#HE JUST CRASHES DOWN ?? AND I WAS JUST WALKING INTO A ROOM

[guliexe]

━━━DATE NIGHT WITH ENHYPEN ot7

.ᐟwarnings/tags: smut, unrpotected sex, dirty talk, fingering, backshots, cowgirl, missionary, blowjob, drug use

Heeseung ⭑.ᐟ Game Night

It starts innocent. Just you and Heeseung on the couch, knees touching, controllers in hand, trash talk flying.

He’s laser-focused on the screen, lip tucked between his teeth, thumb jabbing the joystick with precision. “You’re such a tryhard,” you huff.

He laughs. “And you’re such a sore loser.”

“Shut up. Rematch.”

By the third round, you’re both getting cocky. You bump shoulders, try to distract him with your foot nudging his thigh. He retaliates by tickling your side, and you shriek, tossing the controller. Next thing you know, he’s on you. Literally.

He lunges, tackling you flat onto the couch, your wrists pinned above your head by one hand. His body hovers over yours, hips pressing between your legs. The game is long forgotten. “I win,” he smirks, eyes gleaming.

You squirm, trying to break free, but all it does is make him grin harder, and grind down, slow and deliberate. You gasp.

“Thought you were stronger than me, huh?” he taunts, voice low, teasing. “So cute.”

You roll your hips without thinking, and that’s all it takes. Heeseung’s playful smirk darkens. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, baby.” he warns, breath ghosting your lips.

He kisses you, hot and deep, tongue slipping into your mouth while his hips keep rocking, dick hard against you through his sweats. Clothes get messy, tugged and discarded halfway, your panties pushed to the side as he lines himself up, one hand still holding your wrists down.

When he sinks into you, it’s slow, thick, dizzying. “Fuuuck,” he groans against your neck. “Taking it so well, baby.”

You moan, back arching. Heeseung pulls out halfway, then slams back in, his pace picking up, cock hitting deep every time.

He’s panting now, sweat clinging to his temples, his other hand sliding down to grab your thigh and press it up higher. “Gonna stretch you out so good, baby”

Jay ⭑.ᐟ Fancy Dinner

He looks dangerous tonight. Black-on-black, no tie, top buttons open just enough to tease the sharp line of his collarbone. He holds your hand as you walk into the restaurant, but his eyes? They’re glued to you.

To the way your tight satin dress hugs your curves, the subtle sway of your hips, how your cleavage glistens under the low lights. He’s quiet all dinner, too quiet. Polite to the staff, answering your questions, but his fingers rest high on your thigh under the white tablecloth, lazily stroking your bare skin.

“You look insane,” he murmurs at one point, leaning in close enough for only you to hear. “Everyone keeps staring at you.” You whisper back, teasing, “Jealous?”

Jay just smirks. “No. I’m gonna be the one fucking you later.”

Back in the hotel room, the door barely shuts before his hands are all over you.

He crowds you against the wall, mouth crashing into yours. His hands slide down to your hips, gripping hard, pulling you flush to his chest like he needs to feel every inch of you.

He bends you over on the bed without a word, your cheek against the cool sheets, the skirt of your dress shoved up over your ass. “Goddamn,” he mutters, running his hands over your exposed skin. “You’re so fucking hot.”

One hand grabs your ass, spreading it. The other comes down in a sharp smack that makes you whimper. “Fucking love this ass,” he groans, gripping it, kneading it, slapping it again until you’re squirming.

He pulls your panties to the side and slides in with one rough thrust, groaning low and deep. “Shit, baby,” he pants. “So tight for me. Fuck.”

He sets a brutal pace, hips slapping against yours, one hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your waist to keep you in place. You’re a mess beneath him—moaning, gasping, nails digging into the sheets.

“You like that?” he growls. “Like getting fucked like this? You were begging for it all night in that dress.”

Jake ⭑.ᐟ Movie Night

It’s a cozy night in—popcorn half-eaten, movie playing in the background, but Jake can’t focus.

Not when you’re curled up beside him on the couch in nothing but shirt, and pink panties that keep peeking out whenever you shift your legs.

You’re tucked into his side, legs over his lap, pretending to be absorbed in the romcom. But you feel the way his hand keeps drifting—first to your waist, then under the hem of the shirt. He finally breaks, whispering, “baby I'm so hard.”

And then he kisses you. sSlow but messy. His hands slide up beneath the fabric, cupping your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples until you gasp against his mouth. You melt under his touch, needy, straddling him without a second thought.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, eyes trailing over you as you grind down on his lap, your panties damp and your shirt riding up. “So pretty for me.”

Your arms wrap around his neck, hips rolling into him again and again until you feel his cock hardening more beneath his sweats.

He grabs your ass with both hands, helping you move—soft groans slipping from his lips every time you grind just right. You’re so worked up you don’t even bother taking your panties off. You just push them to the side, lift your hips, and slowly sink down onto him.

Jake’s head falls back against the couch with a guttural moan. “Fuuuuck…” he breathes. “You feel so good, baby.”

You both sit there for a second—his cock buried deep inside you, your body clinging to his—and then you start to move. Slow at first. Just shallow little rolls of your hips while his hands roam your back under the shirt, gripping and stroking and worshipping every inch of you.

“You gonna make a mess on my cock?” he murmurs, dazed. “Hm? Already soaking me, pretty girl…”

Sunghoon ⭑.ᐟ Gym Date

It starts normal enough. You’re both working out in this sleek private gym—mirrored walls, perfect lighting, no one else around. Just the two of you.

You’re wearing tight leggings and a cropped tank, a little damp with sweat. And Sunghoon can’t stop staring.

You bend to pick up a dumbbell and he groans under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “Jesus,” he mutters. “You’re trying to kill me.”

You flash him a smug little smile, thinking he’s just teasing. But the way his jaw tightens? That look in his eyes? Yeah, no. He’s not teasing.

He’s on you a minute later, grabbing your wrist and dragging you toward the locker room. You barely have time to gasp before he shoves you into the bathroom and locks the door behind you.

“Sunghoon—” You don’t even finish. His mouth crashes into yours, hot and messy, tongue sliding deep as he backs you against the wall.

You moan into the kiss, breath stolen, body arching into him. He pulls back, panting. “Looking so fucking good, baby. I can’t help myself.”

He turns you around and bends you over the wall, cheek pressed to the cool tile, ass out, back arched. You whimper as he yanks your leggings and panties down in one swift motion. One of his hands grabs your wrists, pinning them behind your back. The other? Gripping your hip, tight. And then he’s inside you—deep, hard, no hesitation.

You cry out as he slams into you again and again, his hips snapping forward with brutal rhythm, the wet slap of skin echoing in the tiled room.

“Yeah,” he growls behind you, voice dark and breathless. “Fuck yourself on my cock, baby. Just like that.”

Sunoo ⭑.ᐟ Study Date

You’re supposed to be studying, but Sunoo looks too good sitting on his bed, glasses low on his nose, hoodie pushed up to his elbows, veins showing on his forearms as he flips through notes like a perfect little menace.

And he smells good. And he keeps licking his lips when he concentrates. And he’s being too damn sweet, brushing your knee and murmuring, “You’re doing great, baby,” every time you get an answer right.

You can’t take it anymore. “Sunoo…” He looks up, soft and clueless. “Yeah?”

You lean in and kiss him—slow and needy, pressing your body into his. He makes a surprised little noise before melting into it, dropping his notebook as your fingers tangle in his hair.

You kiss down his neck, sucking gently until a red mark blooms on his pale skin. He shivers, letting you take your time. And when you tug his hair and kiss even lower, he groans, voice barely above a whisper, “You’re so needy tonight, huh?”

You drop to your knees on the floor between his legs, looking up at him as your hands smooth over his thighs. He blinks down at you, wide-eyed and breathless.

“My cute girl,” he coos, brushing your hair back. “You want my cock, hm?”

You nod, lips parted, pupils blown out with want.

He leans back, legs spreading, and watches intently as you tug down his sweats. His cock springs free, already hard from just your kisses and the way you look at him.

You take him in your hand, licking a stripe up his shaft before sinking your mouth around the tip. Sunoo moans, hand flying into your hair.

“Just like that, princess…” he whispers, hips twitching as you bob your head. “So good for me…”

You work him slowly at first, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowed—taking your time. His hand rests on the back of your head, guiding but gentle, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Such a needy girl for me, yeah?” he pants. “God, look at you… fuck.”

Jungwon ⭑.ᐟ Rainy Night In

You don’t even hear him knock at first—the sound of rain is too loud. But then your phone buzzes, “open up bby i’m freezing”

You swing open the door and there he is, hoodie soaked through, dark hair dripping into his eyes. He looks unfairly good like this—rain clinging to his lashes, lips pink from the cold.

“Forgot my umbrella,” he mumbles, stepping inside with a shy grin. He kicks off his sneakers, water pooling under them. You wrap him in a towel and guide him to the couch, pulling a fuzzy blanket around the both of you. He tucks you in closer, his hand slipping under your hoodie to warm his fingers on your skin.

You try to watch something. You really do. But Jungwon keeps kissing you—your temple, your jaw, the corner of your lips. His touches get slower, more purposeful.

Then suddenly, you’re on your back, the blanket kicked off, the TV playing to an empty room. He hovers over you, wet strands of hair falling over his forehead, his hand already under your shorts.

“God,” he whispers, voice low and raspy, “you’re so cute like this.”

Two fingers glide between your folds, teasing. You whimper, and he smiles, proud of how worked up you are already. “You want it, baby?” You nod. Your voice is shaky. “Please—touch me…”

He doesn’t hesitate. His fingers slip inside, slow and deep, thumb pressing soft circles on your clit. You arch into him, moaning as the heat builds fast.

“That’s it,” he coos, kissing your cheek. “Gonna cum on my fingers, baby? Yeah? Gonna make a mess just for me?”

Niki ⭑.ᐟ View Date

It’s just the two of you, tucked away on this little hill that overlooks the whole city. The sky’s turning gold with the sunset, a little breeze in the air, the perfect amount of warm.

You sit in his car, passing the joint back and forth, limbs all tangled together. You’re both giggling, red-eyed, flushed from laughing and the weed, pressed shoulder to shoulder.

Riki’s quiet, but he keeps looking at you. Heavy-lidded, dazed, but hungry.

You’re sitting in his oversized hoodie and a tiny skirt, no bra. He finally reaches over, cups your jaw, and kisses you slow—messy and deep, the kind of kiss that steals all your breath and leaves your thighs trembling.

His hand slides under the hoodie, fingertips brushing your nipple, and you whimper, shifting in his lap. “Need you, Rikiii…” you whisper, voice thick and desperate.

He groans—low and wrecked—his hands already grabbing your waist to pull you over his thighs, straddling him. “Holy fuck, baby…” he pants, kissing your neck, trailing his mouth lower until he’s leaving warm hickies on your chest. “You’re killin’ me…”

You’re so high, so warm, so needy. You slip your panties down and toss them aside, leaving only your skirt bunched around your hips. He watches, wide-eyed, hands holding your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You grab him through his sweats, lazily freeing his cock and guiding him to your entrance. The stretch makes both of you moan—your body sinking down slow, every inch filling you to the brim.

“That’s it, baby,” he groans, head falling back. “Doing so good for me…”

You start bouncing gently, slow and messy, your thighs burning, your fingers laced through his hair. He’s panting into your chest, mouthing at your skin, sucking little bruises into your collarbone like he can’t get enough.

“My sweet girl,” he whispers, fucking up into you between bounces. “You love getting filled up by me, hm?”

a/n: was a lil bored and wanted to post smth small ^^

© guliexe

[ebodebo]

more neighbor!simon… previous post

tw: somnophilia & slut shaming (not by simon)

-

you sit in the center of your bed, your head propped on your knee, with nail polish in hand as you carefully paint your toenails.

you flinch, spilling the polish on your sheets, as you hear the familiar pounding of your front door and grunts from a low voice.

the door slowly creaks open, and you can hear calculated steps approaching.

“simon?” you ask hopefully, sitting up rigidly as your nail polish smudges.

bile threatens to escape your throat as footsteps enter your room, and instead of your kind neighbor, simon, it’s your insane ex-boyfriend.

“simon’s not here anymore, sweet girl,” he said with a toothy grin, a cigarette in his mouth as he carried a crowbar. “it’s just me and you. for now.”

you let out a shriek as he lifts the crowbar overhead. “always knew you were a slut,” he croaks, venom dripping from his tongue as he swings the crowbar down to strike you.

you stir awake, gasping for air as perspiration gathers on your forehead. you surge to sit up, eyes wide, as your hands press against your bare thigh to ensure it was just a nightmare.

you breathe a sigh of relief when you realize you’re alive and it wasn't real, but you also know there is no way you would be able to sleep alone.

that’s when you hear soft snores coming from your living room, and with desperation, you slip out of bed, wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand.

you inhale another breath, still shaky as you pad along the vinyl floor to the living room. simon is lying on his stomach on the couch in sweatpants and no shirt.

his cheek is pressed into the leather as he snores lightly. his arm hangs off the side and grazes the cold vinyl.

he looks like the epitome of tranquility.

you feel bad that you would be interrupting his peaceful sleep, but you need to sleep too. maybe he’d sleep even better on an actual mattress instead of slumming it on your couch, even though his bed is right next door.

the whole thought tickles you every time you think about it.

he’d rather crash on your couch, than walk twenty steps to his bed.

what a guy.

“simon,” you whisper lightly.

he stirs a little, but he doesn’t answer.

“simon,” you say a little louder, tapping his bare shoulder slightly.

he flicks his eyes open. “you alright?”

you shake your head. “i had a nightmare.”

he hums, his finger tapping against the flooring. “want to sleep right here? i can sit on the other couch while you sleep?”

his offer makes you smile. “i was thinking you could…sleep in my room…with me?”

he nods sleepily. “okay with anything as long as you sleep.”

“i’ll sleep better if you’re next to me,” you murmur.

you swear you see him smile, too, but it drops as he moves off the couch before you can ask. he stands, stretching, as he follows behind you to your room.

“which side are you?” he asks, trudging behind you to your room.

“always right,” you say, slipping onto your side of the bed as he goes around to his.

“good. i liked left better anyway,” he rumbles, slipping into the bed without bothering to get under the covers.

“you want some covers?” you ask, already feeling more at ease with him beside you.

“no. sleep hot,” he explains, laying his head on the pillow, and shutting his eyes gently. “wake me up if you have another nightmare, yeah?”

“i will,” you mumble as you rest your head against your pillow, the soft lull of sleep licking your brain quicker than you thought.

you close your eyes, drifting off to sleep as you feel the cool sheets and warm presence beside you in just a few minutes.

in the depths of the night, you find yourself sprawled out on your bed, wide awake, completely naked. simon is on his knees in front of you, his hand tugging your ankles closer to the edge of the bed.

“fuckin’ soaked just like i thought you’d be,” he mutters with pleasure, making you squirm deeper into the mattress. “you gonna let me taste you, sweetheart?”

you chew on your lip. “please.”

“yeah? you want me to?” he goads, lips hovering over your dripping cunt.

“yes. fuck. please,” you push yourself against his face, urging him.

“greedy fuckin’ girl,” he mumbles, a smirk on his face as he licks a stripe across your cunt that sends a deep ache to your lower stomach.

“ah—simon,” you mewl as his tongue slides across your clit.

“what, baby? feel good?” he asks, tongue flicks your sensitive bud.

“fuck. yes,” you find yourself grinding into his face trying to coax your orgasm.

“oh, baby. fuckin’ insatiable, aren’t you?” he mumbles into your cunt as his tongue moves faster inside you.

“shit, simon,” you moan, grinding agasint his face faster. “so—close,” you choke out, hand coming to thread in his light hair to push him deeper.

his tongue moving and tweaking your bud, with precision. “come on my face, sweetheart. cover me,” he encourages, giving your hip a squeeze.

your body convulses as you come on his face, gripping the sheets under you for support as you ride your orgasm out.

you lean your head back with a satisfied moan, your eyes flicking to look at him. you pull his hair, so he looks at you.

when he lifts his head, his lips gleam with your fresh arousal, and his face and body morph into a dog right before your eyes.

before he barks, you jerk awake, horrified to find yourself flat against the side of simon’s body. your leg rests over his thigh, and when you look down, you see a large wet spot on his light sweatpants.

you drop your leg, pulling up your large shirt to see that a large amount of arousal has made your panties see-through.

you had a wet dream.

of simon.

and used him as your own personal vibrator and leaked your arousal onto him as he slept next to you.

the realization makes you want to die and let the earth swallow you whole. but since that’s impossible now, you flip over, moving to the edge of your side of the bed.

still in your soaked panties, you tightly shut your eyes, hoping that eventually you’ll fall back asleep, just grateful he didn’t wake up and catch you.

poor girl.

you didn’t even realize that as you were grinding against simon’s hip as you were sleeping, he had stroked himself two times over fast and hard until he came all over his hand with a deep groan.

each time he grabbed a small tissue from the side table to clean himself up and tossed them under the bed; he’d throw them away in the morning.

eh, guess some mutts just can’t be house broken.

[lomlsatoru]

BACK TO YOU — JINU ࣪ 𖤐.ᐟ

summary: he comes back home. to you.

content: fem!reader, angst, happy ending, a kiss, ~800 words, i dont really know what to feel abt this but lmk what you think!

a/n: he lives!!!!! (i yelled as they dragged me inside the asylum)

★☆ ★

Heart heavy. Eyes puffy. Mind foggy.

Why did you decide to get attached to a demon in the first place?

Sucks on you.

The air in your apartment was chilling, making you fall farther back into your mattress. Blanket covering your body as you stare at your ceiling.

The girls have come knocking, wanting to make sure you’re still alive because of how long you were cooped up.

You couldn’t bring yourself to do anything after the incident.

Part of you almost feels stupid, how are you letting his death affect you so much? You haven’t even known him for that long.

“Then, why does it hurt so bad?” you whispered to yourself, tears streaming down your puffy cheeks.

Suddenly, the sliding door to your balcony opened, adding the cold wind sweep across your room. You startled awake, rubbing your eyes to get your vision in focus as you walked to the balcony. The city looks almost ethereal with the golden honmoon.

Your body jumps in shock when you notice the huge pair of bright eyes staring at you. “Tiggy?” crouching down, the tiger slowly moved closer, snuggling closer to your hand and chest, “What are you doing here baby?” 

“Why? A guy can’t see a pretty girl anymore?” 

Your heart drops. Fingers stopping scratches on the tiger’s head, not brave enough to look up. 

His voice. No. No way. Your head is playing tricks. 

Shaking your head, you muttered to yourself, “Nope. No. I’m just dreaming.” hiding your face in the tiger’s fluffy fur, “This is so not funny.” 

Jinu’s chest clenched at your voice, taking slow steps until he is crouched in front of you, “Hi, sweetheart.” 

You blinked your tears away, hugging the tiger tighter, “Go away.” voice so fragile, so tired. 

The man leaned forward, his hesitating hand hovering above your head. “Hey, look at me.” slowly dropping his hand to the back of your neck as his thumb grazed your skin comfortingly. 

You shook your head, “You’re not real.”

His eyes softens, realising how much pain you are in, “Yes I am. I’m right here.”

With all the courage that you possess, you brought your head up. He’s right. 

He is right here. 

Right in front of you. 

He smiles warmly, gazing at your face, “Oh, princess.” he brings his palm to the side of your face, heart clenching when he notices your tear streaks, puffy eyes and runny nose. 

You sniffle, leaning into his warm palm, “I miss you so much.” a pout forming on your lips.

Jinu has to stop himself from grinning at how cute you looked, choosing to peck your cheeks instead, “Missed you too.”

A moment passed by as you stared at each other. Before the whole situation crashes on you fully, anger and grief overcome your system. 

Everything was so overwhelming. 

Shoving his shoulders back, “Where the hell did you go?” you yelled, standing up and stomping inside your bedroom. Picking up the pile of clothes on the floor and putting them inside of your wardrobe. 

He didn’t even move when you pushed him. He understood. He would be in pain too. 

He sighed. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. 

“I had to take care of some stuff before I can see you.” carefully moving into your room, he surveyed the mountain tissues on the side of your bed, “You really missed me, huh?”

You scoff, “Shut up.” stumbling when the tiger tried to cuddle to your leg, making you smile. 

Jinu softly grins at the sight of you, nose still red and sniffling, hoodie engulfing your figure. You look soft, sweet, vulnerable. 

He stops right behind you, body so close you can feel how warm he is, “I miss you too.” he whispers. 

Letting out a shaky breath and biting your lip in nervousness, you slowly turned around and looked up to meet his eyes, 

“There’s my girl.” he smiles, rough fingers caressing your cheek. 

“I never want to feel like that ever again.” you lean into his warm palm, holding his wrist. 

He leans in, your breaths mingling with each other, “May I?” his thumb not stopping grazing your cheek.

You nod, letting him lean down to slot your lips together. The kiss was slow, calming your screaming thoughts, as you scrunch his jacket in your hands.

“Fuck.” he whispers against your mouth, moving more desperate, his hands moving to grip your waist to bring you closer. “Missed you so much, sweetheart.”

Giggling, you break apart to take in more breaths, hands now on the back of his neck, fingers grazing his skin making him shudder. “I might go on a wim and say that you missed me.”

He laughs and kisses your forehead, pulling your head to rest against his chest and hugging you as he lays his head on top of your head. 

For a demon he has a really loud heartbeat.

“Your heart is beating so fast.” you chuckled, wrapping your arms around him, fully melting into his embrace. 

Jinu’s cheeks went warm, he coughs, “Shut up.” backing away and meeting your eyes again, “I’m not going anywhere.” a pause, “Promise.” 

“You better not.” you shove his shoulder.

He laughs, pulling you closer.

“I’m home, already.”

reblog for a kiss 😛😛

[inhuman-obey-me]

do you remember the ask you did for the brothers about mc catching them doing something demonic?? could you do that but with the side characters?

Hi hello this is WAY overdue and I am so sorry it's taken this long to get around to it if you're even still around!! But yes, definitely wanted to do a version with the side characters for this. These...got much longer than the previous ones, so please take that as an apology for taking years to get to this.

Previous post referenced can be found here!

[Mod Cosmos]

MC accidentally catching the Side Characters being Demonic or Violent

content warning: blood, gore, implied body horror

Note: As before, this is from the perspective of an MC that might just not want to necessarily see all this

DIAVOLO

You were staying the night at the Demon Lord's Castle, exhausted after a long day running around with Diavolo. Despite your exhaustion, you find yourself waking up in the middle of the night — and notice that the Demon Prince is no longer resting beside you. Wondering where he's gone and figuring he must have had something to do, you try and fall back asleep, but to no avail. After some tossing and turning, you decide to get up and take a walk to the garden, hoping that its usual tranquility will help bring back the slumber that now escapes you.

On your way, you hear a distant crash, like glass shattering against stone. Remembering the many stories of how haunted the castle was, a chill creeps down your spine. You know its better to leave it be (just go to the garden, you tell yourself) but your curiosity gets the better of you, as it always does. With careful steps, you make your way down the hall from where you heard the crash, the portraits on the wall watching your every move with morbid glee. Every cell in your body is screaming for you to turn back, and you almost do — until you hear a hysterical laugh swiftly cut off by an agonized yell. A muffled voice soon follows, and you recognize it well.

"Your mistake, like all your predecessors, is mistaking my tolerance for weakness." Diavolo's voice becomes clear as you creep towards an archway, and your heart leaps into your throat at the scene before you. Blood stains the walls, a demon you don't recognize made further unrecognizable by the disfigurement of his flesh, as if it was melting from his bones. "A pity it had to come to this, Guthor. I'll send my regards to your little association." The mockery in the prince's voice is rare to hear, and in a flash the other demon is reduced to nothing but cinders.

"—MC?" Your startled at the sound of your name, and before you can blink you find yourself staring into worried golden eyes. "What are you doing here?! You should be asleep." His four wings fully unfurl, as if to block your view of the gruesome remains. "I…I apologize that you witnessed that." He cups your chin, taking in your unsettled expression. "I'll answer any questions you have, but let's first return to my room, shall we? I'll get you whatever you need."

BARBATOS

Your whole body vibrates as bass, drums, and discordant guitar riffs pour out the speakers at Tartarus Hall, a metal show well underway. It's not the usual environment one would find Barbatos, but you jumped at the chance to accompany him to the show when he cautiously offered. It delighted you to see him outside of the stiffness of his day-to-day duties, and although he still doesn't seem to break too much from his usual statuesque nature, you can certainly tell he's more relaxed.

Eventually deciding to take a break from the rowdy crowd, the two of you make your way to the bar for some much needed refreshments. As Barbatos hands you a drink, you notice something grabs his attention — and an ominous shadow falls over his features. Positioning you safely in a corner by the bar, Barbatos gives you a small smile.

"I'm going to use the restroom, so please stay here until I get back."

You nod and wait patiently, enjoying the music from a distance while sipping your drink, wondering what it was that really captured his attention. After a while, you find yourself with an empty glass and still no Barbatos in sight, so you decide you'll make a quick trip to the restroom yourself. After asking the bartender to let your demon companion know of your whereabouts if he gets back before you do, you make your way through the crowd and down a narrow hall lit with neon signs — and that's when you start to hear it. Screams.

At first, you wonder if its just from the vocalist on stage, but it sounds far closer to you than from the speakers. With a gulp, you cautiously turn a corner and can soon make out a familiar voice, muffled behind a door that isn't quite closed all the way. Peering in, you see Barbatos towering over another, a sharp object in his hand glistening with blood. You stomach twists. "I wish I could have more time with you, but I must return to someone far more important." He sighs, ignoring the other's pleas for mercy. "All you traitors sing the same."

In an instant, the other demon is dead on the floor. Before you can even move to take a step back, you find yourself face-to-face with Barbatos, a gasp leaving your lips as his tail captures your waist and pulls you away from the scene and back to the neon corridor.

"You can't help yourself, can you, dear?" Barbatos scolds, though his gaze softens as he checks you over. "I apologize for leaving you for so long, and for having to witness that. Let's go enjoy the rest of the show for now, shall we?"

SIMEON

It had been some time since your last visit to the human world, so Simeon had decided to gift you with a surprise trip — just the two of you, enjoying all that this coastal city had to offer. There was also a local festival in full swing, which meant dragging Simeon stall to stall to try a variety of food and play some games. You both eventually take a break away from all the festivities to enjoy the sunset, the last rays of the daylight disappearing into the horizon as waves crash on rocks below. You turn to smile at Simeon, but notice that something feels…off. In fact, you had sensed a feeling of tension from him since an encounter earlier that day with a less-than-friendly stranger.

"Simeon? Are you okay? You're not still thinking about that guy, are you?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, I'm sorry." Whatever darkness his eyes held a moment ago disappears, his gaze gentle as he looks to you. "Just a little tired, not to worry. Why don't you go look at some souvenirs," he motions to a cute store a few steps away, "…to bring back for the others, and I'll go fetch us some coffee?"

You agree, though can't quite shake off your concern. Watching from the corner of your eye, you see Simeon wander off before turning into an alley. Leaving the souvenir shopping behind, you decide to follow the angel to see what he's really up to. It's quieter in this part of town, and even quieter in the alley with no cafe in sight. You hear a dull thud and quickly follow the noise, peeking around a corner down another alley — only to freeze at what you saw.

It's a dead-end, and a man is backed up against the brick wall, holding a knife out towards Simeon as if in self-defense. You recognize the man as the one who had harassed you earlier, nearly bruising your arm when he tried to drag you off somewhere. You had managed to shake him off and thought that was the end of it, but Simeon clearly had other ideas.

An ethereal glow emanates from the angel, your eyes beginning to sting as your vision becomes slightly warped. The man opens his mouth as if to scream, but no sound comes out, and he drops his knife to the floor. "You are lucky I am only giving you a warning," Simeon's voice seems to echo, his hand now splayed out across the other's chest. "Reflect on your actions and repent, or next time you won't be so lucky."

A flash of light momentarily blinds you, causing you to stumble back. As you regain a sense of your surroundings, you find your face cupped by gentle hands and your gaze met with bewildered celestial eyes.

"MC! I…I'm sorry. That man continued to follow us throughout the day and was intent on hurting you." His voice is full of worry, his fingers flitting across your body to ensure that you were okay. "You weren't supposed to see that."

"Is he—?" You begin to ask.

"He'll be fine, just…terrified for quite some time." Simeon clears his throat, his features showing relief once he's confirmed you're not harmed. "Let's go get something to eat, okay? Whatever you want."

SOLOMON

The last few weeks had been a whirlwind, filled with various events and obligations that had kept you away from your sorcerer studies with Solomon. Far overdue for a lesson, you were finally getting together tonight to practice a few new complicated spells. You decide to stop by the market to pick up a few snacks, texting Solomon to ask if there's anything he wants. A few minutes pass and he fails to respond, so you give him a quick call, assuming he's probably not paying attention to his DDD.

No answer. You sigh and decide to just get what you know he likes before making your way to Purgatory Hall. Taking the more scenic route, you leisurely walk through one of your favorite parks, going over some of the spells in your head — but your mind begins to wander as you notice that Solomon still hasn't returned your texts or call, even though he should be expecting you later. He was usually quick to respond, especially when it came to his "favorite apprentice", as he so often said. He's probably just deep in one of his books or experiments, you assure yourself, but the slight sense of unease forming in your stomach won't go away.

Then, you sense it. A faint warmth on your hand coming from the sorcerer's ring that Solomon had gifted you. He had recently imbued a spell on both your ring and his to let you know when the other was close, but you still were no where near Purgatory Hall. Rather, the ring was pulling you towards another path that went into the forest.

"Stop, stop! I'm sorry, okay?!" You eventually hear a coarse voice, so you quietly hide behind a tree and peer around to see what's going on, eyes widening at what you find. A demon seems to be brutally bound to the floor, blood seeping from his eyes and mouth as he looks up and pleads to the sorcerer who put him in such a position.

"Coming to your senses after you tried to take away mine?" Solomon answers in a mocking and cold tone. "You should have known better than to try your tricks on me, Pinen." He takes a few steps towards the demon, squatting down to get more to his level. "And," his voice is dangerously low and furious, "…you should have thought twice before trying to threaten my apprentice. Have fun getting out of this one."

The demon opens his mouth to scream, but you blink and he's gone. You blink again and find Solomon before you, his hands gently gripping your shoulders and worry in his eyes, a shadow of guilt on his features. Of course, he must have sensed you were nearby.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to get caught up in this." He glances down and scoops up the bag that you must have dropped at some point. "I'll explain what happened and what I did once we're out of here, okay?"

[dearstvckyx]

Sometimes home is a person team - drabble

Your powers — wild, untamed — had lashed out, sending John flying into the wall with a crash that shook the training room. The panic had swallowed you whole, leaving you cowering in the corner, small and shaking, afraid of yourself.

And then he was there. On his knees, pulling you into a hug that wasn’t for him — it was for you. Strong, steady arms wrapping around your small frame as you trembled like a leaf.

“It’s okay,” he’d murmured, voice softer than you’d ever heard. “I’m okay. You’re okay.”

And for the first time, you’d let yourself be held.

Later that same night, it was Bob who found you curled up in John’s military hoodie and in bobs bed — which has become your safe place, to Bob you looked small and exhausted, head resting against his pillows. He sat down on the floor next to the bed, next to you, handed you a mug of tea without a word.

You leaned into him, heavy with relief.

And when he whispered something small — some rambling nonsense about Alexei stealing muffins — your lips twitched.

“…Liar.”

Your voice was barely there, cracked from disuse.

Bob froze, wide-eyed. And then that smile — that gentle, stunned, so-proud-it-hurt smile spread across his face.

He didn’t even tell the others. Just sat there with you until you fell asleep — leaning against his arm.

⸻

The Next Morning

John was glowing.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning back in his chair at the breakfast table like he was telling the story of a grand victory. “She hit me with her powers — slammed me into the wall. But did I freak out? No. I held her. Calmed her down. She let me. First time.”

Yelena rolled her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall out of her head. “John, we were all there. Stop acting like you saved the world.”

“She let me hold her, though,” he said, grinning, tapping the table like he’d made some brilliant point. “Me.”

Alexei muttered, “He’s going to write poem about it next. Ode to Being Punched by Powers.”

Ava sipped her coffee and didn’t even look up. “It’s seven in the morning, John.”

Bucky groaned into his mug. “I swear to God, Walker—”

Just then, Bob walked in, still sleepy-eyed, hair messy, hands in his pockets, rubbing his back from falling asleep on the floor.

He paused, blinking at the table full of annoyed faces.

“…What’s going on?” he asked, grabbing some fruit from the counter.

“Walker’s bragging that she let him hold her after her powers went off,” Bucky muttered, giving John a look that could kill.

Bob raised his brows. “Oh.”

He casually grabbed a knife, started cutting up the fruit, listening as John kept going — louder now, trying to relive the moment like it was a battle medal.

“Yeah, it was pretty intense. She was shaking, man, but I held her — kept her grounded. It was a big deal.”

Bob kept slicing the red apple he had grabbed, smirking quietly to himself. He dropped the pieces into a bowl already mixed with bananas, strawberries and kiwis, grabbed two water bottles from the fridge, and started toward the door.

But then — as if it just occurred to him — he stopped. Backed up slowly. Poked his head back into the kitchen.

“Oh,” he said, grin soft, eyes twinkling. “But she talked to me first.”

The room went dead silent.

And then he was gone, slipping down the hall with the fruit bowl and waters like nothing had happened, leaving John sputtering behind him.

“Wait — what?!”

“Walker, sit down,” Yelena said, smirking now herself. “You got hugged. He got history.”

And for once… John had no comeback.

[yumyumcherryy]

p.s: OKAY OKAY HEAR ME OUT. rin w an oral fixation BUT BUT BUT AAAAND with a TONGUE PIERCING DO U FEEL ME?? SIUNSUIHSU MEN W TONGUE PIERCINGS YESSUHEUJE

you hated it. 

you hated rin's stupid fucking tongue piercing.

and he's been tonguing at it for the past hour, reading that damn novel, completely unaware of the demons you were fighting, trying not to jump his bones then and there. but that wasn't even the thing that pissed you off the most. it was in the way that he didn't even know how good he looked while just...well, existing.

god, if he knew about the thoughts you were having right now. "Done staring at me yet?" his voice cut through your train of thought, making you freeze in place and look away. "i wasn't..staring" you lie."idiot." he slaps his book shut before walking towards you.

You barely had time to breathe before Rin's mouth crashed against yours.

It wasn't sweet.

It wasn't careful.

It was hungry.

Hot lips, parted and desperate, dragged yours open—his tongue sliding past before you could even think, the cold metal of his piercing grazing your tongue. He kissed like he fought—calculated, intense, possessive.

Like he had years of denial bottled up in his chest and this was the moment it all cracked loose. His hand was under your jaw, tilting your head exactly how he wanted it, while his other gripped your hip, keeping you flush against the wall and him.

And he was so close.

Hard muscle pressing into your softness, hoodie pushed up just enough to show skin-on-skin heat. His thumb dragged back to your lips mid-kiss, pressing in again like he needed to feel your mouth do what he told it to.

"Open," he murmured against your lips.

You did.

Immediately.

That thumb slid in again, alongside his tongue as he kissed you deep—messy, needy, obsessed. "ngh..s'icky.." you let out a half-assed complaint, voice slurred by his thumb pressing down on your tongue. He groaned when you sucked on it again, this time intentionally, and you felt his hips shift forward, a silent reaction.

"Fuck—" he breathed, breaking the kiss just to stare at your lips. His thumb pulled out with a glistening trail and he dragged it down your chin again, watching it shine. "You're made for this. I swear."

"Made for what?" you whispered, dazed.

He didn't answer with words.

He dropped to his knees.

Your gasp echoed through the room.

"Rin—what are you—?"

"I need to taste more," he growled.

"You think it's just your mouth I've been thinking about?"

"Nah. I think about all of it."His hands gripped your thighs, nails digging in just enough to make your breath hitch. His mouth kissed up your inner thigh, slow and teasing—open, hot lips and the flick of a tongue that was absolutely not being shy.

"Every time you walk in front of me," he said, voice muffled against your skin, "I think about how you'd sound above me. How sweet you'd taste. How you'd look grinding down on my tongue."

You moaned—loud.

shameless.

shit.

"Yeah. Just like that," he said, lips against your skin. "I want that sound again. I wan' every sound you make."

His fingers dug under your waistband and you felt your whole body buzz—like he owned your pulse now. Like you'd give him anything.

But just before he took it further, he froze. You looked down, flushed and trembling.

"Rin...?"

He looked up at you from between your legs. Hair falling into his eyes. Lips parted. Breathing uneven.

And his voice cracked

"I want you so bad it makes me sick," he said softly.

That confession—quiet, broken, a little ashamed, hit harder than any kiss.

"I've wanted you like this for so long I forgot how to want anything else." You reached down, threading your fingers through his hair.

"You have me," you said. "Take me."

Rin didn't need to be told twice.

His mouth dove in, lips hot and wet against your skin as you mewled out.

This wasn't just a silly fixation anymore.

This was obsessed.

Starved.

Worshipping you like you were sacred and sinful all at once.

Tongue everywhere.

Fingers digging in.

Every breath he took was you.You weren't just something he wanted. You were something he needed.

Obsessively.

Shamelessly.

And for once?

He wasn't hiding it anymore.

"shit darlin'..you taste heavenly.." he says, words muffled by your pussy as he continues to lap at it like a starved man. every stroke of his tongue against your clit and the cold metal of his tongue piercing making you arch your back onto the wall. 

"shut up.." you manage to whine out, hands gripping onto his scalp like a vice and unconsciously grinding onto his mouth. "mnn..!— your piercing, oh my goodness..-" 

you squeal, whimpers turning into high pitched moans as the man on his knees just continues to devour your cunt. 

his tongue that was flicking at the hardened bud moves down to your hole, practically tongue fucking you. "jus' stay still f'me yeah?" he smirks against your wetness, his ministrations almost going frantic, gripping your hips so you can feel every ounce of pleasure he's giving you. "uh huh..'kay.." you keep a hand over your mouth, watching him.

watching him trying to ruin you.

and he's succeeding at it too.

"wait rin—i'm gonna cum- no wai-" you didn't get a time to protest as your orgasm crashing over you like a wave, squirting all over his face. "yuckie..rin i told ya..haa" you scold, closing your eyes, trying to catch your breath. "you taste so good, dear.." he licks the slick that was coating his face clean. 

The bed barely creaked as he hovered over you, shirt halfway off, hoodie long forgotten somewhere across the floor. Your skin was still burning from the way he devoured you just minutes ago-but Rin?

Rin looked like he'd barely scratched the itch.

His hair was messy, strands clinging to his forehead from sweat, and his lips-god, those lips-still glossy from you.

He stared down at you like he'd been holding back for years.

And then-he leaned in, kissed your neck again.

Not soft.

Not sweet.

But slow. Wet. Deep.

His tongue dragged from your collarbone to your jaw, a low sound rumbling from his chest like a man starving for another taste. And then—he did something worse.

He moaned.

Not loudly. Not theatrical. Just... low. Controlled. A sound from the back of his throat that made your thighs tense."Why do you taste good everywhere," he muttered against your skin, hand slipping under your shirt.

"Why can't I fucking stop?"

You barely managed a breath. "Then don't."

He froze.

Eyes locked with yours—dark, teal, possessive. His thumb pressed to your lip again, pushing inside your mouth like he needed the feeling.

"I think about this all the time," he murmured. "Your lips. My fingers. Your tongue around my-"

You sucked on his thumb hard.

Rin choked out a sound he didn't mean to make. His hips jolted forward slightly. His teeth sank into his bottom lip like punishment."Don't do that," he warned, voice low.

You did it again.

Harder.

Dirtier.

Rin's eyes fluttered, jaw clenched. Then—he pulled his thumb out and tapped it against your lip.

"Open your mouth again," he whispered.

You did. Barely a second later, his tongue was back inside, licking into you like a man starved. His kisses weren't neat anymore. He wanted you messy. He wanted your lip gloss smeared, your voice breaking, your mouth ruined by nothing but him.

He pulled back for just a second, hand cupping your face.

"I'm not in love with you," he said suddenly.

You blinked. "What?"

"I'm not," he repeated, a little breathless, dragging his thumb across your bottom lip like it was a ritual. "But if you told me to get on my knees again, i swear to god i wouldn't even think twice."You stared."If you told me to put my tongue anywhere," he whispered, "I'd do it."

His voice was wrecked now.

Honest.

Raw.

"So don't ask me if I'm in love," he said. "Just let me use my mouth to show you how fucked I am over you."

And then he was back down again. mouth everywhere—open, panting kisses against your chest, your stomach, the inside of your thighs. 

Tongue teasing. 

Licking. 

Worshipping.

You arched under him, gasping his name. "Fuck, that's it," he groaned, breath hot against your skin. "Say it again. Say it with my mouth on you."

You did. Again. Louder.

And that's how the oh so unreadable Rin, smiled against your skin. drowning into the drug-like euphoria you were giving him.

idk im not very proud of this 😭

@twijaxx

[st7rnioioss]

𓂅 ♥︎ VIDEO GAMES

⋆ ˚ .ೃ ࿔ * pairing... chris sturniolo x reader

𓂃 ֹ ᮫ in which... chris seems to be distant, but any part of him that you can reach, you'll take.

warnings... smut, fingering (momentarily?), reader being naive💔, angsty?

the room is silent when you walk into the living room, the light from the tv screen casting a glow onto chris’s face.

he’s got his headphones on, pushed off one of his ears in case you’d call for him.

you stare at him, and then down at the dress you’d picked out, specifically because you knew he liked it—or used to.

“hi baby,” you said as you walked closer to him, your voice soft. you carefully sit down on his lap, one arm slung around his neck, looking at whatever game he’s playing. “hey sweetie,” he mumbled, barely looking at you, or even acknowledging your presence besides saying hi and wrapping an arm around your waist to grab his controller.

“whatcha doing?” you whisper, your fingers threading through his dark hair while his eyes flicker across the screen, then momentarily meet yours.

he clears his throat, taking off his headphones before going back to the game, “m’trying to beat this.. it’s tough,” he says, and you nod in response, just to show that you were listening—not that you cared much.

when his character dies, chris lets out a groan, pausing the game to look at you.

you smile, wrapping both arms around him when he pulls you in for a kiss. “i’ve missed you,” you whisper against his lips, before his lips crash back onto yours while you crawl into his lap.

it was ironic. you’d been in the same house for hours by now, even all week. yet, you seemed to miss him all the time, as if his presence simply wasn’t enough.

chris’s hands fiddle with the hem of your dress, his hands grabbing the back of your thighs to push your dress up, his hands getting a firm grip of your ass.

a small gasp slips from your lips, pulling back to watch as his hands run up your chest, playing with the straps. “y’still like this one?” you chuckled, and he nods with a soft laugh, “yeah.. it’s pretty,” it’s pretty. the dress.

his lips meet your neck, pressing sloppy, wet kisses to your skin, dragging them down your collarbone and chest.

a soft, barely-there moan leaves your lips, fingers awkwardly grasping his shoulders while his fingertips fiddle with the hem of your panties.

the air grew thick, chris’s lips still leaving small bruises down your neck, all while his fingers slowly pushed the thing material to the side, making you gasp.

“so wet.. all this f’me?” he mouths into your neck, before inserting a finger into your slick pussy. you arch your back while a broken moan is pulled from your mouth, your skin warm and flushed. “barely even touched you..”

you nod eagerly, subtly grinding onto his hand while he adds another digit, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. “f-fuck.. keep going please,” you whimper when he curls his fingers, still grinding onto his hand to chase your high.

all until his phone is ringing, and he instantly lifts his head to see who it is. you whine in annoyance, but when he picks up and withdraws his fingers from your sensitive walls, you give up on fighting back.

chris quickly kisses the side of your face, while whispering a quiet “i love you,” which you respond to with an awkward smile.

it was never fully turning off the game, never putting his phone away, never having his full attention—but if that was what you were going to get, you would take it.

a/n: i ate so many strawberries today gah dammn. this sucks but here you go!

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀❀

۶ৎ taglist: @jetaimevous @missmimii @mattscoquette @pearlzier @witchofthehour @elizasturn @loveparqdise @delilahsturniolo @phone4pills @sturnsmia @hearts4werka @cayleeuhithinknott @strnilolover @angelyearner @lovergirl4gracieabrams @ifwdominicfike @toftomgmf @emely9274 @sturnioloangell @blushsturns @sierrraaaaxz @slut4chris888 @marrykisskilled @sophand4n4 @sturnihoelooo @unknvhx @chrisslut04 @sturniolossss @slvtf0rchr1s @blahbel668 @starkeysturniolo @miolos @user1smvtysturniolo @lizzyzzn @sturnslutz @decimatedxdreams @chrissturnioloswife88 @sturn777 @sturniolonationsblog @frankoceanfanpage @priscillaog @courta13 @sweetrelieef @loverboysturn @sturns-mermaid @cutseylady @sofieeeeex @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @mattsturnii @conspiracy-ash

۶ৎ series taglist: @aaliyah-sturns @mattybsgroupie @h8aaz

𓂃 ֹ ᮫

❛❛ © ST7RNIOIOSS est. 2023 ❜❜ all rights served. my work may not be copied, translated, reposted, or published on any third-party platforms (including but not limited to wattpad and ao3).

[skzdominate]

NON REQUEST

A/N: I was so excited for this I delayed to make a few tweaks but ended up stalling for wayyy longer 💔 anyway here's my fun little thing I thought of.

p.s I finally had to get my shit together and write actual warnings cause this is filthyyyy

Title: off limits

Pairings: Skz OT7 (excluding chan) x Fem! Reader

Warnings: 18+ NSFW Explicit sexual content, Voyeurism, Group sexual dynamics (multiple partners), Dubiously consensual situations ( power imbalance, teasing without full verbal consent) ,Mentions of masturbation, oral, handjobs, suggestive language, Slight somnophilia-esque tension (sneaking in/out while others sleep), Mild possessiveness / light dom-sub language, Age difference themes (older!reader, younger!members)

🔞 MINORS DNI

The minute you stepped into the dorm, you were trouble.

Two weeks. That’s all it was supposed to be—two weeks of crashing at your little brother’s place while visiting Seoul after his latest concert tour wrapped. Chan had insisted you stay, grinning while tossing you a spare key, promising you could relax. “The guys will behave,” he’d said.

He had no idea.

From the second you entered, their eyes were on you. Wide. Curious. Desperate. Seungmin dropped his chopsticks, Hyunjin choked on his water—They all had different reactions. Jisung—well, he didn’t say much. He just stared, lips parted slightly, like he forgot how to speak.

They were all polite, sure. But you were irisistable—and to men with years of pent-up energy? Filthy.

You walked around the dorm comfortably, and Chan made sure the boys knew you were specifically "off limits" during your stay.

They mutter yeah's and sure's, but they all ignored it themselves.

They treated you like a real lady. Never got into your personal space, never butted into your conversations with Chan, never stopped you from eating their things, never made physical contact—which was for their own sanity most of the time.

Once while Jeongin was sitting at the kitchen counter, you had walked in wearing a tank top and your favorite skirt. You casually ranted to him about gossip from back in Australia, but he didn't hear anything you said. It was like your mouth was moving, but your body was the thing speaking to him. He had to excuse himself mid rant to the bathroom.

They all avoided you, and when you asked your little brother about it, he said "They're just shy, they'll warm up to you in no time. You're only staying for a week and a few more days."

But that hasn't happened yet—they still avoid you, eyes suddenly roaming the room when you walk past them.

They secretly huddle up together, whispering about you and how they hadn't been so turned on before. They joked about how mad Chan would be if he knew they were absolutely insane for his sister, older sister at that , but they still talk nonetheless.

You eventually caught the way they lingered in when you walked past, how their eyes followed your hips. But it was Jisung who always lingered the longest. Quiet. Tense. Red-cheeked and restless. He couldn’t look at you for more than three seconds without fidgeting, fingers tapping, legs shifting.

The first week passed, you pretended not to notice.

By the start of the second, you were hearing them at night.

They thought you were asleep. The amount of times you lay in your brother's bed and listen, hoping he didn't hear as well from next to you. You heard the sounds. Breathy and desperate groans muffled into pillows.

One night, you heard your name. Whimpered. Stuttered. From Han's room.

Your heart thudded.

You should have fallen asleep. Should have let him have his privacy.

But curiosity—maybe something deeper—overrode you.

The next night, you waited. You made sure Chan was passed out in the living room with his headphones on, a bowl of popcorn in his lap. Then, barefoot and silent, you padded down the hall. Right to Jisung’s door.

It was literally open.

And the sight hit you before the sound.

“F-Fuck…” A hushed whisper, drawn out, needy. The unmistakable wet sound of skin-on-skin. “Gosh, no—fuck, that body…”

You stood shocked, He didn’t see you.

The room was dark, lit only by the soft glow of his phone on the nightstand. Han lay sprawled on the bed, shirt riding up, tattoos on display, sweat-damp hair clinging to his temple, hand wrapped around his cock. Fast. Desperate. His hips bucked into his palm like he couldn’t help it.

“Y/n…” he whimpered, eyes shut tight, voice a broken gasp. “Please…”

Your mouth went dry.

This wasn’t some lazy jerk-off session. He was overwhelmed. You could feel it. Like he’d held this in for days—weeks—and finally broke.

You took a step forward, silently.

A floorboard creaked.

His eyes snapped open.

For a second, he didn’t process it. He blinked once, then twice. Then all the blood drained from his face.

“Y-Y/n—!” He scrambled, yanking the covers over his lap like it could erase the sight you just witnessed. His voice cracked. “I—shit, I didn’t know—”

You should have turned around.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you closed the door behind you. Slowly.

His breath hitched.

He swallowed, panting still. “You weren’t—supposed to—fuck, please don’t tell Chan—”

“You were moaning my name."

He went silent. Shaking now. His lips parted but no sound came out.

You took another step toward the bed. The air between you burned.

“Were you thinking about me?” you asked softly, tilting your head.

He made a broken whimper, burying his face in his hands. “Please don’t make fun of me—”

“I’m not.” You came closer. “I think it’s cute.”

He froze.

You sat on the edge of his bed, and he looked at you like you were the devil herself. Wide eyes, flushed face, and trembling legs under the blanket.

“Cute?” he echoed. You nodded.

You leaned in and kissed him. Softly. Deeply. His whole body went still, then melted. Like he’d waited for this every night since you arrived.

He moaned into your mouth. Sloppy and sweet.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “Do you want me to help you?”

He nodded helplessly. “Please noona.”

You flipped the blanket over, and took in the sight of him. Twitching, tip red, and leaking pre-cum. He was a good 5 inches, but he was thick.

You trailed your fingers down his stomach, pausing just before his cock.

“Do you want me?”

“Yes." His voice was hoarse. “I want your hand. I want your voice. I want to feel like… like I’m yours.”

Your heart squeezed.

You wrapped your hand gently around him, stroking once—slow and firm.

He gasped, hips bucking up to meet your hand. “Fuck—yes—”

You kissed him again, slower this time. Letting him whimper into your mouth as you stroked him, every tug of your fist matched his shaky little breaths.

“You’re so sensitive,” you whispered, lips brushing his jaw. “Did you get close before I walked in?”

“was gonna cum thinking about your mouth,” he admitted, voice cracking.

“You like my mouth, baby?”

“I dream about it.”

You licked a stripe along his throat. He choked on a moan.

“You taste so good,” you said. “I bet you’d make such pretty sounds if I had you all to myself.”

“You do,” he gasped. “You do—fuck.”

You sped up a little, just enough to make his thighs shake. His cock twitched in your grip, dripping now. He was falling apart.

“You gonna cum , Jisung?”

“Yes—yes please, fuck, don’t stop—”

“Where do you want it?”

He blinked, dazed. “W-What?”

“Do you want to cum on your stomach, baby? on my hand? My tongue?”

His whole body shuddered. “Anywhere—please—just need it—”

You leaned down and kissed him again, deep and wet, as you stroked him faster.

“Then cum, baby,” you whispered. “Let me see how pretty you look when you fall apart.”

That did it.

He came with a loud cry, cock pulsing in your grip, warm ropes spilling across his stomach and your hand. His whole body arched into you, breath ragged and eyes fluttering.

You slowed your strokes, milking every last drop, whispering soft praises into his ear.

He collapsed back against the pillows, chest heaving, lips parted. His eyes were glassy with bliss.

You reached for a tissue from the nightstand, gently cleaning his skin.

He watched you, quiet. Still catching his breath.

“You okay?” you asked, voice soft.

He nodded slowly. “That was… the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You smiled.

He reached out and grabbed your hand before you could pull away.

“Stay,” he said, barely louder than a whisper. “Please.”

Your heart throbbed.

You crawled up beside him, nestling into the sheets. He turned toward you, arms shyly wrapping around your waist. Still sticky, still flushed—but glowing with something warmer.

You ran your fingers through his hair.

“I didn’t expect you to want me back,” he mumbled into your neck.

“I didn’t expect to find you moaning my name like that,” you teased gently.

He blushed so hard it reached his ears. “Gosh, I was so embarrassed—”

“Don’t be.” You kissed his forehead. “I actually did kind of expect it from one of you boys. 'skinda cute."

He looked up at you, eyes wide and vulnerable.

“You mean that?”

“I mean it.”

He kissed you again. Slower this time. Sweeter.

And you knew in that moment that this—whatever it was between you—wasn’t just heat.

And it had only just begun.

It started with the forehead kiss, but it didn’t stop there.

That night, Han  fell asleep in your arms like he’d finally exhaled after years of holding his breath. You lay with him for a while, fingers in his hair, watching the rise and fall of his bare chest. You slipped out just before sunrise back into your brother's bed. You slipped under the covers—quiet, soft, sneaky, and just as he had started waking up

And it only made everything worse.

Because now he couldn’t stop.

Not the stares. Not the blushes. Not the aching tension that followed you both like a shadow through the apartment.

You played it cool. Wore the same skirts. Swiped his juice in the kitchen. Sat close on the couch.

Four days later, it was late—past 2 AM. Everyone else had gone to bed, lights off, silence heavy. You were in the hallway in your sleep shirt when you heard it.

A whisper.

“Y/n…”

You turned.

Hyunjin stood in the dark, shirtless, eyes wide with need. “Can you—can you come to my room?”

You didn’t answer.

You just nodded—because how could you refuse when he looks so delicious.

The second the door closed behind you, he pushed you against it, lips on yours. There was no hesitation.

He kissed you like he was starving. His hands were everywhere—shoulders, waist, thighs—and his breath hitched every time you moaned softly into his mouth.

Yo caught a glimpse of behind him, everyone— except Chan of course— sat somewhere on or close to his bed. They all looked at you with the same hungry expression.

“He told us what you did,” he whispered, pulling back just enough to look at you. His pupils were blown.

“Can you do that for us?"”

You smirked, letting your fingers trail under the waistband of his sweats. “Aren't you guys a little too young to be so bold?”

He shook his head quickly. “not when it comes to you.”

The boys in the back looked needier as ever, all of them shirtless and waiting for you. You smiled at them as you pushed away from hyunjin.

"I'm all yours tonight."

and they all pounced.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄⊰❀

It became a game to them.

Innocent glances over breakfast. A not-so-innocent brush of whomever was next to you that night's hand on your thigh under the dining table. And the long, silent moments in the hallway where one or more of them would corner you—bodies pressed close, hard under their sweats, breath ragged.

“Just one kiss,” they’d beg.

You’d always give them each three.

except one night, Chan almost caught you.

You were perched on seungmin’s lap, shirtless, straddling him on the edge of Felix's bed. In contrast to Jisung, Seungmin was longer— about 7 and a half inches but not as thick. They boys all watched you intensely, fully clothed but hard under their pants.Your hand was wrapped gently around his cock, dragging slow, teasing strokes that made him whimper and dig his fingers into your hips.

“F-Fuck—feels so good—”

You shushed him with a kiss. “You’re so noisy, puppy. You want my brother to hear?”

He flushed. “No—shit—don’t say that—”

“Then be quiet,” you whispered against his ear, kissing just below it.

That’s when you heard the sound.

Footsteps. In the hall.

everyone froze.

Your eyes went wide with panic as you yanked a blanket over you and him, hearts pounding. The door creaked open a few inches.

“Oi, Felix, you still awake?” Chan’s voice.

Felix cleared his throat, voice tight. “Uh—yeah mate, what’s up?”

You stayed still, half-naked and buried under the blanket, your hand still loosely wrapped around Seungmin, your heart threatening to burst out of your chest.

“I thought I heard something,” Chan said from the hall. “And I can't find Y/n.”

“Ah—sorry. I dropped my phone. I think I heard her go into the bathroom.”

A pause.

“Alright. I won't disturb her. Goodnight.”

The door closed.

You didn’t move until the footsteps were gone.

Then you looked at him.

“Dropped your phone?” you teased.

He groaned, “I’m gonna die.”

❀⊱┄┄┄┄⊰❀

The longer it went on, the bolder everyone became.

One morning, you found Jeongin in the laundry room. No one else was up yet. His hair was wet from a shower, towel around his neck, baggy shirt hanging off his shoulders, grey sweats.

You locked the door.

His eyes widened as you pushed him against the washer, lips crashing into his.

“I missed you last night,” he murmured between kisses. “So bad—couldn’t sleep.”

You sank to your knees.

“Then let me help you relax.”

He choked on air, hands trembling as you pulled down his waistband, eyes glazed as you kissed the head of his cock like it was holy.

“what if someone—”

“Then you’ll have to stay quiet ,” you smirked, tongue dragging over his length.

He didn’t last long.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄⊰❀

It wasn’t just about the touching.

It was the little things.

The way Seungmin curled into you like a lovesick puppy after. The way Changbin's voice got breathy when he begged. The way Minho looked at you like you were the only person who had ever really seen him.

One night, you caught Felix in the mirror.

You were behind him, hands on his hips, kissing a line down his spine. He looked over his shoulder, breath catching when your eyes met.

“You’re so pretty when you fall apart,” you whispered, dragging your fingers up his chest. He gasped.

“I think about you even when you’re not here,” he admitted, flushed.

“Oh?” You kissed his jaw. “What do you think about?”

“Everything. Your mouth. Your hands. The way you say my name. Sometimes I even—fuck—sometimes I imagine you calling me baby in front of everyone, like I belong to you.”

You turned him around, kissing him hard.

“You do belong to me.”

He moaned like it was the only thing he ever wanted to hear.

---

But every flame wants more fuel.

And the fire between you all was getting bigger.

One night, Minho climbed into your bed instead.

You were still staying in Chan’s room while he crashed on the couch with a sore back. You almost yelped when he snuck in—boxers and hoodie, eyes full of heat.

“You’re brave,” you whispered.

“I’m desperate.”

You let him slide under the covers. Let him touch you, worship you with his mouth, moaning soft praises into your skin.

You didn’t stop him when his fingers dipped under your waistband. You just guided him, slow and sweet, gasping when he stroked you right.

“Like that, baby,” you whispered. “Keep going. You’re doing so good.”

His jaw dropped when you came on his hand, back arched, thighs trembling. You watched him suck your fingers clean, eyes wide with adoration.

“I love making you feel good,” he whispered.

You kissed him deep.

And knew, without question, you were in too deep now.

Two weeks became something else.

Your flight date came and went. Chan teased you—“Still hanging around, huh?” and "You love me that much?"

You laughed it off, saying you "weren't ready for Australia yet"

But the real reasons you stayed were lying in different beds every night with your name on their lips.

last but not least my beautiful supporter and first ever person to be tagged: @bananacatt67 I LOVE YOU PRETTY TY FOR THE MOTIVATION

thank you all for your continuous support!! let me know how you liked this one!

[vaginalvr]

can u pls do an enemies to lovers with Spencer were he goes from calling her beloathed to calling her beloved (pls let it be smut and make him be a dom 😝)

content warning: enemies to lovers, dom!Spencer Reid, spanking, rough sex, dirty talk, hate sex turned love sex, hair pulling, praise kink, degradation kink, orgasm control, soft aftercare.

a/n: IM TALKIN BOUT INITTTTTTTTT

word count ~ 1.4k

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

You don’t know when the petty bickering between you and Dr. Spencer Reid turned into a full-on war.

It probably started the day you joined the BAU. He was condescending—brilliant, sure—but arrogant and short-tempered with you from day one. And you gave it right back. Mocking his facts. Smirking at his statistics. Calling him “Dr. Know-It-All” with a sickeningly sweet tone that made his eye twitch.

And in return?

“Good morning, beloathed,” he’d greet you with a tight-lipped smile.

You wanted to slap that smug mouth.

Or maybe you just wanted to kiss it.

—

The tension between you and Spencer was unbearable. The entire team noticed. You argued over files. You’d fight in the car about case theories. You even had a shouting match outside a crime scene that ended with Hotch physically stepping between you.

But the moment it shifted from hatred to something else?

That happened in a hotel hallway in Miami.

—

“Stop looking at my file,” Spencer hissed under his breath as you both sat on the floor outside the last unsub’s apartment. “You're too slow, anyway.”

You scoffed. “Just because I don’t read three thousand words a minute doesn’t mean I need your assistance, Doctor.”

He leaned in, smirking. “No, but it’s cute that you think you’re contributing.”

Your nostrils flared. “You’re such a smug, overgrown high school debate kid.”

He leaned closer. “And you’re a brat who wants someone to put her in her place.”

Your eyes locked.

The air sizzled.

You didn’t realize how close your faces were until he was whispering into your mouth.

“Bet you’d like it if I did.”

You didn't speak.

Neither did he.

The moment passed… until the case wrapped, and you found yourself walking back to the hotel, your heart still pounding.

He followed you down the hallway.

Neither of you said a word.

And then he grabbed your wrist and shoved you against your door.

—

“Spencer—”

“Shut up.”

His mouth crashed into yours. Hard, fast, rough. His hands tangled in your hair. His thigh slid between your legs. You gasped, and he took advantage, licking into your mouth like he owned it.

You were still fully clothed. Still standing in the hallway. But it was already the hottest thing you’d ever experienced.

“I fucking hate you,” you breathed against his lips.

“Yeah?” he growled, hand curling around your jaw. “Let’s see if you still hate me when I’m making you beg.”

—

Your hotel room.

You barely made it inside before Spencer slammed the door behind him and shoved you against it.

He kissed you again, all tongue and teeth and heat. His hands yanked your shirt over your head, tossed your bra aside.

“I knew you’d be like this underneath all that attitude,” he rasped, cupping your tits, thumbs flicking your nipples. “So fucking needy.”

“I hate you,” you whimpered, even as you arched into him.

He grinned. “Say it again. Louder. So I can fuck it out of you.”

You moaned as he dropped to his knees.

And he ate you out like a man starving.

One arm wrapped around your thigh, the other pressed to your stomach to pin you to the door. His mouth buried in your pussy, tongue licking deep and flat and wide, nose nudging your clit just right—

“Sp-Spencer—”

“Be quiet,” he said sharply, lips glistening. “I’m not done yet.”

Two fingers pushed into you, curling perfectly. You cried out, one hand slapping against the door, the other tangling in his hair.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, “you’re so good—”

He chuckled darkly, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“That’s Dr. Reid to you.”

—

Later, in bed.

He fucked you like he had a point to prove.

Like every stroke was a lesson. Every thrust was punishment. Every smack of his hips against your ass was a war won.

“You think you’re smarter than me?” he growled into your neck as he took you from behind, one hand gripping your hair. “Huh?”

“N-no,” you gasped, drooling into the sheets.

“Exactly. Say it.”

“You’re smarter—fuck—you’re so much smarter—”

He slapped your ass hard enough to make you cry out.

“Say you need me.”

“I need you, Spencer, please—!”

“Say you want me.”

“I want you.”

He slowed, hips grinding deep. His hand moved from your hair to your clit, circling gently.

“Say you’re mine.”

You sobbed.

“I’m yours.”

And just like that, the rhythm returned, faster, rougher, unforgiving.

You came with his name on your lips, and he spilled inside you a second later with a groan that vibrated down your spine.

—

After.

You laid curled into his chest, still panting, skin slick with sweat.

Spencer kissed your forehead.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured.

“What? That I’m a brat?”

He smirked.

“No. That you’re mine.”

Your cheeks flushed.

You looked up at him. “Still gonna call me beloathed in the office?”

He chuckled, hand running up your bare thigh.

“Only if I can call you beloved in bed.”

—

The next morning.

You arrived at the BAU with a limp, a new appreciation for genius-level dominance, and a very smug Dr. Spencer Reid holding your coffee.

“Good morning, beloved,” he purred as he handed it to you, and winked.

Hotch just sighed.

“I don’t want to know.”

[edwardhartenjoyer]

Protect Me

While you're out with the ghoul of your choice, something happens that scares you, causing you to turn and cling to him. How would he react, knowing he's the person you automatically turn to knowing he'll keep you safe?

Featuring: Ritsu | Tohma | Alan | Lyca

Tohma Ishibashi - You were following alongside Tohma and Jin on your current mission. Your group had split up, Luca and Kaito going one way, while you followed along with the king and his advisor.

The lights around you were dim, and you had an uneasy feeling that just kept growing the further you walked. You desperately wanted to reach out and hold onto Tohma's hand, totally not in part because of your massive crush on him, but also just because you wanted some reassurance and physical comfort.

As you went, a loud crash sounded from your one side, and the lights suddenly went out completely. You screamed, startled by it all, and moved quickly, latching onto Tohma where you knew he'd been and clinging to him.

The lights soon flickered back on, revealing a pissed looking Jin standing by a breaker switch watching you as you clung tightly to Tohma, your arms wrapped around the advisor. Tohma was looking at you with an amused expression.

Once Jin stormed off and you were certain you were safe, you slowly let go of Tohma. "I'm so sorry." You apologized.

"No need to apologize. You were frightened and seeking someone to protect you. Though I wonder, why not go for our king to protect you?" He asked, an amused expression flickering across his features.

You shrugged and couldn't quite meet his gaze as you replied. "I feel far safer with you, and I knew you'd protect me."

He gave you a knowing smile and offered you one of his hands to take. "My dear, you are correct. I will always protect you should you require it. Now, let's catch up to the king, shall we?"

Lyca Colt - You were following Lyca through the woods surrounding the area you'd gone to investigate after reports of anomalies. He seemed to be following the scent of something.

"Lyca, are you sure it's safe to be here?" You asked nervously as you glanced around.

"Yeah, it'll be okay." Lyca replied, pausing to look around.

You were still nervous. Rui had warned the two of you to be cautious, so when you'd seen Lyca suddenly race off, you'd scrambled to follow after him, not wanting to leave him alone.

A sudden rustling of bushes near you had you jumping and grabbing onto Lyca's arm. Lyca glanced down at you briefly before shifting you so you were behind him and away from the bush. He started to growl, at least until what was in the bushes got through.

You let out a sigh of relief at the sight of Rui. "Ah! There you two are! You shouldn't run off like that. Come on, we'll go back to Darkwick for the night."

You relaxed and slowly let go of Lyca's arm. "Sorry about that." You apologized.

"For what?"

"For clinging to you. I just got scared, and I knew you'd protect me."

"Of course I'd protect you." Lyca huffed, as if offended at the idea that he wouldn't keep you safe. "I'll keep you safer than that dumb gigalo ever will."

Alan Mido - You were following behind Alan as he and Leo made their way along the dark path. The three of you were investigating after an anomaly, and you were anxious.

The area you were in was dark with lots of empty, dark abandoned rooms around. You were scared something was going to suddenly appear and grab you.

You longed to just cling to Alan, trusting him to keep you safe, but you also knew you'd never live it down if Leo actually saw you do that.

Suddenly, a loud sound came from ahead of you all. It started to get louder and closer sounding, and in your panic, you rushed to Alan and wrapped your arms around him. He tensed up, weither from your touch or the sound you didn't know, too nervous to think of much.

The sound grew even louder, before it suddenly fell silent. You dared peek out from where you'd been hiding your face in Alan's side to see an out of breath Sho getting interrogated by Leo. Oh, looks like you freaked out over nothing.

You face heated with embarrassment as you let go of Alan. "I'm so sorry."

"Are you okay?" Alan checked.

"Yeah, just embarrassed I clung to you like that. I was just scared and I knew you'd keep me safe."

Alan gave you a small smile. "Yeah. I'll keep you safe, I promise."

Ritsu Shinjo - You were with Ritsu, following alongside him as the two of you looked for clues of an anomaly that you were hunting for.

You'd both split off from Taiga and Romeo at the latter's command. You had followed the lawyer into an abandoned warehous, and it was setting you on edge. Every step creaked as the worn down broken building was practically falling apart around you.

You felt like you could see things moving around every corner, and it was freaking you out more and more.

Suddenly, a loud crash sounded from behind you, and you screamed, reaching out to grab onto Ritsu as he turned. He wrapped an arm around you to maneuver you behind him as he stood ready to face whatever was coming and shield you from it.

"Where are you BB?!" Romeo snapped, coming into view with Taiga lazily strolling behind him. Oh, that sound you heard was just the two of them. You slowly relaxed your grip on Ritsu.

"Sorry about that Ritsu."

"No need to apologize. You were frieghtened and smartly reached out to me for protection, knowing I could keep you safe."

"Still, I'm sorry"

"I will protect you whenever you need. Not only because keeping you safe would win favor for the Laurel Crown, but also because I care for your safety."

[zazslemma]

“Pour your sadness into me and I will drink from the well like a man dying of thirst”

Bob Reynolds x Reader, soft!void x reader

summary : The Void comforts you after a nightmare

-On my personal quest to bring back yearning. I wrote this as fem!reader but it ended up pretty gender neutral

cw: mental health struggles & mentions of sleeping pills, some angst, hurt/comfort, yearning

~

The nights were the worst. During the day you could distract yourself from the incessant pain and memories with training and the team but at night the familiar loneliness would come creeping back in and there was no one to save you. Till you had met Bob, a kindred soul who understood the pain and fears you experienced. It was strictly platonic - that's what you told yourself at least, you wished and pined over him like a damn schoolgirl most of the time but you weren't willing to lose your one tether to sanity by admitting it. 

It had been going on for months now, whenever one of you had a nightmare you would go to the other's room seeking comfort (which happened every night). He had been the one to bring it up today during the two of your customary post-dinner reading session. 

“Maybe… we could try just sleeping in the same bed” Bob said in the most casual way he could force, he had been thinking about it for weeks and had been practicing all week to try and actually get the words out.

“Just to see if it helps, not having to walk down the hall” he quickly tacked on.

You looked up from the trashy sci-fi novel you were reading and met his eyes as the faintest blush started creeping up his face and gave him a soft smile, the one that you reserved for him “sure, might as well give it a shot” you said softly, as if you could take the words back if they came out too embarrassingly if you spoke soft enough. 

One of the first things Bob noticed about you when you joined the team was how you spoke, alternating between speaking so softly that it couldn't be heard if he wasn't listening for it and louder than average. It appeared to have no rhyme or reason to him for the volume change and you seemed oblivious to the difference, leading to Bob having to interject for you at team dinners quite often since only he heard the words you spoke at times. 

You were still smiling at him when he quickly averted his eyes back to the self help book he was reading and made a hum of confirmation.

You started the ritual of preparing for bed, everything had an order in which to be done for maximising your chance of sleep. That's what you told yourself, at least. The reality was that you had no control over your life, you had no control over when you went on missions (or didn’t go), felt like you had no control over your power, and no control of your sleep. So you would take your sleeping pills that didn't help, then shower and imagine the water was washing all the sins away, do your over the top skin care routine, then promptly have a crash out where you re-lived every horrible thing you had messed up ever. 

Thankfully Bob entered your room during the skincare step and not the crash out phase. You heard the three soft knocks that he always used to ask for permission to enter your room and abandoned your vanity with your face covered in a green clay mask to open the door for him.

The soft light of your room made him even more breathtaking with his shaggy brown hair and eyes so dark blue they looked brown most times, you felt your breath hitch as you stared before gesturing to your bed and heading back to the vanity to try and get a hold on your traitorous pounding heart. 

“Thanks for letting me stay” he said as he settled down on your bed, the side closest to the door. He knew you didn’t like sleeping on the side nearest to the door as it made you feel exposed. Sometimes it was nice to just be your protector, at night he was just Bob, your closest companion and he could pretend that you two were a normal couple. His once innocent crush had bloomed into an all consuming desire with the idea of the two of you together filling his thoughts. He would bring it up one day, maybe once you both were more stable but for now he was happy with the stolen glances, late night cuddles, and endless conversations you had only with him. It filled him with a sense of pride to know that you were so comfortable with him that you would speak about everything and nothing at all with him. 

You returned after rinsing the mask off and moisturizing, settling into the space beside him with the familiarity of a long married couple.

“Anytime, Bob” you spoke earnestly.

“You know there is a special screening of the original Blade Runner tomorrow night at that theater you like.” The words flowed from Bob before he could hold them back as he gazed at your soft face with you scooting closer to rest your head on his chest as a few stray strands of your hair tickled his neck.

“oooh really? we should go, i’ve been craving popcorn with way too much butter.” you whispered into his chest.

“Sounds like a date.” Bob spoke the words softly like you were a deer ready to bolt, but in actuality he was the nervous one as you hmm’d in confirmation into his chest which allowed him to let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

He flicked the bedside lamp off and pulled you closer, intertwining your legs and smelling the faint scent of your conditioner as he drifted off to a rare peaceful sleep.

Your peaceful sleep was very rudely interrupted by the vivid feeling of drowning as you tried to claw your way out of your nightmare, the shapes all formless with no distinct memory tied to them but an intense feeling of dread and suffocation in their place. An unfortunate side effect of the medication was the intensified feelings in exchange for lack of specific nightmares to lament over. 

You gasped and clawed at your own throat relishing in the cool air of your room before immediately burying your face into Bob’s sweatshirt while blinking away the tears in the dark. The fabric cool and soft like silk against ice, grounding you. Typically Bob was your own personal furnace radiating the heat of a thousand suns as you had joked many times with him but tonight he felt distinctly cooler. You felt his hand come up and cradle the back of your head as you let out a single sob.

“my little star, you burn too bright and you may blink out of existence” he murmured into your hair. 

You pulled back, about to apologize for waking him up with your cry when you realized it wasn’t Bob speaking to you or holding you, it was the Void, the same body as Bob covered in an inky layer of the darkest night with flickering edges as if his body could barely contain the shadows within. 

You left out a little “oh” sound as the thought crossed your mind.

“Do not worry, he is sleeping but I could not leave you to suffer alone little star”

Your face grew warm at the term of endearment Void used, you had not met void fully before, oftentimes you could see him flickering and watching behind Bob’s eyes at night when you held him after a nightmare but that was as far as he would emerge, till now.

“I’m sorry for waking you, do you want me to stop touching you?” you asked as you started to back up not wanting to invade his space, you and Bob were quite cuddly but you didn’t know if that preference extended to his other half.

“You did not wake me, I was already watching you. And no I do not.” he spoke as he pulled you even closer, your eyes meeting the twinkles of light where his eyes were.

You nodded as you let out another ragged breath, the momentary shock at voids appearance dissipating as the feeling of your nightmare returned. One hand of his was cradling your head still while the other began rubbing small circles on your back.

“Shhh my little star. Pour your sadness into me and I will drink from the well like a man dying of thirst.” he whispered as the sobs began to wrack your chest.

All of the pent up feelings spilling out of you like water boiling over and out of a kettle. Your hands fisted in his sweater as the tears dripped down your face and onto him, each one making a tiny ripple in the shadows that formed him like raindrops into a puddle. You imagined each drop had your pain, anxiety, fears, self hatred, and shame inside and as they left you were purified like water falling from a cloud to be reborn as something new.

After a few minutes you began to feel the tension drain from your crying form,

“sorry about that” you murmured into his chest, too ashamed to look at him for fear of the judgement you thought you might encounter from the being that shared the face of the man you loved. 

“Do not be sorry, a stars nature is to burn bright” he spoke as he pulled your head back so he could see the red rims of your eyes, always so expressive. “I am here to damp down the flames so you do not burn out.”

Void heard all of Bob’s thoughts about you and always made it a point to pay attention from behind Bob’s eyes when you were present. He saw the way the others thought you were hard to understand but they didn’t pay attention the way he did, to him you were an open book that wore your heart on your sleeve. Your eyes always betrayed your true feelings on a matter and right now they were looking at him like he had hung the moon for you. And god knows he would do it for you if you asked him.

“Thank you” you spoke so softly it could have been the wind.

“Sleep, my star. I will be here the next time you need me”

You let the last bit of tension drain out of you as his hand continued stroking your back and you drifted off for the best sleep you have had in years with the darkness of the universe cradling you.

~

A/N: This is my first fic so hopefully it's not terrible lol. My psychiatrist just doubled my SSRI dose and I felt compelled to torture you all with my disjointed ramblings in return. Also my religious guilt knows no end so why not compare living water with a well of sadness.. Idk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (if for some reason you like my writing pls send me a request :))

[sydwritess]

The Life of Racing Pt. 1

Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: through it all, the racing, the media, the meetings. What matters to Lando the most is you. His home life is just as important as track life. Some days, he doesn't balance it easily. But through it all, the both of you try. Going through some challenges, but always coming out together, hand in hand again.

Second Person POV

Notes: my first F1 series! Requests are open!

01 02 03 04 05

You were a well know journalist in the F1 community. You were known more for what your write. Articles on driving life, as well as interviewing drivers about their F1 experience as a whole.

To say the least, you were well respected in the community, and by the public, you were known as an influencer to. You showed up at multiple events and races, surly not as big of a base as the drivers, but people knew you.

You were hired by f1 around a year ago. Climbing your way up the ladder in the workforce.

You were grateful to be working there. And you weren't alone in it either. Your best friend, Lewis, has been by you for what feels like forever, seeing how your families did know each other too.

Article after article. Late night after late night. You got so well ahead that some of the drivers started talking to you and hanging out with you on paddock. Which tells the story itself, seeing how you were an interviewer.

Your main focus was on the McLaren team. Zak, your boss, knew you were a 'hard worker' from the moment he saw you, he said.

Now you were at the Canadian GP. You were walking out of the paddock and into the McLaren garage, sitting down at a desk they watched the races from.

You got out your laptop, notebook, and pen. Cliking it quickly on the desk, out of anxiousness.

"Y/n, did you get those interviews recorded today?" Zak asked, walking by you in a hurry.

"Yeah. I'm working on it." You say tiredly.

It was a long day to say the least. A long week. You look over to your right, seeing Lando sit down next to you.

He smiled slightly before logging into a computer.

"Looks like someone can't keep up with this job." And engineer said from the back.

"Will you shut the hell up?" You say, slamming your pen down and looking at the person. He just put his hands up in defense and turned around.

"Fucking Christ." You mumble, turning back around to your laptop.

"Y/n, do you need to go home? It's been a long day-." Zak said quietly, walking up behind you.

"No. I need to get this done." You say. He takes a deep breath before walking away.

You were working silently for a couple of minutes, writing down notes from today's interview.

"What are you working on?" Lando asked quietly, leaning over and looking at your screen.

"Just... today's interview." You say. He nodded his head silently.

"You know. Don't listen to Gerad. He's always and asshole." He says, a slight grin forming on his face.

"Thanks." You say, smiling slightly.

You continue working on different article drafts for Zak, hoping to get them published this week.

Next to you, you hear Lando sigh deeply, rubbing his hands on his temples slowly. He had the replay paused on his crash.

"You shouldn't let one crash define who you are." You say quietly.

"What do you mean?" He asked, looking at you with a straight face.

"Within the short time I've been here. I can tell your the type to beat yourself up about one mistake. You just... shouldn't." You say.

"You know, you definitely have some great opinions." He says, smirking.

"It's called... being open minded." You say, letting out a huffed laugh.

You continued to work on your drafts, while also looking at the interviews from today. You were deeply focused on what you were working on, signaling out Lando's voice.

"Do you want to hang out tonight?" That came clear to you.

"We can. But I'm just going to be reviewing the race. Nothing special." You say.

"That's fine. We can work, or do whatever." He smiled.

"Yeah, okay meet me at my hotel room around five." You say. You write down the floor and room number and give it to him.

"Fancy." He said slyly.

"Please, I bet you have a full house out there." You joke.

"Maybe. Maybe not. But..." He holds up the paper. "I'll meet you there." He says.

It get's closer to evening time, and people start to leave. You begin to pack up your things and leave the garage, walking down the paddock strip.

The crowds were dying down. There was a long line to get out of the gates. You walk around to the back entrance, mainly for workers.

You walk up to the gates, security guarding the entrance.

"Ms. Y/n, right this way." One of the guards say. He walks right next to you, leading you to your car.

You look at him slightly confused along the way.

"It's a new protocol. Anyone who works here, or who is known to the public eye, unfortunately needs escort." He says.

"Right, okay."

You walk down to your car, the guard opens your door for you.

"Thank you." You say, he nods and shuts it when you get in.

You slowly drive out of the parking lot, making your way out of the circuit and into downtown.

You made your way through the heavy evening traffic and to the hotel. You quickly walk through the lobby, and to the elevators.

It took a minute before the doors finally opened. You stepped inside, clicking the 30th floor button. The elevator slowly rose to the top.

You got off and walked down the hallway, entering your room at the end.

It was big to say the least. A little foyer at the front. Straight in is a small living room, to the left was a kitchen and small island, and to the right was a small hallway leading to the bedroom and bathroom.

It was spacious, which you were grateful for seeing how you were spending over a week here.

You kick off your shoes, putting them under the bench near the door, and dropping your keys down on the table.

You walk into the living area, quickly turning on the TV, putting on the race to review for work.

You walk over to the kitchen, grabbing a wine glass and a bottle of Barolo wine.

Your pour some into the glass and go sit int he living room, watching the TV and taking down notes.

You continue the notes that you need to when you hear a light knock on the room door. You walk over to it, and open it slightly. Lando stood there.

"Hey, come on in." You say, moving over. He walks in slowly, standing across from you as you close the door.

"I'm just finishing his up." You say, lazily pointing to the TV as you sit on the couch.

"It's alright, I don't mind watching me be a brilliant racer." He teased. Sitting down to the left of you.

"Yeah, I mean, you totally didn't crash or anything." You smile. You press play on the race, grabbing your notebook.

"You've got a lot of notes." He says.

"Got a lot of writing to do." You say.

You keep you eyes on the TV, writing down details of different laps. You are mid sentence when Lando reaches over and takes your book and pen, setting it down on the table.

"Hey, what are you-" You cut yourself off when he put's his hands around your waist, effortlessly pulling you onto his lap, gently kissing you on the forehead.

"I hate hiding us." He sighs. You reach your hand to the back of his head gently.

"I know. But you knew this when we started going out." You say.

"Is it wrong to want to brag about my beautiful girlfriend all over social media? Or tell people that your mine when walking around the paddock?" He whines.

"No, but you can't. It might get us in trouble." You say.

"By who?"

"By our boss. Who does, might I add, have a very, very high temper some days."

"We could find a new job."

"Your really willing to let go of a Formula One career for a relationship?"

"If it means I get to stay with you, then yes." He said, putting his head into the crook of your neck.

"You'll be fine. At least we get to be together after work."

"But it's to short of time." He mumbles into your neck. There was a pause, a deep silence.

"Do you know why I crashed today?" He asked, looking up at you.

"Why?"

"Because you weren't there to hold my hand, or kiss me before getting into the car or I couldn't post you on Instagram the night before." He said, slowly, and sadly.

"So am I just your good luck charm?"

"No- no, no I'm just saying. I missed you, that's why I crashed." He said, backing up his answer.

"Hmm, I think you crashed because you thought you could get through a gap that wasn't big enough." You say, looking him in the eyes.

"Because I wanted to impress you." He said, smirking.

"Impress me?"

"Yeah. Like how you impress me."

"How do I impress you?" You ask curiously.

"Because, some people might think your just another journalist, but your good at what you do. And you even need a security escort to your car at work." He said.

"Yeah, and he told me it's for every worker on the circuit."

"He just said that to make you feel not special." He said, pausing. "He downgraded my girlfriend."

"Downgraded? Lan I don't think-"

"Yes he did." He interrupted.

"Okay... whatever you want to believe." You say, smiling. He leans to the table, grabbing your book and pen.

"You can write again." He smiles.

"Thanks." You say. You flip open the notebook to an empty page, and start writing something.

Lando tried to peer over to your book, but you turned it away, closer to you. You finish writing your sentence, and give it to him.

"Lando Norris, states privately that he crashed into Oscar in Canadian GP due to his secret girlfriend, journalist y/n, y/l/n, not giving him a kiss before getting in the car." He mumbles.

"Y/n." He gasps. "You can't write this!" He said, scrambling the notebook back into your hands.

"Oh I'm sorry. Weren't you the one who wanted to brag about e everywhere?" You ask.

"Yes but that's different. That is my love. This." He said, tapping on the page. "Is just calling me out."

"I thought." You pause, working up fake tears. "I really thought you loved me." You say.

"Awe come on, don't be sad. I do love you." He says, cradling you in his arms like a kid.

"It's a joke."

"Not a very funny joke." He says sternly. You stay like that for a couple of minutes in silence. The race playing in the background.

"Can I spend the night tonight?" Lando asks.

"You really want to risk that?" You ask, pulling your head away fro hi.

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that you and Oscar are only a couple floors above us. He's staying right next to you. And he's suspicious of like... well everything." You say.

"So, I can just leave early."

"Right. Did you forget he has early training tomorrow?"

"Wait- how do you know that?"

"Because there's a calendar in the team garage."

"Okay, then I will leave extra, extra early." He says, smirking.

"Whatever you say." You smile.

Hey loves! Pt. 1 of 'The Life of Racing' is here! Hope you like it, any more chapters to come! Comment ot be added to the F1 tag list! Requests are open!

Tag list:

@mimisweetz

[marauder-misprint]

Hey sweetie, it's me again - Cora

I know it's mostly patchers + Regulus, but since I read Good Aim, I couldn't get it out of my head.

So, I was here… and I guess I need a Barty Crouch Jr. x Fem!Reader story. Also, the reader can be a Slytherin.

I know we don’t have that much information about Barty’s school years, but honestly, I feel like he’s another version of Sirius—just darker. Which probably means… we can dive into some toxic love, right?

I don’t know. I just really love your imagination. If you’re writing this, I’ll be truly grateful. 🖤

Cora ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ So sorry that this took so long. I had this idea for friends of benefits that crashed and burned but then I couldn't get the friends with benefits idea out of my head. But it has come to together! ❤︎

Hope you enjoy ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Convenient

Barty Crouch Jr. x Slytherin!reader

2k words

cw: angst, slight fluff, friends to lovers (i guess), NSFW ideas mentioned

You had no right to be jealous. That’s what you told yourself as you leaned against the cool stone wall of the Slytherin Common Room, swirling your drink around in your cup. You and Barty weren’t anything. Not really. So he was completely allowed to have a girl, who wasn’t you, straddling him on the couch with their tongues down each other’s throat. 

And you pretended that it didn’t light an angry fire somewhere deep in your gut.

You believe it’s your fault that you caught feelings for Barty, one of your closest friends. You shouldn’t have kissed him during that game of seven minutes in heaven in the fall. You shouldn’t have let him kiss you a week later in his dorm when you were supposed to be studying. And you shouldn’t have let it go farther. But you did. There were sexual favors in broom closets between classes. Your clothes got scattered across his dorm’s floor whenever one of you felt like it. 

But you weren’t dating. You were just friends. Well, friends with benefits. So you couldn’t be angry that Barty had someone else in his lap swapping saliva. You didn’t have that claim to him. You weren’t his and he wasn’t yours. 

You had thought that when Barty kissed you back that forest time that maybe he did feel the same ways you did. You weren’t sure yourself until you kissed him and liked it way more than you should have. But he had really kissed you back. And then he was the one who kissed you next. You thought that meant something, but you never talked about it. You never discussed if that meant that there was an “us.” So there wasn’t. There were no dates. You were just friends who kissed and shagged from time to time. 

So that left you trying to look away from Barty and scanning the room for a distraction. The drink in your cup wasn’t doing enough. The dance floor didn’t look inviting. There was no one you wanted to hook up with other than Barty. 

You sighed heavily. You handed your drink to some younger student standing near you. You mumbled something about going to bed to your friend Adelaide and then crossed the common room to disappear into your dorm. 

In the morning, you got up earler than you usually do. You grabbed a quick breakfast before holing up in the library. You didn’t have a ton of homework, but you could drag it out. Maybe you’ll fall asleep in a sunbeam like a cat. Maybe you’ll doodle a garden of flowers on your parchment until the whole thing is full. Who knows?

The next day, you were up just as early. With no homework, you wandered. You walked around the bell tower, you walked the staircases, you go from the old detention hall to the Astronomy Tower. By the end of it, your feet ached. 

The whole time, you were thinking. This “friends with benefits” thing you had with Barty wasn’t enough for you. And if he liked you in the same way that you like him, you’d be dating by now. So, logic says you should get over him, rather than hanging on and torturing yourself with the little bits of affection that you can pretend mean more than they do. 

You decided that you need to end the benefits with Barty.

Monday morning, Barty sat next to you at breakfast, slinging an arm around your shoulder. It’s nothing new. You tried not to react.

“Didn’t see you ‘round all weekend. Where’d you been hiding?”

“Out and about.”

“And no invite for me?” he asked with a faux pout. 

“Alas, no.”

Barty gave your shoulder a squeeze. “If you’re upset with me, doll, I can make it up to you before class.” His tongue darted out of his mouth to wet his lips.

Your stomach clenched. You almost agreed out of habit, but you caught yourself before you said anything. Instead, you shrugged his arm off of you.

“Too bad I have to meet with Sprout before class,” you said uninterestedly. 

“Between classes then,” he offered.

“Can we not talk about your acitivites at breakfast?” Dorcas asked snippily from a few seats away. “I’d like to keep this down.”

“Sorry,” you said, sending her an apologetic smile. Then you stood up and left the Great Hall.

Barty looked at Regulus. “We do have Herbology first, yeah?”

Regulus nodded. 

You didn’t really need to talk to Sprout, but you had nowhere else to be so you stood around outside the greenhouses until your classmates started arriving for class. 

Throughout your lessons, you tried to react less to Barty’s antics. You held in laughter at inside jokes and his ridiculousness. You couldn’t help the upward twitch of your lips, but that would come with time. You also refused to walk next to him in the corridor. You knew that if you did, you’d end up in a broom closet with him. And that wasn’t your goal for once. 

He pulled you off to the side as your friends walked to dinner. The rest continued on, not batting an eyelash at the two of you stopping. 

“You feeling alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said, crossing your arms. 

He narrowed his eyes, not quite believing you.

“Is it your time of the month? You know that doesn’t bother me.”

You scoffed. “It’s not, but thanks for the concern.”

You turned to continue towards the Great Hall, but Barty grabbed your arm. You pulled it out of his grasp.

“Leave it, Barty.”

He was usually one to argue, to tease, to make things worse. But he let it. He figured you were just having an off day, following a possibly stressful weekend. He wasn’t sure what was up with you, but he was fairly certain that you’d be back to normal by tomorrow. 

Except you weren’t. Any miscellaneous advances he made were turned down, and you didn’t make any yourself. That continued all week. It was more than that though: you were spending more time with Adelaide and Lucinda and what felt like literally anyone besides him. 

After a second week of you avoiding him, Barty had started running possible excuses through his head. He liked knowing everything. And the reason his favorite hookup suddenly put up a wall was something he didn’t know. 

He casually walked over to your station in Potions. Leaning his hip against the table, he picked up one of your knives and ran his finger over the blade. You didn’t even look up from your finely chopping of some dittany root.

“Have you gotten yourself a secret boyfriend?”

Your chopping slowed. 

“No? Why would you ask that?”

He put a finger on the tip of the blade in his hands, spinning it with just enough pressure to prick his skin. 

“You haven’t touched me in over-”

“Don’t fucking bleed on my knotgrass!” you snapped, your eyes flicking up to his hands.

You snatched the knife out his hand and covered the prick with your thumb, applying pressure to stop the bleeding – which wasn’t even dribbling yet. You glared at Barty. 

“I’m touching you now. Happy?” you hissed.

“No.” 

“Shame, because this is all you’re getting. 

“But what? We were fine and now we’re whatever the fuck this is.”

“I’d say we’re still fine. I’m just not the convenient girl you turn to whenever you need to get your rocks off in a hurry. Find someone else for that.”

Barty’s brain short-circuited. “Convenient? You think you’re-”

“Mr. Crouch, please return to your cauldron before your potion burns,” Professor Slughorn demanded, standing next to Barty’s bubbling cauldron. It looked especially grim next to Regulus’ extraordinary looking one.

A few more days passed. You were studying with Adelaide in the common room, testing each other on Transfiguration terms and wand movements. You hadn’t seen Barty since dinner. That didn’t bother you. But then Regulus was leaning against the couch you were sitting on.

“You need to go to my dorm.”

You and Adelaide both look at Regulus with odd expressions.

“Excuse me?” you asked. 

“Junior wants to talk to you. And he’s not coming out here.”

“And he needs to talk-” You glanced at Adelaide and rolled your eyes. “-now?” 

“Yeah.” 

You groaned loudly before standing up. “I’ll be back.” You slammed the boys’ dorm door open and glared at Barty, who was rocking his desk chair on its back legs. “Junior, I was studying for McGonagall’s exam.” 

“The hell? You don’t call me that.”

A beat. “What?” 

“Junior,” he said with disgust. “You’ve never called me that.”

“Okay and?” You crossed your arms.

“I need you to tell me what changed. All this-” He gestured to your whole body. “-thinking you’re just convenient? Calling me Junior? Not laughing at my ‘sí, muy lumioso’? What the fuck is up with you?”

You clicked your tongue. “Right. Is that all?” 

“No. Don’t even think about leaving.” 

He stood up and walked over to you. He closed the door and then placed his hands on your hips. 

“Did you hit your head or something?” 

You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull out of his touch. Barty saw that as a win. He had missed having you close. You had a certain warmth to you that no one else had and he realized he had been craving it.

“My head is fine, thank you very much.”

“I mean, I’d say your head is fantastic.” He grinned at you.

“Course you would.”

You tried to pull back slightly, but Barty tightened his grip on your hips. 

“Love, there’s something up and you’re telling me. I’m not asking.” 

You sighed but relented. “I’m protecting myself.”

Barty’s semi-concerned expression turned worrisome. “Protecting yourself? From what? Who’s dumb enough to try to hurt you?”

“You,” you said quietly, looking anywhere but at Barty’s face. 

“Me?” He took a half-step toward you so that your bodies were almost touching. “How have I hurt you?”

“It’s not completely you. I just… I can’t do this anymore.”

“This? What is this? Being friends?”

“Being friends with benefits,” you said. “I, erm, I like you too much for that. It’s better for me to have none of you than to tease myself.”

“Friends… with benefits…” Barty repeated, as if he had never considered that that was what you were. “And you like me too much? Like I’m too good of a fuck?”

You laughed, but it sounded partially strangled. You knew that if you didn’t get out of this room soon, you’d start crying. Barty didn’t like how your laugh sounded. Usually he loved your laugh, but this one hurt him. He didn’t like that.

“Not that your ego needs it, but you are a good shag. You’re great at everything. You’re a great friend. But I don’t want to share all of you with everyone. I want you to myself. But, come on, I’m not daft. I know that’s not happening so it’s better, for me at least, to stop.”

Barty let go of your waist with one hand and grabbed your chin to make you look at him. 

“What if I said you’re daft for not asking me?” he asked.

“What?”

“You never asked me if I’d want to be only yours.” 

“Because I know you.”

“Do you?” 

“Yes.”

“Not as well as you think, doll.” He let go of your face. “I’m all yours, only yours, if you say the word.”

You stared at him wordlessly for what felt like a minute.

“Are you… not going to say the word? After all that?” he asked, deflating slightly and his grip on your hip loosening. 

“I, uh, you, what?” you sputtered out. “You would?”

“That’s what I said.”

“How come you never said before?”

“You never said either.” 

“You never asked me on a date?” 

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to.”

“But you’d drop everyone else? For me? And we could… be more?”

“I would. We could.” 

“Okay, yeah. I’d like that, Barty.”

He grinned widely. “Fantastic. Now, I believe I have some making it up to you to do.”

tags: @navs-bhat, @faceache111

[chericos]

DRAWN TO YOU. || s. ishigami

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

| fic masterlist. | song of the chapter.

ii. beginnings | 12.8k words

You and Senku had always been inseparable—bonded in that rare, gravitational way, where one moved and the other followed without needing to be asked. If Senku was the moon, brilliant and relentless in his orbit, then you were the tide, pulled along with steady, unwavering loyalty; drawn endlessly to him.

It was a day like any other. Blue skies, drifting clouds, the dull thrum of school life filling your ears as you walked the halls. The headlines had started to blur lately—more reports of birds freezing mid-flight, swallows turning stiff and cold with no warning. Senku had been glued to the data, furiously calculating, trying to find a pattern, if any. He didn’t say much about it, but you knew the silence meant he was worried.

Classes dragged on in the way they always did—chalk squeaking against boards, the rustle of papers, the low buzz of bright fluorescent lights overhead. You sat through lectures half-listening, doodling chemical structures and Doraemon in the margins of your notebook, your thoughts drifting back to the lab. You caught glimpses of Senku during breaks, always hunched over a tablet or scribbling at a speed that made your wrist hurt just watching. In chemistry, he answered before the questions were done being asked. In math, he didn’t even pretend to pay attention, eyes locked on some equation only he understood. You passed him in the hallway once between periods, and without looking up from his notes, he said, “You better show up today to fix the distiller,” then kept walking like nothing had happened. You rolled your eyes—but the corners of your mouth tugged up anyway.

You always knew it was going to be a chaotic day when Taiju arrived early—and yelling.

The science lab was still waking up. The scent of ethanol and diesel clung to the air, heavy and metallic, the kind that stuck to your skin no matter how many times you washed your hands. Sunlight streamed through the cracked windows in sharp, golden slants, carving the room into warm, geometric shapes. On the workbench, you crouched in a precarious sprawl, legs folded underneath you, elbow-deep in the tangled guts of the distillation rig you and Senku had been patching together for a good part of the week. The metal frame groaned under your shifting weight as you tightened a bolt with one hand and braced a coil with the other.

Below you, Senku worked in silence—focused, precise. The sound of glass tapping metal, the hiss of a burner, the soft shuffle of a wrench in his hand—it all wove into a quiet rhythm, a kind of mechanical heartbeat. You didn’t speak much when you were both building. You didn’t need to. The silence between you was easy, normal, like something that took years to perfect.

Then—

“THERE’S NO STOPPING ME!”

The door flew open with a bang that echoed off the tiles. You jolted so hard the wrench slipped from your grip, clattering down into the mess of tubing with a metallic crash. Your foot skidded off the edge of the bench, and for a heart-clenching second, the world tilted. A sharp breath. A flash of weightlessness.

Then hands—two of them. One, a fist curled tight in the fabric of your shirt from behind. The other, strong and fast, catching you at the waist as your center of gravity gave out. You were halfway to face-planting into the ethanol tank when Taiju, grinning like a cartoon superhero, hauled you upright and set you back onto the bench like a ragdoll.

“I’m doin’ it!” he shouted, wide-eyed and red-faced, practically vibrating out of his body. “After five years—I’m finally gonna tell Yuzuriha how I feel!”

You blinked, heart still thudding from the near-death experience. Then your face broke out into a grin.

“About damn time!”

It burst out of you before you could stop it—your native accent slipping past the edges of your tongue, soft and familiar like salty ocean air and the summer heat. Your voice went high with laughter as you clapped your hands together.

“You absolute moron! She’s gonna say yes, and you’re gonna cry like a baby, an’ we’re all gonna pretend we aren’t watchin’ from the the windows,”

Taiju’s ears went bright red, but he looked like he’d just been knighted.

Behind you, Senku made a low noise—noncommittal—but his hands didn’t pause as he slid a beaker into the burner rig. “Hmm. Interesting. I’ll be cheering so hard I’ll snap my vocal cords.”

You could hear the sarcasm, of course, but there was a softness buried in it. Enough that your gaze flicked sideways, catching the barest twitch of his brow. He didn’t meet your eye—he never did when he meant it.

Instead, he reached up, without looking, and tapped a wrench against the leaky valve near your knee.

“You’re not done,” he said. “Get back to work.”

You groaned, but relented, sliding down to your knees on the bench and reaching for the wrench again. Still, you tossed Taiju a grin over your shoulder. “You’ve got this. I believe in that big, dumb, sincere heart of yours!”

“You’re the best!” Taiju bellowed, already halfway out the door in a rush of adrenaline and blind optimism. But before he could fully make it out, suddenly, Senku was holding something out to him.

“Here,” he said, tone too calm to be trustworthy. “Use this. It’ll give your pheromones a mega boost.”

The vial in his hand shimmered ominously. You narrowed your eyes. That was definitely gasoline, or at least a distillate close enough to set something on fire.

Taiju blinked. “Wait… is this some kind of love potion?”

Senku smirked. “Ten billion percent effective.”

You opened your mouth—then closed it. If Taiju drank it, he might pass out before even reaching the courtyard. But you trusted Senku’s moral compass more than you let on, and he wouldn’t have handed it over if he didn’t know how this would go. If anything, it was a test.

Sure enough, Taiju looked at the vial for a beat… and then poured it straight down the lab sink.

“I’m gonna do this my way,” he said, puffing his chest out, “with nothing but my honest feelings.”

For a moment, nobody said anything.

Then you sniffled, pressing a fist to your mouth.

“Ugh, why are you so damn pure…?”

Senku gagged quietly. “Disgusting,” he went on muttering something about hormonal idiots and emotional self-sabotage, but you didn’t miss the small twitch of his lip. The one that meant he was fighting a smile.

Taiju beamed at both of you, then turned and bolted. The lab felt strangely quiet after he left, like the air had gone still in his absence. 

Someone behind you muttered, “¥100 says she turns him down.” 

“¥500 says he chickens out.” 

You rolled your eyes. “You people have no soul.” 

“¥10,000 says she says yes,” Senku said flatly. 

That shut everyone up. 

You raised an eyebrow. “That much confidence?” 

“It’s just the logical outcome,” he replied. “She’s liked him for just as long.” 

You tilted your head, smiling to yourself as you tightened the last bolt in place. That was the thing with Senku. He always talked like everything was numbers and outcomes—but sometimes, just sometimes, he believed in people more than he let on.

You didn’t say anything else. But your foot bumped his knee lightly under the bench. He didn’t move away.

The vending machine outside the lab let out a mechanical whir and thunked loudly as the can dropped. You cracked it open with a hiss, the cold metal damp against your fingers, condensation running in thin rivulets down your wrist. Beside you, Senku took his own with one hand, sipping without ceremony, his other hand still faintly stained with copper grease and soot.

You both leaned against the wall, the tiled floors cool beneath your shoes. The breeze tugged at your sleeves, and you didn’t bother to pull them down. The fabric of your summer uniform clung to the last edge of heat in the air—clingy and damp from the work inside. Your pulse still hadn’t completely settled from earlier. You weren’t sure if it was from nearly falling, from laughing too hard… or from something quieter. Something heavier.

Down below, in the courtyard, the students had started to spill out like ripples on the surface of a pond—clusters of uniforms, half-eaten snacks, the glint of someone’s phone camera already out and trained on the old sakura tree near the stone path. Right there, Yuzuriha stood, her hands gentle and sure as she adjusted a strip of cloth tied around one of the lower branches—a little bandage of care, placed with soft precision.

You watched her. Watched the way she tucked the end of the knot with a kind of delicate focus, like she wasn’t standing under that tree on purpose. Like she wasn’t waiting.

Your voice came quieter than expected. “I don’t get how he’s not petrified.”

Senku glanced sideways at you but didn’t speak yet. The silence was soft, almost comfortable.

You kept your gaze on Yuzuriha’s hands. “Putting everything out there like that. Taking something so solid, so important—and risking it. What if she doesn’t say it back?—I mean, I know she will cause she's told me about her feelings for years but, what if i’m wrong? What if it ruins everything they already have?”

There was a pause. You could hear his can shift slightly as he tilted it again, the faint glug of liquid inside.

“Takes guts,” he said eventually. “Or stupidity. Sometimes both.”

You exhaled through your nose, lips curving faintly. “I mean, yeah. Taiju’s practically running on blind faith and protein powder. But it’s still…” You hesitated, then shook your head, a wry little smile curling at the corners of your mouth. “Kind of admirable don’t ya think?”

Senku didn’t answer right away.

You turned your head just enough to glance at him, expecting maybe a shrug or one of his usual dry remarks—but he wasn’t looking at you. He wasn’t even looking at the tree or Yuzuriha.

His gaze was somewhere else entirely. Distant. Focused, but unfixed. Like his mind had wandered off the map and was quietly calculating outcomes that had nothing to do with confessions under cherry trees.

Then he said it—quietly, but with intent. Like it was something he'd already decided, something he'd turned over in his head a hundred times and only now found the right moment to say aloud.

“Or it makes things better.”

Something in your chest pulled tight.

Just for a second. A flicker of heat, a breath caught too high in your throat—but you swallowed it fast, shoved it somewhere quiet and unreachable before it could settle in. Before it could mean anything. You didn’t know what to say. Or maybe you did, but couldn’t say it.

So you stayed quiet.

You looked away, skyward. The clouds overhead were too still. Too pale. You told yourself it was nothing. Just a weird mood. Just spring in the air.

The silence stretched.

Then, lightly—too lightly—you said, “Since when did you get all sappy?”

It wasn’t teasing so much as deflection. A half-smile curved your lips, bought you a second of distance.

Senku didn’t look at you. But his mouth twitched—barely. Not quite a smile, but something close.

“Must be a side effect of prolonged exposure to those two idiots,” he muttered.

The line was dry, textbook Senku. But underneath it, there was something gentler. Something real. The kind of softness he never said outright, but you could hear if you listened close enough.

The only sound was the hum of the vending machine and the gentle creak of the breeze in the courtyard trees through the opened window. His arm brushed yours as he shifted slightly, and neither of you pulled away. There was warmth there, in that single point of contact—real, and grounding, and somehow more honest than any words.

Down below, in the courtyard, movement caught your eye.

Taiju had arrived.

He was pacing, jittery and excited, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Then he turned and started walking—no, marching—toward Yuzuriha like he was going to war instead of confessing his love. She turned at the sound of his footsteps, and the look on her face made your chest tighten. Hopeful. Nervous. Almost tearful.

“Here we go,” you breathed.

Senku tilted his head, eyes narrowing, calculating like always. But his jaw was tense. His shoulders, too. You noticed the way his hand had gone still around the can.

Then, before a word could be spoken down below, the sky cracked.

It didn’t sound like thunder. Not really. It was quieter, deeper—like the air was folding in on itself. The light changed. A sick, green hue swept across the courtyard, bleeding through the clouds like a curtain being pulled. The shadows warped. The buildings across the street shimmered at the edges like a mirage.

You froze. “What the hell…?”

Senku moved at the same time—sharp and fast—but not toward you. He stepped back, calculating, eyes narrowing as if he could solve it just by watching harder.

“Get away from the window,” he said, voice tight with a kind of urgency you’d never heard before.

You tried to move.

You really did.

It started at your fingertips. A numbing cold, like your bones were frosting over from the inside. You tried to breathe, but your lungs felt like they were filled with stone. Your legs buckled slightly—not from weakness, but from a sudden lack of response. You looked down at your hands.

Stone.

You barely had time to look back at him.

Senku stood frozen in place, not from the light—but from watching you. His eyes went wide, mouth parting like he was going to shout something, anything. But no sound came. Just a look—raw, unfiltered panic, punched through with helpless calculation. You could tell he wanted to move. Wanted to reach you. But he didn’t make it.

Couldn’t.

The last thing you saw was his face—unmasked, unguarded. The kind of look he’d never let anyone else see.

And then the light swallowed you whole.

No impact. No scream.

Just stillness.

And silence.

It was quiet. Too quiet. Time passed by differently in this state, an endless blur that seemed to run on forever. You tried to scream, move, cry— anything— yet, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t escape it. So instead of fighting, you started thinking. 

You thought of all kinds of things—your favorite songs, half-sung in the back of your mind; endings to shows you used to argue about online, never satisfied with how they wrapped up; you even thought of the times you were definitely in the wrong but never 

But most importantly, you thought back on your life.

The memories you held dearest to your heart. The ones that always seemed to be stuck in the back of your mind and never faded away with time. The ones that formed you into who you are today.

And the first one always came like clockwork—

You were five the first time you met Stanley, and by extension, Xeno.

It was late summer, the kind that was hot and sticky and tasted like freshly picked strawberries on your tongue, with the breeze rolling off the California coastline and carrying the smell of hot charcoal and pine sap. 

You didn’t really know who any of the guys here were—just that they worked with your dad and that they were the best of the best when it came to the military. The kind of people whispered about on the streets and online. Operators, he called them. Ghosts, some others did. But here, they were just sunburnt and off-duty, laid out in folding chairs and shit talking over the comforting sizzle of a grill. Someone had rigged a tarp between two trees. Another used a field map as a tablecloth. It was messy, loud, and smelled like grease and pine and smoke. They called it a “mandatory morale boost,” but to you it felt like something more—like catching the grown-ups mid-laugh, mid-life, when no one was watching but the woods.

You didn’t really expect to be brought along, but when your dad had excitedly barged into your room that morning—dry mud still stuck to his boots, face already sunburnt from whatever he had been doing in the garden, and grinning like a kid himself—you couldn’t help but nod yes. 

So that’s how you ended up here, in a pink Pokémon shirt mostly hidden under dark-washed overalls, the kind with grass stains too stubborn to ever fully wash out. You were crouched in the dirt near the edge of the tree line, a small stream trickling nearby, picking apart dandelions with quiet, almost reverent focus. Your dad had shown you how to find the root without snapping the stem, how to check for pest trails in the petals.

“Everything’s got a purpose,” he told you, that slow, Southern drawl stretching the words like molasses. “Even weeds. Especially weeds.”

Your hands were always stained green back then. Dirt under your nails. Your sleeves damp from rinsing leaves in the creek.

While the rest of the squad was crowding around the fire pit—laughing far too loudly, meat sizzling on the grill, the clink of beer bottles and sudden bursts of half-told stories—your dad stayed beside you. He unrolled a long, weathered cloth on the ground, revealing rows of dried herbs. He let you pick through them carefully, naming each one in a calm, comforting tone, like a bedtime story.

“Yarrow. Stops bleedin’. Smells like dust and old pennies.” “Chamomile. Settles the gut. Good for soldiers and screamin’ toddlers alike.” “Devil’s claw. Nasty name, but damn good for inflammation.”

You breathed it all in—nose full of crushed pine needles and mint—and felt like you were holding a secret the world forgot. Like magic your father never called magic—just medicine, just memory.

And in that moment, with dirt on your knees and the sun streaming through your hair, you felt like you were holding something sacred. The world had melted down to just you and your dad—your hands wrapped around crushed herbs, his voice low and steady in your ear. Everything else—the sizzling grill, the banter and beer-fueled laughter echoing from the clearing—had fallen away. It was just like old times. Just like always.

Then Stanley showed up— late as always.

You heard him before you saw him—heavy boots crunching gravel, the metallic crack of a beer can hissing open, and a voice that could've sliced clean through a sandstorm. Rough, dry, coated in cigarette smoke and something else you couldn't name at the time.

“What is this, a damn farmers’ market?”

You looked up, squinting at the figure towering over the campfire haze. He was all in black despite the heat—black shirt, black tactical vest, even black boots. Aviators shielded his eyes, but his smirk was sharp enough to cut glass. He looked like trouble, the kind your dad only ever shook his head at—but never really tried to stop.

Your dad didn’t even bother glancing up from where he was tying bundles of mint. “It’s called preventative medicine,” he drawled, “You’d know that if you stopped eatin’ like a raccoon.”

Stanley snorted but didn’t reply, he dropped into a crouch beside you, one knee bent like a spring about to snap. His movements were all angles—lean muscle and sharp edges, like someone who didn’t know how to relax if you paid him. He studied you with a quirked brow, the way some people size up a new weapon.

He tilted his head, giving you a once-over. “So this the sprout?”

You didn’t hesitate. “I’m five,” you said, fixing him with the most serious look you could manage. “Not a sprout.”

There was a beat. Then Stanley let out a short, barked laugh—like a misfired gun—punched out of him before he could stop it.

“I like her,” he said, flicking a piece of twig off your knee. “She’s got attitude.”

Your dad shot him a look then, pointed and sharp. “And I swear to God, Stanley, you better keep your damn language clean around her.”

Stanley just raised his can in mock salute. “Yeah, yeah. No fuckin’ problem.”

Your dad sighed through his nose, clearly choosing peace. You got the sense this conversation had happened before. Many times. Stanley would never listen. And your dad would never actually do anything about it—because underneath all the swearing and banter, he loved Stanley like a brother.

Before you could say anything else, another figure stepped into the clearing, tall and ghost-pale against the backdrop of dappled sunlight. Where Stanley looked like a weapon in human form, this one looked like he’d rather be anywhere else—his slacks were pressed, his loafers immaculately shined, and his expression pinched like he was smelling something offensive.

Xeno Houston. Civilian genius turned contract brain-for-hire. You didn’t really know what “aerospace engineer” meant yet, but even at five, you could tell this man ran on caffeine and an ungodly superiority complex. He didn’t crouch or kneel, just stood there with a cold, calculating look, like you were a mildly interesting lab specimen. 

“This is the one?” he asked, eyebrows raised, eyes flicking to your dad like he thought this had to be some kind of elaborate joke. “The child you said could tell the difference between medicinal herbs? She’s barely out of diapers.”

“Yup,” your dad said without missing a beat, still sorting through the herb pouch. “She's gettin’ better at anatomy s’well. Want her to identify a bullet exit wound next?”

Xeno looked faintly horrified. “That seems… medically irresponsible.”

Stanley, who had just cracked open another beer, snorted so hard he nearly choked. “Jesus Christ,” he wheezed through laughter, wiping foam off his chin with the back of his hand.

You, unfazed, reached into your little travel pouch—carefully sewn by your dad from an old camo sleeve—and pulled out two slightly crumpled leaves. You held them up to Xeno with steady hands and wide, unblinking eyes, mimicking your father’s steady tone.

“This one’s feverfew,” you said, matter-of-fact. “Tansy’s darker. Smells more bitter. Feverfew’s good for headaches. Tansy’ll put you in the ground if you don’t know what you’re doin’.”

A beat of silence followed. Xeno stared at you like you’d just quoted a medical journal instead of being, in his words, barely out of diapers.

Then Stanley muttered under his breath, voice laced with awe, “Holy shit.”

Your dad simply leaned back on his heels, a quiet, satisfied grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Like I said,” he drawled, full of pride. “She’s a natural.”

You beamed, cheeks flushed and chest full, as if the sun itself was sitting right beneath your ribs.

That day wasn’t the last time Stanley showed up, not by a long shot.

You couldn’t remember exactly when it happened, or how, but somewhere along the way, Stanley stopped being just your dad’s dirty-mouthed teammate and became Uncle Stanley. Self-appointed, of course. No one had given him the title—it was more like he claimed it, and no one dared argue. Especially not your dad, who had long since learned that trying to keep Stanley in check was like trying to stop a train with his bare hands.

He was over constantly. If he wasn’t dropping by the house, it was phone calls, or leaving half-empty six-packs in the fridge, or pulling up in his beat-up truck with some ridiculous toy he insisted you “absolutely needed.” Your dad would grumble under his breath every time about how he was “spoiling you”, but even at five you could tell it was all for show. He didn’t fool you. Stanley could do no wrong in your dad’s eyes, even if he drove him halfway insane.

“Don’t cuss in front of her, Stanley,” your dad warned him almost every visit, his voice sharp but already tired, like he was repeating it for the hundredth time.

“Shit, my bad,” Stanley would always say, grinning, completely unrepentant. “I mean—shoot.”

“Stanley.”

But the worst of it—at least according to your dad—was when Stanley decided you needed to learn some "practical skills." You didn’t even realize what you were doing at the time; to you, it was just another game. Sitting cross-legged on the garage floor, giggling as you followed his instructions.

“Okay, kiddo, take the little brass one—yeah, like that—put it in right here, nice and gentle. Look at you! Natural, just like your old man.”

It wasn’t until much later that you realized you’d been carefully sliding bullets into their chambers. Your dad stormed into the garage, face twisted into a look of pure anger.

“Stanley, what the hell—”

“Oh, come on,” Stanley always laughed, throwing his hands up like he was the reasonable one. “It’s better she learns it from me than some jackass out there who doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. Relax, doc—she’s in good hands”

And you were. You found out—in Stanley's words— that your hands were perfect for handling something as delicate as this. Your dad blamed Stanley for that, but he never actually made him stop. Not really. After all, you were the safest five-year-old in California who could distinguish between chamomile and cyanide—and now, apparently, load a firearm even with your eyes closed.

And of course, Stanley spoiled you rotten. Ice cream at weird hours. That one overpriced doll you saw at the store, immediately bought. Cartoonishly oversized sunglasses he insisted were “just like his.” And whenever your dad wasn’t looking, a whispered:

“Don’t tell him I let you have this.”

You never did.

In some ways, thinking back on it, your dad had been outnumbered from the start.

And then, of course, there was Xeno.

He wasn’t around as much as Stanley, but when he was, you always knew it. The air felt different. A little colder—sharper. Xeno never quite fit into the noise and chaos the same way Stanley did—he stood slightly apart, like he was always observing, analyzing, cataloging everyone like little data points on some giant mental spreadsheet. Even his visits felt more like inspections.

“You’re still indulging in these… wilderness hobbies, I see,” he’d comment whenever he saw you with your dad’s herb pouches or books spread across the table. “Useful, I suppose. Primitive—but useful.”

You never really knew how to feel about him. He creeped you out sometimes, with the way his eyes flicked over you like he was running some internal calculation. But even at five, you couldn’t help but be fascinated by his brain. He was the only adult, other than your father, who spoke to you like you weren’t an idiot—just wildly inexperienced.

Sometimes, when your dad was out working at the base, Xeno would come over, sit you down in the living room with old aerospace schematics and basic chemistry books. He’d tap the diagrams with a pen and say things like, “Understand this, and you’ll understand why your father’s team doesn’t fall out of the sky.”

You never completely trusted him—but you listened. You learned. And Xeno, in his own condescending, self-important way, seemed to take an odd kind of satisfaction in teaching you. Although you think he’d get a kick out of teaching anyone who could even slightly keep up with him.

“Her aptitude is impressive,” you overheard him say to your dad once, as if you weren’t right there. “Far above average, considering her age. You might have something useful here.”

Stanley, standing nearby, had just rolled his eyes.

“She’s not a damn science project, Xeno.”

But Xeno only smiled—thin and distant, like he was already thinking six steps ahead. 

“No,” he’d said quietly, “but someday she will be important.”

You didn’t know what that meant back then.

Not until after your father left.

He didn’t say where he was going, not really. He never could. Operational security, classified, all the usual words you didn’t fully understand but had heard a thousand times before. But that morning, as he knelt down to your level, hands gently cupping your tiny face, rubbing circles on your cheeks, there was something different behind his eyes—something heavy and almost sad. Like he was memorizing you.

“I love you more than you’ll ever know, kiddo,” he whispered, voice low and warm. “And I’ll be back before you know it, okay? You just wait for me.”

You nodded, clutching his neck as tight as your little arms allowed, burying your face into the fabric of his uniform. You breathed in deeply,  the familiar scent of pine, sweat, and faint gun oil—your dad. And you couldn’t help yourself from the tears that started to form in the corners of your eyes. 

He rubbed your back affectionately, pressed a tender kiss to the crown of your head before pulling back and giving a look to your mother that you couldn't see. But you think you know what kind of look it was based on the sounds of muffled whimpers that escaped her lips.

He looked at you one more time before he left, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look back.

He didn’t tell you when he’d be back. Just to wait for him.

And you waited.

The days blurred together, one after another. You sat by the big living room window for hours, forehead pressed to the glass, watching every car that drove by, every shift of the wind that passed through the trees. You kept waiting to see his truck roll up, to hear the familiar slam of the car door and his heavy boots on the porch steps.

Not if he would come back—just when.

Because in your mind, there was nothing your father couldn’t overcome. He was strong. Unstoppable. He had Stanley. He had Xeno, in spirit, waiting in an operating room monitoring the air. He always came back. He promised you he would.

But the weeks stretched into months. And then longer.

You were too young to understand fully, but even you could see the change in your mother’s face. The soft lines around her eyes grew deeper, heavier, more hollowed. Her voice became quieter. The bright colors she used to wear slowly dulled into muted tones. She stopped smiling as much. Stopped humming while she cooked. Stopped talking about when he comes home. Stopped whispering reassuring words in your ears before you drifted off to sleep. Like she couldn’t keep up the act. Like she knew she was telling you a lie.

But you held on. Because he told you to wait. And waiting meant believing.

And you believed in him, more than anything. 

Until one day.

The phone rang.

Your mother answered.

You couldn’t hear much of the conversation from behind the wall—just muffled words, sharp breaths, and finally, a single, broken whisper:

“No... no, you said—he said—”

She collapsed onto her knees right there on the kitchen floor, the receiver slipping from her fingers and swinging on its cord. You just stood there, small and silent, clutching the stuffed bear he had given you before he left. The one that still smelled faintly like him.

That was the day you first felt something inside you crack.

— — — — — — — — —

You never really planned on coming here—not to this country, not to this school, not to this strange new life.

But sometimes life doesn’t care much about plans.

After the phone call, things blurred for a while. Your mom had packed quickly—like the house itself was too much for her to stay in anymore. She said Japan was a fresh start. That her family was there. That you could both heal. You didn’t know what she really meant back then. You just knew that your dad wasn’t coming home, and no matter how long you sat by the window, you wouldn’t see his truck pull up ever again.

Stanley had fought the move at first. Hard. Said you could stay with him. That he could raise you here. That your father would’ve wanted that. But your mom wouldn’t hear it. They argued and yelled about it a lot for the weeks leading up to the move, but Stanley eventually relented—though not before muttering a string of curses your dad would’ve scolded him for, and giving you the longest, tightest hug you’d ever had. Before you left, he handed you a small velvet pouch—inside was a tiny pocket knife, too dull to cut much of anything, but small enough that you could keep it hidden.

"Don’t tell your mom," he winked. "Just so you got somethin' of me with ya."

Xeno, oddly, but unsurprisingly, had simply nodded when you told him you were leaving. His expression was unreadable, as always.

"Japan has excellent academic institutions," he’d said. "You’ll do well there, if you apply yourself."

Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “You’ll keep learning, won’t you?”

You promised you would.

But no amount of promises could make the hollow part inside you feel any smaller.

Which is how you ended up here. Six years old, new school, new language, and already tired of trying.

You hadn’t expected anyone to talk to you on the playground. The kids didn’t like how you spoke, how you looked, how you didn’t seem to fit in anywhere. You weren’t like them. You were... different.

But then there was Senku.

The first person who didn’t look at you like you were broken, or strange, or fragile. The first one who didn’t tiptoe around the empty space that followed you like a plague.

He didn’t ask about your dad, or why you looked so sad, or why your accent was weird sometimes. He just... started talking about machines, and wires, and aerospace, like none of that mattered. And for the first time since you boarded that plane, you felt something almost like normal.

When you spoke about plants, about the little bits of knowledge your father had given you, Senku's eyes lit up—not with pity, but with curiosity.

You didn’t say it out loud, but a tiny piece of you recognized something familiar in him too. The way he carried too much in his head. The way his hands were always busy, like he didn’t know how to sit still. The way he didn’t fit perfectly with the other kids either. Different in a way that wasn’t bad—just… him.

And somehow, that made you feel less alone.

Truthfully, you wonder what he’s up to now. If he’s okay—if he’s alive.

If he’s still out there, working tooth and nail to figure out just what the hell happened.

Knowing Senku?

He’s probably thriving. Working endlessly with nothing but his own bare hands and that unrelenting mind of his, forging answers out of ash and stone like it's the most natural thing in the world. You can picture him clearly—dirt-covered, sleeves rolled, surrounded by scattered materials that no one but him could ever hope to make sense of. That familiar glint in his eyes, sharp and unwavering, the one that always burned a little too bright for someone his age—like his thoughts were already five steps ahead of reality.

It’s not hard to imagine him pouring over theories, dissecting every angle, retracing scientific history in his head like it’s some puzzle that needs solving and he’s the only one with the right lens to do it. He’s probably been awake—if you can call it that—far longer than anyone else, pacing circles into the dirt, chewing on god knows what for nutrition, repurposing tree sap into adhesives, somehow figuring out how to light a fire with two pebbles and a grudge. Because if anyone could, it’d be him.

And you bet he’s got a plan. He always does. Even when things fell apart, even when the numbers didn’t quite add up, even when everything looked impossible—he always found a way to move forward, to pull logic from uncertainty. He’s probably already narrowed it all down to a list of possibilities, with pros and cons scribbled in the ground and arrows leading to more arrows until the whole thing loops back into itself like some beautiful, insane science web. You can practically hear his voice echoing through the wilderness, smug and energized, rattling off a formula with that strange mix of glee and precision only he could pull off.

But above all, you know one thing with absolute certainty:

He didn’t give up.

He wouldn’t.

He couldn’t. 

Not until he figured it out—not until he brought everything and everyone back. Because that's just who Senku is. Rational to a fault. Ruthless with his own sleep schedule. Blunt, and impossibly insufferable. But underneath it all, he cares. Quietly, deeply, in ways he’ll never admit aloud.

And if there was even the smallest chance of pulling people out of stone, you knew—you knew—he’d find it.

There’s no transition—no gentle easing of consciousness. Just stone. And then not.

It’s not a graceful awakening

Your body lurches violently forward, like the universe suddenly remembered you were supposed to exist again. Breath snaps back into your lungs in a single, searing inhale, so sharp it feels like your ribs might crack from the pressure. You choke on it—air, real air, thick and humid and alive—and your chest tightens around the pain. And for a split second, it feels like dying again.

And then everything hits—

Grass. Dirt. Sunlight. Air.

You choke on it, hungrily, shakily, your hands instinctively digging into the ground just to confirm it’s real. Cool soil gathers beneath your fingernails. Your arms tremble beneath you—still half-numb and slick with some strange liquid you have yet to identify. Your head swims, vision blurred at the edges, but you force your eyes to stay open.

The sky explodes overhead in an endless sprawl of blue, so vivid it feels wrong. Too big. Too bright. And beneath it, stretching in every direction—

No buildings.

No cars.

No steel or glass or concrete. Just a raw, unfiltered wilderness. Trees and ferns and tangled underbrush, wrapping every horizon.

You’re awake.

And for one terrifying second, you don’t know what that means

Then—

“HEY—HEY! SHE’S AWAKE!!”

The voice hits you like a bus, loud, wild and unmistakable. And then there are arms around you—massive and shaking and warm—hauling you upright before your brain can even catch up. But they’re familiar. 

Taiju.

He’s laughing, but the sound’s ragged, breaking apart like he's been holding it in for so long. His face is streaked with dirt and sweat and—yeah, those are definitely tears—but he’s grinning like you’re the goddamn sun, and he’s seeing it rise for the first time.

You blink at him, dazed. Your head feels like it’s full of static, everything blurry around the edges.

“...Come back from where?” you manage, voice hoarse.

And then—

The waft of wind.

the realization hits.

You freeze. Your eyes go wide. And very, very slowly, you look down.

“...Why…” you start, voice rising with every syllable, “WHY AM I NAKED?!”

Taiju, bless his sweet, loyal soul, flinches like you slapped him. “W-WHAT?? Oh! Uh—Senku said you wouldn’t mind that!”

You stare at him. Blank. Disbelieving.

And then, at full volume:

“WHY THE HELL WOULD I NOT MIND BEING NAKED?! IN WHAT UNIVERSE IS THAT A THING I WOULDN’T MIND?!?” 

You’re seething, but it’s not clean anger—it’s messy and mortifying, tangled up in a heat that rushes to your cheeks so fast it makes your head spin.

You’ve known Taiju for years. You’ve been through school with him, walked home beside him a thousand times, seen him ugly-cry at, well, just about anything, heard every dumb thing he’s ever blurted out before his brain could catch up. You’ve seen each other at your worst, your weirdest, your most unfiltered. But this?

This is different.

You’re naked. Fully, absolutely, no-ambiguity, just-came-out-of-stone naked.

And he saw.

And now he’s standing there, hands awkwardly frozen in mid-air like he doesn’t know what to do with them, looking anywhere but directly at you—because he absolutely saw—and that makes it worse. You’d almost prefer he be oblivious. Or smug. Or anything but what he is right now: wide-eyed and horrified and completely unsure of how to fix this.

He panics. Fully panics. “N-No! Not—like—not in a creepy way! He just said you’d understand the circumstances! Like—like that you’d wake up before we could find you clothes and you’d be okay with it logically, not emotionally, which—uh—I guess—uh—wow, I’m gonna shut up now.”

You bury your face in your hands, groaning so loudly it vibrates in your chest.

And god, the worst part?

You do understand the circumstances. Rationally, sure. Logically. You get it. It’s not like they wanted to see you naked. It’s not like Senku prioritized your dignity when he was too busy solving the miracle of reviving civilization.

But that doesn’t mean it stings any less.

That doesn’t mean you’re not gonna remember this until the day you die.

And it definitely doesn’t mean you’re letting Senku live this down.

This sucks.

This really sucks.

You let out another strangled noise halfway between a scream and a cough, moving down into a crouch, knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them in a futile attempt at modesty while your legs are still barely working.

Then— 

“Tch. You’re welcome, by the way.”

You whip around. 

And there he is.

Senku Ishigami.

He’s leaning back against a tree, arms crossed, that infuriatingly calm expression plastered across his face. He raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth twitching upward like he’s actively restraining himself from saying something unbearably snarky. And you just stare at him.

He raises a brow. “You’re not dead. Congratulations.”

You stare. “Oh, I’m sorry, is my awakening not scientifically efficient enough for you?!”

“I’d say it was fairly efficient, given the complexity of the revival fluid and the 3,700-year-old petrification process,” he replies, deadpan. “You’re the one screaming about clothes instead of celebrating your biological resurrection. Talk about priorities.”

“BECAUSE I’M NAKED.”

“Yeah, so’s literally everyone when they wake up. You think we’ve got a wardrobe waiting in the bushes? You just got un-stoned. Figure it out.”

“THIS IS A BASIC HUMAN DIGNITY ISSUE, SENKU!”

“Are you seriously gonna stand there and argue with me over such a simple issue?”

“Yes! Yes the hell I am!?!”

Senku exhales through his nose—half sigh, half scoff. He doesn’t even flinch. “Okay. Great. Congratulations on rejoining the land of the living with your sense of outrage fully intact.”

You glare at him, mouth open, words on the verge of tumbling out and colliding into a feral noise of shame and fury—but nothing comes. You’re too busy trying not to combust. And Senku? He just stands there. Like this is normal. Like it’s fine.

Unbothered. Unimpressed. Annoyingly smug.

You slam your hands over your face. “This is a nightmare,” you groan. “I died. I died, and this is hell, and you’re here because of course you are.”

“I mean,” Senku drawls, “if hell involves me single-handedly reviving civilization with science, then yeah. Sounds about right.”

You drop your hands just far enough to squint at him through your fingers. “I bet this is because I cheated on that one math test in third grade,” you mutter. “I knew this would come back to bite me. I atoned. I never did it again!”

A moment passes.

Then, bless him—or curse him—Taiju, who’s been hovering awkwardly to the side like a six-foot-tall golden retriever who just broke your favorite lamp, leans in and says earnestly: “Wait… we’re in hell?!”

You slowly, slowly turn to face him. “No, Taiju.”

“Oh! Okay. Cool.” He laughs, relieved. “You had me worried for a second.”

You nearly choke on your own exhale. “Oh my god.”

Taiju, still hovering behind you like a panicked lifeguard, awkwardly holds out something bundled in his arms. “Uh—Senku did say to bring this for you! We made it from tree bark! It’s… not super comfy, but it covers your bits?”

You grab it with all the dignity of someone who’s just hit rock bottom and begun tunneling. “Thanks, Taiju. I’ll cherish it forever.”

Senku just raises a brow. “You’re not dead. You’re breathing. Congratulations. The human race is one step closer to repopulating the Earth.”

You scowl at him. “Oh, I’m so sorry I’m not celebrating the miracle of my scientific resurrection more enthusiastically. You know. On account of the nudity and emotional trauma.”

“Statistically, two out of three revived subjects haven’t had a problem with it,” Senku says without missing a beat.

“Because the only other person here is Taiju! And I’m sure he's used to it by now.” You throw your head back and groan, dragging the makeshift tunic tighter around you. “I hate this. I hate everything. If a bear eats me, I hope it does it quickly.”

Senku observes your struggle without an ounce of shame.

Once you’re covered—mostly—he exhales and takes a few slow steps closer. “You good now? No more shrieking?”

You open your mouth to snap at him again—but you stop.

Because now that the adrenaline’s fading, you’re seeing the truth in his face. His posture’s easy, sure, and his tone’s dry as dust—but his eyes?

There’s something raw behind them. Quiet, exhausted relief. He’s not the type to say it—he won’t—but it’s there. Barely veiled.

He didn’t give up. Not on you. Not on Taiju. You’re here because he figured it out. Because of that impossible brain, that stubborn heart he swears he doesn’t have.

So you guess you can look past this fleeting moment of embarrassment—just this once.

You sigh. Long and heavy, like it’s carrying the weight of 3,700 years plus one existential crisis and a dash of mortification. You run a hand down your face, trying to scrub the heat from your cheeks and the tension from your shoulders.

“…Fine,” you mutter.

Senku blinks, clearly caught off guard. “Fine?”

“Yeah,” you grumble. “I’m… fine. Just temporarily derailed by the whole ‘woke up naked in prehistoric hell’ thing, but otherwise peachy.”

Taiju immediately lights up beside you like a human sunbeam. “You’re really okay?!”

You glance at him and offer a lopsided smile—because yeah, his relief is too sincere to be annoyed at. “Yeah, big guy. I’m okay.”

He exhales so hard it sounds like a balloon deflating and promptly wraps you in another rib-crushing hug. “Thank goodness! I was so worried you’d wake up screaming and, like, run into a tree or something!”

You hesitate for a second before patting his arm. “…Honestly, that was plan B.”

From the corner of your eye, you catch Senku shaking his head, muttering something under his breath like “What a bunch of buffoons.” But when you look at him again—really look—his expression has softened.

Just a little.

Barely there, but enough.

You shift, wrapping your arms tighter around the bark-woven tunic. It's rough and itchy and smells vaguely like pine sap, but you don’t complain. You're alive. You're surrounded by two familiar faces in an unfamiliar world. That alone is something.

“…Thanks,” you say finally, your voice quieter now. You look at Senku, and despite everything—his maddening logic, his tactless bluntness, the way he somehow made nudity feel like your fault—you mean it.

He meets your gaze, the corner of his mouth twitching upward again. Not a smirk. Not quite. But something close to it.

“Yeah,” he says, voice a notch softer. “Don’t mention it.”

Then—true to form—he ruins it.

“Just be more useful next time you wake up. All this screeching’s bad for morale.”

You immediately chuck the nearest rock at his head.

He ducks, laughing under his breath.

Taiju yelps. “Guys! Play nice! We just got her back!”

And for the first time since waking up, you feel it:

The warmth in your chest.

The weird, lopsided comfort of being with them.

This may be the worst possible start to a second chance at life… but somehow, with these two idiots?

It’s exactly right.

It doesn’t last long however.

“All right, this is it.”

Senku turned on his heel, firewood tucked under one arm, his tone flipping from casual to razor-sharp in an instant. “That’s enough sightseeing—let’s put a pin in the dramatics and get to work.”

You stepped out into the clearing, feet faltering as your eyes widened. Everything froze for a second. The sunlight filtered through the trees, the leaves rustled, and the world continued on—but you?

You just stared.

“You… built all of this?” Your voice came out a little too breathless, a little too awestruck. “By yourselves?”

Senku didn’t even pause as he crouched to drop the firewood near the crude hearth, his tunic flaring slightly behind him. “I built this. Taiju stood around being emotionally supportive and sweating.”

“Hey!” Taiju called out from somewhere up in the treehouse, leaning over the edge with a lopsided grin. “I carried stuff! A lot of stuff!”

You blinked up at him, still trying to process the sight before you.

The structure wasn’t just functional—it was ingenious—well for post-apocalyptic civilization you suppose. Elevated on thick stilts and braced against the side of a massive tree, it rose above the brush like a hybrid between a lookout post and a survival cabin. A ladder, assembled from thick rope and wood, dangled from the platform’s edge. Clay pots were arranged below it in a half-circle, along with what looked like hand-carved drying racks and spears made from sharpened sticks bound with sinew and stone.

You let out a low, stunned whistle. “This looks like it took months…”

Senku straightened, brushing dirt from his hands, smug as ever. “Try weeks. Give or take a few catastrophic setbacks.”

“Like when a bird stole our flint,” Taiju added from above, resting his chin on his palm. “That was a day.”

“Or when you tried to cook fish in a container lined with fresh resin,” Senku muttered.

“IT SMELLED GOOD AT FIRST,” Taiju called defensively.

Senku clicked his tongue. “It was poison.”

You barely heard them. You were too busy drinking in every detail. The tools. The way the shelter had been engineered for efficiency. The foraged baskets. The fire pit lined with stone. The unmistakable marks of long hours and relentless trial-and-error.

And all this—done while you were still stone.

You swallowed, something settling deep and quiet in your chest.

They’d really been waiting for you.

Senku caught your expression but didn’t comment on it. Instead, he kicked at one of the clay pots. “This one’s for foraging. Mushrooms and roots. That one’s for storing filtered water. Don’t mix them up. The third’s for waste—we don’t talk about the third.”

You let out a weak laugh, shaking your head. “What happened to keeping things hygienic?”

“This is hygienic. You want the unsanitized version?”

“Absolutely not.”

Taiju grinned. “She learns fast.”

Senku smirked. “Unlike some people.”

“HEY—!”

You snorted, the tension in your chest finally starting to unknot itself. The warm smell of woodsmoke curled up from the pit. Birds trilled somewhere in the canopy. The place was small, rough, and entirely improvised—but it felt… .

Homely. Hard-earned.

And somehow, in a weird, post-apocalyptic way—it already felt like a kind of home.

Senku tossed you a small, worn basket. “Get comfortable. We’re going scavenging in the morning, and you’re behind on your survival training arc.”

You caught it, still half-dazed. “Right. Got it. Morning. Survival. Check.”

Taiju leaned over the edge of the platform again, smiling wide. “You’re really back, huh?”

You looked up at him.

Yeah. You were.

“Guess I am.”

And as night slowly fell over the trees, the three of you settled in under the shadow of firelight and science—and whatever future came next.

The first couple of mornings were the worst. 

You were still out of the loop, still kind of hoping that one day you’d wake up with your face smashed into a textbook, maybe drooling a little, while some teacher called your name for roll call. That this was just a bizarre dream triggered by stress, bad cafeteria food, and one too many wilderness documentaries. 

You got over that delusion just as quickly as it came. 

Reality didn’t let you forget where you were. Not with every step crunching on dried leaves, or the fact that you decided you had to sleep in a tree because “the ground belongs to the bugs now,” as Senku put it. You didn't ask what that meant. You didn’t want to know. Youjust watched eerily as Senku and Taiju prepared for slumber while you hiked up on one the trees' sturdier  branches.

You started going out on scavenging trips with Taiju—not because you were helpful, at least not in the supernatural strength department like Taiju, but because someone needed to stop him from joyfully shoving random berries in his pockets and accidentally poisoning everyone.

Your usefulness came in the form of basic plant knowledge—stuff your dad had drilled into your brain during those “fun weekend trips” that were just thinly-veiled survival training. He’d taught you everything from how to recognize foxglove to how to splint a fractured wrist using tree bark and cotton. And while you never thought it’d come in handy past passing basic biology, here you were.

And you slightly enjoyed it.

But plants were fine. Plants didn’t have legs.

Bugs, however? Bugs were a problem.

Every time you brushed past a bush and something skittered out, you swear your soul tried to exit your body. You developed a sixth sense for spiderwebs and refused to walk first down forest paths because, quote, “What if one tries to jump out and attack me!?”

Senku called it “evolutionary cowardice.” You called it “common sense.”

Still, you toughed it out. Mostly. With a lot of swearing and occasional screeches that probably scared off every bird within ten miles.

That particular afternoon was humid and bright, the kind of summer heat that made your tunic cling to your back and the air taste like wet leaves. You were cross-legged on the platform, a woven mat of reeds laid out in front of you as you sorted through the foraging pile Taiju had dropped off earlier. Mushrooms of various shapes and sizes were lined up like little suspects in a nature documentary, and you were midway through delicately peeling the skin from one of them when the buzz of wings dive-bombed your hair for the third time in ten minutes.

“OH MY GOD—STOP.” You swatted violently over your head with your forearm, squinting up at the canopy in full bug-paranoia mode. “I swear if that mosquito’s building a duplex in my scalp, I’m shaving my head.”

From somewhere behind you, Senku made a noise that could’ve been amusement or judgment—it was always hard to tell with him. Then came the muted clack of ceramics.

“That should be the last of it,” he said, holding something up to catch the light that filtered through the trees.

You swatted at your head again, suspicious a mosquito was building a summer home in your hair. “Last of what?”

Before he could answer, a familiar voice called from below.

“Wait—seriously?”

Taiju, flushed and sweating from hauling firewood through the forest, popped his head up at the edge of the platform. His arms were loaded with kindling, which he dumped into a neat pile before clambering up with the kind of energy only Taiju ever seemed to have at the end of the day.

Senku shifted slightly so the light hit the object in his hand just right. A small flask—rudimentary, clay-bodied with a wax-sealed mouth—glinted faintly in the sunlight. Inside, you could see the faint swirl of revival fluid catching the light like liquid crystal.

“Revival fluid,” Senku said, tapping the flask with one finger. “Enough to wake one more person.”

Your hands stilled immediately. The mushroom you’d been cleaning slid from your grip and rolled off the edge of the platform with a soft plop. You didn’t even look after it.

For a moment, no one spoke. Even the forest around you seemed to hush.

“I picked the last person,” he said, turning the flask between his fingers. “So it’s your call this time, Taiju.”

The weight of that moment settled over the group like fog. You turned your head slowly, watching Taiju’s expression change—surprise, then certainty. He didn’t hesitate.

“I appreciate that, pal. I know who I’ll pick. I mean—it’s obvious.”

Your heart jumped a little, not in surprise, but in the quiet rush of finally. You already knew who he meant.

He turned to you with a grin so wide it practically split his face. “Yuzuriha.”

You laughed, breathless from the tension leaving your chest all at once. “Finally. Another girl. I don’t know how much longer I would’ve lasted out here with just the two of you.”

“Oi,” Senku said dryly, “you should be honored.”

“I am,” you replied, dusting your hands on your legs. “Honored. And starving for some normal conversation. Maybe even some new clothes.”

Taiju laughed too, the excitement clear in every word. And just like that, the three of you were moving. You packed the essentials, made sure the revival fluid was secure, and then started off into the trees with a pace that made your legs burn but your chest buzz with something akinned to hope.

The sun filtered down through the dense canopy in golden shafts, pooling across the moss-covered ground and glinting against every patch of stone and bark it touched. It was late afternoon, the light soft and warm, the forest humming with lazy insects and distant birdsong. But none of that mattered—not with what stood ahead.

There she was.

Half-swallowed by the massive tree, her figure wrapped delicately in thick vines and framed by the curling rise of bark, Yuzuriha stood motionless—just as Taiju had described. Frozen in place, eyes shut, her hands mid-motion. The years had been kind; the petrification had preserved her like a statue in a museum, untouched and eerily serene.

You stepped forward slowly, heart thudding a little harder than usual as your eyes swept over her. It didn’t feel real. “Oh my god,” you breathed, your fingertips brushing the rough edge of the tree beside her. “Yuzu…”

She looked just like you remembered. You almost expected her to blink and greet you with that soft, dorky smile of hers, probably teasing you for getting dirt on your face.

“I’m sorry, Yuzuriha…” Taiju said softly, stepping up beside you. His voice had that same tremble it always carried when he meant every word. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting for thousands of years…”

He reached toward her but stopped short, like touching her now would shatter the spell holding her together.

Senku stood behind him, expression unreadable, clay container in hand. The revival fluid swirled faintly inside, sloshing quietly as he held it up between two fingers like it was nothing more than a cup of tea. “All right, musclehead. Let’s get this over with.”

But just as Taiju raised his hands to take it, he froze. His eyes went comically wide, panic blooming across his face.

“WAIT—HOLD ON, SENKU! SHE’S NAKED!!”

The forest fell silent.

You blinked. “...Are you serious right now?”

Taiju spun around so fast he nearly twisted an ankle on a stray root. “DON’T LOOK AT HER!”

You stared at him, deadpan. “Oh, so now you care about modesty?” you said, one brow rising. “Because if I remember right, someone didn’t think twice before waking me up stone-butt-naked in front of everyone.”

His face flushed a deep, embarrassed red. “W-we brought clothes for you!”

“Yeah, after the fact.”

“I—I turned around! Mostly!”

Senku sighed like a man used to suffering. He rubbed at his temples as Taiju frantically tried to use his own body to shield Yuzuriha’s stone form. “Again with your nonsense,” he muttered. “I know it’s tough, but would it kill you to use some logic for once?”

“She’s a girl, Senku!” Taiju said, scandalized.

Senku raised a brow, unimpressed. “No kidding.”

“I’m just saying—we can’t revive her like this! What if she wakes up and freaks out?!”

Senku threw a hand out, gesturing around them like the trees might back him up. “We’re in the stone world. The entire human population is statues. There’s no one around to care if your butt’s showing—or even if your dicks hangin’ out”

“YUZURIHA DOES NOT HAVE A DICK!!” Taiju roared, hands thrown wide in scandalized defense of her honor.

You couldn’t help it—you snorted, slapped a hand over your mouth, and coughed to hide the laugh. “You’re really missing the point here,” you managed, shoulders shaking.

Senku didn’t even bother dignifying that with a response. He handed you the vial, and you carefully tucked it into the satchel you'd slung across your chest earlier.

“If you’re so set on carrying her back to camp before we pour this,” Senku said with a roll of his eyes, “fine. But how heavy is her statue, genius?”

Taiju puffed out his chest. “You better not be calling her fat!”

Senku looked at the two of you, expression caught somewhere between unimpressed and done-with-this. He planted his hands on his hips with a groan. “I need new friends.”

“Too bad,” you said brightly, shooting him a grin. “You’re stuck with us.”

But the words had barely left your mouth before the hairs on the back of your neck stood up.

The forest had gone too quiet.

Then you heard it—low and guttural, a snarl that cut straight through the green hush. You stiffened. So did Taiju. The sound echoed again, unmistakable this time. Something massive moving through the brush. Crunching leaves, a growl like thunder muffled by trees.

Senku’s head turned sharply toward the noise.

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t need to see it to know—it was big.

Then the lion stepped into view.

Golden eyes. Muscles rippling beneath its fur. Its mane caught the light like flames, and as it bared its teeth, you caught a flash of red-stained fang. Behind it, more shapes. A pride. Moving together.

“Why is there a lion in Japan?!” Taiju shouted, already backing up with Yuzuriha in his arms.

Senku was moving too, fast. “Why do you think? It’s from a zoo, obviously!”

“A zoo?!”

“The staff must’ve been petrified with the cages open. They got out. And if they survived all this time, then so did others. Top of the food chain’s been turned upside down—humans are not at the top anymore.”

But you weren’t listening anymore.

Your instincts had already taken over—fight or flight on overdrive—and the only clear choice was run. Your breath came sharp, cold in your throat, and you didn’t hesitate. You reached out, grabbed Senku by the wrist, and yanked him into motion.

There was no more time.

Twigs snapped underfoot as you tore through the trees, your breath ragged, heartbeat pounding in your ears. Taiju, impossibly, kept pace despite carrying Yuzuriha’s statue like a sacred relic. He didn’t stumble once.

“They’re catching up!” you gasped, legs burning.

“Keep going!” Senku barked beside you, eyes narrowed, his brain likely already racing three steps ahead of the rest of you. Trying to think of any way to get out of this alive.

The trees seemed endless. The terrain blurred around you. Green and gold and shadow, whipping past. Somewhere to your right, a lion roared—close enough that you could feel it in your teeth.

They were gaining. You felt them gaining.

One wrong step, one slip, and you’d be nothing but a footnote in the dirt.

And then, ahead—nothing. The ground dropped away.

A cliff.

Too fast to stop. Too steep to think.

“Jump!” Taiju shouted, not even hesitating as he threw his full weight into the void, still clutching Yuzuriha like she was glass. You followed without thinking, body launching into open air with nothing but instinct and desperation propelling you forward.

For a split second, the world went still—just sky and open air and the impossible weight of gravity. Then you dropped into a mess of tangled vines that caught your fall like a net, snapping taut. The world jostled and rocked around you, but you were alive. You hung suspended, breathless, blood rushing in your head.

Above you, the lions paced the cliff’s edge, snarling down with frustration but unwilling to follow.

You hung there in the vines, swaying slightly. Taiju cradled Yuzuriha protectively, wedged beside you. Senku was above, clinging to a length of twisted branch.

“…Why aren’t they attacking?” Taiju voice shaking from the exertion.

Senku gave a breathless laugh. “They’ve never seen bipedals before. We probably look freaky as hell to them—running on two legs. They don’t know what to make of us yet.”

“We are the only humans in the world,” Taiju murmured, and there was something heartbreaking in the truth of the statement.

“But it’s only a matter of time before they do attack,” Senku replied, eyes distant now. “Even if we make it back to camp, we’re armed with nothing but stone-tipped spears. The odds are awful. Honestly, this was game over from the beginning.”

Silence.

His words struck harder than any predator could. A cold, creeping truth you didn’t want to acknowledge.

Taiju stared at him—at Senku, then you.

“…I can’t let you guys die.”

There was a tremble in his voice that hadn’t been there before. Not even when the lions first appeared. Not even when death had felt one breath away.

You opened your mouth, but he was already shaking his head. “Taiju—” you tried.

“I can’t,” he repeated, more forcefully now, and his eyes were glassy with something unspoken. “If either of you die now… it’s over. Senku—your big science-filled brain is humanity’s only hope. And you—” his gaze snapped to you, jaw clenched— “you’re the only one who can patch us up when we get hurt, how to keep people alive.”

Your throat tightened. You hadn’t asked to be that person. But in a world with no hospitals, no antibiotics, no backup... you were all they had.

“Even if I gotta be lion food,” Taiju said, voice cracking now, “I’ll save you both!”

And before you could stop him—before you could even understand what he was about to do—he turned and hurled Yuzuriha’s statue toward you and Senku. Not carelessly, not recklessly. Just fast and firm, like a torch in a rite of passage.

You stumbled, catching her against your chest with a grunt, the weight of her petrified body nearly knocking you off your feet. The vines creaked beneath you, and you gritted your teeth to steady both of you.

“Taiju—wait!” you shouted, breath ragged. 

“Go on ahead!” he called back, already turning to face the sound of heavy paws and primal growls rising through the trees.

“No!” Senku snapped, fury overtaking panic.

“I’ll hold them off—”

“Use some damn logic for once!” Senku roared, cutting him off. His voice cracked with something uncharacteristically raw. “You’re the muscle and we’re the brains! Humanity needs all of us if we’re gonna survive! If we’re gonna make a run for it, it’s imperative we do it together!”

Taiju faltered. 

He was breathing hard now, fists clenched, chest rising and falling like a drumbeat of war against his ribs. He didn’t want to back down. Everything in his nature told him to protect, to sacrifice, to stand between danger and his friends. But Senku’s words hit something deep—and your presence didn’t go unnoticed either.

Still, Taiju looked torn, shoulders trembling under the weight of that choice.

“Don’t make this a one-man story,” you said, your voice quiet but firm, eyes locked on him. “We don’t need heroes. We need survivors.”

For a second, the forest was silent except for the lions approaching—closer, louder, snarling through the brush like hunger incarnate.

Then Taiju let out a breath that sounded like defeat and determination all at once. “Yeah… I got it.”

“Besides,” Senku said as they began to move again, “I know you’ve never actually hit anyone. That’s been true since we were kids. You may be strong as hell, but you’re not a fighter.”

And it was true.

Taiju was brave, but he wasn’t violent. He had always used his strength to carry, to build, to hold. Not to hurt.

Still, even as they ran again—back into the trees, the statue secure in your arms and Senku sprinting beside you—you saw something shift in Taiju’s expression.

A resolve. A decision.

“Hey!” he called breathlessly as you dodged through low branches and tangled roots. “If we can’t outrun them—I thought of something we can do!”

Senku turned his head slightly, brow raised in exasperated disbelief. “Now’s the time you get ideas?”

“We found something earlier. A guy. Not just anyone,”

Senku’s eyes followed your line of sight. “Who?”

You skidded to a stop at the base of the tree, heart pounding in your ears.

Taiju turned, pointing. “Shishio Tsukasa. They called him the strongest primate high schooler!”

And there he was.

Petrified mid-motion, like a god frozen in time.

The last hope standing between you and the jaws of extinction.

“Here,” Taiju gasped, dropping to his knees beside the base of the statue. “This is him.”

Senku skidded to a halt beside you, doubling over with his hands on his knees, his breath coming in sharp gulps. “Hell of a time… to gamble… on waking up a teenage gorilla…”

You didn’t waste time with commentary. You dropped to your knees and laid Yuzuriha’s statue gently down in the safest spot you could find—nestled against a thicket of moss. Then you turned, rummaging through your satchel with shaking fingers until they found the cool clay surface of the revival fluid container.

Behind you, the growling hadn’t stopped.

The lions weren’t far. Seconds, maybe. You could practically feel the heat of them on your spine.

Senku straightened, reaching for the vial. “He was a fighter. A real one. If anyone has the strength to defend us, it’s him.”

“He’s also a complete unknown,” you said sharply, cracking the seal on the container. “We don’t know what he’ll do when he wakes up.”

“Right now,” Senku said flatly, “we don’t have the luxury of being picky.”

You hesitated—just a beat—before nodding.

Senku took the container from your outstretched hand, stepping forward without another word. There was no time left for discussion, doubt, or backup plans. He poured the fluid across the statue’s face in a steady stream.

The chemical hissed as it met the stone, trails of revival running down like molten silver tears.

Silence stretched thin.

Then—crack.

The first fracture split across his cheekbone like a lightning bolt. Another jumped over his brow. His fingers twitched. You held your breath as a final break splintered down his eyelids—then his eyes snapped open, sharp and golden and utterly alert.

“Sorry for the sudden wake-up call,” Taiju said breathlessly, hands on his knees. “Kinda bad timing.”

Tsukasa didn’t waste a second on confusion or panic. His gaze swept the three of you, then his surroundings, absorbing everything with razor-sharp focus. “What’s the situation?” voice unwavering like he didnt just wake up from an over 3700 year nap.

Senku didn’t blink. “Your body’s still covered in stone. There are lions circling from your nine o’clock to your two.”

Tsukasa followed the direction with a glance, still kneeling, still half entombed in stone.

“…Okay,” he said simply.

Then, he moved.

The stone around his limbs shattered like old glass as he surged forward, muscles flexing, bare feet thudding into the earth with shocking force. In one clean, explosive motion, he met the charging lion head-on—and punched it square in the face.

The impact echoed through the forest like thunder.

The lion didn’t just fall—it flew. Its massive body slammed into a tree with a sickening crack, leaving deep gouges in the bark as it collapsed, dazed and unmoving.

The rest of the pride froze.

You’d seen beasts with instincts before. Wild dogs, feral boars, even a bear once in your early while taking hiking trails or by watching one of the many Discovery channel documentaries. They all had a moment where they realized they’d miscalculated. Where they understood the pecking order had shifted.

That moment passed visibly through the pack now.

The second lion took a hesitant step back, amber eyes flicking between Tsukasa and its fallen leader. The third let out a low, guttural growl, its tail lashing with uncertainty—but it didn’t attack. One by one, the pride began to retreat, tension unraveling in slow, wary steps. Ears flicked. Tails dipped. Bodies slunk into the underbrush like phantoms.

Gone.

Just like that.

Your breath escaped in a slow, shaky exhale you hadn’t realized you were holding. Adrenaline still buzzed hot in your veins, but the danger—at least for now—was over. No one spoke. No one moved.

Tsukasa stood in the clearing like a god from another world, skin dusted with flaking stone, chest rising and falling with measured, deliberate breath. His eyes glinted in the soft, slanted light between the trees. He was completely bare—blood-spattered, dust-streaked, and totally unbothered.

“I don’t need all the details yet,” he said without turning. “But I’ll promise you one thing now.”

His voice was low, steady. Unshakable.

“You three will never be in danger again. From now on, I’ll do the fighting.”

Off to the side Taiju’s face lit up, breaking the heavy stillness with awe-struck joy. “This is great, Senku! Humanity now has brains, brawn, and brute force!”

You exchanged a glance with Senku, who was already shifting uncomfortably beside you, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

“I get that,” Senku muttered, watching Tsukasa with narrowed eyes. “But this Shishio guy… he’s way too strong.”

You folded your arms, mirroring Senku’s tension. “That kind of strength doesn’t come with a leash,” you murmured. “And in this world, there is no balance of power. No guns. No law. If he wanted to… no one could stop him.”

Taiju blinked, startled. “But he’s on our side, right? Isn’t it a good thing to have someone like him around?”

Senku looked at you, then at Taiju, his voice laced with that bone-dry sarcasm you’d come to recognize as a mask for genuine concern. “What if he turns out to be an evil bureaucrat with an insatiable hunger for women and control? We just watched him kill a lion with one punch. In a world without modern weapons, he’s ten billion percent unstoppable.”

“Eek!” Taiju yelped, his eyes darting to you and the statue of Yuzuriha. The thought clearly landed—him imagining either of you being forced to bow to Tsukasa’s whims. “We… we can’t let that happen!”

You didn’t disagree.

Just ahead, Tsukasa knelt beside the lion’s corpse. His hand was steady as he placed two fingers over its eyes, closing them with a quiet kind of respect. Then he turned to the three of you, his tone casual—disarmingly so.

“Sorry, but would any of you happen to have some butchering tools? A knife, maybe? Even stone tools would do.”

Taiju flinched. “You’re gonna eat the lion?”

You tilted your head slightly, assessing the carcass. “I mean… it’s not poisonous. Nutritionally it makes sense.”

Senku grimaced. “Although the meat is tough, it reeks of ammonia, and the taste is horrific.”

You wrinkled your nose, half turning toward them with a mutter under your breath. “Definitely not the only thing that reeks…”

Senku didn’t say anything, but he did flick a glance your way—dry, narrow-eyed, and unimpressed. The kind of look that said he heard you, even if he wasn’t about to dignify it with a response.

Taiju, oblivious as always, gawked. “Wait—when did you eat lion, Senku?!”

“When I went to Africa to research Ebola,” Senku said matter-of-factly.

Taiju looked like his brain had just blue-screened. “What kind of high school kid are you?!”

Tsukasa, still crouched over the downed lion, finally spoke again—calm, almost reverent. “Though it was in self-defense, I did kill it with my own hands. I want to give thanks to the circle of life by putting all of it to good use. That’s all.”

Taiju beamed, smile almost blinding. “He’s great! Aren’t you glad, Senku? He’s not some evil bureaucrat or anything—he’s a super good guy!”

Senku didn’t smile. He didn’t even blink. “I hope so.”

Then, shifting his weight, Senku added,loud enough for Tsukasa to hear, “I don’t have even a millimeter of interest in that whole gratitude crap… but I absolutely agree with not wasting resources.”

The sun was beginning to dip low behind the treetops, bathing the clearing in fading amber light. The lion lay still. Tsukasa’s broad silhouette was backlit, cast in shadows.

There was something uneasy in your gut—some instinct that hadn’t dulled, even after surviving thousands of years of stone. Something about his movements, his eyes. That strength was no gift.

But for now… you were alive. Alive, with fire to return to, and someone strong enough to bring back meat for dinner. That counted for something.

Still, as you watched Tsukasa’s expression cool and unreadable, a whisper of doubt curled behind your guts like smoke.

You just hoped you wouldn’t come to regret this.

an: cough cough... i know its been a month, no need to remind me. sorry for the extremely long wait! so much stuff has been happening to me behind the scenes and I never really felt all that happy about this chapter. (I fucking hate it omg.) but we shall prevail.

anyways this annoying maggot ( @lo1itado11 ) kept me distracted for a good 2 weeks straight. always messaging me like "coco, coco! we should call so you can watch me play and you can write!" knowing damn well I'm either gonna get distracted by her playing ENA dream bbq, or shes gonna beg me to join her on fortnite or roblox. i need her to be burned at the stake immediately. cant get shit done with her all up in my phone. and the ONE time i ask to her to be helpful and find a song for this chapter she takes 30 years and comes up empty handed. but I love her ig...

plus the ao3 curse lowk got me, on-top of the previously mentioned distraction. i also completely dissociated for a good week and then immediately after, i got dragged out to a 4-day family reunion (mind you i don’t talk to majority of my family so it was pointless given the age gap between us) and THEN i got a stomach parasite from this sushi place and wanted to die for a good 2 days… but alas, we are here now.

This is getting long, sorry again for the wait. I hope you guys like the chapter more than I do... cause honestly im ready to delete this and pretend I made this series a one-shot instead.

taglist: @jmclouds @hyperl0gic @gingerthorns

[itwillbethescarletwitch]

Don’t Blame Me pt2

Evan Buckley x Fem!Reader

The sound is unreal.

Flat. Piercing. Endless.

The moment the monitor flatlines, Buck forgets how to breathe. The shrill scream of it cuts through him like glass, splintering the last fragile thread holding him together.

“No—no, no, no—SOMEONE HELP!”

He’s on his feet, shoving the chair back so violently it crashes against the wall. Nurses rush in. Alarms blare. The room is suddenly chaos—but Buck is the still point at the center of it. Frozen. Pale. Eyes wide as his whole world slips through trembling fingers.

“She was just moving,” he gasps. “She—her hand moved—I swear to God—”

They’re already pulling him back. Code blue. Hands on chest. Chest compressions. Fast. Hard. Unrelenting.

Buck stumbles into the hallway. Eddie catches him, but it’s like trying to hold back a tidal wave with bare hands.

“No—she can’t—she was just here—I FELT HER—”

The sound of the defibrillator charging coils down the hallway.

“Clear!”

He watches the jolt ripple through her.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

No response.

A nurse closes the curtain halfway. Buck screams.

“I NEED TO SEE HER—LET ME SEE HER—”

His knees hit the linoleum before his brain even realizes he’s falling. His hands cover his face, and his voice shatters beneath them.

The wind outside howls against the ICU windows. It moans like it’s grieving too—rattling the panes, pushing against the glass as if trying to crawl inside and hold him. The rain has started. A slow, cold drizzle that runs down the windows in crooked trails like tears.

Buck doesn’t know how long he stays there.

Long enough for his voice to crack.

Long enough for his fingers to go numb.

Long enough to realize that if she dies, so does he.

“She was just here,” he whispers, forehead against the floor. “She was just here.”

———

There’s no pain here.

No beeping. No blood. No wires.

Just… quiet.

Soft, muted quiet—like the whole world’s holding its breath.

You’re standing in a field, barefoot on damp grass. The air is warm and thick with the scent of wildflowers. Lavender. Honeysuckle. Sunlight cuts through tall trees in golden shards. It should feel peaceful. Beautiful, even.

But your chest aches like something important is missing.

Like you forgot to breathe. Like your heart doesn’t know if it’s supposed to be beating anymore.

The wind shifts, and it’s the kind that lifts your hair and brushes your skin so gently it feels like a memory. The breeze smells like home.

And then—

You hear it.

Footsteps.

Familiar. Light.

You turn.

Your breath catches.

“Mom?” you whisper.

She’s walking toward you with that same soft smile she used to wear when she’d wake you up for school with a kiss on your forehead. Her hair is down. She’s barefoot too. And behind her—

“Dad,” you whisper, a sob cracking in your throat.

He’s smiling too. His arms are open.

You run.

You hit them like a wave, arms wrapping around their waists, your body collapsing into theirs like you’re still five years old. Their hands come up, stroking your hair, cradling your head.

“I missed you,” you choke. “God, I missed you—”

“We know, baby,” your mom murmurs. Her voice is exactly the same. Gentle. Sacred. “We missed you too.”

You pull back just enough to look at them, to memorize the lines of their faces again.

“I thought you were gone.”

“We are,” your dad says, softly. “But you’re not.”

You look around the field again, confused.

“Then where am I?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just gently takes your hand and presses it to your chest.

You feel it.

A thready, slow heartbeat.

Barely there.

“You’re not done fighting,” he says.

Your mom strokes your cheek. Her eyes shine. “He’s waiting for you.”

You flinch.

“Buck—” His name breaks on your lips. “He thinks I’m dead. He was there when I—he heard the monitors—he was right there—”

Tears spill down your face before you realize you’re crying.

“Sweetheart,” your mom whispers, pulling you close again. “He’s breaking. But he hasn’t stopped hoping. Not for a second.”

“I’m scared,” you admit. “I don’t know if I can come back. Everything hurts.”

“You don’t have to be unafraid,” your dad says. “You just have to be willing.”

You grip his hand tighter.

“Do you want to go?” he asks you gently. “Be here—with us?”

The question sits in the air like smoke.

You look between them.

This would be easier. No more pain. No more heartbreak. No more wondering if you’re enough. If you’re too much. If you’ll ever stop falling apart.

But then—

You remember the marsala sauce.

The look on Buck’s face when he begged you to wake up.

The way his voice cracked when he said he was sorry.

And you know.

You’d never forgive yourself if you left him like that.

“I want to stay,” you whisper. “I want to live.”

Your parents smile.

Your mom kisses your forehead.

“Then go, baby.”

“Go back to him,” your dad adds. “He’s waiting.”

———

The flatline doesn’t stop.

It drills into Buck’s skull like a spike — one long, steady note of devastation.

His world narrows into sound:

That alarm.

The hiss of the ventilator disconnecting.

The soft shuffle of the nurse’s footsteps.

And then, silence.

Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that confirms your worst fear.

“No…” Buck breathes. His knees hit the floor beside her bed. “No, please—please don’t do this…”

The ICU nurse checks again. Calm, composed. Doing her job.

“Time of death?” the attending doctor says softly, eyes on the monitor, his voice muted through the ringing in Buck’s ears.

Buck grabs her hand. “No. No! You don’t get to say that! You don’t get to say that! She just moved — I felt her move! You said she was stable!”

The doctor’s face is soft with sympathy but firm with finality. He looks to the nurse and nods.

And then they leave.

They leave him in the room.

Alone.

With her body still and her hand still cooling in his.

The curtain falls back into place.

Outside, down the hall, Eddie stands, eyes locked on the closed doors. Chim’s sitting, head in hands. Hen hasn’t spoken in twenty minutes. Bobby paces like he’ll wear through the floor.

None of them go in.

Because Buck asked them not to.

He didn’t want anyone to see what he’d become.

⸻

Inside the Room

The wind wails outside. The room is dim, shadows crawling across the floor. Machines buzz faintly.

Buck is still on the floor, forehead pressed to her hand like he could breathe life back into her.

His body shakes. His whole chest convulses.

“I was supposed to come home,” he sobs. “You waited for me… You made dinner for me. You tried, and I couldn’t even text you back.”

His voice is a rasp now — hoarse and shredded, spoken into the dark.

“I was scared,” he whispers. “But not of you. Never of you. I was scared of how much I loved you. Scared I’d lose you if I let you see all the messy shit in my head.”

His thumb strokes over her knuckles.

“But I lost you anyway.”

He presses her hand to his lips, trembling.

“I never said it enough. I didn’t show it enough. I kept thinking there’d be time.”

His breath shudders.

“There was supposed to be more time.”

His voice collapses into a sob, and then another. Deep, aching, guttural. He presses his face into the bed, curls around her hand like a man begging God not to take the only thing keeping him alive.

“I can’t do this without you,” he whispers. “I don’t want to. You hear me? I don’t want to!”

Thunder rolls far off in the distance. The wind picks up. The curtain flutters like breath.

Then—

Something shifts.

Not big. Not loud.

But something.

Buck stills.

Very slowly… he lifts his head.

The monitor that had flatlined — that had drawn the line between life and loss — flickers.

A small sound. Beep.

Then another.

His eyes widen. He scrambles upright, hand flying to her wrist.

“C’mon. C’mon, please…”

The pulse is faint.

But it’s there.

“HEY! NURSE!” Buck bellows, nearly throwing the door open. “SHE’S BACK—SHE’S BACK—SHE HAS A PULSE!”

The nurse rushes in with a code team. The room erupts with motion again, but this time it’s not grief — it’s hope.

They check monitors. Shout orders. Hook her back to the machines.

And Buck is still right there. Hands trembling, tears still falling, eyes locked on her face.

“Come on, baby,” he whispers, voice cracking. “Come back to me. You’re almost here.”

She doesn’t open her eyes yet.

But the pulse grows stronger.

Her chest rises more fully with each breath the ventilator gives her.

And her hand?

That fingers-curled hand in his?

It twitches again.

This time, she doesn’t let go.

⸻

Just outside, in the waiting room—

Eddie looks up from where he’s sitting.

He hears Buck’s voice. Yelling.

But not in pain.

In hope.

Then the door bursts open.

Buck’s standing there, soaked in sweat and tears, breathless.

“She’s back,” he gasps. “She’s back.”

And then he’s on the floor again — but this time, Eddie catches him.

Buck falls into his arms like the weight of the world just slipped off his shoulders.

“She came back,” he chokes. “She came back to me.”

And this time, he lets himself cry.

Not for what he lost.

But for what he almost did.

———

One Week Later

The heart monitor beeps steady and slow.

The sky is a soft silver blue outside the window, the faint hum of early traffic drifting through the glass. Rain falls in a thin mist, clinging to the edge of the city like a secret it hasn’t told yet.

Buck hasn’t moved from the chair beside her bed. Not all night. Not since the monitor stopped flatlining and the room filled with the frantic sound of doctors bringing her back.

He’s barely breathed since.

She hasn’t stirred since they stabilized her again.

But now—

Now something shifts.

Her fingers twitch.

Just barely.

Then again.

Buck shoots up like a live wire, eyes wide. “Nurse—hey! Hey—she’s moving!”

The charge nurse is already at the monitor, eyes flying to the numbers. She glances down. Her voice is calm but clipped. “Get respiratory in here. She’s coming out of it.”

Another twitch. Her brows furrow. Her hand tugs weakly at the sheet.

She’s waking up.

“Y/N?” Buck’s voice is shaking. He stands over her now, leaning close, barely breathing. “Baby, you’re okay. You’re safe.”

Her eyes flutter. Her lashes twitch. A low, muffled sound escapes her throat — tight, gagging.

The nurse is already pulling gloves on. “She’s conscious and fighting the tube. We need to extubate—now.”

“Is she in pain?” Buck chokes.

“She’s panicking. Her body’s waking up faster than we planned for.”

Another breath catches in her throat — shallow, panicked.

You’re awake. Almost fully.

And there’s something in your throat you can’t breathe around. Something cold. Foreign. You gag. Panic coils up like fire. Your chest rises too fast. You try to reach, but your arms are heavy, like lead.

But then—

A hand wraps around yours.

Warm. Steady. Familiar.

“Hey, hey,” Buck’s voice breaks at the edges, cracking with both love and fear. “You’re okay, baby. You’re safe. They’re going to take it out, okay? Just hold on. I’m right here.”

You blink.

His face swims into view — blurry at first, but then crystal sharp.

His eyes are shining, wide with tears. His thumb strokes your knuckles.

“I’m right here,” he whispers again. “Don’t be scared.”

Respiratory therapy arrives, fast and focused. The nurse nods to Buck. “You can stay. Just stay to the side and don’t get in the way.”

He nods, gripping your hand tighter.

You gag again. You want it out.

The respiratory therapist leans in. “Y/N, I know it’s scary, but we’re going to take the tube out now. I need you to cough when I say. Do you understand?”

You blink once.

Then again.

Enough to say yes.

“Good girl,” Buck whispers.

The therapist gets in position. “Okay. On three. One… two… cough—”

You do.

You gag, heave—

And the tube slides out in one long, horrible pull.

You gasp.

Buck’s heart breaks in that moment, watching you struggle for that first clean, clear breath. The tears slip from his eyes and land in the sheets.

You cough, hard, your throat raw and burning. Your eyes flood. A nasal cannula is slipped into place, giving you oxygen. You suck in the air like it’s the first breath of your entire life.

And maybe it is.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” Buck soothes, brushing the hair back from your damp forehead. “You’re doing so good. I’m right here.”

You squeeze his hand so tight now. Desperate. Real.

The nurse steps back, eyes checking the vitals. “She’s stable. Off the vent. She’s going to be hoarse for a while, but she’s breathing on her own.”

Buck just nods, forehead against your hand.

You’re exhausted, but your eyes don’t leave his. And his — God, his — they don’t stop watching you like you’re the only star in the sky he’s ever wanted to find his way back to.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispers, lips trembling as he kisses the back of your hand. “I thought you were gone.”

You open your mouth, voice raw.

A croak.

He grabs the water before the nurse can even move. “Here—small sips, okay?”

You take a sip — it burns a little, but the water is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever tasted.

You blink. Tears slipping down your temple now. “You were here?”

“I never left,” Buck breathes. “Not for a second.”

You close your eyes.

The worst part is over.

You’re back.

And he’s here.

———

Your hand is trembling in his. Your throat is scorched raw, but your heart aches louder.

Buck sinks down into the chair, still gripping you like you might disappear again. His free hand presses against his lips for a second, like if he doesn’t hold it there, the emotion will pour out too fast.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so—God, I’m so sorry.”

Your lashes flutter, slow and wet, as you turn your head the tiniest bit toward him.

“I didn’t come home,” he says, voice cracking. “You cooked dinner, you waited for me, and I didn’t show up. I didn’t even tell you I took that shift. And then when you came to the station—when you dropped that food off—I just… I froze. I didn’t stop you.”

You try to speak again. Your voice catches.

“Water,” he murmurs, grabbing the cup again.

You sip. The plastic straw feels foreign, but the water is cool and kind. Your next breath is a little easier.

“Evan,” you rasp, throat like sandpaper.

His name on your tongue makes his head drop, shoulders folding in like you knocked the wind out of him.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” you say, barely audible.

“You didn’t scare me,” he says hoarsely. “You wrecked me.”

His eyes find yours again, red and wide.

“I thought you were dead. I thought I’d lost you because I didn’t come home. Because I was too much of a coward to tell you I was scared of being loved that hard.”

Your brows pull together, a tear sliding down your cheek.

He’s already reaching to wipe it away.

“You were trying to fix things,” he says, voice small. “And I made you walk away thinking I didn’t care. That I didn’t love you. And that—that’s the thing that’s been killing me every second since.”

You squeeze his fingers.

“I knew,” you whisper, broken but sure. “I knew you loved me.”

He shakes his head, one tear slipping down his cheek. “I didn’t show it. Not that night. Not the way you deserved.”

You manage another sip of water.

“You were scared,” you say gently. “I was too.”

Buck presses his forehead to the back of your hand again. You can feel his breath shaking.

“I should’ve answered you that morning,” he murmurs. “When you asked if I was still in it with you. I should’ve said yes. Because I am. I always was.”

Your hand finds the side of his face, weak but determined. He leans into it like he’s been waiting his whole life for your touch.

“Then say it now,” you whisper, voice cracking with everything inside you. “Say it like you mean it.”

He lifts his head slowly.

“I’m in this,” Buck says, like a vow. “With you. All the way. No more running. No more hiding. No more shutting you out.”

You nod, tears slipping freely down your cheeks now.

“I thought…” you breathe, “I wouldn’t get to see your face again.”

He shakes his head, cradling your hand against his heart.

“I would’ve traded mine for yours.”

Silence falls for a moment, but it’s not heavy anymore.

It’s full.

Full of the weight of survival. Of love. Of a second chance neither of you are going to waste.

“You came back to me,” Buck whispers.

“I always will,” you rasp.

His thumb brushes the side of your wrist, just over your pulse, and you both feel it — there. Steady. Alive.

[juliettejwnewinesa]

please make a fanfic on Kim geonwoo ( bloodhounds ) x fem reader smut because he was jealous of her talking with woojin

omg yesss ive been waiting for a bloodhounds request yayayayayay love you anon😘

Title: Jealous Hands Pairing: Kim Geon-woo x Fem!Reader ft woojin Setting: After a boxing match, gym locker room > his place Tags: Jealousy, possessive sex, rough but loving, slight angst, dirty talk, aftercare

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Y/N didn’t mean to rile him up.

She had just been laughing at something Woojin said—something stupid, something harmless. The two of them always bickered like siblings, friendly jabs and sarcastic remarks flying across the gym like usual. But today, Kim Geon-woo was watching. And today, it felt different.

From the moment you smiled at Woojin and playfully shoved his arm, Geon-woo’s jaw had been clenched. He was usually patient, composed even in a fight. But not today. Today, jealousy burned hot in his chest like the aftermath of a body shot. You’d touched Woojin. You’d laughed at his joke. And Geon-woo didn’t like sharing what was his—even if you didn’t know you were his yet.

He waited.

Waited until everyone left. Until Woojin tossed a towel over his shoulder and walked out. Until the locker room fell quiet, the only sound the echo of the shower still running.

Then he cornered you.

“Y/N.”

You turned around, startled. “Oh, hey—didn’t know you were still here.”

He didn’t answer. Just looked at you. Breathing deep. His shirt was off—fresh from training—and sweat clung to the sharp lines of his chest. His fists flexed at his sides.

“Why do you let him touch you like that?”

The question landed heavy. “What?”

“You laugh with him. Touch his arm. Smile like that.”

“Geon-woo, it’s not like that. Woojin’s just—”

“I know what he is. I know what you look like when you want attention.”

You blinked, heart thudding. “Excuse me?”

He stepped forward, close enough that you backed into the lockers behind you.

“I train every day. Bleed in the ring. For you. And you go give your pretty little smiles to him?”

His hand reached for your chin, gripping gently but firmly, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. The fire in them was something you’d never seen before. Raw. Wild.

“Say you didn’t mean it.”

“I didn’t—Geon-woo, I swear—”

He kissed you.

Rough. Desperate. His lips crashed into yours like a punch thrown too hard, all teeth and heat and tongue. You gasped into it, and he groaned—like he’d been starving and you were finally in his hands.

“You don’t get to smile at him like that,” he growled against your lips. “You smile at me. Only me.”

You nodded, breathless. Dizzy.

“I’ll remind you who you belong to.”

You didn’t make it out of the locker room.

Your back hit the cold bench, legs spread, and Geon-woo’s hands were already tugging your shorts down. His mouth found your neck, your chest, teeth grazing your skin like he wanted to mark every inch.

“Gonna fuck the thought of him out of you,” he muttered as his fingers slid between your thighs, already soaked. “This wet for me, huh?”

“Y-Yeah,” you whimpered, grabbing at his shoulders, nails raking down his back.

He groaned when he pushed two fingers in, curling them just right. “You don’t need him. You don’t need anyone but me.”

“Geon-woo, please—”

You didn’t even have to finish. He pulled his sweats down just enough to free himself and slammed into you with one powerful thrust, making you cry out. He fucked like he fought—hard, focused, determined to win.

Each snap of his hips was possessive, deep, and perfect. He held your wrists above your head, body caging yours in, eyes dark with want.

“You’re mine. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, hips arching to meet his every thrust. “Fuck, I’m yours, Geon-woo.”

“That’s right,” he hissed, lips brushing your ear. “No one else gets to touch you like this. No one else makes you cum like I do.”

You came around him fast and hard, trembling beneath him, breath catching in your throat. He didn’t stop. Not until he spilled inside you with a groan so deep it made your legs shake all over again.

Later, when the air was still and your body was sore in the best way, Geon-woo gathered you into his arms.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said softly, lips brushing your hair. “Just... hate seeing you with someone else.”

You smiled faintly against his chest. “You could’ve just told me you were jealous.”

He chuckled, pulling the blanket over both of you. “I figured showing you would work better.”

It did.

Oh, it definitely did.