#but now I really like it. I didn't even like it when testing it in the benchmark so this is surprising to me

[kannady]

ever, ever after

pairing: sylus x non-mc reader

summary: sylus didn't love you. how could he when she was around? but would he come look for you if you willingly step into EVER's boundaries?

word count: 3.8k

a/n: HOLY SHIT! i did not expect that many people to read the prev part and actually like it???? thank you so much to all you lovely people. seeing everyone excited for the next part just lit me on fire. hope you'll like this one. lemme know your thoughts!

read rest of the chapters here!

II

The mug shattered on the floor.

The sound was too loud in the silence of the lab, ceramic shards skittering across the frosted glass tiles. Coffee pooled dark and bitter, seeping into the panels. You stood there, frozen, fingers still curled around the ghost of the handle, your pulse a frantic drumbeat against your ribs.

Behind the observation window, Sylus didn’t move.

His crimson eyes stayed locked onto yours, unblinking, like a predator eyeing his prey. Even through the distortion of the reinforced glass, you could see the way his chest rose and fell. Too steady for a man strapped to a chair, electrodes burrowed into his skin, a veterinary-grade sedative no doubt pumping through his veins. His lips were parted just slightly, as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

"Dr. (Y/N)?"

Mara’s voice cut through the ringing in your ears. You hadn’t even noticed her approach, but now she was right beside you, her gloved hand hovering near your elbow like she wasn’t sure if you’d bolt or collapse.

"What happened?"

Your tongue felt too thick in your mouth. "It.. Um.. It was too hot," you murmured, the lie slipping out before you could stop it. "I dropped it."

Mara’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t press. Around you, the other researchers had paused in their work, some staring openly, others pretending not to notice the way your hands trembled as you bent to pick up the broken pieces.

"Leave it." A senior researcher, Dr. Voss, dismissed you with a flick of his clipboard. "I’ve called for someone."

A cleaner arrived within minutes, silent and efficient, sweeping up the evidence of your momentary lapse. You barely registered their presence. Your entire body was wound tight, every nerve was burdened with the weight of Sylus’s gaze.

Someone handed you fresh lab glasses, gloves, and the file. Thick, heavy, the words SUBJECT M-7 stamped across the front in bold black letters. You took it mechanically, flipping through the pages without really seeing them.

Evol Classification: Energy Manipulation (Class VIII, potentially IX). Containment Protocols: Electromagnetic shackles. Sedation drip. Two cranial failsafe implants.

Your stomach twisted. A cold chill slithered down your spine.

You tilted your head, just a fraction, just enough, and there he was. Still watching. Still waiting.

What the hell are you doing here?

The question screamed inside your skull, a frantic, looping mantra.

How did they catch you?

Sylus didn’t get caught. Sylus was the trap. Right?

Why are you here?

Your fingers tightened around the file, the edges digging into your palms. Was this a trick? A doppelgänger? Some sick game EVER was playing to test your loyalty?

But no. No, you knew those eyes. Knew the way they darkened when he was amused, knew the way they gleamed like fresh blood under sunlight. Knew the way they’d followed you, even when you thought you’d vanished completely.

He found you.

And now he was here, strapped to a chair in your lab, at your mercy, and the irony was so sharp it could have drawn blood.

You forced yourself to turn away, to focus on the vials in front of you. But your hands weren’t steady. The chemicals sloshed dangerously as you measured them out, your thoughts a hurricane of panic and disbelief.

Then Mara nudged you.

She leaned in, her voice a whisper against your ear. "Do you… know this guy or something?"

Your grip faltered. The vial slipped, just for a second, before you caught it, your breath hitching. "No," you said, too quickly. "Of course not. Why would you think that?"

Mara’s gaze flicked toward the window, then back to you. "I dunno. He keeps looking at you." A pause. "Like, only at you. He hasn’t looked anywhere else since you walked in."

Your heartbeat stuttered. You didn’t dare look again. But you could feel him.

The weight of his stare. The unspoken question in it. The accusation.

"Dr. (Y/N)?" Voss’s voice snapped you back. "We’re waiting on those samples."

You swallowed hard. "Right," you murmured. "Sorry."

But as you turned back to your work, your hands moving on autopilot, your mind was somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere with crimson eyes and a voice that still haunted your dreams.

Somewhere you’d sworn you’d never return.

And yet here he was.

***

The lab was silent now, the usual hum of machinery and murmured conversations long faded into the night. You sat alone, bathed in the sterile glow of your computer screen, fingers stiff from hours of typing reports you barely registered. When you finally looked up to stretch, your eyes immediately darted to the observation window, only to find it empty. The reinforced glass reflected back your own tired expression, the chair beyond it now vacant, restraints dangling uselessly from its arms. A cold shiver traced your spine as you realized he was gone.

Fumbling for the tablet, your fingers left smudges on the screen as you pulled up the subject logs. The blue text glared back at you: SUBJECT M-7: TRANSPORTED TO SECURE HOLDING. Scheduled for observations and procedures only. 

Your breath left you in a slow, unsteady exhale. Of course they wouldn't keep him here overnight. EVER wasn't foolish enough to leave a Class VIII Evol subject unattended in a standard lab. But the realization did nothing to ease the tightness in your chest.

A bitter laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it. 

What were you even doing? 

Two years. Two full years you'd spent building this new life, carving out a place where no one knew your past, where you could finally breathe without calculating every word and gesture. And yet, the moment those crimson eyes had locked onto yours through the glass, it was as if no time had passed at all. 

You were right back where you started. Heart racing, palms sweating, that familiar ache settling deep in your bones.

The worst part was the ridiculous, traitorous thought that had flashed through your mind when you first saw him. Did he come here for me? 

The idea was laughable now. Sylus didn't chase. Sylus didn't get captured. If he was here, it was because he wanted to be. Part of some elaborate scheme you were never meant to understand until it was too late. 

Unless…

Your fingers stilled on the keyboard as the alternative occurred to you. What if he hadn't come willingly? The thought sent an entirely different kind of chill through you. You knew what EVER did to high-value subjects. You'd seen the files, signed off on procedures that had kept you awake at night. If they had truly captured him…

Your gaze dropped to your phone lying beside the keyboard. Two years since you'd last heard their voices. Two years since you'd walked away without looking back. Did you even have the right to call them now? Would they answer? Would they care? Your thumb hovered over Luke's contact, the number you'd never deleted, no matter how many times you told yourself you were done with that life.

The call didn't connect. Just a robotic voice informing you the number was switched off. 

Kieran's was the same. The hollow ache in your chest expanded, though you couldn't say whether it was from relief or disappointment. This was stupid. Completely, utterly stupid. He was the reason you'd left. The reason you'd spent nights staring at the ceiling, wondering if you'd ever be more than just another asset in his carefully calculated world.

And yet here you were, ready to throw away everything you'd built. Your career, your safety, your hard-won peace, all because of one look from those damned crimson eyes. You shoved the phone into your pocket with more force than necessary, pushing back from the desk so abruptly your chair nearly toppled. 

No. You weren't doing this. You weren't that person anymore.

Except if this wasn't part of his plan. If he really was trapped here, at the mercy of the same organization you'd seen tear subjects apart molecule by molecule. Your fingers curled into fists, nails biting into your palms. Damn it. You were going to regret this. 

The phone felt heavy in your hand as you stood frozen on the sidewalk outside your apartment building, your thumb hovering over Luke's contact for what must have been the twentieth time that night. The wind bit through your thin lab coat as you pressed call again, listening to the hollow ringing that seemed to echo in your bones. Two rings. Then silence. Just like before. Just like every other attempt you'd made since leaving the lab. 

Kieran's number didn’t even connect. That infuriating automated voice informing you the number was unavailable, the robotic tone doing nothing to mask the panic rising in your chest.

You shoved the phone back into your pocket with trembling fingers, your breath fogging in the cold air as you finally turned toward your apartment building. The walk up the stairs felt endless, each step heavier than the last. Some foolish, traitorous part of you kept expecting to see him. To turn a corner and find Sylus leaning against your doorframe with that infuriating smirk, crimson eyes glinting in the dim hallway light as if this were all some elaborate game. The thought made your pulse stutter, equal parts dread and something else you refused to name twisting in your gut.

But of course, he wasn't there.

You'd seen him with your own eyes just hours earlier. Strapped to that chair in the lab, electrodes buried in his skin, his silver hair matted with sweat and blood near his temple. The image burned behind your eyelids every time you blinked. 

Yet when your key finally clicked in the lock, you still hesitated, the door creaking open far too slowly as you peered inside like some frightened child checking for monsters.

The apartment was exactly as you'd left it, your half-finished coffee still sitting cold on the counter, the blanket you'd used last night draped haphazardly over the arm of the couch. Normal. Safe. Empty.

The breath left your lungs in a rush as you stepped inside, kicking off your heels with more force than necessary, watching them skid across the hardwood. You collapsed onto the couch without bothering to turn on the lights, the dim glow from the streetlights outside casting long shadows across the ceiling. The silence pressed in around you, heavy and suffocating.

What the hell were you doing?

Your fingers twitched toward your phone again before you could stop yourself. There was no one else to call. No one trustworthy, no one who wouldn't ask questions you couldn't answer. The realization settled like a stone in your stomach. Where were they? Luke and Kieran never turned their phones off. Never. Not unless something was very, very wrong.

The thought followed you into bed, clinging like a second skin as you tossed and turned beneath the sheets. When sleep finally came, it was fitful and haunted. Flashes of a too-familiar mansion, the scent of gun oil and expensive bourbon, the sound of her laughter ringing through the halls like wind chimes. 

***

You woke with a gasp, your body drenched in cold sweat, the digital clock on your bedside table blinking 4:47 AM in harsh red numbers.

For one disorienting moment, you didn't know where you were. The dream still clung to you, the weight of his gaze making your skin prickle even now. You fumbled for your phone with numb fingers, your heart hammering against your ribs as you checked for missed calls. 

Nothing. No messages. No signs that either of them had even seen your attempts to reach them.

The shower was ice-cold, the water biting at your skin until it was numb. You scrubbed at your arms until they were pink, as if you could wash away the memories, the doubt, the creeping sense that nothing had really changed at all. That no matter how far you ran or how well you hid, you were still tangled in the same web.

The morning passed in a blur of too-strong coffee and mechanical movements, brushing your teeth, pulling your hair back into a ponytail, buttoning your lab coat with fingers that refused to steady. Before you knew it, you were standing outside the lab doors, your hand frozen halfway to the access panel.

You didn't want to go in. Didn't want to see him again. Didn't want to know what they were doing to him. But the weight of your keycard in your pocket reminded you that you had no choice.

"Dr. (Y/N), authorization code Rose-9-White," you murmured, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears.

The locks disengaged with a hiss that seemed far too loud in the empty hallway. You stepped inside, your eyes immediately darting to the observation window before you could stop yourself, only to find it empty again. The chair stood vacant, the restraints hanging loose. Your stomach twisted.

Mara glanced up from her workstation, blinking at you over the rim of her glasses. "Oh, you didn't check the morning logs?" she asked, her fingers never pausing as they flew across her keyboard.

You forced your hands to stay still at your sides. "No. What happened?"

"We finished the preliminary assessments last night," she said, turning back to her screen. A few quick taps pulled up a file labeled SUBJECT M-7: PHASE TWO. "Today we're administering the first round of the Evol-transfer serum. We'll be monitoring his vitals closely, but we've got a stabilized backup dose prepped in case his system rejects it."

Your stomach dropped like a stone.

The words Evol-transfer serum echoed in your skull, each syllable sharper than the last. You knew exactly what that meant, you had helped design the protocols yourself. The process wasn't just painful, it was excruciating. Like having your very soul ripped out piece by piece. And if his body fought it? If the serum destabilized?

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms hard enough to leave crescent-shaped scars. The sterile air of the lab suddenly felt too thick, too warm, your lab coat constricting around your shoulders like a straitjacket. What had you gotten yourself into? More importantly, what had you allowed them to do to him?

What if you were standing on the wrong side of the glass this time?

 The thought made you sicker than anything EVER could have dreamed up in their labs.

The sterile hum of the lab equipment filled your ears as you mechanically sorted through data files, your fingers moving across the holographic display with practiced efficiency despite the storm raging inside your chest. Thirty minutes had passed since Mara's revelation about the serum, thirty minutes of forcing yourself to focus on anything but the empty observation chamber and what was coming. 

Then the doors hissed open, and your entire world narrowed to the sound of rolling wheels and the sharp, rhythmic beep of a heart monitor.

They brought him in, still strapped to that damned chair, his arms secured with reinforced electromagnetic cuffs, the electrodes embedded in his skin now surrounded by dried blood from yesterday's tests. 

The medical team moved with clinical precision, adjusting IV lines and checking readouts, but you barely registered them. Your breath caught painfully in your throat as your pulse skyrocketed, the sudden rush of blood in your ears nearly drowning out all other sound. It felt like your heart might actually tear through your ribcage.

And then he looked up.

Those crimson eyes found yours instantly, as if he'd known exactly where you'd be standing. But unlike yesterday's hollow stare, today his lips curved into that infuriating, knowing smile. The same smug smirk that had haunted your dreams for two years, the one that said he'd already calculated every possible outcome and yours wasn't the winning move. 

Your fingers spasmed around the tablet you were holding, the screen cracking slightly under the pressure before you forcibly turned away, shoulders rigid as you pretended to study a meaningless data stream.

Wait, no. The realization hit you like a bucket of ice water. This was your lab. Your workplace. Your life that you'd built painstakingly over two years of early mornings and late nights, of proving yourself again and again. 

He didn't get to waltz in here and ruin everything with one damn look. Squaring your shoulders, you inhaled deeply through your nose, the sharp scent of antiseptic helping ground you as you turned back to your workstation with renewed determination.

The next hour passed in a blur of hyper-focused activity. You moved between stations with uncharacteristic efficiency, running calculations faster than the system could typically process them, catching errors in the serum compound ratios that had slipped past three other researchers. Even Dr. Voss, the senior researcher whose narcissistic tendencies made him universally avoided, paused by your station with something resembling approval in his cold gaze. "Impressive work today, Dr. (Y/N)," he remarked, the rare praise making several nearby heads turn. "Your focus is... exceptional."

You barely registered the compliment, your entire being focused on the presence thirty feet away behind the observation glass. Every nerve in your body was aware of him, of the way his breathing changed minutely when someone approached with a new instrument, of the faint tension in his jawline that no one else would notice. You'd spent too many years studying those microexpressions, learning to read what he'd never say aloud.

"Alright," Voss's voice snapped you back to the present. "Now go and get the serum prepared. We'll begin phase one administration in five minutes."

The words sent a jolt of ice down your spine. Your feet carried you to the refrigeration unit on autopilot, your hands moving to retrieve the small vial of glowing blue liquid that represented months of your team's work. The serum felt unnaturally cold through your gloves, its faint luminescence pulsing almost like a living thing. You stood frozen for several heartbeats, staring at the vial as conflicting impulses warred in your chest.

Voss had to physically step into your line of sight before you reacted, his impatient "Well?" making you startle. When you still didn't move, he strode forward and practically snatched the serum from your grip, his sharp features twisting in displeasure. "Unusual hesitation from you today," he remarked coolly before turning away.

But you weren't looking at Voss. Your gaze had snapped back to the observation window, to the man strapped in that chair. And for just a fraction of a second, so brief you might have imagined it, you could have sworn something flickered across Sylus's face. Not anger. Not pain. But disappointment? 

The possibility sent an entirely different kind of ache through your chest, one you refused to examine too closely.

As the medical team prepared to administer the serum, you forced yourself to turn back to your workstation, your fingers flying across the controls to pull up his vital signs on your private screen. Every beep of the heart monitor, every fluctuation in brain activity would be recorded here. You told yourself it was professional curiosity. That you were simply monitoring a high-risk procedure. But when the first drops of serum entered his IV line and his body arched against the restraints with a silent scream, your nails dug into your palms hard enough to draw blood. 

And when his eyes, those damned crimson eyes, found yours through the glass once more, blazing with pain and something dangerously close to betrayal, you realized with dawning horror that you might have just made the biggest mistake of your life.

The serum's effects were worse than you'd imagined.

Each scream that tore from Sylus's throat felt like a blade twisting between your ribs. You'd never seen him like this, never heard him make a sound of pain, let alone this raw, ragged agony. His body strained against the restraints, muscles corded tight, veins standing out in beneath sweat-slicked skin. 

The monitors screamed alongside him, his heart rate spiking dangerously high as the serum worked its way through his system, attacking his Evol at the cellular level.

You stood frozen at your workstation, fingers clenched around the edge of the desk so hard your knuckles turned white. Every instinct in your body screamed at you to do something, to stop this, to rip the IV from his arm, to fix what you'd helped create. 

But you couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't tear your eyes away from the way his head finally dropped forward, his body going limp as the worst of the pain subsided into shuddering tremors.

That serum was designed to rip it out of him entirely, to transfer it to someone else. And by the time the process was complete, he'd be dead. 

Your stomach lurched. You'd known this. You'd helped develop this. But seeing it happen to him…

Your vision blurred.

Around you, the lab continued as if nothing were wrong. Researchers murmured notes to each other, adjusting dials, recording data. No one else seemed to hear the way his breath came in short, pained gasps. No one else flinched when his fingers twitched against the restraints like he was still trying to fight.

This couldn't be happening.

Sylus didn't lose. Sylus didn't scream.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look back at your screen, at the readings that confirmed what you already knew. His Evol levels were dropping. Fast.

A few hours later, the lab emptied for lunch.

Mara lingered by your station, nudging your shoulder. "Come on, let's go. You've been staring at that screen for ages."

You shook your head, not trusting your voice. "You go. I need to finish this report. I'll catch up in a minute." She hesitated, then shrugged. "Suit yourself. But if you take too long, I'm eating your share of the dumplings."

The second the door hissed shut behind her, your head snapped up. The lab was empty. Almost.

Your gaze darted to the security camera in the corner, its red light blinking steadily. You should have cared. Should have hesitated. But right now, you didn't give a damn.

"Fuck it," you muttered under your breath. You'd come up with a lie later.

In three quick strides, you were at the observation window. Sylus was slumped forward, his head hanging low, silver hair obscuring his face. You couldn't tell if he was unconscious.

You pressed your palm against the glass.

"Sylus."

No response.

Your chest tightened. You tapped the glass sharply, once, twice.

"Sylus, look at me."

For a heartbeat, nothing.

Then, slowly, agonizingly, he lifted his head.

His crimson eyes were duller than you'd ever seen them, his pupils blown wide with pain, but they locked onto yours with terrifying focus.

And then, he smirked.

That damn, infuriating smirk, even now. Even like this.

Your breath left you in a rush.

"You idiot," you hissed, your voice barely above a whisper. "What the hell are you doing here?"

His lips parted like he might answer. But then the lab door hissed open behind you.

You whirled around.

Dr. Voss stood in the doorway, his cold eyes flicking from you to Sylus and back again.

"Dr. (Y/N)," he said slowly. "Care to explain why you're talking to the subject?"

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[mafiadad5]

Teach me to not love || L. HC (part 1)

𐙚 fuckboy!haechan x fem!reader (ft. best friend jaemin)

Part 1 | Part 2 (coming June 30th) | Part 3 (coming soon)

𐙚 synopsis- Jaemin’s out for revenge after Haechan slept with the girl he liked. You’re just supposed to be a distraction, something pretty to keep Haechan’s mind off of what Jaemin was doing. He’s cute, addictive— you should stay away… you really should, but when he touches you like that how are you supposed to remember what’s right?

𐙚 genre- college au, smut/ porn with plot (MDNI 18+), angst, slight fluff.

𐙚 warnings- drug use, alcohol use, sex under the influence, lost of virginity, protected sex, oral (fem receiving), marking, praising, sorta rough sex, arguing, slight sexual Jaemin moment, mention of death.

𐙚 W/c- 14k

Now playing- House of balloons/ Glass table girls- The Weeknd

a/n- hi guys! I really wanted to post this all in one part, but tumblr had other plans loll. I’ve poured months (and a few breakdowns T.T) into this, so I really hope you enjoy it! let me know if you want to be tagged in the next part, and I’d love to hear what you think <3

══════════════════════════

It was a typical Thursday night—  your desk lamp casted a soft glow over your notes as you flipped through flashcards for your biology test. You were focused, head down as you muttered terms under your breath, determined to cram as much into your brain as humanly possible before crashing, then came the voice.

"Oh, Y/n!!!"

Your door flew open with no hesitation. You didn't even have time to respond before Jaemin strolled in like he owned the place, grinning from ear to ear.

"What the fuck." You muttered under your breath, barely looking up as he waltzed in and flopped himself onto your bed. 

"Jaemin, what are you doing here— how did you even get in?" You asked, spinning in your chair with a look of disapproval stretched across your face.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Your hot roommate let me in."

You raised a brow. "The one who has a crush on you?"

"The one I may fuck." He said with a grin as he stretched out, hands behind his head, settling in like he had no plans of leaving anytime soon.

"Ok, yuck. Didn't you literally fuck the other one?" You said flatly, turning back to your desk, scooping up your stack of color coded flashcards with a sigh. "Seriously though, what are you doing here? I told you I'm locking in tonight."

"You lock in every night." He said, dragging out a dramatic sigh.

"And that's why our intelligence levels are not in the same bracket." You joked, a small smirk appearing on your lips, even though your eyes stayed focused on the pile in front of you.

"So you don't love me, I guess?" He asked, his voice tilting into that overly dramatic tone you knew too well.

"Exactly." You said, spinning around to face him again.

"Wow... so cold. After ten years of friendship, this is how I'm treated? Unrequited love, what a tragedy." He said, clutching his chest, face twisted in fake agony.

"I love you, Jaemin. I've loved you since we were nine. You're my best friend ever. There, happy now?" You said deadpan, raising an eyebrow.

He froze for a second, then grinned slowly. "Wow... so you really love me? Like, really love me? You'd do anything for me, because you're so in love with me, right?"

You narrowed your eyes immediately. You knew that tone, it was the 'I need something' voice.

"What do you want Jaemin?" You sighed, already regretting humoring him.

"Ugh, you know me too well. Ok, hear me out." He said sitting up now, a bright smile spreading across his face. "I need a favor. A small one— tiny really."

You crossed your arms. "What kind of favor?"

"I need you to come to a party with me tomorrow night."

You blinked. "A party? Jaemin, you know I don't do parties. Especially not when I have class the next day."

"You have class at noon on Fridays." He countered quickly. "You'll be fine."

You gave him a long, skeptical look. "So all I have to do is... go to a party with you? That's it?"

He opened his mouth and hesitated.

You instantly leaned back. "Nope... nope, you're already pushing it. What's the real reason?"

"Wait! Just... let me explain, please." He clapped his hands together in a prayer gesture.

You sighed. "Ok fine. I'm listening, speak."

He sat up straighter, his grin faltering just a bit. "There's this guy, Haechan. I'm really fucking pissed at him."

You tilted your head. "Why?"

"He slept with the girl I really liked. Like, genuinely liked, not just thought was hot liked."

"Oof, I'm sorry." You said. "And... what does that have to do with me?"

He looked at you, dead serious now. "I want revenge."

You squinted. "What kind of revenge?"

"I want you to distract him. Just talk to him, keep him downstairs at the party, keep him busy, while I... you know."

"Jaemin." You said slowly. "Distract him from what?"

He hesitated for only a second, then smiled. "From me."

Your eyes narrowed. "If you're doing anything illegal, I'm out."

"I'm trying to fuck his sister."

There was a full beat of silence as your mouth dropped open, eyes wide.

"You what— seriously?" You said, disbelief and a reluctant laugh bubbling up all at once.

"She's hot!" He defended, already laughing. "And it's perfect, he'll lose his shit when he finds out."

"You couldn't just... I don't know, hook up with a girl he likes or something? Call it even?" You asked, raising a brow.

"Yeah well, Haechan doesn't like girls." Jaemin said casually.

You blinked, your brows furrowing slightly. "...hmm?"

He held up a finger with a small smile. "Not like that, don't look at me like that."

You leaned back, smirking. "Mmm, sure."

"What I mean is, he doesn't have feelings for anyone. Not girls, not really anyone. He just uses people— gets what he wants, then tosses them aside. He's emotionally detached. Kind of fucked up, honestly."

You frowned slightly. "You're just being dramatic."

"He's dramatic!" Jaemin shot back. "The man throws house parties on Thursdays for no reason. He once invited a girl over, got head, and then called her a uber while she was still on her knees."

Your eyes widened slightly. "Damn, he sounds like a real asshole. How does someone like that have this big of a name already?"

"He's a senior." Jaemin said with a roll of his eyes. "But all he does is throw parties, drink, and do drugs. He's a loser honestly."

You exhaled. "So... all I have to do is distract him— nothing else?"

"That's it. Just talk to him, keep him downstairs for like twenty minutes. If he tries anything, call me and I'll come get you. Promise."

You bit your lip, thinking. "Ok Fine, but only this once."

"YES! Oh my god, I love you so much, you're actually the best." Jaemin said, beaming at you.

"Yeah, yeah. Now you owe me, pick up those flashcards." You said, tossing the stack into his lap as you turned back to your desk.

He caught them and gave a smile. "Delighted, my queen."

You just rolled your eyes, but your smile lingered as you reached for your pen.

══════════════════════════

You finished the final touches on your hair, giving yourself one last glance in the mirror before grabbing your phone. Right on cue, Jaemin's name lit up the screen with a text:

Jaemin [11:47 PM]:

"I'm outside."

Stepping outside, you spotted him leaning against his car, arms crossed and a grin already spreading across his face as he saw you approach.

"Damn." He said, letting his gaze travel from head to toe with an exaggerated nod of approval. "You look sexy."

"Thank you, Jaemin." You replied smoothly, brushing past him with a hint of sarcasm in your voice.

He opened the passenger side door for you, but paused before you could step in. "I mean... we don't have to go right now, you know. We could go upstairs instead— chill a little, you and me... one on one." He tilted his head, giving you the same smirk he always uses when he's up to no good.

You raised your hand and snapped your fingers right in front of his face. "Focus."

"I am focused." He said, blinking slowly. "Just... not on the party anymore."

"Seriously." You said, sliding him a look as you walked to the car. "Is it your life's mission to try and sleep with every girl you meet?"

"Not every girl." He replied, shrugging as he followed behind. "Only the special ones."

You raised a brow. "And what would your mother think of you throwing yourself at someone who's practically your sister?"

"Ew, don't say it like that." He scowled, visibly shuddering. "That ruined it for me, thanks."

"Good." You smirked, climbing into the car.

He got in on the driver's side and started the engine, throwing you a side glance. "You're lucky I love you, anyone else and I'd have driven off by now in heartbreak."

"Right, so tragic." You said with fake sympathy, adjusting your seatbelt. 

Jaemin chuckled, turning up the music just enough to fill the space between you. The drive was short, maybe ten minutes at most, but the energy shifted just slightly as the neon lights of the house party came into view down the street.

He slowed the car and looked over at you. "Hey... real talk for a second."

You turned toward him, a little wary. "What?"

"I know I joke a lot." He said, eyes flicking over your face, a little more serious now. "But I'm not gonna throw you into the deep end or anything. If this gets weird or Haechan gets weird, just call me and I'll come get you, no questions."

You blinked, surprised by the softness in his voice. "Jaemin..."

"And if you wanna bail at any point." He added. "Just say the word."

A small smile appeared on your lips. "Thanks. I mean it's just a distraction mission, right? I think I can handle that."

He nodded, but his gaze lingered on you. "I know you can. You're... careful, thoughtful— like you think ahead."

You gave a dry laugh. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It's not." He said. "Just means I won't have to worry about you doing something stupid."

Your eyes narrowed slightly. "What are you trying to say?"

He hesitated, then said it gently: "I remember that conversation we had last year. About how you were still, you know... saving yourself."

Your cheeks flushed instantly. "Wow, really bringing that up right now?"

"I'm not judging." He said quickly. "I actually think it's cool. You're not like the rest of them, that's why I care if you're ok."

You looked out the window, the beat of the music fading under the weight of his words. "Thanks, I guess."

Jaemin parked across the street, cutting the engine. "I know I'm an asshole sometimes, but I wouldn't bring you into this if I didn't trust you."

You exhaled slowly, then met his eyes. "Ok, let's do this."

"Hell yeah." He grinned, hopping out and circling around to open your door once more.

You stepped into the house, instantly hit by the loud bass of the music and the scent of weed, alcohol, and too much cologne. Bodies swayed under strobe lights, some grinding against each other, others already too far gone to care how they looked. Jaemin kept a casual, but protective hand on your lower back as he guided you through the crowd, eyes scanning the room like he was on a mission.

"That's him." He muttered, leaning down so only you could hear. He nodded subtly toward the kitchen.

Your gaze followed and landed on a guy behind the counter, restocking a row of liquor bottles.

You paused, he was... hotter than expected.

Black hair, tan skin, a body that made a plain black tee and jeans look like he was born for it. His movements were effortless, confident. His smile, charming. There was something in the way he looked people in the eye when talking, like they were the only person in the room. Your lips parted slightly as you took him in, eyes dragging over the way his shirt clung to his waist, the veins on his forearm flexing as he adjusted a bottle.

"Oh no." Jaemin teased, pulling you out of your trance. "Are we losing you already?"

"No." You said too quickly, blinking yourself back into reality. "No, just observing."

"Mmhmm." Jaemin smirked. "Well, he's your target babe. You've got all night."

"Lucky me." You muttered half sarcastically, but then he grabbed your arm gently.

"You sure?"

You turned toward him. "Yeah, are you?"

He nodded, though a flicker of something uncertain passed over his face. "Just, wait." He reached into his pocket and held something out, a condom.

"Jaemin—"

"Just in case." He said, tone serious now. "Even if he insists, don't let him talk you into going raw, I mean it."

You rolled your eyes, but smiled. "I'm not gonna do anything, relax."

"I know you won't, Y/n." He said, softer now. "But he'll try and sometimes the heat of the moment sneaks up on you. So just... have it, please."

You took it with a small nod and shoved it into your back pocket.

"Good luck with your girl." You said.

"Good luck with your guy. If you need me, call me."

And with that, you were on your own.

You straightened your shoulders, pulled your confidence up, and walked toward the kitchen— eyes locked on him the whole time. He didn't notice you at first, too busy rearranging cups and pouring mixers, but when he turned, his gaze landed on you like a spark.

"You look a little bored over here all alone." You said, voice smooth.

He looked you over slowly, thoroughly. "I am, are you gonna do something about that?"

"Maybe." You smiled, tilting your head. "But are you really worth my time?"

He grinned, a cocky thing that only made him more irresistible. "Maybe."

You watched as he accidentally slammed a bottle of tequila a little too hard on the counter, too distracted by your presence.

"I don't know..." You said, stepping closer. "You can't even handle a bottle. What makes you think you can handle me?"

He leaned a little closer, voice dropping. "I can— when I'm drinking."

"That doesn't sound very fun." You teased, watching the way his eyes flickered down to your lips.

"It is fun." He said. "Especially with a pretty girl like you."

Your hand slid over his on the counter, fingers brushing against his skin as you lifted the bottle from under his touch. "Then why aren't we drinking?"

He paused for a second, watching you intently. "Why aren't we?"

"You're still hogging the bottle." You murmured.

For a moment, you were locked in a wordless gaze, one of those silences that say more than anything spoken. You held it, tested him with your eyes.

"Are you just gonna stare." You finally said. "Or are you gonna pour me a shot?"

He smiled and grabbed two glasses, pouring quickly.

"What are we cheering to?" He asked.

You smirked. "To wherever this night takes us."

He clinked his glass to yours. "Dangerous words."

You both downed the shots, the tequila burning its way down your throat. You didn't even shudder.

"Wow." He said, licking his lips. "You took that like a champ."

"I can take a lot." You replied, wiping the corner of your mouth and not looking away once.

"That so? He said, exhaling slowly, pausing for a second. "Then take another with me."

"Don't you wanna wait?" You asked, your voice hinting a bit of concern. 

"I thought you said you could take it." He challenged.

"Are you calling me a liar?" You raised a brow.

"Yeah." He shrugged. "I guess I am."

You grabbed your glass, poured another, and tossed it back without blinking, and he followed right after. That turned into a third, then a fourth.

By now, your skin was buzzing, cheeks flushed with heat. The line between performance and reality blurred fast.

You talked about nothing— music, parties, stupid shit, other people you both barely knew, but everything had a spark to it. The way his gaze lingered when you laughed, the way his hand brushed your waist when reaching for more cups, the subtle way your knees touched.

"You dance?" He asked, stepping just slightly closer.

"Depends who's asking."

He gave that dangerous smile again. "You know who's asking."

You glanced at your phone, and still no text from Jaemin. Thirty minutes of flirtation— of temptation. You looked back up at Haechan, something electric passing between you.

You smirked. "Let's dance then."

The music pulsed around you as he led you out of the kitchen and into the crowd. The beat was dark, seductive, and you let yourself move to it, swaying your hips, letting the rhythm take you. His hands found your waist. You didn't stop him. His body pressed behind yours, chest to back, his lips brushing close to your ear every time he said something teasing.

His hand slid lower and you turned to face him, now chest to chest, bodies moving in sync.

He leaned in close, mouth brushing your ear. "You wanna go upstairs?"

You paused, swallowing hard. "Mmm... I don't know..."

He pulled back just enough to see your eyes. "Why not?"

"I don't want you to think I'm some kind of whore or something." You admitted, voice quieter now.

He blinked, then tilted his head, gaze softening just slightly. "Then let's not go upstairs."

You blinked at him, not responding.

He leaned closer again, voice husky. "Come here."

Before you could respond, he took your hand and led you down a dim hallway off the side of the living room, the noise of the party muffled behind you. It was quiet here, secluded . You were suddenly aware of how your pulse picked up.

He pushed you against the wall, hands bracing both sides of your head.

"This okay?" He asked.

You nodded slowly, heart racing and then his lips were on yours.

It was hot, insistent. His mouth moved like he already knew how you liked to be kissed— like you were meant to be tasted slowly, like his hands couldn't decide whether to cup your cheek or grip your hip tighter.

He pressed closer, lips trailing down your neck, his hand tugging lightly at the hem of your shirt. You gasped, your body reacting faster than your brain could catch up.

And then your phone buzzed, twice.

You broke the kiss breathless, and fished it from your back pocket. Jaemin.

"Clear. Let's go."

You looked up at Haechan, his lips kiss bitten.

"Aw, I gotta go." You said softly, smiling while biting your lip.

He blinked, still catching his breath. "Seriously?"

You said nothing, just shrugged.

He smirked, eyes glinting. "You leaving now makes me want you more."

You backed away slowly, keeping eye contact as you fixed your shirt. "Good."

You turned, leaving him in the hallway, the taste of tequila still tingling on your lips. 

You met Jaemin at the front door just as he was coming down the porch steps, his hair slightly tousled, lips flushed, and a dazed kind of grin stretching across his face. His shirt was wrinkled, and he looked like he'd just barely remembered how to walk straight.

You raised an eyebrow, smoothing your own hair out with your fingers. "What took you so long?"

He laughed, wiping his mouth like he was still catching his breath. "Got caught up in the moment."

You rolled your eyes as you both started walking down the sidewalk, leaving the pulse of the party behind you.

"I've never seen you this messed up in person." He said, glancing at you. 

You just shrugged, before turning to him. "How was your night?"

"Fucking amazing." He said, letting out a blissed sigh. "She was... yeah, worth it."

You smirked. "I'm happy for you. Sounds like you had fun." 

He turned to look at you, a little more alert now. "What about you? How'd it go?"

You shrugged with a soft smile, brushing your fingers against your lips almost unconsciously. "It was... fun. He's fun and hot— too hot, honestly."

Jaemin groaned dramatically, dragging his hand down his face. "Oh god, please don't tell me you slept with him."

You gave him a shove. "No, chill. He tried like you said he would, but I didn't. We just made out."

Jaemin gasped. "Y/n, you definitely have like, mono now."

You laughed, shoving him again. "He's not that bad."

"He's that bad." Jaemin said, shooting you a look. "How was he looking at you? It was probably like he was deciding how to ruin your life in the hottest way possible."

You gave a dreamy little sigh. "Yeah... I noticed."

Jaemin gasped. "Oh my god, you're into him."

"No I'm not." You tucked your hands into your jacket pocket, smiling to yourself. "He's just... magnetic. Like, he knows exactly what to say and exactly how to look at you when he says it."

"Uh huh, that's called manipulation." Jaemin said.

"I mean, maybe." You admitted. "But he was also weirdly... sweet? Like, he actually listened to me talk and he didn't push when I said no."

Jaemin raised a skeptical brow. "Ok, maybe a half point for consent, but let's not pretend this is some romance. You got lucky. I've seen girls fall for his type before, and they don't come out looking as cute as you do right now."

You gave a laugh. "I don't think I'm going back anyway. Not my scene."

"Good." Jaemin said with a little relief in his voice. "Because he's probably not gonna let you step foot at another party anyways because you rejected him. That boy's ego is fragile."

You tilted your head thoughtfully. "Well, if I never plan on going back, it doesn't matter what he thinks of me."

Jaemin grinned. "And that's why I love you."

You rolled your eyes but smiled back. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

He reached over and draped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into a sideways hug as you walked. "Seriously, thank you. You saved my ass tonight."

"I know I did." You grinned, letting yourself lean into him for a second. "You owe me, like, five coffees and a weekend of doing whatever I want."

"Done." He said immediately. "As long as 'whatever you want' doesn't include throwing yourself at Haechan again."

You laughed. "He threw himself at me, thank you very much."

"Right, right." He said, laughing. "Just remember who's actually got your back when you get those 'u up?' texts at 2 AM."

You gave a smile, already hearing the echo of Haechan's voice in your head, the taste of tequila and heat still lingering on your lips.

"I won't forget." 

══════════════════════════

It had been about a week since the party, and life had mostly returned to normal. School, studying, sleep, repeat. But he kept showing up uninvited in the quiet moments between thoughts. The memory of his voice, the glint in his eyes, the way his hands felt when they slid around your waist like he'd done it a hundred times before. You hated how he stuck in your head.

Still, it was whatever. You weren't going to do anything about it. You had your routine, and it didn't include making out with cocky boys in back hallways at house parties.

You'd just wrapped up another cram session for your Thursday Bio test—highlighted notes and color coded flashcards spread across your desk, when you heard it. A familiar, echoing voice in the hallway.

"Y/n!"

You didn't even look up. "You never knock."

Jaemin burst into your room like he owned the place, arms wide, his signature grin already plastered on his face. "My beautiful Y/n, I have arrived."

You leaned back in your desk chair, crossing your arms. "I can see that."

He walked over to hug you, and you let him, even though you were still recovering from the mental strain of studying.

"You know." You mumbled as he pulled back. "One day you're going to bust in here and catch me changing or worse, touching myself."

"Even more reason to keep doing it." He smiled.

You rolled your eyes. "You're actually such a creep."

"Yeah, yeah." He laughed it off, but then paused. His smile lingered familiarly, but you saw the hesitation flicker in his eyes.

You squinted. "What do you want, Jaemin?"

He gasped dramatically. "Y/n! I'm hurt, you think I only come here when I need something?"

You gave him a look, one he couldn't argue with.

"Ok, fine." He said. "But in my defense, we help each other equally."

"You mean I help you and you buy me coffee once a month?"

"Exactly." He grinned.

You sighed. "What is it this time?"

Jaemin scratched the back of his neck. "So, remember how you said you wouldn't go back to the party again?"

You blinked slowly. "Yeah..."

"Well, technically I'm not asking you to go for you. I'm asking on behalf of... well, her. His sister, she invited me again, practically begged— and I think we both know how that's gonna go."

He glanced at you cautiously.

"And you want me to keep Haechan busy again." You finished for him, leaning back in your chair.

"Look, I wouldn't need you to, but it'd be... really helpful." He said carefully. "I just need him not in the way, just for a little while."

Your brain flickered back to Haechan. His smirk, the way he made you feel both seen and exposed. The way he leaned in like he already knew what you'd do next. You told yourself you were over it, just a one time heat of the moment thing. But even now, something twisted in your stomach at the thought of seeing him again.

"Listen, I know you said you're not—"

"I'm down." You said, the words escaping before your brain caught up.

Jaemin blinked. "Wait, seriously?"

You cleared your throat. "Yeah, sure. You need me, right?"

His eyes narrowed. "Wow you really like this guy."

You rolled your eyes. "I'm just looking out for a friend."

Jaemin crossed his arms, fake pouting. "I don't know, I'm reconsidering this whole plan now. First he gets the girl I liked, now it's my best friend? I might need to keep you on lockdown."

You smirked. "Maybe that was my plan all along, you should just stay in."

"Nope." He said, pointing at you. "We're going, but this is the last time, I swear. And for real, don't do anything with him. Now I'm actually worried."

You held up your hands in surrender. "It's my job to distract, that's what I'm gonna do."

"I don't know if I trust you with that anymore." He shook his head, even though he smiled.

"You should." You said quietly.

He paused. "I'm teasing." He said after a minute. "I do. I guess."

You just smiled, the kind that said you already made your decision.

The house was louder this time. Packed tighter, music thumping harder, the kind of base that made your bones vibrate. You stood with Jaemin for a moment, eyes scanning the crowd.

You told yourself this was just a favor, a distraction like last time.

But as soon as you saw him— Haechan, leaning casually against the kitchen counter, sipping something from a red cup with that lazy grin on his face, all of that logic began to melt.

He looked even better than you remembered. Black hoodie, chain peeking from under the collar, dark hair slightly damp.

He spotted you instantly, his smirk curling as he straightened up.

You glanced over at Jaemin. "You owe me."

"I owe you my life." He said, already making a beeline toward the stairs. And just like that, you were alone, again... with him.

Haechan pushed off the counter and met you halfway.

"Well, well." He said, voice low. "Look who came back for seconds."

You tilted your head. "Maybe I'm just here for the drinks."

His eyes scanned you, slow and deliberate. "You look like trouble tonight."

You stepped in, closing the gap just enough to be suggestive. "You think I wasn't trouble last time?"

He laughed, licking his lips. "No, last time you were temptation. Tonight? I don't think I'll be able to behave."

You let yourself smile just a little.

"Try to." You said, smirking as you hit Haechan's shoulder, weaving through the crowd and heading straight to the kitchen. The music thumped through the walls, as you grabbed a bottle of tequila from off the counter.

"You're already hurting my feelings." Haechan said from behind you, his voice dipping just enough to graze your nerves in that playful, confident way.

"How's that?" You asked turning, only for him to close the gap between you. His arms casually caging you against the counter, hands resting just close enough to your hips.

"Drinking without me." He said, smoothly taking the bottle from your hand like it belonged to him.

You tilted your head. "I'm sorry, who are you again?"

"You should know. It's my party, after all." He replied, that teasing grin never leaving his face as he leaned in just enough to test the space between you.

"You're cocky." You gave him a playful shove, but didn't move far.

"I'm Haechan. Who are you? I never got your name last time."

You raised an eyebrow. "Wow. Kissing a girl and not even knowing her name? I've heard about you, you know... what you do to girls, the type of person you are."

That made him pause for a second, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he held your gaze. "But you're still here, aren't you?"

You didn't reply, just smiled slowly, head tilting amused at his boldness.

"So." He leaned in again. "Are you gonna leave me alone, or tell me your name?"

"Y/n."

"Pretty." He said, the smile that followed unusually soft, like he actually meant it.

You eyed the bottle still in his hand. "Are you just gonna stand there and smile at me, or pour the damn shots?"

"I thought you'd never ask." He reached past you, his arm brushing yours as he grabbed two shot glasses. His cologne hit you, mixing with the alcohol and the buzz in your chest.

The tequila burned on the way down, but it made your limbs feel warm, relaxed.

"Is tequila your favorite?" He asked, eyes not leaving you.

You shook your head, setting the glass down. "Vodka mixed drinks. I don't like taking things straight."

He grinned at that, grabbing a red solo cup. He poured vodka, rum, and a splash of something creamy and white—the scent immediately familiar.

"Pina colada mixer?" You asked, brow raised.

"You seem like the type. Plus, you told me last time." He said with a smile.

"You remembered?"

"Of course. You're kinda hard to forget." He said, clinking his cup to yours before sipping.

You looked down for a second, smile slipping in without warning. "I really shouldn't be talking to you."

"Says who?"

"Myself, my conscience."

He shrugged. "You're a big girl, smart too. You know what you're doing. Just let go a little, everything doesn't have to be heavy all the time."

You gave him a playful side eye. "No?"

"Nope. If it was, it wouldn't be fun."

Before you could reply, someone passed by and handed him what looked like a vape.

"Fuck yes." Haechan muttered, taking a long drag and exhaling slowly, the smoke curling out the side of his mouth.

He held it out. "Want a hit?"

"Nah, I don't vape."

He blinked a little surprised, then laughed. "Baby, this is a cart, not a vape."

"Oh." You giggled. "That makes sense. Smelled... different."

"So do you want it?" He asked again.

"I don't know, I don't really do drugs."

"It's just weed. It's chill— makes everything feel good." He said, his tone smooth, not pushy.

You hesitated, biting your lip.

"I'm not forcing you, but trust me— it's fine."

"...Okay, fine." You took the cart, cautiously bringing it to your lips and inhaling. It hit your lungs faster than you expected, making you cough, but after a few seconds you got used to it, taking a few more hits. Warmth spread through you, you felt light and weightless.

"Haechan." You murmured, blinking slowly, finishing the drink in your hand. "Let's dance."

He didn't argue. You pulled him onto the dance floor where bodies swayed and moved like one blur of motion, but you were only aware of him. His hands on your hips, guiding your movements. His breath brushing the curve of your neck. His mouth near enough to graze your ear when he laughed at something you said.

And then you kissed him.

You didn't think— your lips were on his, his hands tightening slightly on your waist as he melted into it. The kind of kiss that made everything else disappear.

"How about we take this up to my room?" He whispered into your mouth, voice low.

"I told you I felt like—"

"You're not a whore." He cut in gently. "I want you. That doesn't make you anything except someone I want."

You hesitated for a second, the distant part of your brain catching up. "I don't know, my friend might come looking for me. He was supposed to—"

"He's not here right now." Haechan's voice was low and coaxing. "You're here, with me. You can make your own decisions."

You didn't answer,  just grabbed his hand and followed him upstairs.

You were halfway down the hallway, your heart fluttering, when you passed a room and the unmistakable sound of soft moaning filtered out from behind the closed door.

Haechan paused, head turning. "What the fuck?" He muttered, steps slowing.

Shit... Jaemin.

Before he could say anything more, you spun him to face you, grabbing his face urgently, your hands warm against his cheeks. His brows lifted in surprise.

"Focus on me." You whispered.

And then you kissed him again, deeper and slower this time. Your hands slid into his hair, pulling him closer as your bodies melted together. His hands found your waist again, but they didn't stop there, traveling up your sides, fingers over your bare skin as his mouth moved against yours with increasing hunger.

He backed you gently into the nearest wall, lips never leaving yours as the kiss deepened. Your back arched into his touch, your hands tugging at the collar of his shirt, desperate to feel more.

His mouth dragged from your lips down your jaw, kissing, teasing, then down your neck where he paused, sucking gently at the sensitive spot just below your ear.

"Room's this way." He murmured between kisses, and you followed him, half stumbling into his room, laughing softly as he shut the door behind you.

The moment it clicked shut, he was back on you, lips on your neck, hands guiding you toward the bed.

He pushed you down onto the bed, his body pressing against yours as he climbed on top. One hand slid roughly up your thigh, bunching your dress higher, never breaking contact with your neck as his mouth stayed hot against your skin.

His fingers played with the edge of your underwear for a moment, teasing, before pulling them down to your knees.

He paused then, lifting his head. His eyes met yours, and for just a second something shifted, uncertainty flickering across his face. He licked his lips like he was thinking, maybe even questioning, but before you could say anything, he lowered himself again, kissing a slow path down your body, lips soft against your thigh.

His breath was warm against your skin as he kissed the inside of your thigh, slow and steady, his hands holding your legs apart. Every movement felt like he wanted to make sure you felt everything— every kiss, every brush of his lips.

He glanced up at you once more, eyes darker now, the hesitation from before gone. Then he lowered his head again, his mouth finding the tender spot just above your knee, then higher. His fingers slid up your thighs, anchoring you in place as his mouth moved closer, teasing you.

You could feel your body tightening beneath him, breath catching in your throat as he finally reached your folds, his lips brushing against your clit, gentle at first.

Then he gave in completely, his mouth working you with focus, his hands gripping your hips like he never wanted to let go.

His tongue slid over you as he teased you with soft flicks and gentle pressure, each movement sending a wave of heat through your body. Your hips shifted under his touch, instinctively searching for more, but he held you steady, his grip firm on your thighs.

He looked up at you again, eyes heavy, mouth glistening. Then he dove back in, hungrier this time, his tongue moving with purpose now, circling, pressing. The sounds he made vibrated against you, adding to the overwhelming sensation building fast inside you.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, needing something to hold onto as he drove you higher. He responded to every twitch, every gasp, adjusting his pace, his pressure, as if he could read exactly what your body craved.

Then he slid one finger inside you slowly, deeply, curling just right. The rhythm of his hand and mouth worked in perfect sync, pulling you closer to the edge with each passing second.

That's when your phone buzzed, the vibration low, but sharp against the haze in your mind. Your eyes blinked open, lashes heavy as you glanced down. A message lit up the screen.

Jaemin [1:35 AM]:

"I'm ready. Meet me outside."

"Ignore it." Haechan murmured against your thigh, voice deep and muffled. His lips brushed warm against your skin, but your eyes stayed on the message.

"Mmm... I have to go." You said, sitting up slowly, the daze of alcohol and drug weighing your limbs.

"What?" He asked, looking up at you with hooded eyes, lips still wet.

You smiled, pushing hair from your face as you stood fully. "Leaving you on a cliffhanger again."

"You're evil." He smirked lazily.

"Mm, bite me." You teased with a wink, turning for the door.

"Wait." He cut through.

You paused, glancing back over your shoulder with a raised brow.

"Can I at least get your number or something?"

You shook your head, a quiet laugh slipping past your lips. "Where's the fun in that?"

And then you were gone, the door clicking shut behind you. Haechan just smiled to himself, letting out a breath as he ran a hand through his hair. "Unbelievable."

Outside, the cool air hit your flushed cheeks as you stumbled into the night, spotting Jaemin.

"There she is." He grinned. "Somebody's fucked."

"You are too, shut up." You giggled, smacking his chest lightly.

"Nah, just you. I'm only a little bit drunk." He gave you that smug, crooked smile that always made your stomach flip.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." You muttered with a grin, stumbling into him slightly.

His arm came around your shoulders without thinking steadying you, but then he stopped, glancing at your face more closely, his smile fading.

"Y/n." He said slowly. "Are you... high?"

You paused, lips parting like you hadn't even thought to lie. "Maybe." You giggled.

Jaemin stared at you, concern overtaking every line of his face. "You never do that shit... you barely drink anymore— what the hell happened?"

"Relax, Jaem. It was just weed, a few hits. I'm fine."

"You could've had a bad trip." He said, eyes narrowing. "Or what if it was laced? You don't know who the fuck gave you that. You don't know what could've happened—"

"Can you chill?" You said, laughing. "You sound like my parent."

"That's what I gotta be when you do stupid shit like this." His voice dropped, rough with something deeper. "I just... I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

You smiled. "I'm fine, I swear."

"Alright. I'm staying at your place tonight."

"Damn, thanks for asking."

He gave you a look and just giggled again.

When you got home, your shoes hit the floor one by one as you peeled off your jacket, then the thin dress that clung to your skin. You collapsed face first into your bed in only your bra and underwear, the sheets cool against your flushed skin.

Jaemin followed behind. He dropped into your desk chair with a heavy exhale, pulling his hoodie off and tossing it aside. He leaned back, phone in hand, scrolling casually.

"You look good in this lighting." You said, voice smooth and thick as you propped yourself up on your elbows.

He looked up at you over his screen, lips quirking. "You're really saying that right now?"

"Mmhmm." You let your eyes drag down his figure slowly. "You've always been pretty Jaemin."

He laughed under his breath, glancing back at his phone, but not before you caught the slight flush in his cheeks.

You sat up more, letting your legs dangle over the side of the bed, posture relaxed, but eyes sharp with mischief.

"Come here." You said.

He raised an eyebrow. "To the bed?"

"Yeah, just wanna be close."

He hesitated for half a moment before standing. "You're so high." He muttered with a smirk, making his way over. He sat beside you, hands propped behind him on the mattress.

You leaned into him, fingers brushing up his arm softly. "You smell good." You murmured, eyes locked on his lips.

"Do I?" He asked, amusement threading through his voice.

"You always do." Your fingers trailed over his chest now, dragging down to his stomach. His muscles tightened slightly beneath your touch, but he didn't stop you. "And your skin's soft..."

Jaemin watched you, breath slower now. "You're really flirting with me right now?"

"I'm not flirting." You said, tone quiet. "I'm appreciating."

Your lips ghosted along his jaw, then lower to the curve of his neck. He tilted his head slightly, allowing the contact. You kissed him there— slowly, sensual, your lips lingering just a second too long.

He swallowed hard.

"I know you like it." You whispered.

His hand slid instinctively to your thigh, gripping gently as your lips traced down the side of his throat. He leaned into it, breathing deep through his nose.

But then—

"Wait." He said suddenly, pulling back. "I can't."

You blinked, stunned by the shift. "Why not?" You asked, voice low as you stared up at him.

"You're my best friend." He said, the words stuttering off his tongue.

"Oh, but when you ask to fuck me it's a different story?"

"It is." He said.

"Mmm, really?" You smirked, sliding your hand up his torso again, fingers trailing.

"Yes." He said firmly. "You're not sober and you don't actually want me right now, you're just under the influence... as fuck."

"I always want you." You said, eyes locked on his.

He sighed, the tension in his body slowly fading into something softer. He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you against him gently, tucking you under his chin.

"Please go to sleep, Y/n. I'm right here, just rest."

And... you listened. Eyes fluttering closed, breath slowing as the world dimmed into his warmth.

══════════════════════════

Your eyes fluttered open, vision blurry and head pounding. The sunlight filtered weakly through the curtains. You slowly sat up, blinking against the ache throbbing in your skull.

Jaemin was sprawled next to you on top of the blankets, one leg stretched over the edge of the bed, scrolling casually through his phone. 

He glanced over. "Relax, it's just me." He said, offering a small smile.

You exhaled deeply, rubbing your temples with your fingers. A sharp pain spiked behind your eyes, a groan escaping your lips as you reached for your head.

"Here." Jaemin said, reaching down for a plastic bag on the floor. "I got you some water, some food, and Advil— for your headache." He set it on the bed beside you. 

"How'd you know I have a headache?" You asked, unscrewing the cap of the water and popping the pills into your mouth.

"Jesus, Y/n." He scoffed, sitting up straighter. "You were shit faced last night, obviously you're gonna have a hangover."

"Right." You said with a smile. "Thank you for taking care of me."

"Yeah, of course." He returned the smile briefly, his attention sliding back to his phone.

Silence settled between you, but it wasn't entirely comfortable. Your brain was still catching up to reality, glimpses of last night flickering through your mind in half lit flashes. Laughter, music, moaning in the hallway. Haechan, and Jaemin... your heart beat a little harder at that last part.

"Hey..." You started cautiously. "Did we—" You hesitated. "We didn't do anything, did we?"

He chuckled, but didn't answer right away. The silence stretched a second too long, just enough to make your stomach flip.

"You tried." He said finally, his voice was calm, almost amused, but the words made your chest tighten. "But I stopped it, and you went to sleep— so, all clear." He gave you a lazy smile.

"Phew." You exhaled, falling back onto your pillow in relief.

"Damn." He teased, raising a brow. "Am I that bad?"

"No, no." You said quickly, laughing. "I just don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything."

"All good over here, you don't." He replied, eyes flickering back to his phone.

You shook your head, grinning. "Damn, I'm such a horny freak."

"I see how you get when you're drunk... and high." He added, glancing over at you, disappointment flickering in his gaze.

"Stop, Jaemin." You groaned, pushing his shoulder playfully.

"I'm still disappointed about that." He said, his voice a little firmer. "You need to be more careful. That's the last time you're going there ever again."

"You can't tell me what to do." You teased, lips quirking into a smile.

"Ahh, I guess I can't." He said dramatically, reaching over and grabbing the bag of food.

"Stop, give it." You laughed, stretching across him to snatch it back. Your fingers brushed against his hand, and your eyes caught his for a long, silent moment.

Your voice softened. "You know... I'm seriously grateful that you take care of me when I need it."

He blinked, lips twitching into a small smile. "Yeah, yeah. Now can you eat?"

You nodded, finally opening the container and taking a bite of food. "I almost accidentally got you caught, but I saved it." You said between bites, your voice cheeky.

"How, come?" He asked, only half listening as he scrolled.

"We came upstairs and we heard moaning." You said with a grin. "I'm guessing your party."

"You came upstairs to do what?" He looked up sharply now, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

You didn't respond, just smiled to yourself as you continued chewing.

"Did you fuck him?" He asked suddenly, sitting up straighter, eyes locked on yours.

"No, no." You answered quickly. "He just gave me head." Your voice was quieter now, but the confession hung in the air.

"He gave you head?" Jaemin blinked, dumbfounded. "YOU?" He repeated. "And he didn't get anything else from you? No sex, no head, not even a handjob?"

You shook your head. "Nope."

"Dude, he never does that... ever." He looked like he was short circuiting. "What's up with these guys just giving you head man? I'm impressed."

"First off, it only happened once before, so don't do that, and you know we don't talk about him, ok?" You said in a on edge voice.

"Ok, ok." He held up his hands in surrender.

"I guess I just gave the magic touch." You said with a smug smile.

"Damn, me next!" He cheered jokingly, grinning.

"Shit, maybe." You said with a smirk. "Haechan didn't even make me finish— well, because we were interrupted by someone." You shot him a playful look.

"Aw shucks." He said, chuckling. "Jaemin here to crash the party always."

"Partially." You replied. "I think he's not done with me though. Before I left, he asked for my number."

"He asked for your number— like, first? While you were leaving him?" Jaemin exclaimed, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Yep." You said.

"Did you give it to him?" He asked, leaning in like a gossipy teen.

"Nah. I don't think that's someone I should have access to at all times— for my own safety you know." You said, giggling. 

"You're so smart, that's why I love you so, so much." He said with a bright smile... before it faltered slightly.

"I'm not smart for not giving him my number. I'm just not dumb." You said, brushing off the moment.

He recovered with a quick grin. "Maybe you aren't as bright as I thought, because that is the same thing."

"Shut up." You laughed, nudging his shoulder. 

"Damn, I actually can't believe he did all this for you." Jaemin said, eyes wide again. "Nothing wrong with you of course, but he just— never acts that way with anyone. You might be his soulmate."

"Ew, shut up. Yes he's hot, but I could never imagine dating someone like him." You said, scrunching your nose.

"Good, because I doubt you're welcomed at any more parties after the double rejection you gave him." He said with a laugh.

"Didn't you say that the last time?" 

"Yeah, but I mean it this time. You rejected him like four times."

"Okay, enough Haechan talk." You set the now empty container aside and leaned back. "I appreciate everything, but you should get going to freshen up. Plus, I have class in like an hour."

"You're still going?" He asked, brows raising.

"Absolutely, I'd never miss class."

"Okay, well..." He rubbed the back of his neck, hesitant. "Do you think we can meet up for dinner later?"

You paused, your tone shifting gently. "I think I need to be alone right now. I also have a project due on Tuesday that I'm cramming for because I got a little lazy. Let's meet... maybe Wednesday?"

He nodded. "Sounds good." With one last smile he stood up, grabbing his hoodie off the chair and slipping it on.

══════════════════════════

It was finally Wednesday, after days of cramming, sleepless nights, you had just submitted your project and shut your laptop with a dramatic sigh of relief. You sprawled out on your bed for a moment, eyes fluttering closed, the weight of the past few days slowly lifting off your shoulders.

The front door creaked open and slammed shut again, followed by the familiar shuffle of sneakers on hardwood.

"Yo." He called out, stepping into your room with a plastic takeout bag in hand.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, noticing something was off immediately. His voice lacked its usual playful energy. No cheeky grin, no snarky comment about your workaholic tendencies, just... a weird kind of stillness in his tone.

"What's up?" You asked, brows furrowing slightly at his hesitance.

He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing down for a second before meeting your gaze again. "I need you to come to the party with me again."

You blinked, half in disbelief. "Again?" You let out a soft giggle, sitting up fully. "Weren't you the one who banned me from that place like... twice?"

"Yeah, I know." He said with a sigh, plopping down beside you on the bed and setting the takeout between you. "But you're the only one who can distract Haechan well it appears, and fuck, that girl is so—"

He stopped himself mid sentence, biting his tongue. You stared at him, your smile fading slightly. He was always joking— even when things were serious, but right now he looked more anxious than amused.

"Right." You said slowly, nodding as you studied his face. You didn't press it— whatever that girl meant, you could guess, and it wasn't your place to dig.

"So... will you?" He asked again, voice low.

You hesitated for a second before shrugging. "Yeah, sure. Whatever."

His shoulders relaxed, just a little, and the smallest hint of a smile broke through. "You're a lifesaver."

You reached into the takeout bag, pulling out your container with a soft smirk. "You owe me something good for this."

"Oh, I got you extra fries." He said quickly, handing the container toward you like it was a peace offering.

You rolled your eyes. "Bribery works I guess."

══════════════════════════

The party was already fill by the time you and Jaemin arrived per usual. As soon as you stepped inside, Jaemin melted into the crowd like a ghost.

You didn't even bother calling after him. You just sighed, brushing past a couple making out near the stairs as you made your way to the kitchen. You needed a drink.

The fridge was wide open, someone rummaging through it carelessly. You reached past them for a can of something and cracked it open, sipping without thinking.

"Is this gonna be a pattern?" A familiar voice teased from behind you.

You turned, already knowing who it was, of course.

There he stood, eyes on you like you were the only person in the room. His head tilted just slightly, like he was already amused.

You crossed your arms and let out a short sigh. "Is what a pattern?"

"You drinking without me." He said smoothly.

You shook your head, watching as he took a sip from his own cup. "You're drinking without me too, so I'm not sure that makes sense."

"Just casually." He grinned, his voice light. "Take a shot with me."

You eyed him for a second, then gave a small nod. He reached over to the counter, pouring two uneven shots, one for each of you.

You raised yours with a quiet "cheers" before knocking it back. The alcohol settled in your stomach, hot and quick.

"You know I'm not doing anything with you, right?" You said once the warmth hit your chest.

He raised a brow, grin widening. "Did I ask?"

You huffed a soft laugh, unable to hide the way your lips curved despite your better judgment and his smirk deepened like he won something.

"It's loud in here, come outside with me." He said, already reaching for the bottle again, refilling both your cups without waiting for an answer.

You hesitated, something in you buzzing—nerves or excitement, you weren't sure, but you nodded anyway.

Outside, the backyard was a complete contrast to the chaos inside. Quieter, almost peaceful. Blue and purple led lights in the pool, casting a neon glow in the water. The heat of the night clung to your skin, but the moment you dipped your feet into the cool pool, relief washed over you.

He sat beside you, pulling a pre rolled blunt from his pocket and lit it with a flick of a lighter. For a second, the flame highlighted his face, features softened by the glow.

"How are you?" He asked, voice quieter now. "How was your week?"

You turned to him, blinking. "You actually care? Wow, that's new."

"You're so negative." He said, exhaling smoke before offering it to you.

You stared at it for a moment, fingers twitching slightly. Then you took it, bringing it to your lips and inhaling slow. You held it for a second before letting it go with a sigh.

"I'm cautious." You murmured, passing it back.

"Mmm." He hummed, nodding, puffing again. 

"Why do you never disagree? Defend yourself when people say shit about you?" You questioned, turning to him. 

"Because it's true. I'm not afraid to admit it." He said, exhaling slowly. "But sometimes people talk and over exaggerate, make it seem like I'm just heartless. If they're scared and stay away, that's their problem. But if they know what they're getting into— or think they do, then why should I waste my energy proving them wrong? In my eyes, they're just as fucked up as me."

You were quiet for a moment, then nodded slightly in agreement. He passed the blunt again, and you took two more puffs in silence. It wasn't awkward, just still.

"So." You eventually said, eyes drifting to the lit up pool. "How do you have such a big house as a college student?"

"My parents." He replied, tone casual. "They pay for everything while they go prance around in different countries, leaving me and my siblings behind."

"Siblings?" You echoed, surprised. You knew he had a sister, but hadn't heard anything about more.

"Yep. A younger sister and brother." He said, taking another hit. "My sister's a junior, doesn't live with me, but I keep a guest room here for when she wants a break from her roommates."

"And your brother?"

"He's a sophomore, goes to college a few hours from here— said he wanted a fresh start. I still check in with him a few times a week. He's had his ups and downs, but he's a good kid."

"I get that." You said. "I went somewhere else freshman year too. Only stayed for a year before transferring back here this year."

"So you are a sophomore." He said, nodding. "I figured."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He only shrugged, sipping his drink.

"What's your story?" He asked, glancing over. "Why'd you want a fresh start?"

"My mom died about two years ago." You said, the words escaping before you could filter them.

His face shifted. "Oh shit, I'm sorry."

"It's good." You said quickly, brushing it off. "It's actually kind of stupid, out of all the drugs, she died from weed. It was laced."

"Damn." He muttered. "Is that why you were so hesitant earlier?"

You nodded. "Yeah. People don't realize how terrifying it is, it's real."

"Fuck, now I feel like an asshole." He said, running a hand through his hair, a tired chuckle leaving his mouth as he put the blunt out.

"Don't." You told him. "You gotta grow up and not be scared sometimes. Plus, I can make my own decisions."

There was a pause before you added with a lazy smile, "I don't even know why I'm talking to you."

"What— because I'm 'evil'?" He teased, one brow rising.

You laughed. "No. Because you're a stranger."

He leaned back dramatically. "Wow, you kissed a stranger. What did you say? Whore."

"Oh, shut up." You rolled your eyes. "I guess you're not too much of a stranger."

"Exactly." He grinned. "But sometimes you just need someone to be there for you, stranger or not."

His eyes lingered on you now, more serious than before. "But... we don't have to stay strangers— I don't think we should."

You raised a brow.

"Just give me your number." He said, voice softer.

You squinted at him, half amused. "Is that what this was all about?"

"No." He said quickly, then paused. "I just... you're different and I'm curious about you."

"Curiosity." You said, rolling your eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips.

"There's nothing wrong with that, is there?" He leaned a little closer. "We should just mess around, find out more about each other. You must be curious too?"

You stared at him for a second, lips pressing into a tight line. "I'm not."

"Ouch." He laughed, not entirely believing you, but to his credit, he didn't push.

You paused, then let out a sigh. "Fine, I'll give you my number."

His grin widened as he pulled his phone from his pocket and handed it to you.

"Thank you." He said genuinely.

"Maybe now we don't have to only talk to each other on Thursdays." You said, punching in your digits and handing it back.

"Mmm." He smiled, his gaze lingering on you.

As if on cue, your phone lit up with a text.

Jaemin [12:58 AM]:

"Let's go."

You looked up, Haechan already watching you.

"Well, I've got to go." You said, standing and brushing off your skirt.

"Is there a night where you're not gonna leave me?" He asked, smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he looked up at you.

"Mm... don't hold your breath." You smirked, waving before slipping back inside.

Jaemin was waiting by the door, hands in his pockets, a smile on his face.

"Well, well." He said as you approached. "What did you do tonight?"

"My job." You said with a giggle, eyes slightly hooded from the buzz in your system.

"Oh, you're high again?" His smile faded just a bit.

"Yeah, not a big deal." You said, casually hooking your arm around his like it was second nature.

"Right, and I can't even stay with you tonight."

"Why not?" You asked, looking up at him.

"Because you can't control yourself under the influence." He said bluntly.

"Wow, don't say that." You laughed. "I'm not even that fucked up, I could totally control myself."

"Right." He smirked. "But I probably can't."

"Yeah... maybe you shouldn't stay with me tonight then." You teased.

He let out a short laugh, shaking his head as the two of you disappeared into the night.

══════════════════════════

Saturday | 11:37 PM

You were curled up in bed, knees tucked beneath you, your laptop warming your thighs as the glow of the screen illuminated your face. The essay you've been chipping away at all day was only half done, and your focus was slipping fast. You already reread the same paragraph three times when your phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Unknown Number [11:37 PM]:

"Come over. Chill for a bit."

Your brow furrowed as you set your laptop aside and picked up the phone, thumb hovering over the screen.

You [11:37 PM]:

"Who is this?"

You already had a guess, but you weren't about to make it easy.

A few seconds passed.

Unknown Number [11:38 PM]:

"You know who it is."

You let out a quiet scoff, one corner of your mouth curling into a smirk, of course it was him.

You [11:39 PM]:

"Mmm, no I don't. So I guess that's a no."

Another pause, longer this time.

Unknown Number [11:40 PM]:

"Come over. Please."

Your thumb hovered again. You should've just gone back to your work, should've tossed your phone aside and shut the whole thing down. 

You [11:41 PM]:

"I seriously can't, busy rn."

Unknown Number [11:41 PM]:

"Bummer."

You stared at the message, your bedroom suddenly too quiet. The flicker of curiosity and something else sat in your chest.

You [11:42 PM]:

"You can come over later though. We could watch a movie or something."

His response was fast.

Unknown Number [11:42 PM]:

"Later? It's already 11."

You [11:43 PM]:

"Ok, then don't."

Silence. Then...

Unknown Number [11:44 PM]:

Send the address.

You hesitated, biting your lip for a minute too long. Then you dropped a pin and hit send.

1:27 AM

You opened the door, blinking against the cooler air spilling into the hallway. Haechan stood there, hair tousled, a six pack of drinks in one hand and a smirk pulling at his lips.

"Didn't think you'd actually send it." He said, stepping inside without waiting.

"Didn't think you'd actually come." You replied, locking the door behind him.

"We're just sitting in the living room." You said, already making your way towards the couch.

"Perfect." He said, slipping off his jacket and tossing it over the armrest as he followed.

You pulled up something half decent on Netflix, something neither of you would end up watching, and settled in. He handed you a drink, and you clinked your cans together quietly.

He was the first to speak.

"How've you been? Since Thursday." He asked, voice soft, watching you from the side.

You took a slow sip, eyes on the screen. "Busy. Regretting life decisions."

He chuckled, amused. "Yeah, which ones?"

"Letting you text me."

A grin tugged at his mouth as he leaned back, one arm draping lazily along the back of the couch. "You're the one who invited me, sweetheart."

"You begged."

"I don't beg."

You gave him a look. "You literally said please."

"I'm just a convincer." He shot back smoothly.

"Manipulator." You corrected with a smile.

He laughed again, reaching into his pocket. "Mind if I hit this?"

You glanced at the sleek cart between his fingers, then at the hallway.

"Even though my roommates aren't here, they're still strict about smoking in shared spaces." You said. "No vape, no carts— none of it."

He blinked, pausing. "Damn. I can go if—"

"No." You interrupted, standing. "We can go to my room."

His eyebrows arched in interest as he rose to follow.

Your room was dim and cozy, washed in soft fairy lights. You pushed the door closed behind him and leaned against it for a moment before crossing to the bed.

"This is cute." He said, looking around. "You always have a vibe."

"Try not to ruin it." You said, climbing onto the bed and settling into the pillows. He leaned against your desk, then raised the cart again and took a slow pull, the scent hitting your nose.

"You want?" He asked.

You rose from the bed, stepping toward him and plucked it from his fingers without breaking eye contact.

His brows lifted. "Woah."

You rolled your eyes. "Don't be selfish now."

He smirked, but his voice dropped just slightly as he teased, "What if it's laced?"

"Not funny." You said.

He held his hands up, surrendering, though his grin said he enjoyed every second.

You took a slow puff and handed it back.

"That's all I'm doing." You murmured.

But that wasn't true.

Time slipped, the air thickened, you kept passing it back and forth, voices growing lower, laughter softening.

At some point, you looked up and noticed he was still standing.

"You've been standing there whole time." You said, eyes a little glassy, lashes fluttering as you sat up straighter.

"Yeah, I know. Why?" He asked, inching closer.

"Just curious why you don't want to be near me." You said with a teasing shrug.

He stepped in front of you now, close enough that you could see the shift in his expression. "I'm near." He murmured.

"Not close enough." Your voice was soft but firm as you reached out, trailing your hands up his arm and guiding it onto your shoulder.

His fingers stayed, curling gently over your skin. His gaze dropped to your lips, then flicked back up.

"Don't look at me like that." He said, eyes low. 

"Like what?" You asked, guiding his arm again until his hand cupped your jaw.

"Like you want me to ruin the night."

His hand lingered against your cheek, the warmth of his palm spreading through your skin. Your breath hitched, fingers curling softly around his wrist.

You tugged him closer, his face now just inches from yours as he leaned over you, one hand settling on your thigh. "Maybe I do."

He closed the distance between you instantly, his lips crashing against yours with desperately. The hand that had been gently cupping your cheek slid to the back of your neck, fingers curling as he pulled you closer, deepening the kiss.

Your hands found the hem of his shirt, gripping it tightly as you tugged, urging him to shed the barrier between you. He broke the kiss just long enough to pull the shirt over his head, tossing it aside. His sweats hung low on his hips, revealing the sharp lines of his v-line.

He climbed fully onto the bed, hovering over you, claiming your lips in a heated, breathless kiss. His hands moved, tugging your shirt and pajama shorts off in one swift motion, never once breaking eye contact, the intensity in his gaze made your breath catch.

He leaned in again, capturing your lips in another kiss— wet and messy. As his mouth moved against yours, he nudged your legs apart with his own, his knee slipping between them, pressing softly against your heat.

His lips left yours only to travel down your neck, trailing gentle kisses that quickly turned rougher. He latched onto a sensitive spot just below your jaw, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. The sensation paired with the slow pressure of his knee drew soft moans from your lips. Your fingers found his hair, tangling in it as your hips shifted unconsciously in response.

"I don't have a condom." He murmured, his breath warm against your neck.

You were just about to leave it, but Jaemin's voice sounded in your head: "Don't let him fuck you raw." 

Without thinking, you reached over to your nightstand, fingers finding the familiar shape of a silver foil square that you got a few weeks back. You pressed it to his chest, your eyes meeting his.

He paused, a slow amused smile spreading across his lips. A soft chuckle escaped him. "Smart." He said under his breath.

He rose to his feet, pushing his sweats and boxers down in one fluid motion. Tearing the foil open with his teeth, discarding the wrapper carelessly onto the floor, then rolled the condom on with ease, his eyes never straying far from you.

He grabbed your legs with firm hands, dragging you to the edge of the bed, his gaze locked onto yours intensely. Without a word, he hooked his fingers into your underwear and yanked them down, leaving you bare beneath him.

He leaned in again, capturing your lips in another deep kiss. His mouth moved over yours, but as you pulled back your eyes shimmered.

"I haven't— this is my first time." You admitted, voice barely above a whisper, breathless and shaking.

For a moment everything stilled. His expression shifted, something flickering behind his eyes— part surprise, part fascination. 

"I'll try to be gentle." He said softly, his voice low and tight with restraint.

He stood, hands skimming down the length of your legs until they reached beneath your knees. He lifted them slowly, spreading you open softly.

He positioned himself between your legs, his body tense. He paused, eyes locked on yours for a moment, as if waiting for any sign of hesitation.

Then he pushed into you. The sting was sharp, and you gasped, your breath catching. He froze for a second, his forehead pressing lightly against yours.

"Breathe." He whispered, his voice rough. He gave you a moment, just enough to adjust before he asked, "Ok?"

You nodded, too breathless to say anything, but when you didn't pull away he pushed further, the pace picking up as he moved into you again, harder and deeper this time.

He gripped your legs tightly, forcing you open as he thrusted into you, his movements rougher now, more desperate. The initial sting quickly faded into a pulsing heat that had you gasping with every thrust, each push a little harder than the last.

"You feel so fucking good." He muttered, voice thick with desire. His hands tightened on your legs, and he slammed into you with more urgency, his pace picking up, rougher and less controlled. The air was thick with the sound of skin meeting skin, the room vibrating.

The tension in your body kept building, the pleasure mixing with the intensity of each thrust. His breath was uneven and shallow as he moved faster, harder, his grip tightening. There was no slowing down now.

"Fuck." He groaned, his movements becoming more erratic, less restrained. "So fucking perfect."

The care he showed earlier was gone. His pace didn't slow, only grew faster, more frantic. Each thrust hit deeper, more forceful, and you could feel every inch of him filling you completely. You clung to him, nails digging into his skin as he fucked into you without restraint.

The sounds of your bodies crashing together filled the air, a mix of moans, heavy breathing, and the wet, slick noise of each push. He didn't give you time to adjust, didn't pause to check in again. He just kept going, his grip tightening on your legs, forcing them open even wider as he moved harder.

The pleasure was building, overwhelming you, the pressure mounting with every thrust. Your body felt like it was on fire, heat pooling low in your stomach as his thrusts drove you closer to the edge.

"You like that, huh?" He groaned, his voice rough. His eyes flickered down to where you were joined, watching how he moved inside you. "You're so fucking tight."

You couldn't form words anymore, only moans escaping your lips as your hips instinctively moved against him, meeting each thrust, urging him deeper. Every motion felt like a jolt of electricity running through you, tightening your core, making everything spin.

His hand slid down from your legs, gripping your waist as he pulled you closer, driving into you with more force. The friction built, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you.

"God, I'm gonna make you cum." He grunted, his own pace stammering just slightly as his own release neared. "Hold on."

His hips snapped into yours recklessly, his movements growing more urgent. His grip on your waist tightened as he pounded into you, each thrust harder than the last, the sound of your skin meeting his filling the room.

"You feel fucking amazing." He whimpered, his voice strained, the force of his movements making your whole body shake beneath him.

He cursed under his breath as your nails scraped down his back, and with one last, brutal thrust, you felt everything snap—your body tensing, your legs trembling as the pressure exploded inside you. A loud, breathless moan escaped your lips as your orgasm ripped through you, your whole body convulsing around him.

He didn't stop though, didn't give you a second to breathe. His thrusts only grew more erratic, chasing his own release as you clenched around him, each movement pushing him closer to the edge.

"Fuck, yes." He groaned, his eyes locked onto yours as he slammed into you again. 

"I'm there..." He buried his face into your neck, movements sloppy as he finally came, his body shaking as he released with a low groan.

He collapsed against you, his body still trembling, his breath coming in ragged gasps. For a moment neither of you moved, lying there tangled together, trying to catch your breath. His head rested on your shoulder, his chest rising and falling against yours. The tension in his muscles slowly started to melt away, and you felt the steady rhythm of his heart begin to slow.

He shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to look at you, his gaze softer now. His fingers traced the curve of your cheek, brushing away a strand of hair.

"Are you okay?" He asked, his voice quieter now.

You nodded, unable to find the words just yet. He gave a small smile. "I didn't mean to... push too hard."

You shook your head, pressing your palm to his chest. "It was... good." You whispered, your voice still shaky, but calm now.

"Good." He murmured again.

══════════════════════════

The day after – 1:18 PM

You woke up to loud, insistent banging on your door.

You blinked your eyes open, lashes heavy with sleep, your body sore and aching in ways that immediately brought back hazy memories of the night before. You reached for your phone on the nightstand, and the screen lit up— four unread messages, all from Jaemin.

Jaemin [12:38 PM]:

"u want chicken tenders or a burger?"

Jaemin [12:44 PM]: 

"Hello? I need u to hurry I'm in line."

Jaemin [12:57 PM]:

"Just got chicken tenders u took too long, otw."

Jaemin [1:17 PM]:

"Dude, open the door wtf?"

Your stomach dropped... shit.

It was Sunday, your Sunday. Movies and lunch with Jaemin, your thing since middle school, the one routine neither of you ever skipped and was always on time for.

You sat up too quickly and instantly regretted it. A sharp pulse radiated through your thighs, your knees folded slightly beneath you as you stood. You hissed through your teeth, muttering a quiet curse. The soreness, the silence in the room, the disheveled sheets tangled behind you and...

No Haechan, not a trace.

You probably weren't going to hear from him again. If anything, he'd gotten exactly what he wanted and maybe... so had you.

You slipped into the first pair of underwear you could find, pulling on an oversized t-shirt and not even checking the mirror. You couldn't be bothered. Your body felt heavier than usual, limbs slow, mind foggy.

You stumbled to the door, fingers fumbling over the lock before it clicked open. Jaemin stood there with a takeout bag in one hand and annoyance on his face. "Where the fuck—" He froze. 

His expression shifted fast, first frustration then concern as his eyes scanned your face, your hair, the obvious haze of sleep in your eyes. "Are you okay?"

You nodded once, voice scratchy. "Yeah. Just... come in."

You turned around, not realizing how stiffly you were walking until you heard his voice again behind you.

"You're walking weird."

You glanced over your shoulder, trying to play it off. "I just woke up, Jaem."

But his brows drew together, and he followed you with quiet suspicion. He spun once in your desk chair before planting his feet and letting his eyes roam, and stopped.

You didn't notice at first, but his gaze lingered just a little too long on your neck.

"Those weren't there last time I saw you." He said. 

You forced a small laugh, brushing your hair back casually. "What, you keeping track now?"

"It's hard not to when it looks like someone marked you up like a vampire." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

You turned away, cheeks flushing, but you stayed silent.

He held up the takeout bag. "I got you food, don't know if you saw my text."

"I didn't." You said, hovering at the edge of your bed. "But thanks, I'm starving."

He smiled for real this time, but just as he reached to hand you the bag something on the floor caught his attention.

His hand froze mid air. He bent slightly, reaching down beside your nightstand. A second later, you watched his fingers close around a small, crinkled square of foil.

An empty condom wrapper.

He stared at it, his jaw twitching once before he tossed it into the trash without another word.

The air in the room changed instantly. You stood still, frozen as he looked at you.

You tried to lighten the mood, your voice forced. "The one you gave me, remember?"

But he didn't smile, didn't even blink. His voice dropped, almost too calm. "Did you...?"

You hesitated, then sighed. "Yeah. Last night."

He blinked once, and then again. He opened his mouth, but for a second, no sound came out. "Thought you were saving yourself."

You gave a slight shrug, arms folding across your chest. "Guess I changed my mind."

Another moment of silence. He tilted his head slightly, a ghost of a smile on his lips now, confused. "Who was the lucky guy?"

You hesitated, biting your bottom lip.

His eyes narrowed before he scoffed. "I know that face... no way."

Still, you said nothing.

He let out a short, stunned laugh, humorless. "No fucking way." Jaemin stood up, the desk chair creaking loudly behind him.

You met his gaze, heart thudding. "Jaem—"

"You let him?" His voice rose, disbelief mixed with something else— hurt, maybe. "Out of all people, him? Seriously? What, he texted you 'come over' and you just—fucking hell Y/n."

"It wasn't like that." You murmured.

"You ghost me for hours, you never miss our Sundays. I show up and you're sore and covered in hickeys—"

"I was asleep, Jaemin."

He scoffed. "Name one time you've ever slept past noon this year?"

You stayed silent.

"Exactly."

"I didn't plan for it to happen." You said quietly.

"That's the problem... he did!" He snapped. "I didn't think you were so easy. What, he called you pretty and that's enough for you to spread your legs?"

"No, I—"

"What, you've known this guy for like a month? You knew he just wanted to use you and you went along with it?"

"I was okay with that! That's what I wanted."

"You were okay being used for sex by some guy you barely even know?"

"No, not like that—"

"So then what? Because to me, it sounds like you're just a desperate slut."

You blinked. That word hit harder than you expected.

"Oh, I'm a slut?" Your voice was sharp now. "One body and I'm a slut, yet you dance around fucking anything with a pulse. You're disgusting... and easy."

"I'm disgusting and easy?" He snapped. "You let a senior fuckboy you don't even know take your virginity. It's actually sickening."

You stepped toward him, jaw clenched. "Would it have been sickening if it was you?"

Silence. His face froze, jaw locked as his eyes flickered, and he didn't say a word.

You let out a breath. "If you're so disgusted, then leave. First of all, it's none of your business who I sleep with— I don't stick my nose into yours. You've fucked girls I can't stand, and I never made it everyone's problem."

Your voice rose now. "You're my best friend— not my parent, not my boyfriend, and definitely not my mentor. So if you came here to judge me on every move I make, then you can go fuck yourself."

"Excuse me for being the only one that fucking cares about you."

You opened your mouth, but he was already tossing the takeout bag onto your bed with more force than necessary.

"Here." He muttered. "Since he couldn't even feed you."

Then he turned and the door slammed behind him.

The silence that followed felt like a vacuum, like the air had been sucked out of the room the moment the door slammed shut.

You stood there, unmoving, arms still crossed tightly around yourself. Your chest rose and fell a little too fast, like your body hadn't caught up to your brain yet.

"Desperate slut."

You could still hear it. Loud in the quiet and it hurt. God, it fucking hurt.

You sank down slowly to the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the takeout bag he'd thrown toward you. You let out a shaky breath and dropped your head into your hands.

He'd looked so angry, so betrayed, like you done something personally to him. But he wasn't your boyfriend, he never was, he never wanted to be.

So why did he get to act like this? Why did it feel like you were the one who done something wrong? You hadn't expected Haechan to stay. You hadn't expected Jaemin to explode and yet here you were, alone.

He was supposed to be your best friend.

But best friends didn't call you disgusting. Best friends didn't throw insults in your face and storm out. Best friends didn't look at you like you were less for doing something you had every right to do.

You didn't even realize you were crying until the tears hit your thighs. Silent, hot, and angry.

You swiped at them roughly, jaw tightening.

He didn't get to reduce you like that. He didn't get to decide what your choices meant, and he definitely didn't get to pretend like he was some kind of savior when all he'd ever done was hover just close enough to make you want more and then pull away every time you reached.

Some part of you still wanted him to come back. Still wanted him to knock again, to take it all back and say he was sorry.

But another part of you was done waiting on Jaemin to treat you like you mattered only when it was convenient for him. Because you didn't regret what happened.

Not the choice, not the experience, not even the consequences.

You only regretted giving someone like Jaemin the power to make you feel small.

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[tackedtothewall]

[Image description:

Tweet from J.J. McCullough "I notice a lot of people who didn't pay much attention in high school are now trying to recon their laziness into ideological theories about 'what we were never taught.'"

Above quote-tweeted by Larry Cebula*:

"YOUR HISTORY TEACHER NEVER TOLD YOU-

"*me, checks lecture notes* I definitely told you.

"YOUR TEXTBOOK LEFT OUT-

"Me: it is on page 37 and again on 54.

"HISTORIANS NEVER ADMIT-

"Me: We have an annual conference on this. Will you just admit already that you slept through class?"

/end ID ]

*Dr. Cebula is a Professor of History at Eastern Washington University and an Assistant Digital Archivist at the Washington State Archives.

Thing one: As a queer public historian, we get really really tired of being treated like we're hiding shit from you, especially when our entire job is to Share History With You!

I mean. You know your neurodivergent friends who will infodump on you at the drop of a hat? That's historians with history. We will tell you everything and more than you want to know.

Thing two: Dr. Cebula teaches at the college level. I recognize that this is a different experience from high school. High school history (especially in U.S. public schools) are really constrained by the standardized tests, textbooks*, and school boards of the state/region in which you grew up.

Not to mention, in most high schools - and even most college freshman history classes - you're trying to cover hundreds of years in a really short period of time. Stuff gets left out. That's partly by design, partly the nature of the beast.

*There's a whole separate rant on textbooks that we won't get into.

(that said, if you are in college read the goddamned syllabus and fucking show up for class. And if you find these things hard, reach out to the office of disability services/the prof/someone for help.

So I say to all of you:

Don't fall for the clickbait titles. Don't blame your exhausted, well-meaning, underpaid public school teachers or the historians who are trying to get books out there but are also overworked, under-resourced, and trying to stay employed in an increasingly precariousness climate.

Historians want to share what we learn! The books are out there! Read books and listen to podcasts by historians (trained historians, not just journalists and hobbyists, some of both please)!

Visit your local museums and pay attention! Be polite to the people who are working there because they probably deal with endless assholes!

TL;DR: History classes vary wildly; historians are generally nerds who infodump; please read our books/consume our media/come to our museums

[verricherri]

Slightly pervy Spencer figuring out he has a size kink with petite!reader? 👀 (No i’m not projecting about being short why would you think that?????)

Statistically Significant (NSFW///MDNI)

A/N: I blacked out somewhere between “two fingers” and “fold you in half.” No I will not be recovering — well, lucky you anon. I’m considered petite too 😌 so this one’s for us Warnings: spencer reid that rearranges your insides, intense eye contact - dont say i didn't warn ya Masterlist Feedback and reposts are appreciated  ☀️

The movie played, but he hadn’t looked at the screen in almost twenty minutes — not really, not beyond the vague flicker of light and sound casting shadows on the walls and across your skin, where you were curled beside him on the couch like something effortless, completely at ease, legs tucked under one of the fleece blankets you’d taken from his lap halfway through the first act without asking.

He didn’t mind. Of course he didn’t mind. He couldn’t even think about the blanket now, not when every subtle shift of your body — the way you stretched, the soft crack of your ankle as you re-crossed your legs, the casual fall of your oversized t-shirt slipping further off your shoulder — made it increasingly difficult to do anything but think about you.

And then his eyes landed on your foot.

Bare, relaxed, resting near his thigh, the edge of your heel brushing the cushion between you like it had always belonged there.

He blinked once. Then again.

And before he could stop himself, he found his gaze locked onto the sharp curve of your ankle — delicate, birdlike, small enough that he was suddenly possessed with the certainty that he could probably wrap his entire hand around it and still have room to spare.

It wasn’t just the ankle.

It was the scale of you. The way your frame seemed to disappear beneath the blanket. The way your wrist had looked earlier tonight when you passed him the remote. The way his hand had accidentally brushed yours when reaching for the same piece of popcorn and had completely engulfed it without even trying.

It was like his brain had stored all those images somewhere quiet, subtle, harmless — and now, they were bursting to the surface at once, setting off a slow, startling awareness in his chest that he couldn’t look away from.

“Spence?”

Your voice was soft, a little amused, and when he looked up, you were already watching him, one eyebrow raised in quiet curiosity.

“You zoned out,” you said, your mouth curling into a smile that wasn’t mocking — not really — just gently, warmly interested. “Too much profiling going on in that big beautiful brain, or did I bore you with my excellent taste in movies?”

He blinked again, caught somewhere between guilt and fascination.

“No—no, not at all,” he said quickly, sitting up straighter, trying and failing to unstick the words from the tangle of thoughts crowding his head. “I was just… um. Thinking about your ankle.”

That made you laugh — a real, delighted sound that made his stomach flutter like it always did when he managed to surprise you.

“My ankle?” you repeated, clearly entertained. “Of all things?” He flushed, already regretting the honesty, but it was too late now. “I just—noticed it. And I realised how… small it is. Compared to my hand. I think I could probably wrap two fingers around it.”

You paused, blinking slowly.

Then, as if testing him — as if you knew exactly what you were doing and wanted to see how far he’d go — you shifted your foot just a little closer, letting it settle more firmly against his thigh, your toes nudging the seam of his jeans like an invitation disguised as innocence.

“Go on, then,” you murmured. “Try it. For science.”

He hesitated. Just for a second.

But then he reached out, carefully, his fingers brushing the inside of your ankle with a kind of reverence he hadn’t expected, and as his hand closed gently around the joint — thumb pressing into the fragile bone, his other fingers curving beneath — he felt his heart kick hard in his chest.

He wasn’t wrong.

His hand dwarfed you.

Your ankle disappeared beneath his palm like it had been made to fit there, like the size difference between you was not just anatomical, but designed, deliberate, something that shouldn’t have made his pulse quicken the way it just did — but absolutely did.

He swallowed, throat dry.

“See?” he managed, voice low. “Two fingers.” You tilted your head, lips parting slightly, eyes sharp now in the dim light. “You’re turning very red.” “I didn’t mean anything weird by it,” he rushed out. “I just… didn’t realise. Before.” “That I’m small?” you asked.

He nodded.

“That you’re… big?”

He hesitated, and something about that hesitation made your mouth curve, slow and dangerous.

“I mean—yes,” he said, voice going a little hoarse. “I guess I never really thought about the contrast before.” “You really didn’t notice?” you asked, shifting again — just enough for your t-shirt to slide higher on your thighs, enough for your toes to press a little firmer into his leg. “That your hand could probably wrap around my throat?”

His whole body tensed like a livewire.

You smirked.

And he knew — in that exact moment — that he was completely fucked.

—

“You’re flushed,” you said, still smiling, but quieter now, like you were observing him from under a microscope and finding something new, something vulnerable. “I’m not—” he started, but his voice betrayed him with how raw it sounded, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.” “Like what?” you asked innocently, but your eyes flicked down — to the hand still hovering near your ankle, to the slight twitch of his fingers, to the way his breath had started coming slower, shallower, like he couldn’t get enough air past whatever was building in his chest.

He wasn’t sure how to explain it. The way his brain had suddenly gone offline except for the part obsessively cataloguing every place where he was bigger — your wrist, your ankle, the curve of your waist, the whole of your thigh that he could probably cup with one palm. The way you were looking at him now like you knew exactly what he was thinking and were daring him to say it out loud.

“You know this is a kink, right?” you murmured, tilting your head, voice soft and heavy with suggestion. “The size difference thing.” He blinked, stunned. “It is?” “Mhm.” You shifted again, not dramatically — just enough that your knee brushed his thigh, enough that your voice was a breath too close when you added, “Some people get really into it. The whole big hands, big body, holding-you-down-with-one-arm thing.”

He swallowed. Hard.

“That’s…” he trailed off, and then nodded, a little helpless. “That’s very specific.” “Is it?” you whispered, resting your chin on your knees now, looking up at him with wide, almost amused eyes. “Or are you just realising that it might be your thing?”

He stared at you, throat tight, hands curling faintly on his lap like he didn’t know what to do with them anymore.

And then, very quietly, very carefully, he said, “Can I see your hand?”

You didn’t hesitate. Just offered it up, palm facing his, fingers relaxed.

He raised his own hand slowly and pressed his palm to yours — and the difference hit him like a punch to the gut.

His fingers overlapped yours entirely, knuckles past the tips. Your palm was swallowed in his. Your thumb looked like it belonged to a child next to his.

He didn’t move. Just stared, as if trying to process the size of it — not just the visual, but the feel, the confirmation that all his instincts had been right. That you were small. That he could probably wrap his hand around your throat or your waist or your thigh and still have space to spare.

And then, like he was thinking out loud, he said, “I could hold you down with just one hand.”

The words left his mouth before he had time to consider how they sounded — filthy, reverent, full of awe and something sharp underneath — but the second they landed between you, it was like the air shifted.

He didn’t take his hand away.

You didn’t pull back.

Instead, you whispered, “Show me.”

He paused, not because he didn’t want to — he did, God, he did — but because something about the way you said it made his pulse jump. Not a challenge. Not a tease. Just trust.

So slowly, gently, he slid his hand from yours and reached up to cup the side of your neck, his palm spanning the whole distance from your jaw to your collarbone. His thumb rested just under your ear. His fingers curved around the side, not squeezing — just fitting.

Perfectly.

You closed your eyes, breathing in through your nose, your body going still like you were letting yourself feel everything.

“Spencer,” you whispered, eyes fluttering open. “This okay for you?”

He shook his head once, then leaned in closer until your foreheads nearly touched, his voice low and wrecked.

“It’s more than okay,” he said, thumb brushing gently along your throat. “I think I’m obsessed.”

You gave a soft sound — half laugh, half gasp — and tilted your face into his palm.

“Then keep going,” you breathed. “Test your theory, Doctor.”

And oh, that did something to him.

He moved before he could overthink it — shifted closer on the couch, crowding your space but not forcing it, just letting his body speak what he couldn’t yet say out loud. His knee brushed yours. His other hand rose to cradle your jaw, thumb resting at the corner of your mouth, eyes locked on yours like you were the most fascinating puzzle he’d ever been asked to solve.

He looked like he was studying you — not in the way he usually did, not clinically or professionally or even analytically — but like every inch of you was new data he needed to understand by touch alone.

“You’re trembling,” he said softly, fingers trailing down your arm until they circled your wrist. He held it up, eyes wide, mouth slightly parted as he wrapped his hand around it. His fingers overlapped easily. He squeezed, just a little. “Barely any pressure.” “You’re turning red again,” you whispered, almost giddy.

He didn’t care. Not anymore.

“I think I want to measure everything,” he said, voice gone thick. “Just to be sure.”

You were already pulling him closer.

—

He didn’t even know when it shifted — when curiosity stopped being innocent, when the need to understand you turned into the need to unmake you — but he was past the point of return now, and it hit him with all the force of a theory proven true: you were tiny, breakable, and absolutely built to take every inch of him like a miracle designed just for him to solve.

And now he had to solve you.

You were beneath him — thighs spread, one leg folded over his arm like he wanted to frame it, preserve it, press it between glass and label it with some Latin classification that meant mine — and he was watching the head of his cock press against your entrance, thick and leaking and entirely too much for the body that trembled and pulled him in anyway.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, not even meaning to speak, his voice hoarse from restraint. “You’re shaking already.” “I’m trying,” you breathed, a little laugh caught in a gasp, your hands fisting the sheets because he hadn’t even gotten fully in and you could already feel the stretch of him, the steady, inch-by-inch burn of being filled beyond what your muscles expected — and the way he was watching it, wide-eyed, completely entranced, made the ache feel even sharper. “Spence—” “You’re perfect,” he muttered, and you could feel his body vibrating with the effort not to rut into you blindly, not to let his hips snap forward and ruin you too fast, too early, even though every part of him screamed to do exactly that. “You’re so small, and soft, and fuck, I can see you opening for me. I can see it—look—right here—”

His thumb brushed just below your belly button, trembling, and you whimpered, because the pressure alone made you feel like he was everywhere — not just inside you, but under your skin, stretching you from the inside out.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he breathed, more to himself than to you, his brows furrowed like he couldn’t make the math work. “This shouldn’t even be possible. Your body shouldn’t let me in like this.” “Then stop talking and move—”

That earned you a quiet, wrecked laugh, and then he did — he moved, slow and deep, and your eyes rolled back instantly, your mouth falling open without a sound, because nothing had ever felt like this — like him — and it wasn’t just the stretch or the thickness or the length, it was the way he held your body like it was sacred, the way he looked at you like you were divine proof that the universe loved him back.

“Oh my god,” he whispered as he bottomed out, chest shuddering. “You took all of me. You took all of me.”

You nodded, weakly, but the tears gathering in your eyes made it clear just how much it took to take him — how full you were, how raw it felt, how your walls fluttered with the effort of keeping him inside like your body couldn’t bear the thought of letting him go.

And still, he didn’t move. Not yet. Just stared down at the way your body clenched around him, one hand sliding under your thigh to lift it higher, spread you wider, test how far he could fold you without breaking the illusion of reverence.

“You feel like you were built for this,” he said softly. “For me.”

His voice cracked halfway through, like he still couldn’t believe it, like this was something his brain — so used to analysis and control and facts — couldn’t compute no matter how hard it tried.

“I could ruin you,” he whispered, voice gone dark now. “I could fuck you until you forget your own name, and you’d still beg for more.”

Your hand fisted in his hair at the base of his neck, desperate, grounding.

And finally, finally, he started to move.

The first thrust was slow, so slow, like he was dragging every ridge and vein of his cock against every swollen inch inside you, and when he pulled back, you felt empty in a way that made you ache instantly for him again — and then he slid back in just as slowly, just as deep, just as devastating.

It wasn’t pace. It was pressure. It was a scientist testing the theory of how many times he could hit the same perfect spot until the subject collapsed.

And you were going to collapse.

“I want to measure the way you fall apart,” he panted, his hand tightening on your thigh. “I want to watch how you react. What muscles twitch. What your voice does when I hit this angle—”

He adjusted, and you screamed.

Not loud. Not performative. Just a raw, honest sound like the breath had been punched out of you and replaced with nothing but him.

“That one,” he breathed, mouth against your cheek. “That sound. That’s what I want. Every time.”

He moved faster now, still deep, still devastating, and the sound of your bodies meeting filled the room — slick, obscene, holy — while your legs shook around his hips and your hands clawed at his shoulders like you were holding onto the only thing anchoring you to reality.

“I could keep you like this,” he muttered. “In my bed. In my lap. Every goddamn night. Just folded open and dripping and taking it all.” You whimpered, writhing. “Please—” “I want to see you stretched out the next morning,” he whispered, teeth brushing your ear. “I want to spread your thighs and see the outline of me still inside you. I want to look at your cunt and know I wrecked it.”

You came like a wave crashing against the rocks — sharp and loud and sudden, your body seizing beneath him with a sob so high-pitched it made his rhythm falter, his name spilling from your lips like prayer.

And he held you through it. Drove through it.

Spencer’s thrusts got erratic, sloppy, his jaw tight as your cunt clenched around him like a vice, like your body was trying to milk every last drop from him because it needed it. Because you wanted to be full in every way a person could be full.

And he gave it.

With a groan like it tore through his chest, he buried himself one last time, fingers digging into your hip, forehead pressed to your collarbone as he came inside you, hard, deep, too much — his entire body trembling from the force of it.

You were still shaking. He was still inside.

Neither of you said anything.

Not until he finally pulled back to look at you, eyes blown and lips parted, and said — barely above a whisper:

“You are… the most important discovery of my life.”

—

He didn’t move right away.

Didn’t pull out. Didn’t let go. Didn’t speak.

Just kept his body pressed to yours — his chest still heaving in the aftermath, skin damp with sweat, breath catching every few seconds like he couldn’t quite believe he was still breathing at all — and held you like he’d just survived something.

Like you had just saved him.

You weren’t sure who moved first — maybe you twitched, maybe you breathed a little too deeply, maybe your fingers brushed the base of his neck — but the moment you shifted beneath him, his hand came up to your face instantly, cradling your jaw with such gentleness it broke something open inside you.

“Don’t,” he whispered, eyes still closed, voice hoarse. “Just—just stay right here. Let me—please—let me feel you.”

So you stayed. Quiet. Still.

Your thighs were shaking. Your throat was dry. And he was still buried inside you, softening slowly, but not enough to make you feel anything less. If anything, it made you feel more — because he wasn’t holding you out of hunger anymore.

He was holding you like he’d been starving for years and didn’t trust the world not to take the meal away.

His lips brushed your temple.

Then your cheek.

Then your jaw.

Then he let out a long, slow breath and finally spoke.

“I’ve never…” He swallowed hard. “I’ve never felt that. Not like that. Not ever.” Your hand found his chest, fingers curled lightly in the dip beneath his collarbone. “Felt what?”

His eyes opened then — wide, dazed, impossibly soft — and when he looked at you, it wasn’t lust or pride or even satisfaction. It was awe. Pure, scientific awe. The kind that made you feel like he’d just discovered a planet where your body lived at the centre of every orbit.

“The stretch,” he said, like it hurt to say it. “The fit. The heat. The way you—God, the way you opened for me. Like your body knew me before I even touched you.”

You inhaled shakily.

“And when I was all the way in…” His voice cracked, and he pressed his forehead to yours, chest rising fast. “You were shaking. But you held me. You took every inch and still looked at me like you wanted it. Like you needed it.” “I did,” you whispered. He kissed you then — soft, reverent, like he didn’t deserve to — and pulled back just enough to whisper, “I don’t think I’m ever going to forget how that felt.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t.

And that silence must’ve unraveled something in him, because his voice dropped even lower when he murmured, “Do you realise how small you are compared to me? How delicate your bones are, how tiny your wrists? I could hold both in one hand and still have fingers left over. I could fold you in half and carry you through fire, and you’d barely fill my arms.”

Your body fluttered around him at the words, and he felt it — because his whole expression changed again. From awe to ruin.

“Oh my god,” he breathed. “You like it.”

You looked away, embarrassed.

“No,” he said, catching your chin and gently guiding your gaze back to his. “No. Don’t hide from that. That’s mine now.”

You blinked.

“That sound you made when I said you were mine?” he whispered. “I want to record it. I want to play it back every night. I want to catalogue every fucking detail of what it feels like to fit inside someone who shouldn’t be able to take it. Who takes it anyway. Who takes me.” You felt your throat close up. “Spencer…”

He kissed your cheek. Your nose. Your lips again, slower.

Then, finally, he pulled out of you, slow and careful, eyes flicking down between your legs — and his breath stuttered at the sight of it.

His cum leaking out of you. Your folds swollen. Your thighs twitching from aftershocks.

And you — still soft, still open, still his.

“You’re ruined,” he whispered, not like an insult — like a prayer.

He disappeared between your thighs and kissed the inside of your knee. The curve of your hip. The sore, tender space above your mound.

Then: “I’m not done with you. I’m going to fuck this into your memory until your body recognises me like second nature.”

You whimpered, curling weakly.

He grabbed the blanket, laid beside you, pulled you to his chest.

And finally, when your breathing had evened out and you were half-asleep on his chest — legs still tangled, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist like he couldn’t let go — Spencer reached for his phone with the kind of quiet guilt only a man with too many tabs open could feel.

He turned the brightness all the way down.

Searched with one hand while the other kept rubbing slow circles on your back.

And typed:

“Can you develop a size kink after one statistically unlikely sexual encounter?”

Then:

“Is it normal to feel emotionally wrecked after sex with someone whose wrist fits inside your hand?”

Then:

“What does it mean when you think you just met the person you were scientifically designed to fuck forever?”

He stared at the last one. Didn’t hit send.

Just watched the blinking cursor.

Then tucked the phone under the pillow, pulled you closer, kissed the top of your head, and whispered — so soft you didn’t even stir:

“God help me if this wasn’t a one-time thing.”

You weren’t awake.

But if you had been, you might’ve smiled — because Spencer Reid didn’t need to write a paper.

You were already the only result that mattered.

[littlelovelunette]

Ambessa X a somehow taller reader. Like she finally gets dwarfed by someone for once. Where Ambessa is a war general, Reader is more a person of sophistication that can command a room and uses their size to their advantage.

The only one they bow down to is Ambessa and even then, they border on the edge of brattiness with how much they test her temper.

Just A Few Inches

Ambessa x Taller!Reader

Smutty at the end, oral, brat-brat tamer dynamics

★ Ambessa never thought she'd find herself even mildly submitting to someone. Someone taller, almost sharper and so beautiful.

You're her wife now.

Her, somehow taller, wife. She can't bear the thought of it, she needs to crane her head up at least a little to see you. Ambessa put on her gold ring, the Medarda Emblem as she watched you getting ready for the day. If there was one word that summed you up— it was sophistication.

Whenever you walked into the meeting room, all the soldiers fall silent. All eyes on you. Ambessa Medarda's wife. You're taller than her, easily even. Your hands held her waist, guiding her to sit down before you add in your own points. You didn't even need to try to prep for a presentation. Ambessa was flustered, but she didn't show it. She never does. She masks it well.

★ Despite being so much more powerful, intimidating and having so much of a commanding presence, you still bowed down to Ambessa. She was the only one who could tame you. Ambessa had more experience after all, her voice was always so low and calculated.

You were bratty, and she was your tamer. Especially whenever you were mouthing her off, all she really needed to do was look you straight in the eye.

Your jaw would tighten. That glint in your eyes? Rage, reverence, arousal—it blurred.

And Ambessa knew.

She’d press in close, her hand gripping your jaw tight enough to silence you properly. “You forget who trained you,” she’d growl, low and hot against your lips, “Didn’t I teach you better than this, brat?”

That one word, spat from her lips like a curse, always made your knees buckle.

You hated how easily she could unravel you, how someone smaller, older, soft-spoken could cut right through your authority like a blade to silk. You ruled on the battlefield, in politics, in war councils, yet the second Ambessa touched you like that, none of it mattered.

You were hers.

★ “Is that all you’ve got, Medarda?”

Your lips on her neck.

“I thought you were supposed to break me.”

Your tongue, slow.

“Still standing, see?”

Her palm cracked across your cheek before you even finished the sentence. The sting made your head turn, but your smile remained. Challenging. You loved this.

“Kneel.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You let her ride your mouth until her thighs trembled, her head thrown back, one hand gripping the wall for balance. Your nails dug into her ass, the scent of her sweat, her pleasure, thick in the air.

She came with a broken growl of your name, panting, legs shaking, gripping your hair so tight it almost hurt. But when she finally let go, when she stepped back and looked down at you, flushed and soaked in her release, she grinned.

“Get up,” she ordered, breath still ragged. You complied. You always did whenever it came to Ambessa.

[seokminfilm]

the first ☆ lee seokmin

☆, pairing: lee seokmin x reader ☆, description: your best friend was your first and may be your last. ☆, warnings/tropes: non-idol au, fluff, hurt/comfort, best friend seokmin, implied mutual attraction (not even implied atp. they definitely love each other 💔), accidental pregnancy (reader is therefore written as female), vague mentions of sex, mutual pining, crying, mentions of anxiety/nervousness, physical touch, seokmin kisses reader once ☆, lyr's footnotes: felt my heart soften and jump around LMAO ☆, now playing: replay — shinee ☆, word count: 1.5k (yes 1.5k 🥲i went crazy w the concept okay) ☆, written for: @kstrucknet

seokmin is lounging on the couch when you decide to talk to him.

he's sprawled out on the cushions, legs open as he leans against the back of the couch. he's staring at something on his phone, a cute smirk on his face as his eyes scan the screen. seeing seokmin like this usually calmed all of your thoughts in a split second, but it now seemed to have the opposite effect.

"hey, seok...can we talk?" your voice sounds so small coming from your mouth, but seokmin hears you anyways, a smile on his face as he powers off his phone and places it on the couch. he pats the spot beside him, and you make your way over, falling onto the cushion with a heavy sigh.

seokmin's concerned now, leaning down to place his elbows on his thighs. he's staring at you with concerned brown eyes, worry eating at his expression as he speaks. "yeah, what's up?"

"it's about...it's about last month." the sentence is barely a whisper, but seokmin's steady breathing ceases for a moment as he recalls the memory in his mind.

the two of you were celebrating your birthday last month, and seokmin had cooked your birthday dinner before the two of you shared a few bottles of wine and ate your cake together, laughing at old photo albums seokmin had found on his high school laptop.

one thing led to another, and before you both knew it, you were sitting on seokmin's lap after kissing him silly, softly asking him to be your first time. he had asked almost twenty times between the couch and his bed if you really wanted to do it, to which you said yes every single time.

it was the best night of your life, and it had been on replay in both you and seokmin's minds ever since it had happened. both of you had promised to move on like it never happened, but it was complicated, especially when you had memorized the shape and taste of seokmin's lips on yours.

"did you not like it? was it uncomfortable for you? i told you we didn't have to do it if you didn't want it..." seokmin's soft yet worried tone makes you a bit less nervous, and you shake your head, blushing to yourself.

"i liked it, seokmin. i told you that after we finished." you sheepishly recall, and seokmin flushes too, smiling at you as he releases the breath he was holding. "you said to stop you if i got uncomfortable at any time, and i didn't stop you, so what does that mean?"

"you weren't uncomfortable." seokmin answers, and you smile, nodding. "exactly. no worries, seok."

it was funny that you were talking about 'no worries' when worry was eating away at you while you spoke to him. your period had been three weeks late, and just to be safe, you had bought a pregnancy test. you were on birth control because of the bad cramps you had, so you weren't too worried.

that was, until the pregnancy test showed two lines on the bathroom counter. positive.

tears had swam in your eyes, but you didn't know what for. were you excited? were you nervous? were you scared? did seokmin even want a baby? what if he was saving it for the one he wanted to marry? what if he didn't even like you like you thought?

"hey, are you okay?" seokmin's reaching out as soon as he sees that familiar look in your eyes, hand going to yours as he rubs the back of it with his thumb. tears are springing to your eyes before you can register what's going on, and your lip is quivering as you try to explain to seokmin what's wrong.

"hey, hey, take it slow. i'm not going anywhere. just take your time and then we can talk about it, okay? no rush." seokmin's offering you a small smile as he continues to softly stroke the back of your hand.

you try your best to still your racing heart, but a sob leaks from your lips anyway, and you're already falling into seokmin's open arms as he softly hushes you.

"it's okay, i promise. whatever it is, i'm here. you know i'm not going to go anywhere." seokmin pushes your tear-stained hair from your face, large hands cupping your wet cheeks as he presses a soft kiss to your temple.

seokmin always kissed your cheek when trying to calm you down—it was just second nature to him. he always did it when you two were younger. the kiss he had just given you now felt different. for some reason you couldn't explain, your heart had fluttered when he pressed his lips to your cheek.

the kiss doesn't fail to calm you down, though, and you find yourself reducing your near meltdown to a few sniffles. seokmin's still there, rubbing calming circles into your back and stroking your hair as you paw the tears from your eyes.

"hey, are you ready now? do you want to talk about it?" seokmin stops only to look at you, brown eyes focused in on you and only you as you nod, lips curling in on each other. "i'm listening. take your time."

nodding again, you take a shaky breath, body suddenly aware of the pregnancy test in the pocket of seokmin's old hoodie. with equally shaky hands, you pull the test out, handing it to seokmin with anxiety sketched all of your face.

"i realized my period was a bit late, so i took a test just to make sure everything was okay, and..." you trail off, tears already springing to your eyes again.

the pregnancy test feels like a fever dream to seokmin as he stares at the two blaring lines on the little screen, screaming positive to him in all caps. nothing can shake the focus he has on you, though, and he watches as you tug at your sleeves. anxiety is written all over your face as you watch his reaction, already tasting the tears on your lips.

"you're pregnant?" seokmin asks softly, the question behind it one of innocence and pure shock. his voice is unusually quiet, as if he's still trying to process what you've said to him. you nod, unable to echo his words without breaking down.

seokmin feels something akin to surprise as his eyes widen slightly, and he takes a deep breath, running a hand through his tousled hair as you watch him. seokmin's usual happy-go-lucky disposition is replaced by one of pure seriousness, and he's staring at you, brown eyes glued to your figure.

"i...wow." seokmin is at a loss for words, as he laughs emptily, and you nod hesitantly, wiping tears from your eyes for what seems to be the thousandth time. you've never seen seokmin so speechless before, and it scares you. what was he thinking?

"is something wrong? did i do something wrong?" you ask as your voice breaks, and seokmin shakes his head quickly, dropping the test somewhere on the couch in favor of taking your shaking hands.

"no, no, of course not. it's not your fault. why would it be your fault? i did this, silly, not you." the awkward smile that comes to seokmin's handsome face makes you smile too, and you hide your face in your sleeve for a second, wiping more tears.

"i'm here to do whatever you want to do. you can make the decision on whether you want to keep it or not. whatever you decide, i'll be right here. it's all about you in this situation, okay? we're going to focus on you." seokmin's voice is steady, and he pulls you in for another hug, to which you gladly accept.

the silence in the room feels heavy, filled with unspoken words both you and seokmin want to say. there's a blooming feeling akin to excitement and nervousness swelling in both of your hearts, and it's almost impossible to will down. you're fisting seokmin's shirt like he's all you have to hold onto, and seokmin's muscled arms softly tighten around your waist.

the thought of having a child has always been one you've thought about often. raising a child with the love of your life was a dream you've always had ever since you were old enough to understand how babies came.

and now, that the thought was turning into a reality, with seokmin as the second part in the equation, you somehow wanted it even more.

you'd share this moment with no one else other than seokmin. he was made for it.

seokmin was starting to think he was made for you.

the deep breath you let out in seokmin's firm arms says all you need to say, and seokmin nods, understanding your body's language in one swift movement.

seokmin would be with you through everything, and maybe, just maybe, he'd finally be confident enough to tell you how he feels. how honored he is to know that you trusted him enough to love you intimately for the first time. how honored he is to have you to laugh with and cry with. how honored he is to take care of you and cheer you up when you need it most.

just maybe, you and seokmin could finally step into the relationship that had been there all this time.

[itsnotyouithink]

AFRAID

SUMMARY: After a study session thick with tension, a quiet dare slips between the two of you: pass the test, and Tara will be at your next game. You’ve never cared about school — but now every page, every note, feels like a shot at something you can’t name yet.

PAIRING: tara carpenter x fem!reader

WARNINGS: mature language

WORD COUNT: 3.7k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: being sick during summer is terrible and wtf is this heat

previous chapter | next chapter

—————————

The lawn was a frying pan. Your team? The eggs.

You were drenched—shirt clinging to every dip of muscle, sports bra soaked through, ankle taped and already starting to throb again. Your mouth tasted like Gatorade and iron. Coach had you running suicides like he'd personally been offended by your existence. And still, you didn't stop.

Because she was there.

Tara Carpenter sat under a sad excuse of a tree with crossed arms and murder in her eyes, looking like she'd rather be set on fire than outdoors - which you guess was one in the same considering the temperature. Her navy T-shirt was stuck to her back, her black shorts riding up her thighs, legs folded beneath her like she was trying to vanish into the earth. Sunglasses dangled uselessly from her fingers.

Her book was open but completely ignored. Her eyes, though?

All yours.

You caught her more than once. Every time you wiped sweat from your jaw, every time you winced and shook out your ankle, her gaze drifted. And every time you caught her, she looked away just a little too slow. Like she knew better. Like she couldn't help it.

When Coach finally called for water, you didn't go to the cooler. You went right to her.

You dropped to the blanket like your body had short-circuited, one leg stretched out, one arm slung lazily across her textbook. Your head tilted back, neck glistening, chest rising and falling like a warning siren.

"I hope you're writing this down," you muttered. "This is what greatness looks like."

"You're sweating all over my Criminal Law notes," she replied dryly.

"You're welcome. They've been blessed."

"I'm going to set you on fire."

"You already have, Carpenter."

Her mouth twitched.

Just a little.

From her other side, Mindy made a noise that sounded vaguely like a scream into her hands. "Can you two not flirt during heatstroke?"

Anika peeled her sunglasses off. "No, this is amazing. This is enemies-to-lovers but the enemies part is just foreplay."

Tara turned her face slightly toward you. Her cheek was flushed. Her jaw tight. But her voice? Smooth as ever. "You look like you just lost a fight with a hose."

You grinned. "You still think I'm hot."

"You're literally steaming."

"You like it."

"You're delusional."

"You're obsessed."

She exhaled hard, then turned back to her book—still untouched. "You have no idea what you're doing, do you?"

"Oh, I do," you said. "I just want to hear you say yes."

"To what?" she asked, not looking up.

You leaned in, voice lower now. "Come to the game."

Tara blinked.

"You've never come to one," you continued, still close. "You sit here during practice. You ask questions during tutoring. But you've never seen me play. Really play."

Her fingers tapped against the spine of the book. Then stopped.

You tilted your head. "Scared it'll make it worse?"

"Make what worse?" she said too fast.

"The thing you're pretending not to feel."

She rolled her eyes. "You've had one too many heat strokes."

"Forty points, Carpenter. I’ll drop forty next week, if you show up. You don’t want the team to lose, now do you? Oh, and you should bring me Gatorade."

She stared at you. "You think you'll actually hit forty?"

You smirked. "If you're there? Easily."

"And if I say no?"

"I won’t even get off the bench."

She tilted her head at you with a smirk, “Seeing you fail is my excitement, why would I let you succeed?” Tara shrugged, “Besides, you’re exhausting."

You let your knee brush hers. Let it linger. "You're still here."

She looked down at where your leg touched hers, then back at you. "If—and this is purely hypothetical—you pass your film studies test..."

You leaned closer. "Yeah?"

"Maybe I'll show up."

"Maybe?"

"Maybe."

You looked down at her mouth. Then back up. "Do I get anything else?"

"Yeah," she said, eyes flicking to yours. "A cold Gatorade and a restraining order."

You laughed. "I'll take the Gatorade."

"You're not getting the kiss."

"I never said kiss."

"You were thinking it."

You didn't deny it.

She didn't move away.

Mindy clapped like someone had just hit a buzzer-beater. "Oh my Gosh, she's gonna show up and she's gonna fold."

"I'm not folding," Tara snapped.

But when you stood—slowly, lazily, stretching enough for your jersey to ride up and reveal just a sliver of your lower stomach—her sunglasses came up faster than her defense ever could.

You turned as you jogged back to your team, calling over your shoulder, “I’ll text you my favorite Gatorade flavor later!"

Tara didn't answer.

But her thumb hovered over her phone screen for the next ten minutes.

And her eyes?

Locked on you.

⸻

Your dorm room is quiet, save for the soft rustle of notebook pages and the occasional groan you make when your brain short-circuits.

The overhead light is too harsh, so you've turned it off and settled with the small desk lamp in the corner, which casts a yellow glow across your notes. Your film studies textbook lies cracked open in front of you, highlighters and loose paper scattered around it like the remnants of a storm. Your laptop screen is split between the lecture slides and the Google Doc you're barely holding together - Brad Pitt glares at you through the screen.

You've read the same sentence four times. You don't even know what mise-en-scène is anymore. You're sweaty from practice, sore from pushing through drills on a busted ankle, and your eyes are starting to blur—but none of that matters as much as the fact that if you fail this test, she doesn't show.

A passing grade is all you need, B- or higher! That's the deal. And you want her in the bleachers more than you've wanted sleep in a week. You stare at the screen again, thumb hovering over your phone. It's past midnight. You've already chugged an iced coffee. It didn't help.

You send the text.

[1:03 AM — You]

you up or do you value sleep and sanity

You watch the typing dots appear, vanish, reappear. Your heart thuds like a free throw.

[1:05 AM — Tara]

what's wrong

is this a medical emergency

did you forget what a director is again

You smile in spite of yourself.

[1:05 AM — You]

worse

i don't get any of this

can you come help

like actually

i think i'm gonna fail and then i'll never get to see u in the student section

There's a longer pause this time. Then:

[1:07 AM — Tara]

give me ten minutes

don't do anything you’ll regret, i’ll be right there

You stare at the screen. Blink. Sit up straighter. Something tight and strange winds low in your stomach.

Tara Carpenter is sneaking out. For you.

————

Ten minutes later, she's in the hallway.

Well—trying to be in the hallway.

The dorm's fluorescent lights buzz low overhead, flickering slightly, and she pulls the hood of her sweatshirt up like she's about to commit a crime. Her arms are folded tight across her chest, and she walks like someone trying not to be perceived. Tara had never been in the athletics dorms before - Chad chose to go a more safer route for himself after the murders. She rolled her eyes at the spirit practically oozing from the walls — the bold signs, posters of the athletes, and the infamous Bulldog statue at the end of the hall wearing a crown and funnily enough, your jersey.

She's nearly to your door when she hears them.

"Carpenter?" a voice calls down the corridor. "No way."

Tara freezes. Slowly turns her head.

There, just outside the lounge, half a dozen of your teammates are sprawled across beanbags and couches, a few still in practice gear. One of them—Dani—is eating instant noodles straight from the cup and staring like she's just seen a ghost.

Tara blinks. "Hi," she says flatly.

"Wait," Ava says, sitting up so fast her hoodie falls off one shoulder. "You're here? For her?"

"I'm... delivering notes," Tara lies. Poorly.

"For her film test?"

"Yes."

"Right. At one in the morning."

Tara sighs.

Dani's eyes narrow. "Are you two, like... dating?"

"Absolutely not.”

"So you're just studying in her dorm. At 1 a.m." They all glance at each other quickly, like they’re in on a joke she isn’t a part of.

Tara mutters something under her breath. Then, louder, "Can you just point me to her door?"

The team snickers as Ava leans her head out dramatically. "End of the hall. Left side. You'll hear the tragic groans of someone crying over poor formatting."

"Tell her she owes us sprints if this ends in a forehead or cheek kiss," Dani adds. Another one of your teammates chimes in, “Full suicide sprints if it’s on the lips!”

"I'm ignoring all of this," Tara mutters, already walking again.

⸻

You swing open the door.

Tara's standing there in a black zip-up hoodie, sleeves pulled over her hands, her bun falling apart in the best possible way. Her eyes are tired, but alert, dark and shining beneath the low dorm hallway light. There's a red flush creeping up her neck—probably from the walk, maybe from passing your teammates, definitely not from nerves, definitely not.

"You rang," she deadpans.

You step back and gesture her inside. "Welcome to the disaster zone."

She steps in, eyes sweeping over the room with that same semi-judgmental expression she always wears when she's trying not to smile. Your desk is an explosion of papers and coffee cups. Your bed is half-made, like you gave up halfway through fixing it and decided to suffer in it instead. The desk lamp in the corner casts everything in this golden-yellow haze, soft and a little hazy, like the warmth left in a gym after a long practice. She tries to ignore the posters practically hanging off the walls - Fight Club, The Arctic Monkeys, and a poster of.. a pie with the mathematical pi symbol in the middle?

Tara drops her bag with a soft thud and moves toward the bed like it's routine—like she's done this before. She sinks onto the edge, crossing her legs under her and tugging one sleeve down so it hangs over her knuckles.

You eye her, amused. "Comfortable?"

She lifts a brow, tugging her hoodie tighter. "If I'm gonna babysit your academic survival, I get a soft surface."

There's a flicker of something behind the sarcasm—a softness to the way she settles in, back straight against your pillow, like she belongs here. Her knee bounces once before she steadies it with her hand against the royal blue sheets.

"Wow," you say, settling into your desk chair and spinning it halfway toward her. "You've grown into such a nurturing presence."

"Shut up and open your notes."

You grab the crumpled packet from the pile and scoot closer, spinning the chair to face her directly. You're close now. Not close enough to touch. But close enough to feel the subtle pull of her presence. The way her breath shifts when you lean forward. The small, almost-invisible tension in her shoulders when your knee bumps the side of the bed.

Her eyes flick to your ankle—still wrapped, still swelling slightly. She doesn't say anything about it. Just gestures at the notes. "Start."

You try. You stumble. You're tired and wired and every word feels like static.

"Okay," she says after a beat, "Define diegetic sound."

You glance at her. "Um..."

She leans forward slightly, just enough for her shoulder to brush your bent knee. Her voice drops. "Don't make me regret this."

"Sound that... exists in the story world?"

Tara hums. Approving. Barely.

You glance up at her. Her expression is unreadable, but her eyes are watching you closely.

"And non-diegetic is like... the score, voice-over, stuff only the audience hears."

She nods, slowly. "Not bad."

You smirk. "I'm hot and smart. Dangerous combo."

"I wouldn't go that far," she says, but the corner of her mouth twitches.

"And yet," you say, flipping the page. "You came all the way down here just to watch me study in short shorts.

Tara blinks. Her gaze drops—too quick, too obvious.

You grin.

"I came to stop you from failing."

"Same thing."

She exhales, but it sounds like she's trying not to laugh. She takes your notes from you, her fingers brushing yours—warm, quick, deliberate. There's a pause when they touch. You feel it. She does too.

"Okay," she murmurs, skimming the page, "talk to me about cinematography."

You groan. "That's the one with... framing?"

She nods. "Composition. Lighting. Color. Movement. It's what you think of when something feels like a movie."

"Like this?"

You gesture vaguely between the two of you—her on your bed, hoodie rumpled, lamp casting golden shadows across her collarbone; you, in a hoodie you never zipped, sitting a little too close, leg pressed against the mattress like it's holding you up.

She doesn't answer right away.

Instead, she looks at you. Really looks.

"You're tired," she says quietly.

You blink. "That's your takeaway?"

"You look like you're gonna pass out."

"Maybe I'm just overwhelmed by your beauty."

She snorts. "You're ridiculous."

"You're pretty when you're annoyed."

"I'm always annoyed."

"Exactly." You smile.

There's a beat of silence.

You watch her carefully. The way her fingers curl slightly in the fabric of your blanket. The way her mouth opens like she's going to argue—then doesn't. Her lashes are dark, casting soft shadows on her cheeks. You want to trace them with your thumb.

"You're not gonna fail," she says again, gentler this time.

You nod, biting your lip. "You think I'll pass?"

Her voice lowers. "I think you want to impress me."

Your mouth curves.

"I think," she continues, "you'd study for twenty more hours just to make me show up."

You tilt your head. "Would it work?"

She leans back on her hands. "Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"You're still flirting," she murmurs.

"You're still here," you counter.

She blinks slowly. Doesn't reply. Just... watches you. The quiet between you stretches and deepens, full of all the things neither of you are saying out loud. Tara glared at you, “Is that your favorite line?”

You shrug and push your notes off your lap. "Okay, lightning round."

She straightens, already smirking. "You're gonna fail the lightning round."

"If I get four out of five..."

"No."

"Three out of five?"

"Still no."

"You don't even know what the deal is."

"I know it involves kissing."

You pause. Let the silence hang.

Then: "Is that a no?"

She doesn't answer right away. Her eyes linger on your mouth for a second too long.

"Three out of five," she says finally, voice barely above a whisper. "You pass. I come to the game. And... we talk about the rest after."

You exhale slowly. "That sounds dangerously close to a yes."

"It's dangerously close to a maybe."

"Progress."

She looks down, smiling—just for a second. The kind that slips out before you can stop it. Then she grabs your notes and whacks you lightly in the chest.

"Back to work."

“No lightning round?” You argue. The response that’s given is a simple glare, “You ruined that idea when you involved kissing you into the mix.”

But when she shifts forward again, her leg brushing yours, her voice low and quiet as she starts quizzing you—there's no mistaking the way the air tightens between you. No denying the soft press of something growing where grades and flirting collide.

She stays for another hour.

And when she finally gets up to leave, her hoodie sleeves pulled back down to her wrists, she pauses in your doorway.

You glance up.

Her mouth opens.

Closes.

Then, quietly, without looking at you: "B- and up, right?” You nod, heart skipping.

"Okay," she says, backing out of the room. "Make me show up, Varsity.”

The door shuts gently behind her.

And you sit there, notebook still open, pulse hammering in your throat, knowing damn well: you're not just passing that test.

You're playing for her now.

⸻

The doors to the humanities building creak open behind you, but you're already squinting into the heat.

It's late morning, but the sun's high and heavy—spilling down across the quad, coating the sidewalks in gold and turning every step into a slow drag. The humidity hangs low, dense and unmoving, the kind that makes your skin feel just a little too tight and your shirt stick to your back in damp, uncomfortable patches.

You've got your hoodie tied around your waist like a security blanket. Your shoulders ache from sitting too stiff for too long, and your brain feels like it's been rung out and hung on a line to dry. You survived your Film 101 test—barely—and you haven't even had the nerve to check your grade yet (you were busy shedding an exhausted tear or two in the bathroom).

But then you see her.

Tara.

Standing near the low brick ledge that curves around the quad's edge, partially shaded by a tree that does absolutely nothing to help with the heat. She's leaning casually against the stone, one leg crossed over the other at the ankle, the toe of her sneaker lazily tapping the ground in a slow, unconscious rhythm.

She's in a fitted black tank top and soft gray hoodie unzipped halfway, sleeves shoved up to her elbows. Her hair's pulled half-up in a loose, slightly messy twist that should look careless—but on her, it's lethal. A few strands of her bangs stick to the sides of her neck, damp from the heat, and the breeze lifts the rest just enough to make her look like she walked off the set of a film you're not cool enough to be in.

Her sunglasses are perched on her head, nudging her hair back from her face, and she's holding an iced coffee in a way that's almost theatrical—lazy, precise, like she knows it draws attention to her ring covered fingers.

She doesn't see you right away.

But when she does—her eyes flick up, and she smiles just barely, like it's a secret she wasn't going to share unless you made the first move.

"You look like hell," she calls as you approach, her voice flat and fond at the same time.

You drag a hand through your hair, still catching your breath from the nerves of the exam. "Thanks. I'm going for post-apocalyptic student athlete."

"You nailed it. Very The Road, but make it sweaty."

You stop a few feet from her, close enough to smell the faint sugar in her coffee and the sharp, clean scent of whatever soap she uses. She's got her whole I'm too cool for this act on full display, but her eyes are too sharp to sell it. She's scanning you—taking in your flushed face, the slight drag in your step, the twitch in your fingers.

"So," you say, trying not to sound too breathless, "how much do you know?"

She sips her drink, lets the ice rattle. "About what?"

You tilt your head. "Don't play dumb, Carpenter."

She doesn't look at you right away. Instead, her gaze flicks to some imaginary spot past your shoulder, like she's debating how much to admit.

Then: "You passed."

You blink.

"You got a solid B," she adds. "He curved it."

You let out a breath so loud that it turns into a laugh, half-shocked, half-weightless. "Holy shit. I was ready to fail and spiral for like, a month."

"You still might," she says, smirking over the rim of her cup.

You squint at her. "How'd you know?"

Her lips twitch. "The portal updated twenty minutes ago."

"Did you check before I got out?"

"I was... curious."

You raise a brow. "Curious?"

She shrugs with one shoulder. "Nosy. Whatever."

You grin, stepping just a little closer, enough that your shoes are nearly touching. "Admit it. You care."

Tara scoffs. "I care about the chance of never having to tutor you again."

"When I do pass and I don’t need you anymore, you're gonna miss me." When I don’t need you anymore, that hit Tara.

"I'll manage."

There's a pause—too long to be casual. Her eyes drag over your face, lingering for a second on your mouth before flicking away.

"So," you say, softer now. "You're coming?"

Tara raises a brow.

"To the game," you clarify, even though you both know what you meant.

"I never said that."

"But you implied it."

"I implied a maybe."

"But now it's a yes."

She crosses her arms, iced coffee nestled in the crook of her elbow, fingers drumming lightly against her bicep. "You're awfully confident."

"I passed the test we thought I’d bomb. What's more impressive than that?"

She laughs under her breath. "Is that what this is? A seduction via GPA?"

"I have layers."

"Mm. Like a freshman's film analysis."

You grin. "If you come, I'll drop forty."

She hums. "That sounds like a threat."

"It's a guarantee."

Tara eyes you like she's trying to figure out if she should kiss you or kill you. Maybe both. She shifts her weight, her knee grazing yours in a way that doesn't feel accidental at all.

"And what do I get if I show up?" she asks.

You don't even blink. "A free show. Me, center court. You, second row. I'll even do a special hand signal at you if I'm feeling bold."

"I will walk out."

"You'll stay. You'll bring Gatorade. Red."

"That wasn't part of the deal."

"It is now." The grin on your face makes her shift her stance, you keep talking like you usually do. “I was thinking a hand gesture like this,” you put two fingers over your heart and then point it to her, “or if I’m feeling really bold I could do the full-on I love you sign.”

Tara doesn't reply. Just watches you for a moment, jaw tightening slightly like she's trying to hold something back—an eye roll, a laugh, a blush. She turns, finally, slowly beginning to walk away.

But halfway down the path, she tosses a final look over her shoulder.

"If I show up, it's not for the Gatorade," she says, almost too quietly.

You swallow hard.

"Then what's it for?"

She smiles—sharp and low and dangerous. "You'll find out. If you don't choke."

And then she disappears into the heat, leaving you dumbfounded.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 207 (Sulani Baby)

After a long day of travel and months of planning, the Gordons finally arrived in Sulani - with both adventurous dogs in tow! Night would soon fall over the lush islands, but travel fatigue couldn't stop them from checking in with Rafa, Melissa, and the new baby.

They were also ready to unload the baby gear they'd collected through Heather's registry, with much of it coming from her trusted friend, the mermaid Elucea Glynnan (and her Watcher @hashimasims!)

But Heather and Conrad were dismayed to find the forced trio struggling, and promised to help them set everything up once they'd settled into the rental. Happy to catch up, the kids hadn't seen Rafa and Melissa since Lilix's wedding, but everyone was surprised to learn the baby still had no name.

"We don't know what to call her," said Melissa with a frown. "Naming her ourselves doesn't feel like...We can't think of anything we like enough."

Heather frowned. This was a clear sign she wasn't bonding with the newborn they called 'the baby,' and her heart felt heavy for all three of them.

"What about Iris?" suggested Lavender with an innocent smile. "Mommy, you said you liked that name if Roan had been a baby sister but then you said you weren't having any more babies. Maybe this baby can have it!"

Rafa and Melissa nodded and shrugged. "Iris is nice," said Rafa, before Melissa excused herself to the bathroom. She maneuvered around gifted baby gear that filled their tiny beachfront shack, clearly worried about something and Heather noticed - but at least they were out of the shipwreck.

When Melissa emerged again, she looked at Rafa with a nauseated stare. "What is it?" he wondered. "Mel, what's wrong?"

She took a deep breath, showing him the positive pregnancy test through a fog of tears. "Rafa, I'm late. I'm pregnant."

The young officer's smile crumbled at the news. Raising his infant niece was hard enough. Even though they'd finally moved into a real home, they were barely coping with Ximena's daughter, and the thought of stuffing another helpless infant inside their clapboard walls made him feel sick to his stomach. "We were careful."

"We tried to be, but it's been so busy! I didn't mean for-."

"It's okay," said Rafa, but even he didn't seem to believe it. "We'll figure it out and make it work."

"Rafa, we shouldn't have to!" Melissa cried. "She - Iris? - she's not our baby."

"She's family."

Melissa sighed heavily, and Conrad looked between them with sympathy. "Kids are resilient, you guys. You can handle anything, and Heather and I will always be a phone call away."

They spent the evening with Rafa, Melissa, and the baby, enjoying the warm summer night and the sound of crickets through the open windows of their small four-room shack. But Melissa went to bed early in the spare room, and Rafa's head was clearly spinning.

Heather, on the other hand, had no trouble bonding with Iris, cuddling her and falling for her adorable coos until she fell asleep. Before heading back to the rental for the night, she and Conrad took a minute together in the bedroom.

"I really hoped they'd be doing better than they are," Heather said heavily. "And now they're having their own baby while barely coping..."

"You know I've always had faith in Rafa," Conrad said carefully. "But it's too much to ask him to raise Ximena's baby, too. They're too young."

Heather nodded slowly, with a glance to baby Iris sleeping peacefully in her bassinet. "Conrad, I think you might've been right when you said we should raise this baby. Now she's even got the girl's name I wanted thanks to Lavender...But could we really raise her and Ash in the same home? What if Ximena's ghost...?"

"We'd just need to take it one day at a time, but we're better equipped than Rafa and Melissa. We don't have to decide anything tonight, and we'll talk to Ash before anything's final."

They'd come to Sulani to deal with a curse and help a family friend, but now Heather felt sure they might return to the Bay with a new baby. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary | Gen 2.2 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

Shout out to @itmeansiris who gave me permission to name a very important baby after her, without letting me spoil/warn that it was Ximena's baby. Bold! Though your name is too perfect for the In Bloom Challenge themes not to use at some point, I love collaborating with you and following your sim families through all their drama. Even though it's Ximena's baby, I hope you can find love for baby Iris!

Iris is a nature and colour name, which is why Heather had it in her back pocket. Colour, you say? Why yes, it's Greek for rainbow, the most colourful naturally-occurring phenomenon on Earth. And I have to give flowers (irises!) to @purplesimmer455 who took the clue of infant Roan's rainbow shirt foreshadowing future plot and guessed it had to do with a crossover with Iris. She was right about that, but didn't quite guess it would also be a VIP baby name. It was a layered clue!

And this is the room that @hashimasims sent me! I kept everything, including the custom Elucea artwork!!! My sims are so privileged, seriously. Thank you so much!

[respectfulrebel]

Soooooo… this started so wholesome and cute— Noah and the boys, her proud moment with her designs making the wall, him showing up at the studio, the sandwiches 🥹🥹🥹 their conversation, the vibes??? And then… 🫠🫠🫠🫠 I wasn’t kidding when I said I was crying on the bus. I’m repeating myself cause I’ve said that so many times before, but the way you describe and write heavy moments like this is always so real, and always makes my heart ache 🥲

Theo squinted up at Noah, suddenly curious.

"Was that your girlfriend?"

Theo asking the real questions 🤭

"Would you want her to be your girlfriend?" Theo insisted.

What did I say? 🤭🤭🤭

"And she came all the way out here for you. Maybe she likes you!" his brother added.

I love those kids 🤭🤭🤭 they know what’s up

"Maybe she'll break up with him." Said Theo.

FINGERS CROSSED, THEO 😩

"That means I'm getting wiser. Now go, before she really comes out here with a slipper."

🤭🤭🤭🤭

Noah snorted. "Is he still alive? Or did he finally drink himself into a coma?"

😂😂😂 I mean that’s a fair question

"I'd get one of these tattooed. Easy."

Pleaseeeeee 🥹🥹🥹

You looked at him for a second, heart tapping a little faster than it should have. "No. You don't have to leave."

Noah blinked. "You sure? I can go."

Noooooo dummy, take the hint 😩

"Don't say stuff like that. I'd care."

😭😭😭😭 stoooooooooppp

Like he didn't mean anything. Like he truly believed he was disposable.

How is it possible for my heart to break for a fictional character??? 😭😭😭

Noah's hand, light but firm, curled around your forearm for just a second. He didn't say a word. Just guided you gently to the inside of the sidewalk, placing himself between you and the quiet late evening traffic.

He passed not only the boyfriend test, but the husband test, the baby daddy test, the soulmate test, the grow old together test, the choose you in every lifetime test, the I can wait for years if I gotta test… 😭

You turned toward the small grocery store on the corner, one with a flickering neon in the window and hand-written signs taped to the door.

I literally screamed internally “THE SANDWICH!!!!!” 😭😭😭

He stopped mid-sentence as the bag shifted in your hand and the rest of the contents became visible: a loaf of white bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a jar of pickles.

I’m gonna cry 😭😭😭😭

"Because you said it was your favorite,"

MARRY HEEEEERRRR 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

"Sometimes I want to try new things. Just because they look bad doesn't mean they are."

Pleaseeee 😭😭😭

It was such a small thing, but you liked having his hand in yours, even if just for a moment.

It’s not a small thing 🥹🥹🥹🥹

"It's just... this is probably the sweetest thing someone's done for me in a long time."

Stooooooooopp it right nooooow 😭😭😭😭

You watched him chew. In your head, you could almost picture a younger version of him, swinging his legs under a kitchen table, grinning and waiting for his little sandwich. It was a strangely vivid image, and it made your chest feel weird.

It felt like the city went quiet around you. It was just the two of you on an old slab of concrete, eating weird childhood food under a sky that was slowly turning dark enough for you to see a couple of stars.

He just casually reached for the jar of pickles again while you were mid-sentence, and you didn't stop him. You kept talking while you started spreading the peanut butter on a slice for him, and you let him cut the pickles after.

And they’re cooking together already??? 😭😭😭

"Thought for sure l'd take a hit bad enough to chip them a bit. Honestly, I even kind of hoped for it. These things are way too long."

No, they’re not, they’re adorable 🥺🥺 I love that you’ve included his bunny teeth 🤭

Because it was nothing.

Right?

Mhm… sure… 😌

But you had smiled more in one hour with Noah than you had in days at home. You had laughed. And you had felt a weird feeling in your stomach, a good weird feeling. Mostly when he smiled. When he thanked you. When he looked at you with his pretty brown eyes a moment longer.

😭😭😭😭😭😭 girl, you’re in loveeeeeeeeee 🥺

So, it had been a good day. Better than he could ever imagine. He also had the chance to hold your hand a couple of times, even if he wasn't really holding it.

Sweet boy 🥺🥺🥺 I also love that we get to see his perspective as well 🥺

And when Noah closed his eyes, laying on his mattress, the dark didn't stay empty.

Because there's a field.

There's always a field.

I swear from now on I’m gonna be getting triggered every time I hear the word field 😩 I already loved this story so much, but THIS??? WHAT IS HAPPENING???? Literally was at the edge of my seat reading this last bit, heart pounding as I was trying not to audibly sob 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 I could not form a coherent theory about it but I’m sooo invested in this story, it’s unreal 😭

𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐇 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

Pairing: underground fighter! noah x reader

Series summary: You’re dragged to watch an illegal fight, and after the match, you meet Noah, a fighter who seems to be battling more than just his opponents.

Tw: relationship doubt, nightmares

Series mastelist

Noah turned the corner with a grocery bag slung over one shoulder, thumb hooked through the strap. The bag wasn’t full, just a few essentials: a loaf of bread, a carton of oat milk, a couple of apples and a couple of those meals already cooked and ready to be eaten.

As he passed the intersection near the old mural wall, a half-deflated basketball bounced out into the street in front of him.

“Hey, Noah!” a voice called.

He looked up to see Miles come skidding after the ball, sneakers slapping pavement. Right behind him was Theo, younger by a couple of years, skinnier, always wearing a t-shirt too big for him.

Noah bent down, caught the basketball before it rolled too far, and turned it in his hands once before tossing it gently back.

“Hey, kids,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting.

“Thanks!” Miles caught it clumsily, grinning.

Theo squinted up at Noah, suddenly curious. “Was that your girlfriend?”

Noah blinked. “What?”

“That girl,” Miles said, coming closer, “The one who came by last week, asking for you. Looking like she was on a secret mission.”

Noah chuckled softly. “No, she’s not my girlfriend. We… just kinda know each other.” He shrugged.

Miles exchanged a quick glance with Theo, then grinned. “She was pretty, though. You know.”

Noah laughed again, shaking his head. “That doesn’t change anything.”

“Would you want her to be your girlfriend?” Theo insisted.

“Why don't you two go back to playing ball?” He said in a way that let them know he wasn't actually mad.

Theo stuck out his tongue but didn’t move. “Because you’re our friend, Noah. We like talking to our friends.”

Noah’s smile softened as he looked at them, and he took a small step closer to Theo, he reached out and ruffled the younger boy’s hair, messing it up.

“You guys are my friends too,” he said, “But she’s still not my girlfriend.”

Theo grinned, shaking his head as he fixed his hair, like a little dog.

“Does she live around here?” The kid asked.

Noah shook his head. “Nope. She lives in the city.”

“Oh, that’s cool!” Miles said.

“And she came all the way out here for you. Maybe she likes you!” his brother added.

Noah rolled his eyes. “She lives in the city. With her boyfriend.”

Miles let out a groan of disappointment. “Aw, no!”

“Maybe she’ll break up with him.” Said Theo.

“I really don’t think that’s gonna happen. I'm sorry, kids.”

Just as the boys were turning to run back toward their game, a sharp voice rang out across the street.

“Miles! Theo!”

They all turned their heads in unison. Standing in the doorway of a small brick rowhouse just a few doors down was their mother, one hand braced on the frame, the other resting on her hip. Her apron was dusted with flour, and she had that specific tone that meant playtime was over.

“That’s enough, boys! Homework time. I don’t want to come out there again!”

Theo let out a groan. Miles dragged his feet a little, bouncing the basketball one more time, reluctantly.

“She always catches us at the best part,” Miles muttered under his breath.

Noah grinned. “You heard her. Better listen to your mom.”

Miles sighed, then called over his shoulder, “Okay, we’re coming!”

Their mother spotted Noah then and lifted a hand in greeting, as she gave him a small smile. He lifted his hand back in return, a little wave of acknowledgment.

As the boys started trudging back toward the house, Theo paused and looked over his shoulder.

“Hey, Noah?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time, can we come over and punch the big bag again?”

“Maybe,” he said, shifting the grocery bag on his shoulder. “But only if you actually do your homework today. Like, really do it.”

Theo squinted. “Even the math?”

“Especially the math.”

Miles groaned again. “Ugh, you sound just like our mom.”

Noah laughed. “That means I’m getting wiser. Now go, before she really comes out here with a slipper.”

The boys took off in a run, jostling each other as they scrambled up the front steps of their house. Their mom gave them both a light smack on the shoulder as they passed, more affectionate than stern.

Noah lingered for a second, watching them go in, the door swinging shut behind them. The street quieted again, he just smiled to himself, and kept walking.

You were wiping down the last of the counters and fixing some artwork that was not in the right place, closing time approaching.

Nick stepped out from the back room, where he kept some tools, pulling off his gloves and tossing them into the trash.

“Hey,” he said, “did your friend like the butterfly?”

You looked up from where you were stacking ink bottles. “Oh yeah. She loved it. I think she posted, like, five hundred pictures on her stories.”

Nick laughed, grabbing his hoodie from the hook near the door. “I know. She tagged the shop in every single one of them.”

"Well, that girl has a lot of followers. Maybe she gave you free advertising."

"In that case, I'm glad she posted so much about it." He said with a smile, then looked at the clock on the wall. “Listen. Think it’s cool if I head out a bit early? We’re done for the day, and you’ve pretty much got the place spotless already.”

You gave him a nod. “Yeah, of course, no worries. I’ll finish up and close.”

“Seriously, thanks. I owe you one.”

You waved him off. “Just go before you fall asleep while driving.”

Nick laughed again, zipping up his hoodie. “You're the best! Have a nice evening!”

The door jingled as he stepped out, letting in a quick gust of cooler air, and then it clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone.

You went back to wiping down the last chair, checking the needle disposal bin, straightening a few art prints on the wall that had been slightly knocked down by the day’s traffic.

Your eyes landed on a specific corner of the wall.

A few days ago, after Nick had caught a glimpse of one of your sketches when your notebook hit the floor, he had asked you to see more.

You didn’t expect what came next. He told you they were beautiful, different in a way that would stand out, and that someone, probably more than someone, would want them on their skin. Then he offered to clear a spot on the wall and hang a few.

You hadn’t known what to say at first. You weren’t even sure your work belonged up there. But you’d said yes.

Now that section of the wall held your designs: a crescent moon tangled in lavender, a dagger wrapped in ivy and thread, a black cat mid-stretch, its tail curling like a question mark, a skeletal hand holding a blooming peony, a moth with eyes on its wings, a pair of koi fish circling in opposite directions.

You still thought they weren't that special. But they were yours. And now they lived here, in this space where people came to choose what they wanted to carry forever.

Seeing them on the wall still felt a little unreal. But it also felt good.

Outside, the sky was burning into that deep orange-violet that always made the city look absolutely beautiful. The front windows glowed softly with it, throwing reflections of the hanging flash art onto the tiled floor.

You were reaching for your jacket, keys already in hand, when you heard the soft jingle of the front door swinging open. You didn’t even look up at first.

“Sorry, we’re closed. If you want to book a consultation you can—”

You turned as you spoke, and stopped mid-sentence.

It was Noah.

The words evaporated off your tongue, replaced by an involuntary smile. He stood just inside the doorway, the hood of his sweatshirt still up. He pulled it back as the door closed behind him, brushing a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it down.

“Damn,” he said, brow arched. “I gotta have an appointment just to have a conversation with you now?”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “Noah, what are you doing here?”

“Can’t I just drop by because I wanted to say hi to you?” he asked. “The place you work at sounded pretty cool when you told me about it. I wanted to check it out.”

You smiled, folding your arms as you leaned back against the counter. He wanted to say hi to you. “So, verdict?”

He glanced around. “Yeah, it’s very cool. Way better than some of the places where I got my tattos. I got one of them in the back of an Indian restaurant, once. The artist was great, but I smelled like curry for a week.”

You laughed, shaking your head.

He sat down on the stool across from you, resting his elbows on the counter. That’s when you noticed his knuckles, scraped and a little swollen.

You nodded toward his hands. “Did you at least win this time?”

He nodded, slowly. “Yeah. Covered my groceries for the week. A lot of pre-cooked chicken and sad pasta salad.”

“Definitely better than the stuff Kole tries to cook sometimes.”

Noah snorted. “Is he still alive? Or did he finally drink himself into a coma?”

You shot him a look, even though you were already trying not to laugh. “Noah.”

“What?” he said, raising his hands like he was innocent. “Last time I saw him, he looked two beers from it.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s fine. Nothing an aspirin and a day at home couldn't fix.”

“Impressive,” Noah said, leaning forward a bit.

Noah glanced past you, his eyes landing on the display wall behind the counter. His expression shifted, brows lifting slightly, mouth tilting with something like surprise.

“Those are cool,” he said, nodding toward the framed flash art. “Really cool.”

“Thanks,” you replied, almost on instinct.

But then he looked at you more closely, like something had clicked. “Wait...did you make those?”

You hesitated for half a second, then nodded. “Yeah.”

“No way!” He leaned back slightly, clearly impressed. “You didn't tell me you could draw.”

You shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “It never came up, I guess.”

Noah stood, walking over to the wall to get a better look. He tilted his head, taking his time with each piece.

“These are sick.”

You smiled, warmth creeping up your neck. “I didn’t think they were anything special. Nick made me put some up.”

“Well, Nick was right,” he said, still facing the wall. “I’d get one of these tattooed. Easy.”

You laughed softly. “You’re just saying that.”

“No,” he said, turning back toward you. “I’m really not. You should draw more,” he added. “Seriously. I mean it.”

You wondered if he would’ve said the same thing if he’d seen the pages of your sketchbook, pages filled with his face, his bruised hands, all the details you couldn’t seem to stop drawing.

You thought you'd rather die than let him see them.

You didn’t say anything for a moment as watched him, standing in the fading orange light, surrounded by your own art. It felt so right. And you couldn’t help but think he was so beautiful.

You cleared your throat. “I was just about to close up, I—”

Noah turned to you quickly. “Oh, yeah. Of course. I’ll get out of your way. You probably wanna go home and crash or whatever, long day and all.”

You looked at him for a second, heart tapping a little faster than it should have. “No. You don’t have to leave.”

He looked at you, trying to understand.

“It’s still kinda early,” you added. “And Kole’s not gonna be home for a while anyway.”

Noah blinked. “You sure? I can go.”

Dumbass. I don't want you to.

“Yeah. Come with me. There’s something I’ve been meaning to try.”

That made him pause, uncertain. “Try?”

You smiled, locking the register and grabbing your bag. “You’ll see.”

He followed, curious now, his expression both amused and confused as you shut off the lights, twisted the key in the lock, and stepped out into the dusky orange haze that had settled over the city.

The parking lot was mostly empty. Sunset reflecting over the glass windows of the few cars there.

“This is how horror movies start,” Noah said, pretending to be suspicious, as he adjusted the sleeves of his hoodie. “Girl says ‘Come with me,’ guy follows without asking questions. Next thing you know...boom. Missing persons poster. Not that anyone would actually care if this really happened.”

You stopped walking for half a second, just enough to glance at him. The way he said it, lightly, like a joke, didn't change its meaning.

“Don’t say that.”

He looked at you, almost like you caught off guard. “What?”

“You know what,” you said, serious this time. “Don’t say stuff like that. I’d care.”

Noah blinked, like he hadn’t expected you to respond at all, let alone seriously.

“Not if you’re the one who murdered me in a tattoo shop parking lot,” he said, trying to keep the tone playful.

Eventually, you let out a little laugh, because it was easier. But the way he said it still hurt you.

Like he didn’t mean anything. Like he truly believed he was disposable.

He kept following you.

"You gonna tell me where we're going?" he asked.

You gave him a sideways glance, your expression just shy of smug. “Just wait. You’ll see.”

You crossed the street and reached the curb on the other side of the road, and then you felt it.

Noah’s hand, light but firm, curled around your forearm for just a second. He didn’t say a word. Just guided you gently to the inside of the sidewalk, placing himself between you and the quiet late evening traffic.

It happened so quickly, so naturally, you almost didn’t have time to register it. You glanced at him, but he didn’t meet your eyes, and he was already looking ahead.

But your heart was doing something it definitely wasn’t doing before.

And your mind was thinking that that little gesture was something that Kole never did.

You reached the edge of the sidewalk and came to a slow stop. You stood still for a second, and Noah slowed beside you, glancing around like he was trying to guess the next move.

You turned toward the small grocery store on the corner, one with a flickering neon in the window and hand-written signs taped to the door.

Noah looked at it, then looked back at you. “…This our destination?”

You smiled, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “Not exactly. Can you wait here for a few minutes?”

He blinked. “Uh. Yeah. Sure.”

“I’ll be quick.”

He leaned back against the wall without question, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, and nodded once. “I’ll be right here.”

You pushed through. Inside, the air was cooler and it smelled like a mix of all the food they sold there.

You found the pickles first, then the jar of peanut butter. The bread took longer, Noah hadn’t said what kind, and you stood staring at a few options until you just picked the one that looked closest to what a grandmother might buy. Fresh and soft, but with a cruncher crust.

At the last second, you grabbed a small, cheap plastic knife from near the deli counter, because you needed something to cut the bread and pickles.

Unexpectedly, the cashier didn’t even look at you funny.

When you stepped outside again, Noah was exactly where you left him, leaned back against the brick, one foot braced against the wall, head tilted toward the darkening sky like he’d been watching the clouds shift.

He straightened when he saw you, eyes immediately dropping to the grocery bag in your hand. Then they landed on the knife, partially visible.

“Ah! I knew you were gonna kill—”

He stopped mid-sentence as the bag shifted in your hand and the rest of the contents became visible: a loaf of white bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a jar of pickles.

His voice caught. The grin faded, just a fraction, and he blinked like something in him had gone soft all at once.

“…me.” he finished, barely above a whisper.

You held his gaze and smiled. “What?”

Noah’s eyes flicked from your face back to the bag, his posture subtly shifting like he didn’t quite know what to do with the warmth rising in his chest.

"Why’d you buy that?”

“Because you said it was your favorite,” you said simply. “You told me your grandma used to make it. And that you missed it.”

His lips parted slightly. You could tell he didn’t know what to do with that. Because he wasn't used to things like that.

You wondered how he could be so sure that he wasn't a good person, that he didn't deserve to stop fighting, to have a real job, a real house. How he could hate himself so much when his expression became so soft just by looking at the ingredients of a sandwich.

“I remember you said it sounded gross,” he said.

“It did,” you agreed, “but I still want to try it.”

“…Why?”

“Because…” You hesitated. Then shrugged. "Sometimes I want to try new things. Just because they look bad doesn’t mean they are."

Noah stared at you for a long second. There was something incredibly soft in his face now.

For a moment you just wanted to hug him. Tell him he wasn't alone, and if he had been, he wasn't anymore. That you cared. That you bought all that stupid things for him because you cared and hoped to make him happy with them.

He looked down, ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Jesus,” he muttered, not at you, more at himself.

You stayed in silence for a moment. Then bumped his arm with yours.

“C’mon,” you said, lifting the bag slightly. “Let’s find a place to test this culinary masterpiece.”

That earned you a breath of laughter.

“Lead the way.” he said.

You and Noah made your way back to the parking lot as the sky started growing darker.

There was a low concrete ledge near the edge of the lot, probably part of an old loading dock, just high enough to be a little hard to climb onto but perfect to sit, chat and eat for a while. Noah got there first and pulled himself up with a soft grunt, the soles of his shoes scraping against the cement. Once settled, he turned and offered you his hand without a word.

You looked at it for a second, then at him and you took it. It was warm, a little rough from old bruises and healing cuts, but his grip was careful as he helped pull you up beside him.

It was such a small thing, but you liked having his hand in yours, even if just for a moment.

You sat down next to him, and he leaned back on his hands, long legs stretched out in front of him. You pulled the brown paper bag into your lap and started unpacking everything.

“I wasn’t sure what kind of bread you meant,” you said.

“It's perfect.” he answered immediately.

You started slicing into it. “And important question: pickles. Slices or strips?”

Noah shrugged. “It’s not that deep.”

“No, come on. I want to make it the right way.”

He exhaled, giving in. “Slices.”

“Good,” you said, fishing a few out onto a napkin. “Because I don’t think I even know how to cut them into strips.”

He let out little laugh.

You kept working on the sandwiches, careful with the knife, placing each ingredient with quiet precision. You felt his gaze on you before you saw it. You glanced over, catching the way he was watching you.

“What?” you asked.

Noah blinked. “Nothing.”

You gave him a look. “Noah.”

“What?”

“Tell me.”

He hesitated, starting playing with the hem of his hoodie. Then he said, a little quieter, “It’s just… this is probably the sweetest thing someone’s done for me in a long time.”

Your fingers paused for a moment on the bread. That ache again, low in your ribs.

You didn’t know what to say, exactly. So you handed him a sandwich.

“Well,” you said, keeping your voice soft, “your grandma gets the credit. I’m just copying.”

He took the sandwich from your hands and looked at it for a second before glancing back at you. Then he took a bite.

You watched him chew. In your head, you could almost picture a younger version of him, swinging his legs under a kitchen table, grinning and waiting for his little sandwich. It was a strangely vivid image, and it made your chest feel weird.

While you waited for his verdict, you took a bite of yours.

“So?” You asked.

He gave a slow nod. “It’s perfect.”

“You already said that about the bread,” you pointed out.

“That’s because it is,” he replied. “It’s exactly how she used to make it.”

You took another bite and before you could say anything else, he was smirking at you.

“That’s your second bite,” he said, nodding at your sandwich.

You glanced down. “So?”

“So, that means you like it.”

“Actually, it’s kinda disgusting,” then added, “but I’m starving.”

He laughed again. And every time you managed to pull a laugh from him like that, it felt like a win.

It felt like the city went quiet around you. It was just the two of you on an old slab of concrete, eating weird childhood food under a sky that was slowly turning dark enough for you to see a couple of stars.

You took another bite. And maybe… it really didn’t taste so bad after all.

You stayed there a while longer. Long enough for Noah to eat not one, but two more sandwiches.

He just casually reached for the jar of pickles again while you were mid-sentence, and you didn’t stop him. You kept talking while you started spreading the peanut butter on a slice for him, and you let him cut the pickles after.

You found yourself talking more than you normally would, and he listened more than most people ever had. There was always something about the way he looked at you when you spoke, like nothing you said was boring, like he was hearing all of it and would remember every word.

At one point, you nodded toward the other side of the street.

“That record shop over there? The one with the neon sign half-burned out?”

Noah turned to follow your gaze.

“They’ve got a bunch of old vinyls and music gear. I’ve been a couple of times with my best friend. She left me in the metal section for like an hour and went off to search through Harry Styles stuff.”

Noah gave a short laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I swear, she could spend hours just flipping through vinyls with his face on them. Meanwhile, I made friends with this Jolly guy behind the counter. He's funny and I ended up talking to him for like two hours while she hunted down some limited edition single or something. We ended up talking about tattoos, and I told him I work at the tattoo shop across the street. From that day on, he got all his tattoos done by Nick. You would like him, I think."

He nodded and kept chewing on his sandwich, reminding you of a squirrel, in some way.

You pointed again, down the road this time. “Folio’s got a mechanic shop down there. Took my car in once when it stopped working. Turned out a cat peed on the engine or something. He also got some tattoos by Nick.”

Time passed, and you stayed there until the sky turned fully dark and the moon was hanging high above. You didn’t really want to leave. It felt good, just being there with him. Even though you knew Kole was probably already home by now.

You found yourself watching the way his Adam’s apple moved when he spoke, not too prominent, but there, shifting slightly with every word and making the tattoos on his neck seem to come alive.

“It’s kind of weird I’ve never lost a tooth,” he said at some point.

You raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, with all the punches I’ve taken over the years, you’d think at least one would’ve gone flying. A molar. Something. But nope. Still all intact.”

“Ouch.” you muttered under your breath, wincing at the mental image.

He smirked. “I always figured it was just a matter of time. Or that maybe I’d at least fix these bunny teeth or something.”

“Bunny teeth?” you echoed, laughing.

“Yeah,” he said, “These two front ones.” He reached up and ran the pad of his thumb lightly across them. “Thought for sure I’d take a hit bad enough to chip them a bit. Honestly, I even kind of hoped for it. These things are way too long.”

You smiled shaking your head, and for a second, you caught yourself watching the movement of his mouth more than you should’ve, how his teeth showed just slightly when he laughed.

They were kinda cute, actually. You didn’t say it.

Eventually, you both had to go.

He hopped down first and, like before, offered you his hand to help you down. You took it.

“Thanks.” You murmured.

He pointed toward a car parked not far from yours. “That’s mine for the night. Well, technically not mine. Borrowed it from the kids’ mom.”

You said goodbye.

"Thank you for... you know. Everything." He said.

"Anytime."

And you meant it.

You would have done it again as many times as he wanted.

He said "see you soon" and you hoped you were actually going to see him soon.

It was only once you got into your car, that you noticed your phone screen lighting up. One missed call. Three messages from Kole.

The house was quiet when you walked in. You dropped your keys onto the table by the door and hung your bag.

Kole was in the living room, standing halfway between the couch and the hallway, arms crossed. You didn’t even have time to take off your jacket before his voice cut through the silence.

“Where were you?” he asked. “It’s late. You never get off work this late. I thought something happened.”

You paused, blinked, let the door click shut behind you.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I didn’t see your texts.”

He didn’t respond, just stared, waiting for more.

You exhaled slowly. “Noah stopped by. You know, Noah? From the fight club?” You tried to keep your voice even and casual, like it really was nothing.

Because it was nothing.

Right?

“He just came by to say hi. We started talking, and I lost track of time. That’s all.”

His eyes narrowed. “Noah?” A beat. “Sebastian?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He didn’t say anything for a second. Then just: “Hm.”

You were about to say something else when he finally looked up again.

“Are you cheating on me?”

“What?” you said. “No. Of course not.”

He stared at you, unmoving. “You sure?”

“Kole,” you said, taking a step forward, trying to catch his gaze, “please. I’m not cheating on you.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just ran a hand over his face. Finally, he muttered, “Okay.”

That was it. Just okay.

You stood there in the middle of the room, your jacket still on, your heart still racing, as he walked to the bedroom.

And it was true. You weren’t cheating on him. You hadn’t crossed any lines. You and Noah hadn’t even touched if not for your hands when he helped you up and down the concrete ledge.

But you had smiled more in one hour with Noah than you had in days at home. You had laughed. And you had felt a weird feeling in your stomach, a good weird feeling. Mostly when he smiled. When he thanked you. When he looked at you with his pretty brown eyes a moment longer.

You weren’t cheating. But still...

Is it cheating if your heart goes to someone else?

You stood in the dim light, alone now, and for the first time in a while, you weren’t entirely sure what the truth was anymore. Or what you were supposed to do now.

Noah hadn’t expected much when he drove over. Hell, he’d almost turned back twice. 

He wasn’t even sure why he was doing it. He just really wanted to see you again.

He had told himself you’d tell him to leave, for sure. That it was late, that you had to close up and head home. That maybe he was being inappropriate, overstepping.

So he was almost surprised when you didn’t.

And he was definitely surprised when you ended up buying the ingredients for his stupid sandwich.

You had listened when he told you. And you had cared enough to give it to him.

It was such a small thing, eating weird sandwiches in a quiet parking lot in front of a tattoo shop and chatting, but to him, it had felt like the closest thing to peace he’d had in a long time.

You’d made him laugh. You were probably the only person on earth able to make him do that, right now.

So, it had been a good day. Better than he could ever imagine. He also had the chance to hold your hand a couple of times, even if he wasn't really holding it.

But that didn’t mean anything, not really. Not once the sun went down.

Because nights were different.

And when Noah closed his eyes, laying on his mattress, the dark didn’t stay empty.

Because there’s a field.

There's always a field.

Endless. Silent. He’s driven for hours to get there, through roads that twisted and disappeared behind him. He’s alone, and he made sure of it. No one knows he’s there. That’s the point.

The moon is high, but everything is dim, grainy like an old film.

He can't breathe.

He feels like he's drowning.

He is kneeling on the dry grass.

There’s a weight in his hand, metal, cold, pressing into his skin. His arms are shaking. Tears streak across his face.

It's all his fault. He will never forgive himself.

No one’s around. No one can hear.

A sob comes out, then another, until he’s bent forward and his shoulders are violently shaking.

He folds in on himself, curls down to the ground like his body is trying to disappear into the earth. The grass scratches at his skin, but he doesn’t feel it.

He cries. Loud.

He cries until his voice is hoarse, until his chest feels like it’s being crushed by some invisible hand.

He cries until the sky begins to change, shifting from black to bruised purple to soft, aching blue.

He can't stop.

The nausea comes next. His stomach turns. His head throbs. His eyes burn.

The sun is high now. It’s morning.

He forces himself to get up, to stand on legs that barely hold him.

He turns once, just once, to look back at the field. At what he’s leaving behind.

A part of himself, probably.

He stumbles to the car. The door creaks. The seat is cold.

He grips the steering wheel.

His hands are shaking.

His hands are covered in blood.

And he can’t stop crying.

Noah woke up drenched in sweat. He wasn’t crying, but he was shaking, and not just because the nights there were always cold.

He sat up on the mattress, his breathing shallow. Alpine, who’d been curled up on his chest, stirred with a soft meow, slipping off his legs and stumbling groggily to his side. The cat settled there again, pressing close like she knew.

Noah stayed still for a moment, elbows on his knees, head resting in his hands. His fingers curled against his temples. He focused on breathing in, out, in, out.

It was just a nightmare.

Except it wasn’t.

It never was.

It was a memory. It really happened. He let it happen.

Outside, it was still dark, but he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping again that night.

There was no point in trying.

Quietly, he stood. Wrapped his hands, tight.

He crossed the room and reached the punching bag.

Then he started hitting.

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lacy1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme @hurricanesfollowyou @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @missduffsblog @pandora-08 @geminigirlfromfinland @bloody-spades @rumoured-whispers @astronoids

Fresh bruises tags: @1toreyouapart @respectfulrebel @dragoncopper @overmydeadbodysblog @fear-its-beauty @xslavicprincess @concreteangel92 @super-btstrash-posts @pipidoll @pipidoll @bluehairpunklol @tktstomydwnfall @jesuisunchaton @brutallysoftmuse @acatatonicpeace @spookieolson

[copperbadge]

SAM!

I love the Chicken Salad War, but it's been a bit of a week so I have not commented. But it is very good. Which is funny, because I don't actually like chicken salad itself... Anyway, I have two(ish) questions about the Shivadh-verse! Back in one of the earlier books, you mentioned Gregory hung out (or at least knew) Princess Mia of Genovia. So are we talking about the Disney version of the Princess Diaries, with the awesone Grandmere? Or the book version, where Grandmere was pretty awful? My headcanon is that it's the Disney version, since (IRRC, as I said, long week, family emergencies, hospitals and all that) the Shivadh-verse started as Hallmark Channel Romance type movie script. So the happier version of the PD would make sense. Okay, second thing... When there is an election, is it basically "first across the finish line" style voting? Or is it ranked choice voting, where the votes for the non winning persons are redistributed ? (I know that's a massive over-simplification, but I'm sending an ask, not a theoretical essay.) I am assuming there's none of this stupid electoral college nonsense going on. (I am USian and I hate the electoral college system. But that's a rant for another day!)

I honestly love when people ask world building questions about the Shivadhverse, and I'm so glad you're enjoying the latest one!

I wasn't even aware the Princess Diaries HAD a book version. I won't lie, I've enjoyed the movie both times I've seen it but neither was like, intentional, I didn't seek it out. I'm not very well-versed in the canon, so yeah if the movies are happier lets go with those!

As for voting, that's an interesting question. I looked up how old ranked choice is as a methodology, and I think probably for royal elections in the Ask it's majority rule, but I have some really detailed reasoning as to why :D

Mainly, it seems that ranked-choice was generally known, but also not very popular, around the time Gregory II was democratizing the country in the early 20th century. That being the case he probably went with majority rule, which mostly matters because a lot hinges on how he chose to structure the elections.

There have, at least at this point in canon, been only five elections since the country went to democracy: Gregory II, Nathan IV, Jason I, Michaelis I, and Gregory III. I might write Jason or Michaelis facing a recall vote at some point but I don't have plans to right now. I find politics stressful :D Anyway, the history goes like this:

Gregory II was a birthright king and took the country to a democracy but then was elected king, which I think probably dismayed him a little but what can you do? He died in office, so parliament ran the next election, and they wouldn't have changed the still very new system.

Nathan IV was both incompetent and dictatorial so he was the first real test of the elected royalty system, where there are no term limits, simply the ability to call an election if people didn't like what the king was doing. A recall election would have been a really ugly time to change the system. Plus the whole thing was engineered by Jason, so he would only have allowed it to change if it benefitted him against Nathan. In theory it would have, since if you're voting for someone running against Nathan your vote would probably go to Jason next, because this was mostly about "get Nathan out of office", but Jason also knew he could win without it and he had to consider optics.

Likewise, Jason wanted his son Michaelis to be king. It's not so much that he wanted power for its own sake, but more that he felt that his family were the right people for the job (Jason was a competent ruler but he was arrogant and also not someone who let ethics get in his way). So again he would only have changed the system if he felt it would benefit Michaelis, who was so clearly going to win that he didn't need the help. That election had a number of people running, but nobody was giving Michaelis a real challenge.

Michaelis would have been willing to change to ranked-choice if the people wanted it, especially since he thinks it's a fairer system. Despite his dad, Michaelis is concerned with ethics and he wants to make sure everyone has the same power in the ballot box. So it's possible he held a referendum about it, perhaps well before he was thinking of retiring. If he had just decided to push it through parliament, there were again optics to consider, like whether he was doing it because it would benefit Gregory, so he put it to a public poll. But while Shivadh are generally very liberal they can also be a little set in their ways, and I think if he did hold a referendum they'd vote to keep things as they are. The system elected them three good kings and only one bad one, and those are decent odds.

And Gregory is open to the idea of changing the voting system, but unless there's a push for it from the voters, he's not going to bother, he has bigger fish to fry. He is concerned about the fact that three generations of his family have held office and now it's looking like they're bucking for a fourth, even if Joan is new to the family, so he's more focused on making sure that other young people who are interested in politics get opportunities similar to Joan's. Both because they deserve it, and so that it doesn't seem like Joan's getting undue favoritism.

I might write a political-themed Shivadh novel one day -- we know very little about Michaelis's election and nothing about Gregory's. I have distant plans for the election after Gregory announces his retirement -- Joan obviously is going to run, but I think Serafina will too, and they won't be the only ones. :D But we'll see. There's enough scary politics in the world right now that it won't be for a while in any case.

[batlcver]

❝Had to be pink.❞

Nodding in agreement, just like all his stuff had to be black. "Oh, but black absorbs heat!!", it's light to be technical, but either way he didn't care. It was his favorite color, he was gonna wear it all he wanted, he was gonna get everything he could in black. Apparently even his puppy, though to be fair even if this puppy was white as snow he'd still pick him, it wasn't about the coat it was about the bond.

Quickly chugging what was left of his drink before tossing it in the trash, now was the time to focus. Dropping the lead's handle to his hand from around his leash, just in case he had to hand the pup off earlier than expected, giving Eros an understanding nod. Same thing he did way back when he came to one with his father, good way to be involved, but not directly.

❝Hopefully they move us along pretty fast since I know what I'm looking for, financing is usually the part that takes forever. If there's someone ahead of you? Pshhhh, have fun sitting there forever. It's pretty early though, let's hope we're in and out.❞

Offering a look of "get ready" as his voice lowers with the hope. Shooting an approaching salesman a smile and a wave, putting on his customer service voice as he says "hey" back. Hopefully he didn't look like a man that was easy to fuck over, he did his research first. It was all in his phone even.

There's a bit of back and forth small talk, a question of petting the puppy even, before the business talk starts. Here's where it really begins. The man gesturing for them to walk and talk, walking them all the way over to where the type he was looking for was parked. It takes him a moment of consideration, looking over ones available, yet nothing struck him yet. Yet.

Listening to the man try and talk up a white one of an earlier year, shaking his head with a frown. Did he look like the kind of guy that wanted a white car? Maybe if it was black he'd consider it more than the year he was looking at. Uttering up a "nah man", before continuing onto the next one. It takes 'til the end of the line once again- what was it with today, and his perfect choices being the last ones he gets to see?- before he spies it.

❝Ah, see that's what I'm talking about.❞ Gesturing with his free hand to the SUV at the end. ❝See what I mean Eros? Now that fits, don't you think?❞

Laughing as he asks. Of course it fit, it was entirely black, down to it's wheels. That's what fit him. Was it possibly stupid of him to get a brand new, current year, SUV? Maybe? Possibly if you were like super into cars and knew more than him about it. But, like, when was the last time he got to have something brand new? Even his phone was always an older model.

Getting a good look over it, he already knows. It's set in his bones, this is what he was going to get. Turning his attention back to the salesman with a certain tone in his voice, this was it. This was the one he would test drive first, but even without that he knew it was it. Anything was going to be ten hundred times better than his current car, but you always have to test it. Or at least that's what his father always said.

Giving the salesman a thumbs up as he goes to fetch the keys. Taking a moment to circle around the thing, damn it really was all black. Giving Eros a wide-eyed look as they waited around, it kinda didn't feel real just yet, it would when he got in that financing room that's for sure. Shifting his weight as he fiddled with the lead, the sound of keys getting his attention again. Eyes lifting off the puppy as he shifts to hand him over to Eros.

❝Hold him for a few?❞

     “ I have t' grab things f'er Daddy constantly and he used t' forget b'fore th' register so. ”

     A shrug as the smaller pulls his sandwich out of the bag and tosses it into the trashcan that's near them. The sandwich hanging out of his mouth as he gives a shrug before grabbing it.

     “ ‘m a college student livin’ on god knows what sometimes, ‘m stomach’s had worse. ”

     He follows behind the other and gets back into the car with a hum. Sunglasses brought down from his hair finally to help with the fact that they're driving towards the sun. Look for shade, but don't worry about it too much. Not like he'd thought too much on it before hand. Not like it mattered since they were going to be inside, like he'd said.

     It takes a bit before they get to the dealership. Gives him time to eat his sandwich even if properly driving usually takes both hands. And he has to hand his drink to Mason to open before he can actually enjoy it. And then he's more or less chugging it since it won't be cold for long. There isn't a lot of shade, but he finds something on the lot that's just shy of a couple trees and puts down a nice dappling of light. Which then means he can wait for Mason to let him out.

     And once that's done, he's stretching out and tossing the empty coffee bottle into another nearby bin. That's what they have those outside for, right?

     “ This place s'pretty nice at least. I've never been inside a dealership so… I mean – I gave Daddy th' money and he wanted t' take care of it cuz he didn't want me gettin' scammed or whatever. So I gave him th' budget, he took it t' th' place with me, then he came out and boom a nice li'l moped. Very cute, very pink. Had t' be pink or I was gonna die. ”

     A small nod before he's going back to petting and bothering the puppy with little hums and coos. He's just so fluffy! So sweet!

     “ Oh – um – I dunno a lot about this, though, so… ‘m jus’ gonna follow you, I guess. ”

[e-adlirez]

Spoilers for Sinsmas/Sinsmas ramble

So I had Sinsmas paused on my browser to do life stuff as usual, I Will Be Okay was in my head, and I walked back to my computer after life stuff and realized the frame I had it paused on was

D

Do you see what I'm seeing

Their positions aren't just similar, they're reversed. In "I Will Be Okay", Via is on the floor and Stolas's shadow is standing up, looking down on her and reaching a hand to her from above, which she swats away. At the end of Sinsmas, Stolas is kneeling on the floor, with Via looking down at him from above, and her hand resting on Stolas's, which she pulls away from.

AND THE PARALLELS AND REVERSALS DON'T END THERE

From what I could see, it seems like there's only one instance where the parallel doesn't totally apply.

This.

Merry Sinsmas, Helluva Boss fandom :D

:'D

[sysig]

Coding woes (Patreon)

[alsaurus-loves-dean]

.

[icewindandboringhorror]

It's always interesting to hear about people's weird/unexpected "alternate life paths". Like, something that you could have done with your life, a job you almost took, a school you almost went to, etc - that was still actually realistic enough that it could have happened, but NOW it seems to not suit your current personality.

Like for example, I currently hate advertising (how manipulative it is, brands trying to be 'relatable', social media amplifying it to an obnoxious extreme, etc.) so much that even seeing a little ad before a youtube video is grating to even witness, but there was a point in time where I was genuinely seriously considering going into marketing/making commercials as a career lol. Or like, I have a relative who was very inclined to be a pastor when they were younger, even though today they're a super strong atheist, etc. etc.

[peri-peri-sauce]

A VERY IMPORTANT NOTE

Do NOT use this photo as a profile picture if you don't want Tumblr to flag your account as explicit

I had to learn the hard way 😭 Thanks Tumblr for letting me keep it though 🙏🏻