#(both of them. i thought i was crushing on both of them)

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

suguru is desperate, tonight.

in hindsight, you probably should have noticed all the ways he tried to clue you in on it. subtle hints; a touch lingering longer than usual, warm palms resting at your hips instead of the small of your back. the cologne he only wears when he wants to get you hungry. he's too polite to say it outright, but it's always obvious when you think back — his lips at the column of your throat this morning, the slightest whine to his voice before he got up. when you kissed him goodbye, still tasting bitter off the coffee he made you: a flickering, candle-lit heat to his gaze. 

tiny, tiny hints. that's his style. building up, and up.

crashing, the minute you stepped through the front door.

you could feel the tension in the air, in his body, the all-consuming desire in the low-curved smile on his lips, and of course you weren't unaffected by it. of course you were carried along, by the waves of his devotion when he kissed you welcome home — of course you were.

what else is there to do, when you have a beautiful boy in the palm of your hand?

(nipping at your fingers, in search of scraps. breathing oxygen into your lungs.)

"baby…"

a voice like caramel, soothing to your ears. your brain is mush, so stuffed with cotton you barely hear it, too distracted by the wet, warm muscle of his tongue — the warmth of his body, his hands, careful not to crush you as he keeps you pushed against the couch. groaning, into your mouth.

needy. 

such a rare treat, for him to let you see it.

a weak, breathy whimper bubbles up your throat, spills into his own, his tongue gliding against yours and ghosting at the back of your teeth. he tastes like mint. it's a chain reaction, the moan that follows — your meek response only fuelling the depth of what he must be feeling. the closeness he's craving. even though you're already chest to chest, heartbeat kissing heartbeat, beating in rapid, thumping tune.

with the way he keeps trying to pull you closer, you'd think he wants you to slip between his ribs.

"god, i love you so much. god…"

suguru's voice is silicone, honeyed tongues and teeth, but now the rasp at the throat of it is all you can hear. your senses are overwhelmed, wrapped up in notes of amber, cradled by his scent — his warmth flowing into your body and keeping all coherent thoughts away from your brain. no thinking, only him. your big, gentle boyfriend, kissing you with enough reverence to pluck pearls from the bottom of a seabed. keeping his knee in between your thighs, his big palm at the back of your neck, to make sure you can't run from the love he's giving you.

(not that you'd ever want to.)

love you, you try to say, ultimately sputtering on something like a mewl. suguru only pulls away to whisper praise against your lips, then he's back to waltzing with your tongue. he isn't fast — isn't rough — only intense, in the gentlest of ways. mellow waters lapping at the skin of your ankles, dragging you into the sea; you're being coaxed underwater, having trouble keeping up with the slow, deep rhythm he's set, his tongue in no rush to explore your mouth. you're having trouble remembering the first letter of your name.

your response only makes him hold you closer. there's no space between your bodies, nowhere further for you to go, but he's desperate enough that he's trying, pulling you up into his lap and wrapping both his beefy arms around your waist. mwah, mwah, two sloppy pecks against your spit-swollen lips, before he pries them open again.

you feel a little like you're dying. like you already died, and went to heaven.

suguru must have wanted this, all day. must have been waiting. it must have been a struggle just to help you get your shoes off, to close the door behind you before swallowing you whole. squeezing your body, like a fidget toy — though the way he handles you couldn't be farther from it. he just wants to feel you. to feel your flesh, and bones, and heartbeat, your tongue down his throat.

your boyfriend wants you to eat him alive.

(before he does the same to you.)

big, warm palms settle at your ass, and you know he's hanging on by a thread because he actually squeezes down, gently, feels the fat fill the gaps between his fingers and robs more air from your lungs before giving it back — heavy, bated breaths shared between the two of you. a gasp pushes past your lips, and he drinks it down. like freshwater, like cherry-red wine, lapping up the last drops at the bottom of the glass. a man intoxicated. drunk on you, his fingers sneaking under the fabric of your shirt to feel your blood beat and rush under his palms. ba-dump, ba-dump. he feels, listens, rubs circles into your hip. you hold onto his shoulders, dig your nails into the fabric of his skin-tight sweater, feeling so doused in heat you fear your nerves will catch on fire. heat at your neck, at your cheeks, in between your thighs. he licks into your mouth, flames at your teeth.

(as a child, your mother told you the sun was a lion playing catch with the stars. 

you used to wonder what it would feel like to be eaten by it.)

it's dizzying. suguru's kisses are always intense — he's always intense — but it's not often you see him this visibly bothered. he keeps tugging you closer, closer still, little rocks against you, like he can't stomach the thought of you being anywhere else. his rhythm is getting sloppy, and your breaths are getting more sparse, bodies melting together like gum on a hot, scorching sidewalk in the precipice of summer—

chew, and spit. you can't think of anything else. nibbling at his bottom lip, just to stay afloat.

fortunately, suguru knows your body. 

a deep, steadying breath. he manages to pull away, his fingers shaky, deft thumbs rubbing circles into the skin of your thighs.

"s-suguru."

"sorry." his lips are swollen, slick and puffy, his eyes so lidded you wonder if he's really there. if he actually got drunk on your spit. they're hazy, so dark you feel that you're staring into a deep, deep sea, sinking helplessly towards the bottom. "i don't think… i can control myself, right now."

(you aren't doing much better. droopy-eyed, lips thoroughly abused, drool seeping out from the corner of your mouth — his or yours, you couldn't say. a swipe of your tongue, and it's gone.

suguru inhales, shakily.)

too tired to speak, you lift your hands to cup his cheeks. they're rosy, cherry blossoms in the breeze, the fuzzy skin of sun-warmed peaches. hot, under your touch. when you smooth your fingertips against them his eyes flutter shut. 

a blissed out breath flows from his parted lips.

"i think i'd die if i couldn't love you." the words are spoken with bated breath, as if he couldn't keep them lodged inside his throat, couldn't even try. when he opens his eyes again, they shimmer, like sheets of glass, leaves wet with morning dew. 

you don't think he's exaggerating.

"… c'mere," he sighs, running out of patience. "you're too far."

this time, he's more careful. beginning to feel sated, maybe.

one palm on the back of your head, the other on the small of your back. heavy, radiating heat, pouring from the tips of his fingers through the fabric of your shirt, your thighs wrapping themselves around his waist to offer him the same. arms around his neck. he hums into your mouth, appreciative. his tongue glides against the seam of your lips, until you part them for him; letting him kiss you how he likes.

slow, and steady. breathing you in, and out.

(like this, you feel less like two people and more like one construct. a mechanism. inhale, exhale, your chests rising and falling, the way dandelion seeds float up into the sky, the way pebbles sink and sink until they hit the bottom of the sea. 

you think you understand him, a little more than usual. you think you'd drop dead, too, if someone were to pry your limbs apart.)

"i love you," you say, rasping against his lips. 

ba-dump, ba-dump. his heartbeat says it back, before he gets a chance to. 

[supertaliart]

I think SVSSS would work really well for a modern au fic where it’s Shen Yuan and Liu Qingge’s wedding and people are giving toasts. And all the toasts are embarrassing stories about how everyone knew they were in love with each other before they did.

Liu Mingyan stands up with a massive binder and starts with “my brother once came to tell me that he was allergic to SQQ because every time he was near him he felt hot and his chest hurt” so my brother avoided him for six months and in that time our parents thought he had clinical depression. This was twelve years before they started dating.”

Mu Qingfang stands up and says “as you know I am bound to confidentiality about the actions of my patients while they are under my care, so alas many of my stories I must keep to myself….. so I must confine myself to the stories from when they were not under my care.” And somehow this is way worse because the following story is bad enough and now everyone’s imaginations are running rampant about what Mu Qingfang has seen and he’s smugly refusing to confirm OR DENY even the most outrageous scenarios people are posing to him.

Shen Jiu stands up and says “There was a period of time when Liu Qingge was unaware his crush had a twin. There was also a period of time where Liu Qingge had realized his affections and was trying to write poetry. These periods overlapped by six months.” Then to Liu Qingge’s horror Shen Jiu pulls out a stack of poems that Liu Qingge thought he’d given to Shen Yuan despite his protests he’d never seen them, and Shen Jiu starts to read them out loud.

Qi Qingqi stands up and is like “As you all can imagine the mutual unaware pining got pretty tiring after the sixth or seventh year. So a number of us conspired to lock them in a closet together”

Liu Qingge turns to Shen Yuan and is like “Wait did you know that was on purpose?” And he says “No, and also what does this have to do with-“

Qi Qingqi continues “We thought they would get their act together and make out a little. But when we checked the closet they both had managed to escape through a vent in the ceiling and crawl all the way to the other side of the building. During which time Shen Yuan managed to get poisoned somehow?! Absolutely no kisses were exchanged but the entire school watched Liu Qingge princess carry Shen Yuan through the hallways convinced he was dying.”

—————

Just found out it’s LiuShen week. I don’t know any of the prompts but I can certainly get in the spirit of things so in addition to (hopefully) finishing some wips, here’s a Drabble born from a series of texts to my friend.

[616ioi]

❛ #PUSH! MULTIFANDOM.

────────── oh man, my first crush, what devastation .ᐟ.ᐟ

⤿ pairings. yoji uruha, kuguri (kagurabachi), shishiba (sakadays), higuruma hiromi, nanami kento (jjk), marc spector (moon knight), könig (cod), kafka hibino (kaijuu no. 8), levi ackerman (aot), shota aizawa (mha), ego jinpachi, noel noa (bllk), woo jinchul (solo leveling), kim dokja (orv), shinichiro sano (tokrev) x gn reader

⤿ contents. sub character, older man, little experience, like close to zero, drabble. this contains mature content, read at your own discretion.

⤿ thoughts. and one day, you're nineteen, and you find older men attractive.

In love with the idea of an older man with very little experience. A man who has been too preoccupied with things that it isn't a priority. Never been touched, never been kissed. Hasn't experienced anything remotely romantic, apart from a kiss on the cheek when he was like six.

He's a 30+ year old virgen!

He's a pervert.

He's sick, pathetic, a degenerate, a thirsty blood hound who can't help but have a crush on you — his new neighbor.

Ugh, it's sickening. He likes someone so young, with so much potential ahead, and much less life experience.

He tells himself to turn away.

He is in denial of you. Not so much being 'in denial', more so — refusing to push his feelings any further.

He's accepted his feelings.

Sure, yes, he does think you're quite charming. But he refuses to give in to you. To the thought of you.

No, he will never even consider you.

His spare glances and mutters should be enough to put you off, yet you still try to befriend him.

But then he dreams of you. In his head, he lays so softly against your chest, listening to the sound of you breathing, and he tries to mimic it. It's something so intimate, something so rare to him. New.

Why do his pants feel tight?

The lines near his eyes crinkle as he shuts them tightly, and his lip curls into a snarl. He feels ashamed, disgusted with himself. He's never even once thought to touch himself to someone. What does he do? What should he do? What's the right thing?

Tell him what to do with the feelings he caught.

But it only drives you to push it deeper, it seems. The way he stumbles and averts his lingering gaze when you catch him staring. He gets tongue tied trying to respond back.

His reactions are just so... cute. At least that's what you told him that night you invited him over for some dinner. You said you felt lonely, that you could bring countless people over, but they don't exactly make you feel fulfilled.

He knows this is true. There's a vent connecting your rooms. Sometimes, just sometimes, he can overhear what goes on.

And he hears you sigh, disappointed. His heart throbs at the sound, and he can't help but think that he'd be a much better replacement.

So, the rough pads of his fingers trail down his boxers as he tries to remember what you told the last guy — "Don't get ahead of yourself, sweetheart." — he thinks the guy was trying to take over your roll. He heard the guys' pleas of mercy to give him what he wanted.

Most of them did that.

"I won't give it to you until you make me feel something."

He wouldn't be like that. He would take everything you give him, even when it comes to be too much and his hips are bucking underneath you, until he's trying to push you away by the shoulders and his eyes threaten to shut, touch him while he's begging for you to give him a minute, while he passes out and you're still buried to the hilt, he'll let himself go and not think of a single thing but you.

Even when he's drenched in his own fluids — be it white and sticky, be it clear and wet that squirts out of him after he came way too many times, be it a mixture of both his sweat and drool.

He'll push through his own orgasm to make you satisfied.

He wants to be devoured by you.

He wondered how your hand would feel around his cock. Warm, you probably know what you're doing too. Would you kiss him afterward? He would, even with his semen coating your tongue. He'd clean it off for you just to get a taste of your spit mixing with his.

He isn't embarrassed by the wanton moan that escapes him as he squirms into the soaked sheets. Your name is on the tip of his tongue, it's ready to burst, he's ready to burst but he keeps some clarity to bite his tongue and force it down when he hears your car pulling up.

And he pulls away, hips thrusting into the warm air of his bedroom as his sticky hand comes up to muffle a gasp.

He'll keep on denying himself.

He wants to forget you but he can't. He'll miss you when he doesn't have you near.

He'll cry from thinking that he was yours. He never was, never will be. He knows this. You'll quickly move on, find someone your age, much more capable in satisfying you.

He can't give in.

[ditzybeee]

❥・Jason Todd — high school bf

❥・tags: jason todd blurb, jason todd is a loverboy, jason todd is a loser, high school sweethearts, gn!reader, no use of y/n, implied dialogue, loosely based on me and my bf :3

❥・word count: 635

❥・─────────────────────

Jason Todd is crushing hard.

The two of you met freshman year and he couldn't get you out of his head since.

He, of course, went through the painful process of friends-to-lovers. Because he'd rather make sure you liked him—a lot—before considering flirting.

Not that you'd know it.

He was bad at it. He was so, so bad at it.

Stupid lines from his stupid novels. Did you even read Jane Austen?

Never mind that you thought it was cute—you thought he was cute—lucky him.

When Jason asked you out, it couldn't be less cheesy. Full bouquet of flowers—which he didn't burden you withholding for the school day—and a bunch of your favorite snacks, which you promptly shoved into your bag before your teachers questioned them.

Newly dating and he was so excited. Nervous and sweaty palmed holding your hand in his, smiling ear to ear.

He'd walk you to class, even if it's across campus.

Sure, a few tardies would damage his perfect record, but he can't afford you missing your classes.

Dates with Jason were something else. Bruce had Dick chaperone the first few—either that or the dates were at the manor. Not that he didn't trust you, but he didn't trust Jason.

And he wanted to see his second son awkwardly maneuver speaking to his own partner.

Jason shared his first kiss with you on his first non-chaperoned date. A picnic some spring day in which he kept sneezing because of the pollen, mumbling about how badly he looked.

You stared at him in awe, giggling, and helping him wipe his face.

He was so, so in love with you that he whispered if he could kiss you, and quickly did when you accepted.

As high school continued, your relationship blossomed.

Both families trusted the other to keep their child safe when they slept over, to send the two of you to different cities and states for events, and to allow trips.

Jason first said "I love you" when he saw you in your dance attire. Sure, he's seen you in formal wear before. But this? This takes the cake.

He kissed you quickly, whispering the three words into your ear before Alfred made you two pose for pictures.

This same scenario repeated every time the two of you had a dance.

Every dance, every school event, every club meeting, you and Jason were there together.

It was about junior year when he told you about Robin and how he was thinking of changing it to Red Hood once you two graduated. He took your pointers for his new costume design—after a week-long argument about him being a vigilante and how dangerous it was.

He asked you to prom in a long-winded text message—multiple questions of whether you wanted a public promposal—it was obvious he used speech-to-text, and the message mirrored his speech patterns.

The dance was great. Dinner was delicious and the night was equal parts your boyfriend and equal parts your friends.

The days leading up to graduation were full of anxiety and joy.

You and Jason would stay out well past your curfews—which were basically obsolete, as both families didn't enforce it, as long as you were with each other—and just hang out.

You'd talk about your plans after high school—college, trade school, straight to work?

He'd mumble soft praises against your skin as you ramble about your ambitions, mirroring your energy when you asked about his vigilante plans.

Graduation—Jason's eyes hadn't been dry for a single second that day. He sobbed when you walked across the stage, when you cheered just as loudly for him, and when he saw you in your graduation gown all dressed up.

Jason loves the title "high school sweethearts".

❥・─────────────────────

❥・a/n: im feelin soft for my boy rn :( obvi no trauma au if he never DIED <3 more smut soon tho! i wont have internet the week after this coming week so ill try and get as much stuff out as possible!

❥・masterlist

[afroslacks]

Hello! Can I request a one-shot or drabble—whatever you prefer? Could it be about the Sinners premiere, where the reader is seen with Michael and fans start to ship them?

Today is one of the many premiere dates for your new movie Sinners. As you arrive at the premiere, your stomach ties itself in knots as the sound of fans gets louder.

“Are you ready?” your manager asks, looking at you as you smooth your hands over your dress to soothe your uneasy stomach.

“No, not really,” you reply, looking at your manager, who laughs before patting your back.

“Well, you have no choice, so get out there.”

Your mouth drops open at your manager’s callous attitude toward your nerves. He then pushes his hands out in a shop manager gesture.

“Rude,” you snort, before grabbing the limousine's door handle and pushing the door open.

The sound of screaming fans and media personnel becomes louder, causing you to pause in your attempt to exit the vehicle. You hate this part. Feeling overwhelmed, you exit the vehicle anyway. The driver holds out his hand so you can rise from the seat more easily without risking exposure and creating a viral moment.

“Thank you,” you utter quietly as you look around, taking everything in.

Your fellow castmates are talking to reporters and taking pictures in front of a Sinners backdrop.

“Don’t forget to smile,” your manager says from behind you, causing you to turn around and see them holding a thumbs-up. You shake your head before making your way onto the carpet. As you get closer to the cameras, you still consider turning around. But you continue anyway. Photographers call your name as you step into the spotlight.

“Look over here! You look gorgeous!” they shout. You wave and nod to let them know you acknowledge them. Then you begin to pose and stand still, letting them get their fill.

Unaware that Michael is watching you in that navy blue suit and his infamous grills. He stands there, frozen in time, rendered defenseless by your beauty. He has a longstanding crush on you. At his age, he can’t help it. Your characters play love interests in the movie, but he's always wanted something more.

You told him he’d have to wait until Sinners wrapped before either of you considered pursuing anything—keeping it professional and simple.

As he watches you, he notices you’re clearly uncomfortable. You’re usually good at hiding your anxiety, but over time he’s learned your signs. As you shift and pose, he sees you subtly rubbing your dress and placing your hands together.

“I think she’s a bit overwhelmed,” Wunmi says, watching you stand for the cameras.

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna jump in,” Michael replies without looking away from you.

“You should. Be really sweet to her, Michael,” Wunmi replies, watching him.

Michael steps onto the carpet and stands next to you. He leans into your ear.

“It’s alright. I’m here,” he promises, wrapping his arm subtly around your waist.

The paparazzi shout, “You both look amazing! Lovely couple!”

Michael laughs as your arm wraps around his back to tug on his suit jacket. You lean into his ear.

“Thank you. The cameras are too much for me right now,” you whisper, relieved that he noticed your struggle.

Michael looks at you and replies softly, under the chaos of the paparazzi:

“It’s no problem. I could tell. You were doing that thing—rubbing your dress and clasping your hands for comfort. So I stepped in to be your comfort.”

You hold eye contact, touched by his thoughtful behavior, wishing you could kiss him right now. But you value your privacy, and you both haven’t even had your first date. So you just stare—for now.

The paparazzi continue to snap photos in the background, but you don’t pay them any attention. You’re lost in his eyes.

A Week Later

You and Michael are enjoying dinner at a restaurant he rented out for the night so you could have privacy. You're sitting across from one another, enjoying the first course, when Michael suddenly says:

“Oh, I gotta show you something,” he says, pulling out his phone.

You finish chewing your food and wipe your mouth, waiting for him. Moments later, he pulls up a video of both of you on the premiere carpet.

“They’re shipping us now,” he explains, handing you his phone.

You roll your eyes at the internet’s quickness. “That’s because you make everything so obvious, Michael.”

Michael scoffs mockingly, placing a hand on his chest. “Me? You were the one who kept looking into my eyes. You refused to give me my face back.”

You wave him off with a flick of your hand. “Boy, finish your food.”

Michael laughs, takes his phone back, and you both enjoy the rest of your date.

[themoonlightfae]

So Close

Pairings: Fem!Reader x Hongjoong and Wooyoung

Summary:

Wooyoung crashes your and Hongjoong's scheduled hangout day, which you kinda expected.

You wind up in bed with them.

Which you did NOT expect.

Genre: Friends to Lovers

WC: 6,078

Rating: Explicit

Originally Published: 250530 on ao3

Tags: Under the cut

A/N: For @spacequokka

Tags: friends to lovers, hangouts, implied cannabis use, awkward crush, awkwardness, first kiss, safe sane and consensual, threesome - F/M/M, safewords, oral sex, vaginal fingering, sex toy use, sexual overstimulation, multiple orgasms, forced orgasm, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, post-coital cuddling, defining the relationship, happy ending

And these could be the best or darkest days The lines we walk are paper thin And we could pull this off or push away 'Cause you and me have always been So close So close to giving up So close to going all the way

~ Andrew McMahon in the Wildnerness, "So Close"

You hurried to get the door as someone stood on the other side, endlessly mashing the doorbell. There wasn’t a single doubt in your head who might be the culprit, and sure enough, you opened the door to find Hongjoong there as planned, with Wooyoung at his side, a wide smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. 

“I picked up a stray,” Hongjoong laughed. "Hope that's okay with you. Wooyoung didn't seem to think it would be."

“Oh, gee, both my best friends here together? You’ll have no objections from me,” you laughed as Wooyoung stepped forward to envelop you in a full on koala hug. You froze as he gave you a peck on the cheek, suddenly self-conscious in front of Hongjoong. You’d had a huge crush on Hongjoong or quite a while now, and although you were sure he didn’t feel the same, some small part of your brain was still clinging to the hope that one day he’d up and confess some feelings of his own.

Until then, you supposed you didn’t mind the alternative. When you had moved six years ago, you had never imagined that you’d have found such caring and kind friends in your new city, but the universe clearly had had plans for you. You had bumped into Hongjoong and Wooyoung one night at a late movie— quite literally in fact. You still remembered the resultant mess— the contents of two large buckets of popcorn strewn across the floor, drinks spilled, and several angry staff. 

The wild laughter that followed from all three of you was enough for said staff to ask you all to leave, and your newfound acquaintances lost no time in inviting you to their favorite 24 hour diner as an alternative.

Since then, the three of you had been joined at the hip, and you had quickly fallen in with the rest of their friend circle to boot. 

“I brought snacks,” Hongjoong announced as Wooyoung detached himself from you. Woo grinned mischievously. 

“I brought something too,” he giggled. 

“Should I be scared?” You feigned horror as you let them in, though you had a feeling you knew what the surprise was.

Hongjoong made a beeline for the kitchen, and Wooyoung sauntered in behind him, that same grin never leaving his lips. 

“Let’s just say… I thought of a way we can really… elevate … our rot day,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. 

Called it. What a dork. But also… hmm. I hope that doesn’t make things weird.

Hongjoong appeared at your elbow, slipping an arm around you and giving you a gentle side hug, causing your heart to drop into your feet. You knew that he was generally hesitant when it came to skinship, and more than a little picky about who he chose to allow himself to be close to. You had noticed over the last several months that he seemed to be getting more comfortable with you, which had been both a blessing and a curse. Part of you wanted at the very least to be able to cuddle with him the way you sometimes did with Wooyoung.

The rest of you knew that was a supremely terrible idea; the more Hongjoong paid you attention, the harder it was to talk yourself out of your stupid crush.

You knew if it ever escalated from where you were now, you were a goner.

Absolutely unfair, really.

Once the three of you were comfortably sprawled out around the living room— you and Hongjoong on opposite ends of the sectional and Wooyoung in your old, well-worn recliner, Woo reached for his computer bag with a giggle. 

“So… I brought gummies,” he announced. “No one is obligated of course, but they’re here if anyone wants.” 

You watched as he opened the small pack and ate one himself, holding it out to you next.

"Jagiya?"

You tried to ignore the tingle down your spine at the pet name.

“Oh, sure, why not,” you shrugged, and Woo tossed the bag to you. Although it wasn’t a regular occurrence for you, you did occasionally enjoy getting out of your head like this. The few times you had done so had really amped your creativity, to the point where you could absolutely see why Wooyoung had recommended it in the first place. As a budding writer, you were now nearly done with your very first novel, and you had scads of ideas logged away for future endeavors.

You checked the dose on the bag before partaking, and held it out to Hongjoong.

“Joongie?”

“Sure, just don’t make fun of me if I fall asleep immediately,” he giggled. “Might as well at least try to be on the same level once you and Wooyoung get even more silly I guess.”

“I’m quite sure I don’t know what you mean,” Wooyoung said airily as he turned to his book. “I’m very serious all the fucking time.”

“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England,” Hongjoong scoffed as he downed his gummy and opened his laptop. 

“Someday someone will believe me,” Wooyoung said solemnly. “Just you wait.”

“Music preferences?” You interjected as Hongjoong made a face at Wooyoung.

“No preference,” both of them said in unison. 

“Weird nostalgia playlist it is,” you shrugged, pulling up a lengthy playlist of your old favorites and hitting play. 

“Weird playlist for the weirdo,” Woo said. “Who’d have thunk.”

You threw a pillow at him, which he caught effortlessly, laughing brightly as he did so. 

“You asked the elder emo what she wanted to listen to, now live with the consequences, Jung Wooyoung.”

“Wow, you didn’t have to government name me,” Woo pouted as he snuggled down further under your favorite blanket and picked up his book again. “Gosh.”

“Are there days people don’t have to do that?” Hongjoong asked, eyes never leaving his computer, but you could see the faint smirk on his lips.

His stupid, perfect, disgustingly kissable lips. 

You tried to internalize the sigh as you turned to your writing. You had been having some trouble with the resolution of one of the core relationship conflicts, which annoyed you in more ways than one, but mostly because at this point you felt it was just a parallel to your predicament with your crush on Hongjoong.

You shook your head as you began to feel the effects of the gummy, and glanced over to your friends. Wooyoung was engrossed in his book, one foot sticking out from under the blanket as he lay sprawled out on the recliner, absentmindedly cuddling one of your Stitch plushies. 

Hongjoong, however, was staring at you, eyes slightly glazed over, and you froze, quickly looking back to your computer screen. You heard a small kerfuffle and peered to the right as best you could without moving your head to see Hongjoong closing his laptop and moving the tray table aside.

“I need a snack,” he said hurriedly.

“Ooh, munchies already?” Woo asked. “Will you bring me the bag of gummy worms?” He added.

“Sure,” Hongjoong nodded. He turned to you, cheeks visibly flushed. “Do you want something?”

“I don’t suppose you brought pretzels—” You started, and Woo began to giggle.

“Hongjoong was sure to pick out some of your favorite snacks,” Woo said, brushing his long black hair out of his face. 

“I got two kinds of hummus,” Hongjoong mumbled. “Roasted garlic and that lemon dill one you like.”

“Roasted garlic please,” you hummed happily. 

Not like I’m gonna be kissing anyone anytime soon.

You immediately regretted this thought, as your thoughts were loosening up further, and you were well aware of where they’d go if you let them run unchecked. You turned back to your writing instead, but found yourself just staring at the screen. You startled when Hongjoong appeared in front of you, offering the bag of pretzels and a small dipping cup of hummus.

“Thanks Joongie,” you said, and now it was your turn to blush. You noticed Wooyoung was staring at you and Hongjoong, the biggest shit-eating grin plastered on his face. 

You watched as Hongjoong quietly returned to his station on the sofa and reopened his laptop. 

“What are you working on?” You asked him, your curiosity getting the best of you. Hongjoong had been designing clothing since you’d known him, but he had recently been hired by a brand local to you, and they had immediately asked him to design a line for them. You knew he was excited, but you also had no doubt that he was probably stressing over it too. But now, with relaxation flowing through his veins, he happily scooted closer to you, bringing his laptop with him.

You listened, your slight haze growing a bit as Hongjoong animatedly walked you through the dress designs he’d been working on that week. He was quick to blush as you complimented his work, raving over a few designs in particular that you knew you’d have to have for your own closet. Hongjoong returned to his end of the couch, now seventeen shades of red. Out of nowhere, Wooyoung chuckled to himself, and your eyes flicked to him. As you suspected, he was not laughing at his book, but he was looking at you with a knowing grin.

You hadn’t meant to let Wooyoung know about your crush, but if anyone was good at reading people, and even better at learning their secrets, it was Jung Wooyoung. You glowered as you tried to return to your writing, but your brain was too far gone, and the only thing left was Hongjoong. The snack you’d had had only served to elevate you further, and you flipped over to your socials instead as the room fell quiet again, save for the music still playing over the speaker. 

You jumped as you got a Discord notification from Wooyoung.

Wooyounggg_ [2:53pm]: Hongjoong keeps staring at you :)

You tapped out an answer, your eyes flicking over to Hongjoong. Sure enough, he was looking at you again, and your heart skipped a beat.

You [2:54pm]: Listen here you absolute carrot don't make me murder you I like that chair too much to bloody it up

Wooyoung burst into a fit of giggles, and you rolled your eyes. Hongjoong remained oblivious, though he had managed to wrestle his gaze back to his own computer.

You [2:54pm]: He’s just super stoned. Remember the time Mingi gave him half of one of his homemade brownies and he slept for 20 hours? Poor guy is probably totally zonked.

Wooyounggg_ [2:55pm]: I will never forget or let our darling Joongie live it down. But it’s not just that.

Wooyounggg_ [2:55pm]: You know as well as I do that people tend to be more real when they’re under the influence. ;) 

You sighed. He was right, of course. You knew this from experience.

Most notably, the first time you and Woo had gotten high together, which had started quite innocently, and had ended in heated makeouts and an all-nighter for the history books. Since then, the two of you had decided to just be friends, but you knew you’d never get those memories out of your head.

If you were being really, truly honest with yourself, you liked both of them. You had realized quickly that you had more of an attachment to Wooyoung than you wanted to admit.

But the risk of ruining everything had kept you from going any further with him, and anywhere at all with Hongjoong. They were friends. That was that. As much fun as you’d had with Woo during your previous escapades, you knew you couldn’t chance repeating it.

Your head snapped to the side as you heard Hongjoong sputtering, and Wooyoung began to laugh again. Joong was clearly loopy now, not that you were faring much better, though you were also willing to bet you were slightly more functional than him, considering he had entirely missed his mouth when taking a drink, dumping water down his shirt instead. 

“Fucking fuck,” he muttered. You flitted to the kitchen to grab a towel, bringing it back to him and helping him clean up. You took a seat next to him, sensing some prickliness, and gently laid a hand on his forearm. His eyes grew to the size of dinner plates as his gaze flicked from yours, to your hand, and back again.

Seconds later, he was pulling away, shoving his laptop into his bag, muttering about how he should probably head home and lie down. Your eyes stung with tears, and you silently admonished yourself for reacting the way you were. You had been scared it was only a matter of time before you overstepped somehow. 

And of course all of us being zooted helps exactly nothing.

He was out the door in less than five minutes, leaving you sitting on the couch, chest heaving as you tried to calm yourself. Wooyoung was next to you almost unreasonably quickly. 

“You okay, jagi?”

“I don’t know what I did,” you sighed, ignoring the pet name. 

“I’ll go get him,” Wooyoung told you. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“No,” you said, taking a swig of water. “Um. I’ll go.”

Wooyoung did not say a word, but gave you a sly grin. You rolled your eyes yet again and clambered to your feet, donning a pair of slippers as you stepped outside to go find Hongjoong. 

You were surprised to find he had not gone far, and was standing just outside your apartment door, fumbling with a rideshare app. You closed the door behind you quietly, clearing your throat quietly. Hongjoong jumped, nearly throwing his phone.  

“Joongie. What’s wrong?” You frowned. “I thought we were having a nice day.”

“Nothing,” he muttered. “Just… thought maybe I should go home? I don’t know. I just.” He shook his head. “I can’t think straight right now is all.”

“Why leave though?” You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t even understand what hap—“

Your sentence was cut short as Hongjoong stepped to you, slipping his arms around your waist and tugging you to him roughly, his lips crashing onto yours in a heated, desperate kiss. You gasped against his lips, but it did not deter him, not that you minded in the slightest. He pushed you back against the door with a thump , pressing his body to yours in the same second as he continued to kiss you like his entire existence depended on it. 

Your head was spinning now, and you thought you heard a cackle from the other side of the door. You broke the kiss, and a split second later Wooyoung opened the door. Hongjoong caught you before you tumbled backwards, pulling you back to him and holding you tightly. 

“Hey there kids,” Wooyoung said gleefully. “Having fun out here?”

“Shut up, Wooyoung,” you and Hongjoong said in unison. 

“All I’m saying is it’s more comfortable in here,” Woo said insistently, and you caught the wink he gave you. 

Carefully, you extracted yourself from Hongjoong’s grasp, and he allowed you to lead him back into the apartment, though you could tell he was somewhat timid, his face still flushed red. 

“Should I leave you guys to it?” Wooyoung asked, still grinning from ear to ear as you and Hongjoong sat down together on the sofa. “Or…” He winked at you again. 

“Or?” You raised an eyebrow at Wooyoung. 

“You know,” he said sheepishly, his cheeks turning pink.

“Jung Wooyoung, are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” 

“I mean…” he shrugged. “I bet I could show Hongjoong a thing or two.”

“Wait, wait,” Hongjoong said, and you could see the gears turning in his head. “Did… did you guys sleep together?!”

“There is a distinct possibility that that is a thing that happened,” you admitted. “Sorry we didn’t tell you. It was totally an impromptu thing and it didn’t happen again and I didn’t want to—“

“Well that’s not fair,” Hongjoong said calmly, interrupting as he scooted closer to you. Carefully, he pushed you back against the pillows next to you, and before you knew it, his upper body was pressing you down further as he kissed you again, with a renewed fervor that left your head spinning even more than it had been. He broke the kiss after a few moments, and you stared at him blankly. He had not moved, his weight on top of you comforting yet insanity-inducing. You took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Is…” You blinked, trying to clear the fog in your head and knowing it was a losing battle all the same. “Is this real?”

“Hmm, sounds like you need convincing,” Wooyoung surmised, stroking his chin as if he was thinking big thoughts. “I have a few ideas as to how we could orchestrate that.”

“I’m sure you do, you little shit,” you fired back, still hyper aware that Hongjoong was basically still lying on top of you. Wooyoung let out a high-pitched giggle, and you sighed.

“Are… are you guys sure this is what you want?”

“To be clear, we are talking about a threesome, right?” Hongjoong asked, his question followed by a nervous giggle. 

“Yes, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung said exasperatedly. “God. You need to get out more.”

“Well, I’m out now,” Hongjoong whispered as he lowered his lips to yours again. “Should we take this adventure somewhere more comfortable?” He whispered against your lips as he kissed you softly now, with deep, unhurried kisses that had you gasping for breath. It felt so intimate, even though you could feel Wooyoung’s eyes on you, could see his smirk in your mind’s eye.

“S…sure,” you managed to get out. At once, Hongjoong had moved, and he and Wooyoung were hauling you to your feet. Wooyoung stopped you before you could take a step, snaking his arms around your waist and pulling you to him to kiss you deeply. He giggled into the kiss, as he nipped at your lip, sucked on your tongue. He had clearly not forgotten a single thing from your previous encounter. You felt wetness pooling between your thighs at an embarrassing rate now. The idea of being with both of them was almost enough to make you come on the spot.

“Mmm,” Wooyoung murmured as he came up for air.” I missed this, not gonna lie. I don’t think once was enough.”

“Come on,” Hongjoong urged, taking your hand. Wooyoung let you go, taking your other hand and squeezing it. 

You led them to your bedroom slowly, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest. Part of you hoped you weren’t making a huge mistake.

The rest of you was practically vibrating at the chance to finally show Hongjoong how you felt about him, in more ways than one. 

The second you were across the threshold of your bedroom, you found yourself sandwiched between your friends, their hands everywhere at once, two sets of lips kissing every bit of exposed skin they could reach— which happened to be a lot, considering you’d dressed for comfort in sweats and a tank top that probably showed just a bit too much . 

You felt hands tugging at the waistband of your pants, and looked back to see Wooyoung with a wicked grin. He leaned over to whisper in your ear. 

“Wanna let me show Hongjoong how to make you come?” 

You gulped. You turned back to Hongjoong, who was staring at you, wide-eyed. 

“Joongie?” You asked. “Would you like that?” You took a deep breath as you put your hands on his waist, pushing his t-shirt up and hooking your thumbs underneath to graze his pecs as you pulled it up and over his head. 

“Oh my god, fuck,” Hongjoong whined as you pressed your lips to his collarbone, kissing a trail across and down, trailing your tongue lightly across what was evidently a very sensitive area. 

“Careful, jagiya,” Woo laughed. “You’re gonna make him come in his pants before we even get started.” 

Wooyoung made quick work of your clothes, then his own, but Hongjoong stood stiffly now, staring at you, jaw falling open as you strode back over to him. You tugged at the waistband of his own sweatpants. 

“You should take these off,” you asked softly. “What’s wrong, Joongie? Are you nervous?”

I say as though I’m not . Holy fucking hell. 

He fixed you with an unreadable gaze, and you began to trace soft lines over his hips. When he did not stop you, you hooked your thumbs into his waistband, pulling everything down in one go. His cock was rock-hard, and you tried not to stare, imagining how that girth would be stretching you out later, pushing into you over and over until both of you were quivering messes. 

Without thinking, you dropped to your knees, unsure where your sudden courage was coming from, but fully willing to embrace it. You ghosted your palms up Hongjoong’s thighs, watching as gooseflesh rose in their wake. As you began to tease closer to his cock, Hongjoong let out a loud moan. 

“Tell me to stop,” you whispered. “We don’t have to do any of this.”

“Please don’t,” Hongjoong hissed as he grabbed your shoulders. “Please, fucking hell, do not stop…”

You moved to grasp Hongjoong’s cock at the base, and he cried out at the contact, stumbling a bit and catching himself on the wall next to him.

“Maybe we should lay you down,” you suggested, straightening up. “Before you fall and hurt something.”

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. 

“No sir,” you tutted. You grabbed his wrist and guided him to your bed, and he begrudgingly clambered up to lie down in the center. 

“Oh fuck me, my head is spinning more lying down,” Hongjoong whined.

“Hmm, that’s too bad,” you said softly as you lay down on your tummy on the bed, pushing his legs apart. You could feel his eyes on you, and you peered up at him through your lashes as you lowered your lips to the head of his cock, tongue swiping up the drops of pre-cum. 

“Oh, holy shit,” Hongjoong whined, immediately trying to thrust up into your mouth. You were quick to lay a hand on his waist, pressing him down into the mattress.

“No no,” you chided, dipping your head lower, taking him into your mouth inch by inch, relaxing your throat as you went. As your nose nudged at his pelvic bone, he let out a long string of curses, hands scrabbling to grab ahold of you. 

“Please move,” he begged. “Oh please. Please. Fuck.”

You hummed as you began to suck him, drawing out each movement, licking slowly and firmly up his shaft, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock, changing things up every few moments to make him extra insane.

You yelped as you felt fingers between your own legs, and looked to one side to see Wooyoung perched on the bed, stroking his own cock with one hand. His other was now pushing your legs apart, wasting no time finding your slick folds. 

“Ah… so, so wet for us,” Wooyoung cooed. “Hongjoong, just wait til you feel this perfect pussy…”

Wooyoung shoved two fingers into you without warning, and you nearly choked on Hongjoong’s cock as Woo stretched you open. 

“Oh, fuck,” Hongjoong whined as you picked up your pace, working the base of his cock with one hand while you continued to suck him off with a renewed intensity, matching Wooyoung’s pace as he finger-fucked you from behind. Woo’s next thrusts hit you in just the right spot, and you moaned around Hongjoong’s cock. 

“I’m… help,” Hongjoong whined. “Close, I’m getting close, ah, fuck, fuck…”

You did not relent despite Hongjoong’s high pitched cries that he was overstimulated, and continued through until his cock was pulsing, shooting thick ropes of hot cum down your throat. You swallowed every drop before backing off a bit, continuing to give kitten licks to the head until he found the strength to sit up and scramble away from you. 

“Perfect," Wooyoung remarked as he stopped his own movements. He brought his fingers to his lips, licking them clean. “Ah, fuck. Forgot how good you taste,” he moaned, and you heard Hongjoong groan in the background at the mere idea of tasting you. 

Woo was across the room now, rummaging in the bottom drawer of your dresser. You joined Hongjoong in the center of the bed, and he kissed you deeply as you leaned back against the pillows.

“I can’t believe you,” he whispered. “That was…”

“Do you need a do-over to believe it?” You asked with a wicked grin. His eyes widened, and you giggled. “Don’t look so scared, Joongie.”

“Not scared,” he breathed. “Just… haven’t come like that in a long time… Wanna…” His cheeks were red again, and you kissed him softly.

“Wanna what?”

“I wanna make you come too,” he said breathlessly as he kissed you again. “I want… I want you… in every way, please…”

“You scrambled his brains already,” Wooyoung laughed as he returned, holding a few things behind his back. “What happened to pacing?”

Hongjoong flipped Wooyoung off, and Woo cackled in response as he crawled onto the bed, reaching for your ankle and tugging your leg.

“On your back, jagiya,” Wooyoung instructed. “Now, please.”

“Or what?” You challenged. 

“Or I’ll go back for the restraints,” Wooyoung warned. “Don’t test me today.”

You shivered. This was a side of Wooyoung you were unfamiliar with. 

“Do it then,” you said smugly. Wooyoung stared at you for a second.

"Color?"

"Green."

"Safeword?"

"Red."

"Good," he said shortly, turning and heading back to the dresser. You glimpsed a black box in his hand, and clenched around nothing.

Oh fuck, so he’s going to show Hongjoong how to totally and completely ruin me. Fabulous.

Hongjoong was a little bit concerned at the restraints given the circumstances but calmed down significantly when scissors were brought out as a potential safety measure.

He then lost zero time lying down next to you on the bed, pressing his flushed, naked body close to your own, slender fingers tracing your skin, and it wasn’t lost on you how he was marveling at the experience. 

“I… I don’t even know what to do first,” Hongjoong admitted. "You're so fucking pretty that it makes me feel insane."

“Her neck is sensitive,” Wooyoung piped up from over near the dresser, where he was rummaging again, and came back holding your vibrator as well. “Also, she likes it when you twist her nipples.”

“Jesus Christ in a crock pot, Woo, just tell him all my secrets why don’t—” 

Your words died in your throat as Hongjoong leaned in, pressing sloppy, desperate kisses down the column of your neck, across your collarbone, then dipping lower. Once his lips reached your breasts, he began to suck a trail of marks before closing his mouth around one nipple and sucking hard. Your immediate whine must have been like music to his ears, as you heard him giggle. Instead of pulling away however, he reached for your other nipple with one hand,  twisting it firmly as Wooyoung had suggested.

“Holy fuck, Hongjoong,” you whimpered as he continued to tease. “You’re— FUCK!”

Your entire body tensed as you felt Wooyoung shove two fingers into you roughly. 

“Hmm,” he murmured. “Good.”

Just as quickly, his fingers were gone, replaced by heavy, cold metal, and you shrieked at both the intrusion and the temperature. 

“Mmmhmm. She likes this metal dildo a lot,” Wooyoung explained to Hongjoong, speaking in such a casual way he might as well have been just explaining how to do any simple task. 

“I can tell,” Hongjoong breathed, nipping at your neck. Between your legs, Wooyoung was staring up at you with a wicked grin as he began to fuck you slowly with the toy. He was gentle, but clearly had not forgotten the firm upstrokes to your g-spot that were bound to make to come in seconds flat— and so you did, tumbling off the edge as your release ripped through you like a wave of blistering heat. 

You were completely unsurprised that he did not relent, sending you quickly into another orgasm without giving you time to come down. 

“Wooyoung, I adore you,” you whined. “But the second you let me out of these restraints— FUCKING HELL!” 

You came again, having been partially distracted by your empty threat, head spinning as you tried to form any coherent sentence.

It did not help in the least that the effects of your earlier edible were in full swing, elevating your releases to levels you had never dreamed were possible. 

That being said, it also enhanced the overstimulation— something which Wooyoung knew full well, as he pushed you towards yet another orgasm, now with the vibrator planted firmly on your clit and set to an infuriatingly teasing pattern. 

“Wooyoung, please, please,” you choked out, though you couldn’t stop your hips from bucking at the toy every time he plunged it into you. “Woo. Baby. Please.”

“Oh, you want me to stop? Okay,” he said nonchalantly, ceasing his movements at once. The brattiness was radiating from him in waves, and you rolled your eyes. You had been close again, of course, but you weren't sure whether you could have handled another orgasm so quickly.

Then again, you also regretted not trying, if for no other reason than it was Wooyoung. 

You knew he knew this too, judging from the look on his face. 

“You little shit.”

“Who me?” Wooyoung chirped, gesturing to himself. “What an accusation!"

“She does have a point,” Hongjoong said dryly. 

“Wow, you guys stink,” Woo laughed. "Whatver."

“I want to try,” Hongjoong said, abruptly changing the subject.

Oh god, help me.

Wooyoung handed Hongjoong the dildo, and you tried not to giggle as they discussed in hushed tones. You could tell Hongjoong was afraid of hurting you— it was in the way he gently pushed the toy in, the hesitation in his initial movements. But before long, you were over the edge again, begging loudly for them to give you a break. 

You were unsurprised that Hongjoong relented, but judging from the way Wooyoung was moving, you could tell he already had other ideas. 

He’s so… I don’t even know. Insane? But also… good god damn, if these encounters with him aren’t some of the hottest I’ve ever had. Fuck.

"How about we let our pretty girl out of her restraints before we have some more fun?" Wooyoung suggested. You saw Hongjoong flush bright red at Woo’s verbiage, and he slipped out of the room, muttering something about getting water. Wooyoung proceeded to untie you, and rested quietly with you on the bed, massaging your wrists and ankles until Hongjoong came back bearing a few bottles of water. After the three of you had hydrated, Hongjoong lay down on your other side. 

You felt fingers nudging your legs apart again, and glanced to see it was Hongjoong taking the initiative. The second he touched your clit, you nearly came off the bed with a shriek. 

“Mmm. So sensitive,” Hongjoong whispered. “So many things I want to do, but I want to be inside you the most,” he admitted with a small smile and another rather impressive blush. 

“Idea,” Woo chimed in.

Yep, there it is.

“Jagiya,” Wooyoung said sweetly as he nuzzled your cheek. “What would you say to me fucking your mouth while Hongjoong fucks that tight little cunt?”

“I’d probably accuse you of trying to murder me,” you answered, turning your head to face him. He kissed you softly, but nipped at your lip as he pulled back.

“Only a tiny bit. But in a good way,” he assured you. "So it's still legal."

"Oh, is that so?"

"Mmhmm," he said as he kissed you softly. 

Moments later, Hongjoong was slotting himself between your legs, having given you some reprieve from the overstimulation, if only for a short time. 

Wooyoung was moving too, throwing one leg over you to straddle your upper body, moving closer and checking that you were okay every step of the way.

“Color?” He asked, clearly just wanting to be sure.

“Green as fuck, my dude,” you breathed. “Are you going to let me suck that pretty cock or just dangle it in front of me?"

Wooyoung pushed into your mouth at the exact time Hongjoong buried himself in you to the hilt, but your cry was muffled by Woo’s cock. 

Hongjoong began to move first, and you whined, causing Wooyoung to curse and hunch over, grabbing the headboard for leverage. He was looking down at you as he fucked into your mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts that you knew were driving him even more insane than they were you. Wooyoung loved to be teased and edged; he had confessed this to you the first time you’d slept together— which is how that night had ended with you bending him over your bed and giving him the strap until he was pleading and beating at the mattress, begging for you to let him come. 

Oops. Maybe this is payback. Oh well. Not sorry.

Your head was surprisingly clear for just a few moments, before Hongjoong changed his angle slightly, and you nearly came again right then and there. You tried to speak, but Wooyoung continued to fuck your mouth, and your words came out garbled, saliva dripping from the corners of your mouth.

“I think that’s a good angle, Hongjoongie,” Wooyoung called back to him. "Keep it up."

“Mmm. Good for me too,” Hongjoong whined, and he increased the pace, hitting you just right every time in the process. 

Hongjoong was the first to come, spilling inside you as you crashed with him. Wooyoung followed quickly, emptying himself into your throat, praising you as you swallowed it all and continued to suck until he was overstimulated himself. They pulled out of you quickly, losing no time in lying back down and snuggling close. 

“Wow.” Hongjoong was first to break the silence. “Just… wow.”

“Mmm,” you agreed. 

“Yep,” Wooyoung nodded. “Wow, fuck, holy shit, all those good terms. Yeah.”

After a shared shower, the three of you returned to your bed after a quick stop in the kitchen to retrieve snacks. You flipped on the TV, navigating to a movie that was familiar to all, before settling back down between them. 

“I could get used to this,” Wooyoung said suddenly.

“Same,” Hongjoong murmured. “For sure.”

“Wait, hold on,” you said, sitting up. They followed you, each slipping an arm around your waist. 

“We should just tell her,” Woo said. 

“Tell me what, exactly?” You asked cautiously. 

“You tell,” Wooyoung told Hongjoong, and you smacked him in the back.

“You brought it up, dweeb.”

Hongjoong sighed. 

“I wanted to hang out today because I wanted to talk to you,” Hongjoong said quietly. “I… I wanted to ask if you’d go on a date with me. And then I told Wooyoung, and he wanted to tag along to… I don’t know. Cheer me on? But also…”

“Also?”

“I like you too,” Wooyoung blurted out, clapping a hand over his mouth immediately. 

“You…” You were trying to get a handle on what was happening, your brain clearer now but but not at 100%. “Huh? You both like me?”

“So yeah, we kinda… did things… backwards...” Hongjoong started, but you cut him off.

“That’s not really so important,” you reassured him as you took a deep breath, still a little scared to make your own confession. “What is important is that… I like you both as well.”

Neither of them seemed particularly shocked by this news, which made you wonder if you had ever been good at hiding it.

Oops?

“Mmm,” Wooyoung hummed happily, nuzzling into your shoulder and giving you a squeeze. On your other side, Hongjoong was pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“So…” You said. 

“So you’re our girlfriend now?” Wooyoung asked eagerly, eyes shining with excitement.

“Please?” Hongjoong added. 

"Say yes?" Woo giggled.

“Absolutely,” you told them, without hesitation. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t wanted this… so… you can have all of me. I’m yours,” you said breathlessly.

“Ours,” Hongjoong repeated.

“Ours,” Wooyoung affirmed, as they lay you back and snuggled up to you like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I like that you’re ours, jagi.”

“Me too,” you told them. “Always."

[gyugraphy]

psyche (2)

— synopsis. After the catastrophe in New York-when the Void tore through the city-the Thunderbolts know it can't happen again. Bob Reynolds doesn't need another collar or containment spell. He needs help. Enter her: a psychiatrist with an unusual gift, capable of stepping into the mind itself. No one expected her to reach him-least of all, him. "You're just going to leave me the moment it gets too hard, aren't you?" he says. She meets his gaze, steady and unshaken. "I've walked through nightmares to get to you. I won't walk away now."

— pairing. robert reynolds (sentry/the void) x reader

— warning/s. mentions of trauma, mental illness, depression

— word count. 6k+ ?

masterlist ⊹ part 1 ⊹ part 2 ⊹ part 3 ⊹ part 4 ⊹ part 5 ⊹ part 6

⋆˙⟡

The next day crawled by.

You told yourself it was just another shift: just stitches, scans, the usual rhythm of organized chaos. But every time you passed a window or a shadow flickered across the sterile ER light, your gaze drifted outside.

Around 4:30, Christine caught you doing it.

She slid up beside you at the nurse’s station, holding a clipboard she wasn’t reading. "You keep staring out there like you’re waiting for a spaceship.”

You didn’t look at her. “I’m not.”

Christine leaned, squinting toward the street.
“Mmhm. Because the tall guy in the hoodie across the street is just loitering for fun?”

You froze. Just for a half-second.

“Oh my god,” she said, grinning. “That’s him, isn’t it?”

“Christine—”

“No, no, I’m just trying to understand,” she said, hand raised like she needed physical stability. “You, brilliant trauma surgeon, have a potentially world-ending crush on New York’s most unstable demi-god.”

“I do not—”

“He looks like a kicked puppy,” she mused. “Kind of cute, in a ‘please don’t vaporize me’ way. You’re into that?”

You checked the clock sitting in the wall beside you before you turned to her, unamused. “I’m going outside.”

“What if he is a danger?” she called after you, mock-dramatic. “Blink twice if you need Thor!”

You flipped her off without looking back.

“I’ll take that as a maybe!”

Bob Reynolds was easy to spot.

He stood awkwardly by a lamppost outside the Starbucks on 8th and Greenwich, hoodie low over his face. But subtle? Not a chance—he was massive, twitchy, and radiating tension like a downed power line.

As you approached, you spotted them: two men in dark suits, sitting at opposite corners of the café patio. One had an earpiece. The other had a jacket bulge too square to be anything but a weapon.

“They with you?” you asked quietly.

Bob hesitated. “They’re with them. Standard protocol.” He raised his wrist, showing you a sleek black band, barely wearable tech. “If I go red, they move in.”

You nodded. Quietly. Then opened the door.

Inside: burnt espresso, the hum of capitalism, and ambient indie pop. A universe away from the void in Bob’s head.

You both got drinks. His had more sugar than coffee.

You took a seat by the window. Light sliced across the table in gold strips. Outside, the bodyguards watched without moving. You could feel the hum of tension under the table— his, not yours.

Bob stirred his drink with a shaky hand.

“So,” you said. “This the part where you tell me why you wanted to meet?”

He didn’t answer immediately. When he looked up, his eyes were unreadable.

“I wanted to try again. With the mind stuff. But not today. I thought we could just... talk. Like people.”

You sipped. “Talking’s a good start.”

“They don’t trust me,” he said. “Not really. Not even the Thunderbolts.”

“You’re wearing a tracker.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “They call it a proactive risk mitigation device. Translation: ‘please don’t explode in public.’”

You snorted. “We love euphemisms in medicine.”

His smile flickered, but dropped fast. “I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t trust me either.”

You studied him. Not nervous, but frayed. Like a person unraveling thread by thread. The kind of damage you recognized from trauma wards. Combat. Survivors.

“I read your files,” you said gently. “What you were. What you did. You’re still here, Bob. That has to mean something.”

He looked away. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t.”

Silence fell. Not awkward. Heavy.

“I don’t want to be the Void,” he said. “Or the Sentry. I just want to be someone else. I don’t know who that is yet.”

You nodded. “That’s what I’m here for.”

His gaze lifted. Really looking at you, for the first time since you’d sat down. "You think you can fix what’s in my head?”

“I’m not here to fix you,” you said. “I’m here to help you understand yourself. There’s a difference.”

Something broke in his face. Just a crack. A shift.

“That’s the first thing anyone’s said that didn’t sound like a warning.”

You slid a leather notebook across the table.
“Homework. Dreams, thoughts, stuff that doesn’t feel like it belongs. Write it down. We’ll use it to map the next entry point.”

He stared at the notebook like it might vanish.

Then nodded. “Okay.”

Across the street, Yelena sipped black coffee and grimaced.

“Why does this taste like regret?”

“Because you’re drinking Starbucks,” muttered the agent next to her—Jones, ex-SHIELD, now Ross’s clean-up crew.

She ignored him.

Through the café window, she watched Bob Reynolds fiddle with his cup like it might explode. The doc leaned in slightly, listening, not prying.

Bob was still. Still. Not hiding. Not unraveling.

Yelena almost smiled.

“What?” Jones asked.

“Nothing,” she lied. Then, “Actually— yeah. You ever seen him like that?”

Jones snorted. “You call that calm?”

“For Bob? That’s borderline sedated.”

She watched as Bob gave a shy smile. The doctor responded with something gentle. Grounding.

Then Torres’s voice crackled through her comms:
“Okay, hear me out... what if they start dating?”

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Please. She’s way out of his league.”

“Bob cleans up okay,” said Mack. “Give him a haircut and some therapy? That’s boyfriend material.”

Yelena snorted. “You’re all insane.”

“Maybe,” Torres said. “But admit it. You’re rooting for them.”

Yelena didn’t answer.

Because in that moment, every HUD alarm screamed red.

Incoming.

“Status?” she barked, already moving.

“Not Bob,” said Jones. “Tracker’s green. Pulse steady. Elevated, but stable.”

"Unidentified extraterrestrial just entered the atmosphere. Heading straight for their position.”

Yelena didn’t curse. She didn’t need to.

She ran.

⋆˙⟡

The light outside bent.

It wasn’t metaphorical. The air warped like heat off asphalt, and for a moment it felt like the world forgot how to hold its shape.

Your cup stopped halfway to your lips.

Across the table, Bob froze. His fingers clenched tight around his drink, knuckles paling, breath caught in his throat. That buzzing tension under his skin, the one you’d noticed before. It was like static before a storm.

Then the glass behind you rattled. A soft, eerie tremble—barely a whisper at first.

You turned, instincts kicking in. “What was that?”

Bob’s eyes were wide, locked on something past you, out the window. His voice dropped.

“Something’s here.”

The sky cracked.

It wasn’t lightning. It was a sonic boom tangled with the shriek of tearing metal and the roar of something wrong.

The front windows blew inward.

A wall of noise hit first—glass exploding, tables flipping, people screaming. You flinched, a hand half-raised—but before you could think, Bob grabbed you, yanking you behind the counter in one rough, desperate motion.

Heat. Noise. Dust.

The air became smoke and rubble. You ducked low beside him, back against the cabinetry, breath coming hard. Shouting filled the room—fear, confusion, that unmistakable pitch of panic.

Somewhere to your right, a child screamed. One of the agents in suits launched over a table, shielding them with his body.

Bob didn’t speak. He was crouched in front of you, shielding you with his frame like instinct, not decision.

“Stay behind me,” he said.

The quiet intensity in his voice chilled you more than the chaos outside. He was calm, yes—but in the way a loaded weapon is calm, seconds before it fires.

You opened your mouth to ask—what the hell was happening, what was that thing—but didn’t get the chance.

The ceiling groaned.

Something outside detonated. A deep, thud, followed by a ripple of force that knocked over chairs and sent another cloud of dust into the air. Bob pulled you back again—closer this time—just as a support beam buckled.

CRACK.

Concrete fell.

The café was coming apart. You stumbled backward, disoriented, heart hammering in your chest. And then—

You were separated.

A massive slab of ceiling crashed down between you, the impact deafening. You staggered, coughing, eyes stinging. “Bob!”

No response.

You dropped low, crawling under dangling wires and fractured drywall. Your knees scraped against broken tile. Somewhere, espresso machines were hissing steam like dying engines.

You turned a corner of twisted debris, and—

Something moved.

A shadow in the smoke.

Bob.

His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist, and in the next heartbeat he pulled you hard— arms locking around your waist, both of you diving behind a half-toppled support column.

Another blast hit.

The place where you’d stood was now a crater of pulverized flooring and fire-scorched plastic. Bits of light fixtures rained down like sparks.

His grip lingered.

You were pressed against him, your heartbeat hammering loud enough to drown the world. His breath hitched. Not fear, but something else. Focus.

Your eyes met, just for a second, and the world went still.

Then the ceiling gave way.

A roar above. More concrete. More fire. More sky where a roof should be.

“Clear a path! I want eyes on them now!”

Yelena’s voice, sharp and slicing, cut through the wreckage. Outside, chaos reigned—sirens, screaming, dust thick as fog. The world had gone full warzone. Agents swarmed like a coordinated blur of movement.

The Starbucks was gone.

Torres tossed a Wakandan pulse drone into the wreckage. It zipped into the mess, scanning. Vibrating pulses hummed through the air like sonar. Yelena didn’t wait for the readout.

“There!” Torres called. “Two signatures—beneath the west column!”

Yelena didn’t hesitate. She ducked low, slid under twisted beams and broken glass, ignoring the cuts on her hands. Concrete crunched under her boots.

And there you were.

Bob was crouched over you, arms braced around you like a shield, his body tense, face streaked with blood and soot. His shoulders were curved like he could hold up the sky if it meant keeping you safe. His eyes were still glowing. Not fully. Not yet.

You looked up at Yelena, dust in your lashes. Your breath came in short, controlled bursts. Your calm wasn’t fake. It was survival.

Yelena knelt beside you, unfazed. “You two look cozy,” she said, voice breezy, like the world wasn’t actively caving in around her.

Bob jolted. You cracked a smile despite yourself.

Yelena extended a hand. “Come on, lovebirds. Time to go.”

He didn’t let go of your hand.

Even as rubble was lifted. Even as the agents tried to separate you to assess your leg. He just kept holding it, fingers tight around yours like a lifeline.

Even when Torres offered to carry you, Bob’s voice dropped low. “I’ve got her.”

He didn’t just say it. He meant it. With everything in him.

As you ran, above you, the sky burned red.

The alien creature that had crash-landed glowed like a dying star—jagged limbs, twisting light, moving in ways your mind rejected. A walking contradiction. Massive. Impossible. Real.

Sam Wilson dropped from the clouds.

“Target locked,” came his voice over comms. “Thunderbolts, keep it away from civilians. Hit it hard and fast.”

The street became a war zone. Red Guardian hurled slabs of debris like baseballs. Yelena loaded shock rounds into her gauntlets. Bucky’s rifle lit up the sky.

And still—Bob hovered just outside the line.

Not running. Not fighting. Just... watching. Fists clenched. Breathing shallow.

Watching you.

You’d found cover behind a crushed table, trying to triage a broken ankle and keep your head low. Every explosion shook your ribs.

“Bob!” you called. “We can’t stay here!”

He was already looking at you when you spoke���like he hadn’t looked away once.

Then something above groaned. Concrete shifted.

You looked up—

Too late.

A mass of steel and stone broke loose from a ruined rooftop, plummeting fast—too fast.

Bob moved.

No hesitation.

He tackled you, dragging you behind a broken pillar. You hit the ground hard, air knocked from your lungs. Concrete exploded behind you.

“You good?” he asked, voice tight, scanning you.

You nodded. “Thanks.”

The next explosion came even closer.

“We need to move,” you said, pointing toward a side alley. “Now.”

You led. He followed.

You made it three steps.

BOOM.

Something struck the building next door. The shockwave tore through the wall. Debris separated you again. A fireball lit up the alley behind you.

“BOB?!” you screamed.

“I’m here!” His voice, rough, coughing—but he was out of view.

You turned—only for a pair of arms to grab you, yank you behind another wall of rubble.

It was Bob. Again.

He was shaking. Glowing faintly. Breathing like he was holding back a hurricane.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t think. Just—reacted.”

You gripped his arm. “We need to regroup. Now.”

He nodded, jaw clenched.

But then—the ground beneath you gave out.

A creaking groan. Then collapse.

The floor dropped. You both fell.

The impact hit like a body slam. You gasped, stunned, pain flaring through your hip and shoulder as you landed in a pitch-black corridor—half-collapsed, filled with rubble and smoke.

“Where are you?” you croaked.

“I’m here.” He coughed. Shifting sounds. A grunt. “You okay?”

“Fine, just bruised. ”

He was already moving, trying to shove a slab off his shoulder. Muscles straining. Gold flickered in his eyes again—dangerously bright.

“Wait,” you said, but he wasn’t listening. He pushed harder, jaw tight, that pressure building inside him like a bomb with no safety.

The slab didn’t budge.

His breath shuddered. He clenched his fists. Power hummed, dangerously close to breaking free.

Then—he stopped.

Backed off. Shook the glow from his eyes. Swallowed hard.

“I can’t,” he said. “Not here. Not now.”

Footsteps above.

A mechanical whir.

Then—a hand reached through the wreckage.

Vibranium.

Bucky.

You exhaled for the first time in minutes.

“Got ‘em!” Bucky’s voice rang out. “They’re down here!”

With practiced coordination, the team sprang into action. Red Guardian cleared a path through the rubble while Torres and Ghost dropped into the crevice, lifting debris with precision. You and Bob were pulled free in tandem—bruised, covered in ash and soot, but miraculously intact.

You coughed hard, blinking through dust. Bob stood beside you, silent, brushing grit from his sleeves. He looked… steady. Shaken, yes, but composed. Like a man who had just walked to the edge of something deep—and pulled back.

There was no time to breathe.

Above, the battle had escalated.

More of the creatures were falling from the sky, each more twisted and unnatural than the last—eyes that shimmered wrong, limbs that bent in impossible directions. The air itself seemed to ripple where they moved.

The Thunderbolts were already repositioning. Yelena, Red Guardian, Ghost, and Bucky formed a defensive line near the collapsed street, weapons at the ready. Sam hovered overhead, scanning the area, his voice crisp over comms:

“Eyes up! More incoming—big ones!”

The team exploded into motion.

Red Guardian charged one of the creatures, driving it through a rusted-out truck with a bellowing war cry. “How many of these things ARE there?!”

Ghost blurred into phase, vanishing through a wall and reappearing behind a snarling brute, jamming a destabilizer into its spine.

Yelena spun and flung an electrified disc; it latched onto a creature’s neck and detonated, staggering the thing back into the flames.

You and Bob kept low behind an overturned SUV. Every explosion drew a protective twitch from him—his hand would snap out instinctively to shield you, or he’d pull you tight against cover just before debris rained down.

He didn’t speak. But his body language said everything: You are not getting hurt again. Not on my watch.

His face was unreadable—no fear, no panic. Just tension. Like he was holding back a tidal wave with nothing but sheer will.

Another creature burst through a wall behind you—close. Too close. You spun, and Bob spun with you. The thing raised a jagged limb, lurching for your throat—

And Bob moved.

Something in him snapped.

His hand lifted on instinct. A golden wave of heat and force beamed from his eyes, raw and sudden, with a high-pitched pulse like a detuned frequency.

The creature didn’t even scream. It vaporized instantly—dissolved into dust and burning air.

Half the wall behind it disintegrated.

Silence.

The battlefield paused. Heads turned.

Bob stood frozen, arm still half-raised, breathing hard. His eyes glowed faintly now—not the full flare of the Sentry, but unmistakably not normal. Not just Bob.

Red Guardian ducked behind a concrete slab, blinking. “Okay. That’s new.”

Sam landed nearby, visor dark over his eyes. “Everyone saw that, right?”

No one answered.

Bob didn’t speak. He just stared at the scorched concrete, at the smoldering space where the creature had stood.

Then his gaze shifted—to you. Not proud. Not afraid. Just... frustrated. Like he'd tried so hard not to be this. And now it was too late to hide.

The moment passed.

Another wave of creatures screamed from above, dropping through the broken skyline. The Thunderbolts surged forward again. Sam took to the air. Ghost vanished into the ground.

Bob stayed close to you. He didn’t flare again—but the edge was there, humming just under his skin.

Minutes later, the battle was done.

The last alien fell, its corpse twitching as black smoke curled from its bones. The street was a crater of fire, shattered glass, and blood. The Avengers and Thunderbolts stood among the wreckage, battered but upright.

Bucky leaned on a crushed lamppost, dragging a sleeve across his face. Yelena holstered a sidearm, scanning the scene with sharp, methodical eyes.

And that’s when she noticed it.

The pattern.

These creatures—whatever they were—hadn’t attacked at random. It hadn’t been chaos. They’d been focused. At first, she'd assumed they were after Bob. The power signature made sense. The flare of energy would’ve drawn attention like a beacon.

But the timeline didn’t add up.

The creatures had zeroed in before Bob unleashed anything.

Her eyes flicked across the destroyed café, the alley, the cratered street where you had been pinned—over and over again. It was subtle. Too subtle for a civilian to catch. But she’d seen it.

They weren’t targeting Bob.

They were targeting you.

Yelena kept the thought to herself. No need to rattle the team yet. No need to rattle you. But a weight settled on her shoulders, colder than the blood drying on her gloves.

Why you?

As the team regrouped, Sam jogged over, shield on his back, scanning faces.

“Everyone accounted for?” he asked, voice firm but calm.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, nodding. “But we’ve got bigger problems.”

Yelena nodded once. Her expression was unreadable. “These things weren’t just here to cause mayhem.”

She didn’t look at you when she said it.

“They were after something. Or someone.”

A silence settled over the team—uneasy, thick with the realization that the worst might not be over.

⋆˙⟡

The soft whir of machines and the gentle clinking of medical tools filled the space. You stood beside the medical cot where Bucky Barnes sat, his shirt ripped and a gash just beneath his cheekbone still fresh and bleeding.

"Hold still," you muttered, dabbing antiseptic onto a cotton pad. Bucky flinched but didn’t complain.

Across the room, Sam Wilson stood with his arms crossed tightly against his chest, watching the activity with sharp eyes. Yelena Belova leaned against the far table, eyes narrowed, her mind clearly still deep in the chaos they’d just left behind.

"You saw how coordinated they were," Yelena said, breaking the silence. "That wasn’t random. That kind of attack—it wasn’t just some alien beast dropping into the wrong city."

Sam nodded. "They were tracking something. Or someone."

"They came straight for us," Bucky added, his tone more serious now. "But not just us."

Yelena looked at you subtly, not yet calling attention to what she suspected. "They didn’t make a beeline for Bob, though everyone assumed that’s who they wanted."

You looked up from cleaning Bucky’s wound, sensing the shift in the conversation.

"They weren’t after Bob?" you asked, voice low.

"No," Yelena replied, her gaze meeting yours briefly. "It looked like it. But they moved past him more than once. They weren’t focused on taking him out. They were circling around him."

"That doesn’t make sense," Sam muttered.

"It does if they weren’t after him at all," she added.

In the corner of the room, Bob Reynolds stood silently, arms folded. His posture was rigid, eyes flicking between you and the others. There was a tension in him, like a wire stretched too tight. Red Guardian sat nearby, bruised but still full of energy, watching Bob with a smirk creeping across his face.

"You’re sure?" Sam pressed. "Not the Sentry, not Bob—"

Yelena nodded. "I’m sure. The pattern was too consistent. Every time they moved, it was toward her position."

You froze briefly, your hands halting as you pressed a fresh bandage on Bucky’s cheek.

"What?" you asked, unsure if you'd misheard.

There was silence for a beat—until Red Guardian broke it with a teasing chuckle. "Looks like you’re more popular than you thought."

He nodded toward Bob, who had been watching you with an unreadable expression. Bob’s eyes flicked away immediately, his jaw tightening.

Alexei, catching the exchange, raised a brow. "You alright, Bob?"

Bob blinked. "Yeah. I’m fine."

"Because you’ve been staring a hole in the back of her head for five minutes," Red Guardian muttered with a laugh.

Before Bob could answer, Bucky turned to you, holding out his hand with exaggerated innocence. "By the way, I think I’ve got another wound. Somewhere around here…" he said, pointing vaguely to his neck with a smirk.

Without catching the teasing tone, you responded automatically. "Look this way."

Red Guardian leaned back, thoroughly entertained.

"You’re not subtle, Barnes," he chuckled.

As you worked, Yelena and Sam continued their conversation, now joined by Bob, who was still half-listening while glancing your way.

"This changes our strategy," Sam said. "If she’s the target, we can’t leave her unprotected. We got lucky this time. We won’t always be in position to respond."

Yelena nodded. "She stays here. Under our watch."

You finally looked up, uncertain. "Are you sure? I don’t want to get in the way."

"You’re not in the way," Sam said firmly. "You’re in danger. We don't ignore that."

Bob’s voice came quietly but with steel behind it. "He’s right. You’re not leaving until we understand what they wanted."

You met his eyes again—and this time, he didn’t look away.

⋆˙⟡

The tower had finally grown quiet. The adrenaline of the day’s battle had worn off, replaced with heavy silence and the low hum of the tower’s systems. Most of the team had either crashed in their rooms or were nursing bruises and silence on the far end of the hall.

You sat alone on the long couch, shoulders sore, a shallow cut across your arm that you'd ignored until now finally getting your attention. You held a small medkit on your lap, disinfectant pad in hand, phone tucked between your shoulder and cheek.

"Yeah, I’m okay," you said softly into the receiver. Christine Palmer’s voice crackled gently on the other end.

"Are you sure? You sound like you’ve been through a building collapse."

"I’ve been through worse," you half-laughed, wincing as the antiseptic stung. "But this was... different."

"You need rest. Let them help you for once, will you?"

"Trying," you murmured.

As you pulled a bandage tight around your arm, a glass of water was set down in front of you on the coffee table. You looked up to see Bucky, already turning to walk away.

"Get some rest," he said simply, no smile, just quiet sincerity in his voice.

You gave a soft, tired nod. "Thanks."

Across the room, Bob Reynolds had been lingering by the hallway, watching. He didn’t understand the feeling crawling up the back of his neck—wasn’t anger, wasn’t fear. Just... something uncomfortable when he saw Bucky looking out for you. He wasn’t even sure why it got to him.

He stepped forward, his hands in his jacket pockets, tone neutral.

"Yelena said I should show you to the room you’ll be staying in tonight. Said you shouldn’t be wandering around alone after... everything."

You nodded, standing slowly. Your body ached more than you expected. Bob noticed.

"You can take one of my hoodies, if you want. Tower gets cold at night."

You blinked. "Oh. Sure, thanks."

He nodded awkwardly, gesturing for you to follow him.

As you both walked down the corridor, your limbs heavy with fatigue, you didn’t catch the way Bob glanced your way now and then. He kept his thoughts to himself, but they were loud in his head.

Not romantic, not possessive. Just unsure. Something had shifted—and he didn’t know what it meant yet.

The door creaked open softly, revealing a modest but comfortable guest room. Neutral tones. A window that looked out into the city skyline. A folded towel sat at the foot of the bed.

Bob stepped in first, flicking the light on. “It’s not much,” he said, his voice low, careful not to disturb the silence the rest of the tower had settled into. “But it’s safe. And... yours for now.”

You gave a tired nod, stepping inside behind him. The tension was subtle but present—like neither of you knew exactly what to say, or whether saying anything at all was the right call.

Bob held out the hoodie—navy blue, oversized, sleeves a little too long. “Figured you’d rather sleep in something that doesn’t smell like concrete dust.”

You gave a small huff of a laugh and took it. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

He nodded again, lingering in the doorway. “You sure you're okay?”

You paused, one hand tightening on the hoodie. “Yeah. I mean... I’m trying to be.”

He looked down at the floor for a second, his hands tightening into loose fists at his sides. “I wanted to—when everything was collapsing—I thought I’d be able to stop it. Or help. But I couldn’t. It’s like... I wasn’t fast enough. Or strong enough.”

You looked at him. “You still ran toward it. That counts.”

Bob let out a breath. “Maybe.”

Silence stretched again. Not awkward, just heavy with the kind of weight only shared danger brings.

You shifted, the soreness in your shoulder tugging at your attention. “You can go rest. I’ll be fine.”

He nodded slowly, stepping back toward the hallway—but hesitated at the doorway, his hand resting against the frame.

“If you need anything,” he said, not looking at you, “just knock on the door across the hall. I won’t be sleeping much anyway.”

You offered a faint smile. “Alright. Goodnight, Bob.”

“Night.”

He closed the door behind him with a quiet click. For a moment, you just stood there, alone in the quiet, holding the hoodie in your hands. It was warm.

You sat on the bed, pulling the hoodie over your head, staring blankly at the city lights beyond the glass.

Somewhere down the hall, Bob leaned against the doorframe of his own room, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, jaw tight.

Neither of you said it, but both of you felt it.

Something had changed.

⋆˙⟡

The sunlight filtered through reinforced glass, painting golden lines across the tower’s modern interior. A quiet hum of the building’s systems underscored the calm.

You stepped into the common room, still tugging one sleeve of Bob’s hoodie over your hand. Your own clothes were in a bag nearby, but you hadn’t changed yet — you weren’t ready to slip out of the safety of comfort.

Bucky sat at the island, quietly eating cereal straight from the box. Red Guardian was nursing a mug of something steaming and aggressively black. Sam was already in uniform, arms folded, staring at a holo-projection of last night’s wreckage.

Yelena was the first to notice you.

“Morning,” she said, leaning against the kitchen counter, half of a protein bar in her hand. “Sleep?”

“Eventually,” you replied. “You?”

She just smirked.

Bob was already there, tucked in one corner with a tablet in his hand, pretending to scroll through post-incident reports. His eyes flicked up at you briefly, then back down.

“Coffee’s over there,” Sam said without looking up, gesturing to the machine behind him. “You’ll need it.”

You nodded, padding quietly toward it.

As you poured yourself a cup, Sam continued. “We went over the footage again. The creatures — they weren’t targeting Bob. Not directly.”

That made Bob finally look up.

Bucky, still munching cereal, raised an eyebrow. “You think they were tracking someone else?”

Yelena’s gaze slid toward you.

Sam caught it. “That’s what we’re trying to confirm.”

You turned, coffee in hand, trying to keep your voice steady. “Why would they be after me?”

Red Guardian gave a grunt. “Better question — what are they?”

“We’re still working on that,” Sam replied. “Alien, definitely. But their energy signature doesn’t match anything on file from past invasions.”

“Great,” Bucky muttered. “Another mystery species that wants someone dead.”

Bob leaned forward, voice quiet but firm. “If they’re after her... we need to know why. Now.”

“We will,” Sam said. “But for now, safety comes first. That means sticking together. No solo walks, no wandering off.”

You nodded slowly. “So what now?”

Yelena looked at you with a serious expression. “We talk. About your past. Where you’ve been. Who you’ve seen. Anything strange happen before this?”

You hesitated, but then nodded.

You sat across from the team. A whiteboard filled with scribbled alien markings was in the background. Sam, Bucky, and Yelena watched as you recounted what you could, just strange dreams. As you spoke, Bob sat at the far end, arms crossed, brow furrowed — trying not to let the worry show on his face. But he wasn’t good at hiding things.

Eventually, your voice trailed off.

“That’s everything I can think of.”

The room went still. Then Bucky spoke.

“We need a bigger picture. SWORD should get a look at this. Maybe even Carol.”

Sam nodded. “Agreed. I’ll contact Fury. Meanwhile—” he looked at you, “—you’re staying here. Until we figure out what’s going on.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but stopped. You knew better. This wasn’t stubbornness. It was safety.

“Fine.”

Yelena pushed a bottle of water across the table to you. “We’ll figure it out.”

You glanced at Bob briefly. He didn’t say anything. But he gave a small nod.

As the meeting wrapped, Red Guardian nudged Bucky with his elbow and whispered, “Still think they were after golden boy?”

Bucky smirked. “Nope. But he sure wishes they were.”

They both looked toward Bob, who was walking beside you again — not too close, but never too far.

The room was dim. A soft hum came from the ventilation system, the faint buzz of the city below barely audible through reinforced glass.

⋆˙⟡

You tossed in the bed, tangled in blankets, face twisted in distress.

A low rumble echoed in your dream — buildings collapsing, eyes watching from a sky that wasn’t the sky, voices whispering your name in languages your ears couldn’t understand. Heat, shadows, pressure—

BOOM.

Your eyes snapped open.

You were drenched in sweat. Breathing hard.

A knock on the door came just as you sat up, pushing off the covers.

Tap. Tap.

Then a voice, quiet but concerned. "…Are you okay?”

You hesitated, running a hand down your face. “Yeah. Just—bad dream.”

The door cracked open a bit, and Bob stepped in, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair a little messy like he’d been half-asleep too. His expression was unreadable at first — not too soft, not too intrusive — but his eyes flicked briefly to the bed, to you, then back.

“You were… yelling.”

You looked away, feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and exhaustion. “Did I wake anyone?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Just me. My room’s down the hall.”

A beat of silence passed.

He stepped a little closer, careful. “Was it… the creatures?”

You nodded.

“They weren’t chasing me in the dream,” you murmured. “They were talking to me. Or maybe warning me. I couldn’t tell.”

Bob didn’t respond right away. He sat on the edge of the bed, glancing over. “Whatever it is… we’ll figure it out.”

You gave a tired nod.

Then— DING.
An alert chirped through the comm system in the corner.

Bob frowned, already rising. “That’s from the hangar.”

Sam was already there, pulling a jacket over his shoulders as the doors to the hangar slowly opened with a hydraulic hiss.

A tall figure stepped through, flanked by two S.W.O.R.D. agents.

The eye patch, long coat, and no-nonsense aura were unmistakable. It was Nick Fury. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, which probably meant he had slept exactly that much.

“Morning, Wilson,” he said, already walking past him.

“It’s 2 a.m.”

“I don’t care.”

Fury’s eyes swept the space until they landed on Bob and you stepping in from the far corridor. You were still in Bob’s hoodie, eyes bleary.

Fury gave you a long, calculating look.

“You,” he said.

“…Me?”

He nodded once. “We need to talk.”

Bob immediately shifted, almost stepping between you and Fury instinctively.

Fury raised a brow. “Relax, Sentry. Not an interrogation. Just a conversation.”

You looked at Bob, then nodded. “It’s okay.”

Fury led you somewhere empty, just down the hall. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, staring at you.

You awkwardly stood in front of him, nerves just beneath your skin, trying to hide them.

“I’ve seen a lot of strange things,” Fury began. “Gods falling from the sky. A teenager fighting purple aliens with Legos. But those creatures last night? They weren’t here for Bob Reynolds.”

You swallowed.

“You felt that, didn’t you?” he asked.

You nodded slowly. “Yes.”

Fury leaned in slightly. “Then we need to figure out why you’re suddenly on some cosmic radar. Because if something’s coming — something big — I need to know whether you’re the beacon, or the fuse.”

The lights buzzed faintly overhead.

“Either way,” Fury said, pushing off the wall, “you’re not going anywhere.”

The same morning, you found yourself in the sword facility. Nick Fury being the reason. The walls buzzed faintly with electromagnetic hums. You stood in the center of a circular analysis chamber surrounded by tall pylons, each pulsing with light as scanners passed up and down your body.

On the other side of the reinforced glass, Fury stood, arms folded, eye focused like a laser beam. Analysts typed quietly behind him, data flickering across screens in shifting colors and graphs.

One tech murmured, “We’ve got something unusual.”

Fury didn’t look away from the glass. “How unusual?”

“There's a layer of dormant energy under the surface-level readings,” the analyst replied. “It’s not active, but it’s there. Deep. Consistent. Like a compressed node of potential—genetic, maybe. Or quantum.”

Fury’s jaw tightened. “Translation?”

“She’s carrying something that hasn’t activated yet. Not mutant, not enhanced tech, not alien symbiote. It’s internal. Part of her.”

Another analyst leaned over. “It might be tied to the energy spike from yesterday. Her body registered a surge milliseconds before the Sentry moved. She didn’t react to danger—something inside her did.”

Fury turned to them, voice calm but sharp. “You saying she’s sitting on a trigger?”

“More like... a locked door,” the tech answered. “And something is rattling the handle.”

Few moments later, you sat across from Nick Fury in a small debriefing space, white walls and a large screen behind him showing your recent scan data. He didn’t speak at first, just studied you with that familiar, unreadable gaze. Then...


“You ever feel like something’s been following you your whole life?”

You blinked. “Is that a question or a metaphor?”

Fury smirked faintly. “Little of both.”

You shifted in your seat. “I’ve had... moments. Things I couldn’t explain. Like my instincts were two steps ahead of me. I used to write it off as adrenaline.”

“It wasn’t adrenaline,” he said simply. “And it wasn’t luck. Our scans show something inside you—something we’ve never seen before. Not alien tech. Not radiation. Not even magical. It’s part of you. Deep in your cells. But it’s sealed.”

“Sealed?” you repeated.

He nodded. “Locked. Like your body’s been holding it back. But something triggered it to stir. Maybe proximity to other enhanced individuals. Maybe stress. Maybe just time.”

You looked at the display screen. Complex waveforms danced across it in patterns you didn’t understand.

“I’m not dangerous,” you said, more to yourself than him.

Fury didn’t challenge you—but he didn’t confirm it either.

“I don’t think you are,” he replied. “But whatever this is? It might not care what you want. And from the looks of it, it hasn’t even started yet.”

A pause.

“You’re not under arrest,” he said, standing. “And you’re not a threat. But until we understand what’s inside you, I’m keeping you close.”

“Because something might want it?” you asked.

He looked at you over his shoulder.

“No. Because something might want to wake it up.”

⋆˙⟡

The halls were quieter than usual, the kind of quiet that comes after chaos, when everyone’s pretending things are back to normal but the walls still hum with tension.

You stepped out onto the upper level’s balcony with your phone in hand. The view below showed the sleek hangar bathed in blue-white lights, equipment being reset, weapons being cleaned. Normal… if you didn’t know better.

Christine picked up after two rings. “Hey,” you greeted, voice low.

“Well if it isn’t S.W.O.R.D.’s latest mystery case,” she replied dryly. “How’s the new life in a top-secret concrete bunker?”

“Still figuring out if I’m a guest or a lab rat,” you muttered with a tired smile. “Fury offered me a job. Officially. Said it was smarter to keep me here. Let me work. Said it gives them a reason to monitor me without making it feel like surveillance.”

“You took it?” she asked.

“Yeah. Better than sitting in lockdown. And… I need the money.”

Christine was quiet for a moment. “You’re sure?”

“No,” you admitted. “But this way, at least I’m doing something. They give me medical clearance. I patch up soldiers, field agents, whoever. But really... they just want me close in case something happens again.”

“And you?” she asked. “Do you think it’ll happen again?”

You didn’t answer that.

The front doors hissed open — a familiar sound now — and in walked the returning squad. The team looked beat to hell. "I'll call you back," you quickly told Christine on the phone right before you ended the call. You looked at the team, mud, torn gear, and exhaustion in every step. But your attention snapped to Yelena the moment you saw the blood seeping through her sleeve.

“Seriously?” you said, already pulling gloves on.

“Missed you too,” Yelena grumbled, lowering herself onto the med cot.

You peeled back the material. A long gash ran down her upper arm — not deep enough to panic, but deep enough to sting like hell. You worked quickly, disinfecting and stitching.

“Did the mission go sideways?”

“Not really. Just messy,” Yelena replied through gritted teeth. “Things don’t like being detained by ex-Russians with attitude problems.”

She glanced at you, studying your face. “You’re still here.”

You met her gaze. “Still under observation. But working now.”

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Of course Fury would find a way to turn this into employment.”

You finished wrapping her arm, then asked, “You talked to Bob lately?”

That got a pause.

“No,” she admitted. “He’s been... distant. Quiet. More than usual.”

You nodded, already peeling off your gloves.

“I’ll check on him," you said as you hurriedly set everything aside.

You strided down the hallway, stopping on your tracks as soon as you arrived at his door. You knocked once. No answer.

When you cracked the door open, Bob was sitting near the window, half in shadow, half in the flicker of a desk lamp. His gaze lifted slowly, as if it took effort.

“Hey,” you said gently. “You up for company?”

He nodded once. No smile, but no resistance.

You stepped inside and closed the door behind you.

“You’ve been quiet,” you said, settling into the chair across from him. “Even more than usual.”

Bob looked down at his hands, then back at you. “I’ve been… sorting things out.”

“Mind if I help?” you offered.

He hesitated — but didn’t say no.

You leaned forward slightly. “We could mindwalk. Nothing deep. Just... see where things are now. Since everything’s shifted.”

Another pause.

Then finally, a quiet, “Okay.”

You both sat on the floor, hands lightly pressed together. The air between you almost hummed with something unspoken.

The world rippled. The sterile quarters vanished.

You opened your eyes to a darkened dreamscape. Still, but not empty — like standing at the edge of something massive and unseen.

You were in Bob’s mind.

But this time, the space didn’t resist you. It welcomed you in, cautiously — like a door cracked open instead of slammed shut.

The world around you flickered — jagged fragments of thought floating in open air. Hints of memory, color, sensation. But there was no center. No order.

Bob appeared beside you, more present than in previous walks. His features were clearer, steadier.

“You’ve changed,” you said softly.

“So have you,” he replied.

You felt it, deep in your chest — a weight, a quiet pull. Not romantic. Not even emotional, exactly. But connected. As if that strange, shared chaos — the panic, the aliens, the energy — had woven something between you both.

He looked at you.

“There’s something inside you,” he said. “Something more than we thought.”

You nodded.

“I know.”

And in the quiet void of his mind, you both sat — not analyzing, not pushing. Just existing. Connected in ways neither of you fully understood yet.

The storm had passed.

The quiet stretched between you.

Then, gently, you spoke. “Can we go further?”

Bob didn’t answer right away. His eyes searched the flickering fragments suspended around you — jagged shapes, drifting pieces of thought, a few holding faint images that shifted the longer you looked.

You noticed one — a memory shard glowing faintly blue, pulsing like a slowed heartbeat. You stepped toward it, and Bob followed.

The closer you got, the more it formed a scene: a wide-open snowy field. A younger Bob stood in the distance, shoulders hunched against the wind, clutching something in his hands — a photograph? A name tag?

When you reached out, your fingers brushed the edge of the fragment, and it dissolved like smoke.

The scene around you shifted instantly.

Now you stood inside a steel corridor, dark and claustrophobic. Lights blinked red. You heard shouting. Bob’s voice: younger, panicked. Soldiers running past. An explosion shaking the ground. Then silence again.

It snapped back to the blank mindscape.

Bob’s jaw was tight. “That was... the first time I lost control.”

You didn’t press. You just stood next to him.

He turned toward you slowly. “Do you ever feel like something inside you is… coiled? Like it’s waiting?”

You nodded. “Especially after that day.”

He gave a faint breath of agreement. “Same.”

He raised his hand slightly, and a wave of thought — warm, golden — expanded around you. The fragments around you drew closer together. They began arranging themselves, as if pulled by invisible thread. Patterns began to emerge — not perfect, but purposeful.

“You’re organizing,” you observed.

“I don’t know how,” he admitted. “But you’re making it easier.”

You felt something shift again — a pulse underfoot, like the ground in his mind was waking up.

You stepped forward, into a newly-formed corridor. Unlike the earlier chaos, this one was quiet, clean, strangely peaceful. Memory doors lined the hall.

Bob hesitated, then opened one.

Inside: a soft scene. A garden. A sunny day. He was laughing — not the man you knew now, but younger, freer. Someone before the pain.

You looked at him. “This is you too.”

“I forget sometimes,” he said.

You stayed in the memory a while — not invading, just existing. Letting him feel what it was like to be seen, without expectation or force.

Eventually, he spoke again. “You’re different from the others.”

You tilted your head. “Because I walk in your mind?”

“No,” he said quietly. “Because when you do… you don’t judge what you see.”

You both stood in the center of the quiet mindspace, not speaking for a moment. The air around you shimmered — not from him, not from you, but from the strange alignment between you both.

Maybe it wasn’t just the aliens that triggered what happened that day.

Maybe it was the two of you — together — that woke something up.

And in that unspoken realization, the mind around you expanded — vast, open, no longer chaotic.

Like something was waiting there.

Still quiet.

Still buried.

But no longer hiding.

⋆˙⟡

A/N sorry for the late update! will be uploading third chap today as well (or tomorrow... or later idk)

— taglist. @asteria33 @witch-of-letters @avylanchce @stillinracooncity @venus-armote @jeanietales @faithxyu @ivedonemywaiting13 @natasha887 let me know if u wanna be tagged on the next!

[zenithsturniolo]

SCREAM, BITCH - ghostface!chris x blogger!reader

♬ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ series intro | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

chapter seven: complicit and its accomplices

this chapter will contain.. mentions of police interrogation, manipulation, and emotional tension wc: 4k series summary: a dark, twisted slowburn where obsession bleeds into desire. you're a true crime blogger. he's the masked stranger recreating your cases. dual povs, filthy tension, and cliffhangers sharp enough to scar. it’s not just stalking - it’s seduction. not just fear - it’s fascination. you wanted a story. he wanted you. now you’re both in far too deep.

♯ reader pov

something’s in the air right now like i’m losing track of time like i don’t really care right now, but maybe that’s fine

“i just don’t get it,” you murmur, pacing your room like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. your arms stay wrapped around your body, brows pinched tight as if you're holding yourself together with sheer force. your brain feels like it’s on fire, thoughts moving too fast, spiraling too far. “doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

chris watches you from the edge of your bed, his fingers absently toying with your jellycat. his eyes, sharp and crystalline, track every step you take. he hasn’t said much since arriving, just listened. thirty straight minutes of silence and watching, and somehow, it makes you feel less alone. it’s way past one in the morning, but that’s never stopped you before. and tonight feels urgent. like life or death urgent.

earlier that day, liam had come up to you, all nerves and trembling smiles, and told you he was user187. at first, you’d almost laughed, thinking  he was fucking with you. but there was a heaviness in his gaze, a strange kind of pride in the way he said it, that made your grin disappear real quick.

he talked like it was some inside joke between the two of you. like you’d admire him for it. like he was doing it for you. but didn’t he realize what he was really admitting to? by claiming the blog, he was essentially confessing to the murders.

either he was fucking around in the sickest way possible, or he genuinely thought he was doing something impressive. or worse, he knew what he was doing, and he was trying to unnerve you. test you. scare you.

but despite the confession, you couldn’t bring yourself to believe he was the killer.

the way he spoke, so giddy, so light, it was like a kid telling a crush they liked them. like some twisted love letter written in blog posts and blood. maybe he thought he was impressing you, believed that was enough.

but your chest didn’t flutter. it clenched. you learned a long time ago how to compartmentalize, separate fact from feeling, and this felt less like a revelation and more like a goddamn crime scene. a case you couldn’t detach from. like someone was watching you from the projection booth, laughing at the movie you’d unknowingly been cast in.

you try to trace back to every detail, every red flag you might’ve missed. was liam ever acting weird? had he ever slipped up? anything that made him feel off? the only thing that comes to mind is that, each time a murder happened, he’d been on shift at the hospital.

“is that all he said?” chris’s voice breaks into your spiraling thoughts.

you run a hand down your face, exhausted. “yeah, i think.”

he exhales through his nose, gaze lowering to the stuffed animal in his lap. his fingers move slowly, methodically over the fur, like he’s grounding himself too. you watch him, then cross the room and sink beside him on the bed with a soft sigh.

“do you think he’s the killer?” chris asks quietly, his voice so gentle you almost miss it. there’s something in his eyes when you glance at him. something deeper than curiosity— like concern wrapped in raw vulnerability. you lean forward, fiddling with the jellycat, your fingers brushing his. your skin tingles.

“no,” you whisper. “i don’t. i think he’s telling the truth.”

chris’s brow furrows. “how? he literally confessed.”

you chew on the inside of your lip, gathering your thoughts. “he confessed to making the blog, not the murders. and he didn’t even mention the killings, like they weren’t even part of it. i think… i think he’s being genuine.”

his hand shifts until it’s resting over yours. the touch burns. he says your name, soft and serious, and your eyes meet his.

“you’re letting your feelings get in the way,” he says gently. “just listen to yourself.”

you shake your head, voice firm. “it’s innocent until proven guilty. we need real evidence before we point fingers.”

chris pulls his hand back, scoffing. his laugh is disbelieving, almost annoyed. “kid, come on. liam confessed, and you’re still defending him?”

“i’m not defending him,” you snap, cheeks flushing. you clutch the jellycat tighter, suddenly feeling stupid. you run a blog dedicated to true crime. this is supposed to be your thing. your skill, your passion. but now you’re second guessing yourself.

what if chris is right? what if you’re just being naive?

he looks at you dead on like he’s trying to read your soul. “do you like him?”

you blink. “what?”

“do you like him more than friends?” he presses, not flinching.

you open your mouth, pause, then shut it. you really think about it.

liam’s attractive, sure. and yeah, he clearly likes you. but that’s not the same. you’ve never looked at him and felt anything. your sympathy isn’t romantic. it’s because you think he’s a decent guy. because you believe in who he is. who you thought he was.

but no. you don’t want liam. you want chris. the boy sitting in front of you with shadows under his eyes and a voice that makes your heart clench.

“no,” you say softly.

chris sighs and rakes a hand through his hair, frustrated. “then why’re you so hellbent on proving him innocent?”

you swallow hard. “i don’t know, chris. i just… i think he’s a good guy.”

he doesn’t respond. just purses his lips and stares at the floor, fingers twitching in his lap. his whole body radiates tension. he’s angry because you’re being stupid. because you’re not seeing the danger. that’s what it should be.

but a tiny part of you, reckless and selfish, hopes it’s jealousy. because every time you mention liam, chris’s jaw clenches just a little tighter. his eyes narrow just a little more.

a loud chime cuts the air.

your phone. the sound makes you jolt. chris grabs it before you can react, his expression sharpening as he reads the screen.

“another kill,” he says, flipping it toward you. your eyes flick to the headline, and your stomach twists.

like every other time, your heart sinks. but this one feels different. duller, muted. maybe you’re too distracted, or maybe you’re growing numb. you’re not sure which is worse.

“weird,” chris mutters. “usually the news has footage within half an hour. it’s been over an hour now.”

you pick at your cuticles, mind snapping into detective mode like muscle memory. anything to avoid the mess of your emotions. “where’s the scene?”

“across from the mcdonald’s downtown.”

your heart jumps, a thought sparking. “wait, give me my phone.”

he hands it to you. “what’s up?”

“i can just check liam’s location—”

“wait,” chris says quickly, covering the screen with his hand. his eyes are wide, like he’s about to burst.

you scowl. “what’re you—”

“we already know he’s the killer, right?”

“no, chris—”

“i’ve gotta tell you something,” he blurts. his face is flushed, fingers tightening around your phone.

you tug the phone back instinctively, annoyed now. “i don’t have time for this bulls—”

“i like you,” he cuts in, fast. “i like you. and i want you. and i need you.”

your breath snags. your grip loosens, and the phone slips from your hands into his. his eyes are on you, burning with something primal, like he’s been holding it in for too long. it’s exactly what you’ve dreamed of every fucking night. what you’ve denied yourself over and over. your throat is dry, your whole body flushed.

“god, i need you so bad,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. his gaze dips down your frame, slow and deliberate. his breathing shallows when he sees your pupils blown wide, your fingers trembling in your lap. the look on his face should scare you. he looks like he wants to devour you. instead, you move closer, drawn like a magnet.

you hadn’t even noticed you were holding your breath until you inhale, shaky and soft.

“i… need you too,” you whisper. “i’ve always needed you. wanted you. but especially now.”

your thighs clench involuntarily under his gaze, the ache between them hot and humbling. it’s embarrassing how much you want him. but it’s worse how deep it goes, like a fever in your bloodstream.

his gaze drops, then lifts.

“yeah?” he breathes, leaning in. “you want this?”

“yeah,” you nod. your voice breaks over the words. your entire body’s humming for him.

he leans closer, lips almost brushing yours— so close, so close— and your eyes flutter shut.

then—

RIIING.

the shrill sound crashes into the room like a bomb. you jump so hard your forehead slams into chris’s nose with a sickening thump. 

“fuck,” he hisses, jerking back with a hand over his face.

your eyes fly open in horror. “shit— fuck—i’m so sorry,” you stammer, scrambling off the bed. your hands flap helplessly before you run to grab tissues.

when you return, his nose is bleeding hard. crimson streaks down his chin. he blinks at you, dazed. you press the tissues into his hands, trembling. he takes one look at your expression and lets out a laugh. 

“relax,” he chuckles, blood shining on his teeth. “it’s alright.”

and god help you, seeing him like that makes your knees weak. alright, so maybe you have a thing for bloodied up guys. awesome.

chris jerks his chin toward the bedroom door just as the doorbell rings again, twice this time. fast and urgent. whoever it was clearly wasn’t going away. your pulse quickens.

you nod silently, legs moving on their own as you make your way out of the room. chris trails behind you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his presence on your back. you’re not used to anyone hovering so near, but right now it’s comforting. he makes you feel safe.

who the hell would be here this late? you peek through the peephole, and your breath catches in your throat.

cops.

the sight hits you like a splash of cold water, instant and paralyzing. you expect to feel reassured, but instead, a strange unease creeps up your spine. they’re people supposed to help, to protect, but something about the way they stand there, statuesque and unreadable, sends your nerves skittering.

you glance back at chris who’s already beside you like a shadow. his eyes are red rimmed now, and his nose has stopped bleeding, but he still looks wrecked, like he hasn’t slept, like he could explode at any second. his brows are drawn together, jaw clenched tight as he studies the door.

you exhale softly and turn the knob, swinging it open with a hesitant, shaky motion.

“hi?” your voice comes out higher than you’d like, so you clear your throat. “uh, can i help you?”

the female officer, tall and stone faced, steps forward. her voice is crisp, professional, and way too alert for this time of night.

“we’re looking for y/n,” she says.

you nod slowly, and her partner scribbles something onto a notepad.

“we apologize for the late night disturbance,” she continues. “but ma’am, we need you to come with us down to the station.”

you blink, dumbfounded. “what? why?”

your gaze darts between her and the guy beside her. the woman— voss, her nametag reads — stands straight backed, expression unreadable. her dark skin glows softly under the light, but it’s marred by faint scars and a bruised temple, like she’s seen her fair share of the world. her hair is pulled back in a low, tight bun that doesn’t move, even when she shifts.

her partner— warner on his nametag— is younger, friendlier looking. there’s a soft, almost apologetic curve to his mouth, and his eyes meet yours like he’s trying to soften the blow of whatever’s about to happen.

classic good cop, bad cop. you could probably write out their next five moves if you weren’t frozen in place. instead, you just inhale through your nose and slowly glance over your shoulder.

chris is locked in place, arms crossed, eyes sharp. he’s not looking at you. he’s locked onto voss like he’s trying to intimidate her with just his stare. the muscle in his jaw jumps. he runs his tongue over his teeth slowly, his cheeks hollowing in. then he finally breaks the silence.

“why?” he asks, voice low and hard. it’s not a question so much as a challenge.

voss doesn’t flinch. “and your name is?”

he doesn’t hesitate. “christopher.” his voice is colder now, sharper. “i asked you a question.”

she sighs like she’s done this a hundred times and always gets the same resistance. “we have reason to believe your friend is involved in the recent murders. we’ve obtained a warrant. you can either come forcefully—”

“—or willingly,” warner chimes in, still trying to sound like this is casual, like this isn’t a bomb dropping in the middle of your fucking living room.

“willingly, my ass,” chris snarls.

warner’s fake smile fades.

“you can’t just show up here at— what is it— two in the fucking morning and throw around murder accusations.” chris snaps, voice rising.

“sir,” voss starts, keeping her tone level, “we have a warrant—”

“your warrant can go fuck itself.”

“chris,” you whisper urgently, grabbing his arm and pulling him back a step before he ends up with cuffs on. “stop. please. calm down.”

he looks at you like you just betrayed him, like keeping your cool somehow means giving up. “no,” he says, voice tense. “we’re not going anywhere.”

voss sighs again, slower this time. “you don’t have to, christopher. just her.”

chris’s head jerks toward her, and you swear for a second he’s going to lunge. “she’s not going anywhere alone.”

“please,” you whisper, squeezing his arm. “don’t be a dumbass.”

he exhales through his nose, nostrils flaring. then he turns toward the officers and nods stiffly.

“i’m going with her.”

they don’t argue.

the drive to the station is quiet but not peaceful. it’s the kind of silence that crackles. you sit stiffly in the back of the cruiser with chris beside you, close but not touching. his hands are fists in his lap. his knee keeps bouncing. his eyes flick to the front seat every few seconds, jaw ticking each time warner glances back like he’s trying to play the friendly card again.

no one says a word. you keep your eyes on the window, heart thudding louder than the hum of the engine, wondering what the hell they think you did, and why it suddenly feels like the night just turned upside down.

—

the interrogation room is sterile, so clean it feels unnatural, like a place meant to preserve things rather than examine them. it reminds you of a morgue. the kind you’ve written about: every surface wiped to the bone, the walls a shade too pale, the overhead light too bright, casting no shadow to hide in. the air hums with a low grade buzz, artificial and clinical. it smells faintly of bleach and old paper, like no one’s breathed here in years.

you’ve researched this shit before, hundreds of times. watched documentaries, read case studies. memorized interrogation tactics and forensic protocols. you’ve practically lived inside them, reconstructing scenes with surgical precision for your blog. now, sitting in the real thing, it's not fear you feel, it’s déjà vu. like you're rewatching a scene from a movie you've seen a dozen times. like you already know your lines.

your nerves are quiet. almost too quiet. weirdly, you feel... bored. a little restless. maybe chris’s simmering irritability rubbed off on you. after the slowest check in known to man, you were separated. chris hadn’t even been involved, technically, but that didn’t stop the unfamiliar officers from flagging him. “routine questioning,” they’d said. since he’s close to you. you’d caught the way his eyes narrowed at the wording. you make a mental note to apologize for dragging him into this. again.

now, you’re folded up in the metal chair, knees drawn to your chest like armor, arms locked tight around your shins. you’re cold, fingertips tingling, toes curled in your shoes. you press yourself together like it might generate heat, but the room leeches it right out of you. across the table, voss and warner don’t seem affected. they’re comfortable here, practiced and unreadable.

voss has rolled her sleeves up to the elbows. you watch the way the muscles in her forearms flex as she moves. she’s not being aggressive. she doesn’t have to be. the control in her body language says enough. she’s focused, but more relaxed than earlier. probably because chris isn’t in the room.

warner’s ditched his blazer and button down completely, left in just a fitted t-shirt that clings to his arms. he’s perched on the edge of his chair, glasses sliding low on his nose as he flips through a manila folder stacked with documents. probably evidence.

voss sets a small recording device on the center of the table and presses a button. the red light blinks. she laces her fingers together, leaning forward slightly.

“interview conducted on may 29th at 2:13 a.m. present are detectives diane voss and gabriel warner, and y/n. subject has consented to speak without legal counsel present.” she glances at you and waits. you nod.

the questions begin immediately. quick, clipped, no room to breathe between them.

“when did you start your blog?”

“five years ago.”

“how many followers do you have?”

“around ten thousand.”

“when did the content shift to true crime?”

“same time. five years.”

“did you notice a pattern with the killings?”

you blink. “sort of. they started right around when i began covering local cases.”

“and where were you the night of the murder before this one?”

“uh… probably home.”

“probably?”

“sorry i don’t log my every move?”

“but it was traumatic. unusual. i’d think you’d remember.”

you drop your legs to the floor and lean forward, mirroring voss’s posture. the shift isn’t missed.

“listen, voss—”

“please. diane,” she cuts in smoothly.

“and i’m gabriel,” warner adds without looking up.

you ignore the power play. they’re trying to humanize themselves to lower your guard. you’re familiar with the tactic. you’ve written about it.

“diane,” you say carefully. “i agreed to speak without legal representation to make this easier for both of us. but i’m not required to answer every question. you called me in, not booked me. and unless i’m mistaken, there’s no warrant out for my arrest. so unless you plan to show me something concrete, maybe cut the psychological chess.”

your hands rest on the metal table. your thumbs rub slow circles into your palms, an old unconscious grounding trick.

diane’s mouth tightens, pressed into a single, thin line. warner sets the folder aside, leans in, and begins spinning his pen between his fingers, as if to soften the mood.

“we understand. really. we’re not trying to intimidate you. we just have questions.”

“then ask better ones,” you mutter, though your voice lacks venom. you’re just… tired.

gabriel pulls out a printout from the folder and slides it across the table. you scan it.

“this is my blog,” you say flatly. “so?”

he adds more pages. a stack of them. you feel the breath pull slow and shallow from your lungs. the comments, reblogs, asks— all printed and preserved in black ink, like a dossier of digital ghosts. words you’d seen before. ones you hadn’t taken seriously at the time. not really.

“these contain details only someone close to the crime would know,” gabriel says slowly, like he’s easing open a trapdoor.

“yeah, i know.”

“do you recognize the user?” diane’s tone shifts. less hostile, more coaxing.

you hesitate. you’d convinced yourself liam wasn’t involved. just a dumb guy chasing something he didn’t understand. if you named him now, they’d follow the trail. pull records. trace IPs. detain him. maybe worse.

but what if you were wrong? what if he is the one behind it? if you lie now and they prove it later, you’re not just a bystander. you’re complicit.

your mind drifts. what are they asking chris right now? his brother’s girlfriend was found dead less than twelve hours ago. now he’s locked in an interview room because of you. your chest tightens at the thought of his jaw ticking, the way he gets when he’s holding too much inside. he shouldn’t even be here.

“i…” your voice catches. it’s the first crack in your composure.

“hm?” diane prompts gently.

“i don’t know,” you say quietly.

“so you haven’t been confessed to today?” gabriel asks.

your eyes snap to him. “what? what confession?”

diane exhales, exchanges a look with her partner. gabriel slides a photo across the table.

you freeze.

“who is this?”

“…liam. liam martins.” you mumble

you remember this photo. you took it. mid break, sharing a coffee outside the cafe. he was smiling, bright eyed. exhausted but soft. now, your mouth feels dry just looking at it.

“has he ever discussed the murders?”

“yes. he said the blog was his. the comments too. said he… did it for fun.” your voice falters.

“‘fun,’” diane repeats, clearly unimpressed.

“he was trying to impress me.”

“would you be impressed if someone killed in your name?” gabriel’s voice is steel now.

you hesitate. “no,” you say. but even you can hear the lie in your tone.

no one’s supposed to say yes to a question like that. but in the pit of your stomach, something curls. tight, warm, twisted. the idea that someone would study you so closely, imitate your thoughts, your phrasing, and use it to spill real blood. it makes you sick, but in a good way.

“he’s not the type,” you add quickly.

“how do you know?”

“i just do. gut feeling.”

you lean back, exhaling. “can i ask something?”

gabriel nods.

“why now? why not a week ago? why wait this long?”

gabriel sets the pen down “we’ve been watching. logging data, reblog patterns, timestamps. waiting until the connection was indisputable. we needed to be sure.”

you tilt your head. “am i a suspect?”

gabriel sighs. “unfortunately, right now? everyone is.”

the questions continue. they ask about your alibi, again. eventually, diane reaches forward and stops the recorder at forty five minutes. you sag in your chair. a dull ache blooms behind your eyes. sleep deprivation or guilt, you’re not sure. they tell you to return tomorrow, and you nod, no fight left in your system.

you leave the room and stretch your arms over your head, joints popping. the fluorescent light makes everything feel dreamlike. too bright, too quiet. and then you spot him. chris. leaning against a desk, jaw clenched, pen in hand. filling out forms in agitated loops.

you walk toward him, but then pause when you catch something in the corner of your eye.

liam.

he’s surrounded. flanked by a man in a cream suit and polished shoes— a lawyer, clearly. an expensive one. yours is out of town, and you didn’t need him, so you did this alone. but liam looks wrecked. hair mussed, eyes bloodshot, shirt wrinkled like he slept in it.

he’s speaking to diane and gabriel while his lawyer talks to another officer. he catches your eye. his lips twitch into a tired, confused smile. you try to smile back, but it barely registers.

you feel a gentle tug on your sleeve.

“they said we can go home,” chris murmurs. “we just gotta be back tomorrow.” his voice is hoarse, worn. he rubs a warm, calloused palm up your arm.

“i’m sorry, chris,” you whisper. “i didn’t mean for you to—”

“hey,” he interrupts, pulling you into his chest. his arms circle you tight. “it’s fine. really. i’ve got you.” he murmurs into your hair.

your eyelids flutter shut. for a second, it’s just the sound of his heartbeat. the warmth of his hand on your back. and the echo of liam’s voice, somewhere behind it all, trying to reach you. trying to matter.

but chris is the only one who feels real.

find parts of this series here !

a/n: lowkey wanna redo the first few chapters because wtf was that

🏷: @thicknick19 @sturnslutz @viviansturns @cayleeuhithinknott @briizysturn @devotedlyteenagemusic @drewswife @sturnsblogs @auttysturnz @mattspillowprincess @adoremattsturns @dolliraez @sturniolo1trips @sturns-mermaid @sophsturns @444sturns @adorechris @rriverscuomo @megameatymatt @izzylovesmatt @y2kstarr @owensbabygirl @courta13 @ribbonlovergirl @passionfruitchris @sophand4n4 @slvtf0rchr1s @matts-wife @slutformatt17 @mattsplaything @slut4chrisloads @ariheartsmatt @surprisecurlyfriess @bernardsbendystraws @lezleeferguson-120 @iconiccolo @sturnblrwhore @rihnspired @erinsturniolo

divider by @anitalenia

this series is a work of fiction created for entertainment purposes only. all characters, events, and dialogue are entirely fictional and should not be interpreted as real. any similarities to real people or events are purely coincidental. credit and respect to all creators who’ve inspired similar works before me. I claim ownership only over my original writing, ideas, and interpretations. please do not plagiarize or steal. reblogs are always appreciated.

© zenithsturniolo

[hedwig221b]

do you know of any cheerleader fics? either stiles, derek, or both of them being a cheerleader?

Hi! Here are a few ❤

cheer up, babe by graveltotempo, SpringlockedSpectre

He was the basketball captain. And he was a cheerleader. Can I make it any more clear? OR: Derek Hale thought he had his crush on Stiles Stilinski under control. And then Stiles decided to show up to school in a skirt.

Bring It On by marguerite_26

When the Beacon Hills lacrosse team made a bet with the Beacon Hills cheerleading squad, Stiles should have recognized the smirks on the girls' faces and stopped the whole thing right there.

Maybe We Could Dance by In_Over_My_Head

"Stiles, get over here!” Flailing, he spun on his heel, searching for Lydia. He knew it was her who yelled, would know that voice anywhere. Seeing her standing in the center of the quad with a bunch of other cheerleaders, he took a deep breath before heading her way. High school had been a series of embarrassing boners and stuttered words when it came to her. College wasn’t much better, minus the boner issue that he’d gotten under control…mostly. Around halfway through his junior year of high school, he’d realized that the random boners that he attributed to just being a teenager were actually because of the hot guys in his classes. Like in high school, Lydia was still surrounded by pretty people, both male and female, so whatever it was that was about to happen would have a very attractive audience. Hopefully, he could get away quickly before he made too much of an ass of himself.

Chemistry of Some Kind

"I don’t like him,” Derek growled, ignoring Isaac’s disbelieving scoff. “I just think he has no right being so loud and what the hell is up with the outfit?” Erica shot him an obvious look, gesturing down at her own. Derek rolled his eyes. “That’s different.” “Is it?” Isaac asked mildly, attention fixed on the orange he was trying and failing to peel. “Or is it because whenever you catch the sight of Stilinski in a crop top on the court, you trip over your own feet and lose the ball?”

i'd let you had i known it (why don't you say so?) by somepeoplearewild

Derek is a cheerleader. Stiles is a cheerleader. Stiles demands to have the option to wear the same uniform as the girls and ropes Derek into it for solidarity.

2, 4, 6, 8, Who's Gunna Get The Date? by rebekahdarian

The five times a cheerleader asked Derek out on a date, and the one time he said yes.

Three cheers for Stiles's dick! by TheBeastsWrite (orphan_account)

Derek just looks so good in his Cheerleading outfit, Stiles can’t help but slip into the changing room before Derek’s practice and have his wicked way with his boyfriend. (Also I’m gonna say Derek looks like canon young!derek in this because that twink would look damn good in a skirt let’s be real here.)

[masterlist link]

[ateezscupid]

─── 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎, 𝒀𝑶𝑼.. ꕮ 001 ─ Fiesty Girl.

SUMMARY / Your friend has been begging you to join her on a night out in the club. Club's aren't really your scene, but you decided to go anyway, not knowing you had become Yunho's next target.

WARNINGS ✩ Sensitive Topics!! (death, murder, stalking), alcohol and drug use, Yunho stalks reader during and after the club, heavy language, sexual harassment (some guy harasses reader at the club)

WORD COUNT ✩ 4.8k

tags ✩ @desirehorizon @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan @lezleeferguson-120 @hwallazia @hoe4yunho @prettylilack @lustfxq @shownumiss @hwxbibi @nneteyamss @joonhasjiminsjams @herpoetryprincess @napipope-ta @wyrated @leeseokiwi @trinityobsessesovatings @kittykat-25

ATEEZ MASTERLIST / SERIES MASTERLIST / REQUEST ─── Next Chapter ౨ৎ 

NOTE !! I should let all of you know, before any smut or things like that, Yunho is a YEARNER. Meaning in the chapters with smut, he's either going to be a switch or full-sub.

Yunho doesn't like to call himself a killer.

It's not like he enjoys it, really. Yunho isn't a sadist, not in the traditional sense. He just sees it as a means to an end. A way to eliminate the noise, to restore order to his otherwise chaotic world. The irony isn't lost on him that he finds refuge in the quiet solitude that follows a life extinguished.

Yunho's day job is simple: he owns a small art studio in the heart of Seoul, where he spends his hours lost in the tranquil dance of paint on canvas or the meditative molding of clay. His hands, those same hands that had painted such grisly scenes, now coaxed life from lifeless materials. The studio is a sanctuary of sorts, a place where he can be himself, free from the judgmental eyes that seem to follow him everywhere. The smell of turpentine and wet paint is comforting, a stark contrast to the sterile scent of a crime scene.

He's meticulous, a trait that serves him well in both his art and his other hobby. Each stroke is calculated, each color chosen with purpose. His mind is a canvas of chaos, but on these walls, he is the master, orchestrating a symphony of order. Yunho enjoys the quietude, the gentle taps of his brush or the scrape of a sculpting tool. It's in these moments that he feels most alive, most in control.

But then there's the thrill of the hunt. The rush of finding the perfect muse, someone who doesn't quite fit the mold, someone who intrigues him enough to pursue. It's a game, really. A dance of deception and manipulation that ends in a crescendo of fear and silence. Yet, it's a dance he's tired of leading. The faces of his victims blur together in a macabre mosaic, each one a puzzle piece to the picture he's trying to escape.

It would be wrong to say he gets off on seeing them cry and tremble in fear. He doesn't, not really. Jeong Yunho is more of a…connoisseur of moments. The way the light hits their face when they realize their fate, the sudden stillness of their body when the life leaves their eyes, it's like capturing a perfect photograph. But the thrill is wearing thin, the excitement fading like the vibrant colors of a forgotten painting.

While staring at his half finished painting, Yunho's phone buzzes. He gets excited, thinking it's someone on the dating app he's been using for a while, but it was instead his friend, Mingi. He sighs heavily, tossing aside the brush and wiping his hands on a cloth before swiping the screen.

Minki: "me and the guys r gonna go to the club tonight. ik it's not ur typa thing but like, do u wanna go?"

He stared at the text, contemplating his response. Jeong Yunho wasn't a club person; the loud music, the crush of bodies, it all felt so…ordinary. But lately, he's been feeling a strange emptiness, a yearning for something new. He thought of the faces on the dating app, each one a potential muse for his twisted art. Yet none had sparked that usual thrill of the chase. Maybe a change of scene would help?

"Why not?" He typed back, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

After agreeing this begged the question, what should he wear? Jeong Yunho's wardrobe was a collection of dark, tailored suits and casual wear that blended him into the shadows. He chose a black t-shirt and a leather jacket, something that wouldn't scream 'serial killer' but still maintained his enigmatic vibe. He didn't bother with a tie, tucking the shirt into his dark-washed jeans instead. A quick glance in the mirror and he was satisfied. He looked like every other guy going to a club, not a monster lurking in the shadows.

The club was a cacophony of sound and light, a stark contrast to his serene studio. The bass thumped through his chest, the strobe lights casting erratic shadows across the gyrating bodies. He felt like a predator in an alien environment, searching for prey that didn't quite fit the pattern of his usual victims. He took a sip of his drink, the sharp taste of whiskey burning a path down his throat. He didn't drink often, but tonight he needed something to ease the tension coiled in his gut.

It smelt like alcohol, cigarettes, and a hint of cheap cologne—a scent that was all too familiar to Yunho from his rare forays into the social scene. His eyes darted around the room, searching for the face that would spark that elusive thrill, the one that could potentially break the mundane cycle of his life. The flashing lights reflected off the sequins and glitter that adorned the female attendees, creating a disco ball effect on his retina that was mildly nauseating.

How could anyone like places like this? Yunho thought to himself, his eyes scanning the crowded dance floor of the nightclub. The thumping bass of the music was a constant, irritating hum in his ears, and the smells of sweat and cheap perfume made his nose wrinkle. Yet here he was, in a desperate attempt to find something—anything—that would shake him out of his mundane life.

He saw his friends sitting in a nearby booth, flirting with random girls, and he felt a pang of jealousy. They were free to live their lives without the burden of their dark secrets. He wished he could be like them, carefree and untainted by the shadows that lurked in his mind.

They probably think they're so much better than him. That they've got the world figured out. But Yunho knows the truth. He knows that everyone's got their own demons to face, even if his are a little… more hands-on. He takes a deep breath, trying to push those thoughts aside as he makes his way over to the bar, the neon lights playing tricks on his vision.

As he scoots into a booth, the sounds of two girls laughing and giggling fills the space around him. They're young, probably college students letting loose for the weekend. Yunho can't help but feel a twinge of nostalgia for a time when he could enjoy simple moments like these without the weight of his compulsion. He nods to his friends, who are already halfway through their drinks, and orders another whiskey. The bartender, a young man with a studded earring, slides it over with a smile, and Yunho takes a moment to appreciate the smooth burn as it slides down his throat.

He was starting to think that he should leave when he saw you. You were standing by the edge of the dance floor, your eyes scanning the room as if you were looking for someone. There was something about you, something different from the usual prey he stalked. You weren't dressed to impress, no revealing dress or sky-high heels. Instead, you wore a simple black dress that hugged your curves, and your hair fell in soft waves around your shoulders. You looked lost in thought, a stark contrast to the carefree smiles of those around you.

You bit your lip nervously as you shifted through the crowd, trying to make your way to the front door. Your friend said she'd be out in five, but that was twenty minutes ago. The club was a chaotic blur of lights and bodies, and you were already feeling claustrophobic.

And finally, she walked through the doors, a cheesy smile on her face. "Y/N! I knew you'd come!"

Yunho examined the outfit your friend had on. It was flashy and revealing, not quite your style. You rolled your eyes at her over-the-top enthusiasm, a gesture that didn't go unnoticed by the artist in him.

"What the hell took so long? You said you'd be out in five and it's been twenty fucking minutes. I almost left." You scolded your friend as you approached her, your voice barely heard over the thunderous bass.

"Sssorryyy! I pre-gamed!" Your friend giggled, her cheeks flushed and eyes slightly glazed. Yunho couldn't help but smile at the mundane interaction, the authenticity of your annoyance with your friend's typical behavior. You grabbed her by the elbow and steered her through the sea of bodies, back to the safety of the less crowded bar area.

Yunho watched you from afar, your movements deliberate and controlled amidst the chaos. You didn't belong here, not in the way the other girls did. You were a painting in a room full of stick figures, a masterpiece in a kindergarten class. The way you held your drink, the tilt of your head when you talked—it was all so… real. So unrehearsed.

You glanced around the club. There were a handful of attractive men, but none of them seemed to be looking for anything more than a one-night stand. The music was loud, the lights were flashing, and the air was thick with the scent of desperation. It was like everyone here was trying too hard to be seen, to be felt. And there you were, the girl who looked like she'd rather be anywhere else, sipping on a drink that was probably as watered down as your patience.

"He's cute," your friend accidentally yelled in your ear, jolting you out of your introspection. You followed her gaze to see who she was referring to and found yourself looking into the eyes of a man who seemed…different. Different in the sense that he was coked out.

"Absolutely not. He's literally snorting coke as we speak." You reply with a deadpan expression, watching as your friend's eyes widen in excitement.

"Seriously?!" Your friend shouts back, her voice competing with the thunderous bass, "You've got to lighten up, Y/N! Cmon! He's totally checking you out!"

"He was also checking that coke out." You deadpanned, sipping on your watered-down vodka soda.

"Okay, but like, he might actually like you and then like, he'll probably stop doing drugs to change for you and stuff. It's like a K-Drama plot," your friend insists, her voice still too loud despite her proximity.

"Fine! Fine. But you're coming with me." You relented, raising your voice slightly to be heard over the din. Your friend's eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store as you pushed through the crowd together.

The man you approached was tall, with a lean build and a sharp jawline, dressed in a compression shirt and sweats. Kind of out of place for a club, but you couldn't deny that he was super fit. You look up at him, his eyes staring at you and your friend with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

"We saw you staring at us," you shouted over the music, your voice filled with playful accusation.

"Nope. I was staring at you," he steps closer, his voice cutting through the music with surprising clarity. "Your friend is…enthusiastic." He says with a nod towards your overeager companion.

He had a nice smile, he smelled really good, but…it was something about him that felt off. Meanwhile, Yunho was sitting at the bar, slowly sipping his drink as he watched the interaction unfold. The man, with the cocky grin and the body that screamed 'I work out', didn't seem to be making much headway with you. You were polite but guarded, your eyes flicking back and forth between him and your friend as if you were contemplating an escape plan.

"You're cute." the man stepped even closer, his hand brushing yours. You couldn't help but feel a shiver run down your spine, not from his touch, but from the coldness in his eyes that didn't match his warm smile. You glanced over at your friend for support, but she was already dancing with a group of guys, leaving you to fend for yourself.

"Thanks…" you giggle nervously. "Um, I should go check on my friend. She gets ditzy when drunk and-"

"Forget about her. I wanna take you home." The man's voice was smooth, but his intent was anything but casual. You could see the hunger in his eyes, a hunger that didn't make your heart race in the good way.

"N-No, no, I'm fine, really!" You protested, taking a step back, but the man's hand was already on your waist, his grip surprisingly firm. Panic began to set in, a cold sweat breaking out on your forehead.

"Stop being a stubborn bitch and come home with me. Not like you got anything better to do." The man's smile never wavered, but his grip tightened, his eyes gleaming with something darker than lust.

"Get off of me-" you start to protest, your voice getting lost in the throb of the music. Your heart races as you try to pull away, but the man's grip is like a vice, his smile turning predatory.

Yunho only stared, his grip tightening around the glass. The man's audacity was like a slap in the face, jolting him out of his detached observation of the club scene. His mind, usually a whirlwind of thoughts and plans, suddenly snapped into focus. This wasn't the first time he'd seen someone treat a woman with such disregard, but for some reason, this was different. This was personal.

Getting up thinking he'd have to defend you, he was surprised when you slapped the man across his cheek with surprising strength. The sound was like a crack of thunder in the chaos of the club, drawing the attention of the surrounding crowd when he yelled. The man's smile dropped, replaced by a snarl of anger, his hand rising to strike back.

But before he could make contact, Yunho was there. He grabbed the man's wrist with a firm grip, his eyes burning with a rage that was all too familiar to him. "I don't think she wants to go anywhere with you," he said calmly, his voice a stark contrast to the chaos around them.

"…Who the fuck are you?!" The man snarled, his hand still in Yunho's iron grip.

"Does it matter?" Yunho replied, his voice as smooth as silk, his grip tightening slightly.

The man looked from Yunho to you, his eyes narrowing. He was bigger than Yunho, more obviously muscular, but there was something about the way the artist held himself that made him pause. The confidence in his stance, the coolness in his gaze—it was intimidating, to say the least.

"You should listen to her," Yunho said, his voice low and measured, his grip on the man's wrist unyielding. "She's had enough."

The man looked from Yunho's hand to his face, the rage in his eyes slowly giving way to fear. He could feel the power in Yunho's grip, the promise of pain if he didn't let go. With a growl of frustration, he yanked his hand back and took a step away, rubbing his wrist. "You're both fucking crazy," he spat, before stumbling off into the crowd.

You fixed your hair and looked at Yunho, a mix of surprise and gratitude in your eyes. "Thanks," you murmured, the sound of the music making it hard to hear anything beyond the bass.

"It's nothing," he replied, his gaze never leaving yours. There was something in his eyes that made your heart flutter. It wasn't fear or attraction, it was something more…complex. Something you couldn't quite put your finger on.

"Are you the type of guy to ask for sex just because you "saved my life" or whatever?" You quipped, trying to ease the tension with a bit of humor.

Yunho chuckled, the sound sending a warm feeling through you. "No, I'm not. I just don't like to see people treat others like that."

You studied him, the way he talked, the way he moved—then examined his outfit. He definitely didn't belong here. "What's a guy like… you doing at a place like this?" You asked, your voice barely a murmur over the music.

"Here for my friends. They dragged me out." Yunho shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. "It's not really my scene."

"Well, do you wanna leave? I can grab my friend and we can go do something else! It's starting to smell like vomit in here." You say, trying to keep the conversation going.

Yunho smiles slightly, amused by your directness. "I'm not much for the club scene, but I can handle it for a bit longer if you'd like to stay."

"You sure?" You ask, noticing his eyes straying to the dance floor. He nodded, his gaze returning to yours with a hint of amusement. "Ohh, you wanna dance?"

He raises an eyebrow, the corners of his lips tilting up slightly. "If it'll keep you from leaving."

You laugh, taking his challenge. You grab his hand and pull him onto the dance floor, the music swallowing you both in a sea of flashing lights and bodies moving in sync. The bass vibrates through your chest, the strobe lights playing with your vision. But it's his touch, the feel of his hand in yours, that sends a thrill through you, something you didn't expect.

Yunho follows your lead, his movements surprisingly fluid and confident. He's not a show-off, not like the other guys here. He dances with an ease that's almost mesmerizing, his eyes never leaving yours. The chaos around you fades into the background, and it's just the two of you, lost in the rhythm of the music.

You can't help but feel a strange connection to him, despite the oddity of your first meeting. He's nothing like the typical guys you've encountered at the club—no leering gazes or sleazy compliments. There's something genuine about the way he looks at you, like he's actually seeing you, not just a body to satisfy his needs.

Yunho, on the other hand, is a storm of thoughts and emotions. He's not used to this kind of interaction—the carefree banter, the simple touch of skin on skin that doesn't end in a scream. He's drawn to you, not just as a potential muse, but as a person. It's confusing, exhilarating, and terrifying all at once.

He still couldn't shake the idea of his hands around your neck, feeling the pulse beneath his fingertips as the life drained from your body. God, he could only imagine the screams that would fill the room, the panic in your eyes as you realized your fate was sealed. But something stopped him, something in the way you laughed at his jokes, something in the way your hand felt in his. It was like a strange, twisted game of cat and mouse, but with the roles reversed.

"So, what's your name?" You shouted over the music, your eyes never leaving his.

"Why do you wanna know my name?" Yunho yells back, a playful smirk playing on his lips.

You laugh, the sound a delightful melody amidst the chaos. "Because I can't just call you 'mysterious stranger' all night!"

"You don't have to," Yunho says, his voice a smooth bass that reaches through the thumping beat. "Just enjoy right now. Don't worry about names."

You cock your head to the side, studying him with curiosity. "You're an interesting one, aren't you?" You shout over the music, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

Yunho can't help but laugh at your bluntness. It's refreshing, a cool breeze on a hot summer's day. "Maybe," he shouts back, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smile. "What about you?"

You lean in closer, your breath hot against his ear. "Call me Y/N." You whisper, and the way your voice caresses his skin sends a shiver down his spine. It's a simple exchange of names, but for Yunho, it feels like a secret handshake, a bond formed in the throes of a battle he wasn't expecting to fight.

The two of you continue to dance, your bodies moving together as if you've been doing it for years. You're not the best dancer, but you don't care. There's something about the way Yunho moves with you, guiding you through the steps, that makes you feel safe. It's a strange sensation, considering the dark secrets you know he harbors. But in this moment, under the strobe lights, you're just two people lost in the music.

"Y/N!" you heard your friend yell your name from across the crowded dance floor. She was stumbling over, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glassy from the alcohol. "That guy over there wants to, um, take me home and stuff."

"You sure about that?" You shouted back, eyeing your friend with a mix of concern and amusement. She nodded emphatically, a sloppy grin on her face. Yunho couldn't help but feel a little protective over you, the way your eyes searched the crowd for the friend you'd been worried about all night. It was clear she didn't need saving from the guy she'd found, but he knew better than anyone that the night could still take a turn for the worse.

"Mhm! He called me pretty 'n stuff. I like him," your friend slurred, her eyes glossy with a mix of liquor and infatuation. Yunho's grip on your hand tightened imperceptibly as he scanned the crowd, his eyes narrowing on the group of rowdy men your friend was gesturing towards.

"Yeah… I don't think you should go with them." you say firmly, your voice cutting through the cacophony of the club. You had seen the way they had been eyeing her all night, and your protective instincts were kicking in.

"But whyyyy?" your friend whined, her eyes pleading as she swayed on her feet. "He's soo cute and he said he'd take care of me!"

Yunho's gaze flickered over to the group of men, his expression unreadable. He knew better than anyone the darkness that lurked beneath a charming exterior. "Trust me," he said, his voice firm. "You don't want to go with them."

Your friend pouted, her lower lip jutting out. "But I do!" she insisted, her voice a mix of whine and slur.

Yunho stepped closer to you, his hand sliding around your waist as he leaned in to speak in your ear. "Let's get her out of here. She's had too much to drink."

"Way ahead of you." you slipped from his grasp and grabbed her arm. "You're way too drunk to go with them, okay?"

Yunho nodded, his eyes never leaving the group of men. They were watching you both with hungry eyes, like predators waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. He knew the type all too well. "Let's get some fresh air," he suggested, his voice firm but gentle.

You looked at him, a mix of surprise and gratitude in your gaze. "Okay, let's do that." You helped your friend stumble through the crowded dance floor, Yunho's hand resting protectively on the small of your back as you navigated the throngs of people.

Once outside, the cool air hit you like a slap in the face, a stark contrast to the stifling heat of the club. Your friend leaned heavily against the wall, gasping for air. "Oh my god, I think I'm gonna be sick," she mumbled, her eyes watering.

Yunho's eyes darted around the empty alley, his instincts on high alert. The night was eerily quiet, the distant sound of the club's bass echoing off the brick walls like a heartbeat. He felt a strange sense of déjà vu, his mind flashing to the many nights he'd spent here, but with a much darker purpose. He then stared at you, watching you help your friend sit down on the cold pavement, her head in her hands as she tried to keep her stomach from revolting.

You were so…nice. It was something Yunho wasn't used to. In his world, people were either tools for his art or obstacles to be removed. But you, you were different. You didn't fawn over him or throw yourself at him like the others. You had a strength, a resilience that he hadn't seen in his usual targets. It was intriguing.

He was conflicted. On one hand, he wanted to dare for you, shower you with gifts and compliments, to consume you in a whirlwind romance. But on the other hand, he wanted to see how pretty your blood looked on the pavement. It was a twisted kind of love, one that didn’t fit into the neat little boxes society had constructed for relationships. You were the perfect muse, a puzzle waiting to be solved, a canvas yearning for his art.

"Earth to mystery guy!" You snapped your fingers in front of Yunho's face, bringing him out of his thoughts. He blinked, looking at you with a start before his expression smoothed back into a smile.

"Sorry, zoned out. What's up?" Jeong Yunho said, his eyes refocusing on you.

You laughed, waving off the awkwardness. "I called her roommate. She's gonna come down and pick her up so… all we have to do is wait for her."

Yunho nodded, his eyes still scanning the alleyway. It was strange how comfortable you felt with him, despite his intense gaze. There was something about him that was both unsettling and comforting, like a storm cloud that offered shade on a hot day.

"You keep looking at that alleyway." You observed, your voice a gentle tease as you leaned against the club's wall, your arm supporting your wobbly friend.

"Just making sure we're safe," Yunho replied, his gaze flickering back to you. His voice was like velvet, easy on the ears, and his words were as casual as a Sunday afternoon. But behind those eyes, you could see the gears turning, the mind of a man who had seen more than he cared to admit.

"So you heard about it too? The murders?" You ask casually, the words slipping out as if it were just any other topic. But the way your heart races, the way your eyes dart around the alley, betrays the fear that lurks beneath the surface.

"Oh. Yeah, I heard some rumors," Yunho said casually, his eyes never leaving the shadowy alleyway. "Shame what happened to those people."

"Yeah…" you mumble, your gaze following his to the alley. "Wasn't one of the girl's bodies found in this alley?"

"Yeah." he smirked a bit just thinking about it. He remembered that girl, she was one of the first ones he had picked up from this club. She had been so full of life, so… oblivious to the danger lurking right beside her. He had felt a strange fondness for her, almost like she was a character in a story he was writing. But in the end, she had to go.

He was at least hoping to get her to his apartment, but the streets were empty and the club was loud enough to drown out her screams. The thought made him smirk, but he quickly schooled his features as you looked up at him with those big, doe eyes. You had no idea what he was really thinking.

"You good?" You asked, noticing the slight change in his demeanor. The air grew thick with tension, but he shrugged it off with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Just keeping an eye out," he replied, his gaze never wavering from the shadows. You nodded, the unease settling in your stomach as you waited for your friend's roommate. The conversation stumbled along, mostly about the club and how much you both hated it, until the sound of footsteps echoed down the alley.

Yunho tensed, his eyes narrowing as a figure emerged from the darkness. You held your breath, ready to scream if needed, but as the person stepped into the dim light of the streetlamp, you recognized her. "Thank god," you murmured, relief flooding through you as your friend's roommate rushed over, a look of concern etched on her face.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice filled with worry as she took in your friend's state. You quickly explained the situation, leaving out the part about the creepy guy inside, not wanting to cause a scene. She nodded, her gaze flicking to Yunho before nodding in thanks.

"Thank you so much," she said, turning to Yunho with a grateful smile.

You waved your friend and her roommate goodbye, watching as they disappeared into the night, the sound of their footsteps fading into the distance. You turned to Yunho, feeling a mix of relief and sadness that your night together was coming to an end. "I guess I should get going too," you said, your voice a little shakier than you intended.

Yunho studied you, his eyes searching yours for any lingering fear or hesitation. "Do you need a ride?" he offered, his voice still that smooth bass that seemed to resonate through the night.

You nodded, a small smile ghosting your lips. "That'd be great."

[birthbynightmare]

Best friends keep secrets from each other.

Little story inspired by @platypaws final comic of the “That One Reveal Arc”, in which Phineas, Ferb and Candace rediscover Perry’s secret.

Our story begins up in the sky, as Agent P flies away in a glider from the Doofenshmirtz Evil Inc. building as we heard in the background an explosion, followed up by a shout: “Curse you, Perry the Platypus!!!”.

Suddenly, a strong gust of wind unexpectedly shakes Perry out of his landing path towards the Flynn-Fletcher’s backyard, where two teenage girls stand there after another amazing contraption had vanished.

“Who wants pie?” We hear from Linda out of camera, as the sound of children happily agreeing to the afternoon snack, leaving the backyard and the two girls behind.

“Argh, as always, another failed busting opportunity followed by the usual pie snack” said Candace with frustration, as she failed ONCE AGAIN into busting her brothers. “All that’s left is for Perry to show up”. She said in a sarcastic tone.

“Yeah” said Stacy, Candace best friend. “I wonder where he could be?” she said in a rather nervous and forced tone, as if answering the rhetorical question would prevent Candace to ponder about Perry’s whereabouts. After all, Stacy knew the secret of the Flynn-Fletcher’s beloved pet and wanted to make sure that no one knew, not even her best friend, even if it meant keeping it a secret from her.

The only response Candace could give to that answer was a raised eyebrow, yet behind that unamused face some thoughts keep forming and bothering her. A week had passed since she (re)discovered that their pet platypus was a secret agent.

On its own it wasn’t that much of a shocking development, considering all the weird things she had experienced since last summer and the current one (after all, is difficult to top being turn into a fly or become queen of Mars). But the hardest thing was keeping this secret for the ones that mattered to her, especially Stacy.

She couldn’t tell mom, as much as she desperately wanted to: after all, the boys had nothing to do with that (even though it seemed something up their alley).

She could tell Jeremy but she worried to sound like a total weirdo, no matter how accepting her boyfriend was. Her brothers making things that defy the laws of physics: good. That your pet platypus is part of a secret organization: hello Crazyville, population Candace. Surely the talking zebra would agree with that option.

And last but not least, Stacy. She was her bestest BFF and she told her everything. Her secrets, joys, aspirations. And she was the only one who could fully understand the level of weirdness attached to her and her brothers. But alas, she promised the boys to keep the secret.

Then, just as the two girls were about to leave, the tree behind them suddenly shook, followed by a strong crushing sound. The two stood still as little sounds of breaking branches followed, until something came down from the tree. A teal hairy “meat brick” with a fedora, entangled in straps and pieces of orange cloth from a state-of-the-art glider. It was Perry. Tangled such that he couldn't take out his hat or go down from the tree.

Silence followed. The three of them stood there (well, one hanging there). No one moved.

Panic started forming in the faces of the two girls, worrying, hoping to come up with an explanation of the situation, one that wouldn’t blow up the secret agent’s cover.

“PHINEAS AND FERB!!!” both shouted at the same time, almost spooking the tangled platypus.

“Clearly this is one of their latest weird “Big IdeasTM”. Umm, a swing for platypuses… that puts hats in their heads.” said Candace, hoping that if she could attribute this to her brothers Stacy wouldn’t ask any questions.

“Definitely” said Stacy, hoping that Candace’ “Busting Instincts” would kick in, giving her the change to free Perry from this situation. “This must be a follow up from that last thingy they just did right now, just a couple of minutes ago. Even, if it doesn’t look related at all”. She said with the biggest, most forced smile she could make. “Quickly, go bring your mom. I’ll stay here, to make sure that it doesn’t vanish, JUST LIKE IT ALWAYS DOES!”. She shouted, hoping for Perry to catch in the plan.

“NO WAIT!” Candace shouted. (The one time Stacy expected her to burst out to bust her brothers and it blows in her face. Who would have thought?) “Like you said, if I go it could disappear out of existence like always so… Why don’t YOU go bring my mom and I’ll stay here, to make sure this stays”. She said while pushing Stacy from behind towards her house.

And like that, the two teenagers started a strange version of "reverse tug of war" in which they tried to make the other leave.

While the two argued about who would go and who would stay the only thing Perry could do was look the situation in complete frustration. With one arm tangled to his back and the other in his face, allowing him two things: first, to rub his eyes in a tired expression, and second, to do this: “whistle!”.

Immediately, the two girls stopped after the high whistle done by the tangled monotreme.

Both remained completely wordless and seemingly with no way out of this. With one quick glance towards Perry in search of approval and a nod from him, both girls were ready to reveal their secret.

"Stacy, I need to tell you something". Candace said with a heaviness in her voice.

"Me too, Candace. There's something that's been eating me for a long time". Said Stacy, gathering all the courage she could.

"Perry is a secret agent". Both said in unison. “WAIT, YOU KNEW!?”.

"Wait, what you mean for "a long time"?" Candace asked.

"Well, I found out when Perry and a pharmacist, or I guess an evil pharmacist, both crashed into my house. Almost... a year ago". She said trying to sound like it wasn't a big deal.

"What! An entire year! And you kept it from me all this time". Candace sounded both shocked and a little bit hurt.

"Well, how long DID you know". Asked Stacy in hopes to gain some kind of leniency.

"A week ago". She replied with a dry tone.

"Well, I didn't have any choice or else they would erased my memory and probably relocate Perry away from you guys and I know how much that would hurt you all" Stacy explained in such a rush that she almost seemed to cry.

"Oh Stacy". Candace could feel the struggle that Stacy must have been all this time. "Well, to be honest, I'm more impressed that you managed to keep such a secret during such a long time. I mean, it's not like you're the best in keeping secrets". She said with a smile.

"Ey" She replied trying to sound offended but didn't retort as she felt the change in tone in Candace voice.

They both realized that, while lying to each other, they did it only to protect the other.

The two best friends joined in a hug proving that no secret would ever break their friendship, no matter what.

And as much as he enjoyed seeing the two made up, it was time that someone helped Perry to get down from the tree. "Krkrkr". He said, gaining the attention of the girls who were a bit embarrassed to forgot the reason of all this.

Just as the girls were able to remove some of the debris from Perry, mom entered back into the yard. "Girls, would you like something with the... Candace, Stacy, what are you doing". Asked Linda, as she found her daughter and her best friend with the family platypus hanging from the tree with some kind of harness.

"MOM! No, this is just ehh... A swing for platypuses?" Replied Candace, with Perry chattering in pet mode and Stacy just awkwardly smiling standing beside them, holding the hat hidden in her back.

"... Right, well, when you're done with "that" please come to help with the dishes. And clean those branches on the ground".

"But but but". As always, her mom saw only the weird stuff that she was doing.

With a defeated look and Perry back in the ground, both pet and girls walk back to the house, with the bond between the BFFs stronger than ever.

"So, did you also remember the battle with the robot army invaders from the other dimension and how I saved the world from them?" Asked Candace, glad that she no longer needed to keep any secrets to her best friend.

"The what with the what now!?"

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 198 (Wishes, Whispers & Water Balloons)

The day had finally come. Today, which was also a national holiday, Ash Landgraab turned thirteen. His family woke to a warm, sunny day, relieved they'd made plans to beat the heat on Deadgrass Isle with family - and a few of Ash's friends.

Heather baked a cheesecake and kept it from collapsing on the ferry to the isle, decorating it with candles before Ash made a wish* to blow them out.

*Ash didn't tell anyone his wish, but maybe it had something to do with his first crush. Who is...

Pearl looks like she has opinions on this 🤔👀

His grandparents, Neal and Daisy, made the drive from Henford, joining his family, his Aunt Hazel and soon-to-be Aunt Suri, and his school friends, Arun Kalani and Scotti Holiday. But no one had come farther to help him celebrate than Pearl Richards.

"You're only a year older than us. You're really a professional ballerina? Like on stage?" Scotti Holiday looked torn between being impressed and actually showing it. "That's pretty cool, but you must have the ugliest toes from those pointe shoes!"

Pearl rolled her eyes. "I'm not asking you to look at my feet. Scotti, was it? Isn't that a guy's name?"

"Not the way I spell it." Scotti forced a smile for the only one of Ash's friends she hadn't met yet. Arun, who was tall for his age, passed the picnic table and shook his head.

"You deserved that, Scotti. Eat your cheesecake."

"Who makes a cheesecake for their birthday? Ashy, where's the icing?"

"Icing is just pure sugar," Pearl said.

Scotti scowled. "So ballerinas aren't allowed to have icing?"

"Come on guys, it's my birthday," Ash interjected. "I bet you two will realize you have a lot in common once you get to know each other."

The girls gave each other a long look, with Pearl scoffing at Scotti's gingham clothes and Scotti side-eyeing Pearl's bolder fashion choices. "If you say so, Ashy." Scotti gave him a friendly smile - mean as she was, she was nicer to Ash than her own siblings.

They socialized a while and enjoyed Ash's birthday cheesecake, getting updates from Hazel and Suri on their wedding planning. "We're looking for the perfect venue and don't know what to do," admitted Suri. "We've both got family all over so we're considering a destination wedding, but that makes it so much harder to plan."

Arun turned to Pearl at the picnic table with a winking smile. "Want to be my date for the wedding, Pearl?"

The ballerina shook her head, trying not to show how much she disliked the thought of being his date. "Sorry, Arun. I've got ballet and I don't think you're even invited."

With the afternoon sun beating down on the isle, Neal and Conrad set up a bucket of water balloons to help everyone stay cool during the heat wave.

Ash doused his grandfather before Scotti threw one that looked like it might fumble to the ground, but it picked up speed across the sand and knocked Pearl flat on her back! Pearl grimaced as she pulled herself up, and Ash chuckled at his soaked friend. Pearl glared at him while Scotti celebrated her point for the hit.

"Ash, don't laugh. She looks mad," Lavender advised him.

"What do you mean? Pearl, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"She doesn't mean fine. When the girls on Dating Deanna say it's fine they don't mean it. Callie said she was fine with other girls flirting with Deanna, but then she slapped Deanna when Lara flirted with her!"

"Lava, I don't watch your show. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Duh! I'm saying they both like you. Aren't you supposed to be a genius?"

His cheeks flushed, but he didn't have time to think before a red balloon sailed in his direction. Though it landed at his feet, a splash of water still hit him and his sister.

No one was unhappy to get wet in the sweltering heat. Eventually they called the game for bathroom breaks and more socializing, while Neal invited granddaughter Lavender to help him build a sandcastle.

"Grandpa, you build a lot of things. Have you ever built a real house that looks like this sandcastle?"

"Not quite, but I once built a fairy den for someone in town."

"A fairy den like a fancy birdhouse?"

"I thought so, but the owner said it was really for fairies."

"What fairies? There aren't any real fairies."

Neal scoffed as they worked together to form the sand into a castle. "How do you know there aren't any real fairies? Haven't you ever heard any whispers in the woods?"

Lavender's eyes grew wide. "Fairy whispers?"

"That's what they say. Just because you've never seen a fairy doesn't mean they're not real."

The pair stood to admire their finished work. "It looks great, Grandpa."

"It wouldn't look half as good if you hadn't helped me. Those extra towers make the whole sandcastle."

"You really think so?"

"Are you calling your old Grandpa a liar?"

"No way! I just messed up the one tower and-"

"And the shorter tower is the most interesting part of the whole build. Don't be so hard on yourself, kiddo. The world's tough enough."

Lavender heard his advice and tried to understand it. Most people settled for less than the best, but if the world was so tough, wouldn't things be better if they were perfect?

She let the question ruminate as the party continued through the afternoon, until she heard what sounded like faint whispers coming from the direction of the lighthouse.

Remembering what her grandfather said about fairies and knowing ghosts were everywhere on Deadgrass Isle, she raced off toward the point to investigate. The door was unlocked and she climbed the winding stairs to the viewing platform of the lighthouse, glancing back toward the school and museum where she'd left her family and friends.

The ocean breeze felt cooler up here, and though she found no trace of fairies, she did feel an odd sensation - a feeling like she'd been here before. But in all her eight years, she couldn't remember a time when her family had taken her up to the lighthouse observation deck.

"Weird," she said to herself. Unable to explain it, she pulled a toy from the pocket of her dress and spent time playing by herself, making the most of her time away from Ash's bickering friends.

But Pearl and Scotti stayed on their best behaviour until sunset, when most of the guests left Deadgrass Isle to head for home. Ash and his family stayed behind, paying respects at Ben Gordon's gravestone, lighting sparklers for the holiday, and enjoying each other's company, only heading home once the ghost pets in the cemetery emerged to make the isle their usual midnight playground.

Now that Ash was a teenager, Heather and Conrad knew they'd see less of him than they were used to. He was growing up, ready to discover himself and the world, and they knew they had to let him spread his wings when he was ready.

But for today, the family could bask in the joy of simply being together, making memories to last a lifetime. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: I had to cheat Lava's 'oddly reminiscent' moodlet by adding the hidden Lighthouse Baby trait, but it does exist. Not sure what went wrong for Heather and Conrad, who got pregnant in that lighthouse twice, but I think it's because I have a mod that overrides 'try for baby' where woohoo works to get pregnant more regularly and there's 'try for pregnancy' instead (I think it's Pandasama's Childbirth mod? Could be RPO.)

Anyway, I'm not one to let mods stand in the way of earning hidden traits so I cheated it for her and then the moodlet appeared! Apparently one must get pregnant in the lighthouse with the 'try for baby' option only. Regular woohoo or try for pregnancy mod-interaction babies don't appear to count!

NOTE 2: Malcolm's genetics are strong in Ash (you should see him with Malcolm's hairstyle EXCEPT YOU NEVER WILL! 😂) but I love him. There's something Jake Gyllenhallesque about him - as in the features aren't conventionally handsome, but there's something about it all that works.

Premades involved in the genetics of Ash and his friends are Gavin Richards, Malcolm Landgraab of course, Zoe Patel & Mitchell Kalani, and Travis Scott & Summer Holiday. Scotti is mean and loves the outdoors and we can - nay should - have opinions on Ash's taste in girls being so...Nancyish. The relationship panel told me how he felt about her in the main save, and when they 'met' for the the first time in the second save to get the posed birthday photos, I got the heart farts. Now you all know I'm not just saying Ash likes the mean girl who looks like teenage Nancy for some made up drama!

WCIF Poses: Ash and his friends are posed with @talentedtrait's With Or Without You posepack, Ash and the Gordons with Family of 5 posepack by @cheesesoes, and the group shot is a wild mish-mash of several different poses including Family of 5, With Or Without You, Moments by @simmerberlin, Large dog poses by Simmerberlin, Crossed Arms by @whimsyalien, and You & Me by @starrysimsie. I was going for something less chaotic, but I'm still working on using TOOL to toggle sims by half spaces and, well, mixed results! Chaotic is fine!

[hello-my-name-is-aves]

Sanemi Loves Giyuu Because He Reminds Him of Kanae

*Siiiiiiighhhh*

I have seen this theory posited one too many times, and I finally have to gently and lovingly tell anyone who will listen that it is just nonsensical bullshit.

To anyone who has ever thought/felt/argued this point: WDYM!? They both have....black hair? Because, truly, that is where any comparison between them ends. (And, in case we forgot, KNY takes places in Japan. Do you know how many people in Japan have black hair? The Hashira and Kamabokos are like a bunch of freakish outliers in terms of hair color.) So if we dismiss hair color, what else is there? They are different genders, different body types, different eyes, different skin tones - Surely we can all agree that Sanemi is NOT attracted to them both on the basis of a physical resemblance.

So what about personalities?

Kanae was gentle and soft and warm. She was kind-hearted and easy-going. She almost always had a smile on her face. She was friendly with everyone. She (with, perhaps, delusional optimism) had a dream of one-day living peacefully alongside demons.

...Does any of that sound like Giyuu Tomioka?

Giyuu who never smiles? Giyuu who, when he deigns to speak at all, speaks with callous dismissal and a sprinkle of sass? Giyuu who has exactly ZERO friends, is difficult to work with, and is beset by crippling self-doubt?

Kanae and Giyuu could not be more different. There is absolutely no way, none whatsoever, that Sanemi Shinazugawa looks at Giyuu and sees Kanae. If he does, it is only, perhaps, in a moment of nostalgia because the emotion he feels for both of them is love.

All of that assumes that Sanemi did, in fact, love Kanae AND Giyuu.

But, alas, I just find that impossible to buy into. Sanemi Did Not Love Kanae Romantically. Now, I want to preface this next bit with telling you that I have nothing against SaneKana as a fan ship. It has aesthetic appeal, and in full disclosure, I was a SaneKana shipper before I saw the light discovered SaneGiyuu. I do, however, take issue with anyone who claims on any level whatsoever that SaneKana was canon.

The piece of evidence people always point to when they claim that Sanemi loved Kanae is Gyomei the Tea Hashira's assessment of his fellow Hashira in the fanbook where he says of Sanemi: He seems to like Kanae.

And then the claim is supported on Sanemi's page when he says that he talks to Shinobu every now and then because she was Kanae's sister.

I cannot stress enough how mediocre that is as evidence. "Like" is such an ambiguous word. I LIKE a lot of people that I don't want to date/marry/shag. Sanemi also "Likes" Kyojuro. In another translation of the same page, it says on Obanai's section that he "Likes" Obanai best of all. No one is trying to claim that SaneRen and SaneOba are canon ships. If the statements were backed up by canon evidence for SaneKana then I could see it, but someone tell me, where is the evidence?

In the Manga, they have ONE interaction, and that is Kanae gently berating Sanemi for his outburst at his first Hashira Meeting.

In the Light Novels, they also have ONE interaction, and do you know how it goes...? Sanemi thinks about his mom. Guys. Guys. Sanemi did not have a crush on Kanae. He just was reminded of his mom by her gentle nature and her warm hands. When she is bandaging him up, there is no romantic tension, no eyes meeting or fleeting touches or little moments that indicate attraction. Sanemi gets totally distracted and lost in his own thoughts of his mother (until Kanae mentions the person there is an actual argument to be made for him having a crush on, Masachika.)

The Light Novel also makes it pretty clear imo that Sanemi has no interest in women at all. Now you could argue he just isn't interested in romance, full stop, but frankly, I think it is more likely that Sanemi just has crushes on boys, not girls.

Now that that's all said and done... You know else gets the "A likes B because they remind them of C" treatment? Giyuu, Sabito and Sanemi! I'll be giving Giyuu and Sabito a whole post of their own soon, so keep an eye out for it if you like <3 :)

So there you have it. Thanks for reading and have a blessed day!

(disclaimer in case it wasn't clear enough: I am not claiming that Sanemi canonically loves Giyuu or Masachika either. I'm just addressing the dynamic crossroads these fan ships too often find themselves in.)

[hoe-days]

I side with Xeno on being an instigator! How would the other 5 wise generals (plus Hyoga and Tsukasa) react to Pick Me vs S/Os?

Senku thinks it’s hilarious. He’s not dense in the slightest, but he doesn’t notice at first simply because he’s not paying her any mind. He’s focused on his work, S/O, and his friends. He does take notice eventually though. This random girl is hanging off him and complimenting his brains and looks. Okay???? Get to work then. He mostly ignores her until it interferes with either his S/O or the Kingdom of Science’s work, heaven forbid both. He and S/O would be sitting in the lab tent talking and working on something. Senku is probably the happiest he’s been since this stone world fiasco. In comes Pick Me to tell him she finished her task and wants to help with his.

“Me and S/O have it. This is a delicate process.”

Oh but she insists. She wants to learn about science after all.

Senku is kinda skeptical and weighs his options.

“Well I suppose three people can speed this process. S/O can you show her how to do it?”

“Mhm!”

S/O is happy to teach her much to Pick Me’s dismay. Senku keeps an eye on the interaction and takes note of how irritated Pick Me looks at S/O’s excitement to teach her science. It kinda pisses him off. Pick Me tolerates S/O’s lesson and starts to work.

Senku and S/O fall back into their rhythm and start discussing whatever they were talking about before. Pick Me lowkey has no clue what they’re saying, something about atoms. She listens for a while before she realizes they’re discussing a more efficient way to do what they’re doing. So she decides to join the conversation after S/O says theirs and gives her idea in the cockiest tone possible, implying S/O is the stupid one.

S/O and Senku look at each other then to her. S/O looks sympathetic and Senku laughs in her face.

“Actually, S/O is right. You can do your idea if you wanna blow off your fingers though. Maybe you aren’t the person to help with this task. I’m sure the gorilla team could use some help.”

——

Gen catches on immediately he finds it kinda amusing, but is more concerned about how his S/O feels and if they notice in the first place. He’s used to people like that from when he was famous, nothing new. But he doesn’t take kindly to people bothering or undermining his S/O. He’d be cordial towards Pick Me, though he’d embarrass her a lot. He’d do things like move at the last second when she tries to hug him so she falls or pretend to not know what she’s talking about when she says something to him. But none of it would look like he’s being mean, that’s how good he is. But the thing is , it doesn’t start this way. He only started being mean because he caught her trying to make his S/O feel bad. An unforgivable offense!

He was looking for his S/O actually, and stumbled upon the interaction. She was asking S/O if they thought Gen was tricking them or using them. He could not believe it! He stepped in and cleared the air, turning it around on Pick Me instead. Then when she got uncomfortable he turned to his S/O.

“I didn’t fall for anything she was saying , Gen.”

“I know, you’re far too smart for that. But still.”

“It was kinda cute how you came in to “save” me though.”

——

Ryusui may say he wants everyone but once he’s in a monogamous relationship, he only wants all of his S/O. But that doesn’t stop pick me. Ryusui knows what’s going on, he’s been around women like this all his life! So when Pick Me fawns over him and compliments his work as the ship’s Captain he just keeps his same smirk and thanks her. Ryusui does commend her though, she kept that animosity towards his S/O under wraps until she secured her spot on the Perseus. She knew that if he knew how she felt about S/O she wouldn’t have been chosen. The last thing they needed was crewmates disliking each other.

But once he took notices of her true feelings towards S/O and that the silly little crush she had on him wasn’t gonna pass because he’s taken, he was a little worried. Being out at sea for a long time can drive people to do some crazy things after all, and he doesn’t want anyone, especially his significant other, getting hurt.

Outwardly, nothing about Ryusui would change, but he does keep a closer eye on his S/O. He also confides in Senku and Gen about the situation. In any other circumstance, his boisterous and friendly personality wouldn’t change, but something about this whole scenario puts him on edge. He can’t even bring himself to grin and accept Pick Me’s praise anymore. He has that serious expression on his face, the one he has when handling business when she comes up to him singing praise.

“Thanks. I need to talk to you though.”

Pick Me thinks she’s finally won, but nope!

“Look, I’ve seen the way you look at and talk to S/O. I can’t have any animosity between crewmates, it’s dangerous. When we return to Japan from Treasure Island I’m gonna have to ask you to stay.”

——

Ukyo is at a loss for words. How does this even happen? I like to think he and his S/O were married before the petrification. Senku and Chrome even made them new rings out of left over materials. This is news to no-one. So why is this woman all over him?? He continues to be courteous though. He’s pretty non confrontational so he just kinda awkwardly smiles. He just gets really awkward interacting with the Pick Me. He and his S/O talk about it one night and they’re just like.

“Yeah she wants you bad. It’d be kinda funny if she wasn’t so annoying about it.”

Ukyo nods and sighs. He doesn’t act until he hears her bothering his S/O. He’s patrolling one night and he hears his S/O talking.

“We’ve been married for thousands of years at this point, so yeah I think I know him well.”

“Well I think he needs someone new and better. Like me.”

His S/O just snorts. Ukyo rushes in.

“Hey!”

“Ukyo! We were just talking-“

“Stay away from me and my S/O from now on. You’ve crossed a line.”

“But-“

“You heard the man.”

“Ugh!”

Ukyo watches her leave and sighs.

“I didn’t need you to save me, sweetness.”

“I rushed in to keep you from hurting her. Last thing we need now is a huge fight.”

He chuckles and hugs his S/O.

——

(I made so where S/O can be read as Ruri or someone else)

Chrome is both excited and confused. Excited because two people are fighting over him, confused because two people are fighting over him??? Not gonna lie, he eats up the attention at first, but then he thinks about it. Nobody from the village was all that interested in him until he got a partner and became a big shot in the Kingdom of Science. This kinda blows. He’d confide in his S/O and tell them how it kinda blows that some people only go after people when they have a partner. Not that he would have pursued them, he’s happy with his S/O. He just liked being praised😭

The next time Pick Me approaches he will deadass just look at her like

“Why are you all over me, S/O is right here. They’re the only person I need praise from. And why are you trying to pursue me anyway, you know we’re together.”

——

Tsukasa is another person used to women like this. The only difference is that in the stone world, he doesn’t have to pretend to tolerate it. Under all that muscle he’s a nice and genuine guy, especially to women and children, but there is only so much he will take. ESPECIALLY when it regards the love of his life.

He’s kind about talking to her at first. When she hangs off of him he politely tells her to get off and that he has a partner. He expects it to end right there. Pick Me has other plans. She continues to pursue him. And what makes him madder is that she uses his sister to get away with it. Mirai is too young to realize what’s going on with them, at least to a certain extent. But Mirai is also what leads to Pick Me’s downfall.

Tsukasa and S/O are sitting with Mirai and having a tea party. Everything is slow that day so not much for them to do other than train and hang out. Tsukasa is at peace when he hears this agitating voice asking to join. He looks at S/O who looks equally as annoyed, but for some reason they don’t say anything, which confuses him. He follows their gaze to Mirai, who was finishing making S/O a flower crown.

“Here you go, S/O! You look so pretty.”

They smile with that soft smile Tsukasa adores.

“Thank you, Mirai.”

Pick Me is about to say something when Mirai speaks again.

“Now we can play wedding.”

Tsukasa freezes and S/O just chuckles.

“Did all the flowers not give away what she had planned for us?”

Pick Me looks annoyed but sees an opportunity.

“Oh! Mirai that sounds like such a fun game. Why don’t I be the bride? I think the flowers you picked are pretty.”

“Sorry, S/O has to be the bride. My big brother likes them a lot and he said they look pretty with these kinds of flowers.”

Pick Me is taken aback by her response.

“O-Oh uh-”

"You can be the old guy who says, 'You may kiss the bride,' though!"

——

I don’t know why Pick Me would do this to herself. Hyoga likes like 5 people and even that is a stretch, why would she think she can come in between him and the person he likes the most.

Hyoga finds it very amusing in a very sadistic way at first. You poor pathetic girl. When she talks to him she can never tell if he’s smiling or not with his mask covering his mouth. He is, but not for why she thinks. He would lowkey set her up to embarrass her.

“Yes while I find this conversation interesting, I have to meet S/O to spar.”

“Oh I’ll come watch!”

Poor thing took the bait.

He pays no mind to her while she follows him. When he reaches his S/O, who is sitting on the ground drinking some water, he looks down at them and opens his eyes as he smiles down at them. They raise an eyebrow, knowing full well he’s up to something. When they look behind him and see Pick Me they just shake their head.

Their sparring match begins and Hyoga is a bit flirty with how he fights his S/O, though they just roll their eyes at his antics.

When they take a break, as predicted, Pick Me fawns over him and his strength.

“Wow Hyoga that was amazing. They could barely keep up.”

“Is that what you saw? Clearly you have no eye for battle then. S/O is a proper opponent and a proper lover who perfectly meets my high standards.”

S/O looks over boredly while drinking their water.

“That lover part wasn’t necessary.”

“Oh but it was. This woman believes in her mind that she is a better match for me than you.”

“I never said-“

“Oh but you did in so many words and actions. This is your perfect opportunity to prove it against S/O.”

He shoves his practice spear towards her.

“If you can’t finish what you started, can you even call yourself a proper human?”

——

Bonus because I wanted to add Moz.

He welcomes it and his S/O kicks his ass.

[tedsbogusjourney]

Most Excellent Comfort

Something I wrote for @scarlettspectra 🤍

Pairing : Ted Theodore Logan x female!reader Genre : angst, comfort

It was a rainy afternoon at a record store. It was soon your friend's birthday and you wanted to find something original for them, so you headed to the closest shop in your district. The place was small, cozy and inviting. Dim lighting, quiet atmosphere. No customers were around except for a tall, lanky guy searching through the rock, hard rock, and metal record crate.

You started looking for pop vinyls nearby, hoping to surprise your friend with another record as well. Beside you, the tall guy was focused, flipping through the crates with a serious expression. It seemed tough to find anything worth digging through.

As you started digging, you tried not to bother him, but you couldn’t ignore how close he was. Curious, you glanced at him from the corner of your eye.

He was cute—a mop of dark brown hair, soft freckles dotted across his nose, pale skin, and deep chocolatey eyes. Absolutely adorable.

Still digging through the records, you suddenly heard him sigh in frustration.

"That’s totally heinous…” he muttered bitterly, blinking absentmindedly as he suddenly stopped searching.

You realized you’d been staring. He turned his head and met your gaze. For a few seconds, you both just looked at each other, lips parted. You felt yourself drown into the rich brown honey of his eyes. He also smelled like strawberry baby shampoo.

“Um…” he began sheepishly, blinking and stuttering.

“Y-yeah?” you replied, entranced by his cuteness.

“Dudette... I can’t find the record I want. Totally bogus.”

That sweet California surfer slang.

He chuckled nervously, running a large hand through his messy locks. His awkwardness only made him more endearing.

“Can’t you ask the seller for what you’re looking for?” you suggested, tilting your head, still smiling.

He nervously avoided your gaze, looking anywhere else, fidgeting with his large hands.

“Oh, they told me all the records are in the bins.” He paused, then his deep eyes returned to yours.

“Really wanted my Mötley Crüe record and was hoping to find more of their stuff, but there’s none.Totally bogus.”

You both started chatting after that, and you told him you were hunting for a cool pop record for your friend.

Since then, you’d been meeting up with him. You learned he worked at a fast-food restaurant and lived in an apartment with his best friend, Bill.

==========

Ted's rich honey-brown eyes bore into yours as a genuine, lopsided smile spread across his lips. Now he was cheering you up about your driving test. You hadn’t passed twice, but he was sure you’d pass this time.

“Don’t worry, babe, you’ll totally succeed this time!”

His heartwarming enthusiasm was contagious. Yet you couldn't stop the depreciative thoughts racing through your mind. He felt the shift in your mood.

“Aw, dudette, that test was, like, totally bogus! But you’re way smarter than some dumb mistakes. You’ll crush it next timet!”

You felt the tears sting your eyes as you tried hard to hold them back. A surge of anger, embarrassment, and profound sadness struck you all at once. A frustrated sigh fell from your lips as you blinked back the tears again and again.

"It's okay to be bummed out, dudette. But you're, like, most triumphant at everything else, so this is just a minor bogus bummer."

You couldn’t hold back the tears. They streamed down your cheeks, hot and heavy. A moment later, strong, warm arms wrapped around you, pulling you gently into a comforting hug. Ted smelled faintly of... well, burgers and baby shampoo—mostly just... him. Safe.

“What if we just, like, went for fries and a movie? Or a most excellent air guitar session?"

He offered lightheartedly with a gentle smile, pulling back and looking at your teary eyes. Besides failing the driving test, you hadn’t been feeling great lately—for reasons you couldn’t explain. And you hated that feeling.

As your lips parted and you were about to talk, a lump formed in your throat and more tears streamed down your cheeks. Misery and despair.

He didn’t say anything at first. Then he pulled you back into a hug. He just held you close, his hand gently rubbing your back in slow, soothing circles.

“Dudette,” he said softly, his voice low near your ear, “I know this totally sucks. But you’re, like, the most excellent person I know. A couple of bogus tests don’t change that. You’re gonna nail it next time, I swear.”

You sniffled, pulling back just enough to meet his honey-brown eyes. They were so warm, so full of belief in you, it almost hurt to look at them. You felt truly pathetic. You leaned into the hug, crying more freely, releasing the pent-up frustration.

"It's okay, dudette. Just let it out."

You felt safe in his arms.

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady your voice as you slowly calmed down

"It's... it's not just the test, Ted," your voice cracking, the words catching in your throat. "I just... I haven't been feeling great lately."

Ted gave you a lopsided smile, his deep eyes boring into yours.

"Sometimes a most excellent movie and some fries can, like, totally help when you're feeling sad.”

His optimism made your heart warm and you couldn’t help but chuckle a little, wiping your tears with the back of your hand.

“Thanks, Ted. That sounds actually… most excellent right now.”

Ted's smile widened, genuine and bright. He just held you for a moment longer, his arm a reassuring weight around your shoulders. His hand, warm and calloused, found yours, giving it a light squeeze.

His eyes, still full of that unwavering belief, softened even more as they held your gaze. He paused, his usual flamboyant energy settling into a quiet intensity.

“Hey, dudette?" he began, his voice dropping slightly. "Listen, even when things are, like, totally bogus, just... knowing you're around makes everything more excellent for me. You're... you're pretty awesome, and not just in a friend way."

A blush suddenly bloomed on your cheeks as his words hung in the air, transforming the comfort into something new—something hopeful.

As if realizing he'd gotten serious for too long, his usual enthusiasm came back.

"Excellent!" he beamed, already moving toward the entrance of the flat with a buoyant energy that was, as always,contagious. "What kind of most triumphant movie are we thinking? And then, fries!"

[fireside-fanfics]

So I have a little Joaquin Torres request :) Joaquin bumps into an old highschool classmate of his. They weren't friends but always got along pretty well. And both of them crushed on each other hard but never actually told the other. When they bump into each other after all those years, they immediately fall back into their old dynamic. Also do both of them realize that their feelings never really went away, even though they haven't seen each other in so many years

Thank you so much for this request! I absolute loved writing it!

Old Friends, New Wings

I. BEFORE WE KNEW: SENIOR YEAR Where it all quietly began.

Sage pressed her cheek to the cold surface of her locker door, pretending to be deep in thought. Maybe she was contemplating quantum physics or some big life decision about her future. Really, though, she was just waiting for him. 

Joaquin Torres always showed up at exactly 7:48AM like clockwork. Not 7:45. Not 7:50. Backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, curls still slightly damp from his morning shower, a steaming cup of vending machine hot chocolate in hand like it was his personal brand. Sage could’ve sworn that it was as if the hall parted for him upon his arrival every morning. He never looked rushed. Not like everyone else, frantically finishing homework or sprinting to first period. 

He moved through the crowded hallway like he had all the time in the world. He’d nod at the janitor, smile at teachers, and hold the door for someone carrying too many books. He was effortlessly polite, impossibly kind by nature, and maddeningly cute without even trying. And fuck, that was the worst part—because wasn’t the loud, in-your-face kind of cute either. 

No, he had the soft, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of charm. It was the crooked smile, the warm brown eyes that crinkled at the corners when he laughed, the quiet way he paid attention when people talked, like they actually mattered. It was infuriating how one boy could be so incredible that he took up this much space in her mind.

Sage would tell herself she was just observant. That she liked patterns. The only reason she knew his routine was because their lockers happened to be across the hall from each other and she had nothing better to do at 7:45 in the morning. Of course that was it. That’s what she told herself at least.

The truth was, this had become her favorite three minutes of the day. Three minutes of pretending not to look. Three minutes of catching the soft sound of his voice, the way he greeted people by name, the way he’d tap his fingers against his cup like he was drumming out a beat only he could hear. And maybe, just maybe, three minutes of hoping he’d look her way too.

“Hey, Sage,” his voice came just as expected, soft and smooth with a sleepy smile.

Sage turned, cool as ever. When she met his gaze, she swore his eyes made her melt. A small smile tugged at her lips as she tried to fight blush rising on her cheeks. She shut her locker before crossing the short distance across the hall to stand next to him. Sage leaned against the locker beside him.

“Morning, Quino,” she quipped. “Did you finally get that Chem lab done or are you gonna mooch off me again?”

He laughed as he rummaged in his locker. “Mooch is such a strong word. I prefer the term … cross-reference.”

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. It was always like this with them: light teasing, shared glances, and this unspoken tension neither of them dared to touch. Maybe it was timing. Or fear. Or that neither of them wanted to ruin a good thing. They weren’t best friends, but they shared a quiet camaraderie since middle school. By pure chance, they always paired up for science labs, shared side conversations during pep rallies, and slid in next to each other on bus rides for field trips. 

Somehow they always seemed to gravitate towards each other. Somehow they always found each other at weekend parties where they’d talk for hours while everyone else enjoyed the party. Somehow they’d stumble into each other at the same cafes. It was all coincidence, luck, chance. And every time Joaquin caught her looking at him just a little too long, she’d flash a grin and play it off. And every time she walked past him in the hallway, he’d turn his head, just in case she smiled first. 

Neither of them ever did anything about it. Then, graduation came and they were gone…

II. NOW: PRESENT DAY, WASHINGTON D.C. Everything and nothing has changed.

Recent weeks were extremely tough for Joaquin as he hopped from mission to mission with little time to recover. He had faced some intense moments in the field—high-stakes missions, rogue tech, even alien threats—but nothing had prepared him for the emotional gut punch of seeing her again. She was standing at the edge of a farmer’s market, sunglasses perched in her curls, holding a jar of local honey like it was the most important decision of the day. 

Joaquin was never one to believe in fate, but when he saw her he had to reconsider. There was no way this was random.

“Sage?” he said before he could stop himself.

She startled, shoulders jerking just slightly, the kind of reflex you couldn't control when someone said your name unexpectedly. It was barely noticeable to anyone else, but Joaquin caught it. Of course he did.

“No way. Joaquin Torres?!”

And just like that, he was seventeen again. A grin tugged at his face before he could stop it. She looked exactly the same and yet completely different—older, more confident, but still radiating that same gentle energy that used to drive him crazy in high school. The soft smile still knocked the air out of his lungs in a way nothing else ever had. The sharp wit and kind heart that he day dreamed about. The way she used to twirl her pen in calculus like she was trying to make it fly.

Before he could fully register what was happening, Sage launched herself into his arms, hugging him tight. The strength in her embrace caught him off guard. She’d clearly kept up with her training. He remembered being in awe of her back then—star rugby player, elite swimmer. She’d always been the strongest one in their class, stunning the Army recruiters with how many pull-ups she could crank out during their annual visit.

When she pulled back slightly, her arms still around his weight, Joaquin smiled brightly at her again. She still tilted her head when she was curious. Still smelled like coconut and vanilla. Still made him feel like he was the only person she wanted to talk to, even in a crowded market. Her eyes flicked over him—quick, subtle—but he noticed. It was the kind of glance that said more than words ever could.  Her gaze lingered just a second too long on his chest, his shoulders, the way his jaw had sharpened with age. 

Then, as if suddenly aware of just how close they still were, she blushed. That soft, telltale pink spread across her cheeks, and Joaquin swore it was the same blush he used to catch in the hallway after study hall. Slowly, her arms slipped from around his torso, but her hand didn’t go far. It lingered on his forearm, fingers brushing lightly over the fabric of his sleeve before settling there. Sage gave it a small, familiar squeeze—steady, grounding, like muscle memory. And in that single touch, Joaquin felt twelve years melt away.

“It’s so good to see you, Quino,” Sage started, a quiet sigh of contentment leaving her lips. He blushed at the old nickname. “I haven’t seen you since—”

“Senior year,” he finished. “When you kicked ass at the rugby state championship a few days after graduation. 

A small smile formed on her lips as she reminisced. “That was one of the best days of my life… I remember you made a point to come congratulate me on the field.”

“Of all things you remember about that day,” he chucked, “you remember that?”

“Of course I do. It was you, dummy.”

Joaquin blushed again, nervous with the way she looked at him admiringly.

“Do you remember AP Lit with Mr. Rudd?”

“Oh god,” she groaned with a laugh, covering her face. “He used to call you ‘Captain Daydream’ and somehow still liked you best.”

“And he called you ‘Trouble’,” Joaquin chuckled, “but he still gave you the best grade in the class.”

They both laughed, and in that moment, everything felt easy again like no time had passed. Like they were still two almost-friends who sat just a little too close, exchanged too many smiles, and maybe thought about each other a little too much when no one else was looking. Sage had always been a contradiction that made perfect sense.

Her tomboy nature helped her fit right in with the guys, keeping up with every competition like she had something to prove. Yet her quiet, effortless femininity stunned every boy who looked too long, leaving them slack-jawed when they realized just how beautiful she really was. She got along with the girls too—her creativity and knack for crafting made her a go-to for pep rally posters and prom decorations, and her warm, calming aura drew people in like sunlight.

“So what are you doing here?” Sage tucked the honey jar under her arm and tilted her head. “Are you—back in town or…?”

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “Actually stationed here for a while. The Air Force brought me back, and now I’m working with the government in a slightly different capacity.”

“Sounds mysterious,” she teased, elbowing him in the side playfully. “Are you a secret agent now?”

“Wouldn’t be a very good one if I told you, huh?” he grinned.

Sage laughed, then gave him a once-over. “You look good, Qunino. Older. Stronger. You’ve got—I don’t know—a presence now. It’s so good to see you.”

“You look good too,” Joaquin replied. He felt heat rise to his face and tried not to look like a giddy sixteen-year-old. “I mean, you always did but—yeah. Still do. Better, even.”

With a small grin, Sage whispered thank you. She invited him to continue walking in the farmer’s market with her, and he gladly accepted. The conversation flowed so naturally. He learned she’d bounced around a few cities before landing in D.C. for the job of a lifetime. She was doing good work at the Smithsonian—big stuff, the kind of projects she used to daydream about during their stolen locker chats between classes. Joaquin wasn’t surprised; he always knew she’d thrive.

It felt natural. It was like they’d just picked up where they left off, except now they were adults and had no excuse to hide behind teenage nerves. They were passing by the kettle corn stand—almost near the Tidal Basin—when it hit him.

“I used to have the biggest crush on you,” he blurted out.

“What?” Sage blinked, eyes wide behind her sunglasses. 

Joaquin chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck like he couldn’t believe he’d actually said it out loud.

 “I mean—yeah,” he muttered, glancing over at her with a sheepish smile. “Back in high school? You were untouchable. Cool, smart, always had that notebook full of doodles and plans of all the cool things you were going to create one day…”

She flushed and managed to whisper, “You noticed my sketches?”

“You used to sketch in your notebook during Chem lectures. I remember thinking you'd end up doing something big too. Like, designing space suits or sneakers for Beyoncé.”

“Of course I did.” He nudged her gently. Sage giggled when she lost her balance slightly and gripped his arm again to regain her balance. “I noticed everything about you.”

The air between them shifted, slower now, heavier. Sage stopped walking, hand lightly touching the railing overlooking the water. Joaquin stood closely next to her and reached out to hold the rail too. His fingers softly brushed hers and he hoped she didn’t pull away. She didn’t.

Sage turned toward him and nervously said, “I had the biggest crush on you.”

“You’re kidding,” Joaquin gasped, chest tightening. 

“I’m not. I used to walk past your locker early on purpose. Just to maybe catch your eye. Hoping you’d spare me a few minutes to talk before classes started for the day.”

“Are you serious? I thought I was being creepy because I timed my locker trips to run into you.”

Sage burst out laughing. They both stood there, stunned and smiling like idiots.

“I used to write your name in my notebook,” she said quietly. “Just little doodles. Hearts around our names… Dumb stuff like that.”

“I almost asked you to prom,” he admitted. “I was going to. I chickened out.”

“I waited. I thought you would. I wanted you to ask me…”

“I didn’t think I had a chance.”

Sage took a slow step forward, closing the space between them. Her voice was barely above a whisper now. “What about now?”

He met her gaze. “Now… I’m not letting you walk away again.”

And then he kissed her. It was soft at first—careful, warm. Like opening a book they’d both once loved but hadn’t read in years. Then it deepened, all those years of missed chances and quiet heartaches spilling over. When they finally pulled back, Joaquin rested his forehead against hers.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he murmured.

“Good,” she smiled, brushing her thumb along his jaw, “because I’m not letting you go this time.”

With a finger tucked in the belt loops on both her hips, Joaquin pulled her closely and kissed again. Sage melted into his torso and lost herself in the kiss. A soft whimper left her lips when Joaquin snaked a hand into her back pocket, squeezing lightly. She kissed him harder in response and lightly tugged his hair at the nape of his neck. They pulled apart again, both gasping for air. She wrapped both her arms around his torso and smiled up at him. Keeping one hand in her back pocket, Joaquin trailed his free hand down her arm and held one of her hands.

“Wanna grab coffee?” Joaquin asked after a moment. “Maybe try again—this time without teenage awkwardness?”

“Yeah, I’d really like that,” Sage grinned, squeezing his hand.

As they walked toward the coffee shop, shoulder to shoulder, Joaquin felt something settle in his chest—a kind of peace he hadn’t realized he’d been searching for. The breeze was cool but not cold, the late afternoon sun casting soft gold across the pavement, and every now and then, their arms would brush in that quiet, familiar way that made his pulse skip.

III. WHAT COMES NEXT This time, we don’t let it go.

Three weeks later, Sage was curled up on Joaquin’s couch, sketchpad in her lap, while he worked on a broken Redwing drone on the floor.

“You’re still terrible at soldering,” she teased.

“Hey,” Joaquin groaned playfully, not looking up. “I’ve gotten slightly better.”

“You’re just lucky you’re cute,” She grinned, tossing a pillow at him. 

Joaquin laughed as he picked up the pillow and walked over to her. He plopped down next to the coach, stretching his legs across the chase ottoman. Sage shifted slightly so she was closer to him, thighs touching. Joaquin reached out, snaked an arm behind her back, and rested his hand on her hip. His fingers brushed under his Air Force t-shirt—the one that she had turned into her own oversized cropped t-shirt—and he rubbed shapes on her hip.

“You know what I think?” He glanced up at her, eyes shining. She hummed in response. “This—right here? You and me? It was worth the wait.”

“Yeah,” Sage whispered. She leaned down and kissed the top of his head. “It really was.”

Hooking one leg across his hips, Sage leaned fully into his side and closed the small distance between them. Her hand slid along his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his t-shirt as she kissed him—slow, sure, like she’d been meaning to for years. Joaquin smiled into the kiss, warmth blooming across his chest as he pulled her closer. 

One hand squeezed her hip with a kind of certainty he didn’t even realize he’d been craving, while the other found the back of her head, fingers gently threading through her hair, holding her there—not to trap her, but like he was afraid to let her go too soon. Their mouths moved in sync, familiar in a way that caught them both off guard. She tasted faintly of citrus and something sweeter.

They didn’t say much, and they didn’t have to. The room was filled with soft, lazy kisses and the low hum of voices weaving together—murmurs about takeout or maybe cooking something simple, a vague plan to walk around the city Saturday or just stay in. Every touch lingered a little longer than necessary. Every breath felt like it carried the weight of everything they hadn’t said back then. 

And now, it was like their bodies were making up for all that time. Wrapped in each other, they weren’t just making out—they were catching up, reconnecting, and rewriting the ending that never got a proper start. When they finally broke apart, Sage rested her head against his chest and held one of his hands. 

“I know we lost a lot of years,” Sage said quietly, her thumb brushing over his knuckles, “but I don’t think those feelings ever really went away.”

“Me too,” Joaquin murmured in agreement, heart pounding. “My feelings for you keep getting stronger everyday…”

Sage looked up at him then, eyes a little glossy but steady, like she was really seeing him for the first time—and not the version from high school, not the memory she used to miss—but the man right in front of her. The one who’d waited, who’d wondered, who’d never stopped hoping.

“Then let’s not waste any more time,” she said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I know what I want now. I want you, Quino. Forever.”

“Me too… I’m in this for the long-haul, Sage,” he whispered.

Joaquin kissed her again—gentle this time, like a promise. And when they pulled away, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb brushing her cheek. Outside, the city buzzed like it always had, unchanged. But inside, everything was different. They weren’t lost teenagers anymore, circling the edge of something they didn’t know how to name. They were here—older, braver, still a little unsure, but together.