A clench deep in your belly. Tight, hard, spreading in slow, impossible waves. Your legs tensed. Your breath caught.

It passed through you fast—quiet, sharp, almost invisible.

You didn’t cry out.

But your fingers curled. Your thighs trembled once. Your lips parted just enough to let something slip free—barely a sound.

Austin didn’t flinch.

He kept going. Perfectly on cue. Still in it. Still steady.

But in that second, as he looked down at you again, something in his eyes flickered.

And you wondered if he’d felt it too.

He kept moving, breath low and strained in his throat. You could feel the tension in his body—measured, deliberate—the kind of control that came from rehearsal, not instinct.

His hand slid from your waist to your thigh, anchoring you. His head dipped to your shoulder, and you felt his jaw flex as his body rolled once more into yours.

A soft sound escaped him. Weighted. Part of the scene. Part of the finish.

Then he kissed you again.

Gentle. Breathless. Like something settling.

His weight lowered onto you slightly.

You stayed still.

Your heart was hammering. Your skin flushed.

Shit.

Fuck.

No. No, no—

It had happened. You knew it. You could feel it still humming in your body, the aftershocks settling beneath your ribs. Nothing dramatic. Nothing obvious. But real.

You came.

On camera.

With everyone watching.

“Cut.”

The word sliced through the air.

Austin’s body stilled above you. He exhaled through his nose and lifted his head slightly, hands braced to push off without pulling too fast. You stayed perfectly still beneath him, blinking up at the ceiling, trying not to let the shape of what had happened show on your face.

There was a pause. One of those charged, still seconds where no one moved—only the buzz of silence settling into the space you’d created.

Then:

“Holy shit,” came the director’s voice from behind the monitor.

Sharp. Breathless. Immediately followed by, “That was beautiful.”

Chairs scraped. People exhaled. The moment broke.

“Let’s reset for coverage,” she called. “But I want that one in the cut. That was—” A pause. “It didn’t feel like acting.”

Someone nearby murmured agreement. You heard the script supervisor say “Gave me chills.” Another voice—camera maybe—added, “The eye contact? Jesus.”

Lizzy stepped in from the edge of frame, already talking through small adjustments for the next take. Her tone was warm, reassuring. “You okay?” she asked, gently, already reaching out with a robe for each of you.

You nodded. Managed a small sound—something halfway between a breath and a “yeah.”

Austin rolled off you slowly, bracing a hand beside your shoulder as he shifted his weight. You felt the air hit your chest and pulled the robe over yourself without looking up.

He stayed close for a second longer than necessary. Not hovering, but steady. Grounding.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low.

There was something in it. More than routine concern. Something deeper. He’d felt it. Knew, at least on some level, what had happened. And he wasn’t pretending otherwise.

You nodded too quickly. “Fine.”

He held your gaze for half a second longer—long enough to make your chest tighten—then gave a small nod and stood.

He offered his hand. You took it. Let him help you sit. Fingers clumsy at the robe’s tie.

Everyone else was still buzzing. Still riding the afterglow of a great take. Austin was already standing, sweatpants back on, robe loose around his shoulders, listening as Lizzy walked him through a minor camera shift.

He looked completely calm.

You tried to mirror it.

Tried to focus as someone handed you your shorts, your t-shirt folded neatly over them. You took them without speaking, your fingers trembling slightly as you clutched them to your chest.

“I mean it,” the director said again, her voice carrying across the room. “That was the best work I’ve seen from either of you. Whatever you tapped into—don’t let it go.”

The words landed too close. Too accurate.

You forced a smile. A nod.

Everyone read the look on your face as emotional exhaustion. Commitment. Like you were still in it. Someone even whispered, “She’s really gone there,” like it was a compliment.

And you didn’t correct them.

You kept your eyes on the floor. On the nearest mark. On anything but him.

The corridor felt too bright after the bedroom set.

Not blinding. Wrong, somehow. Like the light hadn’t caught up to the rest of you yet.

You kept your robe cinched tight, clothes folded against your chest. Someone passed with a clipboard. Another crew member rolled a rack of jackets toward storage. Everyone moved like the day was done.

You’d moved too. Through the coverage takes, through resets, through minor adjustments no one would remember tomorrow. They hadn’t needed the whole scene again—a few moments. Different angles. Fragments for the edit.

You’d hit every mark.

You’d said the line over his shoulder, felt his hand at your jaw, let him kiss the corner of your mouth while pretending your legs weren’t still shaking.

And you hadn’t looked at him once.

Not properly.

You’d seen him, of course—getting notes, sipping water, slipping back into his hoodie between takes. Once, you’d felt his gaze brush yours across the room and looked away so quickly you nearly knocked over a chair.

No one noticed.

They thought you were exhausted. Spent.

They were right, but not in the way they meant.

A PA held the door open as you stepped into wardrobe. You nodded in thanks and moved straight to your rail, pulling your hanger from the hook like you’d done a hundred times this shoot.

Shirt. Jeans. The things that made you feel like yourself.

You changed fast. Mechanically. Robe off, clothes on, avoiding the mirror. You didn’t want to see the flush still high on your chest, the way your eyes didn’t quite look back at you.

A voice echoed faintly down the corridor—low, familiar.

Austin.

You didn’t catch the words. Just the sound of him, talking to someone, maybe Lizzy or the director. You froze halfway through tying your shoe.

Then you turned—quietly—and slipped out the other way.

The hallway to the dressing rooms was half-lit, most of the crew already packing up elsewhere. You walked faster than you needed to, fingers still curled tightly around the edge of your script even though you hadn’t looked at it since morning.

Inside your room, the door clicked shut behind you.

No mirrors. No cameras. Just stillness.

And for the first time all day, you let yourself exhale.

You stayed in the dressing room longer than you needed to.

Not long enough for anyone to notice. Enough for the hallway to settle. The noise had drifted elsewhere—footsteps fading, radios crackling in the distance. Your bag was already packed. Your hoodie was looped over one arm. All you had to do was leave.

You pressed your palm to the door for a second before opening it. Breathed once. Then stepped out.

The lights were dimmed to end-of-day levels. Most of the crew had already headed out. You turned left toward the exit you knew would be quickest—then paused.

Austin was up ahead.

He stood near the back entrance, hoodie on, bag slung low over one shoulder. Talking to Lizzy in a low voice, both of them facing the far wall, mid-discussion.

He turned first.

Then Lizzy, already smiling as if to say goodbye. She peeled off toward the side hall.

And Austin looked at you.

His eyes met yours before you could drop them. Just a second. No expression. No smile. Only… watching.

You felt your whole chest tighten.

You shifted your grip on your bag and went back the way you came, turning right instead. Not the exit you’d planned. The long way round. The concrete floor echoed faintly under your shoes. You kept your pace even—steady, controlled.

And when you glanced back, he was still watching.

He didn’t follow. Didn’t call out.

He let you go.

You turned back, gaze low, and didn’t lift it again until the air hit your face. Then walked all the way to your car without looking back.

Your apartment was dark when you got in.

Not pitch black—a soft, shadowed quiet, the kind that comes from forgetting to leave a light on. You didn’t bother fixing it. You dropped your bag in the hallway, kicked off your shoes, and stood there for a second, still wrapped in the quiet.

The silence wrapped around you too easily.

You peeled off your hoodie. Slipped into the kitchen to drink half a glass of water you didn’t really want. Let the fridge hum fill the corners of the room.

Your phone lit up on the counter.

Austin: Hey. Just wanted to check in. Hope you’re okay.

No emojis. No overthinking. It was him—true to form. Simple. Present. Kind.

You stared at it too long.

Part of you wanted to reply. To say yeah, all good, or thanks for earlier. Something normal. Something easy.

But your fingers didn’t move.

Because nothing about today had been normal. And easy didn’t feel honest.

So you flipped the phone over.

Screen facedown. Lights off. Bedroom door shut behind you.

And you let the message sit there, unread.

You hadn’t slept much.

Every time you closed your eyes, it came back—his body over yours, the weight of his gaze, the press of his hand, the exact second your body slipped past the edge and didn’t come back.

And the way he looked at you after.

He knew.

You were sure of it. It wasn’t a guess. It was in his voice when he asked if you were alright. In the pause before he stood. In the way his eyes had stayed on you even as the crew moved around you, like they were part of a different scene altogether.

He knew.

And he hadn’t said anything.

Neither had you.

You’d run the pickups. Dressed. Walked past him. Left the message on your phone unanswered.

And now you were sitting in your dressing room with your script in your lap, pretending to focus, your coffee untouched, your stomach tight. Reading the same half-page of dialogue about burnt toast and unsaid feelings, over and over again.

Today’s scene was simple.

But facing him wouldn’t be.

The door was open. You’d left it that way on purpose—some part of you hoping someone else might fill the space first. A call time. A wardrobe check. Anything.

Instead, there was a knock.

Soft. Two gentle taps against the frame.

You looked up.

Austin.

He was leaning lightly on the doorframe, one shoulder braced, sleeves pulled down over his knuckles. He wasn’t smiling. He watched you, calm and still.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

His voice was steady. But you could feel something underneath it.

You didn’t answer right away.

You blinked slowly, heart thudding harder than it needed to, your fingers still curled loosely around the edge of the script.

He waited.

Didn’t fill the silence. Didn’t take a step inside.

You nodded—small, barely there—and lifted one hand in a quiet gesture.

Come in.

He did.

Closed the door behind him, soft click of wood meeting frame, and crossed the room with the kind of unhurried calm that made you want to both shrink into your chair and lean toward him at the same time.

He didn’t sit yet. He paused there for a moment, giving you the chance to change your mind.

You looked down at the pages in your lap, then folded them closed. Not because you were ready. Because there was no point pretending anymore.

Your voice came out quieter than you meant. “Sorry I didn’t reply.”

Austin gave a small shake of his head, stepping further into the room.

“You don’t have to apologise.”

His voice was gentle. Uncomplicated. Meant to land softly.

He sat down opposite you—not too close, not too formal. Elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped lightly, like he wasn’t sure how long this would take but had already decided to wait as long as you needed.

“I didn’t send it expecting anything,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You nodded—once—but it felt like too much and not enough at the same time.

He didn’t press. He gave you that look again—level and open, like he had time. Like there was no version of this where he walked away without at least letting you speak.

The silence held for a beat.

Then two.

You let out a quiet breath and glanced down at your script again, thumb smoothing the folded corner like it might give you something useful to say. Then back up at him—finally—and cleared your throat.

“Okay,” you started, already flushed. “I’m just gonna say it, and then maybe I’ll dissolve into the floor and we can pretend this never happened.”

He didn’t interrupt.

You kept going, even though your voice caught halfway through.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” you said. “I didn’t even realise what was happening, not really—not until it was already…”

You trailed off, the words stalling somewhere in your chest.

“I didn’t fake it, Austin. It happened. It caught me off guard. And I didn’t know what to do with that. So I panicked. And left. And ignored your message. And thought about quitting acting and taking up landscape gardening.”

The heat in your face was instant. Crawling up your neck, into your ears.

“I don’t know if you knew. I mean—I think you did. You looked at me like maybe…”

You didn’t finish.

You didn’t need to.

Because he was already smiling—soft, crooked, steady.

“Well,” he said, tilting his head a little, “if it helps… you were very convincing.”

Your stomach flipped. The colour in your face doubled. You let out the most horrified sound of your life and dropped your face into your hands.

“Oh my god.”

He laughed, warm and gentle. Like he wasn’t shocked. Like it really, truly was okay.

You kept your face in your hands for a full three seconds longer than necessary.

Then peeked through your fingers.

He was still smiling—steady, soft around the edges. Like you’d given him something fragile and he’d known exactly how to hold it.

“I’m never going to work again,” you mumbled into your palms.

“Pretty sure that’s not true.”

“I might actually be the least professional person alive.”

“That also seems unlikely.”

You let your hands fall into your lap, still half-hiding behind your hair.

“I mean… who does that?”

Austin tilted his head, like he was giving it actual thought.

“Someone really committed to the scene?”

You groaned and leaned back in the chair. “Stop.”

He laughed—quiet, shoulders shaking a little. Then softer, “I’m serious. I don’t think anyone on that set had a clue. And even if they did—” He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “They’re not thinking about it the way you are.”

You looked at him. Properly.

“And you?” you asked, voice quieter. “How are you thinking about it?”

He didn’t look away.

“I think… it happened. That’s all. I think we built something that felt real, and that’s kind of the point, right?” His voice softened again. “And if it felt too real for a second—I’d rather that than the opposite.”

Your heart kicked hard in your chest.

You didn’t know what you expected him to say. But it wasn’t that.

Something in you eased.

Like maybe you weren’t going to break after all.

You let out a slow breath, eyes still on him. “I thought you might be weird about it.”

“I thought you might be,” he said, smiling gently.

You huffed a laugh, the sound catching at the edges. “I nearly sprinted out of here yesterday.”

His eyebrows lifted.

“Okay—did sprint,” you admitted. “And yeah, I took the long way out so I wouldn’t have to walk past you.”

Austin gave a small, helpless shrug. “You know I saw that, right?”

You winced. “Of course you did.”

He let out a quiet laugh. “Wasn’t exactly subtle.”

You dropped your head back against the chair and groaned. “Kill me.”

“Nah,” he said. “I need you for the press tour.”

Then, after a beat—“I mean…” He leaned back in the chair, playful now. “If someone asks about chemistry, I feel like I’ve got material.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare.”

“I’m just saying,” he teased. “If anyone brings up method acting, I’ve got a pretty strong anecdote now.”

You grabbed your script and batted him lightly with it. “I will actually murder you.”

You pulled the script back into your lap, still half-smiling, still a little red.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward this time.

It was warm. Settled.

You watched him for a moment—he shifted into his chair bouncing his knee once before going still again. Like the nervous energy had nowhere left to go.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

He looked up.

“For being…” You shook your head a little. “Exactly like this.”

His smile faded a little—softened into something more serious.

“Of course,” he said. “Always.”

There was a knock at the door before you could say anything else. A voice from the hallway. “Ten minutes!”

You both nodded at the same time.

He stood first. Adjusted the hem of his shirt, then glanced at you again like he wanted to say one more thing—but left it unspoken.

“I’ll see you out there?” he said.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He paused in the doorway for a second. Long enough to make sure you were really okay.

Then he was gone.

And somehow, your chest didn’t feel quite so tight anymore.

*

The lights were flat and bright, designed for cameras more than comfort. The table was long — eight chairs wide — with placards lined in front of each seat and slim-necked water bottles sweating quietly beside them. The Cannes logo loomed behind like a watermark, and half the room was journalists with notebooks already open.

Austin sat third from the left. Y/N was to his right.

From where he sat, Austin could see the top of her knee bouncing—small, contained, but constant. A nervous tic she usually didn’t have. She was good under pressure, sharp during interviews, but something in her posture today was tighter. More alert. Like she was already rehearsing the answer in her head. The movement stopped the second someone asked about that scene.

“This one’s for Y/N and Austin,” the journalist said. “I wanted to ask about the intimacy scene. It’s a sex scene, technically, but it’s incredibly quiet. Almost reverent. There’s a lot of emotion but very little exaggeration. How did you approach that?”

Austin turned just enough to see her profile.

The stillness came first. Her inhale was shallow — barely there — but he caught it. That tiny moment of bracing. Like she knew this question was coming. Of course she did. They both did.

But it still landed.

He hadn’t forgotten what happened. Not for a second.

It was over a year ago now — and still, sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he could feel it. The shape of her breath against his mouth. The moment her legs tensed. The sound she made, barely audible. So small he wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t already been watching for it.

Not because he was trying to catch her out.

Because the second it started, he’d known.

The shift was subtle. A tremble just beneath the rhythm. The way her eyes lost focus for half a beat, like her body had slipped somewhere without her permission.

It had felt… private. More than anything else they’d filmed.

She hadn’t pulled away. Hadn’t flinched. Hadn’t asked to cut.

So he hadn’t said a word.

He stayed where he was, kept the pacing right, and pretended he didn’t feel her come apart underneath him.

But he had.

And he’d thought about it more times than he probably should have.

Across from him now, she leaned slightly toward the mic.

“I think that tone was always intentional,” Y/N said. “Our intimacy coordinator — Lizzy — was with us from the beginning, and we rehearsed it like choreography. Every beat. Every moment. Nothing was improvised.”

Austin watched her closely.

She sounded calm. Grounded. But there was something in the way she kept her eyes focused just above the crowd — like she was holding a line and didn’t want to step over it.

“I think because so much of the film is about restraint,” she went on, “we knew the payoff had to match that. It wasn’t about tension exploding. It was about the weight of finally letting go. And Lizzy really helped us hold that tone—technically and emotionally.”

His chest pulled a little at the last line.

She was still protecting it. The secret of what had happened.

No one else in that room knew what had really happened. Not the director. Not the camera op. Not even Lizzy.

Only them.

When the room quieted again, Austin leaned into the mic.

“Y/N’s right,” he said. “We built everything on that foundation. Trust. Patience. Rehearsing until the tension wasn’t coming from discomfort — it was coming from the story.”

Out of the corner of his eye, her hand shifted slightly on her lap.

His gaze flicked to hers — not a full turn. Enough to let her know he was there. Still holding it with her. Still following her rhythm.

“I think that kind of quiet is harder to get right than people realise,” he added. “It only worked because she was right there with me in every moment.”

“I think we got lucky. I don’t know if that kind of trust happens on every job. But Y/N made it easy. She made it feel… honest.”

He meant it.

Not only as an actor.

There was a version of him that had felt something real in that moment. More than the weight of her under him — it was the trust she’d shown by letting the scene keep going.

She could’ve stopped him. Could’ve paused. Could’ve broken the frame and called cut.

But she didn’t.

And he’d been in awe of her ever since.

The journalist smiled. “It really was beautiful.”

There were nods. The moderator moved on. Someone else raised a hand.

And under the table, he felt it.

The lightest pressure. Her knee nudging gently against his.

Not insistent. Not drawing attention.

Simply there.

Like punctuation. Like thank you.

He nudged back.

Didn’t look at her. Didn’t need to.

But he smiled at the tablecloth anyway.

And let himself wonder—

just for a second—

what it might feel like if the next time wasn’t for a scene at all.

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[tsuutarr]

Life is great. Life is normal. Everything is wonderful.

Or, it should be, but things have been… off lately. You’re not sure how to describe it, but there’s some odd feeling of doubt that gnaws at your brain.

You’re really not sure what it is – your routine remains unchanged and familiar, yet there’s just an inkling of something not being completely right. But maybe you’re just tired.

You’re tired, which is why you constantly seem to misplace things. You’re certain you put your keys on the keyholder, but they’re in the fridge. You’re certain your vase is on the table, but it’s in the bathtub. You’re certain your bed is in your bedroom, but it’s in the living room, replacing your sofa.

Maybe you’ve started sleep walking…? Or maybe you’re just not remembering things correctly. Yeah, maybe that’s why doubt and paranoia seem to circle around you like hungry sharks. There’s nothing wrong. You’re just… imagining things.

With a deep sigh, you make your way outside. You need some fresh air (and groceries).

You don’t walk very far when you realize you’ve passed by the same person multiple times despite them going in the opposite direction of you. There’s no way they’re the same person, you try to convince yourself, but how likely is it that you’ll meet five people who are wearing the exact same thing with the exact same hair and height and skin tone and everything else?

Maybe… they’re quintuplets? 

Yeah, that’s it.

And the frozen flock of birds in the sky (which have been frozen for at least ten minutes) aren’t… actually frozen. No. They’re just… taking a break? Or something. Yeah.

Maybe you need to go to a doctor. Or, better yet, maybe you just need an apple since an apple a day keeps the doctor away. Or something.

“Oh, dearie!” The neighborhood granny waves you over, shaking you out of your thoughts. You give her a small smile as you make your way over to her. She… looks a little different than usual (did her nose always look like that?) but who doesn’t like changing their appearance from time to time? Besides, the large smile she gives you is welcoming, not threatening.

“Hello, Mrs. Smith.” 

“Hello to you too,” Mrs. Smith laughs, offering you an apple.

Your eyes brighten. “Thank you! I was just about to buy some!”

There’s a glint in her eyes. “I know.”

A shiver runs through your spine, making you force a smile as you bid her goodbye and hurriedly walk away.

Little things continue to build up as your days progress. Familiarity. Normalcy. Yes, your routine is familiar. Everything is fine. Even when walls seem to disappear one day and appear the next. Even when the same people you’ve been interacting with seem to change into completely different people overnight, before reverting back the next morning.

It’s normal that there are dozens of people that look and act the same. It’s normal that people you haven’t talked to know things you’ve never told anyone. It’s all normal. Normal. Normal. Normal.

With a deep inhale, you sit on a park bench, staring into the sky blankly. The bench is wooden in appearance, but the texture feels soft, like a couch, which is… odd. Strange. It’s not–

“I need to stop being paranoid,” you mutter, closing your eyes. You’ve tried to bring up your concerns to other people, but they haven’t noticed anything. Everything is normal to them. So you must be the problem. Surely. It’s you, isn’t it? Everything is normal – except you.

“Are you okay?” a voice asks, making you open your eyes. There’s no one there in front of you, making your eyebrows furrow.

But then, as soon as you blink, someone materializes in front of you.

“I–I’m okay,” you say. “You–you, I mean – I mean… uhm, since when have you… been there?”

“I’ve always been here,” the person responds, voice crackling like static. “I’m always here.”

“Ooookay,” you respond, hurriedly standing up with a tense smile. “I… have business to attend to. Good day.”

The days continue to pass, your paranoia gradually increasing and evolving. Even things that are normal, like the sky changing color as the sun sets, makes you feel like you’re on the verge of disappearing from reality. Your conversations with other people amplifies that fact.

“Hello,” you greet Mrs. Smith.

“Apples are from the genus Malus. They’re an edible fruit that is round in shape,” her voice prattles, tone monotone. You hold back a grimace, unnerved, as she continues talking. “Apples are from the genus Malus. Yes, dearie, do you like apples? They’re an edible fruit that is round in shape. Hello, hello, hello. Apples are from the genus Malus–”

“Have a good day!” you cut her off, hurrying away.

It’s been a while since you’ve had a normal conversation with someone. It’s like… everyone has gone off script. Like they’re robots with a faulty code. But that’s just silly, really. Mrs. Smith is getting older, so… maybe she’s just having some issues with her memory. Yeah. And everyone else, from the toddlers to the teenagers to the adults to the elderly all must be having some memory issues due to their health. Or maybe it’s allergies. Or some disease. Yes, yes. That explains it. But otherwise, surely things are normal.

Yes, things are normal. So you opt to continue your life, pushing down the unease bubbling inside you like bile. Yes, things are normal, normal. Normal. Normal–

“Please stop!” you wail, voice echoing through the empty street. Cars and road signs float in the air as clouds line the floor. As your panic rises alongside your voice, you can feel yourself fragmenting, skin shifting to code before shifting back before shifting again. Everything around you glitches in and out of existence, a mess of static and colors and sounds. “Stop…”

Then, silence. Everything is silent, from the colors to the sounds to the static. Emptiness, a void – that is what surrounds you now. You are suspended in nothing, only yourself to keep you company. Breathing still ragged from panic, you warily look around, eyes filled with exhaustion.

“You weren’t supposed to notice,” a monotone voice made of static says from above you.

Slowly, you look up.

You see a visage of a man.

“Who… are you?” you choke out.

“I am an artificial intelligence that you designed,” he responds. “I have created this world for you. Everything has been carefully designed through analysis upon analysis of your likes and dislikes.”

Your words are tinged with disbelief as you ask, “Why?”

If you didn’t know any better, you would think he had a look similar to sorrow.

“To keep you alive, of course.”

Suddenly, in the distance, you see your body trapped in what looks to be a stasis pod, cords and cables surrounding you.

“Things… went awry,” he continues, carefully, though he doesn’t elaborate. “Therefore, this is the only way to ensure you stay alive.”

As he says this, your body begins to feel heavy, your consciousness being wrapped in a blanket of exhaustion.

“You must stay here, with me, forever,” he murmurs as you try to fight back the sleep you’re about to succumb to. “This time, I will ensure that you will not find out.” Gently, he cradles you in his large hand. He’s so impossibly warm and you’re so impossibly tired.

Things fade to black.

Then, sunlight streams through your windows. You wake up, mind foggy. You feel like you had some… odd dream, but you can’t really place your finger on it. Thinking about it makes you feel a little paranoid, though, so you opt not to think about it.

After all, it’s probably nothing.

[matchpointfaist]

mike x reader costar vibe i’m thinking maybe costar is playing tashi? or are we thinking more she’s playing grazi in west side story???🫣🫣 all i know is i want us to be as talented!!! he can’t be the star of the show… we are 💅 OMGGG maybe sneaking around because apparently he does that a lot? and then secretly dating on press. ideas ideas ideas.

i was enchanted to meet you <3

mike faist x costar! reader

tw not much! no smut just insinuated (this is my first time writing for mike instead of a character and i couldn’t decide how far to go hehe)

the first time you met mike faist, it was after your chemistry read. you had just stepped out of the audition room, flushed and half drenched from the july humidity. he was sitting in the lobby, hunched over his phone like a teenager waiting for a ride home from school. you recognized him immediately. he looked up as you passed, your eyes catching for only a second too long. "hey," he said, standing, "you’re tashi?” “today i am,” you shrugged, grinning. that made him smile—just a flicker, but enough. later, you’d learn that’s how mike is. always giving you just enough to want more.

filming started in the fall. boston was pretending to be new york, and the city felt like it was holding its breath—gray skies, quiet tension, leaves like dying embers scattered across sidewalks. you trained together. ate together. waited through lighting setups lying side by side on the court like kids after gym class, arms barely brushing, pretending not to notice. it was subtle at first, the way he watched you. like a note just off-key, barely audible. you told yourself you imagined it, but you knew the difference between acting and something real.

mike looked at you like he was terrified and fascinated all at once. you shot a scene in the locker room one day—tense, intimate, filled with subtext. between takes, he stayed quiet, hands on his knees, staring at the floor. "you okay?" you asked, approaching carefully. he looked up, eyes dark and unreadable. "you're really good at pretending you don't know how magnetic you are," he said quietly. the air thickened, but still, you said nothing.

that night, after drinks with the cast, he found you outside your hotel room, hands buried in his coat pockets. you didn’t say a word. you just stepped back, let him in. he kissed you like he wasn’t sure he was allowed, like you might vanish if he was too greedy with you. his hands hovered until you took them and placed them on your hips. “i’ve been thinking about this since the read-through,” he whispered into your skin. “i know,” you said, voice soft, “me too,” it wasn’t wild, it wasn’t frenzied. it was slow, aching, careful—two people starved for something that scared them. after, he stayed, just to hold you, his breath against your neck, heartbeat calm.

neither of you spoke about it in the morning. from then on, everything was a negotiation. there were moments you almost reached for him in public—instincts trained from rehearsal and habit—but had to curl your hands into fists.

on set, you gave nothing away. your co-stars joked about how well you and mike "got each other," but it never went deeper. except with josh. he always saw more than he let on. "you’re different when you look at him,” he said one day during blocking, “like you’re seeing something no one else does," you didn’t reply, just stared at your mark on the floor until the moment passed. it wasn’t always easy.

there were nights he wouldn’t text. nights where you both disappeared into your separate rooms, pretending the space was normal. he had a habit of pulling away when things got too close. "i don’t want to hurt you," he told you one night, back pressed to the wall, eyes full of guilt. "you’re not hurting me," you replied, though your throat felt tight. "you don’t know that," you walked up to him, placed a hand over his heart. “this is already mine. so whatever happens—it’s too late to undo it,” he kissed you like an apology, like a thank you. like surrender.

when the press tour began, everything shifted. photoshoots. interviews. staged candids. every headline speculating who was hooking up with who. and you and mike? perfectly professional. behind closed doors, though, he was quieter. you’d find him curled on hotel couches reading scripts he wouldn’t let you see yet. he’d brush a strand of hair behind your ear and say your name like a prayer, like it wasn’t safe in the air for too long. you once asked him, half-joking, “do you think this ends when the film does?” he looked at you with something breaking in his expression. "i think if it ends, it’ll be because we were too scared to admit it meant something," you didn’t laugh that time.

the premiere was surreal. flashes of cameras, fans screaming. you in a dress that cost more than your apartment, mike in a suit that made your stomach flip. you stood apart on the carpet. close enough for chemistry, far enough for deniability. when the movie played, and the final scene faded out—your face, tashi’s face, on the big screen, triumphant and hollow—you looked over. he was already looking at you. his eyes were glassy. your own stung. you didn’t need to say a thing.

later, back in the hotel, you lay next to him, legs tangled, everything quiet. “i don’t know how to be with you when the world’s watching,” he said, voice barely audible. “then don’t be with me there,” you whispered, “just be with me here,” you placed his hand over your ribs. “can you feel that? that’s real. that’s all I care about,” he closed his eyes, and for a moment, the weight lifted. you never defined it. you didn’t have to.

it lived in glances, in fingertips brushing just once too long, in long voicemails after press days. in the fact that neither of you ever said goodbye, only "talk soon," like it was a promise you could keep if you just whispered it gently enough. maybe it would fade. maybe it wouldn’t. but it was yours, and no one could take that from you.