#That there is actually a way that I would want that. Maybe

[wriokitty]

Sukuna is not good at apologizing.

And you? You’re not good at letting go of grudges. The end result is a pretty nasty predicament—you’re mad at him, he’s mad that you’re mad at him, and you’re mad that he’s mad that you’re mad at him. It’s a full circle. The start point and the end point meet and you just don’t know where to begin.

He could always apologize, of course—that would be a lovely start. But he won’t. (He really should, though, you think. It’s his fault).

“Hey,” he says gruffly, “scoot over. ‘S my side.”

You’re taking up the entire bed. A petty, childish, and last resort sort of method to keep him away from you for the night because you don’t think you can handle dealing with him in such close proximity. And of course, you certainly won’t be taking the couch, so that naturally leaves only one option: him.

“Hey. Did’ya hear me?” He scowls, looking at you with deeply creased, deeply furrowed brows and an intense glare that makes you want to throw a pillow at his face. You refrain, however—but only because someone has to be the emotionally intelligent one of the two of you, and it certainly won’t be him. “I said move over—I’m tired as fuck and I wanna sleep.”

“Then sleep,” comes your unhelpful reply.

“They teach you this in the first grade,” he smiles thinly, eyes narrowed into slits as he gives you a sarcastic look, “but you actually have to lay down to sleep. Can’t do that if you hog the entire damn bed.”

“I’m sure they taught you what a couch was in first grade, too,” you counter—and as if to double down on your juvenile, stubborn display of spitefulness, you angle your body to take up more of his side of the bed. “Go ahead and use that if you wanna lay down so bad.”

“And they also teach you in first grade that the couch is bad for your damn fucking back, so move the fuck—”

You cut him off sharply with a rather snobby tone. “That’s not in the first grade curriculum. I don’t know what first grade you went to, but maybe that would explain some of the loose screws in your head.”

He’s had enough. Sukuna is not good at apologizing. And on most days, he’s not that good at being a boyfriend, either. Not by the general standards, anyway. He doesn’t say sweet words or coddle you very much. Sometimes, he’s awkward about affection and doesn’t quite know how to initiate physical touch. And, on most days, he can’t communicate his feelings properly, so they tend to come out wrong. Typically, that manifests in rough, unintentionally harsh words.

He’s not proud of it, but it’s not a switch he can exactly flip off in one day.

But one thing he is good at, however, is worming his way into your soft spot, anyway. It’s a very peculiar, very distinct part of you that for some unknown reason, opens up for him and puts up with his bullshit regardless of what that bullshit is. Fifty percent soft, sweet affection, and one hundred percent stupid, foolish devotion.

He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

He debates it for a moment—because sometimes even Sukuna doesn’t dare test your limits—before he ultimately decides to go for whatever plan he’s scheming. It turns out his plan involves all two-hundred-something pounds of his bulky, muscled figure draping itself over your body with an exaggerated sigh from him. You flinch, gasping in shock, and he simply gets himself comfortable.

Sukuna is not good at apologizing.

Yet, somehow, he’s even worse at reading the room, evidently. You clearly don’t want him near you, but here he is, arguably closer to you now than he is on the average night.

“Sukuna!” You hiss, trying to push him off as you grumble under his weight, “get off! You asshole, you’re too heavy for—”

“Heavy?” He gasps, “this is considered body negativity.”

“Oh fuck off,” you scowl, “you’re doing this on purpose.”

“Doing what, exactly?” He asks smugly.

Despite it all, there’s something surprisingly gentle about the way he lays on you. His head is perfectly situated to rest against your collarbone, his hands delicately have your hips in their hold, and half of his body is slotted between your legs to keep a good brunt of his weight off of you.

More than anything, he’s a weighted blanket than he is an aggravating boyfriend that you’re trying to avoid.

“Is everything a joke to you?” You glare.

He glares back. Equally as hard, equally as intense, but infinitely more infatuated underneath it all. “No,” he grumbles, “just don’t like goin’ to bed mad. So ‘m here whether you like it or not.”

Some part of you can’t help but soften at that. A small, fractional, tiny amount of you thinks…oh. Oh.

(And yes, there are certainly better ways to express: I would like to go to bed without being mad at each other because I love you too much, but he’s not perfect. Nowhere near it. That much is a known fact quite abundantly by now. But you know what he means, and in you’re being honest with yourself…well, it’s enough.

He’s always enough, even when he seems like he shouldn’t be.)

“I’m still mad at you,” you grumble stubbornly.

Your arms wrap around him tightly.

“And I’m still fuckin’ tired and sleepy. What’s your point?”

He tucks his head into the crook of your neck and inhales your scent.

You’re mad at Sukuna. And he’s tired of it. Sometimes, he’s not good at apologizing, and sometimes you’re stubborn about accepting it. In the end, your limbs tangle in bed like this, anyway. You think that’s the only part that really matters.

You sigh, pulling up the blanket to cover yourselves. (Mainly you. He just happens to be there, too, of course. But this isn’t for his warmth, too—it’s just for yours. How cold he is or isn’t through the night is of no concern to you.)

“Night,” he mumbles quietly after some time, “and…and sorry, or whatever. I…well, I just…you know?”

You snort softly at his attempt, giving in and letting your fingers weave into his soft, familiar strands of hair while he relaxes at the feeling.

“We’ll talk in the morning. I love you.”

He smiles a little into your neck. It’s barely-there, but it undoubtedly exists.

“Love you too.”

“A lot, right?” You ask cheekily.

It’s quiet for a moment. You think he’s going to tell you to shut up, or just go to sleep, already. Instead, there’s a hushed mumble of, “yeah. A lot. Now goodnight.”

(You fall asleep rather quickly after that—and admittedly, much easier than you would have if his body was on the couch and not with you.)

Cliche fights before bed that end with a begrudging petty cuddle sesh are my guilty pleasure. My crack if you will

[briarscreek]

You had a blind date. On Valentine’s Day.

And they didn’t show up.

You had never felt so stupid in your life. Apparently, the only free day that you and your date had was on Friday. February 14th. Go figure.

The waiter had already come by 3 times to ask if you were ready to order or if you were going to leave. They didn’t say specifically to leave but you got the gist. Another person to take up their time and tips.

Frustrated tears began in the corner of your eyes while you packed your belongings, eager to get out of the humiliation of other couples stares and the cheap paper heart decor lining the restaurant.

This guy your friend set you up with seemed perfect. On paper at least. Kind, funny, flirty, and more is what she promised you.

It wasn’t until you were almost standing out of your booth that a very handsome man in a suit strode over in a huff. Mutton chopped beard and biceps for days, as he looked you in the eyes. God, his eyes were so blue.

“I apologize darling, I came straight from work and traffic was a nightmare.”

He kissed your cheeks quickly like an old friend.

“I wanted to message ya, but I didn’t think the cops would appreciate someone texting and driving on Valentine’s Day.”

Maybe that softened your heart. Just a little.

“You’re almost 45 minutes late.”

“It’ll be the first and last time I’ll ever be late, darling.”

You couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face slowly that time.

John, as he introduced himself, was kinder than you thought he’d be. Flirty at just the right moments and careful with his words, like he wanted to make sure you knew he meant every single word.

The date went amazingly well, he even made you giggle so much that you snorted and immediately felt embarrassed about it. He said he’d take that as a compliment as he pulled your hands away from your mouth.

Just as desert rolled around, you excused yourself to the bathroom and texted your friend, lettering her know you’re having an amazing time with John. Her next text came in just as you finished washing your hands.

who’s john?

Coming back to sit down at the booth, you immediately asked;

“You’re not my actual blind date, are you?”

He stopped mid chew of his chocolate torte, gaze flicking up to yours. Like a kid caught in a cookie jar.

“No, darling. I’m not. I actually had a take out order here but when I saw the prettiest bird in my life alone at a table, I couldn’t leave her.”

Your anger rose just a tad.

“So this was a pity date.”

“No.” He was so firm in his answer.

“I’d have asked you out anywhere if we crossed paths earlier but you were already dressed, sitting here waiting. I couldn’t pass on this golden opportunity, could I?”

Now you were glad that your actual date never showed up. John proved to be so much better, in more ways than one.

[sea-lanterns]

CHOCOLATES AND ROSES

synopsis: your wife decides to surprise you for valentine's day.

featuring: mavuika, xilonen, navia, furina, lisa, arlecchino

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, dom! afab fem reader (furina), linge.rie, strap ons, oral (reader giving and receiving), food play, implied unprotected se.x, implied pene.trative sex, finger gagging, furina, lisa and arlecchino all have di.cks, slight degradation and pet play, established relationships, may be ooc.

art credits: bad thinking diary

MAVUIKA

The house was strangely dark apart from the amber glow emanating from your bedroom. You couldn’t help but raise a brow as Mavuika would usually be up and greeting you by now. Where on Teyvat would the Pyro archon be? She’s not that hard to miss in your house, surely. 

“Mavuika?” you called out her name, your eyes catching the way the glow from the room burned brighter. Oh Archons, did your wife set something on fire? “Mavuika, the bed better not be ablaze when I get in there!”

You heard a stifled chuckle from behind the door, causing you to drop your bag and rush to your room. “Why don’t you check, my love?” her voice purred, causing you to stiffen and grasp the handle. Well, it wasn’t scalding hot, so that was a good sign at least. “Mavuika, if I have to buy a new mattress again–” The rest of the sentence died on your lips when you opened the door the rest of the way. There your wife was, lying seductively on the bed in nothing but some black lingerie. The room was illuminated by several heart-shaped candles, the floor and sheets scattered with rose petals that Mavu must’ve dropped, and of course, right in the middle of it all was a very smug Mavuika. 

“Well, there’s no fire, but it is pretty hot in here, don’t you think?” Mavuika grinned and slowly lowered her sunglasses. Of course, even though she was practically butt-naked in a lace lingerie, Mavuika still thought to wear those stupid sunglasses while waiting for you inside a dark room all alone. 

You wanted to kiss her so bad. 

“Mavuika what…what is all of this?” You laughed, feeling your cheeks heat up at the sight. “What? It’s Valentine’s Day, I just wanted to surprise my wife.” Mavuika couldn’t wipe the smirk off her face. She was awfully proud of what she’s done, wagging a finger over so you could come closer. “Come closer, I have a surprise for you, my sun.” 

“Oh I wonder what it is…” You playfully rolled your eyes and walked closer, watching as Mavuika suddenly laid back and lifted her lingerie, showcasing the long, black strap on she had strapped to herself. 

Ah…

“Mavu…” you were weakly pulled to the bed, the Pyro Archon’s smoldering lips capturing yours. Mavuika all but groaned into the kiss, pulling away briefly to grin at you. “Do you like it?” she husked, nipping at your bottom lip. The way she gazed up at you like you were the sun had you in a chokehold, her eyes full of longing and pure desire. “Depends, maybe I’ll know when you actually use it,” you countered, wrapping your arms around her neck. 

Mavuika’s heart throbbed as she pulled you down for another kiss. Tongues dancing amongst each other, your clothes were nearly singed off with how excited Mavuika was, but luckily you didn’t catch on fire. She pushed you down on the bed, taking her position on top of you like she always did. The Pyro Archon greedily lifted your leg up to rest upon her shoulder, grasping the base of her strap to angle it at your entrance, but not before squirting a generous amount of lube all over it. 

“Hm…maybe you will have to change the mattress again after this,” she smirked. 

“Just put it in,” you sighed, smiling up at your silly wife. 

“Aye aye,” Mavuika kissed the ankle of your feet before snapping her fingers. Like magic, all the flames of the candles blew out, shrouding you two in darkness as Mavuika eased herself into you.

XILONEN

“You know, I am quite surprised you put all this together for me.”

“Heh, do you really think so little of me, babe?”

You came home to Xilonen curled up on your bed, dressed in…well, actually nothing. Xilonen figured there was no point in wearing a sexy piece of lingerie for you if you were just going to take it off. So, there the Jaguar lady was, smirking up at you while her fluffy tail covered her bits. Her tits however, were on full display as she lazily sat up, squishing them together with her arms. 

“Honestly, I was thinking of wearing something sexy for you to ogle, but then like, I figured you were just gonna take it off anyway. Plus all the laces and buttons…” Xilonen’s nose scrunched up at the thought, her laziness showing through. “It just wasn’t worth it to me. I know you’d much rather have me all naked instead.”

She let out a purr and swished her tail, revealing that blonde bush and pussy you were all too familiar with. To amp up the atmosphere a bit, Xilonen slowly pushed a button on a remote, the lights of your bedroom dimming to match the mood. 

“You…added mood lights to our room?” You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. 

“And a speaker.” She clicked another button and soft, sensual music began to play from somewhere in the room. You recognized it as one of Xilonen’s works, but have never heard this particular track before. Did she make a whole new playlist just for you? 

“Yes, I did create a whole album of songs dedicated to this moment,” Xilonen huffed smugly, her tail giving a sassy little flick. “Happy Valentine’s Day babe, no need to thank me.” 

“You cocky thing you…!” You rushed over and pounced on your wife, full on tackling her on the bed and smothering her face with your lips. “Mmpf!” Xilonen purred happily and wrapped her tail around your leg, clearly content with you on top of her as she pulled away to lick your lips. “See, I’m not that lazy. I just put in the effort where things count.” 

You shook your head and reached up to pull her in for another kiss, her tail thumping against the mattress with each push of your lips. “You’re so silly…” you murmured against her, utterly smitten at her for doing this. “I like to think I’m cool,” she counters, one hand trailing down to cup your ass, giving it a squeeze. Her chest rumbled a bit when she felt the warm flesh, her long, feline tongue licking her lips as she couldn’t wait to dive into a feast. 

“Now, are you gonna take those all, or do I have to rip them off myself,” Xilonen growled, clearly getting impatient. “I’m getting hungry…” she emphasized, clawing at your top. 

“I will, I will,” you laughed, undressing yourself for Xilonen’s eyes and practically giving her a strip tease on her lap. The overgrown kitty was just salivating at this point, staring dumbly at your tits with big, curious eyes before getting impatient and flipping you over. “No more teasing…!” She yowled, pretty much shredding off the rest of your underwear and hitching your legs over her shoulders. Her butt did that cute little wiggle that cats did before pouncing, and then she attacked. 

“Xilonen—!” You squealed as she dove into your bare cunt, her large tongue lapping at your clit as she took what she wanted for Valentine’s Day. 

NAVIA

"Ohhh Mon Cherie! Let me wish you a Happy Valentine’s Day…”

Navia winked at you from the front of your bed as she seductively trailed her finger down the navel of her breasts. Wrapped up in nothing but red ribbons, Navia was currently presenting herself to you in a way that left every bit of her body exposed to you. Her nipples were barely covered up by the thin slip of satin, the edges of her pink areolas peeking through from the sides. If your jaw could drop like a cartoon character it would. 

Instantly, you felt your face burn hot at the sight of your wife. Sure you’ve seen her naked plenty of times before, but the sight of Navia in…in something like that. Well you weren’t used to it at all! Navia was flattered when she saw that she rendered you speechless, a tiny blush creeping up her own cheeks. “Oh my love, don’t exaggerate.”

“I’m not exaggerating,” your voice cracked, causing you to hesitantly walk closer to the bed. “Just…Just wow…” 

“Oh wait! I have just the thing to complete the look,” Navia reached over to grab one of the many real roses that were scattered across the room. She placed the stem in her mouth, playfully winking at you and leaning back. “Now, it’s all perfect.” She grinned, her voice muffled by the rose. 

Oh this buffoon. 

“…Oh Navia. Just how much money did you spend on all this?” You asked with a smile, looking around at all the extravagant rose bundles, the exquisite plates of heart-shaped desserts, all for the sake of pleasing you on this day. 

“Uh…don’t worry about it,” Navia smiled wryly, telling you all that you needed to know. “Today is a special day for us Mon Amour, so money is nothing to me when it comes to spoiling the woman I love!”  She suddenly grabbed a plate of macarons from the bedside table and offered it to you; it was pink and shaped in a heart, clearly hand-baked by Navia herself. “A macaron for you, mademoiselle? I spent all morning perfecting its shape.” 

“Oh, how thoughtful of you,” you reached over to take it, but Navia suddenly pulled her hand back and placed the macaron on top of her breasts.

“Come and eat it my love,” she purred, beckoning you over with a seductive finger. She seemed to be enjoying teasing you with her state of undress, pushing the macaron a bit further into her cleavage. You felt your mouth water a bit at the sight, realizing that Navia was tempting you to eat something off her body. “A-Are you sure?” You asked hesitantly, eying the way the macaron crumbled slightly.

“Oh for Archon’s sake, c’mere you…” Navia giggled and grabbed your hand, pulling you in so that you were seated on her lap. Your face planted into her breasts, a small “oof!” leaving your lips before you gazed up at your wife. Navia was smiling down at you, her hand coming up against the back of your head and guiding your lips to the macaron. “Eat.” She commanded softly, watching in pleasure as your lips wrapped around the macaron and began chewing. 

“Good girl, Mon Amour,” she praised, her eyes going half lidded in pleasure before she reached over your body to grab something. Your ears picked up at the sound of something metal shaking, before you saw Navia holding up a can of whipped cream. “I know one measly macaron is not enough to satisfy your sweet tooth, so why don’t we top it off with some cream, hmm?” The sound of cream coming out could be heard as Navia squirts a small line of it across her thigh. She shivers at the cold sensation, but seems quite excited to try something new with you. “You don’t mind eating off me, do you my love?”

“No, not at all…” Navia pulled you in for a kiss, briefly tasting the sweetness of the macaron you just devoured before pushing you down. “That's what I figured.” 

You took your place in between the President’s legs, ready to devour your special Valentine’s Day dessert. 

FURINA

“H-Haah! Don’t come inside yet!”

“Furina?”

“Just stay out there!” 

You heard a few more thumps within your shared apartment with Furina, wondering what in the world she must be doing in there. You heard another particularly loud crash that caused you to flinch, worriedly knocking on the door. “Furina? Are you okay, I’m coming in!”

“No—!” 

You twisted the doorknob and pushed it open without haste, your eyes landing on the absolute mess your living room was in. Aside from the fallen bouquet of flowers and various condom packets scattered about, right dang smack in the middle of it all; was your wife all tangled up in some pink lace and upside down on the edge of the couch. Clearly, showing you that she had fumbled. 

“…H-Happy Valentine’s Day, my love,” Furina murmured pathetically, smiling up at you as the bow tie on her head began to slide off. 

“…Oh, Furina.” Your heart practically exploded at the sight, noting that she had tried her hardest to make today extra special for you. “Happy Valentine’s Day to you too.”

You dropped your bag and closed the door, walking over to your wife to help her up. Her arms and legs were tangled together from a comically long strand of lace, not even doing its job of covering her bits as her tits and cock were just out and about. “I’m sorry…I think I used too much lace…” Furina mumbled, sitting upright with her hair all over her face. 

“Don’t worry about it,” you chuckled, brushing a few locs of hair away from her eyes, “You look very sexy right now.”

“Really?”

“Nah.” 

Furina pouted and puffed up like a hamster. She would swat at you if she could, if not for the fact that her hands were bound together by the lace. “…Help me out dear?” She asks softly, swallowing her pride and looking up at you pleadingly. You couldn’t resist her big, watery eyes, so you sighed and went to grab a pair of scissors from the kitchen. You came back and began snipping Furina free, watching as she regained movement of her limbs. 

“Much better…” Furina sighs, stretching out her arms to regain circulation. “Sorry you had to do that, I wanted to do something much more sexy for you…” She frowned and looked down at her lap, 

disappointed after everything. “Well, I wouldn’t say it was an unwelcome surprise. After all, I do get to have you all to myself still,” you trailed your finger down from her chest, all the way down to her semi-erect cock. It was cute how despite everything, Furina was still adorably hard. “What’s this? Maybe you were tied up in the cold for too long.” 

Furina yelped when she felt your warm hand enclose around her length, her body shuddering when you grasped it. “M-My dear…you tease me too much…” 

Nevertheless, she was blushing incredibly hard and her dick was starting to stiffen up even more. You smirked and pumped your hand a little harder against the shaft, feeling the tiniest bit of precum dribble down your hand. Furina gasped and let out a whine, her head falling back in pleasure. “My dear, can you grab one of the condoms? I fear I can’t take it anymore…”

You laughed and snagged one of the packets off the table, ripping a piece off before stopping upon closer examination. 

“…Furina, these are XL condoms.”

“Oh for the love of—!” She grit her teeth and pouted in frustration, her cock twitching angrily in your hand. “Are you serious?” 

“Oh, don’t get too upset,” you hummed, tossing the packet away and pulling her in for a kiss. “I’ll just ride you raw this time.”

“What—!” Her face turned even redder as more precum slid down her shaft. “Think of it as a Valentine’s Gift from me,” you giggled, beginning to unzip your pants while your wife just stared in awe, her cock throbbing painfully so as she allowed you to ride her without rubber for the very first time. 

LISA

You knew Lisa would be planning something extravagant for you, but she was very keen on making sure that you didn’t know what it was. She kept you waiting all day on Valentine’s Day, anxiously wondering what your wife was planning back at home. As you finally unlocked the door to your shared home, holding a bouquet of flowers to surprise your beautiful wife, you were greeted with the warm, delicious smell of dinner cooking, and Lisa wearing nothing but a Valentine’s themed apron.

“Well if it isn’t my lovely wife,” She hummed sweetly, flipping over a few veggies and smiling up at you. Though appearing innocent at first, Lisa was definitely trying to rile you up by jutting her ass out ever so slightly, the fact that she was wearing nothing but an apron just further accentuating her Goddess of a body. 

“…HAH?!” Your eyes widened and you accidentally dropped the bouquet. Lisa’s plush thighs were pressed together and pretty much tempting you to get on your knees and service her. Lisa could only chuckle behind her fingers at the sight of you so flustered. “Oh darling, close your mouth. You’ll attract flies.” 

You didn’t even realize your mouth was hanging open and quickly shut it. “Lisa…ah…” you were tempted to roam your gaze over her figure, but for some reason you felt it would be too disrespectful (even though you’ve been married for a while). Quickly, you averted your eyes. “H-Happy Valentine’s Day! I bought you flowers.” You shakily bent down towards the floor to pick up the fallen bouquet, holding it up for your wife. “They’re your favorite! Cecilia Flowers from Donna…I hope you like them.”

“Oh…” You heard your wife chuckle huskily and step closer, her hands taking the bouquet and tilting your chin up. You were forced to make eye contact with her, but that also meant you were pretty much staring at her body that was basically almost on full display with a flimsy apron covering her. “You’re so sweet my dear,” she gently pinches your cheek and leans in for a kiss, her chest pressing against yours which causes you to feel her hardened nipples against yours. Oh Barbatos you felt like you were gonna faint! 

Her lips were soft and wet as she smooched you, getting lost in the kiss as you leaned forward to cling to her more. As the kiss got more heated however, you began to feel more than just her nipples poking at you, something larger and more…excited. 

”Lisa…uhm…” 

“Hmm?” She smiled nonchalantly before looking down at the obvious tent under her apron. Not an ounce of shame on her face as she giggled. “Oh dear, it seems just seeing you has caused me to get…quite excited.” 

She licked her lips at the idea and slowly lifted up the edge of her apron, showing you her stiffie that was all red and swollen. “Can you be a dear and help me, my love? I’m afraid I’ve been hard while waiting for you to come home, but I didn’t want to touch myself when I know my wife has such a cute tongue.” 

Her hand traced your cheek, her thumb playing with the edge of your lips before pushing inward. She groaned erotically at the feeling of your tongue pushing up against her finger, imagining it lapping up against her length. 

“Ofay…” you murmured as her thumb was still gagging you. Lisa smiled and pulled her finger away, admiring the small string of saliva that coated it. “Such a good girl…” she praised, kissing you sloppily before shoving you down to your knees. 

From there, you could only gaze up at your beautiful wife as she pulled her apron up and maneuvered her cock to face you, hovering above your face like an enticing shadow. “Open up, my darling. I’ll let you have an appetizer before dinner.” 

You simply nodded and opened your lips obediently, letting Lisa moan as she slid her length down your throat. 

ARLECCHINO

You did not expect Arlecchino of all people to participate in something like this. Though she seemed quite embarrassed doing it, she was toughing it out like a champ. 

“Well? Does this satisfy you?” Arlecchino raised a brow, currently slouched over the couch with her entire body on display. The room was only accentuated with the glow of nearby candles, yet you could perfectly see your wife manspreading with her cock out and a tiny red bow wrapped around the tip. Even more impressive was how Arlecchino was trying hard not to blush at the loss of her dignity, but she loved you. She loved you a lot, and figured that the best way to spoil her wife was to give you a show. 

“…Arle,” her nickname barely left your lips as you rove your eyes over her body. Chiseled to perfection, her muscles and abs were defined in ways that left you salivating. You had seen her nude plenty of times, but in the soft light of candles and the event of Valentine’s Day happening, well…needless to say you were quite wet. “I didn’t think you’d do something like this…” 

Arlecchino scoffed and gave you a snide grin, “Am I not allowed to spoil my wife today?” She stretched her arms on either side of her, tilting her head up at you. Goddamm, if looks could fuck, you’d have orgasmed by now. “Now why are you still standing there? I’ve taken the liberty of displaying myself for you and you’re still gawking?”

“Ah— sorry Arle!”

“Sir.” 

She corrected, smirking. “Call me sir.” 

Ah, it seems that despite her initial embarrassment, she’s fallen back to her calm, dominant streak. Your knees buckled weakly as you began walking towards her. “Yes sir…”

“Stop.” She held out her hand, forcing you to pause  in your tracks. “Don’t walk, I’d much prefer to watch you crawl to me, dear.” Her voice went dangerously low as she glared you down, despite sitting and thus having to look up at you, you felt every nerve in your body force your muscles to submit. Without her having to do anything, you found yourself on your hands and knees in front of her, crawling on the floors like a dog towards your master. 

“Hm, so you follow commands well. I am quite pleased by my wife,” she tutted, one of her hands reaching down to grasp the base of her length, angling the tip so it was right in front of you. “Keep going, your treat is almost there.” 

Your tongue lolled out almost pathetically as she swung her dick in front of you. Like a pendulum, you were hypnotized, eying the ribboned tip like it really was a treat. Your wife simply chuckled at the sight, putting her hand out to rest on your head. 

“Heel.” She commanded, making you halt just inches away from her dick. “Good girl.” 

She licked the bottom of her lip while watching you, savoring the sight in her mind. You were pretty much drooling and she hadn’t even gagged you yet, knowing how much you’d slobber over her girth since she was bigger than most. “Condom on or off?”

“Off, please sir…” you murmured softly, barely able to contain yourself. 

“Well, I thought so anyway. I didn’t buy any in the first place,” she chuckled, gently patting your cheek. “I know my wife pretty well, huh?” 

Finally, her fingers went to the loop of the ribbon around her dick and tugged it off. As it slid undone, she pushed her fat tip towards your waiting lips, gently tapping it to get you to open. 

“Open up, pretty one. I have lots more activities planned for you after this.”

You nodded excitedly and parted your lips, allowing her to shove her cock in with a grunt. 

[tjelestial]

Pick A Lana:

Your Person's Fantasies of You 18+

PAC: Your Person's Fantasies of You 18+

☆ How to choose your pile: Take a deep breath, hold it for a sec - exhale slowly through your mouth. Close your eyes and focus on the question. Once you're ready, take a look at the number and choose the pile you feel drawn to.

If you feel called by more than one pile, there might be more messages for you.

Remember: This is a general reading, therefore I'd be picking up messages for collective audience. Take only what resonates and leave what doesn’t. May you find your message!

PILE 1

Hi Pile 1, welcome to your reading! Okay, right of the bat Pile 1, your person is giving ✨possessive✨ I just heard “You’re mine.” Damn. It’s the ultimate "I own you, and you own me" energy. There’s no in-between, just a raw, unshakable pull between you two. It’s almost obsessive, the way their body craves yours, the way their mind keeps coming back to thoughts of you, even when they try to focus on work and other things.

They fantasize about taking their time with you, making you beg before they finally give you what you want. I heard “arguing is foreplay”. It’s the kind of connection where even your arguments hold heat—one second you’re challenging them, the next, they’ve got you against the wall, their mouth on yours, hands gripping tight because they can’t keep their hands off you. Your body is like a prize they’ve won, and they’re going to worship every inch of it. For some of you, your person don’t shy from PDA and they like to show you off.

You’re someone who set high standards for yourself and actually put in the work to meet them. Whether it’s in your career, social circle, or relationships, you exude the energy of someone who knows their worth. For some of you, I’m getting IxTP/xxFJ vibes.

Your person is a provider. I almost thought it’s giving sugar daddy vibes, with how much they spoil you materialistically. But there’s this insecurity within them. Maybe they think you’re too good to be true? Maybe it’s fear of losing you? Maybe you shine so bright? But they don’t want to let you go. And in the heat of it all? They can’t resist you. They want to fuck the insecurity out of their system, to make you scream their name until they know you’re theirs in every way possible.

They love taking you from behind too, it’s one of their fantasies, gripping your waist, pulling your hair against them because they need to feel all of you. They’re possessive with their hands, their touches—palm against your throat, choking (consensually), fingers tangled in your hair, nails digging into your hips. They don’t just want to make love to you; they want to mark you with hickies, claim you, make sure you remember exactly who’s fucking you so good.

They love the way you let them take control, but they also love it when you push back—when you straddle them, pin them down, show them that you know exactly what you’re doing, it drives them crazy. They want to own you, but at the same time, you own them just as much. And they’ll make damn sure you never forget that.

For some of you, there’s also cuddle/spooning fantasy going on. They want to hold you tight after, in that sweet afterglow. But even while they’re holding you, their hands are gonna wander, teasing, exploring. Honestly they just can’t help it 🤷‍♀️

PILE 2

Oh, now this is the seductress irresistible pile. Your person? They don’t just want you—they ache for you, in a way that borders on desperation. What did you do to them Pile 2 🥵Your person hates how much control you have over them, but at the same time, they wouldn’t have it any other way.

They can’t stand it when you play with them, when you act all innocent, when you act like you don’t know exactly what you do to them. But you do know. You’re giving that "Who, me? I would never officer..." energy while knowing damn well you’re driving them insane. It’s not outright teasing, it’s subtle. You don’t have to try to be alluring; it’s just who you are. You don’t deny anything outright, but you never fully give in right away either. It’s that delicate push-and-pull that drives your person up the wall.

And you love it. You love making them work for it, love seeing them lose their composure, love the way their hands shake slightly when they finally get to touch you after being deprived.

It’s no brainer that they fantasize about you driving them insane—about you dragging things out, taking your time, leaving them with pent up frustration. But once they snap? Once they’ve had enough? That’s when they lose control, that’s when they take you the way they’ve been day dreaming about. Bending you against the nearest surface, with their hands gripping your waist. Spanking you, punishing you. They love to see you squirm, love to see you struggling to keep up with them, love the way your body arches against theirs, silently pleading for more.

Before I continue, if you feel drawn to Pile 1, that’s because there might be a message for you there.

For some of you, your person is obsessed with your mouth—there’s something unique about it. Could be your lips is pouty, or it’s unusually red, could be it has hyperpigmentation on the outer lips so it looks like you have lip liner on, could be the shape is plump and full, or it’s just that you have a smart mouth. Whatever it is, they just can’t get enough. The way your lips part, the way they run their fingers around it—it’s intoxicating. They’ll kiss you like they’re starved.

They like to see you. Mirror sex might be present. So they can take in every shift of your expression, every little gasp and whimper that escapes your lips. They want you to see exactly what they do to you, want you to watch the way your body moves against theirs, want you to witness the complete mess they turn you into.

PILE 3

Ah, Pile 3, your person is craving that deep emotional and physical connection—this isn’t just about lust, your person wants to make love to you. This pile got me listening to Make Love to You by Boys II Men and All My Life by Kci and Jojo. Your person is very passionate, loving and tender.

You are the indulgence they can never resist. You feel like a luxury, like a hidden treasure or something rare. They fantasize about giving you everything, pampering you with the finest things, worshipping you with their hands and touches. They want to be the only one who gets to see you like this—laid out for them, body relaxed, eyes hazy with pleasure as they take their time with you. The way you respond to them, the way your body shivers under their touch, the way you take all that they give you—it’s maddening for them.

They also fantasize about being taken care of and indulging in pure sensuality—slow, lingering touches, bodies tangled in sheets. There’s whispered praises, there’s physical craving—running hands over warm skin, feeling soft lips, savoring the connection fully. They also dream of devotion, they want you to crave them, to cherish them, to treat them like something precious and irreplaceable. Your person might have Leo/Aries in their big 3.

They fantasize about being wanted and wanting you so badly that restraint is impossible for both of you. The moment when all that confidence, all that dominance, turns into need. Because as much as they want to own you, as much as they want to be the one in charge, you have a way of turning the tables. They think they’re the one running the show, but then you touch them just right, whisper something sinful in their ear, look at them with those eyes, and suddenly, they’re the one falling apart.

They don’t even realize how much power you have over them until it’s too late. Until they’re groaning your name, gripping you tight like you’re the only thing keeping them grounded. Until they’re letting you do whatever you want to them because, fuck, they need it. They need you. It’s rare for them to lose control like this, but with you? You pull it out of them effortlessly. They fantasize about you taking from them—taking your pleasure, pushing them to the edge over and over until they’re left breathless and completely wrecked.

It’s not just the sex, though. It’s the connection. They want all of you, body and soul. That’s why they never stop at just one round. Even after the fire dies down, they’ll hold you close, fingers trailing lazily over your skin, pressing soft kisses to your temple. Because for them, this isn’t just lust. This is everything. And Pile 3 they’ll never get enough of you.

PILE 4

Welcome to your reading Pile 4! Your person fantasy carries a heavy emotional undercurrent, it’s not just about physical desire but something deeper, unspoken, and possibly even unresolved. There’s a sense of longing, nostalgia, and emotional intensity, as if their thoughts about you are tangled between wanting, missing, and aching for something far away or unattainable. This is more than just fantasy; there’s something real and deep about the way they think you. For some of you, this person could be an ex.

Your person’s fantasies might be tinged with frustration or a sense of emotional distance. They want you, but something always feels just out of reach. They imagine scenarios where they try to get your attention, but you’re so detached—which only makes them crave you more. There could also be a desire for an unexpected, intense moment that breaks through the emotional barriers.

Now if this is an ex, for them, you’re the one that got away. The one they can’t forget, the one they can’t let go of, no matter how much time passes. Their fantasy isn’t just about having you—it’s about getting you back. About fixing what was broken, about proving to you that no one else will ever know your body the way they do. Because no matter how much they try to move on, no one feels like you. No one haunts them the way you do.

For the action, they fantasized about a night where the past no longer matters, where it’s just you and them, tangled together in sheets that smells like longing. No more distance, no more hesitation. Just raw, unfiltered need. Their feelings go beyond just sex —they want to reclaim you. To remind you, through every slow drag of their fingers, every deep, desperate thrust, exactly who they are to you. They want to see it in your eyes—the way your walls crumble, the way you give in to what’s always been there between you.

You could undo them with just a single touch. And they know it. That’s why, when they have you under them, all soft gasps and breathy moans, they take their time. This isn’t just about pleasure—it’s about proving a point. That no one else will ever make you feel like this. That no one else will ever know you the way they do.

They love how your body trembles when they push—push you to the edge, push you to need them just as much as they need you. You’re so familiar, yet somehow, every touch feels brand new. And it has them consumed, you have them mad.

There’s a strong nostalgic, bittersweet and sentimental quality to their thoughts. They might fantasize about reuniting, rekindling an old spark, or returning to a time when things felt easier. There’s also a sweet yet intense craving for deep emotional intimacy, wanting to feel truly connected, known, and seen by you.

[doberbutts]

it's crazy how trans men said "it makes us sad when we're constantly bombarded with jokes about how terrible men are" and now every post is like "ugh why are we doing #notallmen again!"

As I said before, I only started talking about this when- in a queer-focused and trans-run facebook group- there were constant jokes from cis women about how attraction to men is a curse and why would anyone actually want to be with a man and how unnatural men are and why would anyone want to be a man, and when a couple trans men went "hey uhhh these jokes are pretty hurtful can we maybe... not do this in a queer group? I hear this enough from homophobic/transphobic people" they were told they were the ones at fault and promptly removed from said group by the trans man who was the admin.

I repeat, in a place that is supposed to welcome all queer identities, it was seen as praxis to continuously bash men and when queer men protested they were kicked out.

When my cis lesbian friend is complaining about a dude being a creep or having The Audacity, I'm not offended when she turns to me and says "Jasper, why are men????? WHY????" Because I get it. I also have dealt with creeps and male audacity. She's venting, she understands that there are also dudes that are not like this, and she's addressing a conversation that needs to happen about the way [usually white, cishet, abled, etcetcetc] dudes act especially towards women. She would not be friends with me if she felt I was acting this way, myself.

What I have a problem with is when venting transforms into politics- because at that point the logical "obviously she knows and does not mean every single man in this entire planet" stops being true when it becomes "no but for real I mean it, we should kill all men and start over as a society" which is a thing I have actually seen stated by radical feminists.

I think there's a big difference between two people having a private conversation that is perhaps not the most inclusive of all nuance and viewpoints, and blasting your personal opinions about how you think men are disgusting and and attraction to men is unnatural within a space occupied by people who A: are men B: are attracted to men C: have been told repeatedly by society that their attraction to men makes them disgusting and unnatural.

[cheyisagirlkisser]

sevika.com..

➜┆ ↻ 𝙇𝙤𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜... ⟳ sevika x fem! camgirl reader

possible warnings on your browser: unofficial sugar mommy sevika who would go nuts over camgirl websites these days (as opposed to brothels in zaun), mechanic! sevika(who bffr is probably getting dirty cash from silco at his auto shop), 18+ content, masturbation (both), lingerie and vibrators, dirty talk.

Sevika is the type of person to make fun of the guys who actually think the stripper likes them. That is just who she is.

However, camgirls? Totally different story.

Something using her money she racks in from a sketchy auto shop named "Silco's Auto Haven" to purchase monthly subscriptions for lingerie-clad women? Absolutely.

Imagine it—Sevika walking through the door after a long day at work. Her muscles are aching, and she just wants to take a shower, collapse on her ratty couch, and send her hard-earned income to her favorite camgirl, you. With two fingers in her aching cunt, of course.

Meanwhile, you are in your comfy bedroom. You've got a mountain of pillows pushed back out of your iphone camera's view so you can be the main focus, and your cheeks are visibly dark with desire. You look right into the camera and lean forward, your tits nearly spilling out of the pretty, pink Victoria's Secret lingerie set you were able to buy with money that Sevika donated to you. Only slightly can the hundreds, if not thousands of viewers see a hint of pebbled skin, your nipple peeking out of the bra. You're a fucking tease, and your fans love it.

slipknot_slut commented: take off the bra for us, baby.

You squint your eyes to read the influx of comments, but that one stands out in particular. You huff out a teasing laugh, leaning slightly out of frame on purpose.

"Slipknot_slut says i should show everyone my tits. Well, maybe after a donation or two. Go to pornhub if you wanna see some free titties." You say with a slight shrug.

onomatopoeiabitch22 commented: GIRL? WE LITERALLY PAY TO SEE THIS. SHOW US UR TITTIES.

ambessahub commented: i could eat you for protein

"Uhh, okay." You scoff, both amused and weirded out. Chat is getting pushy, and in all truth, you need some donations for rent. (The only reason you're struggling is because a certain someone had been working overtime as a mechanic, missing your most recent livestream).

And then, practically godsent, you see your favorite username.

iluvgamblingngirls has joined the livestream. Say hi!

"Sevikkkkaaa!! Hi, baby." You coo over the screen excitedly, unaware of how wet you're currently making Sevika's pussy.

Sevika is already pumping her cunt tightly with her fingers, eyes transfixed on the way you begin to unclasp your bra, already knowing that she's got you. It nearly makes her laugh at the thought that you're such a huge slut for her, and you don't even know what she looks like. She knows it's the money, she isn't stupid. But you get so desperate, it makes both her heart and pussy warm from inside her cheap apartment, laid out on the couch with her phone tight in her grip. With shaky hands, she begins the bidding.

iluvgamblingngirls has left a donation of $500. Say thanks!

Your eyes widen, and you finally throw your bra behind you haphazardly. You don't make Sevika wait like you do your other fans, grabbing the string attached to your panties around your hips and sliding the fabric down the wide expanse of your thighs.

"Fuuck.." Sevika curses underneath her breath when she is able to see the glistening wetness on your panties, simply because it catches on the light and the camera just barely picks it up. Regardless, she finds herself fucking herself at a harsher pace.

Your center your naked body back into frame, and your hand slides a vibrator right between your legs. Suddenly, Sevika isn't feeling good alone. Your clit pulses with each vibration, your moans exaggerated but real. Sevika wonders if you've been pent up. It may sound creepy, but Sevika has a knack for distinguishing your real moans from the dramatic, pornographic sounds that are truly from pleasuring yourself, but obviously aren't fully realistic.

The thought that you struggled to get off without Sevika on the livestream sends a pang of heat throughout her lower abdomen, and she tries to find a pace that matches yours. She can't help herself from wanting to talk to you, however.

iluvgamblingngirls commented: wish you could ride me into the mattress

iluvgamblingngirls has sent a donation of $500!

When you read Sevika's message, you let out a soft moan, allowing yourself to fall back onto the bed and spread your legs wider, growing desperate.

You don't know what it is about Sevika's messages and financial support, but it has an effect on you. It's the countless donations that go towards rent/groceries, lingerie for live streams, and expensive lotions to keep your skin smooth. It's the comments that do not hesitate to inform you of the filthy things Sevika wants to do to you. Ride her into the mattress. You shouldn't get yourself so heated over someone who is practically faceless to you, but you can't help it. You always react to her comments, and she knows it.

"Sev, gonna cum..are you gonna cum with me?" You whine, rocking your hips to meet the intense buzzing of the vibrator. Your clit is nearly numb from the sensation, but it feels so good.

You get no answer, but do not think much of it. You can only imagine a faceless, bodiless woman, cunt stuffed with herself as she struggles to type out her reply because she is on the edge of a cliff. Cute.

Nevertheless, you let yourself go, savoring every wave of pleasure as your cum drips down onto your bedsheets. You're left a quivering, spent mess.

At the same time, Sevika's body arches and her back stretches. She feels the hot pangs of pleasure pulse until it is her own heartbeat that she feels, still rapidly racing, but trying its hardest to come down. She nearly laughs at how carried away you were able to bring her.

iluvgamblingngirls has left a donation of $1,000.

You nearly fall off the bed when you read that. Sevika surely likes to take care of you, huh?

You manage to compose yourself and sit up, turning off the live stream. Sevika almost lets herself feel disappointed before ultimately freezing. An email about a friend request on the camgirl website. A friend request from you.

Sevika is in over her head.

[ohmygoly]

I dont typically like getting political on tumblr because I know the crowd of people who typically follow the fandoms I'm in. I know the crowd of people who usually pay attention to such fandom cultures in the first place, and I truly don't want to make myself such an enemy in anyone's eyes. But also, I don't want people irrationally scared that the new Hitler is coming to make their lives awful and oppress them in every way imaginable. Because to act like America is about to become Nazi Germany is to prove how out of touch you are with what other countries are doing and also just extra anxiety on your part that doesn't need to exist. I want your life to be less stressful, I really don't want anyone afraid for their life when it's unnecessary. Besides this "checklist" I want to comment on, remember that many changes aren't probably gonna feel very personal to you and while you might notice some slight differences, the day to day will probably be the same as it is through every presidential transition. Some things are cheaper/more expensive maybe, maybe your office or school has some slight alterations, but thats usually about it.

I don't hate anyone. I have met and become friends with more people I disagree with on a lot of important points than I do people I agree with on said issues. The scenarios in which I have met these people have allowed me to see how friendly, creative, and talented they are. It has also allowed me to see just how precarious and overdramatized interactions and relationships with them can be. This does not even include the internet or social media.

"Powerful and Continuing Nationalism" Americans value America first. A healthy country wants to succeed, and to want something to succeed you have to love it first. If you would prefer every other country over the one you live in, then don't live in it. But there is no logic in wanting a country to have influence and do better and actually progress whilst also despising its existence as a country. Plus, most of the "America first" sentiments don't pair with a "hurt other countries" sentiment. More like a "they can and should handle their own problems" one. If you can respect any amount of individual freedom, responsibility, or self pride, then you should be able to respect it on the national scale.

"Disdain For Human Rights" Its not that anyone in power at the moment disdains human rights. In fact, they know that within the government, every human has the right to pretty much everything. Anyone can run for office, vote, start a business, not be discriminated against as a potential employee or customer, and overall do pretty much whatever they like. What they don't want is those rights to be taken away because someone is offended or inconvenienced. Most republicans don't even actually mind trans people, they just dont want children permanently altered or women's safety threatened. If you have the right to sleep with whoever you want, dress however you want, and call yourself whatever you want then why shouldnt others have the right to live, be safe in their own spaces, consent to who gets to see their body, to their speech and opinions (offensive or not)? Those things can live side by side. In fact, the best you can do when it comes to human rights is not over manage speech. They should, however, manage some actions that can have harmful/permanent effects.

"Identification of Enemies as a Unifying Cause" This is clearly about illegal immigrants and trans people. Again, no one thinks trans people are the enemy. More so the ideology since overall it blatantly refuses the truth of sex, any self responsibility (you choose how you present yourself to people and how you manage your own thoughts and feelings), or any concern for others' feelings and safety that isn't a trans person. It would be like saying because someone hates depression they hate all depressed people. No. You as a person can still be good and deserving of all your human rights, but the ideas themselves aren't helpful to any society. Illegal immigrants aren't being threatened with mass genocide or really much violence at all. Rather, if they havent committed other crimes within the country that would deserve actual punishment they are simply facing return back to the country they came from. It is immoral to allow illegal immigrants in the country, not only for the safety of the citizens that the politicians swore to protect but also because it is exploitative. It's also dangerous to make it here, so why would you want to encourage people to risk their lives to come to a place where they can't enjoy all the rights of being a citizen?

"Rampant Sexism" As a woman, I can say with absolute certainty that I do not see one ounce of blatant sexism from the politicians coming into power and I certainly do not feel politically oppressed in any way. There are many other cultures where sexism is even worse, if you can even call anything in America actual sexism, but I'm sure it would be considered racist to make such a claim. Its not as if middle eastern women are fighting for their lives and education and equality or anything. Us Americans have it so bad because sometimes a man says something weird and gross. The most sexist thing I've ever come across on a societal scale within my life is the prioritization of men who say they're women over actual women. But we definitely don't see the new people in office supporting that sentiment.

"Controlled Mass Media" This is the only one I will give even the slightest ounce of credit, simply because I know the government would prefer Meta over other companies and they did ban tiktok/almost ban tiktok? In any case, if you can still get news from pretty much every political ideology, access any other social media website, shop at the "Banned Books" section of a book store, and access literally any other form of media that has existed throughout our history then your media is most likely not very controlled. The thing with social media specifically is that it is still so new so we will obviously need to figure out how to navigate that within our physical world but that isn't a sign of a fascist country, thats simply a sign that we are facing a rapid change in technology and don't know how to handle it yet. Its a great thing we have a constitution and hella rebellious citizens who will make finding the best, least oppressive solutions easier here than probably anywhere else on the planet!

"Obsession with National Security" The only reason there's a surge in national security is because there has also been a surge in threats against the security of this nation. Through many foreign nations and within our own borders. This country cannot be successful and cannot help any other country in the world if we are falling apart while we are doing it.

"Religion and Government Intertwined" There is a difference between politicians being religious and it actually being intertwined with our government. Most government policies made are based on our constitution and how we can best respect the rights given to us through it. The religion of any of the politicians is not going to become mandatory or oppressive to anyone not of that religion, because that is not the goal. Anyone can come up with the sentiment that they need to fix the way the government runs and protect the rights of their citizens. Yes, religion might influence some of their opinions on things and a few of their changes, but if you elect someone you have to accept that they have ideas about things. Thats just how it works. Overall, religion will not become permanently intertwined with the government or forced upon citizens.

"Labor Power Suppressed" Last I checked, you can get any job you want. Literally, you can quit any job you don't like, and just go find a new one. Not to mention they want to improve businesses and they know that the labor class is very vital to that.

"Rampant Cronyism and Corruption" Corruption is a vague word and a lot of the people in the new administration don't even agree on everything. The main thing they agree on is that they want to see America succeed and that they will respect the elected president's right to see that mandate through, as an elected official. How terrible of a president to hire people that don't hate him and won't sabotage the policy goals he was elected to see through.

Looking more like a checklist these days. I want off this ride. 😭

[sadagios]

Icarus, and the Sunflower

PART TWO: UNFIXABLE ERROR

PROLOGUE: PART ONE

3.4k words below the cut

SOME BEGINNING NOTES: - This AU is only character shipping, and references a lot outside the life series events (evo, hermitcraft, empires, etc). This is not meant to ship the CC’s themselves and if anything alludes to it, it is purely unintentional. - This is not canon-compliant ermmmm i do what i want and i will put every idea i have into this - No more bullet points this time... taking off the baby wheels - This is to add more to the first part! Please read that one before this if you haven't - Tags for this part? Game dev AU, Past BigB/Grian, a lot of BigGri flirting, some characters are real and some are fictional, this is only the prologue (part 2!), Grian is still down bad for Scar, absolutely not beta'd i only have one impulsive braincell, contains some fake chats

I. HALLOWEEN

The game awards have been announced, and it was the talk of the company. Evolutionists’ Portal has been online for 4 months now, and it built itself a dedicated fan base with a peak of about 80k players a month. Updates were still on the way, scheduled for Halloween and Christmas Day.

The team working on Evolutionists’ Portal hoped for a nomination, and maybe even an award. Gria hoped for this, as well, but he was too tired to even think with everything on his plate. Their art director quit suddenly, so he was carrying out two big roles, but even when the past art director was there, he was basically doing most of his work.

The team took notice of his exhaustion and invited him to the company Halloween party. Gria didn’t want to, but Martyn had a brilliant idea for making a bet: Gria believed they would get one nomination, and Martyn believed it would be two. If Gria wins, Martyn will get him breakfast every day until Christmas. If Martyn wins, Gria has to wear an outfit to the party of his choosing. Gria thought it was a harmless bet, and he’d actually benefit from it, so he agreed.

Jimmy is his closest friend in the company, but Jimmy was also busy with his work in Empires. There are talks of a big collaboration and he knows he can’t get ahold of Jimmy until it is settled. One morning, a cup of coffee appeared on his desk with a note attached to it that said,

“You might need a little boost in your morning.”

Gria had no idea who it could be from until he noticed a wrapped piece of warm, chocolate cookie beside the cup. He looked up from his desk and met eyes with Big B, who smiled and gave him a little wave before resuming his work.

His crush on Big B was no secret. The man is funny and handsome, and he and Gria started in the company together. Martyn was the first one to catch it, the way he gets giggly and embarrassed around Big B, and he’s been on Gria’s case since. Pearl found out about it through Martyn’s teasing, but she had the grace not to poke fun at Gria (only sometimes.) Jimmy still hasn’t caught on, and Martyn bursts out laughing every time Jimmy unintentionally third wheels or cockblocks Gria. Gria has an inkling that Big B might’ve noticed it, but he acts the same way around him, which Gria is thankful for.

The nominations were out the morning of the party, and they were nominated for “Best Multiplayer” and “Best Audio Design.” As soon as the news broke out, Martyn walked in stride to the art department and pulled Gria to the parking lot where Martyn’s car was parked. He opened the trunk, pulled something out, and gave it to Gria with a devilish grin.

Martyn: I’m so excited to meet such a popular singer tonight.

Gria peeked inside the dress cover, he wanted to die.

One night, the team went out drinking. Gria had a few more drinks than he should’ve. He doesn’t remember what happened, but Pearl recorded the whole thing; basically, he got so drunk that he started singing nothing but Ariana Grande songs. To put the final nail in the coffin, he might’ve sat on Big B’s lap as he sang one song.

Gria wore the outfit after being manhandled by everyone into wearing it. Big B wasn’t going to the party as he’d said days before, and while Gria was relieved not to embarrass himself, he also wished for Big B to be there.

Gria wore a ridiculously pink two-piece top and skirt, with a white furry shoal attached to gloves. Pearl also lent him her white boots, which surprisingly fit him well (and gave him a few inches.) The room cheered when he walked in, and he was too embarrassed to walk that Jimmy had to drag him around the room.

Pearl wore a cute green dress, which looked a lot like a character from Empires. Jimmy wore a Captain America costume, but instead of a star had a huge letter S at the middle of his chest. Martyn wore a pirate costume. 

Martyn: What a shame Big B isn’t here to see this.

Martyn teased, and Gria wanted to strangle him right there. Then, without warning, a finger poked his cheek. Gria turned and there Big B was, holding a bloody axe in a bloody costume. Gria remembered the game Big B told him about, a zombie game called “The Creaking Dead.” It was one of the things that led them to become friends, their love for zombie games.

The night went by, celebrating both Halloween and their nominations. Empires also had their own share of nominations, and Jimmy was so giddy that night.

Pearl pulled them four to the photo booth before they could get more wasted. Jimmy grabbed a weird-looking fish beanie and Martyn put on a Mickey Mouse headband. Pearl put on a sunflower crown that fit the gold accents in her dress. They made sure to put Gria and Big B at the center of the photo, and Gria tried not to explode with how close they were. Big B suggested they take a Polaroid photo after for keepsake, and before Gria could head out of the room and go home, Big B gave him a Polaroid photo with a message written in Sharpie.

"Glad I came by today, G. Happy Halloween. ♡"

II. VALENTINE’S DAY

Gria and Big B have been talking and texting each other non-stop for months now. People assume they’re dating, but when Jimmy asked, he clarified that they had no label. It’s true; they haven’t done much. They hung around a lot, and they might’ve fooled around during cold December nights, but it was an unspoken, casual thing. At least, that’s what it was for Gria.

On Valentine’s day, Big B invited him for dinner, and everyone teased them about being lovebirds. That night, Big B finally asked Gria to be his boyfriend.

Gria was happy. Overjoyed. Someone as kind and thoughtful as Big B, who treats him so well, wanted them to be exclusive. He wanted Gria. But the smile on Gria’s face slowly faded as his happiness turned into dread. Big B is too nice for him. Too perfect for him. Too much for someone like him.

Gria turned him down without explaining further. He saw the hurt in Big B’s eyes, but the man still treated him the same: with adoration and care.

Big B drove him home, and that was the last time they talked outside of work.

III. MARCH

Gria finally took some time off. Aside from the upcoming April Fools update, there wasn’t much to be done. The tension between him and Big B has been too much to bear, and he can’t shake the guilt he feels each time Big B leaves a warm cup of coffee with a cute note on his desk.

He lurks on the internet, bored out of his mind. He met this person, PotatoNutshell, and became friends over Hermitopia 6.

IV. APRIL FOOLS

< Let's play like cats, let's count to three. >

The gang liked the Alpha version of “The Life Game.” The map is good (which makes Gria proud as he designed it,) and the mechanics are simple enough to get used to.

There are several problems, though. The motion blur is making everyone sick, and the one who had it the roughest was Joel. The UI is also unintuitive, as you have to look at your wrist to see the messages and your health status, which you can easily lose track of. Then, the computer AI characters are indistinguishable from each other. It was supposed to be a battle royal game, but with only the players having unique skins, it feels a bit more like player versus enemy than a competition.

It was understandable, though, that it didn't have much character customization. The remaining two working on the game are a writer and a programmer, and they have no 3D modeling experience at all. Gria figured he could help out and tinker with it when he had time, especially with how the gang loved the game despite all its flaws.

V. SUMMER, a year later

Gria’s old friends finally messaged him that they added more things to the game, and it might be enough for a beta test. The only thing they haven’t figured out is the character models. Gria confirmed if they were planning to release this game, and the two said “no, not yet. Not anytime soon.” That gave Gria all the liberty to simply tinker with the game just for their own enjoyment.

He asked the team if they had any characters they’d like to mod into the game, preferably with 3D models so they wouldn’t have to worry about rigging and animation too much. Skizzleman suggested Hermitopia characters, which Gria wouldn’t contest because this gives him a great excuse to add Scar into the game.

They needed one more character, and Gria remembered the Empires plush on Jimmy’s desk. The team gave him a free plushie of the “Starboy, The Rivendell King” because all plushies of the “Codfather” were sold out, the one Jimmy usually played as. Still, Jimmy keeps the Starboy plushie on his desk and sometimes carries it with him to the breakroom when he takes a short nap. Gria found the image of Jimmy carrying this plush to be adorable, although he will never say it aloud, so he decided to add Starboy as their final character. He also had Gemini and Shadow Lady (as per Joel’s request) 3D models ready, but he’ll probably add them next time. Pearl also isn’t joining their session for now, so it would be good to save her favorite character for another time.

On one Friday night in April, they all logged on and waited to connect to The Life Game’s private server. Gria was excited to play until he received a message from one of his old friends.

A slight chill crawls up Grian’s arm. He gripped his VR headset, a bit hesitant after his conversation with his old friends. After a moment, he shook off his nerves and wore his headset. He looked at the server status reading “5/6 Players” and hovered his controller over the button that would let him play with his friends. Grian ignored the warning bells and hit “Join World.”

VI. HELLO, WORLD

Gria spawned into the world, a bit dizzy from the sunlight blasting into his eyes. He got off on the ground and surveyed his surroundings, and it seemed like the map was different from the last time. In front of him looked like a ruined portal, which he doesn’t remember adding to the map years ago. Could this be something his old friends added to the map for the Evolutionists’ Portal developers to see? Gria smiled at the sentiment. He looted the chest near it, and it felt a bit like cheating. He joined the game late, but he already had golden gear in his first minutes of playing.

He did some resource gathering, something which they learned was crucial from their alpha test. He travelled and spotted a village, and saw Martyn’s character completely raiding it. Out of all of them, Martyn might have been the one who became so immersed in the gameplay. Even before playing, he was discussing tactics and plans in their call. If it ever came down to it, he knows Martyn would be a formidable opponent with how into it he is. 

Gria traversed the map more until he hit the border. There’s no way to get through it, even if you force it. It also seemed like the friendly creatures weren't able to get past it. It’s a bit scary to think about how they’re stuck in this little box until only one of them remains. It’s a good thing all of this is just a game.

Being the creator of the maps for this game, Gria remembers where most of the biomes are on the map. He goes back to the village and spots Big B.

Excited and without thinking, he jumped in front of Big B and surprised him, which made Big B’s character jump back. But, when Big B met his eyes, he immediately laughed and smiled. 

Before Big B could strike up a conversation, Joel’s voice could be heard from a distance, he looked just like himself in real life, but he wore a costume that reminded Gria of Shrek. He shot Big B a quick look and saw he was wearing something similar to his costume during one of their old Halloween parties. Martyn’s character seemed different, too.

Gria noticed the little shop icon on his screen. When he clicked on it, it opened a shop of a multitude of items that can be bought with experience points. He checked out the costume section and saw that costume accessories were fairly cheap. He bought himself a red sweater, and now his character feels more like him.

He noticed someone trailing behind Joel, a blazing head of fire and red eyes. It took him a while to realize that this was Tango Tek from Hermitopia. When he spoke, both Gria and Joel cranked their neck at him, surprised he could speak. Hermitopia had no voice lines. Despite this fact, Joel excitedly conversed with Tango, prompting him to speak more. Gria excused himself, confused at how this was possible.

He went off to gather more resources before he headed to the village. He saw Big B yet again, and his cheeks flushed at how many times he had seen him by himself. Gria’s a bit awkward around him, but Big B greets him with a smile each time. 

Big B: Are you sneaking up on me, G? Gria, giggling: Hello there, B. Whatcha up to? Big B: Trying to survive the first night, and maybe even you? Gria: Well, I don’t think a danger. Not to you. Big B: A danger to my heart, maybe?

Gria bit his lip and walked away. Big B laughed behind him, and he couldn’t fight back his smile. He looked at the ground and saw Martyn’s faint green name tag. He grinned and turned to Big B, “Wanna scare Martyn?”

They made their way down Martyn’s mining hole, carefully, and they tried not to giggle like a bunch of kids sneaking out in the middle of the night. Gria heard Martyn, talking to himself, and he approached him behind before shouting, “Hey Martyn!”

The three hang around together in the mining hole, chatting and bickering while hoping to find diamonds. Martyn succeeds and even gives them two diamonds each for a sword. The two were dumbfounded at this generosity, and Gria gave Martyn his golden apple in return.

Martyn: I just gave you guys diamonds because we’re buddies, c’mon. Gria: You know what, you can have my most prized golden apple. Martyn: Ooh, what’s this do? Gria: It gives you extra hearts when you eat it. Martyn: You’re giving me hearts? Way to make Big B a third wheel. Big B: Oh my god.

Gria exploded into laughter at this, and Big B shook his head but smiled at the situation.

After the sun had risen, he parted ways with the two and spent his time around the village and looking for a place to stay. He came across another nametag below the ground, and he thought it might’ve been Jimmy. He went down and surprised the man, only to find that it wasn’t Jimmy. 

When he heard Tango speak a while ago, he couldn’t figure out how it was possible. However, he did know of a game around an AI girlfriend who wouldn’t let you leave the house unless you said the right words. To think █████ could add such a feature, for AI to understand and speak back to you, all in a year is quite impressive and he would like to ask him more as soon as they finish playing. He didn’t listen carefully when Tango spoke earlier, and it might’ve been more robotic than he remembered. But now, as Ren screamed in surprise and spoke how Gria spooked the hell out of him, it sounded too much like a real person’s voice.

After mining a bit, Gria went out to the world and built a base at a lovely ravine area. Unfortunately, his resources weren’t enough to make it look pretty, and he suddenly missed the creative freedom he had while playing Hermitopia.

After being alone for so long. He made his way back to the village. Much to his surprise, so many people were there. At the side of the village, a group of characters in iron gear approached him. They excitedly called out his nametag, Grian, to greet him. Just like Ren and Tango’s voices, they all sounded so real. Too real. 

Martyn, Big B, Jimmy, Skizz, and Joel were nowhere to be seen. He was surrounded by characters from a game he spent countless hours playing. They talk and bicker like they are real people, and they sound like real people would. Gria would never be able to think of better voices for them. 

Among the four of them, one stood out the most. He had disheveled hair and a huge scar on his face that went down his neck. Despite having a cape and scarf covering most of his torso, Gria can’t pry his eyes off his huge, exposed right tit.

Completely distracted, something suddenly fell into his hands. It took him a while to process that this man held his hands and gave him flint and steel. Gria looked up, meeting the man’s eyes, and he had this devilish grin that made Gria’s knees weak. He turned his head higher and looked at the man’s nametag, “Scar Goodtimes”

Scar put his arm around Gria and made him face the village, and one of the houses were burning.

Scar: It was Grian! It was him who did it! 

Gria couldn’t move. He couldn’t process what was happening, and he couldn’t care less about how Tango and Etho were trying their best to put out the fire. The man beside him, probably more than 6 feet tall, is Scar Goodtimes. He’s way different from what he remembered, he had shorter hair and markings instead of actual scars, but when he spoke, Gria might’ve melted into the ground if the man didn’t have his arm around him.

Scar: Geez, Grian, what a rapscallion burning down villages.

Scar grinned at him and gave him a wink. It was as if Gria’s hardware crashed. Cleo, BDubs, and Impulse were all talking to him, even playing their jukebox for him, but his mind was filled with one thing and one thing only.

“His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so hot. His voice is so—”

Something nudged Gria, and Scar was so close to his face that Gria thought he could be hallucinating. Scar whispered into his ear, asking for the flint and steel back, and he complied without a second thought. He gave him a grin before he ran off to the village. Etho and Tango followed suit in panic.

Gria finally breathed. He doesn’t know how this could be possible. He had organized an unofficial voice cast for Hermitopia before, but the chosen voice actor was so off the mark, and everyone else liked it but Gria. But now, Scar’s whisper loops in his head, and he would go to war just to argue that no actor can replicate the sound his ears had been blessed with.

While talking to Etho and Impulse, he saw the historical tree burn. Scar walked in stride and stood beside Gria, waiting for Etho to take notice. Gria and Scar share a mischievous smile as Etho runs to the burning tree. Scar watched the tree burn down, and Gria watched the fire illuminate his face.

Scar: Grian, want to take over the desert with me? Gria: Me? Scar: Yeah, you. Let’s make all the sand ours.

This marks the End of Prologue

Next > ACT ONE: STUCK IN THE DESERT

ENDING NOTES: Took a while to finish this one! supposedly there's more, but it was getting too long so I had to cut it here. The next update will be a bigger one, so it might take months before that is posted. I also plan to do more character design before moving forward with the actual life series events. If you've read this far, thank you for reading!

[burymagdalene]

Chateau Lobby #4 - S. Reid x Reader

Whilst trying to navigate romantic relationships after prison, Spencer finds himself in love and caught in an all-too-serious non-relationship with reader. Wanting to break this streak, he asks to spend Valentine's Day properly with a real date. Afterward, they find themselves desperate with trying to express their love for each other.

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader genre: Smut (18+ pls pls), fluff, and maybe a bit of angst at the start tags: switch!Spencer, blowjob, fingering, a bit of munch!Spencer, pinv sex, age gap (not explicit, but I was foaming at the mouth thinking about it while writing), praise, riding, creampie, lots of teasing and love… all that jazz. wc: 6.9k ;-) a/n: Happy Valentine's Day! I had to name this one after essentially the best love song ever. I kiss all of you!

Work is grueling as usual, couples flooded the diner you work at for their pre- Valentine’s Day festivities with flowers in hand and shit eating grins plastered to stay.

Yet, you’re off soon and you can taste your freedom just like the stale coffee you’ve been throwing back all day as the bell to the front door jingles with more fervor than usual,

“I want to take you out. Properly. Friday. It’ll be a good, proper, date. Yeah.”

You blink in bewilderment, apron tied around your waist as Spencer proposes your first actual date at the kitschy restaurant you work at. 

After Spencer got out of prison, his perceptions around a genuine connection in a relationship seemed to be as distant a reality as the person who he was before prison. Upon meeting you, a small radiant glow around you at all times as you poured him his coffee during his lunch breaks beckoned him into this altercation he’s in now with you.

The dull incessant nagging on his shoulder at all times whispering his new inadequacies in relationships has steered him into a solitude state he has never experienced before. You couldn’t possibly stoop so low to fall for an ex-convict? Would he even call himself that? Would you? 

Most importantly, he had no idea how to steer a relationship before this complete 180 in his life, and now he’s even more lost to the tenderness he’s craving so deeply it hurts to even give himself a taste of optimism within the relationship he’s developed with you.

Spencer has somehow held himself back from you in all these months in such a critical way that it has resulted in a bond which the concept of he’s priorly abhorred. You only have sex. 

Well, that’s kind of impossible for him. Only sex. But every time he’s seen you, been with you alone, it has led to sweat mingling and his dry whining. You two can’t help but to talk about your lives, your passions, can’t help but give each other sickening support and kindness that makes him nervously chew the skin of his thumbnail. 

Despite how much he thinks about something genuine between you two, in reality, he just gets scared. Simply put. He has seen and been through unimaginable horrors, it scares him to bare that to another person, to someone who brings aid to him. Pushing you away in any sort is not something he can handle, so instead he’s managed to come up with a only slightly agonizing set up for the both of you.

It’s better than confessing completely and inevitably driving you away with his damages. 

Except, this clearly hasn’t worked out. It’s February, he’s been seeing you every weekend for months and Spencer cannot bear the thought of taking all of your time like this and you getting nothing on Valentine’s Day. It sickens him, it strikes him one night. If you told him that some other guy you were seeing had put you in the exact situation he’s put you in, and you’re not even receiving flowers and an all expenses paid dinner on Valentine’s Day, he’d personally show up to his apartment and kill him.

 So he’s finally stepped up.

A sweep of bravery flooded his senses on his lunch break, and he was up on his feet walking to where he knows you are at this time without even thinking.

Your manager, however, was not as excited about this distracting public confession, and grumbled out a prompt for you to leave early before causing a further hindrance, and now you two are sitting next to each other on the curb outside. 

Spencer is staring holes into the side of your smiling face as you pick a loose string from your jeans.

“I can’t believe you asked me out at work,” you giggle and shift your gaze at him for a split second “didn’t really know if you even liked me.”

“What? Of course I like you, you’re the only person I spend time with.”

“Hm. Yeah, it’s just confusing sometimes. I really like you, but usually when guys like you back they want to take you out, ha.”

You end your sentence with a dry laugh that explains to Spencer how you’ve been feeling throughout the time you’ve been sleeping together. 

“I’m so sorry. I just- I thought it would be easier on you. Than for you to actually be with me. Why didn’t you mention anything?”

You sniff, like knowing that what you’re about to say is probably a bit too mean to say to someone who just asked you to be his valentine.

“Why should it be on me to say something, you don’t tell me anything. Nothing about how you feel about me, apparently. I never said anything because I was going to put up with whatever until you dropped me because I care about seeing you too much.”

That makes Spencer shift his gaze to his own knees in front of him.

“Yeah, I’m unfair. I guess I just assumed that because you’re more confrontational than I am.”

“Am I though?”

Spencer sighs, with how many times you’ve dogged on him for certain things he’s said or done, yes. But you’ve never really mentioned how the relationship was impacting you, it’s easier for you to bring up menial topics to him, he guesses. 

“No, you’re not.” He finalizes.

You huff out a laugh and place a kiss on his blazer-clad shoulder– a peace offering. Grabbing his arm, you pull his jacket sleeve up to check the time. 

“I’m gonna drive home before you have to go back to work. I’m sorry I was mean. I’m really excited to go on a date with you friday. I’ve never had a Valentine’s Day date.” 

Standing up, you brush off your concrete imprinted palms on the back of your jeans before tilting up Spencer’s chin (he’s remains utterly still sitting on the curb) to meet your gaze. He looks away slightly to your shoes and rests his forehead against your stomach, a wordless apology as he nods against you. 

Again, you place your palms to his cheeks to look at you, he’s always had a problem with maintaining eye contact for long periods of time.

“And…you mr. gentleman, are you excited to wine and dine me?”

Spencer’s kicked-puppy look dissipates as his love-struck smile takes its place.

“Yes. I actually think it’s going to be the best night I’ve had since… maybe since I’ve met you.”

Smiling, you’re satisfied.

“That’s right. Okay, Spencer. Thank you. I’ll see you Friday.”

You try to suppress your grin as you spin away on your heels, but Spencer catches it before you turn and it heats his frigid body from sitting outside for so long. How has he been so dumb all this time? Somehow it being easy with you, painfully easy to be treated tenderly by you, since the beginning has slipped his mind. Of course, an actual relationship with you would come as naturally as it has since you started. 

He’s never been so sure of it. 

✵

Spencers looking at himself in the bathroom mirror as the bouquet he picked up for you and the personally annotated book he’s giving you sit on his kitchen table, awaiting his arrival to put their still existence into motion. 

He knows you well, he’s intently stored away every single piece of information you have given him. He knows everything you’ve been through, the best day of your life, what turns you on so much you get embarrassed… so on and so forth. Yet, he’s staring at his pre-date reflection right now seeing how his face has drained of all color. 

The restaurant he picked has been mentioned by Rossi a few times as a favorite. Fancy, Italian, expensive, and Spencer was able to get a reservation by the skin of his teeth for Valentine’s Day because he (regrettably) had to pull a “I know David Rossi, yeah..” on the phone a few days ago. 

So he should be rather prepared, he knows where you’re going, he’s been on a date before, sure. Yet…

Spencer flicks off the light in his bathroom to force himself away from the mirror, agonizing over his face isn’t productive in the least. You already know what he looks like. 

He drives in complete silence to your apartment, he’s already anxious as ever and he has to be behind the wheel, which is not his forte. But the thought of seeing you in the passenger seat glowing after a fancy meal appeals to him so greatly his stomach swirls.

Spencer’s early, of course. He couldn’t not be. He was probably ready for the date 3 hours before the time he said he would pick you up at. With this day off he’s been able to sit and pace and freak out for hours. Great. 

When he knocks with the fist holding the book for you he hears frantic scrambling for thirty seconds or so before you swing the door open– 

“Spencer!” You gasp belatedly when you see the flowers, “oh my god! Come in, I need to put my shoes on and I’m good to go.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day, so pretty…” Spencer mumbles against the top of your head when you pull him into a greeting hug.

“Mmm. Happy Valentine’s Day. You smell good.”

You can’t help yourself, wrapping your arms around Spencer’s neck and pulling him into a kiss immediately. All too easy, you’re used to your mouths working furiously together. It's like another language for you.

But Spencer is pulling away slightly, speaking against your lips, “I'm trying to take you on a date first.”

Groaning lightly you start kissing him again, resulting in his hands placed on your waist slowly peeling you off him. Spencer's hands and lips have a mind of their own though, his hands are firmly pushing you off as his lips chase yours as you separate.

Laughing, you tilt your head to one side to inspect him, “So after the date you’ll get me home by 8:00 and give me a chaste kiss goodnight?”

Spencer chuckles and shakes his head at your toying. 

“If you’ll let me, I’ll fuck you after the date. But, sure I’ll also give you a chaste goodnight kiss, though it’s 7:30 so you can rule out being home by 8:00. Sorry.” He pulls in his lips and raises his eyebrows as if to say, that’s that. 

“If I’ll let you?”

“Right.”

“Mmkay.”

“And… if you like it I can do that again and again,” he chuckles and rubs his forehead with his palm, “and then I’ll take you on a second date.”

You avert your eyes to hide the tell tale signs of you flustered, hating whenever he gets the upper hand in flirting because you can not take it as well as Spencer can when you dish it out.

“Whatever-” whipping your head around trying to locate your shoes Spencer giggles under his breath, your presence has totally eased his nerves. He watches you pick up your heeled boots and he kneels slowly in front of you to place them on your feet.

“You’re sweet,” at your words Spencer smiles to himself and zips up the sides of your boots. “I’m so excited for the rest of the night if this is gonna be my treatment.”

“What? Princess treatment? You should be excited, I’m going to be cutting your food and feeding it to you.”

“Ooh. Waving me with a big leaf and feeding me grapes?”

“Something like that. Yeah.” He smiles and stands up, grasping your hands to help you up. “Very pretty. You look beautiful.”

“You look beautiful too,” you poke his side, “I love this maroon tie. I wish you would let me kiss you.”

Spencer sighs at your dramatics and cups your face for a soft kiss. You sigh into it and he kisses your neck once in finality. 

“Better?”

Smiling bashfully, you nod. 

✵

The looks of the restaurant struck you immediately, and there is a nervous prickling at your spine that happens when you’re in fancier places than you think you deserve– a feeling of being a persona non grata. 

To hide your insecurity, you grasp Spencer’s hand as he tells the hostess the reservation name and whistle lowly below your breath at the long draping lace curtains around the room and the barely-there candlelight illuminating the entirety of the restaurant. 

Sitting down, you immediately start the date with a joke that falls flat, “So, do you take all your ladies here on the first date?”

Either Spencer thought the joke was distasteful or he didn’t get it, either way he furrowed his brows and shifted his eyes to the side for a moment like he’s looking around for a translation from a bystander.

“No?”

“I’m just- yeah, I’m kidding. Sorry. I’m nervous.”

“I was really nervous before getting you tonight, my hair… I don’t know.”

“Ha, seriously?” Unbelievable you think, his hair is slightly wind ruffled and his curls look ringlet-y, you never could wrap your head around the tales of the plain mean teasing over his looks he’s lived through. “You’re extremely handsome, I tell you that.”

“You do. I wanted to impress you.”

“You do.” 

The whole dinner fills your stomach with butterflies that mixes extraordinarily well with whatever red wine Spencer ordered for the two of you. It has you leaning forward when you laugh, has you running your foot up and down the inside of his calf, causing his voice to spike up two octaves whenever you trail up slowly.

Spencer halts your movements quickly though, grabbing lightly at your ankle to stop its ministrations, making you hum around your fork and him roll his eyes light heartedly. 

The night was going very well once your romantic jitters melted away into a comfortability you felt you could only possess when around Spencer, something nobody else has given you before. 

It was utterly ridiculous, feeling so lovey dovey, you can see how the holiday has some emotional merit to it and isn’t just a capitalist money grab to drain the pockets of couples and make single women feel unworthy. Though maybe you’re just feeling that because you’re not on the victims end of the money grab, regardless…

On the other side of the booth, Spencer has been spiralling into a clusterfuck of thoughts around how much more deeply invested he is in you than he thought. You’re here though, you didn’t turn down his proposal and you kept mentioning how excited you are.

Still, every exhale out of his lungs is a shudder in fear of a looming rejection of an inquisition he’s not even sure he’s going to ask, or if it’s already set in place. Are you dating? 

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Um, ahh, um, are we dating?’

What an idiot!

You burst out laughing. Jesus, he must’ve been sick mulling over the aftermath of the date going back to your former dynamic of who even knows what. You couldn’t possibly live with the idea either, but are probably more keen on living in the moment than Spencer.

“You wanna date me? Be my boyfriend?” Your laughter is trailing off, but you have a smile as you say it from giddiness rather than mocking.

A gust of air then, “More than anything.”

The chilly air outside that was previously cooling both of your anxieties upon entering the restaurant meets the same warm cheeks for an opposing reason now. Hand in hand, you walk with full bellies back to Spencer’s car.

Filled with the first secure sense of trust and vulnerability in your life, hand in hand you swing your arms together like a lovesick teenager. 

All hesitation around what you could do or say to drive Spencer away flies out into the abrasive February air and off with the wind, so you ask, 

“When, if you know, did you first realize that you.. like-liked me?”

“Like-like huh? Haven’t heard that one in a while.” Spencer opens the passenger side door for you and guides you in with a palm on your lower back. He watches you buckle yourself in and leans his arms against the top of the car, looking down at where you’re seated he contemplates his answer seriously.

“I knew I like-liked you once I first saw you brushing your teeth in my bathroom the first night you stayed over. Hm. Yeah, I was watching from the doorway in awe, and seeing you do something so… banal, and it tearing me open. I wanted to see it every night.” He shuts the door and walks to his side as you sit staring out the window where he once was.

Spencer turns his car key, putting on your seat warmer before his own, and rubs your cheek with his thumb. “I really enjoyed myself tonight.”

“I first knew I loved you when you picked me up from work when it was raining. I’m not even sure what, but seeing your wet hair and maybe that getting your suit wet didn’t matter at all to you… I just felt so… I went home and stared at my hands all wet for like an hour. Then I woke up the next day with a cold, ha. I’m… so, yeah.”

You know what you said, you’re not shocked it came out and you didn’t want to really avoid it anymore with frivolous watered-down terms. 

Spencer laughs and places his forehead against the wheel at a stoplight. “You’re perfect. I can’t believe it, I’m so lucky and you’re so perfect and I realized I love you now in the same way I realized I did when you were in my bathroom. It feels the same.”

✵

Now you’re back at Spencer’s apartment. Head tilted up and pressed against his front door as he’s fumbling with taking off your coat while simultaneously kissing away your lipstick, it rubbing on his chin in a smudged crimson streak.

Your thumbs are looped through the belt hoops in his trousers as you’re pulling his hips against your own.

Spencer always has a way of kissing you that feels all consuming, and you think you cannot possibly kiss anyone else in your life without implementing everything you’ve learned about kissing Spencer. Every kiss in your future would be executed to roll Spencer Reid’s eyes back, you can’t possibly kiss anyone ever again.

Sucking on your top lip, he flings your coat to the ground and wraps his greedy arms around your waist as he pulls you impossibly closer to him. 

It’s almost a grounding exercise within itself to make out with Spencer, you can’t possibly hear, feel, see or taste anything other than him when he’s this way. The universe exists solely between your lips and the way your overactive brains become a fuzzy-soft blend of peace when you’re passing your tongues between mouths is placating.

Still puppeteering Spencer through his belt hoops, you move him towards his worn leather couch you’ve associated his scent with. Spencer is sat with his legs spread open in a lazy manspread as you stand and look down at him.

“Should I sit?” You poke teasingly, knowing by the dick print shining through his trousers that he could beg for it pretty easily. Spencer nods slowly, pulling his hands from his sides to grab onto your hips to pull you down.

You stop him though, arm placed firmly on his shoulder, halting yourself from falling onto him. You would like to hear how badly he wants it. 

“Woah, tiger. I think I asked you something, no?” you’re laughing plainly at the grovelling face he makes that you know he doesn’t realize he’s making. Ever the overreaction. 

“Yes. You should sit.” He grumbles.

“Why?”

“Because I know how much you like to feel yourself against me when you’re needy like this, and…I want to do everything for you. Because if I don’t have you against me soon I’m going to fall apart.”

Sounds good enough.

Humming happily you straddle Spencer’s lap and reattach your lips onto his, welcoming the inevitable swollen look with no complaint. Without hesitation, you wiggle your hips contentedly against his crotch. Spencer's sharp inhale of pleasure never gets old. 

 Cupping your jaw into his warm hands he whispers against your lips, “This a good enough reason, or should I give you one more?”

Gasping lightly against the friction you’re creating you respond, “Sounds like you want to give me another reason anyway.”

“I can always feel the way you tighten your legs around my hips. It happens almost instantly every time… like you have to brace yourself to feel me against you. I can always tell how badly you want it.”

He’s mumbling against your neck as he says it, partly because he can feel your pulse race against his lips and partly to hide how red he gets when he feels brave enough to talk this dirty to you.

Once he starts sucking a mark onto the sensitive part of your neck, every nerve in your body is on high alert to each move he makes and you need to part, if only briefly, to regain your composure, you’re all too frazzled, a live wire.

“Spence, can I suck you off?”

The pained half-groan half-laugh Spencer lets out is exactly what you expected to hear as you crawl down on the floor between his legs, rubbing his thighs up and down with open palms. 

“Y-yeah. Um. Why should you, I mean, why should I let you?”

He’s failing miserably at trying to make a call back to your prior teasing, too impacted by the visual of you between his thighs to make a coherent, taunting remark. 

“Because I’m supposed to be getting the princess treatment.” You unzip his pants slowly while looking into his half-lidded eyes.

Your heart always flutters at this part. Before you find your usual rhythm you always assume that you’re going to forget everything you’ve learned about sucking dick and ruin the atmosphere, the pressure of caring is almost always crushing.

Still, you find yourself eagerly pulling his dick out of his underwear, and shuffling towards him more till your arms are overtop his upper thighs and the top of your head is brushing his lower stomach, which curls inward when you place kisses up his length.

“Woah-” Spencer whispers out as you continue to kiss him lightly. Instead of crudely grabbing your hair or face, his hands find themselves behind his head as he lengthens his body out like a cat sunbathing. 

Running the tip of your tongue across his frenulum, Spencer twists his hips to the side, trying to run away from the pleasure and as a result his cock wipes against your cheek. You grab the base now, keeping it steady so it’s not like you’re working on a moving canvas and take the tip into your mouth.

You place your tongue out, covering your bottom teeth enough so you’re comforted in knowing you’re not going to scrape him, and suck lightly while moving your tongue that's against the bottom of his tip in circles. 

“That’s! That’s enough, okay. Jesus.” Spencer says a bit too loud and jolts your system, which was just falling into a methodological pace.

Pulling back, you lick your lips and pull them into your mouth, tasting him even when he’s not in your mouth anymore and look at him expectedly.

“S-sorry. I didn’t mean that. I was going to cum. You can keep going… only if you want.” He tries to save his little oversensitive outburst from mere seconds ago. 

Wordless, you move back to what you were doing. You want to listen to him a bit though, as a treat, so you take more of him into your mouth instead of focusing all of your energy on the most sensitive part of him. Spencer hums in content and his head falls back against the couch. 

A small trickle of your spit is slipping out and running down his cock, you always feel so embarrassed when it gets messy, you don’t know why, you don’t feel awkward at all when Spencer is going down on you so enthusiastically that you can feel his saliva running down your inner legs. 

Now you’re thinking about how good it feels when he’s going down on you. You whine softly around him and put a hand that was resting on his thigh to rub over your tights and underwear from where you reach under your dress.

Spencer was already close earlier, watching you try to touch yourself as you give him head is simply too much again. 

“Angel, d-done, I’m…okay-”

You pull off of him with a pop and the trail of saliva connecting your bottom lip to his dick stretches and breaks as you talk.

“Can we go to your bedroom please?” it's hoarse and rough but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

“Come ‘ere.” Spencer stretches out his hands to you so he can pull you up from his carpet. Tucking himself back into his underwear for some semblance of modesty, you two walk the short trip to his bedroom as you hold onto his arm.

Like it's your own, you jump and land on your back onto his comforter which all but swallows you whole as you relax against it, excitement thrumming through your veins as if your cells are chanting “my turn, my turn!”

Spencer lithely crawls on top of you, sitting on his knees as his thighs cage yours in. 

“You looked so pretty tonight, I’m almost mourning having to take all this off.”

“Almost, though.”

“Yeah, I know I’ll probably cheer up pretty quickly when I do, huh?”

You laugh and cover your face with your hands, it’s so stupid but he always makes you feel like you're melting all over when he’s being corny. 

Soon enough, Spencer is peeling your tights down with your underwear, and you’re squirming along with him while trying to help and shimmy out of your dress and bra. For a small second, Spencer pulls away to take off his blazer and roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt.

Leaning down on one forearm by your head, he begins kissing you again. Your mouths work together as his other hand trails his fingertips incredibly light against your inner thigh. Biting down softly on his bottom lip, a plea. Spencer uses his middle and ring finger to gather your wetness up to your clit.

The circles he’s rubbing against you leave you moaning and whining against his open mouth as he kisses you through it, maybe throwing in a few “aw’s” or hums in approval as he continues to work his fingers against you.

You both know exactly where this is leading to, and he always has to thoroughly prep you so that you can painlessly take all of him. Those same fingers move against your opening now, Spencer places the middle finger against you and is met with little resistence, so he begins fucking you slowly with it.

Back arching up so your chests brush against each other, Spencer take’s your opportunity of bliss to slip in another finger, scissoring you open as wet sounds emanate between your thighs. 

With two of his fingers in you now, his efforts to kiss your lips have become harder than ever as you become more and more nonverbal and increasingly whiny. 

“Where’d all your teasing go? What happened to calling the shots?” Murmured at your chin as your jaw opens with a whimper. You shake your head, you can’t entertain this, he’s kicking you while you’re down and it’s not right!

Looking down, Spencer see’s your toes curling in and slowly pulls his fingers out of you, a loud suction-y noise following his absence. You blink your eyes open blearily, trying to refocus yourself and reorient yourself into this living plane.

Spencer has stealthily moved down to where your legs are spread open and he’s looking at you exposed with so much adoration in his eyes that even though you’re blinking away tears, you can see it clearly. He’s in love with you.

“Oh, please.” You gasp out, trying to cut to the chase before Spencer asks if he can eat you out. He smiles, and asks anyway to frustrate you good naturedly. 

“Do you want me to return the favor, my valentine?” he swoons.

“Yeah, uhhuh, please.”

“I saw you touching yourself when you were using your mouth on me earlier,” he moves his head between its rightful home in between your thighs, “were you thinking about how good it feels to be in that position?”

“Mm. Yeah.”

“Lucky you then, huh?”

“M-mhm!”

He’s tired of hearing himself talking now, he just wants to be nestled into your pussy and let his tongue work you up in a more productive way than pitiful teasing.

With the palm of his hand flat against your very lower belly, Spencer simultaneously pushes down and up, exposing more of your clit to him and adding pressure to your stomach. He kisses your clit and pokes his tongue out as you lightly circle it as your hips squirm.

Intermittently, Spencer suctions your clit, pulls away completely, and goes back in to repeat the pattern. You’re smeared over his lips and chin and half convinced that he keeps pulling back to see your strings of come stick to his lips.

He changes methods, using his tongue to lick and suck at the source of your slick, nose prodding at your clit. You take it into your own hands to increase the stimulation on your clit as you rock your hips against his nose, Spencer muffles a moan into you.

Recognizing this, Spencer pulls back up to attach his lips back to your needy clit. Through his lips he’s running his tongue against you and the pleasure is unrelenting and intense. The exact stuff that makes you come.

“P-please stay there.” You manage to whimper out, the thought of him changing positions or rhythm is too scary for you to stay silent when you’re this close to finishing. You can feel him smile against you as he stays where you want him to.

Your hands reach for his hair as you thread it between your fingers, the silky stands grounding you to the bed before you prepare to come and fly out to wherever in the space-time-continuum Spencer takes you whenever he goes down on you.

Eventually, the pleasure gets to be too much for you to stifle and savor off much longer, you’re too greedy to ask him to edge you too. You don’t have enough willpower to put this off, you can ask him to eat you out for hours and hours some other day.

With one last suction, stars dance behind your eyelids as Spencer holds your hips down to suck off every last bit of come you have for him, trying his best to lick you clean when you finish all over his face. 

There’s nothing to do but take a slow deep breath in and a long deep breath out as you put the pieces of your brain back together. Once you do, Spencer is up by your face again as he was earlier while fingering you, and he’s palming himself over his underwear.

“Okay?” He asks through pleasure filled furrowed brows.

Nodding, you laugh, you can still feel yourself throbbing for Christ’s sake. Spencer nuzzles his nose against your cheek and kisses your jaw. You let your eyes close again, the feeling of his lips against your skin calming down your racing heart.

It’s a completely silent and peaceful atmosphere of Spencer kissing where he can as you come down until you feel his curious fingers swipe at your clit again. Immediately, your eyes snap open.

“I can’t- I can’t.” You bargain like your life is on the line.

Spencer pulls his fingers away for a moment, looking into your eyes and rubbing it once more as you gasp so hard a strand of hair in Spencer’s face blows to the side, he leaves you alone then.

You cannot fathom how Spencer is almost fully clothed right now. With shaky, malleable limbs, you pull him a bit closer to you and slowly pop each button of his top open. He’s watching your fingers work against his shirt as he continues to rub himself over his underwear gently.

Laying flat beside you know, Spencer lifts his hips up to pull his underwear down finally. Like a moth to a flame, you sit up and take him into your hand again, missing the feel of him hard against you, you note that you want to ride him more than anything. 

“Spencer, darling, can I ride you?”

For a moment he has an unreadable face, but you know that gears are turning in his head at such a rate that he can’t compute them into a response yet.

“Tonight was supposed to be about you.”

You roll your eyes.

“Spencer, darling, can I ride you for a bit?”

“Yes.” 

He responds just as you finish your sentence, eagerly pulling your wrist so you can straddle him again for the second time tonight.

Sitting right below where is cock is hard, you wrap your hands around him and place him up to your stomach, displaying how deep he’s going to be inside of you once you’re fully settled on him, at his dazed face you tease, “deep, huh?”

Spencer shuts his eyes in embarrassment, but his dick twitches and you smile down at it like it’s giving you Spencer’s insider secrets that he can’t say out loud. 

Lifting yourself up, you shakily rub him over your entrance a few times before sitting down slowly on his head. You both whine as you start, Spencer's hand on your hip rubbing circles while his eyes are still closed.

You want him to watch so badly. You sink down further, almost all the way with a small squeal that has Spencer’s eyes opening and his stomach tightening, checking to see if you’re in any pain. 

“M’ okay. Fucking big, can’t get used to it.” You trail off.

A light pink blush appears on his cheeks like your compliment had come from a sweeter, more innocent place in your heart. You place your palms on his chest as you take a deep breath in and sink down all the way. 

“Fuck- perfect. You okay?” Spencer speaks through his teeth at your whining as you accommodate him.

Again you laugh to take the fiery attention completely off of you, “So much dick.”

“Stopp.” Spencer whines. He feels so much like a dude when you compliment him like this, his ego doesn’t even know what to do with these extremely filthy compliments. He assumes you feel the same way when he’s fingering you and won’t shut up about how you feel and sound. 

Starting with small circles, it feels like Spencer is churning you as deliciously as humanly possible. The more small movements you give the deeper the need to actually ride him is, you stop holding back and start picking up your hips against his as your nails dig indents into his chest. 

Spencer’s singing out soft uh’s with each pass of your hips and you’re (unfortunately) not able to match his sweet pleads as you’re holding back full and embodied moans that slip out when you angle him perfectly inside you. 

You want to swindle it so that Spencer forgets about your prior compromise and lets you ride him till he’s coming inside of you, but when your hips stutter briefly with exhaustion, he notices immediately.

“Flip over.”

Pretending to be mad, you roll your eyes and lay flat on your back, the stretch of removing yourself from him making you suck in air between your teeth.

“Felt so good, did so good for me, please let me do that for you.” Spencer whispers into your ear as he positions you onto your side.

One of his arms from behind you is holding up your thigh closest to him, inadvertently spreading you open for him to be inside you once again. With one of his hands on your thigh and the other propping himself up for a good angle, you take matters into your own hands, lining him up with yourself again.

As easy as ever, Spencer pushes his hips slowly as he enters you from the side and your head falls to the pillow, allowing Spencer access to your ear and side of your neck.

When he finds his rhythm, he gets more confident, gaining his voice to mutter praises and filth into your ear as he fucks you.

“What’d I say? Told you I was gonna fuck you, jus’ had to be patient. Jesus, always so patient for me, with me. I’m sorry…”

You can tell he’s not exactly referring to his act of fucking you right now, moreso the push and pull he’s put you through for months. But it feels good to hear, Spencer's emotions are spilling out since he’s put out everything he’s felt for you on the table.

“Mmf. Would wa-wait forever-” You’re trying to be comforting, you’re getting your brains fucked out. The angle on your side has Spencer’s cock dragging along the front of your vagina, every single toe-curling spot is being rubbed relentlessly.

“Perfect. Perfect.”

The open mouthed kisses Spencer’s leaving on your cheek are wet and sloppy, but wholeheartedly welcome. With his face so close to yours his stubble is rubbing against you, making you whine.

Picking up on the way Spencer’s breathing becomes more shallow, you assume he’s pretty close. All night he’s been starving himself of this and you almost get excited for him, you’re too in deep.

Realizing he’s close after you have realized it, Spencer moves his hand from your inner thigh and starts rubbing your tender clit with his fingers again. Moaning loudly through a closed mouth, you let him this time.

You have to trust him to put you back together to your normal self after this though, you’re expecting a hard second orgasm and after how much the first one took you out, you have to brace yourself as you feel it brewing in the bottom of your belly.

Noticing how you’ve buried your face a bit more into the pillow and are trying to work on steadying your breathing, Spencer picks up quickly how you’re feeling. 

“I got you, you’re okay, you’re okay. I know…” He kisses along your cheek and with a squeak that makes Spencer’s own orgasm arrive, you throb around him and twitch in his arms as you come. 

He’s pressing his body into you as though he’s a weighted blanket, soothing the aftershocks that are thrumming through your entire body with his own. Spencer places his hand against your heart to gauge how you’re doing and begins peppering your skin with kisses.

“Do you feel good?” Spencer’s begun massaging your side and back softly, preventing any sore muscles from developing there before tomorrow hits you.

You come to yourself, before you had panicked, not sure how to trust Spencer completely with the vulnerability you were about to experience, but you’re fine. You’re happy. Coming harder than you have before is not scary because that’s exactly what Spencer wanted from you.

“Yes. I could cry.”

“Baby…”

Slowly you flip over to face him, a little teary but nothing streaming down your face as you plant a kiss on his lips. And then again.

There’s still a small lipstick stain on his jaw from when you were sitting above him on the couch earlier. You trace over it with your finger.

“You’re going to be finding hidden lipstick marks all over your body for weeks…” you smile and close your eyes.

“I hope,” he replies softly and earnestly, “I really like them. I really like you.”

✵

You’re both clean now. Showered and fresh as a daisy, you smell like all the products in Spencer’s shower and you’re standing behind him, arms wrapped around his waist as he dries off his hair in front of the mirror.

You can see his skin is tinged pink from the hot water, creating a sweet blush over his back and shoulders where you press your cheek against. With your skin soft and warm now, you think about the small snow flurries falling outside, how they mean nothing to the warmth coming off you and from inside you.

Spencer moves away from the mirror, allowing you your turn to get fully ready for bed. Taking out the “spare” toothbrush he has that’s essentially yours, you begin brushing your teeth. Feeling eyes looking at you from your side you turn to where Spencer is leaning against the wall and watching you.

Suddenly, you remember what he said earlier in the car, how he realized he loved you. You slow your brushing down and meet his gaze, sure that if someone else were in here to describe your looks it would be a cheesy “eyes shaped like hearts” moment. 

Your heart fills, the toothbrush clatters in his sink as you drop it and run over into his arms, placing kisses all over his lips and face, leaving small streaks of toothpaste behind. 

Through similar frantic kisses Spencer speaks in giggles,

“I still want to see this every night. I need to.”

[leikeliscomet]

Playing another round of lets-see-what-bad faith-takes-and-derailing-is-going-on-on this post again:

@a-witch-bird I pretty much already covered this in the FOUR part follow up of this post that didn't need a follow up if tumblr aces were capable of looking at asexuality from a systemic, political and social lense instead of generic 'support everyone' tumblr posts.

Let me make this clear: If you only support asexuals if asexuals have sex, that is not asexual support. If you only support asexuals if asexuals experience sexual attraction, that is not asexual support. Saying asexuals are allowed to not have sex and deserve human decency without having sex isn't an attack on sex favourable aces. If you or any other asexual genuinely think that me saying asexuals should have support on the basis of it being *human decency* without having sex as factor then I'm sorry but you can't be saved. Compulsory sexuality truly fucking won if you're actively pushing back on not just the ace community but *YOUR* own right as an asexual to not have sex if you don't want to. We're actually cooked.

'Let people be queer in queer spaces - if you changed the nouns in your rhetoric and it sounds like TERF shit maybe do some self reflecting'

Can you point me to this universe where TERFs support sex repulsed asexuals and sexless people cus it's not this one. Yeah if you completely recontextualise what I've said to something I literally never said to the point it's completely unrelated then it would sound like 'TERF shit'. Yeah different things mean different things what is this word salad?

'Let people be queer' why are you equating sex favourability as queerness? Is the idea of an asexual not having sex not queerness in a queer space? 'Let people be queer' yet you're recommending I self-segregate myself into a 0 sex asexual community which you think won't even match me anyway and use a new label when you have no idea what my asexuality is or what my preferences even are yet you're so sure I'm so different to you 'as an ace' 'as a sex averse asexual' as if I couldn't have any similarities to you at all or as if I couldn't be different. You're telling me based on your assumption of what my asexuality is that I have no space in this community yet it's 'let people be queer'

In a way I kinda have to thank you because you've helped prove my post yet *again*. This is what happens when you spout asexuality is valid but have no self awareness about compulsory sexuality. This is what happens when you don't read the theory. This is what happens when we have no asexual politic outside of 'the a isn't for ally'

When it comes to asexual allyship a lot of people wanna have their cake and eat it too (pun unintended). People like a lil 'aces are valid' moment but don't actually unpack compulsory sexuality. People see sexless queer representation and always clock puritanism before they ever clock asexuality. No one's actually reading the ace theory and texts coming out. Everyone keeps doing surprised Pikachu faces whenever a conservative or TERF says they're against asexuality despite the fact ace activists have been saying since day conservatives are not anti sex but anti sexual autonomy. 'Aces are queer' until we actually are. Even ace support posts keep ending with some expectation or condition that asexuality is #valid as long as asexuals still perform a small quota of sex/sexual activity. I'm so over 'Aces still have sex!' 'Aces are hot' Aces are sexy' 'Aces aren't virgin vanilla prude sexless puritans!' disguised as support.

Like no. Sorry. Until you accept that some asexual people's no is permanent, that some asexual's singleness is permanent, that some asexual's childless-ness is permanent, that some asexuals are the 'no' in little to no sexual attraction and i'd say most importantly, that queer sexlessness isn't a biological, social or moral failing, I don't believe you'll ever genuinely support asexuality. (In reverse, I also feel similar about aromanticism and romance).

Like a lot of u haven't gone beyond 'the a isn't for ally' and it shows. I don't want people to support asexuals just because we're soooo hot or because we write the best smut apparently or because we could have hypothetical sex or because we could do hypothetical kink or because our minds are soooo dirty actually or because we'd do romance reallllyyyy well or because we can still have kids or because asexuals hand out water bottles at the orgy or some shit. I want people to support asexuality because no sexuality is deviant and it's basic human decency.

[kashverse]

𝒴our first encounter with the 呪術廻戦 men 

⪩⪨ ✶ implied f!reader but can be read otherwise (use of "pretty" in choso's version), strangers to lovers, fluff, featuring ♡ canon! gojo, canon! geto, single dad! toji, modern au! choso, canon! sukuna in a modern au, corporate! nanami ✿ ⪩⪨ tried a new formatting style..! ib my dear @norikuna (∩˃o˂∩)♡

gojo doesn’t see you coming. not because he’s oblivious—though, sure, that’s part of it—but because he’s too busy making himself miserable, listening to some poor bastard on the phone cry about their ex. it’s barely noon, the sun’s out, people are living their lives, and this guy’s talking about how he let “the one” slip through his fingers. “bro, just get another one,” gojo had said, dead-eyed, waiting for the crosswalk light to change. the response was more crying. he sighed, hanging up.

and then he smacked straight into you.

not a polite bump, not even a nudge—full-on body collision, your forehead meeting his chin with a sharp crack. the impact was enough to send you both stumbling, but while gojo’s built like a brick wall, you had all the misfortune of being knocked back a few steps. “ow—what the fuck?!” your voice came first, and then, through the dizzying pain, you saw him. tall, white-haired, stupidly good-looking in an insufferable way, dressed like he was on some model’s off-day. sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose, and even through the slight daze, you could see the sharp glint of his blue eyes peering down at you.

“ah, my bad—”

“your bad?” your voice rose, disbelieving. the pain hadn’t even settled yet, but your temper had. “you nearly took my head off!”

gojo blinked. “well, technically, if i took your head off, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” he pointed out. “unless you’re a talking head, which would be—"

“are you serious?” you cut him off, hands flying up in exasperation. “you’re just standing in the middle of the damn sidewalk—”

“crosswalk,” he corrected.

“—like a fucking lamppost,” you barreled on, ignoring him. “and then you hit me. no, actually, you collided with me like a fucking train, and now you’re just standing there?”

you looked ready to kill him. gojo thought you looked radiant. people don’t really yell at him. they get nervous, flustered, awkward. maybe they complain a little, but they don’t yell. not like this—not with this kind of raw, unfiltered rage that was directed solely at him.

and he was loving it.

“ohhh, you’re mad mad,” he said, grinning.

“no shit?” you spat, rubbing your forehead. “you’re huge! why do you walk like you don’t know how to control your own size?”

“i’m huge? that’s a compliment,” he mused. “also, you ran into me.”

“i did not—"

“you did, but it’s okay,” he waved off. “i forgive you.”

your mouth dropped open. your jaw clenched so hard you swore you heard it click. “i don’t need your forgiveness,” you snapped. “i need you to watch where the hell you’re going!” gojo just smiled. “i can do that,” he said. “but only if you tell me your name first.”

you squinted at him. “why?”

“so i know what to say in my apology,” he said smoothly. “y’know, something heartfelt, real personal. ‘i’m so sorry, dear stranger, for running into you with my big, strong, muscular body—’”

your scowl deepened. “forget it,” you turned to leave, shaking your head.

gojo grabbed your wrist. lightly, like he was afraid you’d shake him off (which you probably would). “wait,” he said, less teasing this time, more curious.

you stopped, staring at him warily. “what?”

he grinned. “you’re fun.”

you yanked your arm out of his grip. “you’re annoying.”

but you weren’t yelling anymore. and maybe, just maybe, that was enough for now.

toji doesn't believe in love—at least, not in the way people like to romanticize it. to him, love has always been transactional. people want things: security, pleasure, a warm body to cling to at night. he provides, they take. simple.

commitment? fuck no. he’s been there, done that, and all it got him was a headache and a kid who looks at him like he’s a walking disappointment. not that he blames megumi—he knows exactly the kind of man he is. relationships, from what he's seen, are just another job. another obligation. more shit to deal with when he's already stretched thin making sure megumi doesn't starve or turn into a little menace. and he's already got enough on his plate. 

raising megumi is work. the kid is sharp, stubborn, and way too perceptive for his own good. keeping up with him is exhausting. fulfilling someone else’s expectations on top of that? hell no.

people ask if he’s lonely. he laughs. lonely? he’s got freedom. no nagging, no obligations, no answering to anyone but himself and, on the worst days, a grumpy eight-year-old who somehow thinks he’s smarter than him. love, in his experience, is just a distraction. and toji fushiguro doesn’t do distractions.

and toji swears he only looked away for a second.

he was just checking the damn price tag on some overpriced brand of instant noodles, and when he looked back, megumi was gone. poof. like a magic trick, except it wasn’t a trick, and the rising panic in his chest was very, very real. “shit,” he muttered, scanning the aisles. nothing. just a bunch of old ladies and college kids looking for cheap meals. no messy black hair, no tiny scowl. he ran a hand through his hair, trying to keep calm. he didn’t want to make a scene. people lost their kids all the time, right? it wasn’t a big deal. he just had to—

and then he saw him.

megumi was at the end of the next aisle, small hands clenched at his sides, his mouth pressed in a thin, stubborn line, like he wasn’t scared, even though he definitely was. and right next to him, crouched down to his level, was you. “you’re really good at this,” you said. megumi blinked up at you. “huh?”

“the whole ‘not panicking’ thing,” you smiled at him. “most kids freak out when they lose their parents. you’re staying calm. that’s cool.” megumi looked away, like he wasn’t sure if that was actually a compliment or not. “i don’t wanna cause trouble,” he muttered.

“aw, but that’s what parents are for,” you teased. “causing them trouble.” megumi almost smiled. almost. toji, still frozen in place, narrowed his eyes. who the hell were you?

“c’mon, let’s go find your dad,” you said, standing up and holding out a hand. megumi didn’t take it, but he followed you anyway, his short legs working hard to keep up with your pace. and toji? well. he wasn’t sure why, but instead of stepping forward, he let you find him.

he let you do the whole thing, watching as you walked with megumi, asking him questions—where he last saw his dad, what his name was, what he looked like.

“he’s really tall,” megumi said. you hummed. “tall, huh? that helps.”

“and he’s got a scar on his mouth,” he added.

“even better. anyone who looks scary is easier to spot.”

megumi frowned a little. “he’s not scary.” you smiled, ruffling his hair. “i bet he isn’t.”

toji snorted under his breath.

by the time you turned the corner and finally spotted him, megumi exhaled in relief. toji pretended not to notice how fast he ran up to him, grabbing the fabric of his shirt like he wasn’t just saying how calm he was. you, on the other hand, stopped a few steps away, hands on your hips. “you must be the scary, not-scary dad,” you said.

toji raised an eyebrow. “and you’re just a random saint, huh?” you shrugged. “not a saint. just someone who doesn’t like seeing kids upset.”

he looked at you, really looked at you. you didn’t seem put out by any of this, like helping some stranger’s kid wasn’t an inconvenience, but just another part of your day. like it was normal. toji let out a breath, then tilted his head down at megumi. “you good, kid?”

megumi nodded, though he still wasn’t letting go of toji’s shirt. toji sighed, glancing back at you. “guess i owe you, huh?”

you waved him off. “don’t worry about it. just keep an eye on him next time.”

toji huffed a laugh. “easier said than done.”

you grinned, giving megumi one last look before turning to leave. and toji? well. maybe being responsible for two people wouldn’t be so bad after all.

nanami never thought much about being single. it wasn’t a matter of pride or principle—just reality. his job was time-consuming, his patience was thin, and the thought of entertaining someone else’s needs after a long workday felt exhausting. he wasn’t lonely, just… fine. indifferent.

until he got sick of his office food.

“this is inedible,” he said flatly, staring at the sad excuse of a meal on his plate. his colleague, barely looking up from his own tray, mumbled, “it’s fine.”

nanami’s eye twitched. it was not fine. rubbery chicken, dry rice, and a soup that tasted more like dishwater than anything edible. this was not a meal—it was a punishment.

so, he made a change.

he found a small business that delivered homemade meals, something personal but convenient. it promised variety, quality ingredients, and, most importantly, flavor.

what he didn’t expect were the notes.

the first one came tucked under the neatly packed meal.

“hope today isn’t too exhausting! eat well!”

nanami stared at it for longer than he should have. then, at the food—real food. properly cooked, properly seasoned, steaming with warmth that no canteen meal could ever replicate. he didn’t think about it much. a kind gesture, that was all. but the notes kept coming.

“long meetings? i packed extra today.”

“rainy day! hope this brings some warmth.”

“rough week? your food will always be good at least.”

and then—

“your order is always so precise. you must be someone who likes routine.”

nanami paused mid-bite. he did like routine. he thrived on it. and yet, this—this unexpected kindness, these little messages—was beginning to throw him off in a way he couldn’t explain. weeks passed, meals came, and nanami found himself looking forward to them—not just for the food, but for the words that came with it. one afternoon, after another insufferable meeting, he opened his meal to find:

“do you ever take breaks? hope you’re not working too hard.”

he let out a breath, something between a sigh and a laugh. he was working too hard. but how did you—someone he’d never met—seem to know that better than the people around him? finally, curiosity got the better of him. he grabbed a pen and, for the first time, wrote back.

“who are you?”

the next day, his meal came with a note, just like always.

“just someone who wants you to eat well. but i wouldn’t mind knowing who you are too.”

and for the first time in a long time, nanami thought—maybe being single wasn’t so fine after all.

geto doesn’t believe in love. not in the way people romanticize it, anyway. he’s known desire—used it, wielded it like a tool, a means to an end. a well-timed smile, a hand grazing a wrist, a whispered promise—all of it was just another step in expanding his cause. people were easy to sway when you made them feel special. and being single? it wasn’t something he mourned. it was efficient. no attachments, no complications, no wasted energy. everything he did, every conversation, every encounter—it all served a purpose.

until you.

“you’ve been talking for a while,” you said, tilting your head at him. geto smiled. “am i boring you?”

“not at all. just wondering if you’re going to get to the point.”

he chuckled, swirling his drink. clever. impatient. interesting.

“what do you think my point is?”

you leaned back, thoughtful. “well, you’re charming, you have that practiced ease of someone who’s very used to getting what they want, and yet…” you narrowed your eyes. “you haven’t tried to get anything from me yet.”

his smile twitched. perceptive too. “maybe i’m just enjoying the conversation.”

“hmm.” you didn’t look convinced. “i doubt you talk to people without a reason.”

he laughed, shaking his head. “you wound me. am i not allowed to simply appreciate good company?”

you smirked. “do you?”

and that was the problem, wasn’t it? he did.

he was supposed to be recruiting you. that was why he approached you in the first place—he had assessed, observed, picked you out for your potential. another piece in his grander vision. but now? now, he was talking to you about books, about philosophy, about things that had nothing to do with his cause.

he liked your sharp tongue, your quick comebacks, the way you saw through people but humored them anyway. and he was enjoying this. more than he should.

“you’re thinking too hard,” you noted.

“am i?”

“yeah. for someone who flirts so easily, you seem oddly distracted.”

he chuckled, shaking his head. you had no idea. for the first time in a long time, geto suguru had forgotten his purpose. and strangely enough, he didn’t mind.

choso doesn’t really get love. it’s not that he doesn’t feel it—he does, deeply, messily, all-consuming in the way only someone who has lived too long without it can. it’s just that he doesn’t understand how it’s supposed to work. his friends talk about relationships like they’re puzzles, like you’re supposed to fit into someone else’s life piece by piece, no gaps, no edges sticking out. but choso? he keeps forcing the wrong pieces together. he’s had his heart broken by so many situationships, and he doesn’t even know what that word means. all he knows is that people like him enough to stay for a while, but not enough to stay forever. and when someone ghosts him? it’s over.

“why would they do that?” he asks yuuji, completely distraught. “i thought we were getting along.” yuuji winces. “yeah, but… sometimes people just disappear, man. it’s not your fault.”

“but why not just say they don’t like me?”

“because people suck.”

choso frowns. love is confusing. people are confusing. nothing makes sense.

until he meets you.

more specifically, until you send a pug flying in his direction. one second, he’s minding his own business, sipping a coffee, staring blankly at nothing. the next—

“watch out!”

and then—THUD.

a very round, very squishy pug collides with his chest, knocking the air out of him. he blinks. looks down. the pug is fine. choso, however, is shaken.

“oh my god, i’m so sorry,” you pant, running up to him, looking horrified. “he’s got the speed of a missile and the weight distribution of a sack of potatoes. are you okay?”

choso is still holding the pug. he has not processed a single thing except that you’re talking to him, and you’re really pretty. you snap your fingers in front of his face.

“hello? earth to guy who just got body slammed by my dog?”

he swallows. “i—i’m okay.”

you sigh in relief. “good. i don’t think my insurance covers ‘pug-related assaults.’”

he stares. then—

he laughs.

it’s an awkward, slightly delayed laugh, but it’s real. it bubbles out of him, because suddenly, everything is just… simple. you’re still talking, apologizing, trying to pry your dog from his grip, and he realizes—love doesn’t have to be this big, complicated thing. it can be a stranger, a runaway pug, and a stupidly perfect moment where he thinks, 'oh. this is it.'

sukuna has never cared for love. love is mortal, fleeting, an indulgence for the weak. he has lived for centuries without it, conquered, destroyed, thrived—all on his own. why bother with attachment? why waste time on something that promises nothing but vulnerability? he’s always been perfectly fine like this.

until the night he meets you at the bar.

he doesn’t even mean to notice you at first—just another human in a crowded room, laughing, talking, lighting up the space with an ease he’s never possessed. 

and then he hears you speak. your voice is smooth, effortless, like you’re meant to be heard. every sentence flows into the next, words never fumbling, never uncertain. you make people laugh, pull them in, keep them hanging on to every syllable. sukuna watches, listens, enthralled, before someone leans in and calls you by name—your full name. followed by—

“aren’t you that talk show host?”

and it clicks. you are. he’s seen your face before, flickering on a television screen, a passing glimpse at a life so far removed from his own.

and now he’s irritated. because you talk so easily with everyone but him. and that won’t do.

so he tries. for the first time in centuries, he tries to talk to someone—like a normal person, like it’s something he’s done before, like it’s as easy as you make it look.

but it’s not. it’s a disaster.

he waits until the crowd around you has thinned, takes the seat next to you, and—

“so.” he clears his throat. “you talk to people for a living.”

you turn, blinking, mildly amused. “i do.”

he nods, confident. good start. then nothing. his mind goes blank. shit.

you raise a brow, waiting. sukuna glares at his drink like it’s betrayed him. “how do you do it?”

you tilt your head. “do what?” he gestures vaguely. “talk. keep people engaged.”

you blink. “are you asking me how to hold a conversation?”

his jaw tenses. “no.”

you laugh. he scowls.

he tries again. “what makes a good interview?”

“oh, that’s easy,” you hum. “you have to be genuinely interested in the other person.”

he deadpans.

you smirk. “which means you have to actually listen to what they’re saying.”

“i listen,” he grumbles.

“really?” you lean in. “then what were we just talking about?”

silence. your smirk widens. “you weren’t listening.”

he groans, dragging a hand down his face. this is hell.

but he keeps trying. keeps failing, keeps making an idiot of himself, keeps suffering through every one of your knowing smiles—because for the first time in his miserable, ancient existence, he actually wants to learn.

he wants to talk to you.

and maybe, just maybe, he wants you to talk to him, too.

[bucketbueckers]

TEAM BUECKERS

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: language, kinda silly, kinda rushed

wc: 5.9k

synopsis: For you and Paige, the line between “friends” and “something more” wasn’t always this blurry. You weren’t quite sure how you got here, and if you were being completely honest, you didn’t know if you were brave enough to ever cross that line fully. It’s not until Paige ropes you into a Valentine’s Day couples contest you realize, with the two of you, that line never really existed at all.

notes: happy (late) valentines day 😋 yes i'm posting this after midnight on february 15 and yes i tried my best to get this out on the 14th when it was, you know, actually valentines day, but i fumbled majorly and im like 50% sorry. not proofread bc im sleepy. i lowkey don't know how to feel about this but i think the end makes up for it but i had an idea for this and it honestly derailed. i still don't know how taglists work (if you've asked and you're not on here, i'm sorry i will just throw up and die if i tag someone who doesn't actually want to be tagged in all of my works i hope u understand, pls be super specific my brain doesn't function like it used to) uhhh so yeah lmk what we think & happy vday 🫶

tags: @jnkbueckers

You and Paige weren’t always like this. There used to be a clear boundary in your friendship, a strictly platonic one where her embrace didn’t make your heart race and where her mischievous smile didn’t fill you with an exasperation that bordered on endearment. You didn’t always wear her jersey at games, didn’t always keep her favorite ice cream stocked in your apartment for nights she came over to binge watch the same show the both of you have probably seen a combined thousand times, didn’t always confuse where you begin or where she ends. There used to be a time where the two of you weren’t so inexplicably intertwined in the fabric of each other’s lives. 

If anyone asked, you wouldn’t be able to identify when everything shifted – when your feelings transformed into what they are now. It just happened. The realization was as easy as waking up next to her on the couch, your legs tangled under a blanket far too small for the both of you, her arm tight around your waist to prevent you from falling off of the cushions entirely. It was as easy as the spare toothbrush you keep in your bathroom because she sleeps over so often, as easy as the drawer you have in her room because sometimes her dorm is just closer than your apartment.

So maybe it was kind of inevitable that ‘you and Paige’ turned into a ‘You & Paige.’ The two of you have a simple understanding. You keep her grounded, she encourages you to dream a little bigger. You talk, she listens. You round each other out in so many ways that you’re not the least bit surprised by how many people think that you and Paige are dating. If anything, they’re more surprised when you correct them, saying, “She’s just my best friend.”

You’re content to take your feelings for her to the grave. Maybe you would get over her eventually. She’s Paige Bueckers. She has a national championship and the upcoming draft to focus on and you have your senior thesis due at the end of the semester. The both of you have a lot on your plates – you care for her too much to complicate things for her, even if that means putting your own feelings on the back-burner.

You’re sitting on your couch, twelve pages into your paper, sifting through the twenty-eight (yes, twenty-eight) tabs you have open for your research when you hear your door knob jiggle. You don’t think too much of it, trying to stay focused on the task in front of you before you give up and start scrolling through social media again. However, your discipline doesn’t last for too long because the familiar rhythm of footsteps could only belong to one person. You look up to find Paige making her way into your living room like she owns the place (which she may as well, considering how often she’s around), depositing her duffle bag on the armchair. You greet her, returning to your work, but you feel the couch dip under her weight as she takes a seat next to you.

And then she sighs. Loudly. Dramatically, like she’s begging for your attention. Like you’re not busy. You glance at her from the corner of your eye, finding her staring straight at you, but she says nothing. A few beats pass. You add a new sentence to your paper, pausing to go back and find the reference page. She sighs again, more purpose and intent behind it this time, and your lips quirk slightly. Still, she says nothing, and the silence stretches on for so long that you’re sure she’s given up on trying to annoy you.

You write one more sentence before she leans over, sprawling out across your body, chin pressing into your keyboard. Your eye twitches as a long string of ‘M’s takes over your Word document. Paige sighs again, sounding forlorn, like a kicked puppy, and you know you’re not going to get anything done unless you entertain her.

“Okay,” you say, pulling your computer out from under her head, making sure to save your paper before you close the lid. “What’s wrong?”

Her face brightens almost immediately. “I am so glad you asked,” she states. “So, I’m walkin’ through campus today, right?”

“As one does.”

She hums. “And there’s a shit ton of tabling outside the student union. Frats, clubs, some vegan guy giving out pamphlets –”

“Paige,” you interrupt, raising a brow. “The point?”

“Oh.” She nods, collecting her thoughts. “So there was this club – forgot who they were, lowkey, there was a lot of letters – but on Friday, they’re hostin’ a Valentine’s Day contest and the first place prize is insane. I’m talking gift cards, cookie decorating kits, I think there was even a coupon in there for a fucking spa trip, or some shit, but you get the point, yeah? I wanted to sign us up for it.”

You had to admit – you were a little intrigued by it. Between your class work and Paige and her teammates giving you an aneurysm every week, you were in dire need of a spa trip and a little bit of relaxation. But more than anything else in the world, you knew Paige. You recognized that gleam in her expression – it was a feigned nonchalance, like she was being slick and trying to hide it. “What’s the catch?” you ask bluntly.

She laughs, the sound more surprised than amused, and her head shifts in your lap to gaze up at you. You try to ignore the way it sets off a swarm of butterflies in your belly. “What makes you think there’s a catch?” she asks.

“You’re Paige Bueckers,” you state. “There’s always a catch. Like I knew there was a catch when you asked me if I would hide fourteen blonde wigs in my apartment.”

“They were for CD!” she argues. You narrow your eyes at her and she huffs a little, amused, her lips quirking into a radiant smile. “A’ight. I guess you got a point.” You hum, because of course you do. Her expression turns serious as she sighs, for real this time. “It’s a couple’s contest,” she admits. “But hear me out, okay?”

“I don’t think I have much of a choice,” you grumble, but your mind is racing.

“There’s a couple rounds,” she explains. “Like, the first round is trivia. How well do you know your partner, type shit. They score you, then they eliminate the people who don’t know shit about their partners. Second round is teamwork. They’ll give you a couple of puzzles and the most points will go to the teams who work well together and solve the puzzle quickly. More eliminations, then the partners are separated and they’re asked questions about each other – about what, I’on know. That should be the final round of eliminations and then the remaining couples are ranked based on points and prizes are given. Light work.”

“Light work?” you echo, a little self-deprecating. “Paige, we aren’t a couple.”

“Well, not exactly,” she concedes. “But we know each other pretty well. And can you really say no to the spa coupon?”

You bite your lip, sighing as you truly contemplate it. She’s got you there. The prize itself is worth the heartache that will come with pretending like you and Paige are actually dating. “You sure we can handle it?” you ask.

She pats your side, almost ignorant of the way it sends electricity coursing down your spine. “Duh,” she says like it’s obvious, her lips growing into a confident, assured smile. “We’re a dream team, baby. We got this.”

You could only hope so.

You nervously adjust your dress as you and Paige stand outside of the large room that the Valentine’s Day contest was taking place in. You spent the entire week leading up to Valentine’s Day an anxious wreck – part of you was worried that you would slip up and say something that you would come to regret, maybe say something a little too real. You had to keep reminding yourself that you and Paige were playing a part and once that gift basket was in your hands, then things could go back to normal. 

The two of you dedicated the better part of the week to perfecting your cover story. How you met, where you met, how long you’ve been together, all of the cheesy romance milestone moments that you were certain you’d be asked about. You mutually decided to not get too creative as maintaining the lie would become even more difficult, but you were confident in your ability to sell a story.

“You ready?” Paige asks you, drawing you from your racing thoughts as she squeezes your hand gently. You didn’t even realize her hand had slipped into yours. Now that you’re aware of it, it’s all you can think of. Her hand is strong, enveloping yours completely, and it brings you a calming peace you weren’t even aware that you’d been seeking out. Feeling yourself relax, you meet her eyes and nod, trying not to smile too hard when she beams at you.

As she leads the two of you inside the auditorium, you do your best to not stare too much at her. She’s dressed simply yet elegantly; donning a fitting suit that’s a light pink in color in honor of the occasion, the fluorescent lights overhead reflecting off of her stunning chains and the rings adorning her fingers. Her hair is tied back in her formal slick-back, the diamonds in her ears sparkling, and you really have to drag your eyes off of her. You’d already spent so much of the drive over staring at her and you’re sure she’d caught you a few times but was too nice to say anything to you.

The event had a decent turn out. You count fourteen couples at most, fifteen including you and Paige, although you couldn’t really tell if that was good or bad. Beating fourteen other real, actual, dedicated, in-love couples was totally manageable. So what if you and Paige weren’t actually together, but you were the most convincing pair of best friends the world had ever seen? She said you could do it, and damn it if you weren’t going to get that spa treatment.

The auditorium, however, was decorated to the nines. Lights and streamers were strewn about, various complementing shades of pinks and lilacs matching the Valentine’s Day themes. The tables were covered in pink tablecloths with gorgeous centerpieces. Honestly, you had to give props where they were due – this club has gone all out for this Valentine’s Day event, although you’re sure they probably splurged their semesterly budget on all of the amenities.

Before you or Paige have the chance to say anything to each other, you’re approached by a young woman wearing a pink polo shirt with the club's name and logo emblazoned on the chest. UConn, UMatter. You glance quickly at Paige, trying not to let the amusement show on your face as you remember her words – ‘There was a lot of letters.’ She was so full of shit. “Hi guys!” the young woman greets enthusiastically. “Thanks so much for signing up. What’s the last name?”

“Bueckers.”

The girl nods, scanning her clipboard before finding Paige’s name. “Okay, perfect. Let me show you guys to your table.” She leads you diligently through the room, craning her head over her shoulder to explain. “Madelyn’s gonna be around soon to walk you guys through the trivia section once we start, alright? She’ll let you guys know everything you need.”

You and Paige thank the club member and she offers you two one last smile as the two of you sit down next to each other. Paige’s hand finds your knee, almost subconsciously, and you try to find your dignity. It’s then that you notice the placecard in front of you – elegant script reading TEAM BUECKERS. With a quiet laugh, you nudge Paige’s elbow, drawing her attention to the paper. “‘Team Bueckers,’ huh?” you ask her teasingly. “You forget about me?”

“Never,” she swears. “I think they assign the names based on who registered. Trust me, I had a name lined up and everything. We were gonna be PB & Slay.”

You snort. “I’m Slay?”

“No,” she deadpans. “You’re PB. Keep up, please.”

“Of course,” you say obviously, like it’s definitely your fault. “I’ll do better next time.” She squeezes your knee under the table, smiling wryly at you.

Once everyone filters in, the girl who’d greeted you at the door makes her way to the front of the room, adjusting the microphone. She introduces herself as the president of the UConn, UMatter club, explaining some of their objectives and goals for the spring semester – you tune out a lot of it, which you’ll probably feel bad for later, but you weren’t here for the club recruitment. You were here for the pedicure that was calling your name this weekend. She makes it through the rest of her opening remarks, officially announcing the beginning of the first challenge: trivia. Several club members make their way to designated tables and a short, brunette girl takes a seat in front of you and Paige.

“Hey, guys,” she says, grinning widely and handing the both of you dry erase boards and a marker each. “I’m Madelyn. I’m gonna walk the two of you through today’s challenges. We’ll go back and forth – you answer one, then the other, so on and so forth. If your answers are the same, then you’ll get a point. Ready?” You and Paige hum affirmatively. “Alright. Question for Paige – when is your partner’s birthday?”

Paige huffs, her lips quirking into a smile as she uncaps her marker. “Light work,” she murmurs as she writes her answer down. “It’s a national holiday.” You roll your eyes as Madelyn laughs. Paige flips the dry erase board around, showcasing it to you and Madelyn, and you nod as Madelyn awards you both one point.

“Same question for you,” Madelyn says to you. “When is Paige’s birthday?”

You uncap your marker and write down your answer. October 20, 2001. “The world hasn’t known peace since,” you murmur under your breath, drawing laughter from Paige. You flip your board around and Paige nods smugly.

“Two for two,” Madelyn states. “Next question for Paige. What trait of yours is your partner’s favorite?”

You and Paige exchange a glance, her brow raising teasingly. She writes down her answer and you do the same, eventually flipping your boards over for the reveal. The two of you hadn’t exactly prepared well to answer this one, so you were hoping that you and Paige were on the same wavelength. You lean forward, glancing at her whiteboard, and smiling with relief when you see her answer: she likes my energy. Paige’s smile is smug, but there’s an underlying softness in her eyes. “Don’t laugh at me,” you huff, trying to explain. “You just — you have this way about you, like you’re kind, warm, you make people smile, and you always support them. You’re just genuinely good and, I don’t know, I really like that about you.”

Paige’s smile isn’t any less confident, although she seems a little bashful now, her cheeks tinging pink. “Three for three.” she says.

Madelyn tries to stifle her grin, but it’s clearly not working. “Next question is for you. When Paige is having a rough time, how do you help her relax?”

“With great difficulty,” you gripe, making Paige and Madelyn snort as you write your actual answer. By forcing her to chill the fuck out. You and Paige flip your boards, hers reading a much politer She makes me do nothing all day. Madelyn nods, awarding you the point, but you hardly pay her any mind as you meet Paige’s eyes. “You do too much,” you say, which makes her groan. “You overwork yourself and you microdose a burnout and I have to make you sit down and remember that you’re human.”

“You’re worse than me!” she points out.

You sniff. “This is about you,” you declare, “not me.” Paige rolls her eyes fondly, but she can’t help her laughter. 

“Next question,” Madelyn says, grinning. “Paige, what did you guys do on your first date?”

This was a question that the two of you had prepared for. You both decided that a little bit of the truth went a long way and the truth was that you and Paige had no shortage of quasi-dates that you could easily draw from. You tried not to think too hard about that as the two of you write down your answers. You turn your boards, revealing similar responses of ‘we went to her dorm and made dinner together after one of her games.’

You glance at Paige and she sighs. “Don’t start,” she pleads. 

“I’m actually a little invested now,” Madelyn chirps, which makes you grin and makes Paige bury her head in her hands. 

“All I’ll say is that Paige shouldn’t be in the kitchen without supervision but I really admire her, um, willingness to get creative,” you say kindly. Your best friend pinches your thigh under the table and you jerk back, laughing. Not wanting to embarrass her in front of a stranger, you leave it at that, although you smile at Paige like you’re the only two at the table. “I had a good time, though. She made it memorable.” She smiles back at you, something tender that has your heart constricting. 

The both of you knew the truth, though. Paige was not a good cook. She doesn’t make terrible food — dinner was delicious, but Paige is chaotic and an actual hazard. Watching her chop an onion hurt something deep inside you although she’d seemed so proud of herself. You didn’t have the heart to make fun of her. 

“Five for five,” Madelyn says, drawing your attention back to her. “Next question for you. Who confessed to who?”

You and Paige lock eyes again, a silent conversation passing between the two of you, and you write down her name. You turn your boards, Paige’s name written on the both of them and you smile to yourself. “She was pretty oblivious,” Paige says, referring to you, and your smile falls as your jaw hits the ground. “I dropped so many hints and she just didn’t pick up on them. I eventually got tired—”

“Desperate,” you cut in. 

“Tired,” she emphasizes, smirking at you, “so I planned out this huge romantic thing and at the end, she still didn’t understand so I told her straight up.”

You roll your eyes. “Maybe you’re just not as slick as you think,” you tell her. 

“Nah,” Paige says. “I’m super romantical.”

“Sure,” you concede. 

Madelyn stifles her smile. “Alright. Two more questions for both of you. Paige, what is your partner’s pet peeve?”

“If you get this wrong,” you grumble, hearing Paige snicker as the two of you write down your answers. After you flip your boards, she grins proudly when your answers line up. 

“She hates not being taken seriously,” Paige recites. “She’s an English major. People always think it’s just easy or unimportant shit, like reading and writing papers, but she actually does a lot of interesting analysis and stuff that I never even considered. I’ll admit I was a little ignorant but she set me straight.”

“Wait, I didn’t know you thought that,” you say, honestly confused. 

She shrugs, a little bashful. “I talk a lot but I listen. Sometimes when you leave the room, I’ll read your paper just so I can ask better questions. You get all… glowy. And… I’on know. I like seeing you happy.”

You blink once at her, genuinely touched, and if you weren’t head over heels for Paige before then you definitely are now. She squeezes your knee again, her smile crooked yet tender. Damn it. You are hopeless. 

“That’s so sweet.” You’re a little shocked by Madelyn’s voice, but you clear your throat, refocusing. “Next one for you. What’s Paige’s least favorite season?”

“That’s easy,” you say, writing your answer down. Paige does the same. When you flip your boards, you glance at Paige’s, smiling wryly. “Paige hates spring. She has really bad allergies and all of the pollen is honestly a death sentence, so she’ll get all congested and sneezy and will spend a good two weeks bitching about it and how it makes her Jeep dirty.”

You glance at Paige, waiting for her to say something, but she just shrugs with a smug expression. “Last question for Paige,” Madelyn says. “What is something your partner does to show her love for you?”

Neither of you say anything, but Paige stares at you thoughtfully, another silent conversation passing between you. You don’t need to think about your answer as you write it down. On cue, you both flip your boards, Paige’s reading simply, She takes care of me. You can’t help the way your heart swells, a fond smile overtaking your face. “Before you, I wasn’t really the… you know, the receiver, I guess. Always in control, always expected to lead. You make me feel like I can just be me, which is really hard sometimes.” Paige laughs off the vulnerability, but you see right through it – the painful honesty.

“We’re equals,” you remind her, nudging her leg with your knee. “We take care of each other.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, her voice soft as she gazes at you. “I’m glad that we do.”

You spot Madelyn out of the corner of your eye, which sobers you up quickly. She smiles. “You guys are so cute,” she gushes. “Final question for you and we’re done with this round. What is Paige’s love language?”

You feel Paige’s stare on you as you write, but you don’t glance back at her. You can hear the scribble of her marker, her capping it. When you’re finished, you finally look at her, taking in the soft expression on her face, and despite yourself, a smile grows on your face too. Together, you turn your boards, your answers being the exact same once more — quality time and physical touch. “Ten for ten, baby,” you croon, raising your hand for her to smack her palm against.

“Great job!” Madelyn says. “Let me just go submit these scores and I’ll be back to walk you guys through the puzzle round after eliminations. Sit tight.” She offers the two of you a quick grin before she’s walking off.

“Ten for ten,” Paige repeats, nudging you a little. “We’re like that?”

“I guess we’re actually kinda good at this friends thing,” you retort, although part of you wishes you were anything but.

Paige’s subsequent grin is far too knowing, like she has a trick up her sleeve. “Maybe a little.”

You laugh a little under your breath, adjusting your dress and leaning back in your chair to get comfortable. Before you know it, the scores are officially in. You and Paige had a perfect one, so you weren’t all too worried about getting eliminated in the first round, but five unlucky couples ended up leaving. The two of you watched from afar, trying not to stare too hard at the retreating couples, although they made it hard. One girl walked out crying, gesturing wildly as her partner trailed behind her, a desperate expression on her face. Another one was pure anger, slamming the door behind her. You didn’t think that this club contest would get people so riled up, but you considered that it was probably the realization that your partner truly didn’t know anything about you. You just lucked out with Paige – she understood you.

Madelyn returns quickly and cuts straight to the point. She instructs you and Paige to stand up, handing the both of you a towel, and adjusts your arms until you’re holding the towels perpendicular to each other, almost intertwined. “The goal here is to separate from each other, but it can be tricky because the towels will tangle you up. We’re looking to see how fast you can solve this puzzle and how well the two of you work together. Are you guys ready?” You and Paige nod and Madelyn grins again. “Alright. You can start.”

Instantly, the room around you two is sheer pandemonium. The couples around you are moving quickly, trying to untangle themselves, but it’s clear that the panic is settling in. You and Paige exchange a glance, laughing to each other softly. “Game plan?” she asks you.

“We need to get these like…not perpendicular,” you offer helpfully, and Paige nods, adjusting her arms. The angle change makes your towels bunch up and twist at their centers.

“Spin around,” she instructs. You do as so, the towels untwisting around the middle. You pause to analyze your situation, trying to plan out the moves in your head as Paige does the same.

“Okay, bring your towel over my head and let me step through it.” After that move, the both of you glance down, taking in your situation.

Paige hums. “The rest is easy,” she says. You nod in agreement, a silent understanding passing between the two of you and you move in tandem, twisting and shifting and stepping up until you’re both finally separating from each other in record time, having completed the puzzle. “We’re like that?” she asks you again, her expression smug and satisfied in a way that’s only comparable to when she’s on the court and her lips are curling after sinking a contested three point shot.

“Dream team,” you remind her, letting the victory wash over you, clapping your hand against hers, although she doesn’t immediately release you, squeezing your hand with a proud smile.

“I don’t think I’ve actually seen anyone solve it that quickly,” Madelyn admits. “Or that calmly.” As soon as she says it, a commotion from the other side of the room draws your attention. There’s one couple that are twisted so unnaturally that it looks like they’re playing Twister, but it seems that the girl gets tired of the shenanigans because she drops her towel and storms out with a frustrated yell. “Case in point.”

You laugh and Madelyn walks away again to tally the points and make their final eliminations. Once everything is set, five couples remain out of the initial fifteen. After the last challenge, two couples will be eliminated once more and the remaining three will be given prizes in order of points. You and Paige were determined to finish strong – if the first two challenges were any indicator, you two had this in the bag. True to Paige’s word, the couples were being split up for the last challenge, and she offers you a competitive smile as Madelyn whisks her away.

You pass the time on your phone although Paige isn’t gone for long. However, what does shock you is the sudden bashfulness that’s clear as day on her features, like the last challenge had made her confess something important or she had to be vulnerable. You can’t help the sudden worry that seizes your body, but Paige rests a hand on your hip, squeezing you once with a confident smile. It couldn’t be that bad.

Madelyn leads you into an adjacent room where the president of the club is sitting at a table waiting for you. She smiles when you enter, motioning to the seat across from her, and it feels strangely like entering the principal’s office in elementary school, like you’re in trouble for something. The club president doesn’t spare any time for pleasantries and instead cuts right to the chase, something that you’re grateful for.

“I’m not gonna take up anymore of your time, but after seeing you and your partner perform so well in this contest, I only have two questions for you,” she explains. “This is our second year running this contest and no one has scored as high as you two have, which is kind of insane because the third round scores haven’t been added yet.” You smile politely, honestly unsure of what to say, but the club president continues. “How long have the two of you been together?”

“Going on three months,” you respond, thinking back to the timeline you and Paige had agreed on, hoping your voice doesn’t shake. You are a little surprised by how real your next words feel. “We were best friends for a really long time before then – we still are. Paige is just…that kind of person that makes you feel like you’ve spent forever with her, you know?”

The club president hums, agreeing. She pauses before glancing up at you, studying your features. “What’s something that you haven’t told your girlfriend, but you would want her to know?”

You hardly need the time to think about your answer, responding, “That I love her.” The club president’s expression softens, a smile growing on her face. “We haven’t, um, gotten there yet, but I mean it. I wanna make it perfect for her. She’s given so much to me in the short time we’ve been together and in the time we were friends. And she just…she means everything to me.”

She smiles. “I think you guys are perfect for each other.”

Despite yourself, you smile, a blush spreading across your cheeks. “I think so, too.”

After your solo questioning wraps up, you meet Paige at your table and you offer her a bashful grin, similar to the one she’d offered you when she returned. You don’t have the chance to say anything else to her as the final round of eliminations are being announced. You and Paige are spared, which doesn’t surprise you, and the two eliminated couples take their loss with dignity as they exit. Paige links her hand with yours – final three. In third place, Team Parker. In second…Team Hayes, which means that first place can only be –

“Team Bueckers.”

You and Paige relax immediately, high fiving each other in celebration. What you’re not fully expecting is the tight hug that Paige pulls you into, whispering a fond good job into your ear, although you can’t help the way you soften, sinking into her embrace. She leads you to the center of the room to collect your goodie basket. The various club members send you off with their congratulations, too, and you pretend to not notice the slick wink that Madelyn shoots you as you and Paige walk out.

The night air is cool, making you shiver slightly, and Paige doesn’t hesitate before she’s sliding off her blazer and settling it over your shoulders. You smile gently at her. “You won’t be cold?” you murmur.

“Nah,” she promises, nudging you. “I can handle it. You, though? I’on know.”

“That’s no way to treat someone who just won you these spa coupons,” you say, reaching into the gift basket to wave said coupons in the air. “C’mon, I clutched up, you can’t lie. And to think you wouldn’t have even had a partner for this if you didn’t rope me into it. I think we played our parts pretty well.”

Paige laughs gently, a tinkling sound that carries over the drag of the wind. “You still don’t get it, do you?” she asks, but there’s no true offense behind her words.

You stare at her in confusion. “Get what?” you respond.

“Do you remember that question Madelyn asked you earlier?” Paige says, her steps slowing, tilting her head down to look at you. The street lights reflect off of her face so beautifully, the blue of her eyes illuminated by the soft light. You can’t help the way your heart constricts at the sight. “‘Who confessed to who?’” You hum, urging her to go on. “You remember what I said? That you were oblivious and I dropped a lot of hints you didn’t pick up on?”

The gears in your brain spin for a few revolutions before everything clicks into place. “Oh my God,” you breathe out. “Are you–”

“Confessing?” she says, her lips quirking into a smile. “Yeah.”

“You dropped hints before?”

“So many,” she confirms.

“Oh my God,” you say again. You stop in your tracks, prompting her to do the same. The expression on her face is endlessly amused. “You planned a huge romantic thing – this?”

She shrugs. “The contest was the club’s shit, but yeah. I planned on asking you to come with me to this. I didn’t actually care about the prize, but the coupons are pretty sweet, right?”

You shake your head, ignoring her rambling. “You planned a huge romantic thing, but I still didn’t get it at the end, so you told me straight up,” you finish, partly in disbelief. “You think you’re so fucking slick, don’t you?” you accuse, which just makes her break out into laughter. “You literally sat next to me and told me exactly how you were going to ask me out and I didn’t know? And not only did you do that, but you were right about it?”

“I know you,” Paige says a little smugly. “And I told you that I could be romantical.”

“You are such a pain in my ass,” you whisper, but her arm is slinking around your waist, pulling you into her body as she grins insufferably, and you let yourself be pulled, your hands resting on her chest. “You are literally so annoying.”

Her nose brushes yours as she inches a little closer. “You know what they asked me in the final round?” she says, her voice loud enough for only you to hear. You nod. “They said, ‘What’s something you haven’t told your partner, but you’d like to?’”

“Funny,” you say. “They asked me the same thing.”

She smiles at you. “I told them I’d tell you that I love you,” she confesses.

Your cheeks burn as you register her words. “Funny,” you say again. “I told them the same thing.”

Her expression shifts, something like relief flashing in her eyes, something tender in her gaze. “Did you?”

“Well, I told them that’s what I would tell my girlfriend,” you trail off intentionally. “Seeing as I don’t currently have one of those…”

“Don’t play,” Paige murmurs, squeezing your hip gently, drawing a laugh from you. “Be mine?”

“You gonna share those coupons?”

Her eyes are bright when she responds. “I’on even care about them. Just want you.”

“You’ve got me.”

That promise is all she needs. She smiles at you, happiness in her features, and she doesn’t waste any time before she’s leaning in fully, her lips finding yours. You’re eagerly responding, melting into her as her arm tightens around your waist. You loop yours around her neck, standing on the tips of the toes for better leverage. Before you know it, her grin grows too wide and the two of you are laughing against each other’s lips, the sound of your love and giddiness the perfect way to end a perfect night. If you had Paige Bueckers and her annoyingly charming antics to look forward to, then one thing is for certain – you couldn’t wait to see what she had in store for Valentine’s Day next year.

[viscasi]

Like a lot of masc AFAB people, my chest has always caused me agonizing dissatisfaction and discomfort.

I think a big part of that, at least for me, is the way breasts are usually portrayed and perceived by heteronormative/mainstraight culture and media.

Years ago, I don’t think anyone could have convinced me that I could be perceived, as a woman, the same or even similar with my top off as shirtless men are, in the sense that I had been led to believe that they are inherently feminine or even denoting passivity, sexual or otherwise.

So as a masc HetGNC woman, it was so interesting to me to then discover the way shirtless butches like this are often perceived/portrayed by the women who are attracted to them: It’s so entirely, strikingly different than the way the same body would be seen under a mainstraight lens, but I still can’t quite put my finger on a way to put that difference in defining words. And it’s not just a lack of objectification— the whole vibe is different. It’s also not desexualized— it can still be sensual but in a way that actually honors that person’s masculine identity, similar to how a picture of a man in mainstraight media might be depicted. I’ve always had such a hard time explaining it, but this is the way I want to be seen. Does that make sense? Maybe someone else has better words for it.

Anyway, I don’t think there’s any shame in wanting to reshape your body. I still bind, and probably always will. But it would be nice to feel more like it was an option, and not a necessity to ward off being shoved into the feminizing kaleidoscope of straight men’s eyes.

Source: Sublime Mutations - by Del LaGrace Volcano

[honeyncherry]

everything i never asked for - joe burrow

summary valentine’s day with joe

content fluff fluff fluff

You didn’t expect much for Valentine’s Day this year. The past couple of months had been rough, between everything that happened and Joe’s whirlwind schedule with the Pro Bowl, Honors, and the Super Bowl. You figured today would be low-key. Maybe just a lazy morning, a home-cooked meal, and some much needed rest.

And that was exactly how the day started.

You wake up to slow, warm kisses along your shoulder, Joe's voice still rough from sleep as he murmurs, “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.” He pulls you closer, his arm heavy around your waist, and for a while, you stayed tangled in the covers, soaking in the rare, quiet stillness.

By late morning, he’s in the kitchen making breakfast (if you can even call it that). He’s in a pair of grey sweats that hang low on his hips, hair still messy, leaning against the counter with a smug look as you do most of the work.

He claims he’s helping, but really, he’s just standing behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder, sneaking bites of the pancakes you’re making.

Later in the afternoon, your phone buzzes. A friend asks if you want to meet up for a little Galentine’s date. You hesitate, glancing at Joe, but before you can even consider turning it down, he nudges you.

"Go."

"No—"

"Seriously, go. You deserve a break from me," he jokes, smirking as he stretches out on the couch. "Besides, I promise I won’t waste away in your absence."

You narrow your eyes at him, sensing he’s up to something, but he looks completely unbothered. Eventually, you give in, grab your things, and head out.

The afternoon is easy, spent catching up and laughing, but a small part of you keeps thinking about Joe. How effortless the morning felt. How rare it is for him to have time to just be.

When you finally return home, you’re not expecting much, maybe him still sprawled on the couch, half-asleep. But the second you step inside, you realize something is different.

The lights are dim. Candles flicker along the dining table, casting a soft, golden glow across the room. The smell of something savory lingers in the air, and standing in the middle of it all is Joe. He’s changed into something nicer, sleeves pushed up to reveal his forearms as he finishes setting the table, looking both ridiculously proud of himself and a little nervous.

"What is this?" you ask, blinking at the setup.

"A proper Valentine’s Day," he says, wiping his hands on a dish towel before making his way over to you. "Figured you deserved at least one romantic surprise today."

The table is set with the fine china set you two received as a housewarming gift. A homemade meal is waiting, something he clearly put effort into, even if a few little mishaps, like the slightly burnt garlic bread, give away his struggles. A bottle of wine is already open, two glasses waiting.

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, he tugs you into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, fingers rubbing gentle circles into your back as he whispers, “Missed you today.”

The evening flows effortlessly, filled with laughter, teasing, and Joe dramatically complaining about “how hard cooking is” as he watches you take your first bite. He studies your reaction like it determines his entire fate, waiting for your verdict. You hum thoughtfully, dragging it out just to mess with him before finally breaking into a smile.

"It’s actually really good, Joe."

"You’re lying."

"No, I swear! Well… except maybe the garlic bread."

"Knew you were gonna say that."

You’re both grinning. He reaches across the table, fingers brushing over yours and his voice softer as he says, "I know things have been a lot recently."

He pauses, thumb grazing over your knuckles before meeting your eyes again. "I just wanted today to be about you. You deserve that."

Somehow, that means more to you than any grand gesture ever could.

After dinner, you both end up curled on the couch, his arm draped over your shoulders as some random movie plays in the background. You’re not really paying attention, just floating on the high of the day, tucked against his side, his fingers tracing lazy patterns over your arm.

Then, without warning, Joe suddenly untangles himself from you and disappears into the kitchen. You barely have time to question it before he’s back, a small bakery box in his hands, looking far too pleased with himself.

"Chocolate cake?" you ask, already smiling as he flips the lid open to reveal two thick slices of rich, decadent cake from your favorite bakery.

"Went out earlier and got it while you were gone," he says, settling back beside you. He grabs a fork, slicing off a bite before holding it up to your lips with an expectant look. "I’ll share. If you’re nice."

You roll your eyes but take the bite, humming in satisfaction as the sweetness melts on your tongue. It’s perfect, exactly how you like it. But before you can even reach for your own fork, Joe steals another bite, straight from your slice, grinning like he’s getting away with something.

"Joe!"

"What?" he says around a mouthful of cake, not even remotely guilty.

You huff, reaching for the box, but he shifts just out of reach, holding the fork and the cake hostage. It turns into a game, him dodging your attempts to take control of the dessert, laughter bubbling between you, the weight of the last few months feeling lighter than it has in a long time. Eventually he relents, letting you have your share, though not without sneaking a few extra bites when he thinks you’re too distracted.

By the time the cake is gone, Joe shifts slightly, adjusting so you’re tucked even closer. His fingers mindlessly trace over your knuckles where your hand rests against his chest, the warmth of his body easing you into a quiet, content haze.

You let out a sigh, fingertips grazing over his arm. "Thank you for today." His lips brush across your forehead, then your cheek, before finally pressing a tender kiss to your lips — his own silent way of saying you’re welcome.

The movie plays on, just background noise now, filling the quiet between your slowed breaths. His thumb moves absentmindedly over your wrist, a quiet, familiar touch that still makes your heart flutter after all this time.

Just when you think he might be drifting off, Joe presses another kiss to the top of your head, lingering for a second longer than necessary.

"This was nice."

You smile against his shirt, barely lifting your head. "Yeah?"

He hums in response, his chest rising and falling beneath your palm. "Yeah. Just us. Feels good."

There’s something unspoken in the way he says it, in the way his hold tightens around you, like he needed today just as much as you did. Maybe more.

You don’t say anything back. You don’t need to. Instead, you let your fingers lace through his, soaking in the kind of serenity that can only be found in moments like this.

As the candlelight flickers, casting golden warmth over the both of you, you realize that maybe you hadn’t expected much for Valentine’s Day. You hadn’t asked for anything, hadn’t wished for anything elaborate.

But Joe?

He’s always there, giving you more than you ever thought to ask for.

[domm1etae]

Right in Front of You

f!reader x roommate yunho

oneshot | mdni

1.2k

Y/N spends Valentine’s night searching for a hookup, only to come home empty-handed—until she realizes the perfect option was sitting in her apartment all along, proving that sometimes, the best things don’t need to be chased—they’re already waiting for you

nsfw tags under

f/m, vaginal sex, teasting, dirty talk, fingering, doggy style, top yunho, bottom reader, roommates, reader is on BC, roommates to fucking?

author's note: since yesterday was February 14th—aka Valentine’s Day—but i didn’t post anything, i decided to drop a little post-Valentine’s treat ;))

Y/N barely managed to keep her balance as she fumbled with the lock, heels dangling from one hand, bag slipping from the other. She was still in last night’s outfit—nothing too scandalous, but enough to scream I was trying to get laid and failed miserably. Her makeup wasn’t ruined per se, but her eyeliner had smudged just enough to give away that she hadn’t just stepped out looking fresh.

The moment she stumbled into the apartment, Yunho’s laughter rang through the living room. He was perched on the couch, long legs stretched out, nursing a mug of coffee like some judgmental prince.

“Well, good morning,” he drawled, a smirk playing at his lips. “What a sight I have right now.”

Y/N groaned, flipping him off without breaking stride as she tossed her shoes near the door.

“Rough night?” Yunho asked, his tone drenched in amusement.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” she grumbled, finally collapsing onto the couch next to him. “What about you? What did you do?”

Yunho took a slow sip of his coffee before answering. “Me? Oh, nothing crazy. Made dinner, played some games till like 2 AM, then went to bed.” He tilted his head toward her, eyes twinkling. “What about you? Who was the lucky one who took you home?”

Y/N groaned dramatically, draping an arm over her face. “That’s the thing. You’d think that on Valentine’s Day, the club would be filled with hot singles, right? But no. Just couples everywhere—kissing, slow dancing, rubbing their happiness in my face. Not a single man in sight.”

Yunho hummed, setting his mug down on the coffee table. “Huh. Well, I was alone yesterday, you know.”

She peeked at him from under her arm, brows furrowing. “What are you saying, Yunho?”

He turned to her then, closer than before, his gaze no longer teasing but intent. His voice dropped, slow and deliberate.

“If you wanted action,” he murmured, “you didn’t have to go to some stupid club.”

Y/N’s breath hitched as Yunho leaned in, close enough for her to catch the faint scent of coffee and whatever stupidly nice cologne he always wore. His arms rested on the couch, caging her in.

Her lips parted slightly, a mix of confusion and anticipation making her pulse spike. “You—what?”

Yunho scoffed, tilting his head at her like she was the dumbest person he’d ever met. “You’re actually so blind, Y/N,” he muttered, voice thick with amusement but something else too—something darker, something hungry. “You had the easiest opportunity to get laid right in front of you this whole time.”

His fingers trailed up her thigh, just barely skimming the fabric of her dress, and Y/N felt her brain short-circuit.

Looping her fingers behind his waistband, she tugged him even closer, their lips a hair’s breadth apart. “If that’s true, then maybe you should do something about it,” she murmured.

Yunho didn’t need to be told twice.

His mouth crashed against hers, hands sliding up to cup her face, thumbs digging in just enough to make her gasp. That was all the opening he needed, tongue slipping past her lips as he pressed his body flush against hers.

Heat coiled low in her stomach as Yunho’s hands abandoned her face in favor of something much more sinful—one slipping under her dress, the other palming her breast as he deepened the kiss, tilting her head just the way he wanted.

Y/N moaned into his mouth, fingers fumbling at his shirt, nails dragging over his abs before slipping beneath the waistband of his sweats.

“Fuck,” Yunho growled against her lips, his breath coming out shaky. “You’re really desperate, huh?”

Y/N had half a mind to be embarrassed, but then Yunho was pushing her dress up around her waist and dragging her panties down her thighs, and any rational thought she had completely dissolved.

He let out a low groan, fingers sliding through her slick folds, teasing her entrance before slipping one inside. Y/N’s breath stuttered, her back arching at the delicious stretch.

“Shh, keep quiet for now,” he murmured, smirking when she let out a sharp gasp. “We’ll see how long you last before you’re screaming my name.”

Y/N was about to snap back at him, but then he added another finger, curling them just right, and her head hit the back of the couch, a strangled moan ripping from her throat.

Yunho chuckled, working his fingers into her at a pace that was just slow enough to be torturous.

“You’re soaking wet,” he mused, voice dripping with satisfaction. “All that time looking for a one-night stand, and you could’ve just asked me.”

Y/N barely managed to glare at him, her fingers digging into his arms as she rocked against his hand, chasing the friction. “Stop talking and do something.”

Yunho raised a brow, then grinned. “Oh, you’re gonna regret saying that.”

In one swift motion, he withdrew his fingers and flipped her over, pressing her chest against the couch as he yanked her hips up. Y/N gasped, arching into him as he shoved his sweats and boxers down just enough to free himself.

She turned her head slightly, eyes widening as she caught sight of his cock—thick, flushed, and already dripping at the tip.

“Oh, fuck me,” she breathed.

“That’s the plan,” Yunho smirked, dragging the head of his cock through her slick folds before teasing her entrance.

And then he pushed in.

A broken moan ripped from Y/N’s throat as he sank into her, inch by inch, stretching her out in a way that had her thighs trembling.

Yunho let out a shuddering breath, his grip on her hips tightening. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he hissed. “You feel even better than I thought you would.”

Y/N barely had time to process that statement before he snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt.

She choked on a gasp, back arching, hands scrambling for purchase against the couch.

“Oh my God—”

“Yeah?” Yunho groaned, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. “Go on, baby. Let me hear who’s making you feel this good.”

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, nails digging into the cushions. “Fuck, Yunho! You!”

He growled at that, fingers tangling in her hair as he yanked her head back slightly. “That’s right,” he murmured against her ear before biting down on her shoulder, setting a pace that had her body rocking against the couch.

Y/N felt like she was burning, pleasure coiling in her stomach as his thrusts grew rougher, more desperate.

“I can feel you squeezing me,” Yunho groaned, his hand sliding around to rub tight circles against her clit. “You gonna cum for me, baby?”

Y/N nodded frantically, barely able to form words. “Y-Yeah, fuck, Yunho—”

Her body tensed, pleasure exploding through her as she came with a cry, trembling beneath him. Yunho followed soon after, spilling deep inside her with a groan, his body slumping against hers.

For a moment, all she could hear was their ragged breathing.

“So... you wanna tell me that all this time I could’ve been getting the best dick ever, and instead I’ve been suffering in silence?”

Yunho chuckled against her skin. “Well, I guess we have time to make up for that.”

[ducktoo]

Again

IVE’s Jang Wonyoung x M!Reader

Note: I have resorted to the sacred prompt list by Anon again….this helped me so much frrr. Hope you will post your first ever fic here so I can tagged you!!

This concludes the unofficial (or official ig) IZ*ONE marathon. @hyeyulenjoyer hope this was a fun ride for you. And thank you everyone for enjoying these fics as well! Also appreciate IVE for paying respect to the recent tragedy. All the dumb haters who find ways to hate them again....just touch grass pls.

(this was the perfect picture for this fic lol)

The tickets sit on your desk, undisturbed, their glossy surface catching the dim glow of your bedside lamp. You don’t even need to read the text printed on them anymore. The details are already burned into your brain.

A fan sign.

It was supposed to be special. The kind of thing you looked forward to for weeks, marked on your calendar with a little star. You were supposed to show up, tease her about messing up choreography, make her laugh in the middle of a serious performance, see that look in her eyes that was just for you.

Now, the tickets feel like a joke.

Your phone is face-down beside them, dark screen hiding the messages you haven't opened yet—the well-meaning texts from friends, the casual work notifications. All messages except from her.

Wonyoung.

You close your eyes, but it doesn't help. The memory of your last call with her is still fresh, the words playing over and over like a song stuck on repeat.

"I just don’t have time for this anymore."

"For us, you mean?"

"Mhm."

The way she said it—calm, measured, like it was just another item to tick off on her to-do list—had made something inside you crack. There had been no anger in her voice. No hesitation.

That…hurt more than anything.

You had wanted to say something, anything to make her stop. To remind her of the nights spent whispering over the phone until she fell asleep, of the rare moments when she let herself be vulnerable with you, of the way she would light up the second she saw you waiting for her backstage to take her to eat a whole cow together.

But you couldn't mutter a voice.

You had just sat there, phone pressed to your ear, fingers gripping the fabric of your hoodie so tightly it threatened to tear.

And then, just like that, she was gone.

It was three days ago.

Three days of checking your phone too often. Three days of convincing yourself you were fine. Three days of staring at these damn tickets on the desk and trying to figure out why you hadn’t just thrown them away. You should sell them. Give them to someone who’d actually enjoy them.

But something stops you.

Maybe it’s pride. Maybe it’s stubbornness. Maybe it’s the stupid, lingering part of you that refuses to admit that she’s really gone. Whatever the reason, you find yourself gripping them tighter instead of throwing them away.

You decided that you will go.

Not for her. Not to see her.

Just so you don’t have to sit in this room, drowning in thoughts of what used to be.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

-

The venue is packed.

Fans shuffle forward in line, their chatter buzzing in the air like static. Excited whispers, rustling light sticks, the occasional squeal when a favourite member’s name is mentioned.

Your fingers tighten around the album in your hands. (Ironically you still hold onto her album)

This is normal for them. For the fans around you, this is just another fan sign. A chance to meet their idols, to share fleeting moments, to walk away with a signature and a memory they’ll cherish for years.

You should feel the same. Instead, you’re just… tired. Who could blame you, you’re about to come face-to-face with your ex-girlfriend.

And she has no idea you’re here.

Your grip on the album tightens as the line inches forward. The first few members greet you with polite smiles, their voices light and bubbly. You do your best to respond normally, but your mind is elsewhere, trapped in the inevitable moment that keeps creeping closer and closer.

You don’t need to look up to know she’s at the end of the table. You can feel her presence.

And then, suddenly, there’s no more time left.

Your album slides across the table. Long, slender fingers stop it in place.

There’s a small pause—so brief that no one else seems to notice—but you do. You feel it in the slight delay before she looks up, in the way her fingers tighten just a fraction around the album’s edge.

And then her eyes meet yours.

She looks the same. Flawless, as always. Every strand of hair perfectly in place, makeup soft and ethereal under the bright overhead lights. And those sparkly eyes that you often got lost in.

But…she’s not yours anymore. Not at all.

There was a flicker of something—recognition, surprise, something deeper—crosses her face. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by a carefully neutral expression.

Her lips part slightly, but no words come out at first. Then…

“Hey.”

It’s awkward. Too awkward. You can feel the tension hanging between you, thick and suffocating.

You swallow, trying to ignore the way your chest tightens. “Hey.”

For a split second, she looks like she wants to say something else. Like she wants to break the script, ignore the rehearsed greetings and practiced smiles.

But then—

She doesn’t.

Instead, she picks up her pen, the mask slipping back into place. Her expression evens out, and in a voice so perfectly professional it almost stings, she says,

“Thanks for coming.”

Just like she would to any other fan. That made your stomach twists.

You should’ve known. Of course, she wouldn't acknowledge it. Not here. Not in front of all these people.

Still, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah. Would’ve been a waste of money if I didn’t.”

Something flickers across her face, but it’s gone before you can catch it. She presses her lips together, nodding slightly. “Right. Can’t have that.”

She signs her name, her handwriting as neat and practiced as always. But there’s a hesitance in the way she moves, a slight delay before she lifts the pen from the page.

When she finally pushes the album back toward you, her fingers linger just a second longer than necessary.

Then, in a voice so quiet that only you can hear…

“Take care, okay?”

She’s looking at you now. Really looking at you.

And for a moment, just one fleeting moment, she’s not the Jang Wonyoung, the IT girl, the global superstar.

She’s just…Wonyoung.

The girl who used to call you late at night just to hear your voice.

The girl who used to lace her fingers through yours under the table when no one was looking.

The girl who told you she didn’t have time for you anymore.

You stare at her.

The words stick to your throat. You genuinely don’t trust yourself to say anything.

So you just…don’t.

You just take the album, stand up, and walk away. And even as you disappear into the crowd, you can still feel her eyes on you.

-

You’ve been doing fine.

Or at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

It’s been a few days since the fan sign, and you’ve buried yourself in anything that keeps your mind occupied—work, games, mindless scrolling through your phone. Anything to keep yourself from replaying the look on Wonyoung’s face at the fansign. From remembering the way she hesitated before handing your album back. From thinking about the way her gaze kept flickering toward you as you walk away, as if she was looking for something.

Or someone.

But that’s not your problem anymore. You told yourself that the moment you left the venue.

Which is why, when your phone starts ringing at an ungodly hour, you almost don’t check the caller ID. Almost.

The second you see her name flashing on the screen, your stomach twists.

Jang Wonyoung.

The ringing continues, each second stretching unbearably. You should let it go. Turn off your phone. Pretend you never saw it.

But you don’t. Because deep down, you know you still want to hear her voice. So you answer.

“...Hello?”

There’s silence on the other end for a moment, followed by a soft giggle—breathy and drawn out, the kind that used to slip past her lips whenever she was feeling particularly affectionate.

"Dummmyy!" she hums, stretching your nickname like it’s some sweet, familiar melody.

“Wonyo. Are you drunk?” You sigh, ignoring the way your nickname for her easily rolled out of your tongue.

She giggles again, the sound loose and unguarded. "Mmm… maybe."

"Goddamn it." You rub your temples. "Where are you?"

A rustling noise filters through the receiver, followed by the distant hum of traffic. "Somewhere," she mumbles. "Some bar, I think. The girls took me out."

Figures.

You shift in bed, propping yourself up against the headboard. “It’s late.”

“I know,” she says, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “But I wanted to call you.”

You close your eyes, exhaling through your nose. “Why?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, there’s a soft exhale, the kind she lets out when she’s gathering her thoughts. Then, quieter…

“Because I miss you.”

Your fingers tighten around the phone.

"Don’t do that," you say quietly.

"Do what?"

"Say things you don’t mean."

Another pause. When she speaks again, her voice is steadier. "But I do mean it. I do miss you."

You swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. "Well, that’s not my problem anymore, is it?"

She goes quiet.

For a moment, all you hear is the faint sound of music in the background, the distant chatter of people. She’s probably in the back of some high-end bar or a private lounge that someone of her status often went. You can picture it too easily—her long hair falling over her shoulders, her lips painted red, the glow of the city lights reflecting in her eyes.

Your heart beat rapidly at the image.

"You came to the fansign," she says suddenly, cutting into your thoughts.

You rub at your temple. "Mhm."

"Why?"

"You already know why."

"Say it anyway."

You sigh. "Because I had the tickets. It would’ve been a waste."

She lets out a humourless laugh. "Right. Can’t have that."

Something about the way she repeats your words from that day makes your stomach twist.

There’s another long pause. Then, almost hesitantly.

"Did you feel anything?"

Your eyes widened. "Feel what?"

"When you saw me again." Her voice is quieter now. "Did you feel anything?"

Your jaw clenches. You want to lie. Want to say no, not at all. That it didn’t matter. That she doesn’t matter. But you can’t.

Because the truth is, you felt everything.

The way your heart clenched when she looked at you. The way your stomach twisted when her fingers hesitated over your name. The way your mind screamed at you to move on, to stop letting her affect you, to stop caring.

But you don’t tell her any of that.

Instead, you settle for, "Who cares anyway."

"Why not?"

"Because we’re done, Jang Wonyoung."

She sucks in a sharp breath, and for a second, you wonder if she’s about to cry.

"You-" She stops, swallows. When she speaks again, her voice is unsteady. "You didn’t even try to fight for me."

Your grip tightens around the phone, knuckles turning white. "You were the one who ended things. On the phone, may I remind you."

"I know," she whispers. "And I thought it was the right choice. But now I just—" She breaks off, voice cracking slightly. "I don’t know anymore."

You shut your eyes.

It would be so easy to give in. To tell her that you don’t know either, that you still think about her, that you still wonder if maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t supposed to end like this.

But what’s the point?

She made her choice.

And you’re tired of being the one left picking up the pieces.

"You’re drunk, Jang Wonyoung," you say, voice carefully even. "Go home and go to sleep."

"Wait—"

"Goodnight."

And then, before she can say another word, you hang up.

The silence that follows is deafening.

And yet, for the first time in days, you finally let yourself breathe.

-

Or at least, it should be.

You did the right thing, you tell yourself—cut it off before it could spiral any further. Before you let yourself believe, even for a second, that anything has changed.

But still, the weight in your chest lingers.

The room feels too quiet now, the kind of silence that presses in from all sides, making it impossible to ignore the thoughts creeping into your head. You lie back down, throwing an arm over your eyes, willing yourself to sleep.

You don’t know how much time passes before you hear it.

A knock.

You freeze.

At first, you think you’re imagining it. Sleep-deprived, emotionally drained, and still reeling from that damn phone call, your brain must be conjuring things that aren’t real. But then, the knocking got more insistent. Erratic, yet insistent.

Your brows furrow. You sit up, straining your ears.

"Who the hell…?"

It’s almost 3 AM. No one in their right mind would be visiting you at this hour. Then again, you just got a call from a drunk girl not in their right mind.

Knock, knock, knock.

It’s louder this time, clumsy and uncoordinated, like whoever’s on the other side can barely keep their balance. A sinking feeling settles in your stomach.

You begrudingly throw off your blankets and push yourself up, padding toward the door. Your hand hovers over the handle for a second before you sigh and pull it open.

And there she is.

Wonyoung.

She’s standing there in the dim, flickering hallway light, wrapped in a thin coat that does nothing to protect her from the cold. Her long hair is slightly tousled, the glossy perfection from the concert gone, strands falling loosely over her shoulders. She sways just the slightest, a delicate wobble on unsteady feet. Her lips are slightly parted, eyes glassy—not just from the alcohol but from something else. Something unreadable.

You blink.

She blinks back, like she’s just now processing that you’re standing in front of her.

Then, with absolutely no warning, she wobbles forward, collapsing against your chest.

You barely manage to catch her. “Jesus—Wonyo.” You gently hold her arms, steadying her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

"Surprise," she breathes, half-laughing, half-sniffling.

You let out a sharp breath. “Surprise? You’re seriously—” You stop yourself, jaw clenching. “How did you even get here?”

"I took a taxi," she announces, like that explains anything. Like that justifies her showing up at your door past midnight after breaking up with you.

You stare at her. “Alone?”

“Mmhmm.”

Your stomach twists. “Wonyoung, do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

She just hums, leaning more of her weight onto you. Her forehead presses against your shoulder, and you can feel the slight tremble in her body.

You sigh, tightening your grip. “You’re freezing.”

“I was walking.”

“Walking where?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she tilts her head back to look at you properly. Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something—something serious, something she’s probably been holding in for too long. But then, she hiccups.

You close your eyes, exhaling sharply through your nose. “You’re unbelievable.”

She smiles lazily, like she didn’t just show up at your door dead drunk in the middle of the night after breaking up with you.

"You hung up on me," she murmurs.

You pull back slightly, just enough to see her properly. “Yeah. I did.”

"That was mean," she says, pouting. "I was talking."

"You were drunk."

"Still talking."

You shake your head, adjusting your grip on her. “Come on. You need water. And sleep.”

She hums, letting you guide her inside. “Only if you let me stay.”

You pause.

For a brief second, something in her voice sounds painfully sober.

But then she giggles again, burying her face in your chest, and you decide that you’ll deal with that in the morning.

For now, you just hold her close.

You sigh, pressing your lips into a thin line as you shift your grip on her. She’s barely standing at this point, practically melting into you like she has no bones in her body.

"Alright, come on," you mutter, wrapping an arm around her waist and leading her inside.

She stumbles slightly, her fingers gripping at your shirt as she giggles under her breath. "You smell nice," she mumbles.

You ignore that.

You close the door behind you with your foot, guiding her toward the couch. She flops onto it with zero resistance, her coat slipping off her shoulders. The moment she’s down, she tilts her head back, blinking up at you like she’s expecting something.

She doesn’t hesitate. Stumble inside like she belongs here.

And maybe that’s the problem. She did belong here.

And now? Now you don’t know.

Her eyes lazily drift across the apartment, lingering on the things she still remembers—the half-empty cup of coffee on your desk, the hoodie she used to steal draped over the chair, the faint indent in the couch where she used to curl up next to you.

Then she noticed your desk, the same desk where the fansign ticket sat just days ago. The same one she saw in your hands at the fansign days ago.

"You really came," she murmurs, not looking at you. "I didn’t think you actually would."

You shrug. "Like I said. Would’ve been a waste."

She flinches. Just the tiniest bit. But you catch it.

She exhales slowly, arms wrapping around herself. "It was weird."

"What was?"

"Seeing you there. But not... There, you know?" She fully looks at you now, and there's something raw in her expression. Something you’re not sure you’re ready to face. "You didn’t smile. You didn’t tease me like you usually do. You barely even looked at me."

"What did you expect?" you ask quietly. "You dumped me, Wonyoung. You can’t just expect me to act like nothing happened."

She presses her lips together, fingers gripping the hem of her sleeve. "I know."

You wait. Give her the space to say what she came here to say.

But she doesn’t. Not right away.

She defeatedly sighed, tucking her knees under her chin, looking smaller than she ever has before. She stares at her hands for a long moment before mumbling, "I don’t know why I came here."

You scoff. "Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you drunk-called your ex, then showed up at his apartment in the middle of the night without a plan."

She frowns. "I do have a plan."

You raise an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

She huffs. "Step one: get inside. Step two..." She falters, looking away. "...I didn’t think that far."

You shake your head. "Unbelievable."

Silence stretches between you, heavy and unspoken.

Then, barely above a whisper, "Do you hate me?"

You freeze.

Your first instinct is to say no. Because of course you don’t hate her. You never could.

But that’s not the right answer, is it?

So instead, you tell the truth.

"I don’t know," you admit. "I want to. But I can't."

She looks up at you then, eyes searching. Hopeful and afraid all at once. "I messed up, didn’t I?"

You let out a hollow laugh. "Yea. Big time."

She swallows. Lowers her gaze again. "I thought breaking up would make things easier. For you…for both of us."

"Did it?"

She shakes her head. "No."

You run a hand through your hair, exhaling. "Then why did you do it?"

"I was scared," she says, and her voice is so small, so unlike the confident idol the world knows, that it almost hurts to hear. "I thought I was being selfish, holding onto you when I barely had time to see you. I thought you deserved more than stolen moments and rushed phone calls."

Your jaw clenches. "You didn’t even ask me what I wanted."

"I know," she whispers. "I thought I was making the right choice."

You sit down across from her, legs spread, elbows on your knees. "And now?"

She meets your gaze, vulnerability laid bare. "Now... I just miss you."

Your heart leaped a mile. This was the Wonyoung you always see. Not the glamorous and model-esque Jang Wonyoung everyone always see on TV. Not the well-spoken and powerful public figure everyone knows. Just…a gentle yet bubbly girl who snuggled up next to you on the couch at the end of the day.

But your brain should tell her to leave. To sleep it off, to sober up and think about this when her mind is clearer.

Then she reaches out—just the slightest, her fingers brushing against yours on the couch. And you don’t pull away.

"You’re drunk," you remind her, though your voice lacks conviction.

She smiles faintly. "Thanks…Mr. Obvious."

Silence. Then, tentatively, "Can I sleep here tonight?"

Another hesitation.

But just like before, you already know your answer.

You sigh. Your hand intertwined with hers.

"Go get a blanket. Wonyo."

She doesn’t move right away. Just watches you, like she’s memorizing you all over again.

Then, with a small, almost relieved nod, she gets up and stumbled into your bedroom as she dragged you along—the same bedroom she used to slip into after long schedules, the same one she used to call hers.

And just like that, the distance you tried so hard to create crumbles.

Again.