#very light and floaty maybe

[sodacowboy]

fun sort of chaos today

[apatheticsunday]

Skittles-Flavored Fear

AKA "The Batfam rescue several Gotham-U students from Scarecrow's latest hostage situation. However, Dr. Jonathan Crane becomes obsessed when one student has a strange reaction to the Fear Toxin - extreme exhilaration and giddiness." Based on this prompt!!

Danny knows Ghosts feed on intense emotion to survive; he's never had to, never wanted to because it feels... parasitic. He never thought he'd be drugged with it. Sitting among his fellow students, tied up as the Straw Man or whatever monologues about his evil plans, Danny thought the worst thing that could happen would be hallucinating a dissection table. Maybe the GIW or his parents with gleaming googles and scalpels at the ready.

He doesn't even realize they're already being gassed until Danny takes a breath and tastes... skittles? Like, taffy, frosted cream, and melty-sweet syrup. The more he breathes it in, the more he feels strangely floaty. His head feels both heavy and light, stuffed with cotton, and he can barely even hear. (If he could hear, he'd probably would be horrified by his classmates screaming, writhing in terror all around him like a swarm of buzzing locusts.)

And then somebody - The Straw Man - is looming in front of him, grabbing Danny by the face, and curiously tilting his head. After a moment of contemplation, Straw Man rummages around in his satchel before Danny gets freaking hosed in the face with a concentrated dose of Fear Toxin. And then everything gets better worse. Danny feels euphoric. He's giggling, smiling, head so clouded from the high that he doesn't even notice even Dr. Crane drags him through the crowded lecture hall. Doesn't notice when two goons grab him by the arms and start to haul him toward the exit.

What he does notice is the Straw Man's body slamming into the wall. Several figures blur in shades of black, blue, green, and red as Danny squints to try and focus on at least one of them. Then, somebody - blue and black - is at his side. Danny kind of... slides down the hero's side, legs too wobbly to hold himself up, until the hero has to prop Danny into a half-laying-half-sitting position. Danny's still giggling, slurring something and his hand somehow finds the hero's face, patting it in thanks for the rescue.

It's only when the Big Bat comes over, fits an odd-shaped mask over Danny's face, that he stops smelling candy. Instead, he smells something putrid, almost like formaldehyde, sweat, and... unmentionable body fluids. Danny's head is throbbing like brain freeze and a pressure headache, nausea so intense he can taste it in the back of his throat and cramps in his stomach. One moment he's mumbling 'm gon' throw up and the next he's ripping the mask off his face. Turns to the side and... barfs on Batman. (If he were more coherent, he'd probably be mortified. Maybe even die again of embarrassment. Worse when Nightwing cackles uncontrollably from beside him. Ancients, he'd petted Nightwing!! On the freakin' face!!)

That's the last thing that Danny remembers. He wakes up in the hospital several hours later, several texts from Jazz, Sam, and Tucker saying they're taking the next flight to Gotham. Danny flops back into the hospital bed and groans. Groans louder when he remembers what happened in the lecture hall. At least there's probably a very small amount of people who can say they barfed on the Dark Knight of Gotham and got away with it, right?

(Cue Scarecrow constantly trying to kidnap Danny and the Batfam being put on Danny-watch to make sure he's safe. Maybe also trying to figure out why Danny reacts differently to Fear Toxin, but assume he's an undocumented meta with a unique biology. Danny absolutely thinks he's being stalked by Batman as revenge.)

[hairmetal666]

"Is this always how they act?" Jonathan asks. He has to lean close and yell a little for Robin to hear him over the noise of the house party.

"Yup," she says.

She, Jonathan, and Argyle continue to stare at Eddie, sitting in an easy chair, Steve perched happily on his lap. Eddie has a whole bowl of bbq Lay's, and Steve will lean back for a chip, which Eddie feeds him with a smile.

"And they're definitely not dating?" Argyle asks when Steve leans back to whisper in Eddie's ear, mouth pressed close. It's deeply gratifying that they just got in from California and already they see it.

"Steve says no."

"You think he's lying?" Jonathan asks.

"I think he doesn't realize he likes Eddie yet."

Eddie tugs at Steve's hair, and Steve turns back, gives him a smile that's so intimate Robin can't stare directly at it. Instead, she turns to her friends, but Argyle is still watching Eddie and Steve. He's drumming his fingers against his chin, expression what Robin could only call mischievous.

"What are you planning?" Jonathan asks.

"Just helping some bros find true love."

Jonathan looks mildly concerned but before he can say anything, Nancy makes her appearance. And they're something, becoming something, and she cares about Eddie and Steve getting their shit together, but Nancy is smiling and she's so, so pretty. It's easy to get lost in the blue of her eyes and the sweep of her hair and forget about everything else.

---

A few hours later and they're all sitting around a coffee table in the basement, just the six of them. It's sort of funny, she thinks, how it always ends up being the six of them.

They're crossfaded already, but that hasn't stopped Eddie and Argyle from lighting another joint. Her thoughts have gone light and floaty, all that's holding her to earth the press Steve's leg and Nancy's hand against hers.

Argyle is sort of monologuing and she doesn't think any of them are paying much mind, but then he stops mid-sentence, grips Jonathan's shoulder tight enough that his knuckles go white. "Dudes. What if we played Truth or Dare?"

Nancy snorts. "Not on your life."

"I don't think I can move?" She says. She leans into Steve, sighing with contentment.

"I, for one, would love to see Buckley complete a dare," Eddie says.

She sticks her tongue out at him. "I've done plenty. Band kid, remember?"

"Ugh, curse the horny trumpeters." Eddie slumps on the coffee table in defeat.

"I'll have you know, they were very wholesome games."

Steve squints at her. "Wasn't there an orgy in someone's pool?"

She sniffs, looks away instead of answering, which makes everyone laugh.

"Speaking of sex," Argyle says. "No one catch your eye tonight, Harrington?"

"Wasn't really looking."

"That's new," Jonathan says.

Steve laughs. "I'm tired of hooking up."

He's told her that too, countless times. She thinks the real reason he hasn't dated in months is sitting right next to him, drumming his fingers on the coffee table.

"Maybe you've just lost your touch," Argyle says.

"I have not!" Steve clutches a hand over his heart. "If I wanted to, I could pull any girl upstairs."

"C'mon, my dude, no way you're that good."

"I was!" He looks to Robin, Nancy, Jonathan. "I was, back me up!"

"I don't know, Scoops wasn't your best work," she says.

"No, no, we said Scoops doesn't count! It was the hat. The outfit! I did fine after!"

"I happened to think the sailor costume was very cute," Eddie says.

"Thank you," Steve preens. He shifts away from her to lean into Eddie, who grins.

"I don't think we can trust Eddie's judgement here," Nancy says.

Steve points at her. "Yes, and I remember you being totally uninterested."

She squeaks in indignation, Robin smothering her own giggles behind her hand. "It was--it was hormones!"

"Yeah, very uninterested in me." Jonathan chimes in. There's a little second where no one reacts--the fact that Nancy was technically still with Steve when that happened ringing unspoken between them--before Nancy and Steve start to giggle.

"I've hooked up with everyone I've ever tried to," Argyle chimes in, nonchalant.

"No way," the whole group says.

"I've got the touch."

"C'mon, that literally can't be true just by like...stats," Steve says.

"Don't know what to tell you, my dude." Argyle's smile is smug. "I'm really good."

"You're just jealous," she tells him. She nudges his shoulder so he knows she's joking.

"No! Jealousy has nothing to do with it."

They erupt at that, calling out the obvious lie.

"I'm not upset!" Steve shouts over them. "I'm just saying, it didn't happen. Sorry, Argyle. You have bizzaro charm, but there's no way it has a 100% success rate."

"Sounds like jealousy to me, Stevie." Eddie cocks his head with a smirk.

"Harrington, you're so cute when you're competitive," Argyle says. "Anyway, it worked on--"

"Don't say Jonathan," Nancy, Steve, and Robin all say.

"Hey! Why not me?'

"Well, it's just--" Nancy waves her hand in the air. "You're. I mean. It's not hard."

Jonathan groans, hides his face in his hands as they laugh.

"I'll prove it to you," Argyle says to Steve. "100% success rate."

"What?"

"I'm going to seduce you."

"Oh, shit," she says.

She knows what's going to happen even before Steve puts his hands on his hips, awkwardly cause they're sitting, cocks an eyebrow, and says, "Okay."

Eddie grumbles something she can't make out, but Steve shakes his head, laughs. "Nah, it's just for fun, right?"

"Until it works." Argyle tosses his hair.

Steve rolls his eyes. "Gimme your best shot."

They rearrange around the table, Eddie and Argyle swapping places.

Everyone is quiet for a second, Steve reaches for his drink. "You got great hands, Harrington," Argyle says.

"I--oh, what?" Steve splutters. He goes a little pink, and Robin thinks it's the first time she's seen him this flustered by a compliment.

"Yeah." Argyle takes his hand, traces along his palm and knuckles. "Big. Strong. Like you could really take care of someone."

Eddie kicks the table, sending it rocking, scattering empty cups and chip bags. Steve is crimson, totally oblivious to Eddie's flailing.

"Thanks," he mumbles. He doesn't pull his hand away. Robin, everyone, is riveted.

"No one's ever told you that?"

"No. No one."

"That's too bad. It's probably all about your hair and your eyes and your body."

Steve smiles and it's one she recognizes, flirty and a little wicked. "You noticed my body?"

Argyle laughs. "Oh, c'mon, you know everyone notices that."

"Would you believe it if I told you I don't get enough compliments?"

"Not on your life."

Steve leans into him, giggles. "Well, worth a shot, right?"

"Always. You wanna know the first thing I noticed about you?"

"Ass, right?"

"It was how much you love your friends but you hide it behind a facade of disapproval. Made me think maybe you weren't used to the love you want to give being reciprocated."

They're all locked in on Argyle and Steve, but she notices Eddie flinch, move like he's about to stand, Nancy reaching out to stop him. She thinks, then, for the first time, that maybe this is mean to him. He doesn't know it's not real.

"Oh," Steve says. His voice breaks, a little, and her heart breaks for him. "I--oh."

"Your ass was the second thing I noticed," Argyle quips and the tension around the table breaks, Steve giggling.

With smooth confidence she never would have expected him to possess, Argyle cards his fingers through Steve's hair. "Just had to touch it for myself." His voice is soft.

"That all you want to touch?"

Argyle grins. "Not even a little bit."

She watches, stunned, as Steve leans in, face almost touching Argyle's. Eddie makes a noise, a pained cough, and Steve leaps to his feet.

"I can't kiss you!" He half-yells, stumbling.

"And why not?" Argyle asks. He's got a wild smile on his face.

"I'm in love with Eddie!" Steve's eyes are wide, panicked.

"I'm sorry," Steve says to him. "Eddie, I--"

But before he can get the words out, Eddie's climbing over the coffee table, sending drinks and snacks flying, the calls for him to get down ignored as he trips into Steve's arms.

"You love me?" Eddie asks.

"I'm sorry I couldn't say it before. I--got in my head about it and I--I hoped it didn't seem like I was leading you on because my words kept getting stuck, and--"

"Sweetheart." Eddie stops him. "I--" He breaks off, notices that the rest of them are raptly listening to the confession. "Do you want to go somewhere we can talk?"

They disappear upstairs, and she turns to Argyle in awe. "I can't believe that actually worked."

"What can I say, I'm a miracle worker. Are there more Doritos?"

---

Early in the morning, they're piled in Nancy's station wagon, Jonathan driving them home. She and Nancy are in the middle seat, Steve and Eddie in the back. Steve's curled against him, face pressed to his neck, hidden by a cloud of hair. She wants to ask what happened, how their conversation went, if they're official and how long Steve's known he's in love, but Nancy moves closer, head dropping to Robin's shoulder. Their fingers entwine and Robin closes her eyes, smiles.

"Tomorrow?" Nancy asks.

She nods. "Tomorrow."

[mixolya]

can i request a fluff with rin where reader wants to put makeup on rin 🥲 it'd be so adorable

ᓚᘏᗢ — rin itoshi: pretty boy !

synopsis: in which you convince your boyfriend to let you do his makeup.

rin itoshi x reader ⭑ fluff / softie!rin (my fav) + likes & reblogs are appreciated <3

note: AHHHH THANK YOUUU ANON i love this request omg

"stay still."

rin exhaled through his nose. "i am still."

"no, you're not. you're blinking like i'm threatening you with a knife."

"that's because you are," he muttered. "a very glittery knife."

you snorted, your free hand curling lightly around his shoulder for balance as you leaned in closer.

"you're such a baby," you whispered, tapping a dot of highlighter on the tip of his nose.

he sighed, long-suffering, dramatic but entirely fake. his hands stayed steady around your waist, fingers draped over your hips like they belonged there, which, to be fair, kind of did.

you were straddling his lap, knees tucked on either side of his thighs, your makeup bag beside you on the couch. rin sat still beneath you, back pressed against the cushions, while you carefully painted stars across his cheekbones with soft brushed and too much love.

you'd asked him as a joke, half a joke. okay, maybe not really a joke at all. just soft and teasing and full of affection. it was a lazy sunday afternoon. his head had been in your lap, your fingers in his hair and something about the way the light caught his face made your chest feel all floaty. so you blurted:

"can i do your makeup?"

you expected a no or a weird look. maybe a kiss on the cheek and a "sounds ridiculous, so no."

instead, rin blinked up at you, yawned once and said, "...okay."

which is how you ended up here, settled on his lap with a brush in one hand and his stupidly perfect face in the other.

"you have really nice eyes, you know," you said quietly, blending shimmer onto his eyelids.

he didn't respond, not out loud at least.

but one of his hands moved, slid up the small of your back, fingers splaying between your shoulder blades. just resting there.

you pretended not to notice. you definitely noticed.

"why are you even letting me do this?" you asked, laughing softly as you swept a warm blush across his cheeks. "i thought you'd say no and grumble about it for like an hour."

"i don't mind," he said.

"really?"

"you like it."

you froze for a second. just long enough for it to hit your heart directly.

"...you're such a sap," you mumbled.

"don't care." his voice was quieter now, more serious. "i like it when you touch me."

your breath caught. you paused halfway through reaching for lip gloss.

"oh, okay, wow. rude to just say that out loud."

he raised an eyebrow. "you asked."

you stared at him, flustered and probably getting warmer than he already was. he looked annoyingly calm about the whole thing, even with sparkles on his cheeks and the tiniest bit of mascara on his lashes.

"you're lucky you're pretty," you muttered.

"everyone keeps saying that," he deadpanned.

you laughed so hard you almost fell off his lap. your balance tipped, knees slipping and rin's hands flew to your waist, steadying you in that way he always did.

"careful, hm?" he muttered, but there was a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth now. like watching you be ridiculous warmed something in him he didn't know could be warm.

"thank you... okay, final touch," you whispered, lifting the dior lip gloss he gifted you on valentines day. "pucker up, itoshi."

he rolled his eyes. "never say that again."

"say please," you teased.

he just looked at you, eyes dark but impossibly soft. then, without a word, he leaned in and kissed you. gentle and slow.

"are you done?" he murmured.

you smiled against his mouth.

"yeah," you breathed.

"okay."

© mixolya 2025. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.

[sereia4skz]

Hihi, is it possible to ask for a oneshot extension of that one text fic of poly!ot8 with fox!reader??

The one from your 1.5k event, i get if you wouldn’t though!

oneshot | mine, mine, mine

pairing: sub!Jilix x f!reader | part 1

genre: smut

warnings: technically!poly!OT8 (but only felix and jisung are getting it), fox hybrid!reader, smut, possessive behavior, overstimulation, oral (m!receiving), riding, mating kink, praise, light begging, creampie

word count: 960

masterlist: A-Side (texts) | B-Side (written)

Felix is already whining the second you shift under the blankets.

“Where are you going?” he mumbles, voice gravelly with sleep. His tail wraps around your thigh, and you feel the gentle thump of it swishing against the sheets.

“She’s not going anywhere,” Jisung mumbles from your other side, arms clumsily tightening around your waist. His nose nuzzles your shoulder as his voice melts into a tiny, sleepy whimper. “She wouldn’t leave her babies.”

Your ears twitch at the sound of it, her babies. And your tail flicks behind you, just once, before curling softly across Jisung’s hip.

“‘Course I wouldn’t.” You hum, voice smooth, drowsy. You roll onto your side to face them, and both of them shift in immediately, Felix tucking into your chest, Jisung sliding a thigh between yours, practically purring when he settles.

They’re warm and pliant and so very clingy. Maybe it’s the heat still simmering in their marks, purple and pink, healing over on their necks, glowing faintly under your scent. You’d claimed them both last night, fully, thoroughly. Teeth sunk in, fingers gripping hard, both of them moaning through it with the filthiest sobs you’ve ever heard.

Despite all the boys going on about their day after last night, these two were quick to come back to bed. The memories of the previous night keep them so needy. Now they won’t let go of you. Not that you mind.

“Mmm, sunshine,” you murmur, brushing Felix’s hair back from his eyes, “you’re burning up.”

He lets out a soft sigh and nudges closer. “Feel floaty…”

Jisung nods, eyes fluttering open sleepily. “Like we’re still in heat. It’s ‘cause of you.”

You grin, teeth flashing just a little too sharp. “Because I fucked you so good?”

They both squirm.

“…yes,” Felix whispers.

You kiss his forehead, then tilt your head to nose at Jisung’s temple. “You poor things. All needy again already?”

Jisung’s ears flatten shyly. He nods.

You hum thoughtfully and lean back against the pillows. “Guess I better take care of my good boys.”

Their ears perk immediately, Felix practically lights up.

“Lay back,” you instruct gently, patting Felix’s chest. “Let me see my sunshine.”

He obeys like it’s instinct, rolling onto his back, legs slightly parted, the most pathetic little whine leaving his throat as your tail brushes between them. His cock’s already hard, twitching against his stomach.

“Look at you,” you purr, crawling between his thighs, “not even five minutes and you’re already begging.”

Felix blushes deep, lips parted, hands gripping the sheets. “Not begging-”

“You will be.”

You drag your tongue up the underside of his cock, slow and warm, and Felix whimpers so sweetly that Jisung’s hips rock against your thigh. You don’t even have to look at him to know he’s hard too, pressing up against you for attention.

You don’t ignore him, of course. One hand strokes Felix, lazy and teasing, while the other reaches back to grip Jisung’s hip and keep him pressed against you.

“Patience, Hannie,” you coo. “You’ll get your turn.”

Jisung lets out a breathy moan and hides his face in your shoulder. “You’re mean.”

You grin. “You like it.”

Felix arches under your mouth, hands flying to your hair, and you hum low in your throat as you take him in fully, nose brushing his pelvis. His hips jerk, helplessly. You hold him down.

“Good boy,” you whisper against his skin. “You always taste so sweet.”

Felix moans, breath catching. “You’re gonna- m-make me-”

You pull off just enough to tease him. “Already?”

He nods frantically, eyes glossy.

You let him. You make him, really, tight suction, strokes that don’t pause for a second, until he gasps out your name and spills with a choked cry, back arching completely off the bed. You stroke him through it gently, cooing praise as he shudders in your grasp.

And then you let Jisung roll you onto your back. “My turn,” he whispers, face flushed, eyes glazed over like he’s high on your scent. “Need you so bad, noona…”

You let your thighs fall open.

He doesn’t waste time, slides between them, grinding against you like a desperate pup, cock hot and wet and rutting where he knows you want him. You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in.

“Beg.”

Jisung whines against your mouth. “Please. Please let me make you feel good, wanna be inside, wanna feel you, mommy…”

You moan low and grip his ass, guiding him in with one smooth thrust.

“Fuck Hannie- yes,” you pant, nails sinking into his hips. “Such a good boy for me.”

He whimpers into your neck, already trembling, moving with fast, messy thrusts. He’s so loud, soft whines and stuttered gasps, his voice a constant stream of praise and need:

“You’re so warm- feels so good- don’t wanna stop-”

You wrap your arms around him and fuck up into him hard enough to make him sob.

You’re close, and so is he, so you tilt your hips just right and grind until he’s gasping your name into your ear and spilling inside you, thick and hot, filling you up just the way he knows you like.

You clench around him and finish with a soft, breathless moan, your tail curling over his spine protectively.

You hold him like that for a long time.

Felix eventually crawls back over, still a little dazed, and nuzzles into your chest while Jisung lies boneless between your thighs, cock still twitching inside you.

You hum, running your claws gently down their backs.

“You two are so cute when you’re fucked out.”

They groan in perfect sync. And then Felix mutters into your chest:

“…Wanna go again later.”

You laugh, low and sharp.

“Of course you do, sunshine.”

taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o @hug4helios @oksullen @rileylovescats @dreamyfelixx @yxna-bliss @turtledove824 @enhacolor @skzz0213 @hannahlue @purplelady85 @velvetmoonlght @inishij @bangchanspineapple @straykids4lifeee @peskybirdysya @gnabsss

[lewisvinga]

my shot | alex albon x fem! reader x lily muni he

summary; after admitting in an interview about their crush on a certain youtuber, alex and lily decide to shoot their shot through instagram

fc; tara yummy

warnings; ?? none i think

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1

notes; requested ! i’m obsessed w tara yummy rn

masterlist !

liked by lilymhe, alex_albon, and others !

yourusername: let’s go to the beach each

username: the shirt 😭😭😭

username: i just know y/n was struggling in the 5 ft end

yourusername: i was , i suck at swimming 🤕🤕

lilymhe: crazy i know how to swim !

username: lily what are u doing here 😭😭

username: the last picture is so cunty i love it

username: she’s so queen

username: not lily and alex in the likes 😭

alex_albon: let’s go get a wave

yourusername: they say what they gonna say

alex_albon: have a drink, clink, found a bud light

yourusername: bad bitches like me are hard to come by

lilymhe: you are the baddest bitch

username: this comment thread ???😭😭

username: alex albon’s attempt at flirting it just singing nicki minaj

username: he has a gf tho

username: you can’t tell me they both aren’t in love w her…

yourusername uploaded to their story !

[caption 1; last few days here 😴] [caption 2; tanning bc i can’t swim]

lilymhe replied to your story !

lilymhe so you really can’t swim?

yourusername lol i suck at it, i always use floaties when i’m in the pool & i refuse to go in the ocean😭

lilymhe maybe if we happen to be in the same place , i can teach you😁😁

yourusername you just wanna see me in a bikini don’t you🥴

lilymhe i mean yes. deleted !

lilymhe just helping a girl out and shooting my shot?😁😁

yourusername ur cute

lilymhe and i think ur cuter

yourusername you and….

lilymhe alex and i think you’re cute 😁

yourusername: i’ll be at the miami gp btw, maybe you both can teach me how to swim😌

lilymhe oh, we’re ready, pretty girl

alex_albon replied to your story !

alex_albon heyyyy[100% rizz]

yourusername: oh your girlfriend is much better at this than you are

alex_albon i’m trying 😔

alex_albon but i managed to pull her anyways 🤓

yourusername you’re a dork but it’s cute🤕

alex_albon so me shooting my shot is working?😁😁

yourusername oh 100%

alex_albon a little birdie told me you’re going to the miami gp?

yourusername yeah, might be dressed in ferrari red

alex_albon why not williams blue? you should come to our garage instead 😁

yourusername hmmm u gotta convince me, pretty boy 🧐

alex_albon well, lily and i will be there , isn’t that enough?

yourusername you’re right ,

yourusername i’ll see you in the williams garage then, pretty boy😇

liked by lilymhe, alex_albon, and others !

yourusername: i like to see cars racing now i guess

tagged; lilymhe, alex_albon, williamsracing

williamsracing: the cuntiest guest in our garage

yourusername: why thank u admin

lilymhe: ugh you’re gorgeous 😩

yourusername: hello?? you’re the most gorgeous 🥴🥴

lilymhe: in my f1 driver era liked by yourusername !

alex_albon: i feel so special knowing i had the 2 prettiest girls ever rooting for me

yourusername: you’re a dork but i’ll cheer for u every race 🤓

username: OMG HELLO😀

username: my fave youtuber and f1?? i’m so??

username: alex lily n y/n are acting very suspicious…….🧐🧐🧐

username: i just wanna know how this all happened

username: imagine lily and alex sliding into her dms 😭😭😭

username: they’re just like me fr

username: i gotta be REAL honest w y’all, they’d look hot asf as a throuple

username: oomf are u insane

username: look at oomf dawg😭😭😭

username: no i get it

[chilling-seavey]

TWIG idea here about that one where George forgot to pick up his little girl from the daycare and she’s giving him a cold shoulder… house silent at night, everyone sleeping apart George who’s fully awake staring at the ceiling and his little princess quietly sneaking into the bedroom with sad eyes, clutching on her stuffed animal longing for the cuddle from daddy, because she misses him and can’t fall asleep 🥺

This is the cutest fucking thing ever and really, truly, just what I needed to write tonight. Ily <3 Continuation of this

The house was dark and quiet; that kind of quiet that feels loud. George could feel the silence echoing in his head, the airtime filled with nothing but the parental guilt of forgetting to pick up his little girl from nursery already two days ago. Two days of his four-year-old daughter virtually ignoring his existence. That little girl could seriously hold a grudge. Somewhere in his sleep deprived mind, he wondered if he should enroll her in karting due to that fact. His mind was truly everywhere. 

Beside him, you slept soundly, four months pregnant and already cuddling your pregnancy pillow more than him. It was fine, you ran hot when pregnant, like a full on personal furnace, so he didn’t mind the extra space. Besides, he was tossing and turning enough that if you had been trying to snuggle, you definitely would have been woken up by then. 

George sighed and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, rubbing them until he saw those floaty shapes for a second, and then he dropped his arms back down on the bed. The sound of your steady breathing was almost soothing and almost infuriating, reminding him that he, too, should have been fast asleep.

Before he could silently berate himself for not being able to sleep when the entirety of Europe was probably able to, the sound of the bedroom door opening piqued his attention. Call it paternal instincts but right away, his entire attention snapped to the soft patting of footsteps across the hardwood and then, the shadowy figure of the aforementioned four-year-old appeared around the corner. 

She stood there in the pitch black room with her favourite stuffed bunny in her arms and even through the dark, George could see her pout. He lowered a hand off the side of the bed to call her over and she came scurrying over and her little hand wrapped around his fingers.

“Hey, jellybean,” he whispered so as to not wake you, giving your daughter his full attention and a caress of her tiny hand, “why are you up?”

“No sleep,” she mumbled.

“Can’t sleep?” he repeated softly, “Daddy can’t sleep either.”

She had the sweetest, saddest look on her face and he couldn’t help but reach out to stroke her cheek, still a little pudgy with lingering baby fat. His heart skipped a beat at merely the sight of her, like it always did. 

Her hands reached up to him at the side of the bed, “Daddy cuddle?”

George glanced back at you still soundly asleep across the spacious bed and then he looked back to his little girl with his very same pleading eyes. He carefully pushed the covers down and swung his legs off the side of the bed and he picked her up by the armpits as he stood up. Right away, she snuggled into his chest as he held her in his arms, like nothing had been wrong. 

“Maybe we need a midnight snack and then some cuddles,” George whispered to her as he carried her out of the primary bedroom and into the hallway. 

Completely entrusting of her father, the toddler held onto him as he took her downstairs and into the kitchen. It was well past midnight and the silent house was bathed in the moonlight, your spacious property in the English countryside allowing for limited light pollution from the surrounding neighbourhoods. That made nights like this easier, allowing only the illumination of the moon to guide them through the house and into the kitchen, no need for bright lights to be turned on. 

George sat your daughter on the kitchen counter and the peace of the darkened house was interrupted momentarily by the light of the fridge as he opened it and took out the carton of milk. The little girl squinted and blinked at the sudden brightness but he shut the fridge just as quickly and poured them each a glass—a proper glass for him and a pink plastic cup for her—and microwaved them until they were comfortably warm. She watched him closely as he worked, always in awe of everything her father did. 

When the microwave beeped, he took out the cups of warm milk and passed hers to her before taking his spot in front of her. He held his glass out with a soft, “Cheers.”

She carefully bumped her cup against his and then they both took a sip. It had always been something from childhood that he remembered on nights when he couldn’t sleep, how his mum would warm him up a glass of milk and it would do the trick in calming him back to dreamland. It was one of the best parts of parenthood, he found, continuing those traditions and memories with his own little ones. 

“Yummy?” he asked her softly. 

The little girl pulled her cup from her mouth, the moonlight catching on the stripe of milk left behind along her upper lip, and she nodded, “Yummy.”

George smiled and leaned down to kiss her forehead. He bent down a little more to get a bit closer to eye level to her, taking a bit more of a serious yet warm tone, “You are one of my favourite people in the whole world, you know that? And I’m really sorry for missing your pick up time the other day.”

She stared at him over the rim of her plastic cup as she drank her milk as if hearing him out. 

“Sometimes grownups forget to check the time but I can’t ever forget you. Never ever. You’re daddy’s most special girl.”

She took her cup from her lips and nodded with a small sigh, holding it out to him to take, indicating she was done. Done her milk, done with her grudge…perhaps both. George kissed her forehead and then took her empty cup from her and set it in the sink with his own half-finished glass. He wiped her mouth with the pad of his thumb and when she lifted up her arms again, her bunny’s ears clutched in one hand, he scooped her back up. 

He walked slowly back upstairs, rocking her a little more than usual with each step, one arm under her bum and the other rubbing his hand over her back in soothing motions. She grew heavier in his arms as she fought against sleep, her face smushed against his shoulder and arms limp around his neck. 

In her bedroom down the hall, her princess castle night light was still on, casting pink-hued dots and stars across her bedroom ceiling. Her bedsheets were pushed back from where she had climbed out earlier to find him and George carefully supported her head as he bent over and laid her down again. She shifted to get comfortable before melting into her pillow, almost dwarfed by the full adult size double bed, heavy eyes blinking up at him. 

George pet a hand over her head and leaned down to press a lingering kiss to her forehead.

She held up her stuffed bunny to him, “Bunny too.”

Of course, George also gave the bunny a kiss on the forehead. The little girl smiled sleepily and snuggled the toy to her chest, blinking up at him. 

“Cuddles, Daddy,” she demanded sleepily, her little accent thick with tiredness. 

“Of course, jellybean,” he chuckled warmly, “Scoot over.”

She shifted over a little more to give him room to join her in her bed and he pulled the pink gingham duvet over the both of them. He held his arm out and she snuggled right up against him, having done so for her whole entire life. She was a sweet little girl but she only felt bigger and bigger every time George held her; she was growing up far too fast. Where was his tiny newborn baby who barely fit in the crook of his arm?

His fingers danced in gentle twirling shapes over her back, soothing her to sleep like he so often did. She was out in no time, snoring lightly against his chest in the cutest snores he had ever heard, and he laid there in her princess room and just watched her sleep, completely entranced by her. Sometimes, looking at his children like that, George could feel like his heart might have burst right out of his chest. 

He leaned in, careful not to jostle her, and pressed another soft kiss to the top of her head, whispering a quiet and raw, “I love you.” before he, too, joined her in dreamland.

♡ Enjoying my content? Support my writing here :)

♡ None of the original writing on this blog may be reproduced, reposted, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

[jilixthinker]

SKZ AS SUBS - MAKNAE LINE 🥀

as the self-proclaimed sub!skz ambassador, i felt the need to share my version to the internet just because this was boiling inside of my brain for too long, so... i am sorry ♡

content warning: sub!skz, dom!fem reader, unprotected sex, mention of subspace, dacryphilia, perv tendencies, overstimulation, light BDSM, boob sucking, mommy kink, noona kink, anal play (m receiving), cross dressing, feet play, lactation kink, food play, dumbification, pet play, choking, breeding kink, cum play, virgin, reversed corruption kink, sex toys, masturbation, oral sex (both receiving)

HYUNG LINE MAKNAE LINE

➛ Han

- whiny™️. the word whiny was created for hannie himself. he becomes a sobbing mess after just one second of you touching him, even if it's not sexual;

- dacryphilia will soon become one of your biggest kinks, even if you didn't explore it before meeting him. he cries, pants, sobs and hiccups at every slight friction and will plead to not to stop, ever;

- tears are not the only thing making your boy messy. because he also drools. a lot. he does it when he is on top of you, face hidden in the crook of your neck, and when it's you topping him, cheek pressed into the soaked pillow under his head;

- with hannie you are gonna have multiple rounds almost everytime. he doesn't last too much, poor angel, because he is always overwhelmed with how warm and tight and wet you feel and he just cannot hold himself. he recovers very fast though, and he will happily suck you into his mouth in those few minutes of waiting;

- be prepared, because he is horny 24/7, and gets pussydrunk very quickly. he is up to anything you can give him? handjob before going to work? quickie in the restroom? filthy audios to keep him satiated? he wants it all;

- he has slight perv tendencies. it's consensual of course, and you told him multiple times that you are perfectly fine with everything he does, but he likes to pretend you don't know. the rush of adrenaline he gets by stealing your panties to bring them to work and taking dirty photos of you when you are not looking makes him feel dirty, and he likes it;

- since he cums really quickly and he is very horny all the times, i can see him being into overstimulation. he will beg you to keep circling the palm of your hand on his cockhead until he almost squirms away, and then he will cum for a second time in a few seconds;

- he has a filthy mouth, and he won't shut up under any circumstance. your neighbors probably hate you;

- he likes to be as submissive and yours as possible. he loves being your little toy to play with, and he will often ask you to finger his mouth as if it was his pussy, and to tie him so he cannot move to much and be completely under your control;

- he prefers when you ride him. he loves seeing you ravishing him and milk him dry, but especially because he just can't get enough of your boobs. when you stay on top he can bury his face on them and suckle at your nipples until your chest is all covered in drool;

- kind of obvious but he has a mommy kink/noona kink, and calling you that while you are fucking him makes his brain feel floaty and fuzzed. "Please noona, oh f-fuck, please - ah nnghh - p-please mama, mommy, let me cum, mama - uhh".

- he is into anal play, but for him. hannie will ask you to finger him, fuck him with your strap, rim him and put a plug in his cute wiggly butt at least once a week. he feels like your princess like that, he cannot help it.

➛ Felix

- here we have him, angel boy lixie. the softest, the sweetest, the embodiment of love. just a look at him and you would give him the entire universe;

- just as binnie, i think that also felix would be into cross dressing. he buys all the pink lacey underwear that he can find on the internet, and he pairs them with pleated skirts and high stokings;

- he will also add a few cute ribbons on his hair, and maybe a little bit of make up too. a rosey eyeshadow, shiny highlighter and glossy lipstick, better if sticky. he will let you fuck him without taking anything off, just pull the panties apart and slide his puffy cockhead on your folds until he cums prettily all over himself;

- he loves you so much he almost worships you. whenerver he is intimate with you, you will always find him looking at you fondly, tears almost prickling his eyes. he cannot help it, he just feels so much when you are together that he cannot believe how lucky he is;

- lixie has particular kinks, but he loves every single inch of you, and he will make sure to let you know. i have the feeling he would love feet stuff a little bit more than he wants to admit. especially when you are chilling on the sofa together, and your sole presses too close to his groin. he always feels a little aroused and filthy for the fact he enjoys this kind of stimulation;

- another mommy kink enthusiast here. he loves being cuddled and pampered by you. the nickname falls naturally out of his lips whenever you give him pleasure, and he sounds so innocent while doing it that it becomes an habit also out of the bedroom;

- lixie loves your breasts. he massage them to fall asleep and he suck on them as a comfort whenever he feels a little bit overwhelmed or fuzzy into his headspace. he like to be babied like that, to be lulled in your arms while he suckles softly on your nipples with pouted lips;

- and this led to his lactation kink. he is not ashamed of asking you to pretend to brestfeed him whenever he is stressed out. "b-baby please, gimme your milk, it was an awful day, p-please";

- he will need a lot of physical touch, such as holding hands, hugging and kissing. He loves every position in which he can be as close to you as he can;

- he wants and gives baby talk all the time. every cute nickname is okay for him, but his favorite are love, angel, sweetheart and sugar;

- definively into food play. he will take every chance to play with you while cooking and baking, sweet hiccups while you twirl your tongue on the head of his honey-dripping cock and lap at his sweet balls underneath;

- talks in 3rd person while in subspace. "uh- mommy, a-angel.. lix -uggghn- l-lixie is cumming, oh god, lixie is c-cumming".

➛ Seungmin

- i am a strong believer that seungmin is the hardest sub of all the boys. whenever he is in the bedroom his personality will shift drastically until he becomes a brainless needy thing;

- minnie is always so stoic and composed in real life that he just needs to let go. sex for him is the only way he can empty his head and give you the absolute control of his body;

- that's why he immediately falls into his subspace as soon as you get intimate with each other. he cannot conceive any other way of loving you than to give you complete power over him;

- i can see him being into light humiliation and dumbification. minnie needs to be useful for you and he will do anything to fulfill your desires. he gets off on the feeling of being your toy and your sexual object, and the embarassment he feels whenever you call him your dumb thing makes his head spin;

- for this exact reason, he is into pet play as well. he loves to be reduced as a silly puppy who needs to earn his treats. whenever you make him kneel in front of you to take food directly from your hands, his cock is always red and leaky against his lap. you often let him hump your calf and stop him just before he cums just to see him crying and pleading for you;

- after a few months, he will probably ask you to explore choking on him. you establish a few rules and safe words before you try that, and the way he just mewls while you lightly restrain his breath will convince you to do it more often;

- minnie needs to be owned. he will ask you to give him a tiny collar with your name on it, and he will wear it everywhere, even at work, hidden under his clothes;

- he always follows your orders diligently, but he enjoys his punishments a little bit too much as well. he pretends not to, because he wants to be your good pup, but he cannot hide the way his wet cock almost drools with precum every time your hand slap the soft fat of his butt, or the back of his balls;

- being so utterly in love with you, he will quickly develop a breeding kink. he cannot hold himself whenever he hears your voice tempting him, and he will cum the hardest if you combine it with a little degradation. "is my little pup ready to breed? mmh... i'm not sure. dumb pup is so weak to fill me up with his cum, isn't he? but you can try, puppy, you can try stuffing me full of your babies."

- and, of course, he is the weakest for cum play. especially if you let him lap his own release out of your folds after he emptied his load inside of you;

- another non verbal baby. as soon as you start pleasuring him, he will not be able to form a single sentence anymore. just sighs, sobs, soft moans and mewls;

➛ I.N

- here we go, another sub enthusiast here!! sweet, lovely innie is so happy of being with you that just cannot wait to try everything that he can;

- i can see him being a virgin before meeting you. not because he didn't have the opportunity of experiencing sex with anyone, but because he wanted to wait for his true love and be as confortable as possible;

- that's why he quickly develops a reversed corruption kink. innie wants - no, he needs - you to ruin him for good. he wants to feel little and inexperienced under your gaze. he wants to know that you are there for him, to teach him and guide him until he knows how to pleasure and be pleasured;

- after the first stages, he becomes unsatiable. he will ask for you to fuck him multiple times a day. poor baby will make up for all the time he lost!;

- he wants to try as many sex toys as he can. he will probably buy a bunch randomly without even know how to use them, and then place them neatly on your bed while waiting for you to show him the way they work;

- he gets pussydrunk pretty fast. he loves eating you out and fingering you the most. as soon as he is confident enough, he will ask you to sit on his face and ride his tongue until you cum on him;

- the prettiest soft grunts while you ride him or you manhandle him, "uh, nnnngh, ff-fuck, ahhh, oh g-god";

- thigh guy for sure. he goes crazy every time he sees you in a short skirt or in a tight pair of jeans. he will look at your legs so much he will almost go crossed-eye and will mentally pray for you to suffocate him with them as soon as you come back home;

- he loves to watch you masturbating. he will sit obediently at the foot of your bed, enraptured by the schlick sound of your fingers pushing in and out of your wet pussy, baby boy almost salivating at the sight;

- call him a simple guy, but he cums the hardest with sloppy blowjobs. he knows he has to stay still, but he usually cannot handle it till you give him permission and will end up thrusting in your mouth just a couple of times before you smack his ass and bring him back to his place;

- another noona lover here. he just loves the feeling of your experienced hands guiding him into pure bliss and to be called your pretty little boy;

- "noona, what was that? oh-ohhh g-god that feels amazing, p-please do it again."

taglist: @jisunglyricist @hannahhhhs-things @hyuniehwa @changisworld @hyunjinhoexxx @yoobears @rockstrhanji @yongboks-stuff @taliavaleska @hw4-l1z @4-chan-inpadella @k-cock @biglipsfattits @vanillacupcakefrosting @simpity-wimpity

if you see your name in bold, it means that I couldn't tag you!

©️ jilixthinker, 2024. please do not copy, translate, or republish my works anywhere.

[nizhspo]

genre: haikyuu imagine, fluff, suggestive

pairing: atsumu miya x fem!reader

summary: late night drive w/ a stranger

notes: i am very proud of this and i love this nigga atsumu so fucking much

may 25th – 8:38 p.m.

lsu campus, baton rouge

you didn’t plan to leave your dorm tonight.

you were supposed to watch boondocks reruns on your laptop with a sheet mask half-melted to your chin, bask in your edible glow, and fall asleep with your fan on medium.

instead, you’re digging through the bottom of your half-empty drawer, ripping through loose socks, a tangled charger, and a half-torn syllabus from february, cursing every decision you’ve made this semester.

FLO: your period may start in 2 days!

you blinked at the screen like it betrayed you.

you had three tampons left. maybe two if the box is lying.

and the vending machine in the dorm lobby? broken. and even when it worked, it only ever stocked off-brand pads that felt like diapers.

“god,” you mutter, dragging a hand down your face. the edible has you all floaty and warm, but it’s no match for the rising dread of that first cramp creeping up when you’re unprepared.

you sit back on your bed, hoodie sliding off one shoulder, and pull open your floor groupchat.

you: anyone driving off campus tonight? i’ll buy you food

you: i just need to hit target real fast

you: please i’m desperate i will venmo you five dollars and my soul

nothing. just the “delivered” tag mocking you.

you sigh. stretch out on your mattress and stare at the ceiling fan. the air is thick. sticky. the edible is kicking in more now; your limbs feel slow, sunkissed. your mouth tastes like the cherry lollipop you popped earlier just to have something sweet.

then:

atsumu: i gotta drop smth off to my brother

atsumu: store on the way. u good w that?

you stare at his name for a second.

atsumu miya.

that boy from your psych class. two rows back. always lounging like the seat owes him something. black t-shirts. cocky grin. never takes notes but always manages to answer questions out loud like he already knew.

you’ve never actually spoken to him—maybe once, passing each other in the student union. maybe not even then.

but he knows your name. you know his.

you shoot back:

you: that’s perfect, thank uuuu i’ll meet you outside in like 5?

atsumu: bet

atsumu: i’ll be parked near the quad. black honda. lights on.

you hop up. tug on your purple and gold lsu sweats—the ones with the cracked logo at the thigh, and throw on a tank top. you debate a bra.

decide against it. too hot. too much effort. and it’s just a ride.

you grab your phone, keys, and a mini wallet and step out into the hallway.

outside, the air clings to your skin like honey. thick, warm, slow.

it’s not fully dark yet, but the sky’s sliding toward purple, soft strokes of peach and navy bleeding out behind the buildings. the year’s bleeding out too, really. campus feels like a half-finished thought. windows dark. dorm doors cracked but silent. the echo of summer just beginning to stretch her arms.

you’re standing on the curb and your tank top’s sticking to your back where it meets skin, the fabric of your shirt brushing your chest every time you move. your nipples perked the second you hit the hallway air, and now they’re brushing against the fabric with every breath. every step. your arms are crossed tight.

your phone buzzes in your palm.

atsumu: you see me?

the bass from his car gives him away long before the headlights do: low and rolling, some beat-heavy loop bleeding through the speaker system. not obnoxious, just… lived in. the kind of car that’s seen late-night drives before. fast food bags in the backseat. dusty sports duffels. a hoodie curled in the passenger side footwell like someone tossed it off mid-drive.

you spot him through the windshield, one arm hooked out the driver’s side, fingers tapping against the glass, phone glowing in his lap. he’s got on a black tee, soft and worn, that clings to his chest and shoulders like a second skin. his sweatpants are gray and low-slung. thick thighs spread in the seat. blonde strands blow with the breeze.

you pull the door open and climb in, closing it behind you with a soft thunk.

and immediately—

air-conditioning hits you like a gust. cold and hard and perfect. it’s blasting full speed from the dash vents, and your skin tightens under it. a visible shiver runs down your arms, across your chest.

“seatbelt,” he says, not looking.

you buckle up.

he does glance over then, just once, and the look in his eyes lingers. not in a gross way, just… aware.

he clocked it. your shirt. the way you crossed your arms. the sudden alertness in your posture. you look back at him with a little raise of your brow, daring him to say something.

he doesn’t. just turns the music down and rests one hand on the wheel.

“you good?”

his voice is low and easy, eyes flicking to yours just briefly before returning to the road. he doesn’t sound worried, just tuned in like he’s been watching your body language the whole time. his hand shifts slightly on the wheel, thumb tapping once against the leather grip.

“yeah,” you say. “just cold.” your arms tighten a little over your chest. your tank’s thin, and the AC’s been hitting the same spot on your collarbone for the last five minutes.

you tuck your chin slightly into your shoulder, trying not to look like you’re reacting too much, but your voice still comes out a little breathier than you meant.

“mhm. i can turn it down.”

his hand is already reaching for the dial, fingers brushing the silver knob, but he doesn’t move it until you answer.

“no, it’s fine. feels good.” you glance at him as you say it, your tone soft. honest. something about the cold air feels grounding. like it’s keeping you sharp even as everything else starts to feel slow and warm and easy.

a beat. the kind that hums thick with unsaid things.

“you high?” he asks, casual.

his mouth curves just slightly, like he already knows the answer. he keeps his eyes on the road, but his posture shifts, more relaxed now. like this version of you makes sense to him.

you snort. “a little.”

the confession slips out with a grin, half-embarrassed and half not. your voice lifts on the end, playful.

his mouth twitches. “thought so. your eyes are red.” he finally looks at you again. it’s quick, but his gaze lingers just a second longer than before. not judging. not teasing. just noticing. and the way he says it? like it’s a detail he’s been sitting on since you climbed in.

you glance at the mirror. they are. not bright-red, just rimmed pink, soft around the edges. like your bones have finally exhaled.

“edible,” you say. “i earned it.”

he nods. “finals?”

“last one on tuesday. stats. i hate it.”

“but you studied.”

you shrug. “enough to pass. figured i’d celebrate a little.”

“respect.” he taps the wheel. rolls the window down two inches.

and the music’s back, some local r&b station, static under the beat, bass rumbling low. the kind of song you don’t know the name of but already like. you hum without thinking, tapping your fingers on your knee.

he turns onto a side road, past the edge of campus. the lights thin out. you smell grill smoke in the distance—maybe someone barbecuing near the dorms. maybe a food truck tucked near the rec center. it’s the kind of night where everything feels close and far at the same time. stretched. golden. soft around the edges.

“you always ride like this?” you ask.

“like what?”

“music up. windows down. driving aimless.”

“you callin’ me aimless?”

“i’m callin’ you vibey.”

he laughs under his breath, glancing at you again.

“nah. i usually ride alone. but this ain’t bad.”

you sink into the seat more. let your head rest against the window. the glass is warm from earlier sun. the car smells like pine and something sweeter. his cologne, maybe. maybe lotion. you glance at his hands on the wheel. veiny. strong. knuckles dark from sun.

“where you from?” you ask.

“hyogo,” he says, grinning. “nah, i’m playin’. nola. me and my brother samu both.”

“so you stayed close.”

“scholarship made it worth it. and i like it here. feels familiar.”

“i get that.”

a pause. the kind that doesn’t need to be filled.

“you got any family out here?” he asks.

“my cousin. she’s in grad school up the road.”

“you like it here?”

“i like the food. i like the heat when it’s not suffocating.”

“but?”

“but it’s hard sometimes. feel like everyone here already knows each other, y’know?”

“yeah,” he says, after a moment. “i felt that way too, at first.”

you look at him. he looks at the road. the lines on his face are soft in the passing lights. like he’s thinking more than he’s saying.

you ride like that for a while. quiet. just the wind through the crack in the window and the occasional cough of static from the radio.

you pass target without realizing it.

he doesn’t turn in.

“wait—”

“i’mma hit samu’s first,” he says. “if that’s cool.”

you blink. “you were supposed to go after—”

“yeah, but i figured you weren’t in a rush. and i need to drop this off now before he leaves. won’t be long. five minutes max. you can stay in the car. i’ll leave the air running.”

you hesitate. you’re warm now. skin soft under the buzz.

he just nods, one hand loose on the wheel, his other fingers toying with the car’s AC dial like muscle memory.

the ride settles quiet again, not heavy, just full. full of the kind of silence that swells around two people still orbiting one another. you shift your weight slightly, arms crossed over your chest, chilly from the vent’s cold air but not asking to turn it down.

you pass gas stations and streetlights and the occasional beat-up sedan with no headlights on. the further you get from campus, the more the world softens: less concrete, more trees. more overgrown grass climbing fences. more sky above you, bruising deep with night.

you keep glancing at him in the low light.

the radio’s humming a 90s r&b loop now, a song you halfway know. his fingers drum on the wheel, a lazy rhythm, wrist flexing just enough to catch the veins on his arm. his nails are clean, cut short. the smell of him curls warm in your nose, faint cologne with a sharper edge of deodorant and skin.

not like he sprayed himself up, just like this is what he smells like after a day.

he doesn’t speak. doesn’t fill space for the sake of it. just drives like he always does this. like driving late into southern dusk with a soft-eyed girl riding shotgun is routine.

“you sure your brother’s home?” you ask after a minute, eyes tracing the power lines out the window.

“yeah,” he says. “told me to bring his charger. left it in my room again.”

you smile. “he does that often?”

“every damn week.”

you laugh, then sigh, pressing your shoulder to the window.

he turns off the main road and coasts into a quiet neighborhood with narrow streets, older houses, cars parked half-up on lawns. porch lights glow dim gold. a sprinkler clicks on somewhere behind a fence.

when he finally pulls into a gravel driveway, you can hear it crunch under the tires.

“you can come in,” he says again, shifting into park. “or stay out here with the AC. i’ll leave the car on.”

you nod. “i’ll come in. i gotta pee anyway.”

his lips twitch up. “figured.”

you both climb out. the heat clings to you instantly, humid, heavy, like breath on your skin. the night smells like cut grass, faint barbecue, and the lingering burn of car rubber from someone doing too much up the street earlier.

he leads the way up the steps. knocks once, then turns the knob.

you walk in behind him, and the smell of the house hits you first. not bad, just lived in. clean floors, slightly burned incense, maybe a faint trace of jambalaya cooked earlier. you hear a tv on in another room, the sound low. footsteps.

“yo,” atsumu calls, voice deeper now.

a man appears around the corner, similar build, darker hair, towel slung around his neck like he just wiped off sweat, like he either just finished cooking or bench-pressing something in the living room.

he stops when he sees you.

dark eyes flick from you to atsumu, then back.

his expression doesn’t change much, but his eyebrow lifts. subtle. like he’s trying to figure out what exactly this is.

“this her?” he says, dry, low, like the words are exhaled more than spoken.

atsumu exhales a sharp breath, dramatic. “bro—she needed a ride to target.”

“mm.” osamu’s gaze lingers on you, not in a creepy way. just observant. assessing. he’s got that quiet, oldest-brother energy, like he’s already weighed three versions of this situation in his head and picked the chillest one to go with.

“bathroom’s down the hall,” he adds, eyes flicking away. “second door on the left.”

“thanks,” you say, stepping past.

the hallway’s narrow, the kind where your shoulders almost brush the walls. hardwood creaks a little under your feet. the air smells like clean laundry and whatever seasoning was left behind in the kitchen pan. you breathe in slow, skin prickling with the quiet intimacy of being in someone else’s home for the first time—barefoot echo of your steps, the soft hum of a fridge, low voices floating from the kitchen behind you.

you find the bathroom. close the door.

it’s small, but not cramped. blue towels, a little air freshener on the counter, toothpaste smeared near the sink like someone rushed out in the morning. you take a beat. wash your hands. splash water on your cheeks and look at yourself in the mirror.

your face is warm. cheeks a little pink. there’s a softness in your eyes, half from the edible, half from this night slowly unfolding like something out of a song you didn’t know you remembered.

you dry your hands on the towel, slow and quiet.

outside the door, you hear atsumu’s voice, low and smooth—then osamu again, louder this time.

“so… target?”

atsumu laughs. “she ran outta tampons, man. i’m bein’ a good samaritan.”

“that what we call it now?”

you stifle a grin, cheeks hotter now, and flush the toilet just so they know you heard. when you open the door, atsumu’s already near the front again, keys in hand, twirling them lazily around one finger. he glances over when you step into view.

“you ready?” he asks.

his voice is easy. nothing forced about it. he doesn’t ask why you took your time. doesn’t comment on the fact that you definitely heard his brother grilling him. just looks at you like you’re still in the middle of something. like the night’s only just started.

you nod. “yeah.”

he opens the door for you. steps out first.

the air outside has shifted. it’s still warm, still thick, but there’s a breeze now. soft and slow, brushing through the trees. you inhale deep. smell the moisture in it, the faint scent of something blooming. the sky’s ink-dark, scattered with stars above the treetops. somewhere in the distance, you hear a boom—low and muffled.

a firework going off early, maybe. or a backfiring truck. it doesn’t matter. it feels like summer.

you both climb back in the car, the seat warm from where you left it. the dashboard clock flashes 9:27. he shifts the car into reverse, rolls back down the driveway smooth as ever.

the silence that settles in the car this time isn’t awkward. it’s the kind that makes you want to fill it with a song. and like he’s reading your mind, atsumu leans forward, taps the radio.

“let’s see if this thing’s still got a good station…”

static. flip. flip.

then, something slow. smooth. bass-heavy.

break from toronto.

the beat creeps in like syrup, warm and low, just barely pushing at the edge of the speakers. the vocals hum through the air, wrapping around the cabin like a weighted blanket.

you smile. “you like this song?”

“who doesn’t?” he grins, one hand sliding across the wheel.

“valid.”

you glance out the window. the lights of baton rouge blur by in long, melted strokes. everything outside the car feels far away now—like the city’s paused for the night and let you have your own little pocket of air.

“you hungry?” he asks, voice still low.

you blink. turn to him. “kinda.”

“you want mcdonald’s or actual food?”

“damn. you just called mcdonald’s fake?”

“i called it what it is,” he smirks.

you snort, then shrug. “i could do actual food. if you’re down.”

“i know a spot. open late. drive-thru’s always fast.”

you nod.

he doesn’t ask if you’re in a rush. you don’t ask if he is either.

you reach target ten minutes later.

not the campus one that one’s always packed and picked over by five p.m.—but the quieter location off college drive, tucked behind an old smoothie king and a gym that never closes.

the lot’s mostly empty, just a few stray carts tilted sideways near the corral and a flickering overhead light buzzing above a cracked parking space. the red glow of the target sign reflects in the hood of his car when he pulls in and parks a little crooked, two spots from the front.

he leaves the engine running.

“i’ll come in,” he says, already pulling his keys from the ignition.

“you don’t have to.”

“i know.”

he slams the door shut with his hip and meets you on your side.

inside, the air hits colder than before, grocery store cold, all artificial chill and soft overhead music. your skin tightens again under your tank, goosebumps rising like clockwork. you cross your arms as you walk, hugging yourself loosely, your steps echoing faint on the polished tile.

“what aisle is it?” he asks.

“ten,” you say automatically, even though you could find it blindfolded.

he trails a little behind you, pushing one of those hand baskets even though you told him you didn’t need it. his sweats swish quiet with every step. you pass a woman in pajama pants and a bonnet, a couple holding hands in the cereal aisle, and a manager restocking the travel-size body washes near checkout.

when you reach the aisle, you pause at the end—just a second too long—and he clocks it.

you turn to him. “i’ll be quick.”

he shrugs. “take your time.”

he doesn’t say it weird. doesn’t make a face. just backs up a few steps and turns to browse whatever’s next to the shelf—vitamins, maybe. chapstick. you breathe in slow, trying to shake the self-conscious edge prickling up your spine.

you grab a box. the purple kind you like. stare at it for a beat. then grab another, because last time you ran out too fast.

“you good?” he calls over his shoulder.

“yeah.”

when you turn back, he’s got something in his hand—cherry lip balm, and he’s squinting at the ingredients like he’s reading for class.

“you putting that in the basket?”

“nah,” he says. “my lips are soft.”

you blink. smirk. “okay…”

he grins. “feel free to confirm later.”

you roll your eyes, but your smile’s creeping in too.

you make a quick loop, all of your items small enough to finish before you’re off campus for the semester: travel-sized face wash, trail mix, a pack of gum, and he follows you, basket swinging from two fingers. the radio in the store starts playing “love galore,” and you catch him nodding a little to the beat, mouthing words like it’s muscle memory.

something in your chest loosens. the buzz is still sitting behind your eyes, soft and sweet.

at checkout, he throws in a bottle of gatorade and a king-size twix bar.

“you want anything?” he asks.

you eye the impulse shelf. grab a mini bag of sour patch kids. he hums like it tells him something.

he pays without blinking.

you don’t argue. just thank him under your breath as you head back to the car.

outside, the air’s even heavier now. summer pressing down like a hand on the back of your neck. it smells like pavement and distant water. sprinklers, maybe, or the bayou miles off catching breeze.

the sky’s darker, but not starless. somewhere far, another firework cracks.

he unlocks the car. you both get in.

this time, you peel the seal on your sour patch before the AC even hits your face. he takes a swig of his gatorade, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and glances over.

“still hungry?” he asks.

you nod. “you said you knew a place.”

“yeah. it’s a little hood, but the food’s fire.”

you grin. “good.”

he puts the car in reverse. pulls out slow. flicks his blinker, even though there’s nobody around.

you reach the restaurant a few minutes later.

drive-thru only, tiny neon sign above the window that just says WINGS & THINGS. a guy in a tank top and durag leans out the pickup window with a cracked phone in one hand and a bored look on his face.

“they got the best lemon pepper in the city,” atsumu says.

you order honey hot and seasoned fries. he gets lemon pepper, extra crispy.

when the food’s ready, he pulls into a half-abandoned lot across the street, just enough light to see your hands, not enough to see your reflection in the rearview. the windows are halfway down. cicadas buzz. your thighs are sticking to the seat a little now, sweat blooming beneath your knees.

he opens your box for you. passes it over. his fingers graze yours.

you eat in silence for a minute. licking sauce from your knuckle. the sound of chewing, the smell of fried food, the slow exhale of r&b through the car’s speakers. his head leans back on the seat, jaw working, the muscles in his arm flexing every time he reaches for a fry.

you glance at him. catch him looking at you already.

he doesn’t look away.

the food’s gone. wrappers crumpled, boxes empty but oily at the edges, tossed into the bag and folded neatly under your seat.

your fingers are sticky, and your lips are warm from spice, and your body? your body feels lazy and loose and alive in that particular way you only get when the night’s turned golden and you don’t know when it happened.

the radio hasn’t been touched since “break from toronto.” it’s playing something slower now—brent faiyaz, maybe, or tinashe. you’re not even sure. it’s just bass and breath and melody curling up against your thigh.

“you wanna stay out a little longer?” atsumu asks, voice barely above the hum of the AC.

you turn your head. blink slow.

“what’d you have in mind?”

he lifts a shoulder, eyes on the windshield. “fireworks show up by the levee.”

you blink again. “those weren’t just random ones?”

he shakes his head. “nah. they do a lil unofficial memorial day thing. nothin’ major. just people pull up, park, and watch.”

your stomach flickers.

your lips part before you can overthink it. “yeah. i’m down.”

he nods. puts the car in drive.

you roll the window down farther this time. let the wind rush in, let it ripple through your tank, lift your baby hairs. the air’s warm again, still sticky, but not in a way that makes you want to run from it. more like it’s wrapping around you, holding you in place. the breeze smells like wet grass and river water. and smoke. distant smoke.

you look at atsumu. his jaw is clean-shaven. his hands steady on the wheel. there’s a sliver of sauce at the corner of his mouth.

you lick your thumb. lean in and wipe it away without thinking.

he stills.

just a beat.

then exhales, slow and shallow.

“thanks,” he says, voice tighter.

“you’re welcome.”

the music keeps playing. you keep looking out the window.

when he pulls up to the levee, you don’t expect the view.

the sky is open here. wide. it yawns above you in deep navy, dotted with low, scattered clouds and stars that actually show. there are maybe four other cars parked nearby, spaced out. people sitting on tailgates, folding chairs, hoods. someone has a speaker playing old drake a few spots over, and you hear the fizz of someone cracking a beer.

atsumu parks near the edge and turns off the engine. leaves the radio on.

and then?

he hops out. opens your door.

“you good up there?” he asks, nodding toward the hood.

you climb out. stretch.

“yeah. lemme just—”

“here.” he shrugs off his hoodie, the one he’d tossed in the back earlier, and hands it to you without hesitation. “it’s getting cold out here.”

you blink at him. then take it.

it’s warm in your hands, still holding the heat of his body, the weight of it heavier than you expected. you slip it over your head slow, the fabric soft against your arms, the neck wide enough to drape loose at the collar.

it smells like him. clean and sharp and familiar now, and the sleeves fall past your wrists.

you pull your knees up slightly, climb onto the hood, and lean back on your palms. the metal underneath is warm from the earlier drive, and the night air feels softer now, hugging your body through the layers.

you look out at the sky.

he climbs up beside you. not too close. just close enough.

for a while, nothing happens.

just the sound of crickets. muffled bass. the rustle of trees behind you.

and then a firework pops.

it’s not huge. not coordinated. but it cuts through the night sky in pink and gold and green, crackling above the trees. you both watch it rise. then another. a few kids cheer in the distance. someone whistles.

you laugh under your breath.

“it is kinda ghetto.”

“yeah,” he says, grinning. “but it’s kinda perfect.”

you look at him.

his leg is brushing yours now.

you don’t know who shifted. you don’t care.

another firework blooms overhead, blue this time, long trails behind it like brushstrokes on velvet sky.

you both look up, breath caught somewhere between chest and throat. you feel the boom in your ribs more than your ears. the kind of sound that sinks into you, low and grounding. it lights up his face in flashes: blue, then gold, then green again.

and god, he looks good like this. quiet. soft-eyed. like he’s letting the night wrap around him just like you are.

you don’t speak. neither of you do.

not for the whole show.

you just sit there on the hood of his car, knees brushing, fingers occasionally twitching toward each other like they forgot how to hold still. the fireworks crackle and whistle and bloom above you in every color. people cheer. a dog barks. someone blasts “march madness” from a bluetooth speaker two cars down. but it all feels far away. like it’s happening through a layer of cotton.

your buzz has mellowed now. everything’s warm. slow. syrupy.

your lips part without meaning to.

you stand, slow and stretching, arms overhead as the last firework sizzles out above the treeline. your hoodie rides up a little, tank clinging underneath, the hem of your sweats resting soft on your hips. the sky’s quieter now, and your chest feels full with the kind of silence that makes you want to keep moving.

“i could go for something sweet,” you say, voice quiet.

atsumu turns, eyebrows raised. “you still hungry?”

you shrug, sheepish. “not food-hungry. just like… dessert hungry.”

he huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “girl, you’ve been hungry all night.”

you grin. “i’m a growing girl.”

“uh-huh.”

his eyes dip, slow and obvious, lingering at the curve of your hips as you shift your weight. his voice drops, smooth as syrup. “yeah, somethin’ back there definitely been growin’.”

you blink at him, laughing once through your nose, heat curling up your neck.

he smirks, already turning toward the car. “c’mon. i know a spot.”

he drives you down a road that doesn’t look like it leads anywhere, trees on both sides, no real lights, gravel crunching under the tires like bones. your phone has no bars. the GPS would’ve given up two turns ago. and then, just when you’re thinking he’s made a wrong turn—a single neon sign flickers to life up ahead.

mr. spoon’s shakes & sundaes.

the building’s barely bigger than a shed. there’s a sliding order window, a laminated menu, and one fluorescent light buzzing hard above the roof. it smells like waffle cones and summer air and cheap cleaning spray. the kind of place you can only find if someone shows it to you.

atsumu pulls up and parks close. shuts off the engine.

the girl at the window looks half-asleep, nails long and red, hair in a puffed-up bun. her eyes flick over you both, unimpressed, and she slides the window halfway open.

“hey. how can i help y’all tonight?”

you lean forward to read the menu, eyes trailing over names like banana bonanza and strawberry lightning bolt and death by chocolate. but the words are swimming a little.

your high’s not loud anymore, but it’s still there, curling around your brain like cotton. you tilt your head. squint.

atsumu watches you for a second.

then turns to the girl.

“we’ll take a double swirl, chocolate and vanilla. extra whipped cream. with the waffle stick.”

she raises a brow. “you sure?”

he nods. “positive.”

she disappears inside and you blink at him.

“you ordered for me?”

he grins. “yes. because you were standing there like the menu was written in spanish.”

“it was blurry!”

“mhm. and you were moving like that girl wasn’t gonna fight you if you didn’t pick in five seconds.”

you cover your mouth, laughing. “she did look mad.”

“she was mad. i saw her grip the edge of the counter.”

the girl returns with your milkshake—if you can even call it that. the cup is massive. layered with thick swirls of chocolate and vanilla ice cream, piled high with whipped cream, fudge drizzle, crushed cookies, and a single crooked waffle cone sticking out the top like a flag. there’s one long spoon and a straw stabbed right in the middle.

“y’all got five minutes. we closin’ now,” she says, already sliding the window shut again.

“appreciate you,” atsumu calls, handing her a bill. she doesn’t answer.

you both climb back onto the hood of the car, this time settling closer without thinking. he balances the shake between you, and you take the first bite, ice cream already melting down the sides, sticky sweet on your lips.

“god, this is good.”

“let me try,” he says.

you nod, holding the cup toward him. but when you go to pull off the lid, he stops you.

“what?” you ask.

“what—you got cooties or something?”

you blink. then scoff. “no.”

“then gimme the straw.”

you hesitate. something in your chest tightens—not nervous, not embarrassed. just… aware. the straw’s slick. your gloss is still on it. your breath, your taste. he leans in and sips slow, eyes on you the whole time.

your thighs press together instinctively.

he pulls back, licking whipped cream off his lip.

“damn,” he murmurs. “that is good.”

you’re not sure he’s talking about the milkshake.

the silence returns, but it’s different now. thicker. your knees are touching. your hip’s leaning into his. and when you glance down, his hand is resting near yours again. closer this time. deliberate.

you look at him and he’s already watching.

and when he finally leans in, you don’t stop him.

the kiss starts soft. softer than you expect. just lips, brushing. then again. then again, deeper.

his hand finds your waist. yours curls behind his neck.

and when he tilts his head, breath sliding hot against your mouth, you open up for him without thinking, tongue brushing his, slow and sweet. like the shake you’re both ignoring now. like the fireworks that lit the night but couldn’t touch this.

he kisses like he’s learning you. like he’s waited the whole night to taste what you’d pick if you had to choose between chocolate and vanilla.

and from the way he groans into your mouth, you’re guessing he’d pick you.

his lips are warm, soft but certain, like he knows exactly how close to hold you without crowding. your fingers are curled in the front of his shirt now, tugging just enough to keep him there, and he’s letting you—leaning into it, mouth moving against yours like it’s instinct. like it’s gravity.

you shift a little, thighs spreading just to anchor yourself to the hood. the milkshake is still balanced between you, but it’s sweating now, melting faster than either of you are keeping track of. your left hand presses to the side of his neck, thumb brushing the edge of his jaw. he kisses you deeper for it.

and then—

plip.

cold drips onto the back of his hand. thick and sticky.

you both flinch.

you glance down.

a long stripe of whipped cream and vanilla is sliding down his knuckle, slow like honey. it’s glistening in the soft light, pooling near the curve of his wrist. your eyes trail it. so do his. and for a second, neither of you moves.

then your gaze flicks up. you lean in. slow. you don’t even think— you just part your lips and drag your tongue up the stripe of cream, a clean, warm swipe from wrist to knuckle. his breath hitches. sharp. the muscle in his jaw flexes, and his fingers twitch like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

your mouth lifts off his hand, slow. a faint pop of suction in the quiet air.

you swallow, eyes half-lidded, and tilt your head just slightly.

he looks stunned. then he laughs once—low and hoarse, and grabs the cup with one hand, sets it down hard on the pavement without even checking if it’s upright.

his other hand’s still slick when it slides to your thigh.

and now? he doesn’t sit back down.

he drops off the hood in one smooth step and steps between your legs, close enough for the heat off him to roll straight into your skin. his hands come up, bracing your thighs, holding you open just wide enough. the air sticks to your neck. your breath’s already shallow.

“you got a habit of lickin’ things that don’t belong to you?” he asks, voice rough, eyes fixed on your mouth.

“i didn’t hear you complain,” you murmur.

he grins.

“i’m not complainin’.”

and then he kisses you again, deep this time, hotter than before. his hands drag slow up your sweats, thumbs stroking the insides like he’s marking territory. your whole body arches forward. your hands grab fistfuls of his shirt. his mouth opens against yours and you taste sugar and skin and something feral rising between your ribs.

he licks into your mouth like he’s chasing the last of the whipped cream.

the metal beneath you is warm through your sweats. the air smells like sugar and pavement and the sweat sitting in the bend of your elbow.

he looks up at you for a beat—really looks. lips pink, mouth slightly parted, pupils blown wide.

and then he leans in again.

his mouth catches yours hungrily, like the dam’s cracked. his hands continue to slide further up your thighs, gripping—not rough, just intentional. his thumbs brush the inside, higher and higher, like he’s testing what he can get away with. you shiver. briefly regret wearing sweatpants.

he kisses like he’s tasting something rich, slow licks into your mouth, tongue brushing yours, teeth just barely grazing your bottom lip. your hips roll without meaning to, just once, right against where he’s standing between your legs.

his breath catches. he presses in closer.

the heel of his hand lands against the hood on either side of your thigh now, boxing you in. your legs tighten around him instinctively. your tank shifts higher beneath his sweatshirt. you can feel your pulse in your neck.

he pulls back for a split second, and then mouths along your jaw, down to your neck. kisses there, slower. firmer. like he wants to memorize the curve of it. his breath fans hot over your skin.

“it’s so damn hot,” you murmur, voice breathy.

he huffs a grin against your collarbone. “so are you.”

your head tilts back when he finds the spot just under your ear—sucks there, gentle but deep. your fingers tighten in his shirt again. your thighs flex around him.

his hand slides up again. this time, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your hoodie. resting there. not rushing. not asking.

just waiting.

you press your mouth to his again before you can think better of it.

he groans—low, ragged. his hands slide up your waist now, warm palms beneath your hoodie, fingertips grazing the bare skin of your sides. you gasp into his mouth. he eats the sound.

his body is all heat, all pressure. his thigh brushes right between yours again and lingers. not grinding, not humping, just there. like a placeholder. like a promise.

he pulls back, just slightly, lips still grazing yours.

“you good?” he murmurs, voice rough.

you nod, dazed. “yeah.”

his hands pause. “you sure?”

your eyes open. you find his. something in your chest tightens. not with nerves, just with want.

“i’m sure.”

he kisses you again. slower now. deeper. your arms loop around his neck. your whole body is arching into him. he shifts closer, one hand bracing your lower back, the other cupping your jaw. he kisses like you’re a song he just discovered, like he wants to learn every note by heart.

and when he pulls back again, finally—finally, you’re both breathing hard. faces close. noses brushing. your lip’s kissed pink. your pulse is skipping.

“that milkshake,” he murmurs, eyes still locked on your mouth, “didn’t stand a chance.”

you giggle, quiet.

he smiles. not cocky. not smug. just soft.

and then he kisses the corner of your mouth— once, gentle.

like he wants this to keep going long after tonight ends.

[leth-writes]

Yandere batfam x reader part 4!

The cafe, Little Spoon, was extraordinarily quiet for this time of day; last time you had been the line had been out the door to get a drink, let alone sit at the tables and enjoy a meal. Yet, you supposed the complete lack of jobs and the constant villain attacks had created the perfect storm to kill most small businesses. In that light, you were happy such a small cafe was able to stay open, especially with the encroaching giants in the area. Sitting at the table, picking at your bagel with your head down, you felt shame. Having dumped your entire life story out for TIm and Jason to pick at, you felt weirdly hollow.

It felt like someone had scooped out your insides with a dull spoon, and you stared despondent down at your mangled bagel. Jason was texting again, and Tim was staring into the distance, lost in thought. You got the feeling you were the subject of his reverie. It felt weird, seeing them both so lost in their own worlds, especially after the intense way they had stared as you explained your reasoning behind choosing their family.

You didn’t know what to do now, and shame radiated through your core at facing the victims of your crime face to face. No matter how much you had apologized, and how much they had promised they didn’t mind, it still felt hollow, like you wouldn’t ever be able to make up for what you’d done.

“Well, I sicked Barbara on your landlord; if he’s got any dirt, she’ll dig it up.” Jason sighed as he plopped his phone down on the table, leaning back in his chair. “It’s probably a mafia connection. We’ll have to alert the … authorities.” Tim pondered, still half lost in thought and staring out the window. The idea of your landlord, the very one who had indirectly put you in this situation, and who you still hadn’t seen, having some sort of criminal connection had never crossed your mind; you couldn’t believe it was even possible. Hell, it was the type of thing to happen in film, not in real life! Yet, the more you thought about it, the more it made sense; it would explain the constant patrolling from the bats the last little while, you supposed.  You stared at Tim’s face in profile, noticing the sharp turn of his thin, high nose and his full, pink lips. You couldn’t believe you were soulbound, destined to have some sort of relationship that only time would reveal. You weren’t sure what your next steps were, but you felt guilty enough to do whatever Tim and Jason would suggest.

Jason abruptly stood up, making meaningful eye contact with Tim. “Hey, I’ll get you a coffee. Want anything else to eat besides that poor bagel?” He questioned you, a half-smile gracing his chiseled face. You shook your head mutely, unwilling to ask for even more. Besides, you weren’t feeling hungry, the anxiety killing any appetite you may have. Tim had turned to look back out the window, so you occupied yourself with glancing around the small room. The only other customer was a young Asian woman, maybe mid-twenties, with choppy black hair ending at the nape of her neck and flaming her face in floaty whisps. She was looking down at her phone, small mouth upturned into a smile, with her chocolatey dark eyes locked onto her screen. She was giggling slightly, evidently at the response from whoever she was texting.

As you attempted to get a closer look at her screen, both out of boredom and curiosity, Jason crossed your line of sight and sat a large porcelain cup and saucer in front of you. “Here,” he started, “It’s hazelnut. Drink up, then we can leave for the manor so you can meet the others”. You took a small sip as he sat down, looking behind you toward the door. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t really feel comfortable going to the manor. I can’t impose on your family, not after everything I did…” You responded, taking another sip of the rich, thick drink. Jason huffed playfully, rolling his eyes and smiling. “I told you it’s fine. You aren’t the first and you won’t be the last, but you’re definitely the cutest,” He smirked as you hiked your shoulders toward your ears in embarrassment. “Listen, the least you can do is meet the others. I’m sure they’d love to get to know you for who you really are, they’ve been curious for ages,” Tim turned toward you, staring earnestly into your eyes and gently gripping your free hand. 

“I… I don’t know…” You said hesitantly, pausing to take a large sip of the drink and glance out the window. What did you have waiting for you? Your apartment was empty and the neighbors weren’t exactly great company as of late, and the constant rejection while looking for work was definitely taking its toll. You yawned, overcome with a wave of sudden exhaustion. Your adrenaline must have crashed after it spiked earlier, you supposed. Through the fog of the exhaustion, you found yourself nodding along to their gentle affirmations as they led you out to the car that was now parked in front of the cafe. If you were more conscious, you would’ve questioned it, but the exhaustion wiped you out and you ended up passed out, laid over Tim’s lap as he ran his hand down your back and whispered reassurances.

Getting in the car was the final mistake that sealed your fate.

[noobsoconfusing]

‘pothead? more like pot no head!’ hamzahthefantastic

summary: hamzah and you get high together very often, however this time is different, as you both take too much and end up greening out in different ways.

warnings: awkwardness, inexperienced hamzah and reader, cum, cringe.

>_<

“holy shit! holy f-fuck!” hamzah rubbed his heavy eyes, staring half lidded at your limp body passed out on his lap.

damn, he felt so overstimulated. his senses failing on him, per usual.

the smoke surrounding the living room –and yourselves– felt thick, almost like he could munch on it if he wanted to, and each time he breathed in he felt even more zooted.

and ow, fuck! you looked so beautiful. the light freckles, almost invisible, surrounding specific areas of your face, and then some imperfections that hamzah considered perfect on you –the same he considered ugly on him– you had dark circles under your eyes, and messy hair that covered your face almost entirely, but still he was able to peek at your flushed cheeks.

‘no! hamzah, stop! she could be fucking dead!’ –he thought to himself, regaining an ounce of consciousness through the warm haze that filled his brain and body.

“hey…” he shook your body, trying to keep his eyes off of your torso, though it was almost impossible for him. hamzah’s eyes drifted down, sheepishly admiring how the oversized shirt you were wearing –that yeah, in fact was his– rode up..

but as he kept shaking your body with his bigger hands, he realised you were far gone. that, of course, scared him shitless.

“oh my god..!” hamzah considered calling martin, but it was roughly 4 am, he wouldn’t be awake.

hamzah felt like he was losing the ability to breathe properly. his heart was beating so fast and blood going to every single direction inside of his body.

literally every single direction. fuck. oh no.

“y/n, are you… are you awake?” hamzah saw double lines, so fucking high. “oh god she’s dead, she’s fucking dead…” he felt like crying he was so fucking panicked.

and the scene was quite funny, tense even. how was he going to tell the police that you guys got super high that you probably had a heart attack? even worse! how was he going to explain the stupid fucking hard-on he had been resisting to beat since the fucking weed settled on him?

crying with a stupid hard-on was pathetic. crying stoned out of his damn head, with his possibly dead roomie laying next to him was dumb.

everything was dumb! nothing made sense to him at that moment, ugh, so confusing!

crying next to the girl he yearned for, the girl he liked since he first saw in that roommate application was beyond pathetic. and you were both high.

“oh god, please!” he yelled so fucking loud, which made you scramble out of your slumber. “i know you hate me! doesn’t matter cause you’re uh, like, you’re dead, but oh god! i like you.. so much and.. man i just…wanted to smoke with you… maybe make out… maybe even dip it! but y/n please don’t, uh, don’t kill me in my sleep too! oh my fucking god!” he rambled as he slurred his words from how high he was.

hamzah had this problem. one of many. where he would overthink and panick and talk his brain off as if his body had no power over him, only his thoughts. that maximised when he was zooted.

due to his extreme yapping, you found yourself awake on the couch, but you couldn’t move or speak. your limbs felt floaty and numb and your body felt so lightweight that you wondered if you were human still.

but hamzah’s greened out voice was getting on your stoned nerves

“mmm…” you slowly opened your eyes, red as fuck. “hamzah, a-are you tweaking?” your voice groggy after smoking only turned him on even more, and he felt so bad for thinking lewd stuff about you.

his eyes blew up wide, like two round red leds. he threw himself into your smaller frame, engulfing you in a big hug. he groaned out of satisfaction.

groaned again when he felt your body so close to his. so warm. so soft.

“holy fuck! you’re not dead! oh shit, y/n i fucking love you, i love you i love you, god i was scared shitless..” as high as he was, he meant it, he had been wanting to admit that for such a long time but sober he didn’t have the balls to.

you gave into the embrace and snuggled closer to his warmth. his words vague, though you cherished them and how sincere he sounded, it was almost impossible to concentrate in that state of mind. all you could do was enjoy the proximity.

so comfortable, so nice, and..

“im sorry im hard..!” hamzah pulled away from the hug to look down at his almost unbearable boner. his eyes wide and glossy like marbles looked at you like a kicked dog asking for help.

you see, in his right mind he wouldn’t even mention it, he wouldn’t even look at its direction. but he was definitely not in his right mind, right?

he surely knew how to silence a room.

“huh?” you stared at him confused and rubbing your right eye, pouting. looking like a fucking goddess. so cute. so beautiful it made hamzah wanna just explode.

here comes the world vomit. high trait of his.

“im sorry i have a boner. like, okay, it’s so painfully hard that i feel sorry because weed, well, weed makes me super fucking horny and on top of that you’re here and i think you’re so pretty and i love you so oddly much… im sorry i got a boner,” he swallowed the knot inside his throat. “i am sorry, so sorry. i love you though? is that weird? do you think it’s weird?..”

seconds that felt like hours passed and you would just switch stares between hamzah’s reddened face and the notorious bulge inside his grey sweats.

he felt like dying. and you were just sitting there, looking fuckable and so pretty, and he was just melting there waiting for a reaction from you, trying not to burst like a teen.

hamzah almost felt as if the high was gone from how nervous he got, but feeling sober was way worse.

you got closer, but it was like you were being pushed by an invisible force. like a magnet attracting you to hamzah’s shivering body.

your hands trembled badly.

no, you did not know what possessed you to crawl over him and caress his face, he was sweating cold, and his eyes far gone intoxicated.

“w-what are you…?” you laughed at how he pronounced the sentence, your giggles almost like a whisper.

tension so dense it could be cut with a knife

the eye contact was stupidly intense, both of your gazes drowsy and tired, eyes heavy and itchy from the smoke around you.

when your hand moved south, hamzah’s eyebrows knitted together and his mouth fell open wide, choking a whine. it was extremely weird how a little touch could make him feel so excited, and got him even harder, if it was even possible…

“dude, you’re bricked…” you said, feeling him up through the grey sweats.

he subconsciously thrusted his hips upwards to your hand, which you quickly moved away, earning a pathetic moan from him.

“nooo, owww!” he pouted, eyes teary.

it was funny.

“no! hey!..” he pleaded, grabbing your hand and trying to place it over his boner again, but you giggled at his impatience and swatted his bigger palm away. “y/n! p-please, h-hey, you can’t just..” he shrieked desperately. “please?”

hamzah was willing to jerk off right then and there, not minding your presence. even better for him, he would cum to your image, to your feel, to your sight.

that would totally cross the roommate line, wouldn’t it?

neither of you were experienced though, and as fucked up as you were, you also didn’t wanna ruin it, ruin whatever was going on between you two.

you got too nervous. nervous at the sight of him so fucked out over nothing. you never had a guy like that, never so desperate for you. or a guy at all. hamzah made you feel so stupid, so weird inside. so warm.

oh, so nervous…

“uh, do you want another hit?” suddenly, you got up looking for the rest of the blunt. too lightheaded to function. too nervous to continue. a good excuse.

hamzah stared at you in disbelief. then down at his pants. then at you again. he smiled, but it was such a hot smile. he looked so good, so fucked up.

“we are pretty cooked though, don’t you think?”

you shrugged. “whats the worst that could happen?”

so you grabbed the special blunt on the night table, and the lighter too. slid it into your mouth and lighted the pre rolled, you inhaled and swallowed the smoke in, turning over to hamzah and then blowing out the smoke on his face.

he stared at you with his mouth wide open, trying to take some of you in. so drunk on you.

and so, the worst thing that could happen, happened.

hamzah felt like he lost balance, his eyes rolled back into his skull and tried to reach for your hand to hold while a gutural moan erupted from the back of his throat, just as he emptied himself in his sweats..

came untouched. just at the sight of you blowing smoke out on his face.

“f-fuck, im so so so sorry, i didn’t… i- i just, i don’t know… you’re so pretty and…” he started rambling yet again and you felt so silly.

your gaze softened on him, and hamzah felt less embarrassed when he realised you weren’t angry or grossed out. your soft eyes felt gentle and he knew you weren’t judging him.

“it’s fine… i guess.” you avoided staring at the wet puddle forming inside his pants, and he giggled nervously too.

time passed by, maybe not really. you felt as time flew by too slowly, and found yourself lost in hamzah’s big eyes again. both of you staring at each other while sitting on the couch, the blunt consuming itself far forgotten but still creating smoke.

hamzah cleared his throat. “i feel sticky.”

“i bet you do.” you replied.

“have you ever…” he started but you quickly interrupted him.

“no head, hamzah!”

>_<

yay first small fanfic here ^_^ unbelievably cringe though, might have to kms.

[blueberrybeomgyu]

i NEED taesan who feels shy and vulnerable letting you take control for once and he wasn't sure if he'd like it but eventually can feel his mind slipping, his body feeling warm and floaty as he follows your every word. Usually he'd be more quiet, more aware of his noises, but this time he couldn't hold back. Moaning and whining as you touch him, dumb pleas spilling out of his mouth, his eyes teary and lips wet and red from the drool leaking out his mouth. poor baby is fucked dumb already and you've barely even started ! you coo at his pathetic state and it makes him soo embarrassed seeing you make fun of him but it also.. kind of turns him on ?? I'd also imagine taesan liking pain to a certain degree so a light slap across his inner thigh or the tip of his dick would really make him spill a few tears 😋 perhaps light choking ?? mmmm yummy

need him SO BADDDD

OH YEAHHHH TURN UP i love the way you wrote taesan here, whiny drooling taesan is such a treat methinks...

***

taesan would be soo shy!! it suddenly feels like it's his first time with you all over again and he's nervous to even get undressed. he has to find ways to ground himself like touching you anywhere he can reach. he'd love to start with something familiar like a handjob, and despite being shy, he's very communicative in bed naturally. the first time is tame, he'll struggle to relax so you'll have to pull out all of the tricks you know, touching him exactly how he likes to help him ease up.

after the first time, he's obsessed, finding that he likes giving you control! he loves when you incorporate new things into the bedroom, gradually he'll become more confident as a sub and more mouthy, he always has something to say!! so you'll have to start experimenting with ways to put him in his place. slapping, choking and even light pinching are quick ways to shut him up and he'll talk back more just to get you to be rougher with him and the rougher you are with him, the more floaty he'll feel.

his first time in subspace will show you such a different side of him!! edging him in subspace will get him so dizzy, he can barely even focus on what's going on and his pleas for you to let him cum will start to slur. you teasing him and making fun of him only worsens his state, he feels so under your control and he can't even ask for mercy cause he loves it so much. like you said, he's typically not as whiny, he's more of a panter/grunter i think, but in this subspace his voice is so soft and pitched, hips uselessly chasing your touch when you pull away and deny him again. i think it takes a lott to make him drool or cry but when he's overwhelmed he'll sniffle and try to hide his face so you dont see it

teasing taesan all day will make him so frustrated, he's already beading precum when you get home & he's got something mouthy to say but you put him in place and he's dropping it so quick, too turned on to be defiant. if you tease or edge him even further at this point he's definitely tearing up with frustration, cheeks pink lips pink dick pink he's such a mess, sub taesan how far youve come,,, i could maybe write a full fic abt it if u want ???

bonus is i think he loves a challenge in the bedroom, seeing how long he can last w a vibe or fleshlight before he gets desperate enough to start begging, that would also make a fun fic!!

[synthetickitsune]

Lullaby Of The Abyss ✧ w.jh & x.mh

Pairing: merman(?) Wen Junhui x reader x merman(?) Xu Minghao Genre: angst, fluff Summary: It’s dangerous to meet strangers, more dangerous yet when they’re not human and you’re in their territory. And even once they become friends, are you sure you know what they really are at all? Word count: 5.4k A/N: this was actually supposed to be finished and posted last year bcs it only came to be thanks to the spell mv lmao -> mermay masterlist

You can already tell that the memories of this day will feel like a dream. Wrapped in a haze, your mind is swimming under the summer sun. The water is cool, perfect to balance the heat and the sun rays that make the ocean sparkle, each drop looking like a diamond in the air. You swing your legs lazily, lying back on your floatie. The slow rocking of it to the rhythm of the waves soothes you. It makes everything feel far far away. You forget about the world, time, everyone.

For now it’s just you and the sea. There’s a pleasant melody surrounding you, like a song of the ocean itself. So pleasant you forget to pay attention to where you are.

You’re not afraid, your company - although you’re not sure where they are - wouldn’t allow harm to come to you. You’re sure of it. So you keep lying down with a hat covering your eyes, smile on your lips, and their voices in your ears. You could very easily fall asleep, but you’ve done so before and you’ve been woken up by being thrown into the water. Not exactly what you’d like to experience again.

Slowly, smoothly, the hat is pulled away from your face and the sun glares right at your closed eyelids. You whimper, shielding your eyes with a hand as you sit up and glare vaguely in the direction where your hat was pulled.

“Looking for something?” comes a voice from the opposite direction and your hat lands at your feet. You turn, eyes slowly getting used to the light. Your first thought is, as always, that he looks ethereal. Your second thought is - where the fuck are you?

“The land,” you groan, turning back, then forward again, left, then right… it’s all water. All around. Nothing but the glittering blue of the ocean. You can only hear the sound of waves, the song has ended.

“Well, good luck with that,” comes a second voice, coated in a playful giggle. Traitor.

“I wouldn’t expect you to say that,” you fake a pout, eyes meeting Minghao’s own that sparkle with - what exactly? You’d say excitement, you’d hope so, but you’re not sure. He’s more guarded with his emotions than his friend. Maybe it’s just the sunlight that make him seem so happy.

You hope he’s excited though. You’ve begged both of them to take you away from the land sometime. Far away. Somewhere exactly like this - nobody to be seen, no shrieks and whistles to be heard. Just the infinite expanse of water. All the blue must be reflecting in your eyes. It feels like freedom here.

“Who do you think came up with this idea, hm?” Jun grins at you. He swims closer, resting his head on his arms crossed on the side of your floatie. Minghao joins by his side tilting his head as if questioning you too.

“You, Jun, who else,” you sigh and smile, drawing your legs towards your body. The man in question stops you, wrapping his hand around your knee and pulling your legs into the water between them. 

“Bingo, so come join us,” he’s beaming, easily excited as always. His hand feels nice and cool against your skin.

You hesitate slightly, looking around again and seeing the blue spreading in all directions - blue skies, blue ocean, blue flashes on the scales on their bodies. You’ve never been so far away from the shore, as much as you wished for this chance.

“Scared?” Minghao teases, pulling on your leg lightly. Their fingers are never pruned, and you can’t help but feel jealous. There’s something off about the way he looks at you but you write it off as him taunting you.

You pout. Well, he’s right. You like the sea, love it, but you’re not stupid enough to consider it safe, no matter how well you think you know it. Anything could happen. You could get a cramp and drown. Then again it’s not like that couldn’t happen right by the beach as well.

There’s the question of the two of them too. Yet you just shake your head slightly. They’re humans - well, for the most part. They’re not wild, unpredictable animals anyway.

“Come on, we’ll leave you here if we get bored,” Jun teases, earning himself a glare from Minghao, who’s quick to shoot you a reassuring look. “Sorry… But for real, the water’s nice and cool. Aren’t you hot?”

He moves closer and prods your arm with his fingers before jolting back as if burned. You laugh at his silliness. It is true you’re getting uncomfortably hot though. “Promise you won’t abandon me?”

“Promise,” they say in unison. Minghao offers you his hand as he helps you slip into the water with little more grace. Jun is immediately pushing your float away so it’s not in the way.

“No, it’s gonna get lost,” you protest, but your voice dies down. You shiver once you’re enveloped by the cool water, even though the relief is more than welcome. And you don’t get to linger on the shock of it for too long.

Once Jun gets his hands on you, he’s pulling you away from Minghao and lifts you up. You yelp, wrapping your legs around his waist and grabbing his shoulders. The contrast between the textured scales of his tail and the smoothness of his skin makes you want to run your hands over him, but you keep it to yourself. It’d be weird and it feels wrong.

“Don’t worry, if it does I’ll carry you back,” he spins around with you. His touch is careful, his voice and smile much softer now that you’re actually close. It’s cute how shy he gets when you’re in the water with them.

“Don’t look down or you’ll freak out,” Minghao swims around so you can see him - and roll your eyes at him. 

“I’m not scared,” you huff. Still you narrow your eyes at him as he swims closer.

“Oh? Should I take you down there then?” Jun pipes up, and you feel yourself getting slowly submerged.

“No, no, Jun-” you cling to him like a cat on the highest branch. You feel the scales imprint themselves into the skin of your thighs. Their joined laugh is mocking you but you don’t care. You just got acclimated to the cool water here where the sun can reach and warm you up. You don’t exactly wish to move from here yet. And you want to have control over how deep you go.

They wouldn’t hurt you, you’re sure of that, but it’s easy to forget that your body can’t handle as much as theirs do.

“Oh? Would you like to hear how deep it is here? We can tell you all about the creatures hiding down there,” Minghao speaks again, this time from behind you, his hands teasingly pushing on your shoulders. He stops when you shoot him a glare.

“You know we wouldn’t,” Jun chuckles as he caresses your back to soothe you, “But I thought you liked marine biology facts.”

“Not when the marine biology is so close,” you shiver, slowly loosening your hold on him.

“Everything’s going to stay away with us here,” the smile is so obvious in Minghao’s voice you can imagine it clearly in your head, “Didn’t we tell you we’d keep you safe?”

Jun lets you have some space and moves back so that you can see both of them clearly. You feel a little reassured, and a little foolish for doubting them. In the whole time you’ve known them they never hurt you or did anything to make you uncomfortable - while you’ve seen them get indirectly hurt by humans more times than you could count. You suppose if they wanted to get some revenge for that, they wouldn’t be taking their sweet time like this.

“So there’s nothing in the ocean that would attack you?” you ask, careful not to move too far away from them. Maybe you lied to yourself. Maybe you get a little freaked out by the empty depth beneath your feet. 

“Orcas, maybe. Dolphins try as well, but they usually get over it if we put up a fight. Sharks are easy to handle if you’re careful and know what you’re doing,” Minghao explains with a smirk, “Are you worried about us? Or yourself?”

Before you can choose an answer that hopefully wouldn’t betray your sudden unease, Jun chimes in. 

“Don’t worry about it, we’re here,” he winks at you before leaning back to stretch, “Let’s go for a swim?”

And he’s gone. Somewhere in the dark blue all around. You hesitate. Is this really a good idea? Minghao gives you a curious look, extending his hand to yours.

Swimming always comes with a risk, you decide. You take his hand.

It’s easier once you dive in. Your mind blanks out surrounded by the many deep blues. There’s freedom to it you don’t think you’d experience anywhere else. It’s like flying without the risk of falling. The ocean is as endless and open as the sky. It should be boring to swim here in the emptiness of it, but it’s not. It feels satisfying. Heaven just for you and the two mermen.

Jun races back from wherever he swam off to before zooming away again while Minghao stays by your side dutifully. As much as both of them like to joke around and tease you for your fragile and vulnerable build when it comes to swimming and diving, they keep an eye for you. They’ve always kept you safe.

When you asked if they ever encountered a drowning human, they refused to respond. It made something twist in your stomach.

You don’t think about it. You don’t know why the memory popped up in your head now. So you drown it out by diving deeper.

The pressure and noise in your ears is suddenly replaced by a melody. Jun’s voice. You haven’t even noticed he returned. You feel your body getting lighter. Relaxed. Worries are washed away. The merman comes close and you match his smile without thinking. There’s no space for thoughts. Just the song. You take his hands when he offers. You’re so happy to see him.

He doesn’t pull, simply swims with your hands in his towards the surface where you take a breath. More on instinct than by your will. You just want to keep smiling. The bright orange of your floatie seems blinding. The color of the sky is too intense. It’s you who pulls Jun back under the water but he soon takes charge again.

He keeps humming as he leads you away from your floatie. You don’t realize. You don’t think, don’t worry. All there is is here and now and the warm amber of his eyes and the turquoise scales decorating his body and tail. His voice is so soothing. You’d follow him anywhere.

It makes your skin tingle as if somebody was tickling you, gently, not to annoy you but to be playful. He makes you feel that way. You brush against his tail with your foot before ducking under his arm to swim behind his back. He turns towards you quickly without breaking the tune. He twirls around you and you do your best to do the same.

And just then - another voice joins in. From somewhere below, although it’s not like there’s any space left in your mind to perceive direction.

You slip away from Jun’s hold as he slowly grows silent and kick off towards Minghao’s voice. It’s alluring in its own way. Like a lullaby of the primordial ocean being carried across time. You could be very well swimming in the same water as back then. Some of it surely must still be present in these waters. His eyes look like patches of dark sky when he stares up at you, but you don’t fear him. It’s like he could guide you there, to the ocean’s history.

The building pressure inside your ears doesn’t concern you. The suffocating grip of atmospheres pressing on your body only feels like you’re being held. You kick your feet faster. 

Minghao swims up to meet you. 

His arms wrap around your torso for a moment. You don’t mind. You’re mesmerized by his eyes that hypnotize you, the blank black of them so dark it seems to swallow light. You don’t struggle. You just want to follow him. Stay near him. So when he lets go of you, you don’t move. Suspended in the endless ocean.

Bubbles rise from your mouth. The water is crushing you, yet all you can think of is the irritation that the air bubbles obscure your vision of him and that he’s not holding your hand as the ocean closes in on you. Until he does. 

The song continues while he guides you up for air. It’s all the same to you. He could be dragging you to the ocean floor. Just as long as he stays near. You barely notice Jun joining the ascent before he starts humming again.

After that, your mind blacks out.

It’d be easy to write off as a dream. Your body feels too heavy. And hot. The sun beats down on you like it’s trying to turn you into ashes. Yet drops of water cling to your back. There’s a tune stuck inside your head luring you back in. It couldn’t have really been a dream.

Without feeling fully awake you sit up and swing your legs back into the water. You feel dizzy. Your head is killing you. The shock of cold water makes you hiss and sends a sharp jolt through your body.

“Hey, easy there,” Jun pops out of the water, his hands gently laid on your knees. He makes sure you don’t push yourself into the water.

“Breathe,” Minghao instructs softly. You turn your head back to look at him. He’s resting his chin on his arms crossed on your plastic bed. “Calm down first. Lay down.”

“Thirsty?” the other one asks while already handing you the bottle of water you brought with you.

Without a thought, because - you discover - thinking hurts, you take it and obediently take a few long gulps.

“Good,” Jun smiles at you when you hand him the bottle back, “How do you feel?”

“Dreamy,” you answer and rub your eyes. You feel like the sun is trying to boil you alive - like a piece of meat defrosted too quickly. “It’s hot.”

“Drink some more,” Minghao suggests from behind and, noticing your discomfort at having to turn around, swims to the other side of your safe inflated island.

“Do you remember anything?” he then asks.

You frown, pursuing your lips. Remember anything? Why should you be remembering anything?

You went to the beach, sunbathed, swam for a while. Then you noticed the tell-tale signs of them trying to get your attention - random splashes of water beyond the buoys, brief flashes of shimmering scales above the water that could easily be written off as light playing tricks on you unless you knew. 

Then - what then? You went back to the water to meet them. The floatie is a necessity since you usually stay with them for a while and you simply aren’t that strong of a swimmer. You don’t think it’s possible for a human to be. You met them. They took you far away from where people could see, where you could all be free… And then?

A song, a melody, tugs at your mind. Familiar and tempting. 

It’s both Jun and Minghao preventing you from jumping into the water this time and you frown.

“It’s hot,” you repeat. You try to push yourself off but your skin sticks to the plastic and they hold you down. “Let me go.”

It’s uncomfortable. You’re sweaty and feel feverish from the sun. Did you fall asleep? You must have but why haven’t they woken you up then? You don’t seem sunburned at least, but you ignore the silver lining completely. 

“It’s not a good idea,” Jun warns more sternly. He glares at you when you don’t listen, then you finally stop. He’s never looked at you like that before. Minghao’s expression is equally as serious. It makes your mouth and throat run dry.

“So your body remembers,” the former looks at you with a certain unease in his eyes, “But you can’t.”

“What are you talking about?” you try to stay calm even as your heart races. Did something happen? Maybe some wave came out of nowhere and knocked you out? Some animal? You doubt that, they wouldn’t be so calm then. 

“Why are you so set on getting into the water?” Minghao asks, some of his concealed frustration trickling into his voice. 

“It’s hot,” you murmur through pursed lips. The song sounds more distant now, quieter. No pull to jump into the cool water. You stand your ground though, even if you’re slightly confused why you don’t feel so strongly about it now. 

The two observe you for a minute before finally relenting and giving you enough space for you to slip into the ocean. It doesn’t bring much relief. The water seems too cold and open now. Diving below the surface seems terrifying. It’d be like willingly allowing the abyss to take you. The frown on your face deepens. What happened here that your mind is keeping away from you?

“Better?” Jun asks, coming to your side. 

“Yeah, I guess,” the uncertainty is heavy in your voice. It’s so confusing. You wish you could just go back to land but you don’t know how to ask for that. You still want to hang out with the two of them, but the open water that you’ve always loved so much doesn’t feel the same. Maybe you’ve gotten a heatstroke?

You truly want to stay but every cell of your body screams that it’s a bad idea. You don’t understand. You craved being in water so much just seconds ago. Yet now your stomach keeps churning unpleasantly, the sun is too bright and hot, the water too cold and the waves too loud, and every little touch of their hands feels like getting kicked by a spark.

“Hey,” Minghao backs off slightly, pulling equally as distraught looking Jun with him, “What’s wrong?”

You swallow around the lump in your throat but you can’t make any of the words on your tongue come out.

“I-” you barely manage before a wave of anxiety so strong it feels like you’ll throw up passes through your body. It’s just a split second but it leaves you shaking.

“Let’s get you home, okay?” the black-tailed merman suggests while the other brings the floatie closer and carefully helps you hop up. “Lay down. We’ll take care of everything.”

So you do. Somehow you feel like crying. Like you were abandoned, even though they’re both right there, both checking on you every couple seconds. What the fuck happened? You want a blanket.

“It’s alright. We’ll be there soon,” Jun tries to reassure you but you can’t say it lifts your spirits. And he’s lying too. They’re moving so slowly. You guess it’s so that the waves don’t jostle you too much (and to stay aware of any other humans closeby). It doesn’t do much to soothe your nerves, though.

“What happened?” you find your voice, although weak as if it was too afraid to come out.

The two exchange a look you can’t decipher.

Eventually, Minghao licks his lips.

“We’ll talk about it later, but-” he shushes you before you can protest, “Remember when we talked about how mermaids and sirens aren’t the same species?”

You nod. There was a conversation like that had a long time ago. Another wave of nausea that makes you curl into a ball hits you. You feel a bad headache coming.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” Jun hastily adds, like the thoughts are the culprit behind this suffering, “We’ll explain everything next time.”

You can only weakly nod again. You’re in no state to think anyway.

Nothing changes, to be fair. No matter how much you mull it over in the following days, you have no idea what Minghao’s cryptic hint could mean. And the more you try to remember what exactly happened during the - minutes, hours? - time you don’t remember, the more the memories seem to fade into obscurity. 

Admittedly, you’ve been avoiding the beach these past days. Partly because the sight of the ocean sends shivers down the spine, but more importantly because you’re scared you’ll see the invitation of the mermen and will have to ignore it. You truly don’t feel like getting anywhere near the open water any time soon. No matter how much you miss your friends.

But you need answers. The uncertainty and fog where memory should be is scary and the knowledge that there’s something missing gnaws at you every second of the day. 

Hence how you find yourself standing on the rocks away from the beach, in a secluded spot that rebellious kids frequent to jump from into the water during the day. It’s not high at all, barely above the water which might be why parents don’t seem to care too much, yet even so you feel uncomfortable. Your knees get so weak that you need to sit down. 

You’re a good swimmer, there’s no need to be scared. You’ve never been scared, so you don’t understand why you are now. You hoped that being face to face with the ocean again would help, it’s familiar, after all, and maybe the rational part of your brain could take over. Only it doesn’t. If anything, the mysterious fear spreads and festers. Your hands shake. 

Groaning in frustration you pull your knees closer to your chest and hide your face in them.

What the hell happened back then?

As if on cue, you hear the tell-tale splashing of water. You bite your lip and hesitate. Somehow you don’t feel like seeing them, even though you miss them. Your head is just a big mess of conflicting emotions. It’s hard to do anything in such a state.

You feel guilty. Guilty for your confused emotions, guilty for ghosting them like that. Guilty for what happened, whatever it was, too. It must’ve been your fault, somehow. Or they’d apologize straight away.

Minghao calls your name and for a second you feel like running. Goosebumps erupt all over your body. And in the next second it’s gone. As suddenly as it appeared the sensation has gone.

You exhale slowly and finally raise your head.

They look worse than the last time you saw them. The moonlight doesn’t reflect enough light for you to see them properly, you might be reading too much into the shadows on their faces. Your gut tells you it’s more than poor lighting. They do look horrible. 

Minghao looks like he hasn’t slept or eaten in days and Jun looks like he’s seconds away from a nervous breakdown.

You feel another pang of guilt.

“How-” Jun trips over his words, “How have you been?”

“Not good, not terrible,” you try to joke but your voice comes out flat. You clear your throat and try again. “I missed you guys.”

It’s true. It really is. Despite everything. You missed swimming too. The kind of longing you’d have for something you can no longer have. It feels too dramatic. Nothing is holding you back. Just yourself. 

“Same,” he gives you an uncertain smile.

“I think we should talk,” Minghao wets his lips and looks at you in a way you don’t recognize. It feels like a goodbye.

You nod. You don’t trust your voice to come out.

Even agreeing on this, though, none of you speaks up. The waves crash against the rocks, the seagulls shriek somewhere in the distance, but nobody says a word. Jun looks worse than a couple minutes ago, somewhere between seconds away from fleeing into the endless ocean and as if he’s about to confess all his life’s misdeeds to you. Minghao looks, well, calmer, you suppose. 

“So, about the…” you decide to take charge - only you quickly realize you still have no idea what to actually talk about. Jun’s face goes through different expressions like he’s experienced the five stages of grief within seconds.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurts out eventually. His face settles on pretty much the same point it began - lip trembling, brows drawn together and twitching like he can’t believe what’s going on. “It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Before you can get upset or ask what he means by that, Minghao steps in.

“Have you remembered anything from that day?” he asks, tone much gentler and put together than the other merman.

“I… I should’ve been more careful,” you say, following the feeling in your gut. Then you shake your head. Despite your best efforts, the afternoon remains shrouded in darkness. “I have no idea. I just got really scared of the ocean after that.” 

It’s not much. If possible, they both look even guiltier at your confession. It seems like they’ll stay quiet again but then Minghao composes himself again.

“Remember what I told you before? About, um, mermaids and sirens?” he asks, almost as if speaking the words themselves was dangerous. You nod. The memory is a little hazy but you recall it. Actually you haven’t really thought about it as deeply as you probably should’ve, but it’s like you subconsciously know where he’s going with this. You swallow.

“I think there was some misunderstanding around what we really are,” he simply says, looking up at you with eyes that don’t look at all like the eyes of a predator, of a killer. Jun whines, finally letting go of his unease as he turns away from you for a moment and smashes his face into the water, staying like that for a few seconds. When he finally straightens back, he takes a couple deep breaths. You don’t think it helped much. He looks tense. Minghao just looks anxious and defeated.

You can’t find your voice, so you just nod again. You want to ask. Hearing it straight might help grounding you. For now you still feel like you’re floating between a fantasy and reality.

“So the song I heard, that was you?” you frown, cold shiver running down your spine. The ocean seems darker. As if the water should pull you in and drag you to the bottom.

“You remember?” they both speak at the same time.

“I just remember that there was one,” you shake your head, “And, I don’t know, I remember feeling something, but now it just makes me afraid to think about it or try to remember.”

“Don’t try,” Minghao advises immediately.

“Yeah, just… don’t,” Jun mutters.

You give it a second. Just enough time to fill your lungs with air.

“What happened that day?” you finally ask.

“We- We never meant to hurt you,” Jun speaks up, his words are rushed, “We promise we won’t. Never.”

It feels like a dream. Pretty much the same as when you met them the first time. Like everything’s behind a thin veil of unreality or like you suddenly clipped into a different world. Only back then it was daytime and the sun was warming you up and felt reassuring, now there’s only cold and the sensation of losing feeling in your fingertips. The moon provides no comfort.  

You don’t know what to say to that, how to react. So you stay silent. The ocean never sleeps. It talks. Sings. Moonlight makes the waves shimmer like fish scales. 

“We wanted to scare you a little,” Jun admits. He looks at Minghao for support. 

“We just wanted to make sure you understand that you should be cautious around us,” his friend takes over, “We really enjoy our friendship, but you really need to be careful.”

“You could’ve just-” you don’t finish the sentence. They tried to warn you. Especially Jun, in his own way. He never sat you down and had a heart-to-heart with you about the dangers of befriending random humanoid sea creatures, sure, but he did his best. And they both told you many times that you’re stupid for begging them to take you into the open ocean. 

“We’ve noticed more of us coming closer to the beaches too,” Minghao continues, “We were worried you’d do something stupid.”

You’d like to reassure them and tell them there’s no way, but you really can’t. You wouldn’t exactly be as friendly and carefree with strange mermen, at the same time, though, does it matter? The water is their territory. You could fight but if their intentions were bad, then that’s it for you.

“Or that they’d try something regardless, you wouldn’t even need to do anything,” Jun sighs, “They’d notice you can tell they’re there. They’d be curious and approach you first.” 

The sound of waves remains the same. It doesn’t get louder, it doesn’t quieten down. The ocean keeps moving like it, too, is a living organism. 

“When you say ‘us’... What do you mean?” even though you finally ask, it doesn’t feel like much. You don’t feel anticipation, fear, excitement. Or curiosity even. Somehow it just feels like you’re finally talking with them. Really talking.

“One of us is a siren,” Minghao whispers, but you hear. His voice sounds too loud despite everything. “One of us is not.”

“You won’t tell me more?” you try not to sound betrayed. After all, it feels like you shouldn’t feel this way. You should have thought more about it from the beginning. Should’ve tried to learn more. Maybe if you asked before all this, they’d answer.

“It’s enough,” Jun tries to smile, but it only looks sad, “You wouldn’t be able to tell anyway, would you?”

“Would it change anything if I knew?” you mumble. 

“You’d trust one of us more,” Minghao smiles, a little fondly you’d say, “That wouldn’t be very wise. You should be careful anyway. Just because one won’t eat you, doesn’t mean you can’t get hurt.”

“I thought we’re friends,” you say. It was supposed to be a joke, a little manipulation tactic. Instead you just think. How much does this change? This whole thing. You like them. You missed them. Even now, your feelings haven't changed. They didn’t hurt you, even though they could. Never. And the one time they put you in danger, well, Jun looks like he’d rather die than remember that it ever happened - much less do it again.

“We are,” Jun’s attempt of a smile just keeps getting sadder, “If you want it to stay that way.”

“We won’t sing for you again,” Minghao adds, “It… It was stupid. Really stupid. Sirens don’t only feed on humans, but humans are the only prey sensitive to their voices. We probably just missed that feeling.”

‘We’. As if they’re both guilty. Jun’s right. You aren’t able to tell the difference, you never were. For all you know, they might be lying. Maybe neither of them is a siren, maybe they both are. Either way, their point stands - the ocean is dangerous, and so are its inhabitants.

“If you’re really still up for it,” Jun licks his lips, “We missed you. There’s no pressure, but if you want to catch up, can we meet again tomorrow? Here? It seems like a good place to start again.”

“Sure, sounds nice,” you agree. Too fast, you think. Do you sound desperate? Is this a test? You bite your lip. You don’t want to lose them. After all, you missed them too. But what was this all for if you just slowly return to how things were? Well, not exactly the same. You’ll be smarter this time around. At least a little. Should you give it some more time to think it over, though? There are so many variables that you should consider, you suppose, yet at the same time…

“Humans are monsters too sometimes, yet they look the same,” Minghao splashes some water on you, making you look at him incredulously, “Don’t think too hard about it.”

You scoff. You don’t get down to the water to attack back. 

And maybe that’s the lesson they wanted to teach you.

[kailanioceanfinds]

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐷𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝐸𝑛𝑑

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Reader Setting: Summer Pool Party | Fluffy, Quiet Intimacy | Mild Tension | Light Humor

You’re not sure who invited Nanami Kento to the pool party, but when he shows up in a button-down shirt and slacks, looking very much like a man who got lost on the way to a board meeting, you’re stunned into a double take.

He's there, alright. Blonde hair slicked back, sunglasses perched low on the bridge of his nose, towel folded under his arm like a financial report.

“Did you lose a bet?” you ask as he approaches the drinks table with the same cold efficiency he must use when dissecting cursed spirits.

“I was told this would be a professional gathering,” he mutters, eyeing the floaties shaped like flamingos and beer cans. “It appears I was misled.”

You snort into your drink. “Yeah, that tracks. Gojo probably called it that to make sure you came.”

Nanami exhales slowly, the sigh of a man used to disappointment. “Of course he did.”

Despite the chaos—music blasting, someone cannonballing every three minutes—Nanami stays. He rolls up his sleeves, removes his tie, and leans against the shaded side of the house like he’s staking out a mission. The fabric of his shirt clings just slightly to his chest from the heat, and he hasn’t even looked at the pool once.

“You know,” you say, sidling up beside him, “you’re allowed to enjoy things. That’s sort of the point.”

“I am enjoying myself,” he says.

You raise a brow. “Right. This is your happy face?”

He looks down at you, deadpan. “You should see my miserable one.”

You grin. “Bet it’s the same.”

Nanami actually smiles a little. Just barely. A fleeting curve of his lips like a ripple on still water.

“Come on,” you say, tugging at his wrist. “I won’t throw you in. I promise.”

“I’m not dressed for it.”

You point to his bag. “I saw the swim trunks, Nanami.”

Caught. He doesn’t argue.

A few minutes later, you’re sitting at the shallow edge, legs dangling in the water, and Nanami steps out from the house in black swim trunks and a gray T-shirt that fits a little too well. The sun turns the edges of his hair gold. He looks like a man misplaced from his world and dropped into something slower, softer.

“You’re staring,” he says as he sits beside you.

“You’re a walking paradox,” you reply. “It’s hard not to.”

Nanami doesn't respond right away. Then he says, “You’re the reason I stayed, you know.”

You blink. “What?”

“I was going to leave the moment I saw Gojo in a flamingo ring,” he says, calm as anything. “But then you laughed. And I thought… maybe not just yet.”

And there it is. A pool party no one will remember for the floaties or the music—but you’ll remember it for the exact moment Nanami Kento let himself float, just a little, with you by his side.

BANNER: @creamflix

[ttllynotmyshyt]

The Three-Meeting theory: MEETING THREE

word count: 2,5k

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: After being ghosted for a month Y/n finds herself entertaining the conversation with the last client at closing time on a Friday. A client who just happens to be Hamzah.

1 / 2

Working the closing shift on a Friday night wasn’t exactly anyone’s idea of fun—and it sure as hell wasn’t Y/n's.

The sun had long dipped past the skyline, and the door hadn’t chimed in a while. Most people were probably out getting drinks or curled up at home by now. She’d be doing the same soon enough.

Some chill music played low over the store speakers, helping her mind drift to somewhere quieter.

Hopefully not to her ex.

It didn’t, though. Not this time. Her thoughts slid toward dinner instead—maybe a salad, one of those half-hearted ones she’d make once a month to feel good about her eating habits. There were still some bell peppers in the fridge. Maybe even feta cheese. Expired, probably. But still.

Thoughts of her last relationship visited less often now, anyway. She’d never admit it, but she was actually glad Olivia had dragged her to that house party. That porch conversation with Hamzah had reminded her of something she'd forgotten she could feel. That light, floaty warmth in her chest—she’d chalked it up as something that died quietly in her teens. But there it was. Back again. Even if he never ended up calling or texting her, she was weirdly okay with it.

There was comfort in the fact that someone had cared enough to ask for her number. Maybe it just made her feel a little less like a lost cause.

She was somewhere between mentally counting bell peppers and debating the risk of expired feta when she felt it—

someone watching her.

Her gaze shot toward the door.

The bell hadn’t rung. She checked the clock. Then she saw him.

There.

Leaning against the counter. Watching her.

Hamzah.

His curls were longer than they’d been a month ago, and he wore a black jacket over a t-shirt with a cat on it. He looked… relaxed. A little more confident than she’d thought he could even pull off. There was a new ease in the way he stood there, waiting. Calm, patient, almost smug.

And she—

She stared for a beat too long, blinking like she had to reboot.

Not just because she hadn’t expected anyone to walk in this late.

But because the last person she expected was him.

“Wait—did you sneak in? I didn’t even hear the bell.”

Hamzah gave a small shrug, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Maybe it likes me better.”

She let out a quiet laugh and leaned her hands on the counter. “Or maybe you’re just quiet as hell for someone who ghosts people.”

That made him smile wider—small, crooked, guilty-but-not-really. He tilted his head.

“I didn’t ghost you,” he said. “Ghosting implies I had any intention of vanishing.”

“Oh, so you just… didn’t text because it was a long, thoughtful silence?”

“Exactly,” he said, tapping the counter once. “A meditative pause. Very profound.”

She raised a brow. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

Hamzah laughed under his breath. “No, but it was the most honest way to lie.”

She rolled her eyes and stepped back, fighting the upward pull of her mouth. “You’re lucky I’m on the clock.”

“I came after hours,” he said. “Figured I’d increase my odds.”

Her look softened a little, despite herself. “Of what?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at her for a moment—really looked. Like he was studying her face for changes, or maybe just letting himself look a little longer this time.

“Conversation,” he said finally. “Maybe whatever came after that, too.”

She giggled. “And what could that be?” she switched her weight to the other leg, leaning on her hip.

Hamzah shrugged, unbothered. “Moral support. Expert opinion. Maybe even forgiveness.”

“For what?” she asked, a little more amused than she wanted to admit.

He gave her a look—tilted head, slight smirk. “For ghosting you.”

She scoffed. “Oh, so you are admitting it.”

“I was gonna say my parents grounded me and took my phone, but figured that only works when you’re sixteen.”

“Yeah, no one’s buying that,” she said, grinning.

“I figured. Thought maybe showing up in person might earn me a couple points.”

“You’re lucky you remembered where I work. And that I didn’t switch career paths.”

“I could’ve always just asked Olivia.”

“Well? Did you?”

“Nah, boooriiing.”

She tilted her head at him, amused. “Wait, so you went into this blind, just hoping I’d be in?”

“Helen Keller, baby.” He grinned, shameless.

She laughed, shaking her head. “That’s not even—God. You’re an idiot.”

“But a hopeful idiot,” he pointed out. “Which has to count for something.”

I like to see everything in neon

Drink lime green, stay up 'til dawn...

The next song started playing overhead.

“Track four?” Hamzah asked, gesturing casually toward the speakers.

“Huh?” She looked up, brows knitting.

“It’s off the album you recommended, isn’t it?”

Her expression shifted—surprise giving way to something warmer. “Norman Fucking Rockwell.”

He nodded. “No skips, right?”

She gave him a slow, teasing smile. “What, trying to impress me now?”

“Nah, you said it’s no skips and when a lady speaks – I listen” he smirked playfully, making her laugh softly again.

“You remembered.”

“I tend to remember the important stuff.”

She looked at the clock again. “Are you buying anything or do I close up the register?”

Hamzah glanced at the empty store, then back at her. “What if I said I came for something that’s not on the shelves?”

She raised a brow, unimpressed. “That sounds like a line.”

“Well, is it working?”

“Not this one, nah. Not really.”

He winced, hands up in surrender. “Alright, tough crowd.”

She smirked and moved toward the register. “Gotta keep you humble somehow.”

He leaned against the counter, watching her with a faint smile. “You always this hard to impress?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Depends on who’s trying.”

That earned him a real grin—soft, just a little crooked.

“I could help you close up,” he offered, suddenly less performative. “If you want.”

She hesitated, then nodded once, slow. “Sure. You know how to lock up a record store?”

“No clue,” he said, already slipping off his jacket. “But I’m a fast learner.”

She handed him the keys and gestured toward the light switches behind the counter. “Alright, prodigy. Lights first, then gate.”

He moved behind the counter without hesitation. “You trust me with this?”

“Not even a little,” she said, and shook her head with a soft chuckle.

They moved around the shop in sync, almost without thinking. She flipped the “OPEN” sign to “CLOSED” while he dimmed the front lights. She started zipping up record crates while he double-checked that the back door was bolted. There was a kind of rhythm to it—a quiet, shared task that didn’t need much talking. Just motion. Just nearness.

At one point, she caught him restacking a display she’d already straightened. “You’re being weirdly helpful.”

“I’ve got range,” he said. “Also, I’m trying to keep my ‘don’t get her fired’ streak alive.”

She smiled, almost despite herself.

“I could probably get fired for this,” she said a moment later, quieter.

He glanced over at her. “Then I’ll keep it between us.”

She looked at him, half a second longer than she meant to. “You always this chill?”

“Not really.” He paused, then added, “Just with you, I guess.”

She didn’t respond to that right away. Just kept organizing. Kept breathing.

After a few more minutes, the store was quiet and locked down. She leaned back against the counter, arms crossed loosely.

“So you really didn’t text me because your parents took your phone?” she asked, voice light but eyes watching him carefully.

He chuckled, low. “I wish I had a cooler excuse. But nah. I was just... overthinking it. And then too much time passed and it got weird.”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah. I get that.”

“Still,” he said, moving a little closer, “I should’ve called.”

“Well,” she said, almost smiling, “you’re here now.”

“I am.”

A beat.

She tilted her head. “What were you hoping to find, showing up like this?”

He met her eyes. “You.”

Simple. Honest.

For a second, she didn’t say anything. Then she turned to the final light switch by the door. “Well, you found me.”

He stepped beside her, their shoulders almost brushing. “Lucky me.”

As she reached out to flick off the lights, his hand hovered near hers. Not quite touching. Just close enough that she could feel the warmth of him. When she hesitated, he didn’t move.

And when her fingers finally did brush his—light, barely there—he didn’t pull away.

Not right away.

Instead, he turned his palm up, just a little, enough for her hand to fall into place if she wanted it to.

She didn’t take it.

But she didn’t move away either.

They stood like that for a breath or two—close enough to feel the tension loosen, like an inhale finally let go.

“I was starting to think I made you up,” she said, voice barely above the city hush.

Hamzah huffed a laugh, low and surprised. “Same.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it had edges, sure, but it held something honest between them.

“Guess we’re both real, then,” she added, glancing up at him.

They stepped outside into the night. The street was calm in the way only late-night neighborhoods could be—lit by scattered shop signs and the soft hum of lamps glowing in the windows above. Somewhere down the block, a dog barked once and went quiet. A car rumbled past, its headlights briefly casting long shadows along the sidewalk.

She leaned back against the brick wall of the shop and pulled her water bottle from her bag. After taking a sip, she held it out toward him.

Hamzah raised an eyebrow but took it anyway. “Wow. Sharing water bottles? Big trust.”

She smirked. “Don’t make it weird.”

He handed it back. “Too late.”

They fell into a light silence—comfortably so. The kind that let the moment breathe a little.

Hamzah rocked back on his heels, hands in his pockets. “So… was that technically your first criminal offense?”

She gave him a sidelong glance, pretending to consider. “If I get fired for this, you owe me a job.”

“I’ll write your reference letter personally,” he offered. “Make up a bunch of fake skills. Tell ‘em you’re proficient in, like, forklift operation.”

“Finally, a chance to live out my warehouse fantasy.”

He chuckled, then let the sound trail off naturally.

For a while, neither of them said anything. The stillness between them wasn’t awkward—it just felt like a pause between chapters.

Eventually, she spoke. “You really didn’t have to come back.”

“I know.”

“But you did.”

He looked at her then—really looked. “Yeah.”

The word landed softly, but it carried weight. Like he wasn’t just agreeing, but answering a question she hadn’t asked out loud.

She didn’t push for more. Didn’t need to.

Instead, she nudged his arm with her elbow. “Still not forgiven for ghosting me, though.”

He smiled at that. “I figured. But like I said, was hoping showing up in person would earn me some points.”

She considered it, eyes narrowing slightly. “Mm. Maybe half a point.”

“I’ll take it.”

Comfortable silence hung around for the next few seconds before she spoke.

“What’s the plan next time—carrier pigeon? Smoke signals?”

He smiled, but didn’t answer right away. Just watched the condensation bead on the bottle in his hand. “I thought about it, you know. Texting.”

“And yet,” she said, arching a brow.

Hamzah looked over at her. “I didn’t want to show up in your phone like some… random guy who vanished and remembered you outta boredom.”

She blinked. That wasn’t what she expected.

He went on, voice a little steadier now. “You felt… real, that night. Like not just the party, or the timing, or even the conversation. You were just—there. And I didn’t wanna mess with that.”

She looked at him, quiet now.

“So I figured I’d wait until it made sense,” he finished. “And then I realized maybe I was just scared.”

A beat.

“You know,” she said softly, “for a guy who ghosted me, you’re real good at saying the right thing.”

He gave her a half-smile. “Maybe I remembered the important stuff.”

Her gaze flicked down, then up. “Like what?”

“Like you love Lana,” he said.

She burst out laughing. “You wanna know a secret?”

He knitted his brows in amusement “What’s up?”

“I don’t even… listen to her” her laugh faded naturally. “just something that popped into my head that day.”

He blinked, clearly surprised. “Wait, seriously?”

She nodded, a small, almost sheepish smile tugging at her lips. “I just said it 'cause it sounded... poetic or whatever. Felt like the kind of thing a cooler version of me would say.”

Hamzah tilted his head, eyes narrowing playfully. “So you were lying to impress me?”

“More like... lying to convince myself I was someone worth talking to.”

That quiet landed between them—weighty, but not uncomfortable.

Hamzah looked at her for a long moment, then nudged her shoulder gently with his. “Well, joke’s on you. I listened to the whole album. Twice.”

She laughed, but it was softer this time. “And?”

“Not bad,” he said. “Kinda dramatic. Kinda dreamy. Kinda like you.”

She rolled her eyes. “Wow. Corny.”

“Accurate,” he countered.

A few cars passed in the distance. The night stretched quiet again.

Then she said, “I’ve felt like I’ve been blending into the background for a while. That night on the porch... it was the first time in months someone looked at me and didn’t just see, like, a placeholder.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Just let it settle.

Then: “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve been there.”

Her eyes flicked to him, remembering that exact phrase—“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve been there.”—and how it had struck something deep that night.

“You meant it,” she said.

Hamzah looked at her, steady. “Still do.”

And this time, when their fingers brushed again, it wasn’t by accident.

She didn’t pull away.

Neither did he.

“Y’know Sing?” she asked and looked up at his face. Properly looked.

“The animated movie with the animals’ singing competition?” he asked.

She nodded. “Bingo. You know Buster Moon? the Koala? you know his line? ‘When you’ve hit rock bottom, there’s only one way to go, and that’s up.’”

Hamzah let out a quiet laugh—fond, not mocking. “Man really said that with his whole chest in a glittery theater coat.”

“He meant it, though.” she nodded her head with a serious expression.

“Nah, he did,” Hamzah agreed, a little more softly now. “Lowkey corny, but kinda profound.”

She smiled, brushing her thumb over the edge of her water bottle. “Maybe I needed to hear it again.”

“Maybe I did too.” He paused, then glanced at her. “It’s been a weird couple months.”

“Yeah.”

Silence lingered between them, not heavy but full. Streetlights buzzed faintly overhead.

He nudged her hand with his. “So… up from here?”

She nodded once. “Up from here.”

a/n: ayyy, series done. also check out the playlist i made for it, link in the title here.

hope y'all don't mind it being this open of an ending lmao i fw it and I'm the one who writes

[pages-and-stages]

Shave your arms you hairy bastard

Have a Russ sickfic! Reason? I'm currently sick and delusional but I want to write.

You lay in bed, coughs wracking your body. Your lips were dry and cracked from breathing, your nose too stuffed to really breathe normally. You knew Leman was going to ask questions soon, about why his mate was hiding from him. It wasn't that you were afraid of getting him or his sons sick, you were scared of making yourself worse. That had to come first, was recovery. Once you weren't sweating buckets, and seeing the room move around you, then maybe you could go dine with him.

The room was fucking cold, so possibly that wasn't helping. But you couldn't very well stand up to light a fire, without risking yourself catching fire as well as the logs. You made due, stealing his furs to add to the mountain in your chambers, one that you had cleverly wrapped yourself inside for warmth.

You almost missed your door opening, the quiet rumble of your husband's chest. "Mate?" he called out, setting a heavy hand on your mountain of fur. "Come now, why are you hiding from me?" Leman worked on peeling the warmth away from you, his large hand finding your head and brushing your hair away. "Are we playing a game, treasure?"

You sneezed, the blow to your throat devolving into a violent coughing fit. His hand retreated, almost panicked. Not that you had ever known Leman to panic. "You're sick," he realized.

You groaned in agreement, sniffling, coughing a couple more times, as if your body was driving the point in. "And this room…it's freezing!" He pulled the furs back over your head, and vanished from your side, ignoring your whine of protest. His hand had been warm, and heavy enough to bring your head back down to the pillow, erasing the floaty feeling. You hesitantly and slowly stuck your hand out, feeling around for him.

For some odd reason, when it connected with his arm, you registered one of his wolves, and happily, you began scratching, expecting to hear happy groans and yips. Instead, you got, "Mate? What are you doing?" The fuzz you'd been stroking left, and your mind cleared enough to realize you'd been petting his arm, not his wolf.

"Sorry," you mumbled, dropping your hand away. "Thought your wolf was in the room."

He chuckled, deeply. "Have you eaten, lately?" You shook your head. You hadn't had any appetite lately. He made a worried noise, hoisting you upright. Your head lolled around, nose clearing a bit at the change in position. Leman's face was blurry, and your hand stroked his side burns, laughing softly. "Wait here. I'll be back with food."

You'd fallen asleep again, kicking off several of the furs as the room heated. When the door opened, you woke with a start, gasping softly as he gently sat beside you, lifting you to sit and lean on his shoulder. "That's it, love." A spoon nudged your lips, hot and wet, and you opened, letting him pour the soup down your throat. "That's it," he cooed, feeding you another spoonful. "Eat. And then, we shall get your bathed, and swaddled up again, yes?"

When the bowl was empty, he set it aside, picking you up and carrying you to the washroom, which was really just a spring he'd built a small wall around to grant you privacy. Something you had demanded upon when arriving. Something you were grateful for now as he undressed you, and gently dipped you into the water. "I had the serfs bring hot coals to warm it."

And warm, it was. You groaned in gratitude, relaxing against him completely. "That's it," he purred. "Good mate." Chesty coughs were his answer. His hands rubbed your back, and you fell into his hands, eyes cracked open just a little. The world still spun around you, and your head fucking hurt. Distantly, you registered his hands rubbing soap into your skin, a deep hum breaking through your fever haze.

He continued humming the lullaby, until your head rolled against his chest, and your breathing evened out. Leman chuckled again, picking you up and carrying you to his nest. "Sleep now, mate. I'll be here when you wake."