#best citrus for real

[payloadofgeckos]

Decided to finish up this weird square archway thing (squarchway?) between the living room and dining room as a surprise for my mom for the holidays. It's literally been half painted light green like the living room and white like the original living room for YEARS cause we couldn't figure out what to do with it. Mom put a lot of effort into designing the dining room around this painting- her second non necessity purchase as a homeowner (first was a nice bedframe), so I wanted to finish it nice for her.

I strongarmed my dad into doing the sloppiest goddamned trim job this morning (that man is so skilled and has amazing attention to detail, except for with trim, it's his one true blindspot) and finished painting a couple details with some much needed cheerleading from a friend around noon. Mom should hopefully get home tonight! I'll set a timer to see how long it takes her to notice 😂

But yeah! Kalamansi mural!

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor au anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 2: Piercings and Puns

“Pleeaaasse?” Johnny whines, pressing his hands together and giving you the biggest, sparkliest puppy dog look you could imagine.

You roll your eyes. “No.”

“Please! My two o’clock cancelled an’ I’m so bored!” He flops over the counter, arms dangling right above the appointment books. You pointedly ignore the size of his biceps.

“I’m not letting you pierce me just because you’re bored.” You scoff. “Now shoo, Simon’s got an appointment coming in soon.”

“But ye barely have any!” He argues. “All I’m askin’ fer is a wee ear. No’ even a nipple!”

A shocked amalgamation of a bark, laugh, and scoff forces it’s way out of you at that. “It’s still a no!”

Johnny groans, but at least moves away from the counter. Unfortunately, he takes the opportunity to circle around behind you, pinching the cartilage of your ear. “C’mon, ol’ righty’s beggin’ fer a conch.”

The intercom buzzes before you can respond. You swat Johnny away with one hand while pressing the speaker button with the other. “Hello?”

“I’ve go’ an appointment with Ghost.” A man’s voice drifts through. You blink dumbly for half a moment. You still haven’t gotten used to Simon’s social media and booking moniker - he doesn’t like giving his real name out much, apparently.

You buzz him in. Johnny is still hanging around the desk even when you leave to get Simon - making your way down the shirt hall to his studio. The large man stands in front of his stencil maker, back turned to you.

You knock on his door frame quietly. “Your guy’s here.”

“Be out in a moment.” He mumbles, focused on whatever he’s doing. You don’t really know the steps by heart, but you do know that there’s something so special about watching artists perform this repetitive song and dance. This rhythm they know by heart. Skilled hands enacting each step with careful precision.

He’s so hard to read. Big and bulky but calm as the night sea. You want him to like you, but you know badgering him certainly won’t get you there. So, you turn on your heal and head back out. When you return to the front, Johnny’s disappeared back into his room.

You suck your teeth and lean back in the desk chair, rolling your earlobe between your thumb and index finger. It’s not a bad offer, really. You only have two earlobe piercings on each side. Wouldn’t hurt to add a helix… you’ve also wanted to get your thirds done for a while. Work your way up. You glance at the clock. Simon won’t be done with his client for at least an hour or so, and you’ve balanced the registers for the moment. Both Kyle and John are out today, so they won’t need anything.

It wouldn’t hurt… well, not metaphorically.

With a sigh you stand, wandering your way to Johnny’s space. The door’s wide open, and his head snaps up the moment you step close like a sixth sense. “Takin’ me up on my offer, bonnie?”

You roll your eyes. “Guess I am.”

“Whit d’ye want?” Johnny practically skips around his station, pulling out wrapped, sanitized tools and placing them on a rolling tray. He pats the center of the padded table in the middle of the room.

“Uh, been wanting to do my thirds for a while.” You shrug. “If you have time for two.”

“Och, I’ve got all the time in the world fer ye, hen.” Johnny grins, pulling up in front of you and grabbing a marker.

He’s so close as he places the marks on your ears, warm fingers feeling for the best spots. A thumb traces the back of your left ear down just to the beginning of your jaw briefly. Fuck, he smells good. Warm musk with hints of citrus around the edges. The way he tucks your hair back, hands framing your face as he lines up the dots, is so oddly intimate compared to the other times you’ve gotten pierced. He chews at his lip in concentration, pulling at the scar on his chin while turning your head back forth a couple times.

“Think I’ve got it.” He grins and steps back. “Have a look.”

You take the mirror, casually checking but not paying too much attention. You trust him to do right by you. “Looks good.”

“A’right. Now the fun part.” He grins, tearing open the pack of tools and a two new needles.

“Is this fun?” You frown, squirming a little at the size of the needle.

“It’s always fun t’poke a pretty girl.”

You roll your eyes, a growing theme between you two it seems. “Oh, you thought that was real clever, didn’t you? Had that in your pocket a while?”

“Why donnae ye reach in an‘ check?” He murmurs, leaning close to clamp your left ear. You’re half tempted to tell him it’s mean to tease a fat girl like this - but you don’t think he means anything like that by it. He’s just a flirt by nature.

Before you can answer, he shoves the needle through your ear. You stiffen, a strained noise bubbling up out of your throat.

Johnny coos as he slips the earring into your ear. “One doon.”

“Uh-huh.” You sniffle. Not that it hurts badly, just a basic physical reaction. Johnny still gives you an empathetic smile.

The second goes quicker, Johnny locked in on his work. It’s interesting, seeing how intense they get. You Is it odd to wish someone would look at you like that? With that much focus and passion?

“There ye go…good girl.” He murmurs in that deep rumble that would have you squirming if you didn’t still have a needle through your ear. “Doin’ so good f’me...”

“You’re a devil, MacTavish.”

Johnny just chuckles, knowing full well exactly what he’s doing. He steps back to look at the final result after slipping the second stud into your ear. They feel hot - like two small ovens on either side of your head.

“If it weren’t for the piercings I’d think ye were blushing, hen.”

“You’re gonna get yourself slapped one of these days.” You scoff, sliding off the table.

“Wouldnnae be the first time.”

You find yourself rolling your eyes for the millionth time.

You grunt, squatting low in an attempt to pick the last of the parlor trash. It’s not that you mind, trash was part of your duties from the start, but holy shit do these boys put bricks in their bins? You’d think tattoos would make light trash. Especially after the sharps are disposed of separately.

“Solid?” Simon appears in the hall, eyes flicking over you. You still can’t tell how he feels about you. Neutral, you suppose. At least that’s all you can glean from behind his seemingly permanent black surgical mask.

“Ya.” You sigh, letting the bag drop and leaning back to stretch. “Just heavy. Swear y’all aren’t throwing rocks in these just to fuck with me?”

You give him a grin. Simon just cocks an eyebrow - exaggerated by the small piercing lining it. You think, maybe the slight shaking of his shoulder is a laugh. In combination won’t he crinkles in the corners of his eyes. Maybe not.

“‘ere.” Simon grunts, closing the short distance between you quickly before snatching up the bag like it weighs almost nothing.

You stutter, following after him toward the back exit. “You don’t have to-“

“Not a problem.” He grunts, tossing the thing over the side of the bin. He quietly leads you back inside, locking the door behind you “Johnny go’ you already?”

When you frown in confusion he points to his ears.

“Oh! Yeah.” You shrug, leading the way back to front desk to finish up your closing duties. “He’s insistent. I’d wanted them for a while anyway so I figured there’s no harm.”

“Give ‘im an inch...” He sighs, pointing to the black bar bridge piercing at the apex of his nose. “Somehow talked me into this shite.”

You tilt your head. “Yeah? I think it suits you.”

It really does. You can’t see most of his nose form under the mask but the arc of it leading up to bridge is strong, the piercing settling into the space nicely.

Simon breaks the silence. “You about done?”

“Almost. Just gotta check the ATM against the book real quick.” You nod.

He stares down at you for a moment, glancing out the semi-opaque window, now black with the night sky. There aren’t many street lamps on this side of town. You can only see a very faint glow from the one down by the car park.

“I’ll wait.” Simon settles his wide frame into Kyle’s usual chair.

“Oh! No you don’t have to! I’m sure you’re tired-“

“Wouldn’t feel right leavin’ you alone in the dark.” He cuts you off.

“It’s not a far walk-“

He scoffs. “Definitely not leaving you to walk alone.”

You sink your teeth into your lip, debating briefly on arguing. Based on his comfortable lean and crossed arms, it’s probably best to just let him walk you home. He looks so wide like that, veins prominent across his forearms. Fuck, you gotta find a boyfriend or booty call or something in this city. Anything to stop the temptation to stare at your hot coworkers.

It doesn’t take long to finish up your final chores. You turn all but one light off, wiring down from the bright overheads glaring at you all day. You glance over at Simon a few times while locking up the ATM, his covered face lit up by the light of his phone.

He leads you out of the shop once you’re finished, locking the door behind you and trying it a couple times to be sure. “Which way?”

“Uh, down here. It’s only twenty minutes.” You murmur, feeling guilty that you’ve kept him out extra late. You shove your hands in your hoodie pockets as you walk, the only sound on the street made up of your footsteps and some distant cars.

“What falls but never gets hurt?” Simon asks suddenly.

You frown. “Huh?”

“What falls but never gets hurt?”

You squint at him, trying to decipher anything from his face in the low light. You get nothing but a calm, warm gaze resting on you.

His eyes crinkle in the corners again. “Rain.”

“Pffft-“ You choke, caught off guard. “That’s such a lame pun.”

“Oh? I’ve got a better one.” Simon says, a smirk in his tone. “Why’d the mother clam scold her children?”

You chew your lip. God, you’re too literal to be clever enough for stupid puns and riddles. It doesn’t help that your head is spinning from this brick shithouse, incredibly attractive and intimidating man spitting popsicle puns at you.

“They were being shellfish.”

“Oh fuck off!” You shove at his arm playfully without thinking. He gives, let’s you push him slightly before you stiffen. “S-sorry! I don’t-“

“Nothin’ to apologize for.” The corners of his eyes crinkle deeper. Yeah, definitely a smile. You answer it with one of your own.

[bamboozledbird]

𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒏 𝒈𝒐 // stiles stilinski imagine Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, Isaac Lahey, Malia Tate, Kira Yukimura, Allison Argent Pairing(s): Stiles x you, Word Count: 8.9k Tags: human!au, fluff, childhood friends to lovers Warnings: there are a few little nsfw mentions in the middle, so MDNI. Stiles does go out on a window ledge, but i have to make it clear he has no intention ever of jumping lmao.

A/N: this is basically just one day i thought what if stiles had a nick x jess first kiss because he seems stupid and awkward enough to jump out a window. and thus this nonsense was born. also the pov switching was new, so you’ll have to let me know if you’re a fan or not.

The thing is, Stiles isn’t an idiot. He’s stupid, but he isn’t dumb. He knows that it’s not normal to think about your best friend like this. That being so intensely attuned to the curve of her spine when she stretches or the hint of citrus that clings to her hair after she showers isn’t exactly platonic. 

And he really doesn’t want to be that guy. You know, the guy who just wants more, who gets upset when he can’t have more—the guy who can’t be friends with the girl who doesn’t love him back. So. Stiles stuffs it down. Deep down. And he’s content to die like this because he needs you. 

There are other girls. Boys too, after a latent discovery freshman year ( one that surprised no one but himself ). They come, and they go, and Stiles makes due with what he can have because he knows this is how it has to be. 

But they aren’t you. 

A blatant fact that ruins anything real before it even has the chance to start. 

So here he is: 24, single, and perpetually in love with one of his three roommates—but, hey, at least he does his own laundry now.

Stiles watches you on your bed, sitting on the floor like a child, while he pretends to work on a case report. He feels a little like a child too, the longer he stares at you—like a little boy with his hand in the cookie car. 

He plays with the fluff on your rug to keep his hand busy, tugging on it a little too harshly when you pull your hair back with the scrunchie on your wrist. Stiles feels like a cretin when his eyes follow the rise of your breasts as you fiddle with the knot on top of your head. They trail over the flex of your collarbones, and he sinks further into his shame when he imagines tracing the lines with his tongue. 

You catch him staring, and his throat bobs with his swallow. 

“What?” you ask with arched brows. You grin at him like you know something. 

Fuck, what if you know? 

You asked him something. Stiles knows you asked him something, but he can’t remember what. He just swallows again and fumbles for his coffee. Stiles knows that he should be desensitized to it all by now: your clever mouth, your deft fingers, your fluttering lashes, but he’s still startled by it every so often—like right now, when you look like you’re about to say something snarky at his expense. 

“Does it look that bad?” A few strands of your hair slip from their loose hold when you shake your head at him. “Are you moonlighting with the fashion police? I thought you’d be a little busy living in the murder capital of the world.”

Stiles laughs a little, mostly because of the simple fact that your hair always looks pretty. He said it the first time he saw you, blurted it out like a little lamb. Stiles knew, even at six, that he should be embarrassed, but he just couldn’t help it. He was so little and completely overwhelmed by his first case of puppy love; the words had nowhere else to go.

He’s gotten better at swallowing the praise-vomit, but he still notices. You’re always pretty. He’s doing his best to ignore it. 

“That’s St. Louis actually,” Stiles says. He burns his tongue on his coffee and pulls a face that he knows gives him a double chin. 

You slide off of your bed and kneel down next to him. Your knees press into his thigh, and it feels like something more, something profound, but he knows it doesn’t mean anything. You’re generous with your affection; you make everyone feel special when they’re around you. Stiles loves that about you, how you make him feel like he’s so smart, so vital when he knows that he’s moderately clever at best and really a lot closer criminally obsessive most days. 

“Can you tell me anything about it?” you hum, nestling your chin in the hollow of his shoulder. 

Stiles can smell your body wash. It’s sweet, fresh, and tickles his nose pleasantly—marigold and aloe. He’s seen the bottle in the shower. Sometimes, he has to bite his fist and turn the water to freezing when he accidentally imagines your wet, sudsy body, lathering the scent of marigold from neck to toe. It’s the in-between bits that make him especially nauseous with guilt. 

“Huh?” Stiles mumbles, pressing his singed tongue to the roof of his mouth. 

You poke his cheek and say, “You’re eating your lip. You only do that when you get stuck in a case.” 

Stiles can think of several other things that make him suck his top lip between his teeth, but he is stuck—most likely because he’s spent the last hour watching you. 

You frown, and he smiles a little at the wrinkle between your brows. You smooth out his own forehead wrinkles with your thumb and say, “It helps you sometimes—talking. You think best out loud.”

He does. Stiles swallows a little. You know him so well. You know everything about him. Everything except, of course, that the crush he had on you in elementary school has metastasized into an all-consuming, all-encompassing, honest-to-god, tried-and-true-blue, last-of-dying-breed, core-of-the-sun, probably-caused-the-big-bang kind of love. 

Stiles has tried, and failed, to think of a way to casually confess how he feels. How do you even begin to break something like that to a friend? Over Chinese food? After a few beers at your favorite bar? During one of your Buffy binge nights? How is he supposed to say, ‘Hey, so I’m kind of totally and irrevocably in love with you, and it’s ruining my life a little—but that’s okay ’cause I can’t be happy unless I know that you’re happy’ without blowing up his entire life? 

He can’t. So Stiles stuffs it down again with a sip of his coffee: black and bitter, a little like his heart when your not-boyfriend, boyfriend texts you. And he knows that’s so incredibly unfair of him. He knows that he’s needy, and pathetic, and far too possessive of your attention—it all makes him a little sick with self-loathing. 

You have every right to remove your warmth from his side to respond, and Stiles thinks that if a guy can make you smile like that, he must not be all bad. You seem happy. When isn't feeling sorry for himself, Stiles is happy for you. 

“The local police think it’s gang-related,” Stiles says eventually. His voice is raspy from his burnt throat and too loud in the silence of the near-empty apartment. 

You slide your phone back into your pocket, and Stiles tries not to feel victorious. “And you don’t,” you scooch back to his side, ducking your head over his shoulder to see his screen. 

“No,” Stiles combs his fingers through his hair and sighs, “I don’t. It’s too easy.”

“Follow your gut,” you say, poking his abs, “he usually knows what’s up.” 

“You know what he’s sayin’ right now?” Stiles’s back clicks as he stretches and rolls his neck around in slow circles. It does little for the perpetual ache along the ridge of his skull, but it gives him some space from you and your stupidly sweet smile. “It’s time for chimichangas.” 

You smile at him again, and Stiles blames the swooping in his stomach on hunger. “I think you deserve a little more than off-brand, freezer-burned Tex-Mex.” 

“Don’t knock Great Value,” Stiles grumbles, rubbing a hand over his face. His lips, swollen from an afternoon of tearing into them with his teeth, tug into a tired smile when you wave your hand impatiently in front of his face. He wraps his long fingers around yours and says, “She’s been there for me through everything.” 

“Higher standards, Stiles,” you roll your eyes, crinkled at the corners with your grin, “you’re in desperate need of higher standards.” 

Stiles wants to laugh, feels the impulse itch his throat. High standards are precisely his problem. 

“Maybe you should stop being such a brand snob,” Stiles pokes you in the side, a spot between your ribs that he knows is ticklish. You laugh and shove him away with a firm hand; Stiles goes willingly, stumbles into the doorframe just to make you laugh again. 

“I am not a snob,” you push yourself onto a barstool, socked-feet dangling below. He smiles as you swing them and then knock your ankles together. You used to do the same thing on the playground swing set. “Not liking over-salted garbage is not snobbery.”

Stiles reaches for the open bag of corn nuts on the island, needlessly resting his palm on your lower back under the guise of balance. Your skin is warm, and he’s too busy thinking about how his hand must’ve been molded around the shape of your hip to notice how hard you’re biting your lower lip. 

He tosses a few corn nuts in the air and catches them in his waiting mouth, smacking his lips together until they’re free of nacho cheese seasoning. He grins at the look on your face, and he wants to kiss the tip of your scrunched nose. “See,” Stiles sucks the leftover orange dust off of his fingers. His voice is muffled by his thumb when he says, “You’re snubbing my snacks right now—like a little munchie elitist. How dare you; they probably won’t ever recover.” 

You laugh, as expected, and snatch the bag from the counter, not expected. “You’re literally biting your thumb at me!”

Stiles leans against the counter, rests his forearms on the granite, and watches you chew with a dumb, fond smile on his face. You’re just so clever, all wrapped up in keen smiles and sharp wit. You keep him on his toes, always have—Stiles hasn’t ever met anyone else who can spar with him so well. He doesn’t think he ever will. Admittedly, he hasn’t looked that hard; his heart just isn’t in it—who else would paraphrase Shakespeare in the middle of a mock debate? Who else could possibly look so wily and wicked while doing it through a mouthful of, objectively, terrible gas station eats. 

“Purely accidental,” Stiles taps his fingers against the counter, and his shoulders lift with a small, oh-so innocent shrug, “it’s what we professionals call a ‘serendipitous turn of events’.”

“A professional what?” You grin at him. It’s one of his favorites, the one that says you’re about to tease him. “Sadist?”

“Oh,” Stiles’s brow quirks as he leans forward onto his arms, “so I torture you? Being around me is torturous?” 

“Yes.” Your chin jerks with a small, sharp nod, but the only thing Stiles can see is your pouty bottom lip. 

Sometimes, Stiles swears you do it on purpose—turn him on in the most inconvenient of moments. Make his heart swell into his throat until he devolves into a lovesick caveman. You have to know what you’re doing to him when you walk around in those little tank tops with the lace trim and the sleep shorts that ride up to the swell of your ass. It can’t be accidental, the cute laugh-snorts you’re so embarrassed of, or how you get so excited when you see a bird in a parking lot. It’s all too effective to be a coincidence.

Like right now, the way your lip balm shines under the kitchen lights and exaggerates your pout. You must know how completely and utterly kissable you look, and Stiles can’t do anything about it—now that’s torture. 

You give him mercy and tuck your pout away for a solemn line instead. “You’re evil; you never close the cabinets or take the trash out.” 

“Careful,” Stiles grins and snaps his teeth in the air, “I bite too.”

You lean across the island, and it’s torture, the way your arms squeeze your chest and push your cleavage to the neckline of your shirt. Stiles pointedly avoids looking at the round flesh. It just looks so soft, so plush—so ripe. His teeth ache. His tongue salivates. He craves with reckless abandon, and he’s never satiated. 

Stiles knows you’re a smart girl, but sometimes he forgets. You’d have to be pretty dense, after all, to not see the ravenous gleam in his eyes. You certainly don’t seem to notice it now, not with all that fondness twisting your lips into a grin. Stiles often wonders, worries, how you’d look at him if you knew. Disgusted most likely; he’s disgusted with himself half the time—but you’re so sweet, and so understanding, you’d probably forgive him. 

Pity, Stiles decides, if you knew, you’d pity him. He can’t decide if that’s worse. 

You rest your finger between his brows, and his dark lashes flutter, brushing against his freckles like they stamped the specks onto his skin. “Eat your nuts, monster,” you drag your finger along the slope of his nose and then ‘boop’ the tip, “and then preferably something with a single gram of protein.” 

Stiles grumbles to himself and searches the fridge for something that will placate your relentless bullying. He picks up the whipped cream and rolls the chilled can around in his hands, squinting at the label. 0 grams of protein. Stiles scoffs. Reddi Whip is, like, 75% milk, right?

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he forgets to shut the fridge door until it starts beeping at him like it's a personal offense. 

“Work?”

Stiles barely hears you, nose almost smooshed against his screen. “Huh?” He stares at his phone, eyes rapidly flicking back-and-forth, brain turning over how to counter the latest move on his ever-changing chessboard. 

Stiles finally registers what you said when he begins his reply to his unit chief. “Oh…yeah.” His thumbs fly over his screen at a speed that, frankly, shouldn’t be humanly possible, “One sec…”

“You need a break.” You stand and place your hands on your hips in an adorable show of strength. He knows that you’re going for stern, so he bites his twitching mouth lest he invoke your actual wrath. “You’ve been working 18-hour days for the last two weeks.” 

That’s an exaggeration, but Stiles doesn’t argue. He feels like it’s true. His stubble is out of control, and he’s afraid to look in the mirror and see exactly how dark his eyebags are. He only stopped by to shower and get a fresh change of clothes, but you came out of the bathroom in your little pink bathrobe and distracted him. 

Stiles hates that robe. Detests it. He wants to burn it. He wants to rip the flimsy tie off with his teeth. 

Mostly, Stiles wants to tuck you under his blankets and snuggle into the fuzzy fabric until he falls asleep. 

He wants, he wants, he wants. That’s the problem.

You pry his phone from his hands and slip it into your back pocket. “We’re getting drunk tonight,” you say, and you say it in a way that he can’t even argue with. You say it like it’s a fact—you’re informing him, not telling him. Stiles is usually happy to comply. 

That’s how you’ve always worked, after all: You point at a crocodile infested river, and he goes merrily, merrily, merrily down the stream, with a stupid, dreamy smile on his face. 

It’s just. He’s functionally useless at doing anything without you. You take care of him. Always have. 

Way back, when he was pre-Adderall Stiles, all baby energy and undiagnosed ADHD, you shoved a kid off of the swings when he made fun of Stiles’s babbling and twitching. He still babbles and twitches, but at least now he knows why. He doesn’t have some parasitic monster inside him; he’s just Stiles. 

You’ve always known that—how was he supposed to not fall in love with you? 

And after his mom died, you let him cry on your shoulder until your shirt was soaked through. He got snot all over your collar, and you just squeezed him tighter. Held onto him until he could breathe again, and then you said, “Want a grape soda?” and he almost started crying again because right then, at that moment, that was somehow the only right thing to say. Maybe because it was you, or maybe it was because you knew him so well. Maybe, it didn’t matter. 

You spent the rest of the night starfished over your bed, and after a minute of staring at your ceiling fan, Stiles whispered, “Do you think we’ll be best friends forever?”

You looked at him and grinned, all teeth and sparkly eyes, and said, “You better hope so, boy blunder. Who else is gonna watch Twin Peaks with you a zillion times?” And Stiles knows that he was only eight, and he knows that maybe it was just because you made him laugh after all the emptiness, but he thinks that he fell a little bit in love with you then, even if he was too young to put a name to the feeling. 

He finally figured it out when he was seventeen. Stiles wanted to be an adult so badly back then—and he felt like he was sometimes, after everything he’d gone through, but in so many ways he wasn’t. He definitely didn’t know how to handle his breakup with Malia like an adult—his first breakup, his first real relationship. 

Stiles drank a lot that night. He can’t remember exactly how much, or anything that happened after 11 pm, but he does remember how you stroked his hair. He remembers how you wiped the foul mix of bile and sweat from his face with a cool washcloth and tender hands. He remembers how you tucked him into bed and curled up next to him when he asked you to say. 

He remembers falling in love with you. 

The epiphany felt a lot better when he was warm and limp from his dad’s scotch. It hurt a bit, when he woke up hungover and in an empty bed. You were in the kitchen, making him breakfast: greasy eggs and hashbrowns. After he got over seeing you in one of his t-shirts, he wondered if you’d ever get tired of cleaning up after him and all his issues. 

Stiles still wonders that sometimes, even after you crawled into bed with him the night you found out your college sweetheart was cheating on you. He stroked your hair and ignored the wetness soaking into his neck, and you whispered against his skin, “Do you think we'll best friends forever?” 

Stiles wanted to laugh. And then scream. And then kiss you. He didn’t do any of those things. He just said, “Can’t picture it any other way.” He didn’t say that whenever he thought about the future, whenever he pictured forever, you were always there. 

He didn’t ask, ‘Is it okay if I’m in love with you forever?’

Stiles wants to ask it now, while you rattle off your plans for him this evening, but he doesn’t. He chews on a corn nut instead. 

“Lydia’s looking for the right opportunity to make a move on the guy in 2B anyway,” you finish, blowing a strand of hair out of your face. 

You’re looking at him like he’s supposed to say something, so he nods dutifully, “The guy with the mullet, right?”

You roll your eyes and poke around the cabinets, taking stock of the chips and tequila. “It’s not a mullet—you’re so obtuse when you’re jealous.”

Stiles blinks because…where the hell did that come from? “I’m good on the perm front, thanks,” he snarks through the food lodged in his cheek.

“Not of him,” you say, tongue trapped between your teeth and distracted by the mixers on top of the fridge. Your back is to him from your perch on the counter, and Stiles watches you with wary eyes. It would be so much easier if you'd just ask him to get things down from the top shelves, but you never do. Refuse to, actually. Vehemently. You'll do it yourself, even if it means breaking a limb.  

You manage to keep a hold of the pile of bottles cradled against your chest through your dismount, and Stiles breathes easier when your feet are pressed against solid ground. He’s glad your eyes are still on the kaleidoscope of sugar and citrus because you’d mock the relief in his eyes without mercy. 

You line the bottles up in order of emptiness and absently hum, “Well, yes of him, I guess, because—can you check on the vodka and gin?” 

Stiles sticks his head in the freezer, grateful for the blast of frigid air, and tries to untangle the crumbs of meaning in your flimsy accusation. He comes up with absolutely nothing—on every front of his mission.  “No gin.” 

You let out a long, heavy sigh and shake your head at the dangling light fixtures. “Lydia.”

Lydia was the only person in the apartment who liked gin, but Stiles didn’t have any room in his brain for commiseration. “So, I’m jealous of little orphan Annie from 2B because…?” He leans against the counter and tucks his hands under his arms, squinting skeptically, “Just so we’re on the same page n’ all.” 

You’re texting someone. He’s sure it’s Lydia, probably asking her to pick up more gin on her way home, but Stiles can’t help but wonder if you’re inviting your…whatever you call three decent dates and one evening of alright sex. ( Oh, how Stiles loved hearing all the details when you came home. ) 

“Hmm?” Your smile is lit up by your screen and the kittenish glint in your eye, but Stiles knows it’s not for him. He swallows his pettiness before he chokes on it. “Oh, right,” you put your phone down on the counter and smirk. This one is for him, but Stiles actually wouldn’t mind if it was for someone else; the look in your eyes is downright diabolical. “You’re so adorably, blatantly jealous that Lydia is into another no-neck, illiterate jock from the gym—but the perm is pretty bad, I’ll give you that.” 

Stiles’s jaw falls, and you laugh, completely misinterpreting his stupor. He stares at you and just shakes his head, scrambling for a grasp on at least one of the million questions pinging around his skull. “You think I want Lydia?”

“Uh-doy,” you roll your eyes like he’s said something particularly stupid, “only since forever.”

He’s struck again at how you can simultaneously know him so well and not at all. “You don’t think that would’ve come up in the last, I dunno,” Stiles’s head jerks with his choppy hand gestures, “eighteen years?” 

You wave your hand and then grab his wrist, “It’s been intermittent.” 

You lead Stiles back into your room by his hand like he’s a wayward dog on a leash. He’s grateful for it. Stiles can’t do much else besides blink and breathe when he’s like this—when he’s wrapped up in a case he can’t crack.

Stiles drops onto the edge of your bed with a solid thud, feeling a bit like someone slammed a 2x4 into his gut. His tongue seems to be useless, glued to the back of his teeth. All he can do is watch you flit around your room, gathering an armful of skirts and dresses. 

You hold up a black dress in one hand and a black mini-skirt layered under a red baby tee in the other, “Pick.”

Stiles wants to pick the sweats you’re currently wearing because they’re his, but he points at the skirt. He knows it’s your favorite; you’d pick it anyway. 

You sit down in front of your vanity and pull the scrunchie out of your bun. Stiles watches your hair tumble over your shoulders. You’re insecure about it, always have been. One day it’s the color, and then it’s the texture, and he, for the life of him, doesn’t understand why. Your hair shines so prettily under the light, and it always smells so sweet, like citrus and honeysuckle—Stiles can’t decide if he wants to bury his nose in it or wrap it around his spindly fingers. 

Graciously, you twist it into an artful arrangement before he can do either. 

“I don’t want to be with Lydia,” Stiles finally says quietly. 

You stop fiddling with pieces of hair framing your face and meet his gaze in the mirror, “It’s okay if you do.”

Stiles nods and stares at his lap, twiddling his fingers. “I know,” it’d be easier if he did, “but I don’t.”

You turn around in your chair and give him a little smile. It’s fond and sweet, and Stiles feels like a hand is closing around his heart and twisting it behind his ribs. “We’ll find you someone tonight, then,” you say, popping up from your seat. You grab your clothes off of the bed and squeeze his shoulder on your way to the full-length mirror next to your closet.

Stiles turns his head when you start to wriggle out of your shirt. He knows you don’t care what he sees after years of sleepovers and lake vacations, but you don’t know what it does to him. How all your dips and curves slip behind his lids when he’s alone with his fist and too much lube. If he’s really being honest, it also happens when he’s not alone, but that makes him feel like a piece of shit for a whole other list of reasons. 

All of it feels pretty awful when it’s over—when Stiles is left with the unpleasant sensation of drying cum on his stomach and the very unpleasant realization that you’d never wear a swimsuit around him again if you knew exactly what he does with the image. 

So. Stiles does what he can. He doesn’t look when you change, tries to avoid seeing you in a towel altogether, and watches so much porn of people who look nothing like you.

It doesn’t work, of course, but he tries. That has to count for something. 

Stiles swallows and taps his fingers against his thighs. “I can’t think of anything I want to do less than interact with a bunch of drunk strangers partying in my—”

“Not a bunch,” you say around a grunt, tripping over the dragging hem of your borrowed sweats, “and not a party. Just a chill get-together of like-minded peers.”

He scoffs and tips his chin up, rolling his eyes at the ceiling. “I’m sure I have so much in common with Lydia’s guest list. Yeah, we can talk about how they can bench-press two of me and that I also love me some stacking—pancakes, not steroids, but close enough.” 

There’s a whoosh of a zipper and then you’re in front of him with your arms folded over your chest and thinned eyes. “You better behave.”

Stiles grins; it’s decidedly obnoxious. “I’ll be perfectly cordial, promise. I’ll even speak slowly.”

You laugh, and Stiles knows you’re only pretending that you didn’t want to. 

“I think it’ll be good for you.” You return to your vanity and pilfer through your mess of earrings. “Y’know, to get out of your head for a little bit. It really is just gonna be us and a few plus ones. I know you, boy wonder, no parties shall ever be thrown in your honor. I solemnly swear.”

He smiles at the childhood pet name, a private little grin Stiles keeps tucked in his chest and at his feet. It falls, however, when he remembers the middle bits of your speech. “So,” Stiles gnaws on his thumbnail and jiggles his knee, “did you invite a plus one?”

You slide a gold hoop through your ear and grin at him, “Nah, I’m all yours tonight, Stilinski.”

Good. God.

Stiles wants to kiss you. He always wants to kiss you, but sometimes every inch of you rips the air from his lungs—cleaves him right in two. Like right now. He forgets how to speak, trying to remember what he can say and what he absolutely can’t say, while he imagines a life where you really are his and you know that he’s always been yours. 

You’re just so pretty in your little skirt and cherry t-shirt, and you’re so clever, and funny, and you’re looking at him like he’s your favorite person in the entire world, and Stiles feels all of it spilling over the edges of his restraint. He almost says something so heavy—so categorically, catastrophically stupid, it would ruin your friendship for good.  

Stiles swallows it back into his chest, but his voice is still thick when he says, “All mine, huh.”

He’s sick with yearning, and he’s petrified for a moment that you can tell. It seems so obvious to him. It would be obvious to anyone, Stiles thinks, if they heard how weak he sounded, how soft in his throat and reverent in your presence. 

But you don’t notice. You never do. It’s a relief, and it’s endlessly frustrating. 

“Yep,” you smack your lips together, blotting your red lipstick until it’s perfect, “I wanna win, and everyone knows you can’t win True American with a noob on your team.” 

His brow arches, and a lazy grin smears across his mouth, “Oh, so we’re getting drunk drunk tonight.”

You wink at him in the mirror, “If you play your cards right.”

Stiles does, in fact, play his cards right. He picks Scott as the third member of your cabinet, possibly because Scott can outdrink anyone…or maybe it’s because Scott knows that Stiles is pathetically into you and can’t keep his mouth shut at the best of times, but especially not when he’s drunk. 

Who’s to say, really?

Honestly, Stiles doesn’t need the advantage—Lydia’s voluntarily stuck with Isaac and the guy from 2B who can’t follow the rules no matter how many times they shout them at him, and Malia and Kira care far more about making goo-goo eyes at each other than they do helping their friend from yoga make any progress towards the King—but he’s competitive by nature and feeling exceptionally stupid tonight. 

Lydia introduced the Clinton Strip Rules solely to ogle her latest man candy’s aggressively sculpted six-pack and show off her bewitching décolletage, and it was going along swimmingly until the idiot forgot how to count. 

It was so simple. All the guy had to do was hold up three fingers—that’s all. He would’ve matched Lydia's count, and then they could've made out behind the Iron Curtain. But he didn’t. He held up two fingers and in doing so single-handedly crafted Stiles Stilinski’s demise.

Ironic. Considering the moron can't craft a compound-complex sentence to save his life. 

For a single, endless moment, you and Stiles just stare at each other, more specifically, at the four fingers plastered against your foreheads—and then the spell is broken by drunken cackling. Lydia grins like the cat who caught the canary, and Scott laughs until his face turns red. He’s loud and obnoxious with the four drinks he’s downed, and Stiles wants to shove him out the window. 

“Guys,” Stiles whines, “you don’t really—”

You finish the beer in your hand and shrug your shoulders, “It’s fine.” 

Stiles’s head whips towards you, big-eyed and fish-mouthed. He can’t form words. Can’t speak any of the five languages he knows. He’s become a Stiles Stilinski skinsuit held up by a skeleton of gelatin and faulty survival instincts. 

You smile at him a little and shrug again, “It’s just a game, right?” 

You don’t say it, but Stiles can hear it with painful clarity: It doesn’t mean anything. 

Stiles doesn’t know how to say no without telling the truth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, not exactly. Stiles wants to kiss you—of course he wants to kiss you, feels like the whole goddamn world knows he wants to kiss you and is conspiring against him—but not like this. He doesn’t want to kiss you when it’s nothing. He’s thought about it far too much, imagined it on his bedroom ceiling in the safety of darkness too many nights, to blow it all on a stupid drinking game. A stupid gym-bro’s mistake. 

Stiles had a plan. A plan he never actually had the courage to act on, but a plan nonetheless. 

He was going to hold your face with shaking hands, smooth his thumbs along the sleek line of your jaw, look you in the eyes so that you could see the disbelief, the wonder, the awe. You’d see that he was overwhelmed to the bone, to all the nerves shivering inside the marrow, and you’d have to forgive him for being so tongue-tied and awkward—for taking so long. 

And then, he’d kiss you. 

He’d kiss you again, and again, and again, until one of you started laughing, but that’d be okay because it would give him the chance to kiss your neck and whisper, 'You’re the sky, and the mountains, and everything in-between.'

'You’re dark matter; you’re gravity,' he’d kiss the words into your skin and sigh, 'you’re the only thing holding the universe together.'

But he can’t say that, so Stiles follows you into Lydia’s bedroom and wipes the sweat on his palms off on his jeans.

You’re a little giggly while you fumble for the light. It’s breathy, and you can’t meet his eyes. Stiles feels a little better knowing that you’re almost as nervous as he is. You aren’t usually the nervous kind, after all. That’s his thing. 

Stiles slides his hands into his back pockets and rocks onto his heels, “We don’t…we can just pretend that we…did it.”

“Did it?” you arch a brow, lips curling into a wry grin. “It’s just a kiss, Stiles. I thought you wanted to win? We gotta end Lydia’s streak, or she’ll be insufferable.”

Stiles’s mouth goes dry: cottony with wanting, brittle with misery. He can’t pretend anymore; he can’t pretend that he's not dying from this.  

You can’t look at Stiles’s face. Can’t see the panic. It’s why you shuffle closer to him, stiffly reach for his shoulders and awkwardly search for the least romantic place to rest your hands. Stiles’s back thuds against the wall, and you finally dart your eyes to his. “It’s fine,” you say weakly. 

There’s a loud chorus of, ‘Kiss, kiss, kiss,’ through the door, and Stiles watches the resolve harden your face. His chest rises and falls with quick, shallow exhales. He can hear his pulse ricochet around his ear canal, can feel the sweat gathering on his palms, can taste the anticipation in the air.

You roll your shoulders back a few times and shake your hands by your side, rotating your neck in a few slow circles. “Just kiss me, Stilinski. No biggie. I think we can catch up to Isaac if you hurry the hell up and plant one on—”

“Not like this!” 

Your mouth parts into a perfect little ‘o’, and Stiles’s eyes bulge when he realizes that the pathetic, desperate cry came from him. 

You fold your arms over your chest and tilt your head with an expression on your face that Stiles can’t read for the life of him. “What,” you lick your lip, and Stiles squirms with shame when he can’t stop himself from tracking the movement, “what does that mean?”

Stiles’s face spasms, and he can feel his IQ drop by tens the longer you stare at him. 

“No, I didn’t…” Stiles’s stutters, flicking his gaze to your forehead, your chin, between your brows—anywhere but your eyes. His nose scrunches as he shakes his head, “Nothing. I just—I didn’t mean like that.” Stiles isn’t entirely sure what you think he meant, but considering he can’t decide what he means, it’s a safe bet that you’re wrong.

Stiles's hands take over for his melting brain matter, gesturing wildly every-so often like the flexing and contracting add any actual meaning to his meaningless babble. “I just, we can’t like that because that’s not…Do you know, like…? It’s very, like, you don’t…” His eyelids seem to have forgotten how to blink, and Stiles thinks he’d do just about anything for a piano to fall out of the sky right about now.

The chanting outside the door gets louder; Stiles isn’t sure if it’s real or just his anxiety. Through his narrowing pinprick vision, the only thing he can see at the end of the dark, dark tunnel is Lydia’s window. The heavy purple curtains frame the opening like serendipitous velvet gift wrapping.

Stiles swallows and nods sharply, “If you’ll excuse me.”

Stiles steps around you, and you follow his path with your eyes. They’re pinched with suspicion, but mostly concern. “Stiles, what are you do—”

“I’m fine,” Stiles tries to wave off your worries with a shaky hand. 

And then he unlatches Lydia’s window and crawls on top of a chair to reach the opening.

“Okay, this makes sense. I just need a little air,” Stiles mumbles to himself. His dirty sneakers leave a clear outline of his soles on the white fur. Under any other circumstances, you’d both be desperately trying to scrub the fabric clean before Lydia found the stains and rained her wrath down upon your very fragile, bruisable bodies. Under these circumstances, you’re preoccupied with the half of Stiles’s body that’s hanging outside the window of your 3rd-story apartment.

“Stiles!” you stumble to the wall and freeze, unsure how to pull him back in without accidentally tipping him onto the concrete three floors below. 

Stiles manages to slip the rest of his body through the window without breaking any limbs. Yet. “This is what I needed. Yup, this is—” his eyes engulf his face, a wide pool of churning honey, when he finally realizes just how small the ledge is and just how far away the ground is, “ah, ha, ha!”

“Stiles!” You cover your face with your hands and shake your head over and over again. You hope, childishly, if you spin fast enough, you can rewind time back to 10 minutes ago—when Stiles was safe on the floor and you could stop yourself from giving into the silly, stupid desire to kiss him. Just once. To finally find out how it would feel.  

You peek through your fingers and wince as he stumbles towards the left. “You don’t have to kiss me!”

Stiles disappears from view, and you tumble into the hallway. You let out a low hiss when your hip slams into a sharp corner. The flare of pain is soon forgotten, however, when Stiles slams his hands against the living room window. Everyone turns to gawk at him, eight mouths wide open and not a single word is spoken until Stiles presses his entire body against the glass. 

The window hasn’t been cleaned since you all moved in, so you can’t quite make out his expression through grime and dirt, but you can hear the shrill urgency in his voice. “This is a regret—I immediately regret this.” It would be funny, how high his voice is—approaching autotuned chipmunk territory, honestly—if he wasn’t six inches away from certain death. You can all laugh about it later when Stiles is safe on the couch, you decide. After you’ve punched him in the arm for doing something so bone-shatteringly stupid, obviously. 

Malia does laugh, and Kira smacks her shoulder. You almost appreciate the levity; it reminds you that your brain needs oxygen to function.

Scott cups his hand around his mouth and shouts, “Don’t move!”

Stiles smooshes his button nose into the glass. He inhales and exhales with mad abandon, creating and erasing a cloud of condescension with every breath. “I've made a very bad mistake! I’m not trained for this!” his lips smear against the glass, muffling his cries for help. Stiles pulls back, and leaves a streak of saliva behind. At least, that patch of the window is clean now, biohazard be damned. 

It’s Scott who ends up saving the day. No surprise there. He gets Stiles through the window and shoves him onto the couch, teeth ground in what can only be described as parental frustration. 

Scott folds his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes, “You scared me half to death out there.”

Isaac snorts and rolls his eyes, quipping over Scott's shoulder, “Are you not getting enough attention?”

“I’m fine!” Stiles groans into his hands and pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s still red from being smashed against the window, and the rest of his face matches with his embarrassed flush. “I am fine! I was partly joking and at least 64% drunk!”

“Stiles, we will talk about this in the morning,” Scott’s face is stern, and his grip on Stiles’s shoulder is just as firm, “but right now, I’m gonna go do stuff with a girl.”

Scott’s face is still solemn when he high-fives Isaac, mostly out of habit. You do laugh then. Can’t help it. A little bit of relief creeps through your constricted chest when Stiles smiles. It’s brief, a little twitch at the corners of his slightly-swollen mouth, but it’s there. 

Allison rolls her eyes when Scott holds out his hand, but she still takes it and follows him towards his bedroom.

“Shut the door!” Stiles shouts at their backs. He slumps back against the couch cushions when the thudding of Scott's door closing echoes through the hall.

It’s quiet for a moment. Kira shifts awkwardly, clinging to Malia’s arm for balance when the fog of alcohol spreads from her flushed cheeks to her platform combat boots. Malia doesn’t look that concerned, but she’s always been cool under pressure…and any other emotion. 

You expect Lydia to look as worried as you do, but she has a strange, calculating look in her eyes. They’re sharp in the light of her brilliance; the jade almost looks feline. 

Lydia’s beaux ends up breaking the silence with a loose laugh. His head tips back with his chuckle, and he throws his meaty arm around Lydia’s shoulders. “That was freakin’ hilarious! I mean, dude jumped out on a ledge instead of kissing a 10. Can you believe that?”

Lydia looks wholly unamused and says flatly, “I really can’t.” She fixes Stiles with a look you can’t read, but Stiles seems to understand. 

“I know.” Stiles drops his face into his hands and digs his face into the cradle of his wide palms. "I’m an idiot.”

Everyone seems to hear a cue that you missed while watching Stiles’s chest rise and fall. Malia, Kira, and their plus one filter out the door one-by-one, and Isaac kisses your cheek before wrapping his scarf around his neck. You’re relieved again when you hear Stiles scoff; it’s something he always does when Isaac puts on one of his pretentious kerchiefs in the balmy, LA weather. It’s nice to see some things are still the same. 

Lydia stares at Stiles, and they have a silent conversation that ends with a patented Lydia Martin glare and a quintessential Stiles Stilinski squint. 

Lydia leaves with her late night delight and kiss to your other cheek, and suddenly it’s just you and Stiles. 

You wring your fingers together, gnawing on the lining of your cheek. You can’t think of anything to say. To Stiles. You never thought you’d see the day. 

The couch creaks with Stiles’s shifting weight. He pushes himself to his feet and stands in front of you. The redness in his face has faded, baring the smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose that you’re so fond of. His lips part. Your breath stills, waiting. Wanting. His silence washes over the room like a flood, and you close your eyes. You’re afraid of it, witnessing the inevitable wreckage. 

It doesn’t come. 

You hear the quiet padding of Stiles’s footsteps. When you open your eyes, he’s gone, slinking down the hall to his bedroom. You stare at the place he was just standing, feeling the chill of his absence, and then it’s gone. A glaring blaze of anger warms your face, and you allow it to carry you to Stiles’s closed door. What a metaphor; the thought grinds your molars together until they screech.  

You wrench his door open, and Stiles jumps, halfway out of his jeans. He stumbles over the cuffs and almost falls on his face. You wish you could tease him, laugh until you snort and Stiles glares at you through his pathetic attempt to hide his smirk. But you can’t. Not yet. 

“You’re really just going to leave it like that?” you say, closing his door behind you. It’s preemptive; you feel a little like yelling. “That was a whole other level of stupid, Stiles, even by your standard.” 

Stiles quickly yanks his pants back up and buttons them, struggling with the zipper and his twitching fingers. “Can we just not,” Stiles rubs a hand over his face, looking infinitely older than he is, and mumbles a hollow, “actually, can we never.”

The words hang heavily in the air. In the harrowing quiet, you think: Oh god, is this it? Is this really the end?

Stiles stares at his feet, at the hole he’s wearing in the oak floor. He hears it too, the weight of what he’s done. Fucking hell, he thinks, I didn't know cowardice could be so loud.

You smooth your hands over your hair, clasping for any semblance of composure. “I just…I didn’t realize that the thought of kissing me was so…traumatic.” 

Stiles jerks his head from the floor and tugs his fingers through hair. He pulls at the roots until it stings and shakes his head, “That’s not…you’re,” he gestures towards you helplessly and swallows the millions of things he wants to say, “you.” 

“Yeah,” your shoulder lifts in a tiny shrug, arms winding around your torso like a brace, “that seems to be the issue.”

Stiles just looks at you for a moment. The lamp on his desk bathes his skin in a wave of warmth when he tilts his head. The tip of his nose casts a shadow over his lips, and you want to trace the divot in his cupid’s bow, the little lines by his nose, the hollow space under his eyes. You want to trace them all with your fingertips and then memorize them with your mouth. 

Stiles's eyes are golden in the light, and they’re stuck on yours. 

“You are…” Stiles closes his eyes, and his voice is so soft, so devout, “you are so fucking...inescapable, you know that? You are…you’re so deep inside my head, I can’t do anything without thinking about you. It’s becoming a serious fuckin’ problem—a nuisance, actually, a nuisance. And it’s not like I haven’t tried to stop, y’know, like it would be fuckin’ awesome if I could just forget how you smell like going home and a goddamn spring meadow, or if I could go fuckin’ grocery shopping without looking for those impossible to find chips with the Elmer Fudd lookin’ fucker on ‘em—”

“Hot fries,” you whisper hoarsely. 

Stiles stops pacing for a moment and nods at you, “Thank you—hot fries. And I would love it if I could walk down the street, just once, and not look for a dog to take a picture of, just so I have an excuse to text you without looking like I was just thinking about you—even though I was obviously just thinking about you because, re my previous ranting, there’s literally not a single second of the day that you're not on my mind. You're just…inevitable.” 

“And…I am Iron Man?” your smile is wobbly. 

Stiles gives you a flat look over his shoulder, “You’re a smartass—but I love that. I love everything about you—even the way you talk through my favorite movies and force-feed me a vegetable once a week.” 

“Stiles,” you swallow shallowly and rest your hand on his chest. Stiles stops pacing and meets your gaze with big, endless eyes and blinking butterfly lashes. Tipping your head to the side, you swipe your thumb over his thudding heart, “What are you trying to say?”

Stiles rests his hand on top of yours, clunkily lacing your fingers together for a little stability. “I love you,” he whispers, because he has to. It has to be this soft. It has to stay just between you and him, in the little bubble of air between your lips. “I’ve been in love with you since…” Stiles chews on his lip, trying to pinpoint when he knew, when he knew that you’re it for him. There are so many moments that come to mind, and he can’t pick a single one. It’s just that the line between mud pies, and t-ball, and this is so blurry. Stiles can’t tell where it really begins and where it ends. 

It feels boundless, Stiles thinks, infinity. It’s something, somewhere, past the edge of the universe. He’s yours infinitely. There is no before he loved you, and there is no after. It’s just always.

Stiles breathes and sighs out his answer, “Forever. I’ve loved you since forever, and I couldn’t—I can’t kiss you if it doesn’t mean anything.”  

Your lips curve slowly. It’s a nervous smile, one that’s afraid of the rug being yanked out from under happily ever after. “You love me?” you say quietly, voice little and meek. 

The tip of Stiles’s tongue darts out, wetting his lip. He nods slowly and rubs the back of his neck—an anxious tick you know very well. You’ve watched Stiles for eighteen years, after all. You’ve studied the tendons in his neck, how they flex when he crooks his head down to read, how it makes your belly warm more than it should. You know he flexes his fingers exactly three times before starting a test, and you know that the long veins in his arms are the most stupidly attractive things you’ve ever seen. He’s the most attractive thing you’ve ever seen, and you’ve loved him for so long it’s written in your bone marrow. 

Stiles scratches his neck until it’s pink and raw, and you pull his hand away instinctively. He smiles at you so timidly it breaks your heart, “Is that okay?” 

You nod, and nod, and nod. “Very okay. Very, very okay. The most okay of all the okay’s.” It’s so fast, and it’s been so long, but mostly it’s right. Like this is the only logical conclusion, the answer to a cold case that took eighteen years to solve. Your life has always been youandstiles, and that sounds a whole like forever. 

Slipping a hand to the back of his neck, you run your thumb along the knobs of his spine and whisper, “I am so ridiculously in love with you, boy wonder.” 

Stiles grins. It starts small, fond, tender—but the more times he hears it, every time she loves me, she loves me, she loves me bounces around his ribcage, his grin gets a little bigger, a little brighter. Soon, it stretches across his entire face and swallows you whole. He looks more than alive like this; you want to taste the electricity in his mouth. 

You smile at each other for a long time, and you look at Stiles through your lashes. “So,” you tip your chin and bat your eyes, “you gonna kiss me?”

Stiles is going to kiss you. He swears. He’s just…he’s thinking too much after an evening of not thinking at all. He’s been waiting for this for forever, and what if his lips are dry—or, worse, what if they’re too wet? What if his hands are cold and clammy, and you can feel his sweat when he cups your cheeks. He definitely feels sweaty. And nervous. And—

You rock onto your tiptoes and kiss him. It’s a little kiss, soft and short, but everything goes static and neon around you. You let out a little sigh, start to pull away—and Stiles whimpers. His hands surges forward and latches onto the back of your neck, pulling your mouth back to his. 

Stiles slides the breadth of his large palm up and down your back, chasing the rhythm of your breath. There isn't much to chase, you think deliriously, you aren’t really sure if you need oxygen to survive anymore. You like swallowing his sounds and tasting his tongue far more than breathing. It feels like Stiles agrees with you when he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into his chest, digging his fingers into the small of your back until there’s nowhere else for you to go. Silly boy. As if you’d rather be anywhere else. 

He makes the sweetest little noises in-between your kisses, softening the wet smacking of lips and tongues. You chase them, learning what he likes by unraveling him one sound at a time, with a tug on his hair here, a nibble on his lip there, and your hands just about everywhere.

It’s hot. Literally. You can feel heat licking your skin—or maybe that’s just Stiles. Your head is a little fuzzy from his kisses and not enough oxygen, and logic is a distant thought. Breathing. People need to breathe. 

Stiles’s nose bumps against yours when he pulls back. He smiles drunkenly and leans in for one more kiss. It’s quick and open-mouthed, two little brushes of his lips, and it steals what’s left of the air in your lungs. 

Stiles brushes your hair back and rests his forehead against yours. His breath chills your spit-slick, swollen mouth, and you shiver at the look in his eyes. “I meant something like that.”

[grahstumhurts]

𝙉𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙖𝙡 𝙏𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙤𝙤𝙨

Mean megan x Tmasc Reader SMUT Content - Degredation(ish?), Mentions of Bratty Reader(?),Choking,Scratching, Riding Strap, Dom! megan, Sub!Reader, Petnames like Honey and baby, Puppy is used like once, Fluff at the end.

A/N its quite short ik, but its kinda the best i could come up with since im kinda in a bit of a writing block rn..... Enjoy?

Word count ~600

“Good boy, Baby” Megan looks down at you through her lashes. Your face flushed, Hands gripping her hips as she lowers herself onto the strap attached to your hips. She rests her chin on your shoulder. Her whimpers grow louder next to your ear, You could almost imagine her walls clenched around you as if the faux cock was your own. “You like it when I moan in your ear baby? Of course you do” She giggles, kissing the shell of your ear. The bed creaks with her movements on top of you. You let out an exasperated sigh.

“Fuck..” You whisper, She grips your shoulders and neck. Scratching them with her nails, Red marks trail down your topless figure. The louder her whimpers get the more the scratches burn. The occasional grunt leaves your mouth as she rides you with a growing ferver. 

“You were so needy for me, Being such a whore out there. Flirting with Manon like that. Where's that attitude now, Baby?” She strokes your hair, Her pupils dilated. Lips bruised with her lipstick smudged, similar to yours. “So fuck me like you want to. Or are you to stupid to do that for me?” She mocks. The grip on her hips tighten as you push your hips into her, Trying to match her speed. A moan tears through her throat, Sweat glistens on both your bodies. The sounds of your skin meeting hers reverberates through her bedroom, The Bed creaking louder with each thrust from your hips. Her hand grips yours, Squeezing it tightly. Her free hand grips your bicep with the strength of a hundred soldiers, Leaving crescent marks in your skin, The slight flame underneath the marks makes the desire to make her come undone on top of you grow hotter. Her abs flex under the touch of your hand pressing down on the slight bulge under her skin.

“Fuck your so pretty, Megan” Your eyes trail down the sight of her, mouth agape filling the room with her moans, Her perfect brown sugar coloured iris’ covered by her dilated pupils, Just everything, The sheen layer of sweat covering her neck, Her. You let go of her hand and grip her throat, Pressing down slightly. She breathes raggedly, Her abs flex. 

“Shit Y/n, baby i'm gonna cum” She coughs out. 

“Cum for me, Meg” You feel her hand grip your back, Her nails burn your shoulder blades as they drag down. You slowly circle her hips on the strap, Her orgasm crashes over making her drag out a quiet whimper. She tucks her face into your neck, You can feel the sweat from her dripping on you. and as disgusting as it sounds, You don't mind it. She mumbles something under her breath as you snap out of your spiraling thoughts. “Hm? What was that honey?” She sits up, 

“I said, You look good covered in scratch marks.” She giggles, Her eyelids drooping slightly. 

“Its like a trophy for how good i can make you feel” You smirk at her. Leaning in to capture her lips with your own, Tasting her citrus lip balm.

“What am I going to do with a scratched up puppy like you baby?” She smiles against your lips.

-

The suns shining down in santa monica beach, The kats are setting up for their beach day. Setting down the snacks and beach towels, Yoonchae tugs your shirt as you set down your backpack next to megans bag. 

“Y/n Can we go into the water?” She quietly asks,

“Sure yoonchip.” You excitedly respond, pulling your shirt over your head. Manon is the first to notice the Natural Tattoos on your back made by your one and only girlfriend. 

“Y/n…” Manon says between belly laughs,

“What?” you turn around to see all the kats staring at you,

“You’ve got a lil’ something on your back” Sophia side eyes Megan, Who is bright red.

[tiredeyesight]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ fake lovers (aaron taylor johnson x fem! reader)

summary : it’s just a pr stunt, right?

you were walking the streets of london hand in hand with him, aaron taylor johnson, your current co-star. the movie was predicted to make millions, a huge hit, yet the team wanted to bring more attention to it. what better way than to make the two main stars fall in love? so there you were, spending away your sunday walking with him. he was set that we must absolutely hold hands, according him to ‘if we hold hands, it will sell the illusion even more.’

we turned into a small cafe with little customers. the atmosphere was everything, you could thrive in it. the music playing was the perfect volume, perfect genre, the amount of customers was just right, not too quiet and not too busy. the staff were lovely and the menu was seemingly made for you. aaron saw that smile he knows so well creep up on your face initiating his own to come about. as you stood in line pondering about what to order you noticed how aaron was looking at you, your intertwined hands, and a blush creeping on his oh so handsome face. surely you were just seeing things, it’s just a pr stunt, right?

after you had both ordered and taken a seat in the far corner of the cafe he kept holding your hand as if it were a lifeline. ‘holding your hand feels like a promise y’know’ he stated in his charming accent. a look of confusion plagued your face drawing a chuckle from him. ‘it feels like a promise that maybe, just maybe, we have a chance together.’ he explains shyly, barely reaching a whisper as if it was his deepest secret that he intended to take to the grave. ‘is this just part of the stunt? it feels so real, you want it to be real.’ you begin to ponder and as if he read your mind and worries, ‘this isn’t part of the stunt love, it’s real.’

a gummy smile spreads across your features at this realisation. just at that moment a waitress came over bringing the food and drinks you had ordered, yet she was barely registered as the two of you stared into each others eyes. you muttered several thank you’s as she passed around your items.

his eyes, god his eyes, you could feel them staring at you. they were magnetic as if he were reeling you in closer and closer. suddenly, you closed that distance. his lips pressed to yours. the world felt like it stopped spinning and only you two existed in that moment. everything just felt so right, so perfect. his aroma surrounded you, citrus and salt. his lips tasted like coffee and vanilla, filling you with warmth. abruptly, the familiar sound of camera shutterings and the blinding light of their flash enveloped you two. however, neither of you cared, just oh so happy to finally have this moment with each other.

this pr stunt was the best thing to happen.

authors note : i’ve just realised everyone i’ve wrote for so far has brown eyes. #browneyelover4EVVERRR. anyways as always requests are openn!

word count : 446

[airybcby]

for the more than a married couple event :3

nagi seishiro w/ 🍑 + 🎂

please and thank you, happy holidays!

hi! sorry for this taking a literal eternity! here it is!

a nagi seishiro citrus cake :)

જ⁀♡⊹｡° skeletons, skeletons, what do we have here

♡ a/n — for my more than a married couple event! ( this event is now closed ) ( masterlist will be updated soon! )

♡ content — nagi seishiro x gn! reader, unrequited feelings (reader towards nagi) , nagi being a kind of lackluster husband, nagi still plays soccer, set in high school

♡ synopsis — All this time, you’d been picturing something more. Something bigger. A future where maybe, just maybe, nagi seishiro would choose you the way you had always chosen him. But while you'd always been looking at him—he was looking past you.

The moment you saw Nagi Seishiro’s name next to yours on the partner list, your heart stopped.

You were supposed to be excited. Supposed to laugh and tell him, Looks like we’re stuck together, huh? the way a best friend would.

But instead, you felt your stomach drop.

Because you knew—living with him, being this close to him every day, would make it harder to keep your feelings buried.

You had liked Nagi for a long time. Maybe too long. And now, you were going to live together, sleep under the same roof, share meals, and navigate life as a married couple—even if it was just pretend.

It was going to be the easiest and hardest thing you’d ever done.

At first, nothing really changed.

“Oh, you’re the one cooking, right?” Nagi asked, glancing at you from the couch as you placed bags of groceries on the kitchen counter.

You scoffed. “What happened to us cooking?”

He stretched, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Mm… sounds tiring.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

This was normal. This was fine.

But as the days passed, you started noticing the little things.

Like how Nagi waited for you to start eating before taking his first bite. Or how he always made sure you had a blanket on the couch, even if he wasn’t cold. Or how he never let you walk on the outside of the sidewalk, casually shifting so he was the one closest to the street.

It was nothing. It was everything.

And the more you noticed, the harder it became to pretend.

One night, after a long day, you both collapsed onto the couch.

Your legs were tucked under you, and Nagi sprawled across the cushions like he had no bones in his body.

“I dunno why people make a big deal about this marriage thing,” he mumbled, covering his face with a pillow.

You laughed, nudging him with your foot. “Because it is a big deal, Seishiro. You’re literally spending your life with someone.”

“Sounds exhausting,” he said, voice muffled.

You rolled your eyes. “You think everything is exhausting.”

He lifted the pillow slightly, just enough to peek at you. His gaze was half-lidded, but there was something unreadable in it.

“Not you,” he murmured.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut.

You swallowed. Forced a laugh. “What, am I the exception?”

He let the pillow fall back over his face. “Dunno. Guess so.”

Your fingers curled into your sleeves.

You knew better than to read into things with Nagi. He wasn’t the type to say things with hidden meanings.

But that didn’t stop your heart from aching anyway.

You woke up to warmth.

It took a moment for the haze of sleep to fade, for you to register the steady rise and fall of a chest beneath your cheek, the familiar scent of Nagi surrounding you.

Your breath hitched.

Somehow, in the middle of the night, you had ended up wrapped around him—your arm draped over his torso, your leg tangled with his.

And worse? His arm was around you, too.

Panic swelled in your throat. You had to move before he woke up, before he realized just how badly you wanted this to be real.

But just as you began to shift, his grip tightened.

“Don’t,” he mumbled, voice heavy with sleep.

You froze.

His eyes remained closed, his face relaxed. Maybe he wasn’t fully awake.

Maybe, just for a little longer, you could let yourself believe this meant something.

So you stayed.

And in the quiet of the morning, with his warmth seeping into your skin, you let yourself pretend.

It had been building for weeks. A question sitting on the tip of your tongue, an uncertainty lingering in your chest.

And finally, on a quiet evening, you asked.

“Nagi,” you said softly. “Do you ever think about the future?”

He was lying on the floor beside you, hands resting on his stomach as he stared at the ceiling.

He frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Like… what comes next. After all of this.”

He was quiet for a long moment.

Then, in a voice so simple it made your stomach sink, he said—

“Not really. As long as I can play soccer, I don’t really care about the rest.”

The air left your lungs.

Because you realized, in that moment, that while you were looking at him—he was looking past you.

All this time, you’d been picturing something more. Something bigger. A future where maybe, just maybe, he’d choose you the way you had always chosen him.

But Nagi had never once thought about it.

Never once thought about you in the way you had hoped.

You turned your head away before he could see the way your face fell.

“Yeah,” you said, forcing your voice to be light. “That sounds like you.”

He let out a small chuckle, closing his eyes. “Mm. Too much effort to think about anything else.”

Your fingers curled against the fabric of your shirt.

You loved him. You always had.

But no matter how much it hurt, maybe… maybe you were better off as just friends.

Because Nagi was like the snow—beautiful, fleeting, impossible to hold onto without it slipping through your fingers.

And if you stayed, hoping for something more, you’d only be left out in the cold.

The end of the simulation came faster than you expected.

You packed your things, folded the blanket you had shared on the couch, took one last look at the space you had called home together.

It felt empty.

But maybe that was for the best.

Nagi stood by the door, watching as you zipped up your bag. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something almost hesitant.

But then he yawned, rubbing the back of his head. “Guess this is it, huh?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

A beat of silence.

And then, before you could stop yourself, you said, “I’m glad we did this.”

He blinked.

You smiled, even as your chest ached.

“I think we make better friends than anything else.”

For the first time since you’d met him, Nagi looked… confused.

But he only nodded. “Yeah. Duh.”

And just like that, it was over.

The first snowfall of the season came the next morning.

You stood outside, watching as the flakes drifted lazily from the sky, melting the moment they touched your skin.

Nagi would have loved this, you thought.

Then you shook the thought away.

Because no matter how much you loved him—

He was never yours to keep.

im sooooo sorry this took forever to put out i was literally in the worst writing slump ever :(

i hope you liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated

[sugrhigh]

FIRST OF MANY - ( m.s )

REQUESTED**

summary- you and matt have been dating for over a month now, and you’ve never had sex. his curiosity gets the best of him while you’re watching a romcom, and you find out he’s actually a virgin.

warnings- swearing, virgin!matt, technically unprotected sex, smut at the end (lmk if i missed shit)

virgin!matt x fem!reader

a/n: this is my first req that i’ve ever done, so THANK U TO THE ANON WHO LEFT IT i hope it lives up to your expectations ❤️ if u have ideas drop them in my inbox ! all da love

there is literally nothing matt likes more than spending the night in with his girlfriend, as corny as it might sound. it’s been well over a month of dating now, and he still can’t get enough of you.

the warmth of your body is comforting as you lay beside him on the sofa, dressed down in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. he has one steady arm wrapped around your shoulder so he can hold you against his chest.

he breathes you in as his fingers skim absentmindedly up and down your exposed bicep, a familiar mixture of laundry detergent and citrus shampoo.

“that feels nice.” you mumble into his shirt, eyes still glued to the tv.

you’re forcing him to watch friends with benefits, since he picked the last movie and you were in dire need of a romcom fix. it’s one of your favorites, mainly because you loved mila kunis so much in that 70s show.

it’s only been on for roughly thirty minutes, but matt’s been enjoying it way more than he expected considering this genre is not his norm. he’s even let out a couple laughs at the scripted jokes.

the main characters are in bed together again, rolling around as they banter back and forth about sleeping with each other. it sparks a fire of curiosity inside of him as he continues to stare at the screen.

“is this really what it’s like?” he asks without thinking, and he immediately regrets his words as you tilt your head to look up at him curiously.

“what, the sex? don’t act like you don’t know.” you say, playfully smacking him with the back of your hand.

matt isn't sure why he brought it up, but he figures now is as good a time as any to have this dreadful conversation.

“how could i know if i’ve never done it?”

he feels you tense up slightly under his arm, which scares him. the last thing he wants you to think is that he’s some sort of loser. he just hadn’t found anyone that he really wanted to be intimate with before he met you.

it’s not like you guys don’t fool around sometimes. he’s perfectly capable of using both his hands and his mouth; this is a fact you’ve been made well aware of.

you two just haven’t gone all the way yet, especially considering you hardly ever get real alone time together.

“you don’t have to lie about the girls you’ve been with just because we’re dating now.” you finally respond, quieter than before.

“oh my god, i’m telling the truth, so please don’t make me say it again.” he can’t look at you anymore, because he’s too embarrassed.

this makes you fully sit up in shock, no longer focused on the premise of the film. he can feel you staring at the side of his beet red face, clearly confused by this revelation.

“wait, are you seriously telling me that you’re a virgin?” you question.

matt glances back at you and crosses his arms defensively, because it suddenly feels like he’s under attack. “you’re making me seem like a freak or something.”

he watches your eyes soften as you put a tentative hand on his shoulder, trying to let him know that you weren’t making fun of him.

“shit, i’m sorry, i swear i didn’t mean it like that. it’s just…really surprising, that’s all.”

“surprising how?”

you pull your lips between your teeth, exhaling through your nose as you try and find the right words.

“well we’ve done stuff before, and you were just naturally good at it, so i assumed you’d learned from hooking up with other people. and i know girls must have liked you with a face like that.”

this boosts his ego, and he’s already in a much better mood knowing he’s at least made you feel good in the past. that doesn’t mean he’s not still terrified, but he’s a little more confident than he was before.

“nope, not really. you’re the only one i’ve ever done that kind of thing with, aside from a little making out.” matt admits with a shrug.

your lips part, and it’s making you feel all fluttery.

“wow.”

he smiles a little bit. “i don’t know what that means.”

“it doesn’t mean anything really. i’ve only had sex a few times, and it doesn’t change anything either way.” you move your hand up and down his arm a little bit.

the tv plays in the background, and your mind flits to his original question.

“are you curious? is that why you asked?” you tilt you head toward the screen, though you keep your focus on him.

his eyes go a little wide, and the feeling of your hand on his arm suddenly becomes overwhelming.

“yeah, i—uh, i guess i am.” matt stumbles over his words, and your fingers travel higher to run through his hair slowly.

“you don’t have to be nervous. you can ask me anything you want, i’m not gonna judge.” you say softly.

your fingernails raking along his scalp makes him shudder slightly, a response that you both enjoy.

“i’m…more of a hands-on learner.” he rasps.

you let your fingers travel to rest on the back of his neck, drawing him in for a soft kiss. it’s short and sweet, and his eyelids flutter a bit as you pull away.

“what do you want to do?”

he pauses for a moment before deciding to give in and say what’s on his mind. “nick and chris aren’t home. maybe we should go to my room?”

you grin, nodding your head like you’re in a trance. you’re both trying to hide your giddiness as you scramble off of the couch, carelessly tossing the blankets aside.

you can feel him staring at your ass as you lead him through the hall, and he gives it a little smack of appreciation.

“matthew sturniolo!” you laugh, turning the doorknob to his bedroom.

it greets you warmly, and you always love it because the whole place smells like him. the overhead light is off; it’s just the singular lamp casting warm rays across the mattress.

“couldn’t help it.” he says, smile prominent in his tone as he locks the door behind you.

you slow to a stop at the foot of his bed, and he stands at your side, hand intertwined in yours. it makes your heart swell as he admires you with those charming eyes.

“are you sure? we really don’t have to, there’s no rush.” you squeeze his palm reassuringly.

matt lets go just so he can hold your head, kissing you hard as an answer. you literally can’t help but beam into his lips, and you put one hand on his chest to push him against his silk sheets.

he falls onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows so he can keep looking at you. you crawl on top of him, slowly settling on his hips.

he sucks in a shaky breath as you shift against him to get comfortable. you can feel matt growing harder beneath you as you lean down to give him another swift kiss, letting his mouth melt against yours.

then you move to his earlobe, pressing your lips to the hollow part of his neck. you swipe your tongue against his skin, biting down just a bit so you can suck on the area slightly.

he groans, laying down now so he can move his hands to grip your ass, pushing you against him harder to feel a little more friction. the thin material of your sweatpants doesn’t hide a whole lot, and he’s straining against you now.

“you’re so cute, baby.” you say against his skin, and his hands go to the bottom of your shirt, pulling it up over your hips.

you lift your hands from his chest so he can fully remove it, leaving you in your stretchy black bralette.

“god, you’re unreal.” he breathes, and you guide his palms to cup each of your breasts, still rocking against him slightly as you straddle him.

you can feel him squeeze your nipples between his middle and pointer fingers, whimpering below you as he starts to get worked up. you’re growing wet by the second, the delicious feeling of his clothed dick rubbing against you sending shocks of satisfaction right to your core.

“do you wanna keep going?” you ask, just to make sure he’s still on board.

“please.” he begs.

you move his shirt up his chest, and matt sits just high enough to rip it over his head. you trace the tattoos on his arm faintly, trailing a finger down the center of his stomach till you hit the waistline of his sweats.

“you’re terrifying.” he smiles as you slip your hand under the band of his boxers, slowly scratching the area gently.

“why?” you ask.

he grabs your waist and flips you so you’re the one on your back, feet hanging over the edge of the bed as he stands.

“because everything you do is perfect.” he says, and this time he’s the one that goes to your pants, grabbing the soft material and looking at you for permission.

“that is so not true.” you grin as you lift yourself up to help him.

he strips them off your legs and tosses them away blindly, so you’re left in your matching thong. the spandex-like material hugs your sides, the last layer standing between what you both truly want.

“i mean look at you.” he sounds dumbfounded as he gazes at your body, and you feel your face flush from the attention.

“trust me, i’m the one who’s punching.” you reply as he strips down to his boxers, dick clearly pressing against the plaid cloth. you’ve seen it before, on two occasions to be exact.

both of those experiences were great, and you didn’t know that was the first time a girl had ever given him head. now you know this is the first time he’s having sex, and even though it’s not the same for you, you’re still a bit nervous.

matt’s a little above average, and the last and only person you’ve ever done it with is your ex, so it’s been a minute. even so, you’re so enthralled with your boyfriend that you can’t help but pulse in excitement.

he pushes your legs apart with his palms, and air rushes across the wet spot that’s already formed over your panties. two fingers press against the fabric covering your heat, which shocks a gasp out of you. he moves them in a little circular pattern, applying more pressure so he can really feel you.

“love your fingers,” you rock with his pace, speaking through a moan, “but i wanna make you feel good too.”

“oh, okay. so i should…” he stops his motions to go for his own underwear, finally sliding them down so his hard length springs free.

you’re already working your own bottoms down your thighs, and he finishes the job for you once his hands are free.

“do you have a condom?”

“uh, shit…” you can tell by the solemn look that crosses his face that he doesn’t, and you let out a short laugh.

“it’s okay, it’s alright, i’m on birth control. we’ll be more prepared next time.”

his eyebrows shoot up before he can help it. next time. just the confirmation that this will happen again makes him disgustingly happy.

you wiggle up on the bed a little bit, so he has enough room to hover on top of you. he leans down a few more inches to give you a kiss, and you can tell he’s unsure what to do next, so you take control.

“don’t put it inside yet, just slide it against me a few times.” you try and instruct, and he follows well, dragging the base of his shaft up and down your wet cunt.

you let out a little noise of pleasure, and he wants to save it as a sound bite in his memory.

“okay, slowly, go ahead.” you say after a few more seconds spent enjoying the feeling, and both of you make sure he’s lined up properly.

matt looks you in the eye as he pushes inside, taking his time as you adjust bit by bit. he lets out a moan when he’s fully filling you up, shocked by how fucking amazing you feel.

you know he’s stretching you out, but the small pinpricks of pain subside as you get situated.

“you can start moving now, just keep it gentle at first.” you guide him, voice all choked up.

he nods, his long hair almost tickling your forehead as he starts to pump in and out at a leisurely pace. you’re both groaning messes, and your hands go to claw at his back as he keeps pace.

“fuck, you’re doing so well matt.” you mutter against his chest, pressing open-mouth kisses to his collarbone.

he’s getting into it now, finding a good rhythm and relaxing his hips slightly so he’s not as stiff. your bodies are molded together as you move back and forth, and matt can feel you clutching against his cock with each stroke.

“m’not gonna last much longer, angel.” he confesses, clumsily stumbling over his words as he tries to calm himself down, to keep it in just a bit longer.

“that’s okay, babe. tonight is all about you.”

he’s growing sloppier, and matt leans in to kiss you passionately as he gets closer and closer. surprisingly enough, you can feel the pressure building in your own stomach, and you’re both whining into each others mouths as your tongues mesh together.

“right there baby, i’m close too.” you breathe, and you can feel his body trembling against yours, one hand slipping underneath your bra so he can run his thumb over your nipple.

matt holds it all back, drilling into you as hard as he possibly can with the energy he has left. he loves the way you’re scratching at his back, pulling him as close as possible as you both reach your peak.

“i’m—fuck, oh my god.” he tenses up, and you feel him twitch inside of you as he comes undone.

his own reaction is what sends you over the edge, and you ease into the high, letting yourself finish all over him as he slows to a stop.

“yes, matt, holy shit.” you sigh, and he pulls out carefully moments later.

matt flops down beside you, rolling to press his lips to your cheek. you turn your head slightly to look at him, capturing his mouth with yours for another real kiss.

“i think i could get used to that.” he says with a small grin as he pulls away, and your ruffle his hair lightheartedly.

“lucky for you that was just the first time of many. so how was it?” you ask him.

he’s just opening his mouth when a loud pounding erupts on the door, and you both nearly jump out of your skin at the disturbance.

“hey! open the fucking door, we brought you guys mcdonald’s!” chris screams through the barrier.

you both look at each other, still grinning, and matt can’t help but roll his eyes.

“well, being alone was nice while it lasted.”

[byte-your-tongue]

Dungeon Meshi Characters x Sick Reader

(Platonic, Gn Reader)

AN: Was written with platonic intentions but ig any of them could be read as romantic???? I'm so sick i'm dying which is why i wrote this. That and i wanna get back to writing headcanons when i have the time

Laios:

Will try to get you to eat all sorts of monster parts that are said to give good health. He's trying to help, but some of the stuff he feeds you is questionable....

He will try to perform small healing spells on you if you are in pain.

He would probably ask the rest of the party how to help you and you will end up with a ton of stuff done to you as Laios takes all of their varying advice.

If you snap and tell him to just let you rest he will feel slightly bad for bothering you, but you know he didn't mean any harm by it.

If you want him to keep you company he will info dump about monsters for hours. Don't worry about falling asleep while he's talking, he's just glad you are getting some rest.

"Ahhh... i think they fell asleep. I'll just tell them about this monster when they are feeling better!" He smiles and whispers to himself when he hears your breathing change.

Chilchuck:

Will do all the traditional stuff to help you, but probably isn't well versed in actual medicine.

What he does to help is more like the natural remedies/old wive's tales your mom would give to you. Not all of them are backed by science but he swears they will help and he seems so confident so what choice do you have but to trust him?

If you're nauseous or have a fever he will sit by your side with a cold wet rag and run it over your face.

Will brew you tea and swear it will fix everything (my mom did this w yerba buena tea lol)

Will load you up with citrus fruits if you have a cold.

Is the type of person to tell you to gargle warm salt water if you have a sore throat

He will scold you for getting sick, telling you to take better care of yourself. He will say mean stuff but he's also tenderly staying by your side and caring for you... so like.. do with that what you will.

"Ugh it's such a pain taking care of you, you better not get me sick!" He complains, but he's still by your bedside attending to your every need.

Senshi:

Will cook for you. Expect a LOT of soup while you are sick.

He plans out your meals to have lots of vitamins and nutrients to help you recover faster.

He will sit by your bed and stay with you in silence.

If you want him to talk to you he might tell you stories about his time in the dungeon and all the things he's learned and the people he's met.

He is keeping you SO hydrated you will be forced to drink water constantly.

"If ya don't eat well, yer body won't have what it needs to recover. So take care of yerself and make sure ya eat up!" He says while presenting you with your 3rd bowl of soup today.

Izutsumi:

She does NOT know how to care for a sick person. But she's trying..??

Will cuddle up with you and purr. It gives comfort if nothing else.

She might also lick your hair or otherwise groom you.

If you express concern about her getting sick from being around you she will brush it off saying that as a beastman her immune system is probably better than yours.

Doesn't know how to help you but she's worried about you.

She probably tries to tell you some superstition about sickness she learned from Shuro's party that she believes is totally real.

Might drag Chilchuck or Senshi over to you to take care of you.

Don't expect her to fetch you most of what you need, she will probably sleep more than you do while sick. You can try to wake her up and tell her to get something but she will grumble about it.

"huuh..? You want me to get you food? Why don't you just ask Senshi?" She says while yawning and curling back up in your bed.

Marcille:

Tries her best to look through books she's read to find anything that can help.

She panics quickly and worries the worst will happen even if you are only slightly sick.

Might try to get Falin to help take care of you if she's around.

She probably is more worried about your health then even you are.

She gets overwhelmed and tries a lot of things to fix you but it probably takes Senshi or Falin to remind her that you just need to rest and will get better with time.

She gets very anxious and will stay by you the whole time you are sick. She probably ends up getting sick after you do and you get to take care of a whiny Marcille. (It's ok she's sort of cute while sick)

"*sniffle*, You have to take care of me now cuz you're the reason i got sick!" She whines while curled up in her bed with a disheveled appearance.

Falin:

Will perform healing magic on you if you are in any pain, she will do what she can to sooth your discomfort.

Might cast a spell to put you to sleep if you need the rest.

She's very chill about it and will sit with you and keep you company. She will joke and talk with you while you are in bed.

If you fall asleep she will read or quietly slip out of the room.

You might think she's one of the more level headed ones here and that she wouldn't do anything weird to you. You would be wrong. She is 100% doing some weird thing that's from the village where her and Laios grew up. She's convinced this is good for you even if it's super weird.

She will read stories to you if you get bored. Or she might even come up with stories on the spot to keep you entertained.

"C'mon! Eating raw onions is said to help bring your sense of taste back and help your nose stop being congested!" She says smiling sweetly, meanwhile you're pretty sure she is trying to poison you.

[struwberrii]

Hi! I love your American high school headcanons! Do you have any headcanons for the Karasuno third years hehehe

haikyuu!! at an american highschool ⋆⭒˚.⋆

thank you for the request!! hopefully u all enjoy ^.^

pt. 1, pt.2

characters: tanaka, noya, kiyoko, sugawara, daichi, asahi

🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

tanaka

there’s a 50/50 chance he’ll actually show up to class

drives the most beat up busted car with no tint and no bumper

he and noya in the parking lot blasting music with the windows down

cafeteria lunch defender

probably pulled the fire alarm at some point as a joke

teachers have to tell him to pull his pants up bc he sags 😭

speaker in his bookbag

has been high in class multiple times

literally has no school supplies

does interview in the halls with his phone as a mic and is constantly getting humbled by pretty girls

somehow pulled kiyoko (everyone rips on her for dating him)

falls asleep in class and snores

bro is not graduating 😭

he and noya troll teachers

noya

uses a children’s bookbag bc he thinks it’s funny (people think he’s actually a child)

tanakas #1 meat rider

always making mildly gay comments and everyone in their friend group gets so mad at him

gym try hard

doesn’t have a car but skips in the bathroom sometimes

probably smoked one time and saw literal demons now he’s too scared to ever do it again 😭

his mom drops him off at school

another boy the girls have to hit with the “hear me out”

actually gets his work done but hardly passes

brings like whole family packs of cookies for lunch

crocs all day everyday

makes fart noises in class then blames it on other people

let’s his friends hype him up to ‘rizz’ up girls and 9/10 the girls laugh at him (poor guy lol)

kiyoko

unproblematic and everyone loves her

guys probably spread rumors about her when she rejects them but nobody believes them

you either want to be her or be with her

half ap classes

accidentally starts trends (like fashion trends)

tries to help tanaka with his work but he doesn’t ever pay attention

the only thing people criticize her for is going with tanaka 😭

quiet and keeps to herself

takes super neat notes

drives a pretty nice car and it always smells like japanese cherry blossom

always has one airpod in too

probably class buddies with suga and asahi

girls in the grades below her view her as like big sister

takes low effort instagram pictures and always ends up on the explore page with thousands of likes

suga

takes ap classes

the best and safest driver and offers everyone rides

sketches and doodles on the corners of all his assignments and notes

color coordinated notes with pastel highlighters

people think he’s gay but he just likes cute stuff

shit talks with teachers

everyone trusts him and he is very reliable

boy next door

has the cutest keychains and pins on his bag

‘takes notes’ on his ipad but actually just plays roblox

probably has a job at like a pet store or bakery

daichi

him and suga are the unexpected best friends bc they’re so different

spends all his free periods in the gym working out

has social media but never uses it

drives a truck but isn’t annoying about it

curbs #1 enemy

has really random knowledge about dumb stuff, like you could be complaining about your ankle hurting and he knows exactly how to fix it

he does not tolerate disrespect, shuts it down real quick.

plays cod during his free time

takes all regular classes but his grades never fall below 90s (As)

him suga and asahi get lunch together off campus at least 3 times a week and he always drives

working out 24/7

asahi

works at barnes and noble or a coffee shop

has a car but never drives because it makes him anxious

gets rides from suga

plays word cookies in class

smells really good and citrus y all the time

the craziest rumors go around about him, like about him being a grown man and being held back or being a criminal

nicest guy in the entire school

staff has stopped him in the halls multiple times because they thought he was a grown man and had to see his school ID 😭

always gets vending machine frappes

dresses like a youth counselor

watches movies during class

underclassman call him unc

[ninibeingdelulu]

I’m sorry

synopsis: he forgot your birthday, so he apologizes in his own way

a/n: i wish re2 leon was real :((

The apartment you share with Leon is utterly unrecognizable when you finally drag yourself through the doorway well past sundown.

What typically greets you is a spartan, almost militaristic level of bare minimalism thanks to your boyfriend's by-the-book personality and rigorous hours with the RPD.

But this evening? The entire open-concept living space has been transformed into what can only be described as a veritable birthday wonderland - complete with vibrant streamers zig-zagging across every available surface and those ridiculously oversized metallic balloons bobbing precariously from every corner.

You halt mid-stride, mouth literally agape as you drink in the burst of kaleidoscope colors and thoughtful homespun decor adorning the length of the kitchen countertops as well.

A deliciously decadent layered cake topped with your favorite indulgent frosting blend...an assortment of neatly wrapped packages in that signature sky-blue wrapping paper you always tease Leon for using at every gift-giving occasion...even a chilled bottle of your go-to celebratory bubbly chilling beside a fresh bouquet of your most beloved flora.

The sheer tenderness of this entire scene hits you like a sucker-punch straight to the solar plexus - eyes stinging with unshed tears even before finally trailing towards the center of the room.

There slouched on the sofa with elbows braced on splayed knees and face cradled in his upturned palms sits Leon himself in a pose of utter guilt-ridden dejection.

"Leon..." You haven't even stepped fully inside yet before his name slips past your lips - instantly shattering whatever uncomfortable reverie he'd been absorbed in brooding towards the floor.

Those endlessly soulful icicle-blue irises you've always adored finally lift to meet yours with the weight of a thousand apologies shining within their stormy depths.

"Hey, doll..."

God, he does sound like a lost puppy while using that feather-soft endearment you normally melt over.

"Look, I...I know I massively forgot your birthday yesterday and I—"

"Leon, you really didn't have to—"

"No, no. Please...just...lemme get this out while I'm on a roll here?"

He interjects quickly, palms lifting in a placating gesture before the briefest quirk of boyish insecurity tugs at the corner of his sensuous mouth.

"I'm not always the best at expressing myself the way I should, but that never means the important stuff gets overlooked or taken for granted...not with you."

The sincerity reverberating through every syllable sends your pulse into an erratic staccato against the hollow of your throat as Leon rises languidly to his full towering height and begins stalking towards where you linger.

There's an undeniably intent yet hopelessly tender hunger now darkening his eyes into bottomless pools of stormy silver. Paradoxically pinning you in place while simultaneously setting your insides ablaze...

"You're the most important person in my entire world, y/n...the reason I wake up fighting each morning and the thought I cling to whenever everything feels hopeless."

Leon murmurs - now near enough you can taste the subtle citrus zing of his aftershave mingling with the adrenaline roaring in your ears.

"Nothing and no one will ever make me lose sight of how goddamn priceless you are to me again...not when you're the sole force keeping this old cop's battered heart from completely shattering apart."

And with his final confession, those rough palms you've spent countless blissful hours mapping finally settle upon your waist while he leans in and just barely brushes the plush seal of his lips over yours in a tantalizing preview of what's to come once you've both recovered from this initial swell of unbridled emotion.

"So how's about we celebrate your birthday properly this time around, sweetheart?"

You can actually feel the rumbling timbre vibrating from Leon's chest straight to your molten core as he seals his vow with a bruising, breathtaking kiss destined to leave you utterly drunk and delirious for hours to come...

[thecheekyblog]

Let’s talk Health

So guys, i am turning 29 in a month and let’s be real my body is not what it used to be! Despite me working out 4times a week, fasting, and paying attention to what i eat, i can feel my body weakening in way. Not that i don’t feel healthy but I’m still having some back pain, less energy, and just like feeling my body more. And that is normal.

20 years old me and 30 years old me wont be the same! There are things that we need to do to keep up so we maintain our best self. My body wont be producing all the collagen that i use too, likes guys i can hear my BONESSS! And I’m telling that is is not giving!

After a bit a research, i realized that i was lacking nutrient that my body could not produced on it’s own or way less!

So here a list of Nutrients we need as bad gyals hitting our 30s, especially as black women

1. Vitamin D 🌞

Why? Black women are more likely to have vitamin D deficiency due to melanin reducing sun absorption. Low levels can affect bone health, immunity, and mood.

Sources: Sun exposure (15–30 mins/day), fatty fish (salmon, mackerel), fortified foods (milk, orange juice), and supplements (2,000 IU daily if deficient).

2. Iron 💪🏾

Why? Many Black women experience iron deficiency, which can lead to fatigue, hair thinning, and anemia.

Sources: Lean meats, beans, lentils, spinach, tofu, fortified cereals. Pair with vitamin C (oranges, peppers) to boost absorption.

3. Magnesium 🧘🏾‍♀️

Why? Supports stress management, sleep, muscle function, and heart health. Many people don’t get enough.

Sources: Nuts, seeds, whole grains, dark leafy greens, dark chocolate.

4. Calcium 🦴

Why? Helps prevent osteoporosis, which Black women are at higher risk for later in life.

Sources: Dairy, leafy greens, almonds, fortified plant-based milks.

5. Omega-3 Fatty Acids 🧠

Why? Supports heart, brain, and joint health while reducing inflammation.

Sources: Salmon, sardines, walnuts, flaxseeds, chia seeds, omega-3 supplements.

6. B Vitamins (Especially B12 & Folate) ⚡

Why? Helps with energy, brain function, and red blood cell production.

Sources: Eggs, fish, meat, leafy greens, fortified grains, and B-complex supplements if needed.

7. Collagen & Vitamin C ✨

Why? Supports skin, hair, nails, and joint health.

Sources: Bone broth, citrus fruits, bell peppers, berries, collagen supplements.

8. Fiber & Probiotics 🥗

Why? Supports gut health, digestion, and weight management.

Sources: Whole grains, beans, vegetables, yogurt, kefir, and fermented foods.

9. Zinc & Selenium 💁🏾‍♀️

Why? Supports immune function, hair health, and thyroid balance.

Sources: Shellfish, nuts, seeds, Brazil nuts, and meat.

Supplement Recommendations:

Multivitamin for Women (with iron, D, and B vitamins)

Vitamin D3 (if deficient)

Omega-3 Fish Oil

Magnesium Glycinate (for stress & sleep)

Probiotic (for gut health)

Hope this helps my lovesss, until next time

[doctor-yaoi-phd]

Confessions of a Rotten Girl MV References to Fujoshi and Yaoi Culture

0:13 In the background of Miku’s room we can see dakimakuras hung on the wall, as well as a poster of a bara esque character wearing a face mask. Dakimakuras, or body pillows, are a common piece of anime merchandise.

0:17 All of Miku’s speech bubbles within the video are stylized like manga bubbles, even using the same font (wildwords). Also, the object she’s holding behind her is a yaoi paddle, a long pine wood paddle that were sold in the mid to late 2000s as decorative props, but were also used by some convention goers to spank others as a prank. While they typically read ‘Yaoi’, ‘Seme’, ‘Uke’, or other similar terms, hers reads ‘sinner’.

0:24 We get a better look at the manga she’s buying in this scene. The illustration is of a man getting his pec grabbed, with “Knockers” written up at the top. The text on the front reads “The best ever.”, and is subtitled “Time to see some old man hole”. The character seems to be one of Hokawazu’s, an NSFW artist who appears to have drawn this image, or at least been referenced by it. Additionally, the cover advertises a free CD that comes with the manga. BL CDs are a form of media in the yaoi genre in which the story is constrained to an audible form. Audio dramas that can be either explicit or safe for work in their content.

0:34 The cream on their faces is a reference to the trope of frosting/cream being used as pseudo-semen to imply a sensual undertone to images that may otherwise be SFW (I believe, the aprons might also be a reference, but I’m not sure as to what). Also, Yuuma and Len are the only two of the five without frosting on their faces - they’re also the only two who aren’t sexualized throughout the MV, presumably because they’re Miku’s classmates and therefore high schoolers and most likely underage.

0:36 Lemon slices float upwards, referring to the Citrus Scale, an older metric of labeling explicit fan works. ‘Lemon’ in this context indicates that the work is erotic or explicit in nature.

0:40 Example of classic seme/uke dynamic. Note Kiyoteru’s smaller and less muscled frame, as well as his more pointed jaw as compared to Gakupo’s square chin. Gakupo’s lanyard reads ‘Soft Seme’, and the camera effects imply Miku is recording all of this. Additionally, the lyrics and the outfits the characters are wearing imply that they are students and faculty members at Miku’s school, which means she’s shipping real people, as Fujoshi’s are often criticized for doing.

0:43 This whole image is a Given reference.

0:44 The lyric “Just watch! Look beyond the smoke and mirrors” refers to shipping culture, and how some fans with theorize that their pairing would be canon if not for an outside acting force such as management, producers, writers, etc. The most popular example I can name in reference to this is the Johnlocke conspiracy.

0:47 Luka is scribbled out and labeled ‘Delusional’ by Miku, in reference to how female characters and actors tend to be treated poorly by some fans for ‘getting in the way’ of slash ships.

0:51-0:57 Kaito, Kiyoteru, and Gakupo are bound in bondage ropes, except for Gakupo, who is bound with jump ropes because he’s the gym teacher.

1:03 Miku is holding a Death Note, except it’s not a Death Note, it’s a ‘Yaoi Note’. May be a reference to Lawlight, a popular Death Note ship.

1:06 “The lord sayeth “halt thy child, don’t give into sin”” is a reference to how some Fujoshis have referred to yaoi as ‘sin’ in the past, and the act of engaging with it as ‘sinning’.

1:15 Omegaverse referenced on the chalkboard next to bananas and donuts; bananas referring to penises, donuts referring to assholes. Anal sex.

1:27 Rotten tomatoes, as are thrown in disapproval at a poor performance. At first I thought this was a Hetalia reference, but figured that might be a bit too deep of a cut. They’re also used in reference to the ‘rotten’ in ‘rotten girl’ (“rotten girl” is a translation of the word “Fujoshi”), rotten tomatoes for a rotten girl.

1:38 This whole segment is a Danganronpa references, a fandom with many popular slash ships.

1:43 Top left and right of the chalkboard are Ao3 symbols, specifically the ones for Explicit, M/M, Author Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, and Completed Work.

2:00 Most of this is obscure to me, but if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say the fruit is referencing forbidden fruit (as brought up earlier in the song), the ping pong paddles yaoi paddles, and the tarts the desserts the boys were holding earlier.

2:10 MikuMikuBeam in the bottom right corner. Not yaoi, but a cute reference to another of Sawtowne’s works.

2:13 She’s using some website on the computers in the back, but the pixelation makes it hard to tell which. I’d guess maybe a manga reading website? But none I’m familiar with.

2:21 Refers to a trend on TikTok where the speed at which the circles are moving implies the speed at which the corresponding character is having sex (top or bottom).

2:25 Another reference to the Citrus Scale.

2:33 Penis in the reflection of her glasses.

2:52 And finally, slowburn is a fanfiction trope.

I probably missed a few, but these were the ones I was familiar enough with to speak on! Please stream Confessions of a Rotten Girl by Sawtowne :)

[st4rlvr]

Dancing queen || LMH

The waves crash gently against the shore, the sound mingling with the faint hum of cicadas in the distance. From my spot on the wraparound porch, I can see the sunlight glinting off the ocean, the water sparkling like scattered diamonds. The breeze carries the scent of salt and sunscreen, lifting the edges of my linen dress as I lean against the wooden railing, a glass of iced tea in hand.

“You’re daydreaming again,” Lee Know teases, his voice warm as he steps out of the house, barefoot and dressed in a loose white shirt and khaki shorts. He always looks so effortlessly put together, like he belongs on the cover of a coastal living magazine.

“I can’t help it,” I reply, turning to him with a smile. “It’s too beautiful today.”

He walks over to me, his presence commanding but soft, and places a hand on my shoulder. “It’s always beautiful here,” he says, looking out at the horizon. His gaze lingers on the waves, but I know he’s not really watching them—he’s thinking about something, like he always does.

We’ve been together for three years now, living in this seaside mansion that feels more like a sanctuary than a house. It’s all white walls, airy rooms, and wide-open windows that let the ocean breeze flow through. It’s the kind of place I dreamed about when I was a little girl, flipping through magazines and watching old movies about summer romance and endless freedom.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask, setting my glass down on the railing.

He shrugs but doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulls me into his arms, his chin resting on top of my head. “You,” he finally says, his voice low. “And how lucky I am to have you.”

I laugh softly, burying my face in his chest. “Says the guy who practically owns half this beach.”

“And yet,” he replies, tilting my chin up so I’m looking into his eyes, “it wouldn’t mean anything without you.”

His words catch me off guard, but they shouldn’t. Lee Know has always been like this—honest, thoughtful, and with a knack for saying things that make my heart ache in the best way.

The sun is starting to dip lower in the sky, painting everything in shades of gold and peach. The warm light makes his features even more striking, his sharp jawline and soft eyes almost too perfect to be real.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he says suddenly, grabbing my hand before I can protest.

We make our way down to the beach, the sand cool beneath our feet. The waves lap at our ankles as we walk, and he squeezes my hand every time I stumble on a rock or a shell. The world feels impossibly big and small at the same time, like it’s just the two of us here and nothing else matters.

“I was thinking,” he says after a while, breaking the comfortable silence between us. “We should host a party. Something simple, just a few friends, good food, music.”

“Simple,” I echo with a laugh. “Do you even know what that word means? Our idea of ‘simple’ always turns into a full-blown event.”

He grins, his smile lopsided and mischievous. “Okay, maybe not simple. But it’s summer, and we should celebrate. Besides, I like seeing you happy.”

I roll my eyes but can’t stop the smile spreading across my face. “Fine. But only if you help me set up.”

“Deal.”

As we turn back toward the house, the sky darkens into shades of lavender and deep blue. The lights from our home spill onto the sand, warm and inviting, a beacon in the growing dusk.

Lee Know pulls me closer, his arm slipping around my waist. “You know,” he says softly, his voice almost lost in the sound of the waves, “every time I look at you, I’m reminded why I love it here so much.”

I lean into him, my heart full as I look up at the house we’ve made into a home, the life we’ve built together. “It’s not the place,” I whisper. “It’s you.”

The house was alive with energy. Warm lights spill from every window, casting a soft glow on the sand below. The once-calm evening now hums with laughter, music, and the occasional clink of glasses. The air smells of salt, citrus, and something faintly sweet—maybe the crème brûlée Felix insisted on bringing.

In the main room, where the windows are flung wide open to let in the ocean breeze, a record player blasts Fleetwood Mac’s “The Chain.” The music weaves seamlessly with the sound of the waves outside, creating a rhythm that feels timeless.

Chan, ever the unofficial party leader, stands near the kitchen, animatedly discussing something with Hyunjin and Jisung. Hyunjin’s wearing a silk shirt that billows every time he moves, while Jisung has his signature mischievous grin as he mimics Chan’s hand gestures, making everyone laugh.

“Where’s the champagne?” Felix’s voice calls out as he appears from the kitchen, holding a tray of hors d’oeuvres. He’s wearing an apron over his outfit—a crisp button-down and linen trousers—and looks so at ease that it’s hard to believe he’s not actually staff at some luxury restaurant.

“I thought you were handling that,” Seungmin replies from the couch, raising an eyebrow. He’s seated with Jeongin, who’s scrolling through his phone but occasionally looks up to chuckle at something on Seungmin’s playlist critique.

“Don’t worry,” I say, stepping into the room with a freshly opened bottle. Lee Know is right behind me, carrying an ice bucket. “We’ve got it covered.”

“That’s our girl,” Chan says with a tipsy grin, raising his glass in salute.

The room cheers as I pour, everyone holding out their glasses—some already half-full with other drinks, but no one seems to care. Once everyone has a glass in hand, Lee Know raises his.

“To friends, summer, and the best nights of our lives,” he says. His voice is steady, but his eyes are on me, and for a moment, the bustling room fades into the background.

The clinking of glasses brings me back, and soon the energy shifts again. Hyunjin drags Chan into the middle of the room, where the furniture has been pushed aside to create a makeshift dance floor. Fleetwood Mac fades into Abba’s “Dancing Queen,” and Hyunjin is immediately spinning one of Chan’s arms in a dramatic flourish.

“Come on, Y/N!” Jisung calls, reaching out a hand to me.

I shake my head, laughing. “Not until I’ve eaten something!”

“You’re missing out!” he replies before twirling Felix, who bursts into laughter mid-spin.

The table by the kitchen is a feast of indulgence. There’s caviar, oysters on ice, and lobster rolls arranged alongside bowls of fresh fruit and delicate pastries. Lee Know, ever the perfectionist, made sure everything was curated to match the vibe: luxurious yet relaxed.

“You outdid yourself,” I say to him as I grab a lobster roll.

“I know,” he replies with mock smugness, earning a playful shove.

Out on the deck, Changbin and Jeongin are taking turns snapping Polaroids of each other against the backdrop of the ocean. The girlfriends and a few other friends lounge on the outdoor sofas, sipping their drinks and talking about everything and nothing. One of them gets up to adjust the record player, switching it back to Rumours.

The night continues like this, a blur of laughter, music, and easy conversations. At some point, I end up on the dance floor, pulled in by Hyunjin and Felix. Lee Know joins too, his usual reserved demeanor melting away as he spins me in a clumsy but endearing waltz.

“You’re terrible at this,” I tease.

“Only because I’m distracted,” he shoots back, his gaze lingering on me.

The party starts winding down just as the moonlight takes over the sky, casting silvery streaks across the sand. Some of our friends have moved to the beach, sitting around a makeshift bonfire that Felix and Jisung somehow managed to create.

I stand at the edge of the deck, looking out at the scene: Chan strumming a guitar, Jeongin and Seungmin bickering over marshmallows, Hyunjin serenading no one in particular, and Lee Know standing beside me, his hand warm in mine.

“Think we’ll ever get tired of this?” I ask softly.

“Of our friends? Of Fleetwood Mac? Of you?” He pauses, pretending to consider. “Never.”

I laugh, leaning my head against his shoulder as the music drifts over us. In that moment, with the waves crashing softly in the distance and the world humming with life, everything feels infinite.

[taesankisser]

CHASE ME!

CHAPTER ONE: NIGHTWALKERS

pairing: ???!taesan x vampire!fem reader

word count: 1.8k+

warnings: mentions of blood/bloodlust, a bit of stalking (reader follows him), mentions of the feeling of being burned, reader sort of has an allergic reaction, reader and taesan both pass out, threats, i promise the warnings seem weird but it’ll make sense if you read it (:

writing under the cut!

“nightwalkers…

what are they? they are said to be vampires, who reign in the darkness of the night in search of their next meal. parents would warn their children, “don’t go out at night, there are monsters that walk the streets.” the truth of the matter is that these vampires are simply just a myth, or so most people thought. their existence has been hidden from the public eye, every sighting was somehow proven to be fake. they blamed bloodied and mutilated bodies on “animal attacks.” how cliche. in order to prevent mass hysteria, the media portrayed them as fiction. “here are 10 pieces of evidence to disprove their existence-”

you rolled your eyes while reading the article on your phone. “do you hear this nonsense? look at us, ten! we’re so real!” you gestured to yourself with a pout, groaning as you kicked some of the gravel on the rooftop you and your friend were hiding out on.

“oh hush. our goal is to not get seen, remember? you don’t want to get found out.”

“yeah but they make us seem like cryptids! i’m real, i exist!” you pouted once more.

“i mean, you could always kill the person who wrote it?”

“wait a second. ten, you’re a genius!”

“i was kidding. we don’t kill just for fun. unless you’re one of those evil vampires in which case i will stop mentoring you.” he said with a smirk on his face.

“hmph. i know. i was kidding too. i’m not evil. i’m a very well behaved girl.” you said matter-of-factly, giggling at the way he rolled his eyes.

“yeah. sometimes. although, you do cause me quite a bit of stress.” he admitted, causing you to stick your tongue out at him. he loved you. in reality, you were his little protege and he couldn’t be prouder of you. he saved your life, gave you a new one, and you couldn’t be more grateful to him and for him. you smiled as you looked at him with such love. your best friend.

you then scanned the area below you. the building you and ten were on top of belonged to a popular college. for some reason, you found comfort in this area. it might be because of your past, specifically the age at which you were stuck at, or maybe it was just because you typically found your prey here.

“see anything you like?” he asked as he gestured towards the ground, seeing a flood of students leaving their evening classes.

“no, this is so boring.” you huffed as you looked around.

“are you sure? take a closer look.” ten said as he smiled while gently putting his hands on your head and moving your view to match his. “take a look at that.”

your jaw dropped as you saw the most beautiful human you think you have ever seen. if you weren’t already dead, you think that the sheer beauty of him might have killed you, or at least been enough to make your heart work so hard that you fell unconscious. it was like love at first sight, or lust. not that kind of lust, though. lust for his blood, which you happened to notice. he smelled incredible. the air around him was like expensive cologne, but not the overbearing scent that most people use. it was more unique, more on the lighter side like fresh sheets with a hint of citrus.

his blood smelled like the human equivalent of walking into a bakery and fresh cupcakes were being made. the aroma around him was so delicious that you felt your brain go fuzzy. you thought that scent would be seared into your olfactory nerve for the rest of your undead life.

he was also painfully your type, it almost made you wish for a split second that you were different. in the span of less than a minute, you wondered what if. what if things were different. however, your vampirism took over and it was as if all those thoughts were physically thrown out of your mind. all you could think about was eating. eating him. drinking from him and maybe stealing every last drop that he has in his body. although, you’re not supposed to kill, this was one of those rare occurrences where you wondered if you would truly be able to control yourself. the taste of him was probably so addictive that you would steal his life source and never be able to stop until his body was physically unable to make more. well, maybe, you could make him your little human blood bag, taking from him whenever you wanted. you were delusional, absolutely unhinged because of him. it was the first time this sort of emotion had taken over you.

“i have to have him. i have to taste him or i might actually die.” you said as you started running for the stairs. as you did, you heard ten in the distance, yelling at you to wait for a second, then proceeding to laugh as you ignored him. you chased the college boy, watched him, and followed him as he left the campus with what you assumed were his friends. you remained in the shadows while he stayed blissfully unaware.

he went to dinner with his friends, while you remained hidden. you knew you had to be strategic about this, not wanting to ruin your chance at having probably the most incredible meal of your life. you listened in as he laughed with his friends, noticing the sound of their hearts in sync as they were enjoying each other’s company. your own heart sank for another moment, you wish you could experience true youth.

before you could think too much about the what if’s, he got up, mentioning something about needing to go home to study. he was going ahead on his own. “this is my chance!” you thought to yourself as he was about to be alone; inevitably vulnerable.

he walked out of the restaurant with a smile plastered on his face, most likely feeling fulfilled after time well spent with his friends. you followed him. stalked him like he was some kind of prey- or well he was in this case. the aroma of him never faded as you watched him all night. you followed him on and on until you saw an alleyway you could make your move in. you took a deep breath. “here goes nothing.” you whispered to yourself.

you reached at his arm, snatching his shirt sleeve and threw him into the alley with your enhanced strength. “what the hell?” he exclaimed. you kept your head down as he stayed hidden in the shadows with you. he was even more beautiful close up. you stayed like that for a moment as he looked at you; confused. “are you okay? do you need my help?” he asked with sincerity in his voice. he must have thought you were some poor helpless girl. you took a deep inhale, breathing him in. “you have no idea how much i’m going to enjoy this.” you smiled as the bloodlust took over. he whispered out a confused “what?” you looked up at him, staring into his deep brown eyes with your own piercing red orbs. you concentrated on his for a moment before speaking. “you’re going to let me drink, and not make a single peep as i do so. got it?” you whispered. “i’m going to WHAT?” he yelled out as you realized he was utterly unphased by your compulsion. you were dumbfounded, but didn’t want to miss the opportunity you had in front of you. instead of wondering, and maybe paying more attention to the odd situation at hand, you went for it.

you lunged at him with incredible speed. you were so fast, it was almost as though it all happened in slow motion. he didn’t even have a moment to react. you pulled his hair roughly to the side to expose his neck, and pierced one of his veins. the taste was like nothing you had ever had before, it was almost like you weren’t even drinking blood. it was just as delicious as you thought it would be. except, as fast as the euphoria came over you, so did the dread.

you pushed him away from you as your mouth began to burn. his body crashed against the brick wall, causing him to let out a pained noise. you started coughing and feeling like your airway was closing. your lungs felt like they were on fire, hell, your entire nervous system felt like it was about to go up in flames. your body felt heavy and your vision was blurry. you were on the verge of passing out. before you could even hit the ground, your body was caught and you heard a familiar voice.

“YOU! WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER?” you heard ten yell at the boy. “i-i didn’t do anything? she tried to kiss my neck- i th-think? and i- i don’t even know? she attacked ME!” taesan stuttered while frantically looking between you and ten. ten gently placed your limp body against the wall and whispered to you. “don’t worry, you’ll be okay.” he then got close to taesan, looking at him as if he was going to rip him apart.

“we’re not done here. i’m going to kill you the next time i see you, hunter. i hope you know that this means war.” he spat out as he grabbed your body close to him and sped off to god knows where. he left the poor college boy sitting on the ground absolutely confused and scared out of his mind. he touched his neck, pulling his hand away to stare at the blood. despite the fact that he was bleeding, he felt a lot less pain than he thought he would have.

“what the hell just happened?” he whispered to himself as he felt his body start to heat up. he felt a wave of electricity course through his body as he doubled over in pain, grabbing his stomach. he started coughing, it felt like he couldn’t breathe. he felt this odd burning sensation at the back of his neck, like someone had taken a piece of metal that had been heated up and etched something into his soft skin. he felt like most of his energy was stolen from him in the span of seconds, but with what little he still had he grabbed his phone and called someone.

“taesan what now?” the man on the other line groaned. “i-i think i’m dying.” taesan whimpered out as he felt his head spin. “WHERE ARE YOU?-“ he heard the man yell at him as his consciousness was failing him. “l-location.” was all he was able to mumble out. he was talking about the fact that the man on the other line had his location, it was a safety precaution that he was now extremely grateful for. “i’ll be right there.” was the last thing he heard the man say before he began falling into a deep sleep…

TO BE CONTINUED.

author’s note: AHHH SHE’S HERE!!! i hope you all enjoy and pls feel free to let me know what you think (: have a great day/night my loves!

- lots of love, solar

[carpkoinobori]

[❣︎] casual — huh yunjin x reader

[𖤐] 0.5/3 [next] [please be aware this is all fiction! none of this is real and idols behavior is not accurately represented.]

song(s): casual - chappel roan | runaway runaway - mars argo | HOT TO GO - chappel roan |

summary: you and your best friend made it to produce 48 together— what led up to the fallout? who is it you’re singing about? what do you do when the stress boils over?

pairing(s): trainee!huh yunjin x trainee!fem!reader

tags: angst, imagined unrequited love, eventual happy ending

wc: 1.1k

cw: implied sexual content, internalized homophobia, period typical homophobia, mentions of dieting.

ex: 135 notes.. thank you all so much!! i didn’t expect anyone to really like it. i hope you enjoy this backstory :-)

also, this is an au, not following real events— y/n and yunjin are 18 and 19 in produce48, yunjin debuts three years later at 22, and y/n at 21.

(not beta read 😭)

you didn’t expect a survival show to be so stressful- now, you were well aware how difficult it’d be, you knew you would have to practice, and sing, and dance, and diet- but, you didn’t expect the constant stress of the possibility of being eliminated every day.

but, you chose this, right? all for her, all for your sun.

“y/n! Come on, let’s practice this final part, yeah? I think I figured out the footwork-“ yunjin mumbled, rambling about something or other. you were distracted by her face, she was soo pretty-

“y/n, are you even listening to me?” she said, grinning. your face turned a pretty shade of red, and you spluttered. “What? No, no! I was totally paying attention, I swear— something about.. footwork?” You guessed, desperately.

“it’s fine, just, come here- I’ll teach you,” she smiled, and it took all you had to not just fall right there.

after one particularly harsh judge had humiliated yunjin, she slammed the door of the room you shared with about two other contestants. they weren’t there, at the moment.

yunjin angrily began to rummage through her things, and you sat up. “jen? What’s wrong? I mean, I know what the judge said was mean but- you know that’s not true, right?” you began, getting up and starting to walk over to her before she whipped her head around, glaring at you.

“It IS fucking true, y/n, just because they always let you fuck up ‘cause the fans love you doesn’t mean you’re suddenly qualified to give advice-” she spat, standing up from her spot on the floor, her fists clenched as she jabbed her finger into your chest harshly. “You probably think you’re so much better than me, don’t you? I bet-” you cut her off, cupping her face in your hands. “jen- jen, I don’t think that, and you do not get to talk to me like that just because you’re mad,” you began, words steady and stern, and when you watched your best friends eyes glaze over, a bit, felt her gaze flicker down to your lips, felt your face flush and felt her lean in—

well, it was all you could do to tug her closer, kissing her, tasting the stupid citrus lip balm she’s used for years, that you’ve thought about every single day of your waking life—

and if someone asked, was it all worth it? the pain, the exhaustion, the work, just for this?

“well,” you’d reply, “oranges were always my favorite fruit.”

you cupped her face with one hand, threading your fingers in her hair with the other, pushing her onto your bed, and it was all teeth, you biting her lip, you moving your hands down, her speaking incoherently.

“please,” she’d breathe out, the words just whispers on the wind. and you’d always been the one under her mercy, begging her to love you- and now here she was, begging for you to touch her. you’d always dreamed of touching the sun. you’d always think of Icarus, in these moments. your wings were yet to melt from the heat and warmth, though, so you figured it was fine.

and, well, the fall would hurt, but it was all you could do, to fall into eachother, again, and again.

waking up was always worse. your dorm mates still weren’t back, they had a penchant to pass out in the practice room. you kinda thanked them, for that.

sometimes you’d wake up in the middle of the night, just so you could see her sleeping. just so you could see her before she would leave in the morning.

yeah, you lived together, but come 8 in the morning, she’d be gone. except for the first time. except for before you fell asleep.

“..y/n?” she asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

“mhm?” you hummed, half asleep in your bed.

“this didn’t mean anything, right? im not mad at you, im sorry. i was just stressed, and frustrated- and- we can still be friends, right? it won’t change?” she whispered, and it was the only time you’ve ever seen her this nervous around you. the first time she had really been vulnerable since you both got on this stupid show.

what changed? was it the having to compete against each other? yeah. it was probably that.

“yeah,” you mumbled, feeling your chest constrict, your heart fracture, tears stinging your eyes, and you were so glad she couldn’t see your face. “yeah, jen- it’s casual. we’re still best friends,” you reassured, giving a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. why were you smiling, anyway? she couldn’t see you. she’s never seen you. “okay, y/n. good night. i love you,” she mumbled, turning to the wall.

“goodnight, jen. i love you,” you whispered, turning your back to her, and staring at the empty bed across the room. wasn’t it poetic that she was in your bed, and you’d never be in hers? you laughed inwardly, no humor in it. you were so, so bitter.

this stupid game kept up, you kept giving in to it, and you kept losing- atleast it gave you writing material, right?

“y/n,” your dorm mate- chaewon, you think? “you should stop,” she murmured. you stared at her through tired eyes. “stop what?” you said, playing dumb. “you know. I think- I think it’s.. it’s not good for you,” she mumbled, uncomfortable. “I appreciate it, but I’m fine,” you assured, giving a well-practiced smile. “Thanks for caring,” you nodded, slipping out of the chair you’ve been sitting in for an hour and a half— instead of sleeping, you’d either be with your “best friend”, or writing about her- god, you were such a lovesick fool. Crumpled paper took up the majority of your desk, and you left it all splayed out, in front of Chaewon, slipping away to go practice till you dropped. The trainee life, you’d think.

“you said/ we’re not together/so now when we kiss/ I have anger issues,”

chaewon stared at the paper, vaguely. she couldn’t read english, obviously, and was half tempted to put it in a translator, but she just turned around, leaving the room as well to go practice.

“and I try to be the chill girl/that holds her tongue and gives you space/i try to be the chill girl/but honestly/im not,”

and then she got eliminated. and you broke down. and you lived in that practice room. and your roommates would stare at you in pity, and you hated it, you hated being something pitiable.

you hated loving your best friend. your fall hurt like hell, your stupid wax wings broke. you didn’t fall into her, no— you fell into the sea, cold, salty, rough— you hated the cold. but maybe you’d get used to it.

hundreds of texts unsent:

“jen, I love you,” [delete]

“jen, I miss you,” [delete]

“jen, did you love me? do you miss me?” [delete]

“I’m so sorry,” [sent]

“are you okay?” [sent]

“will it be okay?” [delete]

“will you catch me?” [delete]

“why won’t you talk to me?” [sent]

[reply] “I need some space,”

[reply] “I can’t take the reminder,”

“okay, I’m sorry. I love you,” [sent]

[you can not reply to this conversation. message unable to send]

and nearly 7000 miles away, there is a girl crying in New York City. because she loves her best friend. and her best friend said she didn’t mean it.

and nearly 7000 miles back, there is a girl crying in Seoul, because she loves her best friend. and her best friend (will) not love her back.

hi! backstory to good luck babe. i hope you all enjoy this, I wasn’t expecting so many notes on the last post… thank you all for reading! please feel free to send anons or reqs or just tell me about your day.. hope your day is great! :3

[sunvmars]

citrus | s.r. [4]

pairing: steve rogers x fem/afab reader

↞ previous | next ↠

word count: 2.8k

warnings: none i can think of

summary: steve explains himself

a/n: guys i literally spent two days writing this and couldn’t manage to stretch it to 3,000 words :,) this is not the end of the series contrary to how the end of the fic sounds. also my birthday was on tuesday so i apologize for the late update!

You sigh deeply, not knowing what to expect.

"Alright, I'm listening."

You walk over and sit on the edge of your bed. He follows to stand in front of you, awaiting directions on where to sit. All you give is a shrug and pat the spot next to you on the bed.

"I don't bite," you joke with a smirk.

He returns your smirk with one of his own, "Not typically," he says.

Your heart pounds with anticipation when he sits next to you. Anxiety seeps off of him and threatens to crawl into you.

"So, what's going on?" you question.

Steve takes a deep breath in and then out, trying to find the right words to start with. He knows there aren't any right words to start with in this situation, but he searches his brain for them anyways. He also knows that you probably won't wanna be around him, or with him, again after he tells you what he's been keeping from you. So, he seizes the opportunity to fully take you in: soft and bedridden hair, pajamas that hug your figure, eyes illuminated by the dim lights.

"It's about your past, y/n. And, before I start, I need you to understand that I didn't want to keep this from you but I thought it was the right thing to do," he states, his voice low and steady like he's walking on eggshells.

Your heart skips a beat at his words. Elaine Caldwell, the woman who raised you, wasn't your real mother and you've always know that. She never kept it a secret from you so you were bound to find out, but she wasn't open about your real parents either. She'd always say that she would tell you everything you wanted to know someday when you were ready. Elaine passed only a few months after you turned 18 and left you with all of her belongings, but nothing she owned told you anything about your parents. You have looked for any trace of your parents and family for years, but you always turn up with nothing.

"Do you know something…?"

"I know everything," he admits.

You listen in silence as he begins to tell you everything he knows about your parents, Genesis, and Zepher Hawthorne. You listen in stunned silence as he tells you about how you're the only trace your parents left behind and about how strong you truly are. It's like something out of a movie, you struggle to process everything he's telling you. And when he's done explaining, all you feel is a mixture of confusion, irritation, and fear swirling within you.

"Why now, Steven?" you question with a shaky voice. "Why are you telling me now? Why didn't you tell me before?"

His shoulders slump slightly when his gaze meets yours. He's more than aware that his decision to keep all of that from you hurt you more than he could know. The fact that you're hurt and he's the one that caused it makes him feel unimaginably guilty and regretful. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before responding to you.

"I should've told you earlier, I know, and I'm sorry for keeping it from you. I thought I was protecting you," he admits, his voice filled with remorse. "It's stupid, but I had your best interest in mind, y/n. The whole reason I'm telling you this tonight is because Hawthorne doesn't just suspect you're alive, he knows it now, and he's getting closer to finding you. I wanted to find him before I told you any of this but now the circumstances have changed."

"Hawthorne knows about me?"

"Yes, he does. I got a letter from him two days ago stating that he knows who you are. He's not only aware of your existence, but I think he also knows that you've been with me. And that's exactly what I was afraid of."

"What does he want?" you ask.

Steve's jaw tightens as he tries to choose his words carefully. He doesn't want you to worry too much- that can't be good for you or the baby. Yet, he refuses to lie to you or sugarcoat anything again.

"I don't know for sure, not yet. However, given his history, he might see you as a threat, but it's more likely that he…he could have other motives."

You already know what 'other motives' he's referring to. Hydra isn't very secretive with how they operate; he'd use you as a weapon or an experiment. You find yourself becoming overwhelmed as you contemplate the danger you're in.

"Do you have a plan..?"

"We're working on it. I promise to keep you updated from here on out."

"Who's we?" you ask curiously with an eyebrow cocked up at him.

"Me and Buck," he mumbles.

"No. No, no. One, or both, of you are going to get hurt. We have to tell somebody else, I can't lose either of you-"

"Y/n, we're both going to be fine. We're going to be okay," Steve says, cutting off your rambling. "You're going to be fine," he adds,

"Hydra infiltrated SHIELD once and I won't risk the information getting into the wrong hands. Everything about you relates to your adoptive mother, and that's how it appears in the SHIELD database, so let's keep it that way for right now."

He's right, and you hate that more than anything.

"What about Bucky?" you ask with concern. "He's putting himself in danger to help us, we can't just let him face this alone."

His eyes reflect concern for Bucky just like yours do. "We've come up with a plan to minimize the risks for him and we're staying in close contact. Bucky's resourceful and calculated, plus he's got experience with Hydra. If I even suspect that he needs me then I'll go, but right now I have to be here for you."

"You left me, Steven. Now you decide you have to be here for me? Didn't seem like a top priority a few weeks ago. What changed?"

Steve winces at your words that feel like a punch to the gut. He hates that he hurt you at all and he especially hates that you think he wanted to. He knows he deserves every bit of your anger and frustration, but it doesn't make hearing it any easier. He sighs deeply as he reaches out to gently take your hand. You hesitantly allow him to hold your hand in his.

"I can't take back the pain I caused you, no matter how badly I want to. But I can promise to never keep anything from you again, no matter how difficult or dangerous the truth may be."

You look into his crystal blue eyes and see the sincerity in them. You see more than the truth in him though. Despite the mistakes he's made, you see the man you fell in love with who only wants to protect you. Guilt pangs in your chest at how harsh you'd been, although he likely deserved it.

"I'm sorry, I appreciate your honesty. I'm just confused and angry and…I don't think there's an emotion I haven't felt since we sat down, actually."

"I understand. It's a lot to take in, yeah?"

"There's just one thing I still don't understand," you say before looking over at him.

"And that is?"

"If I've got all these mental abilities, why can't I use them?"

"They could be dormant or suppressed," Steve replies. "It's not entirely uncommon for superhuman abilities to stay hidden until certain conditions are met or an event triggers them."

"I don't want you to try to use your abilities until we know more about them," he adds, "Bruce can probably run some tests for us."

"But what if we run out of time by then? What if he finds me? If he's still with Hydra, we have a better chance of taking them down if I know how to use whatever abilities I have."

"We have time, y/n," he reassures you gently, "Besides, you're in a tower full of superhumans and skilled agents. You're as safe as you can be here."

"I can't just sit here and wait for something to happen, Steve… If there's a chance that I can use these powers to protect us then I need to try."

Steve sighs when he sees nothing but pure determination in your eyes. Being as stubborn and insistent as you can be frustrates him sometimes, but he's well aware that he loves that about you. You're a fighter- you always have been and he only hopes that you always will be.

"Okay," he concedes. "We'll talk to Bruce tomorrow then, hm? We'll see if there's a safe way to test and develop your abilities. But you have to promise me you'll be careful and, if anything goes wrong, it's under my discretion whether or not you fight."

"I don't need you to be my damn father, Steven," you grumble, irritation laced in your voice.

He chuckles at your statement, earning an eye roll from you. "Believe me, I know you don't. But you mean everything to me, honey, and I can't stand the thought of anything happening to you or our baby."

"The baby," you whisper to yourself.

Your hand instinctively moves to your slightly bloated belly as you absorb the situation at hand. The baby growing inside of you, your unborn child, is at risk because of the secrets of your past. You begin to feel selfish for hardly thinking of the baby before you thought about yourself. A frown plants itself onto your lips and it makes Steve frown too. Then, when his words finally sink in, you repeat them almost like a question.

"Our baby…?"

A familiar lump forms in his throat. He finds himself unable to come up with a response, thinking he'd said something wrong. All he can muster up is a, "Yeah, our baby."

"You don't have to say that just to make me feel better, it's only going to make things worse."

"I never didn't want this baby, just like I never didn't want you. I didn't mean what I said earlier. I want both of you forever and I've never wanted anything more," he reassures you, trying his best to offer up a small smile.

"Are…are you sure? You can't take it back again."

"Wouldn't dream of it, I've never been more sure of anything else."

"Steve," you mumble. "I just wish that you had trusted me enough to tell me about this sooner."

"I should have. I should have trusted you with this from the start and I'm sorry for not doing so, but I will fix this, y/n. I'm going to make this right."

You don't respond, unable to find the words to say. He takes that as his cue to say something he probably shouldn't.

"I don't expect you to believe me, but I will do whatever it takes to make this right. And however long it takes for you to forgive me, I'll wait for you, even if that time never comes. You can hate me forever but I will never stop loving you; you're it for me, baby."

He doesn't mean to say it, but there it is. "Baby." Who knew someone could make a word sound so good? It could never sound so good rolling off of someone else's tongue and you hate that. You want to hate him, you want to hit him and fight with him for lying to you, but you can't. You're pissed with him yet all you can find yourself wanting is to be in his arms again- to be his baby again.

"Y/n? Did I say something wrong?"

You're not sure if it's the hormones, his willingness to protect you and the baby, or just you but something urges you to lay your head onto his chest- so you do that. Your head rests on his warm chest and your arms snake under his arms to wrap around his waist. You'd never fully grasped how much you missed the sound of his heartbeat until now. A heartbeat: It's something so simple but it makes your heart feel complete again, like both of your hearts are back in sync as they should be.

Steve's mind blanks and his body stiffens at your sudden movement. At first, he thinks he's simply daydreaming, but then he feels your grip tighten on his shirt. Your body shakes slightly and, even though you're silent, he knows you're crying. You're crying for the second time in twenty-four hours and it's his fault. He slowly, cautiously wraps his arms around you to pull you closer to him.

He lets you cry into him, not saying anything as you do. Sometimes words can't heal wounds and he knows that. He knows he's hurt you, but he's ready and willing to give you all the time and space you want to process everything.

Minutes pass in silence until your tears subside. You pull back slightly from Steve's chest, sniffling as you wipe away your tears. Your eyes make their way up to meet his.

"I just… I wanted to hear your heart again," you confess softly.

"I'm here, and I always will be. I'm so sorry for ever leaving you, y/n."

His eyes soften and he reaches up to cup your cheek. He smiles softly, wiping a stray tear from under your eye with his thumb. You find solace in his touch. You're so, so angry and confused but it's as though the tenderness in his gaze has the power to soothe your ache. In this very moment, it's easier to give in and let him care for you than to fight yourself on it. Honestly, you're not sure how much fight you have left for the day. So, you let out a shaky sigh and then lean into his touch for a moment.

"I know you're sorry, Steve," you reply softly. "And I want to believe you, I really do, but it's going to take time for me to fully trust you again."

"I know, and I'll give you all the time you need. I just want you to know that I'm here now, forever."

"I'm… I'm so angry with you still, and it'll take a while to get over that, but I don't think I have the energy to be angry anymore tonight."

"What do you need from me, honey?"

"Just wanna be us again for tonight," you admit, vulnerability laced in your voice.

"We can do that."

For now, the weight of the truth lingers in the air and so does the pain it's caused. You offer him a faint smile and he returns it with that perfect one of his own. From the way his heart flutters when he looks at you, he can't believe he went without you for so long. His eyes flicker from your lips to your eyes and back again. Then he finds himself wanting needing to kiss you.

"Y/n," he whispers gently, almost so gentle that it's inaudible.

His thumb continues to trace along your cheek. It's a tender caress that says everything he can't put into words. You can feel your heart pounding hard in your chest under the intensity of his gaze. The ache in your heart, the sudden need for his presence, it all becomes overwhelmingly clear.

"I don't want to rush things, but…"

He doesn't have to finish for you to know what he's going to say because you already know. You feel it too- that magnetic pull between you. Without hesitation, you lean in, closing the remaining distance between both of you. The kiss is short and sweet. It's soft and filled with a yearning that has been building up for weeks. It's a kiss that carries the weight of the words neither of you could find it in you to say. It carries the promise that you're still here and that he's willing to fight for you and the baby.

Steve rests his forehead against yours when your lips part. His eyes lock onto yours and he traces your jaw with his thumb. He knows that this doesn't mean things will instantly go back to how they were before, but this moment is one he appreciates anyways.

"Y/n," he coos softly, "I'll spend every day of my life making it up to you if I have to. I'll prove to you that I'll never let you down again."

You offer him another small and weary smile. It's a start, a tiny step towards rebuilding what once was. Neither of you has all the answers or knows what the future holds, but for now you have each other. And that's more than enough.

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