#and probably no one but this one person cares

[mrsholmesreid]

EVERY FIRST, YOURS | spencer reid x reader

summary: you and spencer reid have been going out for a few weeks. he's taking things very slow, and you find his pace comforting and his awkwardness endearing. as your relationship grows more heated, you come to find that he was completely inexperienced before meeting you. you feel honored to be his first, to be the one he learns love from.

pairing: spencer reid x reader (no pronouns but reader has female anatomy)

word count: 9,05k

content warnings: fluff x smut, virgin!spencer, oral sex (reader receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, aftercare.

author's note: i tried to portray spencer's inexperience in a way that's more realistic—despite him reading a lot and knowing everything about most things—and that followed his character's personality but that was still enjoyable to read. i hope you love reading this as much as i loved writing it! let me know what you think :)

You and Spencer had been going out for a few weeks. After reaching for the same book at a bookstore, the two of you started talking—and it didn’t take very long before you planned a date. He chose a nice restaurant, picked you up, brought you flowers, and did every other gentleman attitude in the book. By the end of it, you were sure he was going to make a move—kiss you, touch you, maybe even try to get you to go home with him—but he did none of that. As he dropped you off at your place at a reasonable hour, he gave you a gentle, respectful hug, and thanked you for an amazing time with the promise of calling you back again soon. And unlike most other guys, he kept it.

You thought he was the sweetest guy you’d ever met.

It was only by your third date that he tried to kiss you. The routine remained—picking you up, taking you to a nice place (this time it had been a museum, where he risked to hold your hand—and you let him), and then, finally, driving you home.

When you reached your doorstep, it was a little later than usual because both of you wanted to stay for a short lecture they were having at the museum. His eyes glimmered under the dim lighting of your porch, and in a quiet moment that followed after a string of warm laughter about the night’s events, he asked if he could kiss you.

You’d never had anyone ask you that before. Guys would usually just take the hint and lean in all at once. But for some reason, the care in his eyes, the way he rubbed his hands ever so slightly against his slacks—as if trying to dry off a thin layer of nervous sweat without you noticing—endeared you deeply. Your heart warmed at the way his eyes stared at you. His pupils wide, taking you in and eagerly waiting for an answer.

“Please?”

The word sounded more like a whimper coming from his lips. You were so deep in your thoughts about how adorable he looked when asking you that question, that you forgot to actually agree to it. You didn’t just want to kiss him. You wanted to scream, jump in his arms, kiss him all over, invite him inside, and give yourself completely to this charming man. But you didn’t.

It was clear by how nervous he seemed that he had planned every second of every date he had taken you on—including this very moment—and you wanted to let him do it. You wanted to play along, to let him win the little game he had in his mind. You knew he had probably rehearsed that line a thousand times before actually saying it to you. “May I kiss you?” You could almost picture him saying it to the mirror. So, you allowed him to set the pace.

“Yes,” you smiled softly, taking a small step closer.

The kiss that followed wasn’t exactly what you were expecting, but in a way, it couldn’t have been better. His breath hitched, and you could see the exact moment his brain short-circuited after hearing your breathy one-worded answer. He took another step in your direction, closing the distance between you but not quite letting your bodies touch just yet. He took a deep breath, and very slowly, pressed a brush of a kiss against your lips.

It barely lasted more than three seconds, but to you, it was an eternity. You never thought such a chaste peck could make that many fireworks go off inside your head. 

You didn’t know it then, but the fireworks in his head were much brighter than yours; for that had been his first kiss ever.

After that, he simply pulled back with the biggest, silliest smile you’d ever seen. He looked like a child that had just been given a puppy. Or even the puppy itself.

His flushed cheeks said everything he couldn’t, and after exchanging goodnights, he went back to his car, leaving you just as flustered and happy as him.

What had he done to you? You felt like a teenager in love for the first time. But whatever it was, you couldn’t help but crave more of it.

For the next couple of dates, he followed that same script—but now, with a goodnight kiss at the end of it. You kept letting him set the pace, enjoying how adorable he looked whenever the time to kiss you came. Even his behavior in the moments leading up to it would change. He’d get more talkative on the drive back to your place, and you could swear you even saw him unconsciously skipping after closing the car door for you before taking you home one time. You loved his silly smiles, and they brought up a bunch of your own.

But as the dates kept going, his kisses evolved.

The first time he changed it, was after he had taken you to an amusement park. You were both exhilarated after the adrenalin-fueled evening when you reached your doorstep, and as if on instinct, he pulled you in with his hands cradling your face as he kissed you for a lot longer than three seconds. 

He hadn’t done that yet, and he seemed just as surprised as you by his own, unexpected action. The way his fingers naturally threaded through your hair to bring you closer, how his lips pressed more purposefully against yours—your heart nearly stopped.

He pulled back slowly, his hands slipping shyly from your cheeks, and he looked like the floor could swallow him whole with embarrassment.

“I-I’m sorry…” He stammered, but you could tell that, deep down, he really wasn’t.

“Don’t apologize,” you smiled and couldn’t help yourself, tentatively stealing another peck. You didn’t even try to hide how much you’d loved the fact that he had lost himself in the kiss.

His blush deepened at your stolen peck, but you didn’t press him further than that.

“So… we’re okay?” He asked timidly. 

“Yeah… we’re okay,” you replied, your grin widening.

After that night, his kisses only grew deeper.

On the following date, he allowed his lips to move ever so slightly against yours, making your entire body shiver.

By the next one, he flicked his tongue over your lower lip, hesitantly begging for entry—which you granted him in a heartbeat.

His movements were shy and almost experimental at first, but not long after, the routine chaste goodnight kisses were replaced by his hands on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as your tongues danced together. You didn’t realize it then, but you were teaching him how to kiss.

You were starting to wonder when he’d want more. Your make out sessions were becoming more heated with each date; to the point that, one night, he even pressed you lightly against the wall. The desire between you was growing undeniably evident—both figuratively and literally.

You’d been waiting for the night when he’d ask to come inside—find an excuse to actually cross the front door limit you’d been teetering over, go into your house, and take things further. But he didn’t.

You were patient, though. You could tell he was very careful with everything you did together, and not only did you respect that, but you were thankful for it. You thought you might actually benefit from having someone be a little more controlled than you in a relationship for once. Ever so used to guys jumping to conclusions and skipping important steps, Spencer’s pace was a comforting change of scenery.

But then it finally came.

You were leaving the restaurant, his hand hovering over your lower back as he guided you back to his car like he always did. Everything was going exactly the same, following the usual script perfectly. The next steps were clear: he’d drive you home, you’d make out by your doorstep, then he’d say goodnight and leave you a blushing, butterfly-filled mess.

Until things took a different turn.

“You know,” he broke the comfortable silence, sliding his hand against yours and interlocking your fingers as you walked. You could feel how warm his hand was, and the slight dampness on it indicated he was a little nervous. “I finished setting up that new shelf I was telling you about,” he mentioned, seemingly casually. 

“Oh, did you? You actually figured out where all the nails went?” You teased him lightly.

He let out a soft chuckle, “Yeah, I did. And now I’ve finally organized my books. This time I arranged them by author and theme,” he added, his tone proud.

“It must look beautiful,” you said in all honesty, not realizing the actual weight of your words until he let out:

“Do you wanna see it?” His voice trembled slightly and you could see right through him. That wasn’t an innocent invitation.

Your heart skipped a beat. He wanted you to see it? Like, actually see it, in person, alone with him in his apartment?

You raised your eyebrows, your face a mix of shock and ecstasy. The time had finally come.

“Y-you mean…?” You stuttered, not wanting to jump to conclusions despite the sheer obviousness in his gaze.

“We could go to my place—I mean, stop at my place, before I drop you home,” his nerves were evident by the way he stumbled over his words, trying to play it cool. “Would you like that?” He asked, sounding eager for your answer.

Of course you’d like that. You’d been waiting for that moment for weeks. But still, given how slow he’d been taking things, you needed to make sure that was what he wanted.

“Yes, yes I would, but… Are you sure?” You asked as the two of you stopped by his car, his hand pausing on the passenger’s seat door handle.

His gaze met yours, deep and meaningful. “I wouldn’t have offered it if I wasn’t sure.”

“Okay,” you nodded, the air between you thick with tension and understanding. “I’d love to see your new shelf, Spence.”

He smiled, a soft and genuine curve of his lips, as he opened the car door for you.

The drive to his apartment was quieter than your usual drives. It was like the both of you felt the weight of what was about to happen.

As he pulled over and guided you up to his place, you could tell he was nervous by how he constantly asked if you were feeling uncomfortable, cold, or tired. He was adorable like that, the true concern for your well-being evident in his actions.

“Make yourself at home,” he said as the two of you stepped inside. His apartment wasn’t too big, the perfect balance between having enough room and being cozy. It was warm and welcoming, the faint smell of books and coffee filling your nostrils.

“Thank you,” you replied. You watched as he carefully slipped off his shoes, so you did the same. “You have a really nice place, it’s very… you.”

“Thanks… Everybody says that,” he blushed. “Here, let me take this,” his hands gently slid over your coat, helping you remove it and hung it by the door. You gave him a soft smile, the thick atmosphere slowly fading into something more comfortable. You loved this about him, how he always felt safe, like home.

“So where’s this famous shelf?” You teased, his lips curling into a knowing smile.

“Follow me,” he said, offering you his hand—which you took without hesitation.

Spencer gently guided you further inside the apartment, showing you to the living room. The warm lighting casted soft shadows on the walls, giving the apartment a homey feel. There was a shelf filled to the brim on one side, but you could tell those weren’t all of his books, though. There were a few piled up next to the couch, which was large and comfy with pillows scattered all over it, and some more on the coffee table.

“Is this it?” You asked, pointing at the shelf as you stepped closer to it.

“The one and only,” he grinned, standing next to you with his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“You did a really good job putting this up, it seems very… sturdy,” you said, running your hands gently on the shelf, as if studying it closely.

He smiled proudly. “Yeah, it took me a while. Hey, look through whatever you want, okay? I’m just gonna go grab a glass of water, do you want some?” He offered. As you turned to face him directly, you noticed his flushed cheeks and awkward demeanor. He was clearly nervous about having you here, like he was afraid of disappointing you, desperate to impress you.

You gave him a soft, reassuring smile, before politely declining, “I’m good, thanks. I’ll be right here checking out your beautiful collection,” you said, watching him leave while wiping his hands on his slacks like he always did when he was nervous.

You let out a soft chuckle, biting your lip as you thought about how lucky you were to be the one causing those adorable reactions on that man. Ever the methodic genius, Spencer kept surprising you every time you met by how comfortable he was growing around you. Still, watching him get flustered over the smallest details warmed your heart and filled your stomach with butterflies.

Running your fingers carefully over the spines of his books, you studied the titles but could barely register any of them. Your heart stammered against your chest, the idea of being there with him, alone in his apartment, was both exhilarating and terrifying. Despite the nerves, you didn't feel too bad, because you knew he was just as nervous as you. You could almost picture him pacing the kitchen, taking deep breaths and trying to calm his racing mind. And that mere thought had you smiling like a teenager in love.

You liked Spencer—you really liked him. And you didn’t want to mess any of it up. It had been long since you’d last felt anything remotely similar to what you felt for Spencer. Despite the two of you having not yet discussed the details of your relationship, you already considered him your boyfriend, and you desperately wanted to keep him around long enough to find out if he considered himself your boyfriend as well. And tonight was going to be a big step for the both of you.

Suddenly, you felt his hands sliding across your arms, gently encircling you with his own. Your entire body shivered, your skin feeling like it was on fire.

“You’re back,” you muttered, your voice strained with the surge of desire that coursed through you.

“Mhm. Did you miss me?” He hummed and whispered against the shell of your ear, pulling you back against his chest, your soft curves fitting perfectly against him. It was an unexpected move, but not at all unwelcome. His arms trembled slightly over you, as if he was terrified of your reactions, as if his heart was doing cartwheels in his chest—just like yours.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you joked, resting back against him with a smile playing on your lips. His closeness was both intoxicating and calming, and it took every bit of your strength to keep yourself in check. “But I did. Just a little bit, though,” you whispered.

“Just a little bit, huh?” He teased softly, his breath warm against your neck, making a shiver run down your spine with each of his words. “Well, good to know, because I missed you too.” He admitted sweetly, the words going straight to your core. Even though you were both only joking, only teasing each other for fun, the idea of him thinking about you made your skin tingle.

“Just a little bit?” You asked quietly, continuing the back and forth banter as your fingers intertwined with his.

“Mhm, no, I missed you a whole lot,” he muttered, his lips pressing a trail of soft kisses on your shoulder, going all the way up to your neck. Those words alone almost had you undone. You could feel his cheeks burning as he pressed them against your skin, the mere shift in temperature enough to make you wish you could see the shade of pink coloring over them.

“You’re blushing, aren’t you?”

“No…” He lied, his cheeks feeling even warmer against you.

With a swift motion, you turned around to face him, a surge of confidence taking over you. You wanted him, and you knew he wanted you too. His arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, your hands coming to rest on his shoulders. “Liar!” You teased with a giggle, finding the redness on his cheeks absolutely endearing.

“Shut up,” he muttered, looking away with a shy smile as he pulled you closer.

“Look at me, pretty boy,” you tilted his chin with your finger so he was facing you. His eyes timidly met yours, his pupils dilating immediately at the sight. “You’re cute,” you teased, and his blush deepened.

“You’re beautiful,” he muttered, one of his hands sliding up from your waist to cup your cheek, his thumb lightly tracing patterns on your skin.

You tilted your head to the side, completely surrendered to the man before you; a soft, lovesick smile on your lips. When you noticed his eyes flickering down to your mouth, then back to your eyes, you already knew what was coming.

“M-may I kiss you?” He whispered. Even after everything, even after all the times you two made out passionately at your doorstep, he still made sure you gave permission. There was something about the tone in his voice when he asked that, the pleading shine in his eyes that betrayed the true desire in his chest. Everything about him charmed you.

“You really think I'd say no to that?” You smiled, leaning a little closer, your lips just a breath away from his.

He smiled shyly, as if he were unable to contain his own reactions. “Just checking in. I can barely believe you even let me have you like this,” he admitted, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Well, now you know,” you added. “I always want to kiss you.”

He pulled back slowly, his eyes widened with excitement meeting your gaze before he gently brought his lips to yours. The kiss was slow at first, tentative and hesitant. Like you both knew what it was forecasting.

His hands slowly cupped your face, as if he was holding the most precious thing in the world. As the kiss deepened, one of his hands slid to the back of your neck, threading through your hair to pull your mouth closer to his. Meanwhile, his free hand sneaked down your side, resting on your hip to bring you flush against him.

Your tongue slipped past his lips, tangling with his in a dance that grew hotter by the second. You could feel your heartbeat racing pressed against his chest, the rhythm mixing with his own. Your hands went from his neck to his lower back, dragging down his shirt until your fingers reached the hem, sneaking underneath the fabric to meet the warmth of his skin.

He let out a soft gasp into your mouth as your fingers trailed along the skin of his lower back, a shiver running down his spine. You smiled against his lips, enjoying how easily you could elicit reactions from him. Feeling your smile, Spencer tugged you even closer, kissing you even harder.

You turned to putty in his arms. The heat of the moment urged you on, making you slowly back him toward the couch until the back of his knees hit the soft material. Your hands went to his shoulders, gently guiding him down, your lips not leaving each other’s not even for a second. As he sat on the couch, you didn’t waste any time before climbing right on his lap.

His hands immediately met your waist, pulling your body closer until you were sitting directly on top of him. Desire shot up your body like electric shocks when you felt the evidence of his arousal nudging insistently against your clothed core. You pressed down gently, causing a spark of friction that nearly drew both of you insane.

Spencer groaned into your mouth, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours as he caught his breath. “We’ve never been this far,” he muttered, your breaths mingling in the small space between your faces.

“Do you want to stop?” You asked, trailing kisses on his jawline, all the way down to his neck. Your lips attached to the sensitive skin below his ear, unable to resist the need to suck and bite him softly.

“God, no,” he let out in a heartbeat, the earnestness in his voice enough to urge you further. You sucked a little harder on his neck, your tongue soothing the skin right after, making a soft moan escape his lips—the sound going straight to your core. “Damnit, that feels so good,” he muttered, making you smile against his skin.

You continued kissing down his neck to his collarbone, your mouth eager to find new spots that made him gasp. His hands slid down your hips to your backside, gently kneading the soft skin, the motion making you gasp and freeze on his neck for a second. You could feel your underwear grow damper, as well as his pants twitching underneath you.

“I-I’m sorry, should I have not? I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked first…” He muttered as you froze, his hands shaking as they hesitantly left your ass.

“No, no, that’s not it,” you quickly replied, guiding his hands back to where they were. “I liked it, I really did,” you smiled down at him, enjoying the sight of his slightly tousled hair and flushed skin. “You can touch wherever you want,”

“W-wherever I want?” He stammered, barely believing your words. His cheeks turned bright red. “A-are you sure?”

“Wherever you want, baby,” you whispered against his ear, drawing a satisfied sigh from him.

“E-even here?” He asked, the sound of you calling him ‘baby’ going straight to his groin as he gently spread your ass cheeks apart, kneading the flesh. Your head fell to his shoulder, your hips rolling against his as your body grew warmer with pleasure.

“Even there,” you gasped, your hands running down his chest reverently. 

“What about here?” He asked, his hands sneaking up to your ribcage, his thumbs tracing the underside of your breasts. 

“T-there too, baby,” you muttered as his palms slid further up until he was cupping your bosoms. His hands gently squeezed them, thumbs brushing against your hardened nipples over the thin fabric of your shirt and bra.

“I like that,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss your neck as he played with your breasts.

“What, touching me?” You asked, completely focused on the feel of his hands on you, his body pressed underneath yours, and his lips on your skin.

“Well, that too,” he said, squeezing your breasts a little tighter. “But I meant you calling me ‘baby’.”

“Mhm, did you now, baby?” You teased, whispering in his ear.

The soft sound that escaped his lips was almost like a whimper. “Y-yeah, yeah I like that.”

“Good,” you murmured, your tone sultry against the shell of his ear. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you further down on him. Slowly, you began grinding your hips on his, unable to ignore the hardness that pressed against you. You could notice the hitch in his breath as the friction between your bodies took over your minds.

“Is this okay?” You asked as you continued rolling your hips.

“I-It’s more than okay,” he stuttered, his eyes wide as he stared up at you, his grip tightening on your hips as he guided your deliberate movements.

You grinned, leaning in to kiss him again. He complied in a heartbeat, his lips parting to allow your tongue inside.

The heat between you grew exponentially. It was happening, it was really happening. You were grinding down, basically dry humping Spencer Reid as he kissed you like a man starved. It felt like a dream come true.

The desire between you was getting harder to ignore. It was obvious what this was leading to, the tent in his pants and how you rubbed against it were nothing near innocent. But you didn’t want to be the one to take the first step. You didn’t want to seem too eager or to make him feel like you were pushing something on him—but god only knew how badly you needed him.

Then he pulled away, gasping for air, his skin flush.

“I want you,” he admitted. “I want to take you to my bedroom.”

You could tell he was nervous, that admitting this to you was probably one of the hardest things he ever had to say. You smiled, wanting him to know it was okay and he could trust you. You wanted him to know that you wanted him too.

“I’d like that,” you said, kissing his cheek. “I’d like that a lot, actually.”

“Really?” His face brightened, his hand coming to cup your cheek.

“Yes, really,” you smiled. “Only if you’re sure about it, though.” You brought your hand to his face as well, losing yourself in the sight of him asking you this.

“Oh, I’m sure,” he nodded quickly, almost desperately. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

“Really?” You blushed.

He nodded, blushing as well. “Yeah, I've… I've actually been picturing tonight from the very beginning.”

Your entire body shivered. “Me too,” you admitted quietly.

“Really?” He asked, his eyes wide with disbelief and something warmer—desire, admiration, love…?

“Yes, really,” you chuckled softly. “I actually thought it would happen sooner,”

“Oh,” he let out. “Did you want it to have happened sooner?” You could almost feel the insecurity in his tone.

“No, no, that’s not it,” you quickly added. “It’s just… Most guys would’ve tried to do this earlier, you know? But… I’m glad you didn’t,” you smiled softly, reaching up to caress his hair.

He melted into your touch, his face relaxing at your words. “I didn’t want to rush things with you. You mean a lot to me,” he smiled, his eyes wide staring up at you.

“You mean a lot to me too,” you replied, leaning down to kiss him.

His lips met yours softly, the both of you drowning in the sensations. The heat between you was still very present, so it didn’t take long before he was helping you off his lap and guiding you to his bedroom, the kiss not breaking for a second.

He kicked the door shut behind you carefully, gently backing you toward his bed. As the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, he slowly pushed you down onto it, crawling on top of you.

His body hovered above yours as you made out, hands exploring each other’s bodies with reverence. You could tell he wasn’t very used to this, his limbs trembled slightly against you as if he was overthinking his every action.

His knees gently spread your legs apart so he could fit his body between them, which you easily allowed. His hips pressed down against yours, your arms enveloping him and dragging him closer to you. His kisses grew even more heated, lips trailing down your jawline to your neck as he ground down against you. 

The way you gasped, the soft moans that spilled from your throat, everything overwhelmed him in the best way possible. He loved how responsive you were, how you showed him with every breath you let out how badly you needed him, just like he needed you.

His face left the crook of your neck to stare down at you, hands paused by the hem of your shirt. Silently asking for permission, his gaze met yours to find your desires mirrored in each other. No words were needed, his fingers gently tugging your shirt upwards until it was tossed across the room. His own shirt followed soon after.

Your chests pressed together snuggly as Spencer found his way back to your neck, his lips sucking gently on the sensitive skin below your ear. His hands sneaked down your back, fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra.

“Need any help?” You chuckled quietly, not in a mocking tone, but rather raw endearment for his gentle ministrations. 

“Yes, please,” he blushed softly. You reached behind your back undoing your bra with practiced ease. The straps fell loosely off your shoulders, the cups still covering your breasts.

“May I?” Spencer asked, his fingers stilling on the straps. You nodded, helping him as he slid off the garment.

His eyes widened noticeably at the sight of your bare chest as he tossed your bra away. “You’re breathtaking,” he muttered in complete awe of you, his fingers kneading the soft flesh with worshipping care.

Before you could respond, his face bent down to latch on one of your nipples, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as he sucked it into his mouth, a satisfied sigh escaping his throat as he felt it harden between his lips. You let out a low moan, your hands trailing down his back, tracing slow patterns that made his skin tingle.

His free hand played with your other breast, making sure he was lavishing attention to both mounds as he switched between sucking and squeezing each side. He was lost in the taste of you, nursing as if he’d been hungry for you for months.

Your chest rose and fell with your ragged breaths, pleasure overtaking you. His hips didn’t falter their grinding, the evidence of his desire causing a mindblowing friction between you. 

Your hands shyly sneaked down his back, hooking on the waistband of his pants. As your fingers trailed lightly under the fabric of his boxers, he hitched against your chest, letting go of your nipples to look up at you.

“May I take these off?” You asked quietly.

He nodded eagerly, his hands reaching down to help you as he unzipped his pants with a clumsiness that neared desperation. His pants were on the floor in no time, the thin grey fabric of his boxers doing little to conceal the hard line of his arousal.

The sight nearly drove you mad, your hands reaching down to your own pants, hips lifting off the bed to pull it off.

Spencer’s hands met your waistband in no time, helping you remove your pants. Each inch of your bare skin being revealed made his heartbeat rise a little more, the weight of the moment pounding against his chest. He needed you like he never needed anything else before in his life.

You gently pulled him back up, your lips catching his in a searing kiss. Your bare chests pressed together, the warmth of his skin seeping through yours as your kisses deepened. Spencer continued grinding against you, the only barrier left between your sexes being the thin fabric of both of your underwear.

Your sight was blinded by a haze of desire. You wanted him, you needed him to take you, you needed to feel him deep inside you. Not able to contain yourself, you reached down to hook your fingers on the waistband of his boxers—being careful not to overwhelm him, but also not wanting to wait any longer.

He let out a soft gasp into your mouth, pulling back from the kiss to rest his forehead against yours as he caught his breath.

“Sorry, too much?” You whispered, your fingers stilling around his hips.

“No, no, it’s not that, it’s just… I should probably tell you something,” he muttered, a blush creeping up his already flushed neck.

“What is it? You know you can tell me anything,” you murmured softly, your tone sweet and understanding, but laced with a tinge of concern.

“I… I haven’t exactly… I mean, I haven’t really… this is kind of my…” he stammered, struggling to put his thoughts into words, but you understood what he meant immediately.

“...Your first time?” You finished for him. He nodded shyly, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “This is your first time, Spence?” You confirmed, your hands sliding up his back, your touch filled with affection.

“Yes… I’ve never… done this with anyone before. I actually hadn’t done anything with anyone before you,” he admitted quietly.

“Wait, you mean… nothing at all?” You asked, a little bit in disbelief. He nodded, making your heartbeat quicken. “Spencer, was I… was I your first kiss?” You asked, your eyes searching his, your expression unreadable.

“Yes… you were my first kiss, my first… everything,” he whispered. “Do you think I’m pathetic? It’s okay, you can be honest, I’ll understand…”

“No,” you interrupted. “I could never think that.”

His eyes lit up, finally running back up to meet yours. “Really?” He murmured, unsure if he wanted to hear your real answer or a made up lie to avoid hurting his feelings.

“Yes, really. I think you're so sweet, Spence, I could never think anything less of you. And the fact that I was your first kiss, your first… everything, is so special to me. I couldn’t be happier that you let me be the person who showed you this side of life,” you smiled warmly, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. “The only thing I wish had gone differently is that you’d have told me earlier. If I had known, I would’ve been gentler, kinder, more understanding…”

“But you were all of those things,” he muttered, his eyes soft staring down at you. “You were the best person I could think of to do all of this. You’re the first person who’s ever made me feel like this, like… I could take all the love you can give me and still crave more.”

Your gaze softened, your chest warm at his admission. “I’m so glad you trust me. You make me feel that way too,”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss on your lips. It was chaste, but meaningful. When he pulled back, his eyes met yours with renewed desire, but this time, they were filled with something warmer, something more understanding than pure lust. None of you dared to name it then, but that single look you two exchanged was the first seed of love starting to bloom between you.

“I want you,” he muttered.

“I want you too,” you replied.

Your lips crashed together again, hungrier this time. Your tongues tangled in a sensual dance, the fire between you heating up once more as your fingers found their way back to the waistband of his boxers. But this time, he helped you tug them off.

As soon as the garment was tossed across the room, his hands reached down for your panties, fingers hooking on their sides as you lifted your hips to help him slide them off your legs. Once you were both bare, his body settled between your legs, the skin-on-skin contact bringing your connection to a whole new level of intimacy and pleasure.

Your senses were heightened by each brush of his skin on yours, the warmth between your legs growing wetter with each movement. His hands kneaded your skin—the moans that escaped both of your throats filled the room as his fingers worked on finding your sensitive spots while grinding down against you, his bare length sliding between your folds and bringing both of you to the brink of giving into the fire burning between you.

You wanted his first time to be perfect. You wanted to give him the best experience possible, to be there for him all the way—much unlike most people’s first times. You noticed how sloppy and unthought through were his actions, you could tell he was moving on pure instinct and response observation. He seemed acutely aware of each of your actions, each of the sounds you made; following the path that led to them like he was tethered to your gasps and the arching of your back.

“I want to taste you,” he whispered, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Are you sure?” You blinked up at him as he rolled his hips slowly, his erection sliding lazily against your thigh.

“I’m sure,” he nodded. “I’ve read a lot about it online—about all of this, really. I think I have a pretty good idea of how things are supposed to go,” he explained proudly.

“Well, that’s great baby, but practice is very different from theory,” you said softly, caressing the back of his neck.

“Oh trust me, I know. None of this is like anything I expected, but… I want to learn… If you’ll let me…?” He trailed off, his gaze flicking down to your core then back to your eyes.

“Of course I’ll let you,” you smiled. “I’ll guide you through it if you need me to. But please, don’t do anything you don’t want just to please me, okay? I’m here for you, I want tonight to be a good memory,” you said, your tone dropping an octave and becoming more serious.

“I know,” he nodded, nuzzling his nose on your cheek. “Trust me, I want this very much. Maybe even more than you, probably even more than you,” he admitted, making you blush.

“Suit yourself, then,” you smiled, your body already thrumming with the thought of having him between your legs.

Slowly, he began trailing hot, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down your body. He lavished attention to your breasts, ribs, stomach, then finally began moving up your inner thighs. His hands gently scooped them up, placing them over his shoulders as his lips trailed dangerously closer to where you needed them.

His fingers spread your wet folds, revealing the flush, wet skin underneath. His breath hitched, and almost as if worshipping you, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your most sensitive spot.

He hummed against you, enjoying the taste and feel of your intimacy like nothing he’d ever felt. His lips closed around the sensitive bud, sucking it into his mouth as his tongue darted out to taste you. You moaned softly, your hands threading through his hair as your thighs threatened to close around his head. His hands carefully pried your legs apart, holding you open for him to feast on you with abandon. 

You could tell the rational side of him was slowly fading away, like he was giving into the moment without overthinking things he might've read online. He carefully tried to insert his middle finger in you, missing the spot a couple times before he finally managed to slide it in. You smiled, looking down at him.

The sight of him between your legs, hair tousled between your fingers, eyes shut as he lost himself in the act of pleasuring you—all of it drew you closer to the edge. He moved his fingers sloppily, and you let him explore. Something about his eagerness to learn and the way he seemed overwhelmed by his pleasure heightened your own.

Then he slid another finger in you, making a come hither motion until he felt a rougher patch. The way your hips bucked when he rubbed it told him everything he needed to know.

He continued thrusting his fingers, trying to hit that spot every time as his tongue lapped hungrily over your clit, following the direction your hand guided his head to. 

“Fuck, that's it, Spencer… that's it, please don't stop…” You whimpered, your legs trembling on his shoulders as you felt your release building. 

He looked up at you through hooded eyes, your words urging him on. He continued eating you out, groaning against you as he found pleasure in the act of pleasuring you. As if on pure instinct, his hips began thrusting against the bed, grinding his erection on the mattress, seeking some sort of friction to relieve the pleasure he felt. It was all overwhelming to him, he never expected to feel this much pleasure by going down on someone else.

He could feel you clenching down on his fingers, your walls beginning to flutter around him. He moaned, the sound vibrating against your core, heightening the pleasure you felt.

He had to force himself to stop grinding on the mattress, or else he'd be finishing too soon. Determined to bring you over the edge, he kept going, his eyes fixed on you as he ate you out.

“Are you close?” He asked, taking a break to breathe, though his fingers didn't falter.

“Yeah… please don't stop…” You moaned, already bringing his face back down onto you, trying to hold onto the feeling for as long as possible.

He understood what you needed, bending down to continue lapping at you, set on prolonging your release as much as possible. Overtaken by the pleasure, he sped up, trying to get you there faster.

“No, no, Spence, don't speed up!” You begged, your vision blurring with the impending orgasm.

“Sorry, I'm sorry,” he muttered, going back to the former pace until he felt you shaking in his arms.

It was official: Spencer Reid had made someone come.

You moaned his name, legs spasming around his face as he lapped down your release. His fingers gently withdrew from you, his lips kissing your thighs as you came down from your high.

“Did you… did you really just…?” He asked still in disbelief, looking up at you starry eyed.

“Yeah… I did,” you breathed out, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks of your release.

“I… I made you come?” He smiled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he slowly crawled back up your body.

“You sure did,” you grinned, wrapping your arms around him. “Thank you, that was… amazing,” you said, kissing his cheek.

“Was it really? I've never felt anything remotely similar to this in my entire life, it was… beautiful. I've never seen anything more beautiful than you letting go like that,” he admitted, his pupils wide and his lips tugging on a silly, lovesick grin.

“You did a really good job, baby,” you held him close, your body starting to recover from the aftermath.

“Are you sure? What about in the end when I sped up?” He asked, his tone dripping with insecurity but also curiosity to learn.

“Oh, don't worry about it, you're a fast learner,” you giggled softly. “It's just that, when I'm getting closer to release, it means you're doing something really right—so don't change it unless I ask you to,” you explained, your fingers tracing patterns on his back.

“Duly noted,” he smiled. “I'll remember that.”

Then he leaned down to kiss you, his forearms caging around your head as your lips met. You could taste yourself faintly in his mouth, and as his body lowered closer to yours, you felt a droplet of something wet fall on your stomach.

Looking down, you realized what it was, a blush creeping up your cheeks. He followed your gaze, noticing what was happening as well, his face hiding in the crook of your neck. You could see how his length throbbed, standing proudly and dripping on your stomach. 

“Uhm… I'm sorry about that, it's just that I…” he stammered, struggling to find less embarrassing words than ‘I'm so hard for you I could come from a single touch of yours.’

“It's fine,” you reassured him, cupping his cheek. “If you want to, I could return the favor or… or we could try something new…” You whispered.

His entire body shivered at your words, his eyes shutting as he tried to control his body's reactions. “As much as I'd love for you to return the favor, I don't think I can… last much longer if you do,” he blushed. “But trust me, if you let me, I'll hold you to that offer.”

You chuckled softly, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “Your call, baby. We can try whatever you want, whenever you want it,” you added, peppering light kisses down his neck.

A smile creeped up his lips as you kissed him. “I want… you. I want to take you now, if you'll let me,” he swallowed hard, nervousness battling with excitement in his chest.

“I'm all yours, sweetheart,” you murmured against the shell of his ear, making his entire body shiver.

“O-okay, then I should… I should grab a c—uhm, protection, I mean…” He stumbled over his words, quickly standing from the bed and looking through his nightstand’s drawer.

You chuckled softly from the bed, watching him nervously looking for the tiny box and pulling a wrapper from inside. “Got it,” he said, claiming his find with a satisfied smile.

“You know… We could go without it if we wanted to,” your eyes glimmered with mischief.

“A-are you serious?” He stuttered, unsure, but not appalled as he sat back on the edge of the bed.

“I mean… We're both clean, aren't we? And I'm on birth control… But it's up to you,” you blushed as the words left your lips, but you couldn't help yourself.

“Y-you’d let me? For real?” He blinked, still in disbelief.

“Yeah,” you smiled.”Would you like that?”

“Yes,” he nodded eagerly, not missing a second. He tossed the condom back in the drawer and climbed back on the bed, his body caging yours against the mattress. “Are you completely sure, though?” He asked again, his body trembling with excitement, his hands running up and down your sides.

“I'm sure, baby,” you smiled, leaning in to kiss him. 

He kissed you fiercely, his tongue delving deep into your mouth as his lips moved hungrily against yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling his hips down against yours.

You moaned at the feeling of his hardness pressing down on you, your hips bucking up to meet his. The movement from your hips elicited a guttural groan from him, his length grinding desperately between your glistening folds.

“I think… I think I'm ready,” he muttered, your breaths mingling as he pulled back from the kiss.

“Do you need help, baby? I can take over,” you suggested, noticing how nervous he was.

“No, no, that's fine I… I wanna try. But I'm glad to know you're willing,” he smiled, his hand moving down to grip his base.

“Of course,” you smiled back, your eyes rolling back as he rubbed the tip of his erection across your slit. 

“Fuck, that feels so good,” he shivered, letting out a curse.

You chuckled softly. “Language,” you teased.

“Sorry,” his cheeks turned pink as he began trying to nudge himself inside you.

You let him explore a little, noticing he was trying to fit it in, but struggled. You wanted to let him try, to let him have the feeling that he had some sort of control over this situation, so you didn't interfere.

“Shit, sorry, I'm just… it's just slippery…” He mumbled more to himself as he continued pushing, unsure whether he should use more of his hand or his hips. 

“It's okay, baby, may I help?” You asked softly, not wanting to embarrass him.

“Yes, please,” he blushed, letting his hand fall to the side.

You reached between you bodies, grabbing him and positioning him right at your entrance, nudging the tip in slightly.

“There you go,” you muttered. “Now you just thrust forward,” you explained. “It might slip again, but it's normal, okay?” You told him softly.

“Yeah, okay, thanks,” he nodded, overwhelmed by the sensation of your grip on his tip. “Are you ready?”

You nodded, letting him know it was time. He leaned back down, slowly easing himself inside you with a roll of his hips, until he was entirely sheathed within your heat.

He let his forehead rest against yours, your ragged breaths mingling together as the two of you adjusted to the sensation.

“How do you feel?” You asked quietly, looking up at him.

“So… so good…” He muttered, his hips shifting slightly. “It's so tight and… warm… I love it,” he admitted, slowly beginning to move.

You watched his face closely, admiring how his features changed with each of his thrusts, betraying the pleasure he felt. His rhythm was messy, his legs struggling to find the right ways to support his body as his hips surged forward again and again. 

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his arms supporting his body above yours as he continued moving. He groaned against your ear, the sounds mixed with low moans and soft whimpers as he made love to you.

“Am I doing this right? Does this feel good to you?” He mumbled, trying to angle his moves but accidentally slipping out, quickly sliding in again. “Sorry about that,” he whispered, one of his hands coming up to fondle your breasts. 

“It feels so good, baby, don't worry…” you moaned softly, your legs wrapping around his back to bring him closer. “Keep going, just like that, fuck… You're doing so good…” 

Your words urged him on, his hips moving faster against you. You gasped, the feeling of having him inside you almost too much. You loved watching him learn, how his uneven thrusts slowly became a little less messy, how he whispered ‘sorry’ whenever he accidentally slipped out… Everything about it endeared you.

You'd never had sex like this. So messy, and yet it was perfect. You felt the emotion with every thrust, every moan, every sloppy kiss he left on your neck. 

You noticed how his thrusts became even sloppier, how his grunts grew deeper and how his body tensed.

“Baby, I'm… fuck…” He groaned, his hips faltering for a moment before they continued thrusting forward. “...I'm close. Like, very close.”

“That’s it… Don't stop, keep going…” You whispered, your hands caressing his back as you leaned in to kiss his neck. “You can let go, let yourself feel good,” you whispered to him.

No further words were needed. With a deep, guttural groan, he pushed himself as deeply as he possibly could inside you, letting the pleasure take over him as he filled you up with his release.

“Spencer!” You moaned aloud, wrapping yourself around him as your second orgasm rippled through you. Your legs trembled around his waist, his body crashing down on top of you.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I didn't pull out, I made a mess…” he mumbled against the skin of your neck.

“No, no, baby, it's okay… I don't mind it in the slightest,” you muttered to him, your hand caressing his back. “How do you feel?”

“Amazing. Beyond words can express,” he replied, rolling off you so he was on his back next to you. You turned to face him, laying on your side.

“I'm so happy to have been your first,” you whisper, snuggling against his side.

“Me too… You were perfect, absolutely… Wow…” he gasped, catching his breath as he wrapped his arm around your waist to keep you close. “Hey, did you…?” He asked, frowning slightly as he looked down at you, still soft with the aftermath.

“What? Finish?”

He nodded, a blush creeping up his cheeks. You hummed in agreement, nodding eagerly with a smile.

“Really?” He asked again, his eyes widening slightly at your response. “Again?”

“Yeah, again,” you blushed.

“Oh my—you’re amazing,” he muttered, wrapping his arms tightly around you and leaning down to kiss your forehead.

You giggled softly, burying your face on his chest. “We should probably get cleaned up,” you said, feeling his release coating your inner thighs.

“Right—yes, sorry, aftercare,” He said, quickly hopping off the bed to grab a warm washcloth in the bathroom. 

He came back, sitting at the edge of the bed as he cleaned you up reverently. You watched in complete awe of him, enchanted by the earnest care he poured in his every touch.

“There you go,” he whispered, tossing the washcloth as he climbed back on the bed to cuddle you. 

“Thank you,” you said, letting yourself be enveloped by his arms.

“That was the bare minimum,” he muttered against your hair, breathing in your scent. “You know, we should do this again sometime,” he let out quietly.

You chuckled softly, the sound vibrating in your chests that were pressed together. “Of course we're doing it again, that's what boyfriends do to their—” you stopped yourself after realizing what you'd said.

“Wait, wait. What did you call me?” He froze, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“B-boyfriend…?” You hesitated, unsure about how he'd take it.

“So I'm really your boyfriend?” His smile widened.

“Well, I know we haven't talked directly about this before, but I've kinda been thinking about it, and—”

“Of course I'm your boyfriend! Oh thank god, I was starting to worry I was reading into things…” He sighed, relieved.

“Really? Oh good, I was so afraid too, you were being so careful with everything,” you sighed as well.

“You had nothing to be afraid of, did you really think I'd ask to have sex with you if I wasn't in love?” He let out as if it were obvious, barely realizing what he'd just said before you interrupted:

“You're in love with me?”

“Oh my—I mean, well, it's not that I'm…” He stammered, unable to cover up his slipup.

“Spencer, shut up,” you said, silencing him with a searing kiss. Startled, he kissed you back, his hands finding the back of your neck to pull you closer. “I'm in love with you too,” you whispered as you broke the kiss. 

The silly smile that spread across his face almost had you undone again. “Should I take that as a yes?” He murmured.

“A yes to what?”

“A yes to us doing this again?” He nudged you playfully.

You let out a warm chuckle, “Yes, Spencer. We're definitely doing this again.”

“Yes!” He celebrated, pulling you in even closer as he buried his face in your hair, your bare bodies tangled together impossibly under the covers. “I love being in love with you,” he whispered softly.

“I love being in love with you too,” you whispered back.

author's note 2: thank you for reading this all the way!! let me know what you think of this, and tell me if you'd like a part 2!! i may have ideas 👀

find me on other socials!

twitter: @/mrsholmesreid

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insta: @/mrsholmesreid (inactive but can be used for dms)

p.s.: i take requests, dm me!!

[yoyomomiko]

I love your writing so much aaaa (⁠ﾉﾟ⁠0ﾟ⁠)⁠ﾉ

I need the monster trio's reaction to reader calling them "husband", could be an accident or intentional I just need it pls!!!! ( T﹏T )

pairings: monster trio x female reader

cw: reader is referred to as "wife", mention of suffocating/drowning in sanji's part, not proofread, probably contains grammar mistakes, english isn't my first language!!

wc: 1.3k+

— (a/n): tysm!! <33 i like writing for one piece characters so I love it when I get more requests for them >.< also, so sorry if this feels boring or short!! :(( -> m.list

— LUFFY

Luffy loves it when you introduce him to new people, but he's usually too distracted to pay attention. Until you call him your husband.

The moment the word leaves your mouth, his face lights up.

He repeats it INSTANTLY, grinning ear to ear. "Husband? That's me, right? You mean me?"

If you try to play it off and say it was a mistake, he ignores your protests and laughs. If he likes it, he likes it. And you're gonna keep calling him that, no matter what!!

He immediately starts calling you "wife" in return, but in the most casual way, like it's completely normal.

He doesn't fully understand what marriage means in a traditional sense, but to him, being your husband means you're his person.

If the crew hears about it, they all would have different reactions. Zoro snorts, Nami fights the urge to roll her eyes, and Sanji almost faints in disbelief.

Luffy, however, is completely unbothered.

If you tell him later that you only said it as a slip up, he just smiles and says "But you could mean it, right?"

He doesn't let it go. He starts using it as an excuse to do things for you. "Husbands have to share their food."

*Cue him stealing from your plate instead*

He loves how you blush when he casually refers to himself as your husband mid conversation.

If you ever genuinely called him that again, he'd get the biggest grin ever and he won't stop talking about it for hours.

He doesn't care about official ceremonies or rings. If you called him your husband once, that's enough for him.

——— ☆

You were introducing the crew to a kind old shopkeeper on an island, someone who had been chatting with you warmly for the past few minutes.

"Oh, and this is my husband, Luffy." You added casually, not even realizing it until the words were already out. You meant captain, not husband. At least that's what you wanted to believe.

Luffy blinked, tilting his head to the side, before a wide grin formed on his lips. "Yeah, that's me, I'm her husband!"

Wait, what? You froze, stiffened, locked in place. Did he seriously just agree?

The shopkeeper chuckled, a warm smile glued to their lips. "Well, aren't you two adorable? How long have you been married for?"

You opened your mouth to correct them, but Luffy beat you to it. "Long enough!" He answered confidently, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

You looked at him, eyes wide, stunned. He just grinned at you, completely unbothered. You sighed, deciding to let it go. For now.

— ZORO

Zoro is not the type to get flustered easily, but calling him your husband? Yeah, that'll do it.

He'd be calm on the outside, but on the inside, he's replaying that moment over and over again.

If you called him that in front of strangers, like introducing him as your husband to avoid weirdos, he'd immediately go along with it.

He doesn't see the need to correct you. If you called him that, then fine. That's what he is now.

If someone asked when you got married, he'll just say "None of your business." and move on.

He secretly enjoys watching you get flustered after realizing what you said, trying to cover it up and say it was just a small mistake.

"Didn't know you were that eager to make it official."

If Sanji overheard, it would be war. "YOU?! HOW DARE YOU–" "Shut up, cook. She said it herself."

He says "cook" as if it's a slur.

If you apologized later for the slip up, he would just simply shrug, saying that it's just some words, but the slight redness on his ears would say otherwise.

He wouldn't bring it up much, but if someone else called him your boyfriend or anything else, he'd correct them. "Husband." No explanation.

Zoro starts to lowkey like the title, but he would NEVER admit it.

He doesn't joke about things like this. If you seriously wanted to be with him in that way, he'd take it 100% seriously.

If you actually bring up the idea of marriage later, he's going to instantly agree.

He starts calling you "wife" just to mess with you!!

——— ☆

You were traveling through a town when an unfamiliar man started hitting on you. He was persistent, and you were quickly running out of patience.

Then, without thinking, you gestured toward Zoro. "Sorry, I'm here with my husband." You sighed as the man's gaze followed the direction you were pointing at.

You immediately regretted it. Zoro turned his head slightly, raising an eyebrow. The man scowled but backed off, muttering an apology before walking away.

You exhaled in relief, until you felt Zoro's gaze on you.

"Husband, huh?" He muttered, amused.

Your face burned, heart beat quickening. "I just said that to get rid of him."

The corners of Zoro's lips tugged upwards, forming a smirk. "Didn't mind it." He kept walking like nothing happened, leaving you flustered.

— SANJI

Sanji freezes completely the second you call him your husband.

For a split second, he actually imagined it. Being your husband. Starting a family. Then his brain shut down.

If you were introducing him to someone that way, he'd try to act normal, but would fail miserably. "Y-Yes, that's right, I'm her– her– her husband, yes–"

His heart would be racing.

If you called him that to avoid someone flirting with you, he'd immediately play along, but also fall deeply in love with you all over again.

If you told him later it was just a slip up, a small and meaningless mistake, he would dramatically explain the feelings he had in that very second. "For a moment, I lived in paradise."

He would start calling you "my wife" at every opportunity. "Oh, my darling wife, allow me to–" "Sanji, stop."

If someone else flirted with you after that, he's quick to place himself in the middle of you and the other person. "I'm her husband, thanks."

I swear bro this man is SO sassy.

Sanji would start daydreaming about an actual wedding. He also gets more protective than usual, standing a little closer, guiding you with a hand on your back.

If you genuinely meant it, he'd be the happiest man alive.

He swears to be the best husband in the world, treat you amazingly, kiss the ground you walk on.

Sanji will never, ever forget the moment you called him that. The moment you called him your husband. Those words remain imprinted in his mind, locked in a special place.

——— ☆

You were in a crowded restaurant, and the waiter was getting a little bit too flirty for your liking. So, without thinking, you immediately decided to shut him down, but not directly. "My husband will have the same order as me."

Sanji knocked over his glass of water, almost choking as he coughed severely. You turned to see him frozen, eyes wide, face completely red. You groaned, pinching your nose bridge. Here we go...

"Say it again, love." Sanji literally sparkled, practically glowing. His eyes held a childish shine, which you couldn't help but describe as adorable.

You sighed. "It was just–"

"Say it again."

You buried your face in your hands, already feeling your heart beat increasing. Gosh, why did he have to be so handsome?

"Sanji, stop." You mumbled, resting your chin in your palm, elbow propped up on the table.

"My darling wife, please–"

"Sanji I swear that if you don't stop this, I will hold you down underwater and watch you suffocate."

"I wouldn't mind that one bit. Dying by your hands is an honor, sweetheart." He winked, smiling as he leaned in closer, giving you a soft kiss on the lips.

He drove you insane. But in the best way possible.

★yoyomiko ★miko

[monowires]

okay i doubt anyone will care about this nonsense rattling around in my skull, but i have a gale opinion to deliver.

i’ve seen a couple takes about gale mentioning mystra during the outer planes scene - “with you i forget my goddess” - that say it feels crude or odd of him to mention her in such a personal, intimate moment. i am one of the veritable few (or perhaps many, if i have simply not seen this opinion elsewhere) who felt quite touched by that line.

mystra has basically been involved in gale’s entire life. even before they were lovers she was his teacher and, of course, the goddess of the Weave. after his falling out with her he spent an entire year alone - due to the orb, yes, but it is very obvious that being cast out by mystra also had an immense effect on gale’s mental health during that time. i mean, it doesn’t take long at all after meeting him for him to open up about it at least vaguely; it’s been on his mind for a year, and he has had no one (except for tara) to talk to about it.

it’s also very easy to infer that he’s terrified of being cast out again, although he views it in such a way that he wouldn’t blame you if you did - because he still thinks he needs to earn mystra’s forgiveness. he still feels like he is the only problem. when he tells you about the orb, he immediately starts talking about how he wouldn’t blame you at all if you wanted to get rid of him, and even when you’ve romanced him he talks about being undeserving of your love and that he’s going to do everything he can to make it so that he is. he very clearly doesn’t think of himself as a worthy partner, and you cannot tell me that’s not because of mystra.

so no, i don’t think it’s weird or crude for him to mention mystra in such a personal moment. because what he’s saying there isn’t “you distract me from mystra”, he’s saying that the relationship makes him forget all of the self-doubt and insecurities that mystra sowed in him. it makes him feel like he may actually be worthy of love. it makes him feel like he’s more than just his mistakes.

anyway this probably didn’t make ANY sense but it was bouncing around in my skull like the dvd screensavers.

[cheyisagirlkisser]

Your writing is mwah 💕 if you ever want, can you do a spoiled bratty femme who's possessive (for example: gripping abby's chin, leaving kiss marks, hickeys, sitting on abby's lap etc), mouthy, playful x possessive!dom!abby too? it starts sfw (with a light 'fight/argument' between them being both jealous and then turn into nsfw? ilyyyy 🫶🏼✨

also abby is too fuckin hot to handle ah...i need her carnally

content: 18+ content, possessive bratty reader/possessive dom abby (toxic duo), fem reader, hickies, nail scratches, and lipstick stains left on each other, mentions of possessive behavior at parties and during sex, reader likes to stalk abby's socials, ellie cameo (she is a friend of reader who abby is jealous of), argument and insults leading to rough sex, grinding, manhandling, clit stim & fingering (r! receiving), groping (tits and ass), strap-on sex, petnames (princess, 'abs')

word count: 2.7k

You don’t enjoy getting jealous, but it can’t be helped at times. Especially not the times when you are harmlessly stalking Instagram comments left on Abby's posts and see girls flirting with her in them. Not that she’d ever entertain it, of course. It's the fact that the comments are there is what gets you irrationally mad. You wonder if she has read them. You wish she would just take them down instead of leaving them up for your own humiliation, for others to see the way cherryvalentine_90 spams filthy things under your girlfriend's gym pictures.

Simply sitting on your couch, adorned in baggy pajamas and humble mismatched underwear, you spend your time sabotaging by taking deep dives through Abby's instagram. You eventually reach the bottom of her page, but not before you end up bitter. Reruns of an old tv show are only existing in the background now, leaving a tense feeling throughout the room that poor Abby is unaware of in her own house, probably thinking sweet thoughts of her pretty girl. 

You nearly drop your phone when Abby randomly calls you. Your brain goes through a small, impulsive thought process. You hit the red circle, and go back to doom scrolling. Your instagram reels are all shitty regurgitated tiktoks and you’ve never even cared to watch them before, but you’re hardly paying attention now anyways. You know Abby is going to worry. She will call again and text until she inevitably knocks on the door, and then the familiar cycle will pan out.

You don’t mean to be jealous. 

It’s rare in the past that you cared this much about trivial matters involving your partner. With Abby though? Things are entirely different. You feel the need to always kiss and love on her when you’re in public and other girls are staring, like at a party last week when she had her hands spread out around your waist the entire time as you sat on her lap to keep other girls from even looking at her. The constant need to remind her that she is yours lives within you, and it isn't a subtle one, either. But is it really so bad to cover your girlfriend's lovely tits in a hickey or two? Is it really the worst if you stalk her instagram, and often find yourself cupping her face while you look so intensely at her pouty lips, smashing yours onto them to imprint your own name into them through kisses?

Abby isn't a saint, either. Often will you feel her lips ghost over your neck, leaving dark purple marks and whispering to allege that you’re hers and nobody else’s. Reminding you that not another soul gets to touch you or fuck you, and not a single person in this party will be leaving with you but her. At the same time, Abby loves to make fun of you for getting jealous while she feels the same bouts of possessiveness. The only difference is, she is subtle and quiet about it. You don’t hesitate to make a scene over another girl even glancing Abby’s way.

You can’t be too surprised by the terse knock on your front door. You stand up, heading to the door with attitude-filled defenses prepared. 

You open the door to an Abby with her arms crossed, in a tank top that makes you want to pull her in and forget all about the grievances (of absolutely nothing), but you are unfortunately too much of a brat for that. 

“What did I do this time?” Abby asks, already sounding utterly exasperated. 

“Nothing you did, of course. I just don’t appreciate it when you don’t delete the countless comments other women leave on your posts. You must like the attention.” You state in a fake nonchalant tone, though you’re far from anything calm. Abby knows this, too.

Abby scoffs at you, but almost seems amused at your reasoning for acting out. “Seriously? You know I don’t check my comments like you do, babe. I don’t even entertain that shit, and neither should you.” 

“Oh, but when my friend Ellie commented on my post, you told me to delete it.” You argue back. 

“That was because I felt like Ellie was into you!” Abby retorts, getting more defensive now. She walks right past you and into your home, sighing. “You always get way too in your head, babe. I’ll delete the comments if they make you that upset, but I’m not putting up with the attitude.” 

You feel a little childish now, standing in front of her after a major meltdown. Still, you can’t help but push. “Yeah, well Ellie would have deleted them months ago.” 

Abby’s intentions quickly change from “we can work this out” to crazy, possessive thoughts of just fucking the name Ellie out of your system. She wants to make you forget Ellie even exists. So, she does what she probably shouldn’t do on impulse. She steps forward, entering into your space. 

“You really think Ellie is better than me?” She asks, voice low and almost dangerous. When you don’t reply, suddenly obedient, she instead finds it disrespectful. Abby leans in closer, lips nearly brushing against yours. The tension heightens by multiple levels. “If you really want Ellie so much, be my guest. But don’t come crawling back the next day begging me to fuck you when she can’t get you off. If you want me, I’ll fuck you right there on your couch, no bratty attention needed.” 

Her words send a wave of butterflies through your lower stomach and make your cheeks hot with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal. You still can’t find your voice, tongue-tied by how quickly she shut you down. Words aren’t needed, anyway. In only seconds, your lips are on hers, your arms are wrapping around the back of her neck to allow for you to mold your body against hers. She kisses you back with equal intensity, a kiss that isn’t as sweet and tender as the previous, but instead a result of two very jealous people. 

Her hands slide down to cup your ass through your pajamas, earning herself a soft, desperate whine that she can swallow from your lips. Her tongue flicks at yours before just opting to suck on it, loving how you react to every little thing she does. 

Kisses grow more and more frenzied until Abby has enough of the touchy-feely. Her hands find your legs, hitching them up to wrap around her waist, and pick you up. You let out a surprised squeak, but don’t complain, and certainly don’t break the kiss. You crash down onto the couch in a heap, entangled, with hands roaming all over each other’s bodies. 

You are both possessive and desperate. Abby’s hands massage your hips and trail up to grope your tits through the thin fabric of your tank top, her lips nibbling on your bottom one. Your pink acrylic nails are digging into her back, scratching it up so that anyone who sees it knows she belongs to you. 

“Fuckin’ brat,” Abby says against your lips before attacking your neck. You moan, tilting your head back for more and tugging at her blonde braid, nearly yanking it when she sinks her teeth into your soft skin. She groans, leaning up above you to grab your wrists and pin them to your sides. She looks down at you with red, freckled cheeks. “Tell me what you need, princess.” 

You try to buck your hips to show her, but she tuts, firmly pressing her hips down to keep you from moving. “With words, princess. Tell me what you want, or I’ll just bend you over my knee and have my way with your ass before I fuck you.” 

You swallow at the threat. Part of you wants it, but another is too impatient. “I want you to fuck me right now.” You don’t plead your words nor grow shy on her yet, but you typically never do. No, with Abby you grow incoherent for different reasons. The dumber you grow dumber the more the evokes desperation within you, not shyer. 

Abby smiles, a hint of pride within the expression. She flips you onto her lap, your legs on each side of her waist. You don’t hesitate to grind on her lap, trying to feel friction. Along with that, you suddenly feel something in her pants. You pause, and she scoffs playfully. “What? I know you, baby. I knew how this little visit was gonna end.” She simply says, guiding your hips to move against it, making you breathless. 

“W-Well, I wasn’t exactly thinking about that.” You reply back defensively, leaning down to bury your face in her neck. You purposely suck hickies all over the expanse of skin until she pries your mouth off of her like a kitten being held up by its scruff, dragging your face to hers. 

Abby kisses you to distract you from her hand dipping into the waistband of your pajama pants. When you suddenly feel two fingers teasing your clit through your panties, you jolt and let out a shaky moan into her mouth. Abby teases, rubbing circles over the slightly swollen bud. When she trails her fingers down just an inch, all she can feel is wetness. Your panties stick to your pussy, and Abby can only imagine the lewd imprint of your folds against the fabric. 

She pulls away from your lips, but not too far. “You want me to fuck you? Wanna ride my fingers, get yourself ready to be split open?” You eagerly nod against her forehead, but she only cups your pussy. “Words, princess. Say you want me to fuck you.” 

“I want you to fuck me, abs. Please.” You plead the words, hips moving against her hand to find friction. Abby is too impatient to tease you any longer, yanking your pajamas down along with your panties and sliding her fingers through your folds. You wantonly moan, stabilizing yourself by placing your palms flat on her chest so you can grind your clit against her fingers. 

Soon, you feel two fingers dip into your pussy, opening your hole up and prepping it for her cock with scissoring motions. You just helplessly take it, letting out short pants as she fucks you open. You could cum so quickly with just this, and she isn’t even trying to feel for your g-spot. 

“Who does this pussy belong to?” She asks demandingly. You gasp when she reaches down to give your clit a soft tug, rolling it between her fingers and relishing in the way you try to squirm away as if it’s too much. 

“It belongs, fuck!, it belongs to you, Abby. I’m so wet for you, abs..” You assure her, shamelessly desperate. Abby seems pleased by this answer, letting her fingers grow soaked with your juices that drip down her wrist until she flips you onto your back, making haste with unzipping her pants and taking out her cock, grasping it in her hand. You make a confused sound, reeling with her manhandling. 

“Belongs to me. Not Ellie, not some random bitch from a party, no. Just me.” She affirms this statement by letting the tip of the strap catch on your clit, pressing it upward teasingly. But her voice isn’t teasing–rather a dark, possessive tone she only uses when you have her riled up. 

Abby’s jealousy runs just as deeply as yours does, if not more. The only difference is time management. The when. When Abby isn’t in the most dominant mood and the both of you are simply making out, she will happily let you smother her skin in your lipstick stains, knowing you’re going through some possessive fit over her. She isn’t intending to go sing your name in the streets covered in red lipstick stains, but she doesn’t complain when you post pictures of the incident on your story for other people to understand that Abby is yours. 

Abby, however, doesn’t need to post the way your pussy wraps around the girth of her strap. She doesn’t tend to be as publicly explicit. But, when you rile her up, you receive what you ask for. You cannot count on your fingers the times that Abby has had you crying with the raw feeling of overstimulation because you pushed her so far with the bratty act, neither can you recall the instances of being denied orgasm after orgasm for even mentioning another woman’s name. 

So, you can’t be surprised when Abby’s girthy strap abruptly finds its way into your pussy, stretching you out, forcing more in inch by beautiful inch. You can’t be surprised by the way she forces your legs around her hips, that way she can feel connected and entangled to every inch of you. She wants you to feel her from the tips of your toes to the hairs on your head. 

Abby’s hips draw back, leaving just the artificial tip in you. Then she slams forward, burying herself to the hilt inside you. You cry out, but to no avail. 

“Bet Ellie wouldn’t fuck you like this. She couldn’t even make you cum once.” She spits, and the bitter tones in her words make your pussy wetter, easier for her to slide in and out of. She finds your clit with her fingers, harshly rubbing it but with a level of skill that leaves you already unable to take it despite not even cumming yet.

“S-So much, fuck!” You cry when you can feel her stroke your cushy insides, just where your sweet, vulnerable spot lay hidden. Her hands rest on both sides of your head, holding herself up. She starts fucking you at a relentless pace, slamming back and then into you to make your that gooey spot deep within you feel it. Nobody else gets to have you like this, and nobody gets fucked by Abby like you get to be.

“Ellie couldn’t handle you, not with the way you’re clenching around me.” Abby laughs, and she swears she can see the outline of her dick in your lower stomach when she glances down. She is in a trance watching the satisfying way the unnaturally colored dick simply gets swallowed up by your pussy. You have to glance down to see what all the fuss is about. 

Abby looks back up, leaning down to leave kisses on your collarbone. “None of those girls on instagram get fucked like this. Only mine.” 

"Abby, please. Need to cum for you, please..” You mumble in her ear, scratching up her back with your nails just to hear her breath hitch for you. Your words grow more incoherent, and you can only hope that she can understand you and give you what you're craving.

“Cum for me, princess. I wanna feel you make a mess on this couch.” Abby tells you, picking up the pace with her strokes. It only takes Abby’s possessive remarks of “mine” muttered repeatedly in your ear to get you to the finish line. You cum around the toy, walls pulsing rhythmically. 

“Fuckkk,” Abby curses when your orgasm triggers her down, and you can feel her cum dripping onto your own pussy through the harness. She buries herself as deeply inside of you as she can, and you just feel her grind into you, trying to feel more and more sensations on her clit. Abby rides out the orgasm until you feel her come back down to Earth, breathless and sweaty. Your legs squeeze around her hips, and she soon lays on top of you like a weighted blanket. 

The silence that follows the intense sex is peaceful, Abby’s weight comforting, and your hands roaming over her biceps and back in a soothing manner calming her down back to Earth. Both of you simply bask in the aftermath of the chaos, and now the old-timey show in the background is rather comforting, not as tense. 

“Next time I do something stupid that you don’t like, just tell me please.” Abby mumbles in your ear, tone softer than previously. 

“I’m sorry for freaking out, I promise.” You say, kissing her cheek. 

Abby shakes her head, nuzzling into your neck. “I don’t mind your brattiness. Just tell me forreal, though. Don’t ignore my calls.” 

You nod, squeezing her tightly. Don’t ignore calls, got it. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have an attitude over said phone call..

[bytemee]

mean!sorority!karina x loser!gp!reader headcannons? 🙂‍↕️

WORST BEHAVIOR — yu jimin headcannons.

read the one shot here!

pairings. mean!sorority!karina x loser!gp!reader

warning(s). pet names (karina calling u puppy), jealous & possessive!karina, let me know if there’s more

words. 802

authors note. this is the first time i EVER did headcannons… got too lazy to add nsfw ones though 😞

navigation. main masterlist.

mean!sorority!karina who calls you ‘puppy’ more than your actual name because, in her eyes, that’s exactly what you are—her pathetic, obedient little lapdog.

mean!sorority!karina who keeps you on a short leash. you’re not allowed to talk to certain people, go to certain parties without her knowing, or—god forbid—ignore her texts. if you take too long to respond, she’ll send a follow-up: “puppy? don’t make me come find you.”

mean!sorority!karina who loves making you flustered. she’ll drag her fingers along your jaw, trace her nails down your arms, lean in as if she’s going to kiss you—only to pull away at the last second and laugh.

mean!sorority!karina who got possessive without realizing it. she still made fun of you relentlessly, but the moment someone else tried? her tone turned cold. “i didn’t say you could talk to them.”

mean!sorority!karina who bullies you in public, but gets territorial in private. if someone else messes with you? suddenly, she’s not amused.

mean!sorority!karina who hated how much she noticed you. the way your ears turned red when she got too close. how you always showed up when she needed you, no matter how ridiculous her request was.

mean!sorority!karina who would never admit she liked you first. instead, she’d just scoff, roll her eyes, and mutter, “ugh. why do you have to be so pathetic?” as if it was your fault she was falling.

mean!sorority!karina who is the most demanding, impatient person ever. she wants kisses when she wants them, and nothing is going to stop her from getting what she wants—not even you.

mean!sorority!karina who tries to hide it, but her heart melts when you do cute things. when you offer her the last cookie, or tell her she looks nice in a dress, or hold the door open for her.

mean!sorority!karina who doesn’t know how to express her feelings properly. so, when she says, “you’re so annoying,” or, “you’re lucky i tolerate you,” or, “it’s not that i like you or anything,”—you know it really means, “i love you.”

mean!sorority!karina who acts like she’s doing you a favor by letting you be around her. “you should be grateful, puppy. not everyone gets to be my personal lapdog.” but the truth is, she’d probably go insane if you ever actually left.

mean!sorority!karina who gets jealous so easily, it’s ridiculous. she’ll roll her eyes and act uninterested, but if she catches you laughing a little too hard at someone else’s joke? she’s suddenly in your space, hands on your collar, whispering, “what’s so funny? care to share with the class?”

mean!sorority!karina who uses her nails to tease you constantly. she loves the way you freeze up when she drags them down your arm or across the back of your neck. and she always does it when she knows you can’t react—like in public or in front of her friends.

mean!sorority!karina who finds excuses to touch you, even when she doesn’t have to. adjusting your hoodie strings, fixing your hair, pulling you close by your belt loop just to whisper something unnecessary. she’s addicted to how easily she can fluster you.

mean!sorority!karina who says she doesn’t do relationships, but somehow, you’re different. she doesn’t know when it happened, but suddenly, she’s only interested in you. and when someone asks if you two are a thing, she just scoffs and says, “she’s just my pup. i keep her around.”

mean!sorority!karina who would act like she doesn’t care, but if you ever tried to leave? if you ever pulled away from her, even slightly—suddenly, she’s not so nonchalant anymore.

mean!sorority!karina who will corner you at a party, arms crossed, voice deceptively calm. “what’s this i hear about you ignoring me, puppy?” and if you try to play dumb, her lips curve into a smirk that doesn’t reach her eyes. “don’t test me.”

mean!sorority!karina who will scoff, roll her eyes, and mutter, “fine. go.” if you ever seriously consider walking away. but the second you actually turn your back, she’s grabbing your wrist, yanking you close, and whispering, “you think you can just leave me?”

mean!sorority!karina who won’t beg, won’t admit she’s scared, but if you ever really push her—if you tell her you’re done, that she can’t keep stringing you along—her mask finally cracks. her voice will drop as she mutters, “you don’t get it, do you? you’re mine, puppy.”

mean!sorority!karina who is terrified you’ll realize that somewhere along the way, she became yours, too.

[leidensygdom]

Okay, we all know about the usual warlock-patron dynamics. Creature with god-like powers tries to do their bidding or further their plans through a mortal, who is often going to be troubled by the pact. But, I'm here to propose some alternatives, specially for warlock deals that aren't inherently very harmful to the warlock themself:

This one is pretty typical, but the patron is a family member. If sorcerers can get cool powers from having a dragon grandpa, your fire genasi can have an auntie who is a big fire elemental who is trying VERY hard to connect with her family now, so she gives her nephew an allowance in the form of a Genie Pact

Your patron is undead (and your pact is Undying), but this person is not some power-hungry lich. This is someone you knew in life: A friend, or perhaps a partner. You had fought for a common cause, and they met their death trying to see the end of it, but they refused to leave you alone. Now, within you, their stubbornness has kept them from moving on, and they lend their newfound powers to help you in your common cause.

It's an eldritch entity, a creature beyond your comprehension. Your pact is that of a Great Old One. However, this creature doesn't quite have very concise plans to bring the end of the world- You're actually pretty sure it isn't even from your world. As time goes on, and as you realize their whims seem erratic, you realize that this thing you get powers from is... Probably the cosmic equivalent of a child. Maybe it's still cocooning in the depths of a distant dying planet. And it's incredibly bored. Someday, maybe, they'll terrorize the universe, but right now, they just really want you to be their eyes on another world. Call it enrichment.

Okay, this one is a fiend. Unequivocally so. But truthfully, they couldn't care less about your world, and you're not particularly concerned about what is going down in theirs. They kinda need few things done in your plane, few resources gathered, some people talked to, and between the lines, you realize that your newfound... ally is actually trying to oppose their boss or whatever. This one is a deeply legal-minded fiend, as far as you know: The hellish equivalent to a bureaucrat, after really digging around. Your party is convinced they will turn on you sometime, but eventually you realize you're just helping something that, for a lack of a better word, has to be an infernal-equivalent of an union effort.

That sword you picked was definitely cursed, and the voice within it has been calling to you. Eventually, you lend them your ear, and now you have an Hexblade pact. But this creature isn't bloodthirsty, nor talking to you about soaking their blade with your foes' guts. Truthfully, they hate being a sword. Trapped there as part of a vengeance, perhaps, this thing longs for freedom. And it has been used for evil in the past- Maybe the overabundance of skull motifs in their physical vessel didn't help. But this creature just wants to be able to experience a life that has been robbed from them. Your party may raise an eyebrow at you getting friendly with the possibly-malignant sword, but y'all are just making plans to get them to your favourite restaurant once they're freed.

This Archfey is the descendant of a powerful entity in Feywild side of things. The heir of some great lineage, or whatever is going on within their realm. You frankly don't know, because they're a bit of a... brat. One that kinda longs to escape their situation and get to live something more normal. You only find out this over time, when you realize you're kinda that friend their parents frown about. This entity, powerful beyond comprehension, just really wants to hang out with you and have a board game night with you. They'd love to meet your besties-- I mean, your world-saving allies. And you'd love to give them the opportunity someday, truth be told, but pissing off a fey court seems to be a high price.

You got stranded far into the ocean as a kid, and the rest of the people involved in the shipwreck did not make it out. But you attracted the attention of a group of merfolk, who had barely ever had the chance to meet someone like you. People had told you tales of how they'd drown and eat anyone coming into their territory, but these creatures were instead cooing about you. You're now grown up, and you can call them for power. Your party frowns at the idea of "I kinda got adopted by a sea polycule and I got a cantrip and few other boons about it", but you know they'll have to eat their words when you bring them for dinner- If you can find a way to table them in the middle of the ocean, that is.

the celestial patron is still a dick tho

Feel free to add onto these if you'd like, I'd love to hear concepts >:3

[undead-moth]

In order for any of this post to make the point it’s trying to make, it needs to completely ignore 1) nonviolent uses of fuck (and there are many) and 2) other nonviolent euphemisms for sex (and there are many) lmao.

Yes people use fuck violently. They also say “just fuck me up” to mean something like “let go” or “stop caring@ or similarly “let’s get fucked up” to mean “let’s get drunk and have fun.” They say “I fucking love this’ to add emphasis. They say “I fucked up” to mean “made a mistake.” They say “fucking around” to mean “goofing off.” Like. Are you kidding. There are a million nonviolent uses of the word fuck. Due to it being a curse word, it’s going to be used in a variety of ways.

People also say “I slept with him” and common phrases like “Netflix and chill” and “hooked up” and “got laid” and “made whoopie” and “went at it” and so so so many other things I can’t even think of right now. If there’s one word in this language that probably has a million euphemisms, it’s sex and many if not most would be nonviolent or at least not crude do to how excessively the word sex has been censored over time lmao

There are also very legitimate reasons not to use “making love” when you mean “fucking.” “Making love” isn’t dirty talk and many people like dirty talk. It would also be really weird to say you “made love” about a one-night-stand or something, given that the kind of intimacy and deep connection and well, romantic love implied in “making love” probably isn’t there with a one-night-stand.

And sure, our culture has in some ways tried to remove the concept of “intimacy and vulnerability and emotion” from sex but it is erroneous to attribute this to patriarchy.

Part of the reason why people have made efforts to remove these things from sex is in defiance of a (patriarchal!) culture that has always asserted that sex is something that should be reserved for marriage, and only ever done with one person, and that sexual expression of any kind outside of god-fearing vanilla heterosexual reproductive sex is sinful and wrong and shameful.

Efforts to remove intimacy/vulnerability/emotion from sex are in part an effort to take the shame and Christianity out of sex. People are resisting the idea that sex has to be with someone you’re committed to, or in love with and asserting that sex is a neutral act people can do for pleasure with whoever they want.

This has benefitted women. Historically women far more than men have been societally punished for sexual expression and for having sex when they weren’t supposed to, in a way they weren’t supposed to, or with someone they weren’t supposed to. They are also expected to be coy and ladylike when talking about sex in a way men aren’t. It is a good thing that women can fuck if they want to and it says a lot if you think that any sex that is not tender touches in the quiet dark with your one true love forevermore or talking about it in any other way is somehow by default violent to women.

The Will To Change by Bell Hooks fucked me up good

[eph3merall]

૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა ⋮ fratboy!chris forgets about loser!readers birthday . . .

an : talked to my baby star about this. in honor of my birthday being a few weeks ago :) rewrote this a few times lolol

you find yourself wandering inside the frat house right after a party. there are drunken bodies draped across various surfaces, stepping carefully around cans and bottles. one misstep and some bottles clang into eachother, casting a nervous glance towards the sleeping forms—only to realize everyone is far too gone to have woken up from such a quiet sound.

your thumb spins and fidgets with the ring on your finger, having gotten it as a gift from one of your current friends. she was sweet, and didnt seem stuck up like a bunch of the girls around campus. you mentioned your birthday once to her and she still ended up remembering.

it meant a lot to you, only because not many people have remembered your birthday before. your parents never cared to get you something when they spotted the scribbled note on the calender saying "y/n's birthday :p" in bold sharpie, and you stopped talking about it in school since no one seemed to care or listen to you.

the further upstairs you go, the more hushed voices you can hear. some guys weren't all wasted, and were probably taking care of themselves or a girl. or fucking a girl, one of the doors to your right shut tight as high pitched moans filtered out the thin walls.

reaching the door at the end of the hall, it's cracked open slightly as smoke slowly wafts out of it every few seconds. creaking it open, you immediately spy chris in his desk chair, hunched over as a joint sits in his mouth. this particular person basically demanded him to roll with pink paper, which was also thin as fuck. his fingers were too long and too big for him to do it well, but it doesn't matter as long as he got it done.

with a flick of his eyes towards the doorway, chris sighs out a huff of smoke and takes the joint between his lips and sets it onto the ash tray nearby. a faint crack is heard in his shoulders as he straightens his back out just by a little, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. the space is illuminated by a single lamp, warm yellow light seeming to calm your nerves and release the sudden tension in your shoulders.

"what?" chris blinks at you, tilting his head a little as he leans back in the chair. it groans under his sudden added weight, fingers grasping the joint as he takes a hit of it. the tip glows a bright orange, sighing out smoke as he flicks the ash into the little tray. the tray you got him for his birthday. the one with a little deer painted on it.

"nothin'.. just thought i'd come see you," suddenly feeling scrutinized under his gaze, you quickly stride towards his bed and sit down on the edge of it, like it'd burn you if you weren't careful. when chris turns around and continues with his job, you sigh to yourself and shift onto the mattress some more, falling onto your back as your hair splays out around you due to the action.

the two of you find yourselves sitting in silence more often than usual. it's not always uncomfortable, as you find a nice peace in the silence that comes with the ones close to you. but today in particular, at this moment, the air feels suffocating and chris feels like he's forcing himself to stay on that chair. it's just like he doesn't want to be near you, and the feeling comes with familiar memories of your childhood. it was always kids who shifted away from you when you tentatively sat next to them, just wanting a friend.

you notice a can of opened pepsi on chris' desk that you missed, noting the alcohol that sits right next to it. you hear him curse a few times, getting upset at how he's doing with his "job". he takes casual hits of the joint, and you watch his back shift as slender fingers grab the neck of a bottle of alcohol to sip at.

you pull your phone out to be met with more birthday messages. but, you only desire those two words from a certain someone.

the day goes on and you end up in chris' bed, under his sheets, with a book in your lap. unsurprisingly, a party has broken out downstairs, the walls and floors of the frat house vibrating from the blaring music. it's late already, and most people have classes to attend tomorrow. but, most people who were at frat parties frequently never did care about their academics anyways.

you dont know how long its been, but a certain amount of time passes. a stumbling chris is cursing when he trips over his own foot, shutting his room door behind him once wobbling inside. you can instantly tell he's wasted and gotten a few hits of some drug earlier. what you dont expect is for him to eye you, drunkenly grin, and then immediately walk over to lay his whole body down onto your own.

groaning at the impact, chris looks like he could give less of a fuck. his eyes glance up and his hand runs through unkept curls, a goofy smirk stretching across his face. his hands are on your hips and you brace your hands on his shoulders, not in the mood for whatever he wanted to do right now.

with a sigh, you give up when chris shoots you a look like you've gone crazy, letting his face push itself into your neck. very rarely is he like this around you, because when he's wasted he usually just turns meaner. you deflate when soft kisses are pressed into your neck, his hair tickling your face.

"i heard.." smooch, "it," smooch, "was your birthday," you feign ignorance, like you've known all along he would remember as you laugh softly, chris being too out of his head to notice the tone of your voice anyways. your hands grow sweaty and clammy, hating the way a thick rope seems to wrap around your neck, making the words you squeak out sound small and pathetic.

"yeah, i guess."

"sorry," smooch, "didn't remember," chris' nose nudges against your jawline, his face suddenly in front of yours—looking so unlike his usual expression. you kind of hate it. with this chris, everything is almost unexpected, and you are never sure on what to do next and what type of reaction it'll trigger.

"i love you, y'know?.."

you don't hear the words at first. you think maybe you're too exhausted and you're hearing things, eyes wide as you blink frantically. you hands still, body tensing up. because that doesn't sound at all like something chris would say. he once refused to hold hands with you for the sole reason that they were in public and he was 'scared people would assume'.

you don't think it's anything. why would you? until the words are getting mumbled against your skin and repeated over and over and over in your ears. like a quiet prayer, full of hope and desperation.

you know it's the alcohol talking. that and whatever else chris took tonight, that he isn't sober and you know deep down he would never say anything like this sober. when you end up coming to your senses, you let your eyes close and try to shift him off of you.

"stop. chris."

even with your firm tone and obvious unpleasant emotions, he doesn't pick up on them. little murmurs of affection graze your skin—your cheeks, forehead, tip of your nose, jawline, lips, neck. you hate it, in a way. chris doesn't ease up, groaning when you eventually shove him harder than normal.

"chris, stop. you don't mean that, you know you don't."

he doesn't say anything, just leans in slowly to press a kiss to your cheek. testing the waters, to see if you'll push him away again.

you've always been weak to him, 'stop' leaving your mouth every time he says something sweet. it unsettles you, because it was so hard to deny him. you know he doesn't mean it. you know he'll deny this ever happened and possibly forget about it the next morning. it'll barely leave a mark on him, while it'll probably scar you forever.

"happy birthday.. love you, m'so in love w'you."

"chris.."

—

©eph3merall 2025

[00valentina-writes00]

Dating sevika part four????

✞⛧ Dating sevika (again) ✞⛧

✞⛧ Sevika is a human space heater. You start the night cuddling, but within five minutes, you’re sweating bullets and trying to escape. She calls you a coward.

✞⛧ She sleeps like a log—until you try to get out of bed. Then, suddenly, her arm is a steel trap around your waist. Good luck getting free.

✞⛧ If she falls asleep before you, her arm might end up draped over your face. One time, she nearly smothered you.

✞⛧ Talks in her sleep but only says cryptic, threatening shit. Once mumbled, “Tell that bastard to meet me in the alley.” You still don’t know who she was talking about.

✞⛧ If you try to push her away to get space, she grumbles and pulls you back in like some kind of grumpy, overgrown cat.

✞⛧ Does Sevika snore?

✞⛧ Yes. Absolutely. And it’s bad.

✞⛧ Some nights, it sounds like she’s trying to inhale her own throat.

✞⛧ If she’s drunk? Even worse. Full-on bear in hibernation mode.

✞⛧ You’ve tried gently rolling her onto her side. She just grumbles and flops back.

✞⛧ One time, you recorded it and played it back for her. She didn’t believe it was real.

✞⛧ If you snore, she teases you about it, but the second you call her out, she gets all defensive. “That’s different. Mine’s… charming.”

✞⛧ Sevika’s dream house with you looks like a big, private place—she doesn’t care if it’s a fancy estate or a cozy cabin, as long as it’s away from all the Zaun bullshit.

✞⛧ High walls, secure locks—she’s paranoid about safety. No way in hell is she letting anyone near her home with you.

✞⛧ A huge bed, because she’s not sleeping in anything smaller than king-size. You might want to cuddle, but she needs space.

✞⛧ A well-stocked bar. Non-negotiable.

✞⛧ Probably a punching bag in the corner of the bedroom so she can work out when she’s pissed off.

✞⛧ A big-ass couch where she can sprawl out with you in her lap, watching shitty action movies.

✞⛧ Sevika doesn’t think of herself as the marrying type, but if anyone’s gonna tie her down, it’s you.

✞⛧ She wouldn’t do a huge wedding—probably something small, private, just you, her, and maybe a few close friends.

✞⛧ If she does propose, it’s gonna be casual as hell. Probably while she’s having a drink. “Hey, you wanna get married?”

✞⛧ She’d get you a ring, but she wouldn’t wear one herself. Too much of a liability in a fight.

✞⛧ She secretly likes the idea of calling you her wife, but she’ll never admit how much it makes her heart race.

✞⛧ Does she ever let you top her in the bedroom?

✞⛧ Let? No.

✞⛧ Earn? Maybe. If you play your cards right.

✞⛧ She likes being in control, but if you prove you can handle her, she might just let you have your way—once in a while.

✞⛧ But if you try to get cocky about it? Yeah, good luck. She’ll flip you over so fast you won’t know what hit you.

✞⛧ If she’s exhausted, drunk, or just feeling particularly soft for you, she might let you take over—but she’ll never admit she likes it.

✞⛧ Either way, she’s still calling the shots. “Go ahead, baby. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

✞⛧ What does Sevika like about you? Everything, absolutely 💯 everything

✞⛧ Body-wise: She’s a thigh and boob woman. No contest.

✞⛧ Loves gripping your thighs when she pulls you into her lap. Will sometimes just rest her hand there absentmindedly.

✞⛧ If you wear something low-cut? Yeah, she’s looking. She doesn’t even try to be subtle about it.

✞⛧ Loves your hands, too—especially when they’re on her.

✞⛧ Personality-wise: She loves how stubborn you are. She needs someone who can push back.

✞⛧ Lowkey adores when you get jealous—she thinks it’s cute as hell.

✞⛧ Your sense of humor gets her every time. She pretends to be annoyed when you joke around, but she’s secretly dying.

✞⛧let’s talk about Sevika’s marking kink

✞⛧ She lives for leaving marks on you. Hickeys, bites, bruises—anything that says mine.

✞⛧ If someone so much as looks at you the wrong way, she’s marking you up extra hard that night.

✞⛧ Loves when you wear low-cut tops after she’s gone to town on your neck. If people see? Even better.

✞⛧ But if you try to mark her? She smirks but warns you: “Careful, baby. You’re playing with fire.”

✞⛧ Doesn’t mind it, though—if she’s really into it, she might just let you.

✞⛧ If someone comments on the marks she left on you, she just smirks and takes a sip of her drink like she’s proud of herself.

✞⛧ Going to a bar with Sevika is like… overly stressful

✞⛧ You walk in, and immediately, she’s clocking every single person in the room.

✞⛧ You don’t wait for drinks—she either gets them herself or people bring them over because they’re scared of her.

✞⛧ If you flirt with her at the bar? She plays along but gives you that look—like she knows exactly what you’re doing.

✞⛧ If someone else flirts with you? She’ll just stare at them until they get the hint and leave.

✞⛧ If they don’t? She’ll make them get the hint.

��⛧ If a fight breaks out, she doesn’t go looking for trouble—but if trouble finds her? Yeah, someone’s getting wrecked.

✞⛧ Loves when you sit in her lap at the bar. Will run her hands over your thighs, not caring who’s watching.

✞⛧ If she’s in a really good mood, she might even dance with you. But don’t push your luck.

[frmisnow]

ㅤ▌ ͟CHERRY LOLLIPOPS & CHEAP MOTELS! ‎⠀⠀⎯⎯⠀⠀ ♬᭢ 𝟐.𝟔𝐤 smut . nsfw

SUMMARY in which jungkook picks you up in his shitty car, takes you to an even shittier motel, and makes you forget why you ever said you wouldn’t do this again.

the parking lot outside your boyfriend's apartment, if you could even call it that, smelt like piss and burnt rubber. no, another correction ⎯⎯ the parking lot outside your exe's apartment complex smells like piss. you shake your head, one of your heels clicking against the hard ground in an effort to distract yourself; you keep on having to remind yourself that he cheated.

i mean how horny does one have to be, getting a blowjob at the exact time when you were supposed to have the date. 'the date' is an abomination and an overstatement. by that you mean overglorified sex meeting, or whatever, that you had planned.

you roll your eyes, one of your nails digging into the cigarette that you then put out, your heel digging into the little butt. your fingers work on unwrapping one of the cherry lollipops that he liked so much. now you had a whole pack somewhere in your basement, for no damn reason. you didn't even like cherries.

your brows furrow, as you taste the oversugared candy just as your ears pick up the low, rough engine approaching from your left side. you'd recognize that shitty sound from everywhere. if that ain't love.

jungkook pulls into the dirty street, like he owns the whole thing. one hand slung over the wheel, the other resting against the worn out gear shift, ink-dark tattoos flexing under cheap fluorescent light. while his confidence was certaintly cute, his car was everything but such. scratches and dirt adoring the most likely decade-old car.

the window’s already rolled down, but he doesn’t say anything at first. just lets his gaze drag slow over your frame — your bare legs, your mascara which was ruined well just a little, the slight pout of your lips around the lollipop. it's not even sexual, he's looking over you like he's observing a situation, figuring you out, where you stand, how you're feeling. calculated.

“don’t,” you say before he can open his mouth.

jungkook’s smile curves, the kind of expression that makes you want to throw your lollipop at his face. “don’t what?”

“don’t.” you punctuate it with a click of your tongue, the sharp crack of candy between your teeth. your mood is just a tad bit rotten, and jungkook is the very last person you need needling at your pride.

still, he gestures toward the passenger seat with a flick of his fingers. “get in.”

you hate how fast your body moves before your brain can catch up, your hand reaching out to open the car door, which opens with another sharp noise, barerly. and you hate how the seat smells like him, warm leather and cigarettes, that one perfume that he still wears, no.97 april cotton. it firmly recks, of it all. of familiarity and something you once considered mellow.

but most of all, you hate how he can tell. how he witnesses you lean back into the seat, were anyone else would see it as you getting more comfortable, he could tell it was you chasing the comfort that it itself provided.

his palm settles on your thigh, warm and familiar, like it belongs there. his thumb brushes absentmindedly over your bare skin, just once, just enough to make something tighten low in your stomach.

you should push him off. should cross your legs, turn toward the window, pretend you don’t care. but you don’t. you won’t. instead, you sink further into the seat, pressing into the scent of his cologne like it might drown out the bitterness sitting in your throat.

“so,” he muses, casual as anything, drawing out the vowel, like he wanted to see you squirm under the pressure of what his question awaits. his sadist ass would probably enjoy that. “are we gonna talk about it?”

you roll the lollipop between your teeth., before you let it go with a soft pop, anything to distract him from your heartrate. could he feel your heart through your thigh? god, you hope not. “nothing to talk about.”

he snickers, but it's dim, faint, gentle, there's no real malice. other then the fact that he expected just that answer, and those actions, in that exact order. why was he so smart? it seriously freaked you out, all you were left to resort on doing was continue on with the lollipop.

cherry all over your tongue. rotten.

“you want me to fuck him up?”

you sigh under your breath, lifting one of your legs to rest on your other one, his hand ultimately falling off as a result, "no- i," you pause, eyes out the window, focusing on the bright neon signs and eventual car that drives by, "he didn't promise me anything. i didn't promise him anything either, it's- really." you hate, absolutly despise, how your voice flatters, unsure and uneven, "nothing."

jungkook's fingers drum against the wheel in a steady rhythm, letting your words settle into the thin air. before he echoes your words, "nothing." and you see a muscle in his jaw twitching, before he smiles, though it's all half-lidded and lazy in execution, bit forced perhaps, "you're a shitty liar."

"you used to be better."

you do your best to ignore him, his words and presence all together. just twist the straw of the red candy which by now, has probably painted your tongue in a similair shade, starr out the window because that was all you could fathom doing. stupidly. naively.

being confronted by the past stung because you haven't changed, really. it's the similar sting of sugar against your tongue.

his hand moves again. not to your thigh this time, but to the lollipop stick, tugging it from your lips without asking. the candy snaps from your teeth, cold air replacing it before you can protest.

he licks what was left of the little red circle, as the car stopped at a red light, now his tongue was red as well. just one more thing on the long list, tying you both by fate. his brows furrow only slowly, before his eyes settle on you, thumb gently gracing your lips that carried the same taste which was now between his very own.

"i thought you didn't like cherries."

your tongue darts out instinctively, tasting the sugar still clinging to your lips, "no. no , i don't like cherries." the car behind you honks, sharp and impatient. the red light had long since turned green.

total silence fills the practically broken car as he continues driving, the lollipop lazily rolling on his tongue as you shift in your seat, one leg folding over the other, skin still buzzing from where he touched you. your heel dangles off your toes, threatening to fall, and you wonder if he’s watching, you could never quite tell with jungkook.

“you wanna tell me why I’m driving you to a motel?”

you blink. once, twice, thrice, before it was to unnatural as to not respond.

“you picked me up.”

“you told me to.”

“you didn’t have to listen.”

jungkook huffs, something close to a laugh but not quite. “that’s cute.” god, dimples. beautiful little dimples on both sides of his face.

the lollipop clicks against his teeth when he bites down, cracking the hardened sugar like it’s nothing, as if to break the tension, or worsen it.

you sit still, legs crossed for the rest of the two minutes. before you can clearly witness the motel sign in front of you, one of the lights clearly broken. MTEL, charming.

his voice cuts through the tense air while he's turning the car off, "do you want to be alone tonight? i'll let you."

you'd say you hate how you don't hear your own voice, your lips mouth or don't feel any physical reaction for that matter, but that'd be a lie. because you wanted it, wanted him, the real craving to repeat the past just once more.

the room he gets is upstairs. third door on the left. the hallway smells like cheap lemon cleaner, and there’s a buzzing light that flickers overhead, casting long shadows yet it highlights his tattoos as well, the pretty ink you used to lick and trace patterns off. you want to burry yourself into the grey carpet beneath you.

he steps inside, flicks on the lamp, and tosses the key onto the nightstand. the light casts his face in amber, warm and unreadable. he’s watching you again. that same slow, calculating gaze from the car as the door falls shut, with a tiny click.

“take your shoes off,” he mumbles, arms leaning back onto the dark brown desk, he just tossed the keys onto.

you don't move, a little pout adoring your face, the one you do whne you were unsure of.. well.. what to do.

his gaze flicks down to your heels, then back up, slow. “you wanna fuck on a motel bed in six-inch stilettos?”

you huff, a little defiant, but the heels come off. you bend, slip them off slow, and he watches. of course, he does. that same hooded gaze, tracking the movement like it’s something to be studied.

“pretty girl,” he murmurs, pushing off the desk, and you barely get the chance to straighten before his hands are on you. firm, sure. the rough pads of his fingers skim over the fragile skin of your face, thumbs tracing over your flush cheeks.

his mouth is hot against your throat, dragging slow kisses down the sensitive skin. he lingers just below your ear, exhales long, lets you feel it. then, his teeth — just a little.

“always got an attitude,” he mutters, hands smoothing down your back, “m' gonna fix that,” he rasps, pushing you toward the bed, turning you so you stumble back onto the mattress.

the mattress creaks under your weight. the air is thick, humming with the heat between you. his eyes are half-lidded, burning, dark.

he pulls his shirt over his head, lets it drop to the dirty motel floor, then his belt clinks, the soft shift of a zipper. his cock slaps against his stomach, flushed red, thick, leaking at the tip.

your mouth goes dry.

“spread your legs.”

you do. you don’t think. you just do, and he groans, a deep, pleased sound that makes you squirm.

he grabs your thighs, drags you closer to the edge, and just — sinks in.

you choke on a gasp.

no prep. nothing but how soaked you already are. it’s too much, just right, stretching you open in a way that makes your head spin.

his hands settle on your hips, grip unforgiving, and he doesn’t move. not yet. just sits there, thick inside you, like he’s letting you feel it, making sure you know, making sure you remember. how it was like, how it used to be.

“jesus,” he breathes, looking down at where you’re stuffed full of him. “tight fuckin’ cunt. always so good for me.”

then, he moves.

slow at first, measured, like he wants to see how you take it. then, rougher. faster.

the headboard knocks against the wall. the slap of skin fills the room, slick and obscene.

your nails bite into his forearms. your back arches.

“oh, fuck—”

he grips your jaw, forces you to look at him.

“you have the prettiest fuckin' eyes,” he rasps, thumb pressing into your cheek, "fuck— look at me." and it's practically a whine which you can't help but comply to.

his hips snap into you, deep, brutal. his hand slips between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing quick, teasing circles.

your legs shake. your thighs clench around his waist, body tensing.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, watching you unravel beneath him. “c’mon, baby — fuckin’ come for me.”

you do. hard.

“gonna fill you up,” he pants, grip tightening on your hips, pinning you in place, chasing his own high. “bet your fucking pussy remembers everything, remembers who i am.”

his hips stutter as you clench around him. a sharp inhale. then, warmth. deep.

he doesn’t pull out. doesn’t move, just breathes, dragging a hand up your stomach, up between your breasts, stopping at your throat.

your heart pounds against his palm.

his lips move barerly, a small smile while leans down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips, pulling out just enough to let his cum drip between your thighs.

he lets you breath for about a minute, before he flips you over like you weigh nothing. like he’s got all the time in the world to manhandle you, spread you out over the mattress just how he wants.

your cheek presses into the sheets, legs bent under you, ass up. you barely get a second to breathe before his palm cracks against the curve of your ass, sharp, hot.

“fuck,” you gasp, fingers digging into the sheets.

he just hums, rubbing over the sting, soothing before landing another — harder this time.

“too fuckin’ pretty like this,” he mutters, palming at your waist, dragging his cock through t he mess between your thighs, nudging against your clit. “can’t get enough of you.”

he grips your hips and pushes back in, one slow, aching stroke, stretching you open all over again.

“shit,” he rasps, watching himself disappear inside you, shaking his head like he can’t believe it. “always so fuckin’ tight.”

your fingers fist the sheets. your back arches. he’s deeper this way, heavier, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress as he starts to move.

slow at first. taunting.

then, he grips the back of your neck, pinning you down, and snaps his hips forward.

you moan, high pitched, wrecked, and he groans in response, fingers flexing over your skin.

“that’s it,” he breathes, pace quickening, slamming into you hard enough to shove you up the bed, the headboard banging against the wall. “take it, baby.”

his other hand sneaks under you, pressing against your stomach, feeling the way he’s deep inside you, grinding in hard, slow circles.

“can feel me, huh?” his voice is rough, almost teasing. “fuckin’ you so deep—”

you whimper, clenching around him, and he hisses, dragging you back onto his cock, fucking you harder. the room is filled with noise — the wet slap of skin, the creak of the mattress, groans of the both of you.

“gonna come,” you gasp, fingers slipping against the sheets, weak, small bits of sweat glistening on your skin. your vision whites out while he fucks you through it, his own release hitting only seconds later.

jungkook collapses beside you, pressing a gentle, open-mouthed kiss against your shoulder. you’re just a tad bit ruined, limbs useless, but you hum in contentment when he continues pressing lazy kisses up your spine.

you can firmly feel that signature smile of his against your skin, pressing another kiss to your shoulder before pulling back. the bed dips as he stands, leaving you feeling cold for all of two seconds before he’s back with a warm cloth.

the first press of it between your thighs makes you shiver. he’s careful, gentle, murmuring soft praises as he cleans you up.

“so good for me.”

“always take me so well.”

when he’s done, he tosses the cloth aside and climbs back into bed, dragging you against his chest. his fingers trace slow circles against your bare back, lulling and soothing.

“you want water?” he asks, lips brushing your temple.

you nod, still half-asleep. he reaches over to the nightstand, pressing the bottle to your lips, "c'mon drink." carefully watching as you take a few small gulps before pushing it away.

his fingers move through your hair, once again lulling you into soft sleep.

[lisalamona]

Lover Boy

. Summary: After years of stolen glances, unfortunate interruptions, and sneaking out of the palace, Telemachus finally musters the courage to confess to you, well… not without a little help, of course. . Pairing: Telemachus x gn! Reader . Warnings: None . Notes: This one had been rotting in the drafts for a while. You can all thank @selena-of-ithaca for inspiring me to finish it! I will probably be doing a second part of this closer to what the request originally was cause it left me thinking about some ideas I wanna explore Art taken from duvetbox's animatic of Legendary Stars devider made by @saradika-graphics, taken from this post

You can say what you will about love at first sight—that it's not real, that it's just an exaggeration poets use to get their point across. But for Telemachus, it was real. Way too real. He just didn't know it at the time.

The first time he saw you, he was just a boy, running from the suffocating walls of the palace. It had stopped feeling like a home—what it was supposed to be—and had become a den. He felt like a lone sheep trapped in a cave full of wolves, and there was no escape. He couldn't leave. He had duties, responsibilities. And most importantly, his mother needed him.

Ever since the suitors had stormed in, treating the palace and everyone inside it as if they were nothing, life had become unbearable. The halls were filled with laughter that wasn't joyful, voices that weren't kind. Every step he took had to be careful, every turn of a corner calculated, just to avoid crossing paths with them. It didn't matter that he was the prince, the heir to Ithaca's throne—his title held no weight with them.

He felt like he was drowning, even though he stood on solid ground.

So naturally, he went to the beach. Or at least, that's where he intended to go. Lost in his thoughts, his mind running rampant, he barely noticed where his feet were taking him. He was halfway down the docks when he collided with someone—hard. The impact sent both of you to the ground, and something clattered beside you.

"Are you alright?"

The voice reached him before he even opened his eyes. The blow had forced them shut, but when he finally blinked them open, the sight before him left him speechless.

At the time, he would've chalked it up to embarrassment. Maybe that was part of it. But looking back, he thought maybe—just maybe—he knew you were the one right then and there, even if he hadn't fully realized it yet.

"Uh... hello?" You waved a hand in front of his face. That snapped him out of his daze, but before he could speak, another voice cut through.

"Kid!"

Both of you turned in unison. A man stood at the edge of the docks—a gruff, towering figure with a bit of gray streaking through his hair. His arms, covered in calluses and old scars, looked like they belonged to someone who could crush a person with a single tap. But you knew better. You knew his heart was made of gold.

"What happened? Are you alright? I knew I shouldn't have let you hold the spears," the man grumbled, his deep voice thick with concern.

"Dad," you muttered, a hint of embarrassment creeping into your tone.

But he wasn't listening. He kept going, mumbling about how he should keep a better eye on you.

"Dad! I'm alright," you reassured him, then turned back to Telemachus—though at the time, you didn't know his name. "Are you?"

He nodded quickly, still a bit unsettled by the sheer presence of your father.

"See? Everything's fine." That seemed to calm the man, at least a little.

You rose from the ground, dusting yourself off before gathering the fallen spears. With one hand, you picked them up. With the other, you reached down and helped Telemachus to his feet.

Your father studied him with a keen eye. "What's your name, son?"

"Telemachus, sir." Anyone could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

Your father's brows lifted slightly. "The prince? What are you doing all the way out here?"

"I just wanted to take a stroll along the beach." Telemachus gestured toward the shore—a more desolate place, one few people ever ventured to.

"Oh, well, that's always a delight to see," your father said with a knowing smile. "Why don't you take [Name] with you? They love going there."

"Dad!"

Heat rushed to your face. That was all you could muster in your embarrassment.

"What?" Your father shrugged. "You could use a break. You need friends your age, anyway." He muttered the last part, but it was loud enough for Telemachus to hear—making your face burn even more.

That day was the first of many.

Over the next ten years, you and Telemachus built something unshakable—a bond carefully woven over time. And in those years, Telemachus came to a realization.

He liked you.

Really liked you.

He had always been hesitant to use the word love. He had never really seen it with his own eyes—not the kind poets spoke of. He had never met his father, and his mother had spent most of his life waiting, praying for Odysseus to return. He supposed the strength she carried was love, in its own way. But he had never seen it in action.

And the years had only made it harder. The suitors had grown more desperate, more dangerous, stripping away every ounce of his attention and confidence.

But then—after twenty long, agonizing years—his father came home.

Everything changed.

In the first few weeks, Telemachus watched his parents reunite. He saw the way they cherished each other, how they barely left each other's side. He saw love in the way they looked at one another, in the way his father reached for his mother's hand without thinking, in the way she smiled as if she had been holding her breath for two decades and could finally exhale.

And that's when he knew.

That's what he wanted.

He wanted to hold your hand, wanted to make you smile—not that he didn't already manage to do that. He wanted to wake up by your side, to trace soft, chaste kisses along your face. He wanted to look into your eyes and, without a single word, know that you both felt the same, that you loved each other.

The only problem was... he didn't know how.

And, gods, he was scared.

──────💗──────

Odysseus made his rounds through town, as he had made a habit of doing ever since returning home. He liked watching the people go about their day, seeing the town buzz with life. He took in every sound, every movement, every face. After spending so many years without proper human interaction, he had learned to appreciate the small things.

That, of course, didn't mean he didn't make time for his family. If anything, he dreaded the moments he had to spend away from them to tend to his duties. That was why, when his son volunteered to accompany him to the docks, he was ecstatic. His mind raced with possible conversation topics, excited at the rare opportunity to bond with Telemachus outside the walls of the palace.

But as they walked, it became increasingly clear that the conversation was more one-sided than he would have liked. Telemachus seemed distracted, his gaze scanning the crowd as if searching for something. Or someone.

Normally, Odysseus might have felt a twinge of disappointment at his son's lack of attention. But then he spotted you, helping your father unload the fishing boat. And then he noticed his son—staring directly at you, his hands fidgeting at his sides before he wiped them on his tunic, as if trying to get rid of sudden clamminess.

Oh. That explained it.

Odysseus' observation skills might have been rusty, but he wasn't stupid.

"Do you want to go talk to them?"

Telemachus nearly jumped out of his skin, his head snapping toward his father. "I— I already do talk to them! We're friends."

Odysseus raised an eyebrow with skepticism. "Friends?"

"Yes!" Telemachus insisted, a little too quickly. His cheeks, however, betrayed him as they flushed red.

"Then you wouldn't mind if I introduced myself?"

Telemachus gave him an incredulous look. "You're the king. They already know who you are!"

"Yes, well, I never personally introduced myself," Odysseus replied smoothly. "And any friend of my son's is a friend of mine."

And with that, he began walking toward you without waiting for a response.

"Father!" Telemachus whisper-shouted, but Odysseus—despite clearly hearing him—kept going, a determined pep in his step.

Panic surged through Telemachus. His father was about to make it so much worse. Desperately, he glanced around, looking for an escape. And then, without thinking, he ducked behind a stack of barrels, pressing himself against the wall in mortified defeat.

He wanted the earth to swallow him right there and then.

"Hello." Odysseus' voice snapped both you and your father to attention.

"Oh—hello, my king, what brings you to us?" your father said, immediately dropping what he was doing to give the king of Ithaca a respectful bow of his head. You quickly followed suit, though your own bow was a little sloppier in your haste.

Odysseus acknowledged both of you with a nod in return—once to your father, then once to you.

"I just wanted to meet my son's friend," he said casually. "Make up for lost time."

At the mention of Telemachus, your ears perked, and your gaze instinctively swept the area, searching for him. It was an unconscious reaction—but not one that went unnoticed by Odysseus.

"Is... is he here?" you asked, smoothing down some stray hairs without realizing it.

Odysseus' lips curled slightly in amusement, though his sharp eyes held something more calculating. He looked behind him, to where his son once stood. "He was. But he seems to have disappeared." His tone was light, but the glint in his eyes told you he knew exactly where his son had gone.

You huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Sounds like him."

"Mm." Odysseus crossed his arms, glancing at you with a thoughtful expression. Then, after a brief pause, he gestured toward the town. "Care for a walk?"

You hesitated, glancing toward your father for guidance. He met your uncertain gaze with an encouraging nod.

"Of course," you answered, finally releasing your grip on your work.

Odysseus extended a hand to help you out of the boat. His grip was firm but not overbearing, a steady reminder of the strength he carried. You accepted his help with a small word of thanks, and he nodded in acknowledgment.

As you stepped onto solid ground, Odysseus and your father exchanged brief goodbyes, a silent understanding passing between them. Then, without further delay, you and the king of Ithaca set off down the worn path.

"Tell me—how did you and my son meet?"

"Oh, uh—he ran into me," you said, remembering the day vividly. "Literally."

Odysseus chuckled, nodding as if that sounded exactly like something Telemachus would do. "And you've been friends ever since?"

You smiled. "More or less. He's easy to talk to."

That earned a raised brow from the king. "Is he?"

You tilted your head, sensing a hidden layer to his question. "Once he warms up to you, yes. He's thoughtful, kind. He listens—really listens. Not just to respond, but because he cares about what you're saying."

Odysseus hummed, rubbing his beard in thought. "And what do you think of him?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the directness of the question. "I—well, I think highly of him, of course. He's my friend."

"Just a friend?" Odysseus asked, watching you closely.

You felt warmth creeping up your neck. "I—yes?"

He chuckled at your hesitation, clearly enjoying this far too much. "Well, I suppose time will tell." Then, as if switching subjects entirely, he gestured toward the boat growing smaller behind you. "You work hard."

"I have to," you said, welcoming the shift in topic. "It's not easy work, but it keeps me moving."

Odysseus nodded approvingly. "A strong back and a strong mind—both good things to have." He studied you for a moment longer before adding, "Loyalty is important too. My son, he has to be careful about who he trusts." You could sense something else in his words, more than a father concerned for his son, something personal.

You met his gaze steadily. "I understand. And I'd never betray his trust."

The weight behind your words must have satisfied him because, for the first time, Odysseus' sharp scrutiny softened into something resembling approval. "Good."

Then, without another word, he turned his head slightly and called out, far too casually.

"You can come out now, son."

A muffled curse sounded from behind some abandoned barrels.

Your face lit up with laughter as Telemachus sheepishly emerged from his not so secret hiding spot, his face redder than a pomegranate.

Odysseus clapped a hand on his son's shoulder, grinning. "A prince shouldn't cower behind barrels, Telemachus. Stand tall."

Telemachus muttered something under his breath that you couldn't quite catch. You, however, were too busy giggling to care.

Odysseus gave you one last, knowing glance before stepping back. "I'll leave you two to it, then."

And just like that, he strode off, leaving Telemachus staring at you, utterly mortified.

──────💗──────

"He embarrassed me!"

"You embarrassed yourself."

Telemachus stared at his father in disbelief, then turned toward his mother, silently pleading for help.

Penelope and Odysseus sat side by side on a wooden bench, a stack of parchment spread across the table before them. Penelope had been signing documents, her focus divided between the ink stained sheets and the arms wrapped securely around her waist. Odysseus, ever at ease, rested his chin in the crook of her neck, perfectly content to hold her as she worked.

Penelope glanced up at her son, amusement flickering in her gaze. "Your father just wanted to help."

Telemachus groaned. Of course, he knew that, but did his father really have to do it like that? "I didn't need any help."

At that, Penelope and Odysseus exchanged a look—one of those unspoken conversations only long-married couples could have. A smirk tugged at Odysseus' lips, and Penelope barely suppressed a laugh.

Telemachus narrowed his eyes. "I mean it!"

"I already told you, sweetheart," Penelope said, her voice warm with patience. "You just need to ask them."

Telemachus hesitated. "But what if...?"

"The worst that can happen is them saying no." Odysseus chimed in, casual as ever.

Telemachus huffed. "No, the worst thing that can happen is my friendship with my best friend being destroyed because of my stupid heart!" He dramatically pounded his chest before flopping onto his parents' bed, face first, as if trying to bury his shame into the linens.

Odysseus exhaled through his nose. "You just need to go over there, stand your ground, and be confident."

Telemachus lifted his head just enough to shoot his father a deadpan look. "Be confident? Me?"

Odysseus shrugged. "It worked with your mother."

"No, it didn't."

The response came in stereo. Penelope's tone was amused and firm, while Telemachus' carried all the exasperation of someone who had grown up hearing his father's exaggerated tales one too many times.

Odysseus blinked. "What? Of course it did!"

Penelope gave him a knowing look. "No, I fell in love with you because of your intelligence and because you were so unapologetically you."

Odysseus crossed his arms. "...And my confidence and persistence too."

Penelope hummed, tilting her head. "Ehhh... the good looks did help."

"Hey!" Odysseus gasped in mock offense before playfully patting her waist and pressing a soft kiss to her neck.

Telemachus rolled his eyes. Of course, he loved his parents. Of course, he admired their relationship. But gods, was it frustrating to witness when he felt so incapable of achieving the same thing.

How was he supposed to be confident when confidence had never come naturally to him?

How was he supposed to just ask you when the very thought of it made his stomach twist itself into knots?

His whole life, he had watched his father's legendary feats unfold in the stories of others. Odysseus, the clever hero. Odysseus, the king of Ithaca. Odysseus, who could talk his way out of anything. He was larger than life, a master of words, a warrior, a man who could fight off monsters and trick the gods themselves.

And Telemachus?

Telemachus could barely keep his voice steady when he so much as thought about telling you how he felt.

It wasn't just rejection he feared—it was the aftermath. What if things changed? What if it became awkward between you? What if you started avoiding him? What if he lost you entirely?

He couldn't risk that.

But at the same time...

He wanted what his parents had. The quiet affection, the easy laughter, the deep-rooted love that had endured twenty years of separation.

He wanted you.

And yet—he felt stuck.

"That's why you should be yourself," Penelope's voice pulled him from his spiraling thoughts. "You've been friends for a while. They'll understand."

Telemachus sighed, rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling. "I can't be myself. Nobody wants that."

Odysseus snorted. "That's dramatic."

Penelope stood up and made her way to her son, gently touched his arm, her voice softer now. "Just try."

Telemachus swallowed, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Just try.

If only it were that easy.

──────💗──────

Telemachus couldn't get the interaction he had with you earlier that day out of his head. He had tried—tried so hard—to keep both his parents' advice in mind. He had finally gathered the confidence to tell you, rehearsing his words over and over, from the moment he woke up to the moment he finally said it.

Well... kind of said it.

You hadn't even heard him. And in that tiny, fleeting moment, all the courage he had painstakingly built crumbled into dust. When you looked at him with those oh so beautiful eyes and that perfect, heart melting smile, he panicked. The words he had prepared vanished like smoke, and before he knew it, he was scrambling to change the topic as fast as possible.

Now, as he replayed the disaster in his mind for what felt like the hundredth time, he decided it was both the smartest and most idiotic thing he had ever done. Smart—because he hadn't ruined your friendship. Stupid—because now he had to go through the agony of doing it all over again.

"You're distracted."

The sharp voice cut through his thoughts, making him flinch. His mentor, Athena, stood a few paces away, arms crossed, her piercing gaze locked onto him like a bird of prey. She had been watching his form as he attacked the training dummy, analyzing every movement, every hesitation.

Heat rushed to his face—not just from embarrassment, but because his mind had been so hopelessly wrapped around you. He swallowed thickly. "... It's [Name]," he admitted.

Athena let out a slow breath, attempting to mask both her amusement and her growing exasperation. She had seen this before—too many times, in fact. First with Odysseus, who had been equally lovesick, and now with his son, who spoke of you so fondly it was becoming predictable.

"Not again." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I am not Aphrodite. I can't help you."

But her words only sparked something in Telemachus. His eyes widened, a flicker of realization lighting them up, and then—

A grin.

"But you're Athena! Goddess of strategy!" He straightened, excitement practically radiating from him. "We can strategize this!"

Athena stared at him, expression flat.

"Please!" In a dramatic flourish, he dropped to his knees, hands clasped together in a desperate plea. "Every time I even think of them, my heart feels like it's going to burst through my ribs! Every time I look at them, I can barely think! I love them. I can't take it anymore!"

Athena sighed, looking up at the sky as if seeking divine patience. This was going to be a long conversation.

──────💗──────

The plan was simple. Or at least, Athena had made it sound simple.

Step one: Get you alone. Step two: Lead the conversation toward something sentimental. Step three: Casually, effortlessly, drop the confession like it was nothing.

Easy.

Except, now that Telemachus was actually there—walking beside you through the sun-dappled forest, the scent of pine and earth filling the air—his entire brain had turned to mush.

You walked ahead slightly, arms brushing away stray branches, sunlight catching in your hair just perfectly. You looked so at peace, humming softly to yourself, completely unaware of the internal war raging within him.

He needed to start the plan. Say something smooth. Something clever.

"So... uh." His voice cracked. He cleared his throat violently. "D-Do you like trees?"

You stopped mid step, turning to blink at him. "What?"

"Trees," he repeated, voice slightly strangled. "Do you... like them?"

A pause. Then, you burst into laughter. "Telemachus, we are literally in a forest."

He groaned internally. That was not part of the plan.

Desperate to recover, he tried again. "What I meant to say was... um, people... people are like trees!"

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Oh? And how's that?"

"Uh..." He hadn't actually thought that far ahead. "Well, some are really tall! And, uh, strong! Like... my father." He winced. Gods, this was a disaster.

You bit your lip, holding back another laugh. "Right. So, are you a tree too?"

"I—" He blushed slightly at the idea you might see him as someone strong. He was spiraling. "I think I might be a bush."

That was it. You doubled over, laughter spilling freely from your lips, and despite his humiliation, Telemachus felt his heart swell at the sound. He loved your laugh. He loved—

Wait. He was supposed to be confessing, not making an absolute fool of himself.

"Why are you so nervous?"

"Umm, it's just—" Telemachus' eyes darted rapidly, searching for something—anything—that could save him. His gaze landed on Athena, perched in the form of a huge white owl on a nearby branch, watching intently. He gave her a desperate, pleading look. She only responded with a subtle nod forward, directing his attention back to you.

"Are you alright?" you asked, concern laced in your voice. You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours, forcing him to meet your eyes. Gods, you loved his eyes—the way they turned into molten honey when the sunlight hit them just right. At that moment, you cursed your father in your mind. He had hyped you up to finally tell Telemachus how you felt, only for the day to end with him having some allergic reaction or whatever was happening to him.

Telemachus stared at you, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. The way the light bathed your features, making you seem almost ethereal—it was unfair. Before he could stop himself, the words slipped out.

"By the gods, you are beautiful."

"What?"

"What?" His eyes widened slightly as if he could pretend he hadn't just spoken.

You raised an eyebrow. "I heard you. I just wanted to know if I heard right."

"Oh."

A thick silence settled between you. The air felt heavy, charged with something unspoken.

You swallowed hard, deciding to bite the bullet. "...I think you're beautiful too." The words tumbled out before you could second-guess yourself. Your heart hammered in your chest, but you forced yourself to push forward. "I like you. I like you a lot, and it's totally fine if you don't feel the same, I just can't hold it in anymo—"

"I do too."

The response came without hesitation, so natural it almost startled you. He took a deep breath, scanning your face for a reaction—some sign that he wasn't making a mistake. He found it.

His fingers tightened slightly around yours. "You are the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about at night." His voice was steadier now, more certain. "I try to find excuses to talk to you, to be around you, to hear you laugh—even if it's just for a moment. And I know I should have said something sooner, but I was terrified that if I did, I'd lose you."

The world around you blurred. The whispering leaves, the distant crash of waves against the shore, the rustling of Athena's wings—it all faded into the background.

"You won't lose me." you promised, squeezing his hand.

Telemachus let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. His free hand hesitantly reached up, brushing against your cheek as if testing whether this moment was real.

"Then, can I—" He stopped himself, but the question lingered in the air.

You smiled. "You can."

And with that, he closed the distance, pressing his lips softly against yours.

BONUS:

"Would you be mad if I let go of your hand?" "Why? What's wrong?" "It's really sweaty"

[sunsherbet]

Car Kisses

In which you finally kiss your outrageously adorable best friend.

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

CW: brief mentions of food, unedited

The high-top table was cluttered with empty appetizer dishes and half-drunk iced teas. You and Spencer had been here for an hour or two, working through as many small plates as you could manage.

It had been nearly two months since you’d seen him. He'd been buried in back-to-back cases, and you hadn’t had the chance to sit together like this in forever. Now, as the moon started to rise, you felt blissfully content. Your stomach was pleasantly full, and your cheeks ached from how hard and often you’d been laughing all night.

“Do you want a ride home?” Spencer asks as he places his card on the tab.

“First you pay for dinner now you offer me a ride? Careful Spence, I’m gonna start thinking you’re trying to proposition me.” You laugh, taking his offered hand to hop off the bar stool.

“If a man ever tries to proposition you with the bare minimum give him my number.” Spencer glances at your entwined hands curiously but doesn’t brooch the subject. You know you should drop it but when you laxen your grip he tightens his.

You grin teasingly, “Ah and you’ll handle it will you?”

“What’s with the face! I’m an FBI agent!” Spencer makes an indignant noise.

“Mhm and what exactly will you do, Doctor? Give him a strongly worded talk about the probability of them getting a second date?”

He pushes the door to the bar open and leads you out into the winter air. “Or maybe I’ll let them know that I possess an... extensive understanding of how to get away with murder.”

The wind whips across your face, and you raise your free hand to shield your eyes from its biting sting. Spencer quickens his pace so that his body blocks the wind, his hand reaching back to keep yours gently entwined.

“They will laugh in your face Spencer, you’re the least intimidating person I’ve ever met!” You call out over the whipping wind.

He clicks the car to life and you see the red lights shine through the foggy night. You sigh in relief as the warm vehicle gets closer and closer to view.

Spencer opens the passenger door and you shove your skirt inside the door before he gently closes it. Damn was it too cold to have a skirt on right now.

He slides into the driver seat and turns your face to his, seemingly set on finishing your conversation, “For you, I can be anything.”

You try to stammer out a response but all you can manage is a weak nod.

Spencer holds your gaze for a moment longer, and you take in the sight of your incredibly attractive best friend. His hair has grown since you last saw him, soft curls now resting around his ears. His face is a mix of sharp and soft features, with high cheekbones and a gentle jawline. His amber eyes, framed by long dark lashes, draw you in.

“Damn it’s cold.” He blows into his hands before flicking the seat heaters on.

Maybe it's the way his slightly-chapped lips form an 'O,' such a subtle gesture yet it sends a spark through you, making your thighs involuntarily clench. Or perhaps it’s the slow, undeniable burn you've felt for your best friend over the past few months, a longing that’s been quietly building until now, finally taking hold of you in a way you can no longer ignore. You grab the hand that was previously in yours and pull him over the console and into your lips.

He rears back slightly in shock, lips parted and eyes wild and searching yours for the reason for such a change in behavior.

You’d give him an answer if you had one yourself. You don’t, though, so you tug on his collar once more in response. Spencer meets your gaze with a curious look, but then something shifts in his eyes—something deeper, something more intense. Suddenly, his hand gently cups your jaw and he pulls you closer, melding his lips with yours in a kiss that feels both familiar and new.

The kiss is slow at first, tentative, as if neither of you quite knows where to go from here, but the warmth of his lips against yours sparks something inside you. His thumb traces the curve of your jaw, coaxing you into the moment, urging you to let go of everything else. You can feel the pulse of his heartbeat against your chest, steady and sure, and for a moment, it's just the two of you—no questions, no doubts—only the soft pressure of his lips and the quiet electricity building between you.

Spencer smiles against your lips and suddenly you actually believe that he could be anything you need him to.

[yaniluvs]

“nerds don't date , right?”

[ 정인 ] ✷ ‎. . flirting with the chic nerd turns into something else ?

۫ 𖨂 𓈒 𝑛erdy!jeongin ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑓em!reader ˙ . ꒷ g. fluff , humour , crack , forced proximity , classmates to lovers , uni au , fake dating , skz ensemble . 32OOw. ⎯⎯⎯ LiBRARY ⟢ cw. suggestive , as of now . ┆ 📹 ⋮ a y.jg mini series .ᐟ ֹ ₊

yani's note 𑁍ࠬܓ happy jeongin day! <3 thought this fic will end up too long (no surprise there..) so instead i'm turning into another series. ik i update all my series very slowly BUT listen, i will post freq. for this since it's a mini series !! this is pretty fast-paced, for the first chapter though. the upcoming ones may be slow-paced and not rush tho hehe. comments, likes, req./asks and reblogs are always appreciated !! send in a reply or an ask if you want to be in my mastertag, or my individual series' taglists. happy reading, love <3

the autumn air was crisp, golden leaves swirling across the university courtyard as students hurried to their morning classes. the faint scent of coffee and fallen leaves lingered in the air, mixing with the distant hum of chatter and footsteps against cobblestone paths. it was the kind of morning that made people pause for a second, taking in the poetry of the season—well, people who weren’t already running late.

you weren't late, but you sure weren’t in a rush either. the café near the library had just handed over your classic hot cocoa, still warm against your palms, and the world felt like it was moving at a slow, dreamy pace.

that was, until a familiar figure cut through the crowd like a scene straight out of a high-fashion editorial.

yang jeongin.

jeongin, the so-called nerd, of at least your year. the one with the perfect grades, the sharp jawline, and the ever-present black glasses perched on his nose. the one people assumed spent all his time buried in textbooks, immune to the chaos of university life. except, he wasn’t just a nerd—he was a walking contradiction.

because if jeongin was just a nerd, why was he stepping onto campus dressed like he belonged on a runway?

today, it was a black oversized blazer with a fitted turtleneck, silver rings glinting against his slender fingers as he adjusted the leather strap of his bag. his glasses sat perfectly on the bridge of his nose, giving him an air of quiet arrogance, like he knew he looked good but didn’t care enough to acknowledge it.

his dark hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d just stepped out of bed looking effortlessly perfect. and the way he walked—like the world was just a backdrop, and he was the main character—made people stare without even realizing they were doing it.

jeongin definitely had an idgaf attitude, you had thought when you first shared a class. not towards his studies—no, he was practically married to academic excellence—but towards people.

he didn’t care for the unnecessary drama, the loud parties, or the fleeting conversations about nothing. he had a small, trusted circle and didn’t entertain anyone outside of it.

which was exactly why you found it so fun to mess with him.

“morning, topper,” you called out, stepping in line with him as he made his way toward the lecture hall. “where’s the rest of your nerd squad?”

jeongin barely spared you a glance. “not a nerd,” he replied smoothly.

“yeah?” you sipped your cocoa, unfazed. “you literally corrected our professor’s math last week.”

“he was wrong,” the guy shrugged.

“yeah, but who does that?”

“a person who values accuracy,” he deadpanned, his lips twitching slightly.

you simply grinned, as you walked alongside him. your friend group always teased you for hanging around jeongin, saying you were probably the only person brave enough to bother the university’s golden boy.

he wasn’t mean, exactly, but he had a way of making people feel like they weren’t worth his time.

which was true regardless.

still, you had made it your personal mission to crack his icy exterior.

“so,” you continued, “you ever been on a date, topper?”

he slowed his pace. it was so brief that most people wouldn’t have noticed, but you caught the slight hesitation before he turned to you, raising a perfectly shaped brow.

“what?”

“a date. you know—dressing up, awkward small talk, trying to impress someone so they don’t ghost you after?” you clarified, voice laced with amusement.

jeongin adjusted his glasses, looking unimpressed. “i know what a date is.”

“great! so, have you been on one?”

for a second, he just stared at you, dark eyes unreadable behind his lenses. then, in a tone so nonchalant it almost sounded careless, he said, “no.”

you almost choked on your drink. “wait, seriously?”

he continued walking, unfazed. “yeah. why? is that surprising?”

“duh?” you huffed, catching up. “you’re, like, weirdly hot for a nerd. i thought people would be throwing themselves at you.”

he scoffed. “that’s the problem. i don’t care about people throwing themselves at me.”

you tilted your head. “then what do you care about?”

he continued walking, completely nonchalant as he gazed up. the morning sun caught the silver of his rings as he slipped his hands into his pockets, tilting his head slightly.

“why?” he mused, voice smooth as ever. “you wanna change that?”

you blinked. for the first time, you were the one caught off guard.

because jeongin wasn’t looking at you with his usual passive expression. no, there was something in his gaze—something sharp, something challenging, something that almost looked like interest.

and you, for the first time in your life, had no idea what to say.

flirting with a nerd shouldn’t be this hard.

the crisp morning air suddenly felt warmer.

you were not the type to get flustered easily, but the way jeongin had just looked at you—head tilted, hands in his pockets, voice smooth as hell—all the while walking straight ahead as if he hadn't just lowkey flirted with you—wasn’t fair.

it wasn’t nerdy. it wasn’t normal. it wasn’t jeongin.

since when did nerds flirt back?

you narrowed your eyes, stepping closer to mask your sudden loss of composure. “that sounded like a challenge.”

“maybe it is.”

you blinked. okay. this was new territory. you were used to jeongin rolling his eyes at you, shutting down your playful jabs with a bored look. not this. not him flipping the script so effortlessly.

but two could play that game.

“well, topper,” you hummed, leaning in slightly, “if you want me to take you on a date, you should just say so.”

his smirk didn’t waver, but you caught the quick flicker of his eyes—the way they darted to your lips before meeting your gaze again. he adjusted his glasses, his fingers briefly brushing against the silver rings.

“i don’t recall saying that,” he mused.

you grinned. “you didn’t deny it, though.”

jeongin exhaled through his nose, amused, before turning back toward the lecture hall. “come on. we’re already late.”

you watched him walk ahead, your heartbeat a little too loud in your ears.

what the hell just happened?

— inside the lecture hall

the class was already half-full when you and jeongin entered, the air buzzing with lazy morning energy. some students were half-asleep, slumped over their desks, while others were whispering about weekend plans.

the professor hadn’t arrived yet, but the massive whiteboard was already filled with equations from an earlier class—long, intimidating numbers that you barely had the mental energy to comprehend.

you spotted your some of your friends near the middle rows. felix, ryujin, and yeji were sitting together, with an empty seat next to the blonde. across the hall, the nerd's own 'gang'—jisung, hyunjin, seungmin, aeri and yunah—was all huddled near the front.

as you slid into the seat next to felix, he raised an eyebrow. “you were talking to jeongin again?”

“yeah?”

he leaned in, lowering his voice. “bae. people actually think he hates, like, everyone.”

you scoffed, unbothered. “well, i’m built different.”

ryujin, who was casually scrolling on her phone, smirked. “or maybe you just like hot twi— nerds.”

“he's not tw—”

yeji cut you off, nudging the other two. “what’s the bet again?”

felix only grinned. “y/n would either break jeongin’s cold exterior or completely embarrass herself trying.”

“so far, it’s leaning toward the second one.”

you groaned, shoving felix’s arm. “so i'm as valuable as a bet now?”

meanwhile, across the room, jeongin was already in his seat, casually flipping through his notes. jisung nudged him with an exaggerated smirk.

“was y/n hitting on you again?”

jeongin adjusted his glasses. “probably.”

seungmin, looking unimpressed, leaned back in his chair. “and you just let her?”

jeongin shrugged. “she's entertaining.”

aeri cackled. “you so have a crush.”

“i don’t.”

“right, right.” jisung rolled his eyes. “that’s why you’re smirking to yourself like a roblox character right now?”

jeongin’s smirk immediately disappeared. “shut up.”

— after class, the campus café

after suffering through an hour of math (or thriving through it, if you were jeongin), you found yourself at the campus café, sipping on some watermelon juice you had gotten. the café was a cozy little spot near the library, filled with the soft hum of conversations and the clinking of coffee cups. the warm lighting made the wooden interior glow, and the air smelled like cinnamon and espresso.

you were sitting with felix and ryujin when jeongin entered.

of course, he looked annoyingly good again.

and of course, he had changed his attire after class.

noon's outfit: a fitted cream turtleneck under a tailored charcoal gray coat, paired with black trousers and sleek leather boots. his silver rings caught the light as he pushed his glasses up, scanning the menu like he wasn’t aware half the café was stealing glances at him.

you sighed dramatically. “does he ever look bad?”

felix smirked. “that’s what you’re worried about?”

“no, i’m worried about myself, because apparently, i’m developing a thing for well-dressed nerds.”

ryujin raised an eyebrow. “oh? so you admit it?”

at that moment, jeongin’s gaze flickered over to you. your eyes met. and instead of just nodding or ignoring you like usual, he did something that nearly made you drop your drink.

he smiled.

not a smirk. not a teasing glance. a smile. dimples and all.

you blinked, stunned.

felix leaned in, whispering, “oh. you’re so done for.”

and for the second time today, you really had nothing to say.

the art of losing (to a nerd).

jeongin had smiled at you.

not a smirk, not an i’m-better-than-you glance, but an actual smile. dimples, soft eyes, the whole deal.

you were losing your mind.

“i—what—he—” you sputtered, gripping your juice like it held the answers to the universe. “did he just smile at me?”

felix sipped his iced coffee with an amused look. “yup.”

ryujin smirked, barely glancing up from her phone. “congratulations. you’re officially the first person outside of his nerd cult to get that privilege.”

“oh lord.”

across the café, jeongin had already turned back to the counter, unfazed. he ordered his usual—black coffee, no sugar—before casually making his way to a corner booth. he moved so effortlessly, extremely nonchalant.

you, however, were still stuck on that smile.

what did it mean? was he just being polite? was he messing with you? did he—

felix snapped his fingers in front of your face. “hello? earth to y/n? you’re staring.”

you blinked. “i am not.”

ryujin raised an eyebrow. “you totally are.”

felix leaned in, grinning. “wait. wait. are you blushing?”

“no.”

“you’re so done for,”

“first stage of denial: over.”

“i hate the both of you.”

. . .

a few days later, you were at the campus library, attempting to study. spoiler: it wasn’t going well.

the problem?

a nerd sitting across from you.

it wasn’t planned. you had been minding your own business, laptop open, notes spread out, when jeongin had materialized in front of you, dropping his books onto the table with an air of casual dominance.

“reserved seats don’t exist,” he had said when you had gaped at him.

so now, here you were. stuck at the same table, trying (and failing) to ignore each other.

you tapped your pen against your notebook, sneaking a glance at him. he was focused, dark eyes scanning the textbook like it was the most interesting thing in the world. his glasses slid down slightly, and he absentmindedly pushed them back up with a knuckle.

how was it possible for a nerd to look so effortlessly cool?

“you’re staring.”

you flinched. “observing.”

jeongin didn’t even look up. “creeping.”

you huffed, crossing your arms. “you are so full of yourself.”

a smirk. “you’re the one staring, not me.”

you scowled, ready to retort, when an idea hit them. a terrible, wonderful idea.

you leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. “you know,” you mused, “if you ever need a break from all that.. nerding, i can take you on a date.”

jeongin finally looked up, raising a brow. “are you seriously flirting with me in the library?”

“why? is it working?”

a pause. then—

jeongin leaned in too.

too close. close enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne—something woody, expensive, unfairly attractive.

“you tell me,” he murmured.

your brain short-circuited.

felix was right. you were so done for.

. . .

you had two rules in life.

1. never get involved in unnecessary drama. 2. never—ever—fall for a nerd.

unfortunately, han jisung existed solely to ruin both of those.

the set-up (aka jisung's dumb idea)

"so, uh… i kind of need a favor."

jisung plopped down beside you in the campus café, grinning like he hadn’t just uttered the most dangerous words in existence.

you, munching on a cookie, didn’t bother looking up from the textbook you were pretending to read simultaneously. "no."

"you don’t even know what i’m asking."

"i know it’s stupid."

jisung pouted. "wow. no faith in me at all?"

you finally sighed, setting the cookie down. "fine. what’s the favor?"

jisung clapped his hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. "so, jeongin has this family thing coming up, right?"

"okay… and?"

jisung leaned in, lowering his voice like he was about to reveal a government secret. "his parents keep nagging him about dating."

"and why is that my problem?"

jisung grinned. "because you’re fake-dating him now!"

silence.

you stared. "i’m what?"

"you heard me."

at that exact moment, jeongin—who had just arrived at the café (wow magic) —froze mid-step. he turned to jisung with a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

"what are you doing? no!"

jisung pouted. "come on, dude. your mom keeps asking about your nonexistent girlfriend, and y/n is perfect for this!"

you smirked, propping your chin on your hand. "perfect, hm?"

jeongin shot you a flat look. "don’t."

jisung, ignoring him, continued excitedly, "think about it! y/n’s hot, pretty, you two already bicker like an old married couple, and—"

jeongin cut him off. "i’d rather die."

"well, damn," you muttered, feigning offense. "you could at least pretend to be a little enthusiastic about fake-dating me."

jeongin turned to you, unimpressed. "i’d rather explain quantum mechanics to a toddler than date you."

you grinned. "you know quantum mechanics?"

"that’s not the point."

jisung threw his hands up. "guys! focus! jeongin, do you want your mom setting you up with random girls?"

jeongin clenched his jaw. he hated when his mom did that. every family event ended with some aunt introducing him to their neighbor’s niece, followed by exhausting small talk and forced compliments.

his eyes flickered to you, watching him with that stupidly smug smile. you probably weren’t taking this seriously, right?

good.

because he wasn’t doing it.

"no," he finally said. "not happening."

jisung groaned. "dude. it’s one dinner."

"still no."

you leaned in, resting your elbow on the table. "you’re really against the idea of dating me?"

jeongin exhaled, looking you dead in the eye. "fake or not, i wouldn’t date you if you were the last person on earth."

you grinned. "good. that means i can flirt all i want, and you totally won’t get attached, right?"

"oh yeah? wanna bet on it?"

"oh you're on, yang. i'll flirt with you as much as i want for-"

he cuts you off, "-one month. a whole week of me buying you snacks and lunch on the line. if you win."

"hmm, scared much? why not make it three months and i'll actually leave you alone after it all?"

"oh this is fun." jisung only stared between the two.

"bet."

jisung clapped his hands together. "so it's settled! you two are fake-dating!"

"i never agreed to this," jeongin muttered.

you simply took another bite of your cookie. "too late, topper. we have a date to plan."

jeongin swore under his breath.

this was going to be a disaster.

. . .

the night of the dinner came faster than jeongin would’ve liked.

you, unfortunately, were thriving.

"so, babe," you teased, nudging him as you walked toward the fancy restaurant where his family was waiting. "are we holding hands or what?"

jeongin shot you a glare. "no."

you pouted dramatically. "you’re so bad at this."

"i don’t want to be good at this."

you sighed. "fine. but i am calling you ‘babe’ in front of your parents."

jeongin stopped walking. "don’t."

you smirked. "babe."

jeongin groaned, rubbing his temples.

this was hell.

so, the second you stepped in, jeongin’s mom beamed.

"iyennie! you made it!"

you nearly choked. iyennie?

jeongin shot you a look that screamed, say a word and you die.

you, of course, took mental notes for future bullying.

his mother, looking as happy as ever, turned to you, eyes lighting up. "and this must be your girlfriend!"

you smiled sweetly, reaching for jeongin’s arm. "yes, ma’am! i’ve heard so much about you."

jeongin stiffened. his actual nightmare was happening.

his mom clapped her hands together. "oh, she’s adorable! and so polite!"

jeongin shot you a glare.

y/n, in response, squeezed his arm.

. . .

the dinner had barely started, and jeongin already wanted to disappear.

his mom was in full hosting mode, greeting everyone at the long, beautifully decorated table like she was running a royal banquet. his dad, more relaxed but equally nosy, sat at the head of the table, eyeing jeongin and you like you two were the most interesting thing in the world.

and then, of course, there were the relatives.

the visiting relatives.

which jeongin had not been informed about.

"aunt nae is here?" he whispered to his mom in horror as they took their seats.

"of course! she and minji wanted to see you, and they had to meet your girlfriend," his mom whispered back, beaming.

jeongin shot a look at you, who was way too comfortable in this situation, greeting his relatives like you'd been part of the family for years.

he exhaled sharply. this is fine. one dinner.

you turned to him, grinning. "jeonginnie, babe, scoot closer."

jeongin flinched. "what the hell did you just call me?"

"jeonginnie," you repeated, full of amusement, before turning to his mom. "it’s my nickname for him. cute, right?"

his mom melted. "oh, that’s adorable!"

jeongin clenched his jaw, gripping his fork like it was his last lifeline.

you were having the time of your life.

"so, y/n," jeongin’s dad started, leaning back in his chair. "tell us about yourself. what are you studying?"

you smiled, setting your chopsticks down. "music and literature."

jeongin’s mom clasped her hands together. "oh! a creative soul!"

jeongin muttered under his breath, "more like a chaotic soul."

you kicked him under the table. he barely held in a grunt.

one of jeongin’s aunts, a well-dressed woman in her late fifties, eyed you curiously. "and how did you two meet?"

before jeongin could stop you, you smoothly responded, "in the library. he was too shy to talk to me at first, so i had to make the first move. such a baby, right?"

jeongin nearly choked on his water. "that’s not—"

"oh, my," one of the older relatives gushed. "that’s so cute!"

"it really was," you continued, ignoring jeongin’s silent death glare. "he kept glancing at me over his books. adorable. my little nerd."

jeongin took a slow, deep breath. "lying is a sin, you know."

you turned to him with a sickeningly sweet smile. "so is being grumpy at your loving girlfriend, babe."

jeongin gritted his teeth. "i hate you."

"no, you don’t."

the rest of the table ate this up.

minji, his cousin, sighed dreamily. "you two are so cute together."

jeongin gave you a sharp look that screamed, look what you’ve done.

you only smirked.

and so, the dinner continued, filled with stories, laughter, and jeongin’s silent suffering.

until his father, casually sipping his drink, said, "we should invite y/n to the family trip next month."

silence.

jeongin’s brain short-circuited.

"excuse me?"

his dad smiled. "the family trip! your mom and i were just talking about it the other day. since y/n is part of the family now, she should come!"

jeongin nearly passed out.

you, on the other hand, simply blinked. "family trip?"

"oh, yes!" his mom clapped her hands together. "a whole week at the beach! we go every year, but this time, you’ll be joining us!"

jeongin stared at them in horror. "no, she won’t."

"of course, she will," his dad said firmly.

"we’ve only been dating for a few months!" jeongin protested.

his mom tilted her head. "so?"

"so?! that’s too soon for a family trip!"

you, who had been silent, leaned in slightly. "i mean, i do like the beach."

jeongin whipped his head toward them. "are you kidding me?"

you smirked. "what? i think it could be fun, babe."

jeongin clenched his fists. "i hate you." (keep counting guys !!)

"no, you don’t."

the table broke into excited chatter about the trip, completely ignoring jeongin’s very obvious distress.

this wasn’t happening.

this couldn’t be happening.

but it was.

and you were enjoying every second of it.

. . .

the evening air was crisp, a sharp contrast to the warmth inside the restaurant. the soft glow of the streetlights cast elongated shadows on the pavement, flickering with the occasional movement of people walking past. somewhere down the street, a car honked, followed by the muffled laughter of a group of university students spilling out of a nearby café.

none of that mattered to jeongin.

because he was currently standing outside the restaurant, rubbing his face aggressively while you stood beside him, grinning like you had just won the lottery.

as soon as you had left the restaurant, he had dragged you to the side, glaring.

"you just had to play along?"

you shrugged. "what was i supposed to do? say no and make it obvious?"

"yes!"

you smirked, tapping your chin. "hmm… too boring."

jeongin groaned, rubbing his temples. "this was supposed to be one night."

"well," you said cheerfully, "looks like we’re fake-dating for a month now. hope you’re ready, iyennie. oh, and this doesn't mean our bet is off the line now."

jeongin groaned louder.

this was hell.

"you're enjoying this," he accused, voice flat, eyes burning into them.

you smoothed the skirt of your blue, satin dress, pretending to think. "maybe a bit."

jeongin shot you a glare.

okay, a full-blown murderous glare.

you, still entirely unbothered, placed a hand on your hip. "i don’t see why you’re mad. i mean, a free vacation? beachside views? quality time with your loving girlfriend?" you batted your lashes. "i’d say that’s a win."

jeongin exhaled through his nose. "a win would be me never having to fake-date you in the first place."

you gasped dramatically. "that hurts, iyennie."

jeongin physically recoiled. "don’t call me that."

"aww, but it’s cute." you tilted your head, smirking. "just like you."

jeongin’s entire body tensed. "i hate you." (what did i tell you?)

"no, you don’t."

"besides, you could've asked any other girl for this whole.. fake dating agenda, you know. but you didn't, so i think that's very contradictory to your complains right now."

"you think i had a choice when jisung practically threatened me there in the first place?"

"please, you could reject it if you really wanted to. that man would forget about it if minho appeared randomly."

jeongin groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "this was supposed to be one night. one dinner. one stupid meal, and then i could go back to my normal, peaceful life."

"peaceful? dude, you have two research papers due, a physics exam next week, and you literally stress-buy sweaters. what part of that is peaceful?"

"shut up," he muttered.

"aww, did i strike a nerve?"

jeongin clenched his jaw. "let’s just go."

"go where?"

jeongin pointed to his car. "i drove you here, remember? which means, unfortunately, i have to drop you home, too."

"aww, you care about my safety, now? such a great boyfriend."

"no, darling, i just don’t want my mom thinking i abandoned you on the side of the road."

you gasped, pressing a hand to your heart. "cold, iyennie. cold."

jeongin ignored her and walked to his car.

jeongin’s car was clean. of course it was.

dark leather seats, faint traces of cologne and fresh laundry lingering in the air, a neatly placed water bottle in the cup holder, and absolutely no mess in sight. it was exactly what you had expected from someone like jeongin—controlled, neat, meticulous.

you, on the other hand, sprawled in the passenger seat like you had all the time in the world, kicking off your heels with a sigh.

"ugh, finally," you said, stretching your legs. "i swear, those things were invented by a man."

jeongin side-eyed them as he started the car. "you chose to wear them."

"yeah, because i actually put effort into my appearance, especially because i was meeting my boyfriend's family, you know. not to mention, i also had to match someone's peak of fashion sense."

you looked him up and down, eyes dragging over his outfit. "speaking of, i gotta admit, you looked kind of good tonight, nerd."

jeongin, dressed in a perfectly fitted black button-up (with the sleeves slightly rolled, because of course), navy slacks, and a silver watch that sat just right on his wrist, kept his eyes on the road. "kind of?"

"mhm. but don’t let it go to your head."

jeongin clicked his tongue. "too late."

you laughed, leaning against the window. "so, when were you going to tell me you had a whole extended family coming to dinner?"

jeongin let out a deep sigh. "i didn’t know."

"mm-hmm."

"i didn’t. if i had known, i would’ve never agreed to this in the first place."

"bet your mom planned it on purpose,"

jeongin’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. "oh, she definitely did."

silence filled the car, the quiet hum of the engine the only sound between them. the city lights flickered past, casting patterns of gold and silver against the windshield. the streets, alive with late-night chatter and the occasional honk, blurred into the background.

you shifted, turning to face him. "so, what’s the plan?"

jeongin frowned. "what plan?"

"you know, the fake-dating plan? we need a strategy."

jeongin blinked. "we don’t need a strategy. we just—" he exhaled. "we just survive the trip, act normal, and then break up after."

you gasped. "break up? so soon?"

jeongin shot you a look. "we are not actually dating, idiot."

"but think of the drama!" you grinned. "we could stage a messy breakup—throw some fake tears in, maybe have a whole 'it’s not you, it’s me' moment—"

"no."

you pouted. "boring."

jeongin rolled his eyes. "you are the most insufferable person i’ve ever met."

"and yet, here you are, fake dating me. out of every girl in town."

jeongin groaned. "i hate my life."

you smirked, playing with the edge of your dress. "no, you don’t."

. . .

when you finally pulled up in front of the women's uni dorm building, jeongin parked and rested his head against the seat, exhausted.

"alright, we’re here. get out."

you gasped. "no goodnight kiss?"

"out."

you laughed, wearing your heels back and stepping out. before closing the door, you leaned down slightly, peering inside. "sweet dreams, iyennie. don’t miss me too much."

jeongin glared. "i will actually block your number."

you winked. "you wish you could."

and with that, you shut the door and disappeared into the building, leaving jeongin staring after you, questioning every life choice that had led to this moment.

mastertag ୨୧ @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger @woozarts @katsukis1wife @bddaramjis @reignessance @peskybirdysya @honeyybbuubblleess @ellemir2404 @4ng3l-ch1ld @urlocalmultigroupfan

[loveritas]

anypov જ cw: hints of pseudocest જ wc: 561

Caleb.

He had always been there, like your own personal shadow, a knight in shining armour you’d joke as kids. The one person who made sure you were never alone. From the moment you’d been taken in together, he’d taken you under his wing and kept you there...For protection? Perhaps, if not a little for possession...

When you were younger, he made sure no one picked on you at school. If someone so much as looked at you wrong, Caleb was there, standing just a little too close, his voice low and even as he scared them off with nothing more than a few well-placed words. You never even had to ask; he just knew when you needed him.

You never felt like you were an obligation with him, or that he was forcing himself to spend time with you. He encouraged you to take up the same hobbies, his favourite music, comics, video games, anything it was, he’d happily bond with you over it if you wanted to.

Similarly, he’d do the same for you. You’d mention something and it would stay in his brain, he’d learn all about your hobbies and fixations, just so you’d have someone to share it with. Your smile whenever he’d show interest was always worth it to him, the image framed permanently in his mind.

It was sweet, the way he was always there.

But then you got older and it didn’t stop. If anything, it got worse.

Every time you got close to someone, Caleb had something to say. A subtle comment, a warning laced with just enough truth to make you doubt. “I heard he’s a player.” - “He’ll just use you.” - “Heard some real bad things about that one.”. Sometimes he didn’t even need to say anything, just a glance, a tight-lipped expression, and suddenly, you were second-guessing everything.

And if that didn’t work? He found other ways.

He pulled you aside at a party, fingers closing a bit too firmly around your wrist as he leant down and whispered, “You're not really into him, are you?” His voice was gentle, nearly teasing, but there was something underneath. Something darker.

“You trust me, don't you?”

It was a stupid question, of course you did, you always had, probably would forever more.

You always looked up to him, he knew best and it allowed him to draw you back into the protection of his presence, allowed him to remind you—over and over—that no one would ever know you the way he did, take care of you the way he does.

As you stepped out into the evening chilly air Caleb's arm slid around your shoulders, pulling you close into his side. His warmth seeped into you, always so comforting and grounding, even now when there was a hidden undercurrent of something else

"Let's go home, parties’ not all that great-" he whispered, as he pressed a small gentle kiss to the top of your head.

It should have been nothing. A brotherly thing. A habit formed over the years.

But the way his lips lingered—just a second too long, inhaling your scent a little—had you mind racing, and a subtle warmth running along your skin.

You didn’t look up at him, too scared for what you might see in his eyes.

Or perhaps too scared it would be reflected in your eyes too.

© loveritas → do not copy or translate any of my works

[starcurtain]

Potential Phaidei Crumbs

Some more possible Phaidei crumbs that I've been thinking about and haven't seen people discussing yet:

First, in the very first scene with Mydei, there's this one odd line. It's a tiny thing, but nothing in a character's first appearance is accidental, so...

Mydei starts griping, telling Phainon that the people of Castrum Kremnos as a whole will not accept him. Presumably he actually means this in a general sense, aka "The Kremnoans won't accept any other hero; Kremnos won't become allies with anyone."

However, something I haven't seen many people note is that Mydei's very next line is:

"As the successor of Kremnos, I am not able to act independently on such matters."

This is a weird statement, right?

Saying "I am not able to act independently" basically implies that there is a desire to choose differently than his people. It's not "I would never act differently than my people demand." It's not even "I don't want to act independently"--it's "I am not able to." Wording the statement this way actively suggests that Mydei has a different stance than Kremnos itself--that if he had the power to act independently, he might make a different determination than his people expect.

Or, in more direct words: He would accept Phainon if he had the choice.

The dev team is very careful about the first impression that characters make in their debut appearances in the game. Choosing to deliberately reveal to us that Mydei has a different opinion of Phainon than the rest of the Kremnoans might is a strong signal for Mydei's characterization--deep down, he is very different from other Kremnoans--but, even more importantly, it tells us instantly that Mydei thinks more highly of Phainon than other people from Kremnos do. (Even if he also thinks Phainon is a mannerless heathen who lacks hospitality lol.)

Okay, okay, but that's just one little line. There's another thing I wanted to point out too, and that's actually Miss Castorice...

I've seen a lot of people suggesting Mydei/Castorice, Phainon/Castorice, and even Mydei/Castorice/Phainon, but for all the fandom's shipping (and everyone should feel free to ship what they love; your ship is valid, fam!), I actually kind of think that...

Castorice is a bit of a Mydei/Phainon shipper herself.

Although Castorice is of course just a good person who is doing what she can to help Okhema, she also is quick to assist Phainon specifically to save Mydei, quick to try to keep Phainon calm because that's what will help him get to Mydei quicker, and she just brings Mydei up out of the blue to Phainon several times throughout the story.

It's Castorice who halts Phainon's ascension ceremony to ask where Mydei is, because she expected him to be there for Phainon.

It seems to be a given for Castorice that if Phainon needs him, in Phainon's most important hour, Mydei should obviously be with him. She knew Mydei would come.

Even before that, when Phainon was feeling down, Castorice admits she doesn't know how to comfort Phainon herself, and instead... brings up Mydei to comfort Phainon???

Girl thought Quick, how can I raise Phainon's self-esteem? and Mydei's nickname for Phainon was the first thing that seems to have come to mind. 😂

She really said "You're not lame, Phainon; Mydei thinks you're a hero!"

Okay, being more serious--even putting shipping aside entirely, it's just overall clear that Castorice perceives the close comradeship between Phainon and Mydei (probably moreso than Phainon himself) and understands how important having that close friendship is to Phainon, who seems to have nothing else left outside of the Chrysos Heirs at all.

She seems to be able to tell how much Phainon needs people in his life who believe in and can stand beside him, and seems to have clocked that Mydei is definitely one such person. The game tells us players clearly that Castorice is an incredibly perceptive person who is sensitive to the feelings of others, and part of that includes her continuing to verbally recognize, throughout 3.0, the support Phainon gains from his close connection to Mydei.

I think this is just another cool touch--but also maybe another subtle nod from the devs. Castorice won't even let Phainon have a single scene where Mydei isn't mentioned lol.

And finally, one last crumb based on a pet theory...

"As I've Written"

We don't yet know who is responsible for actually writing the character profiles in the "As I've Written" book--although the rewards section is called "Author's Recompense" and the player get rewards for "composing sagas," alongside the interact button being "Write Story," there's actually an entire achievement teasing the fact that the Trailblazer doesn't know who actually wrote the book:

It's not remotely written in a style the Trailblazer would write in, and it also contains information the Trailblazer (at least currently) has no way of knowing at all, like the details of Castorice's backstory.

At this point, the real author could be anyone. But I feel like there's a few things pointing in favor of the idea that the real author might be Phainon. It could also be Anaxa or Cyrene or even Mem too, but hear me out...

First, the book's design is reminiscent of Phainon: the book features prominent sun/moon symbols, has the same blue-white-gold color palette, and even the design at the bottom of the book resembles the design along the front of Phainon's coat:

The book also seems to be strongly foreshadowing that someone is going to lose their way, step onto a dark path, or end up making a terrible mistake.

In Tribbie's chapter:

In Aglaea's:

And of course in Phainon's chapter, where the foreshadowing is strongest:

If this "one who has lost their direction" and "lost themself," the "flawed hero," are all references to Phainon, then the book over and over again seems to be--for the player--foreshadowing Phainon's downfall. Or, from the other perspective: This is a record written by someone who has witnessed (or experienced) the downfall and knows what is coming.

There's also the fact that while Phainon's chapter is written in third person, the narrator occasionally slips in some hints that they know what's going on in Phainon's mind:

And there's also this moment from Mydei's chapter:

We already know that this is not how Mydei behaves around people he doesn't know. When Mydei isn't familiar with a person, he doesn't banter with them--he doesn't even bother with them. He barely speaks directly to the Trailblazer the entire 3.0 plot, for example! He doesn't remotely seem like the type of person to sit down at a table and drink with someone he doesn't know.

We also know that he's already scolded Phainon several times for trying to act like an expert in Kremnoan legends:

(Thank Streetwise Rhapsody from Youtube for these screencaps because I forgot to screencap it myself lol.)

And the icing on the cake:

The exact phrase "amateur historian" again.

To me, this all but confirms that the "true" author of the "As I've Written" chronicle is probably Phainon, which finally brings me to the actual Phaidei crumb I wanted to discuss all along:

Mydei's story is listed as chapter 10 of the book. Yet for some reason --even though we get the book only after completing nearly the entire 3.0 questline, when the player has definitely met Aglaea, Castorice, and Tribbie already--Mydei's story comes first.

While Castorice, Tribbie, Phainon, and Aglaea all share the same memory crystal, Mydei has his own separate memory crystal, not shared with any other character, and it is given to the player first, before anyone else:

Phainon really said "My man is more important than the rest of us combined."

Tribbie is chapter 1. Phainon is chapter 7. Aglaea is chapter 9. But for some reason, we jumped all three of those characters to present chapter 10 first. Theoretically you could say that it's because we went to Castrum Kremnos and fought Nikador? But, story-wise, was Mydei the most important? The Trailblazer met Phainon and Tribbie first, got to actually play Aglaea for a sequence of this story, and traveled alone with Castorice. Mydei is the character the Trailblazer actually had the least connection to in the whole 3.0 storyline, so it doesn't seem that the story is truly what determined the order characters' chapters were given to us.

At the end of the day, in a book that seems it could be written by Phainon (from the future? the past?), Mydei was given special treatment and came before anyone else.

I'm just sayin'... the devs don't do things on accident.

[weirdero]

I want to talk about Helena’s performance as Helly and her deep rooted misunderstanding of who Helly is as a person. And just in general how I think she perceives her especially after yesterday’s episode.

Helena is incredibly attentive, almost to the point of being terrifying. In the short moments she interacts with anyone, everything in her head is already scripted, calculated, and premeditated. She’s also a great method actress, reacting based on the energy around her. It’s like a stand up comic, constantly adjusting their performance to make sure their actions land. If something doesn’t click, she shifts.

Throughout the past couple of episodes, Helena spends most of her time just trying to go with the flow move with the water, trying to fit in without standing out, constantly monitoring the group and their reactions at every turn. And so far, she was good at it. She can play the part, until her own emotions towards helly start to blind her.

In these two pics she does a quick scan of Irving’s and Marks faces trying to analyze their reactions

Helena knows the group loves Helly. She knows Mark loves Helly. And honestly, I’d bet every dollar in my bank account that it genuinely makes her want to kill herself. She has zero respect for Helly, and she doesn’t need to. To Helena, Helly, and by extension, the group, are low value. Insignificant. At her highest, Helly is just a worker, a cheap extension of herself created with the sole purpose of just being a good employee to be displayed to the public as a little shining lumon puppet. But shit, the bitch can’t even do that. She’s done quite the opposite. So yeah, not a person to be respected or valued.

This particular disdain (and fuck it, I’m just gonna say hate) that Helena carries for Helly spills into the bonfire scene with Milchick.

While Milchick is reading the story, enunciating every word like a second grade elementary school teacher, showing pictures like they’re in a reading circle, I kept wondering to myself if Helena ever experienced something similar to this as a child. How many times has she heard this same story? Or hell, any other old Kier mythology? Lumon, Kier, the Eagan legacy, it’s all she’s ever known. This world is nothing new to her.

Even though I believe Helena is a loyal servant, she probably didn’t love all the weird shit she had to put up with in her childhood. The weight of the Egan legacy probably suffocates her. But she accepted it either way because that was the life she was given. Unlike fucking helly. Fucking helly who’s forced her into this situation to begin with. In my opinion, all of these particular feelings make their way into Helena’s reaction to the story as Helly, which could only be described as a middle schooler who suddenly thinks they’re too old for camp.

I saw this post someone made about this scene, and like shit, yeah, that’s probably right. Helena had one chance to shit on the weird religion that’s been shoved down her throat since birth and she took that chance.

Helena, in this moment, settles for crude, mocking jokes. She probably does this partially out of her own selfish need for Mark’s validation, as well as playing her role trying to fit into the group but I also think it’s a great reflection of her own personal feelings toward Helly. Helly, who would’ve never acted that way. Helly, who is many things, but never cruel. Helena doesn’t seem to understand that. For the moment, Helena takes a step back, flanderizes Helly, reducing her to this cheeky, crude, disruptive little jokester. That’s how Helena views her. With no respect. No nuance. Helly has layers Helena does not care to see. Helly doesn’t just break rules; she actively causes chaos, subverting everything around her. She’s purposefully, and happily, malcontent. A bitch, dare I say, an ungrateful bitch, most likely from Helena’s point of view.

Irving, who keeps testing her, makes her slip a little more. I talked about this a little bit in my last post about severance, but Helena doesn’t take well to being disrespected. She shifts from wanting the group’s (and mostly Mark’s) validation to just wanting to put Irving in his fucking place. These people aren’t equal to her in her mind. They aren’t cut from the same cloth probably not even made from the same fabric. There are levels to this shit, and they are not on her level.

She says what she says. It’s cruel. Mostly, it’s stupid on her part.

And just like Irving said later, and what I said earlier Helly was many things, but…

What Helena did at the bonfire was a fuck up. An especially surprising one coming from a woman as controlling and calculated as her. I’m fully convinced all those little mistakes came from a deep frustration within her. Much of that anger, in my opinion, is stewing from the realization that Helly, someone created by her, literally the source of all of Helena’s recent problems, someone who will stop at nothing to take her down, that person, the woman who’s literally locked up inside her, is more free than she will ever be.

Yes, Helena has no respect for Helly. Yes, she most likely hates that bitch. But when she herself is acting as Helly, it gives her the opportunity to almost let go. She gets the chance to essentially kill the bitch that’s been fucking up her life whilst simultaneously getting a chance to talk to this man who cares so deeply for a version of herself she hates, Even if it’s not the most ideal of situations (it’s not), it’s still something. I think, at the bonfire, she reflects on the ridiculous situation she’s found herself. All this shit caused by some other version of herself that she created, that situation plus all the other shit going down at Lumon is probably alot. And it just all bubbles up inside her. And when she’s given even the smallest opportunity to let anything out, she’s going to take it.

Idk it’s therapeutic in a way I guess.

She’s unfiltered, blunt, and almost carefree in a way that’s shocking almost unsettling. It’s clearly how she sees Helly to some degree, but also her own need to scratch an itch she’s never dared to before. And even though it’s an act of “Helly”, it still leaves a clear aftertaste of Helena.

Keep thinking about these two little moments whilst she’s making her jokes she not only keeps checking on mark’s reaction but also seems to laugh at her self in a way that just seems so genuine almost self deprecating. She acknowledges the ridiculousness of her situation and this dumb ass story she’s probably heard a million times

In my last post about Severance, I mentioned that Helena is the master of speaking her truth without outright saying it. She hides behind walls, but as Helly, she’s free to speak without restraint.

(Also her having sex with mark is a clear way of her expressing this new found freedom with in her role as helly but ima talk about that later)