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[reidmarieprentiss]

No More Misunderstandings

Summary: You have a big crush on Spencer, everyone can see it except for Spencer himself.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Tech Analyst fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: crushing, (un)requited feelings, bad communication, Spencer trying to flirt, gay Elle, Rossi not Gideon, happy ending, Elle is out but reader doesn't know

Word count: 9.4k

a/n: if this man ever asked me to hang out i would say yes in two seconds flat

main masterlist

Every day, you settled into the hum of computers and the soft glow of monitors that painted the walls of the BAU's technical analysis hub, affectionately dubbed the "bat cave" by those who knew it best. Your role as a tech analyst found you working side-by-side with the brilliant and bubbly Penelope Garcia, a woman whose personality was as colorful as her wardrobe. Despite the comfort of being shrouded in the semi-darkness of your tech-laden sanctuary, a certain type of light seemed to elude you—the spark of acknowledgment in Dr. Spencer Reid's deep, thoughtful eyes.

You harbored a crush so palpable that even the air in the room felt charged with your nervous energy whenever Spencer was near. However, your shy demeanor cloaked these feelings in a veil of secrecy that somehow, miraculously, Spencer himself never managed to pierce through. Everyone else on the team had noticed, from the knowing smiles of Derek Morgan to the gentle teasing of JJ, but Spencer remained blissfully unaware, his attention often drifting towards Elle Greenaway with an intensity that tugged painfully at your heart.

Penelope, ever the observant friend, never missed a beat. "Oh, honey," she would whisper, "it’s like you’re sending Morse code with those blushes and he’s living in a blackout."

Her words were gentle, tinged with humor and affection, yet each jest felt like a pinprick to your already tender sensibilities. Whenever Spencer visited the bat cave to discuss case details or gather information, your heart raced as you tried to provide him with everything he needed without tripping over your words or, heaven forbid, your own feet.

"Hey, Spencer," you would start, your voice a careful mixture of professionalism and the warmth you couldn’t keep at bay.

"Hello," he would respond, his eyes scanning the screens filled with data. His focus was razor-sharp, dissecting information with the same precision he used on everything but the emotional currents swirling around him.

Each interaction was a dance. You would inch towards openness, leaning in to catch a whiff of his cologne or to appreciate the subtle shift of his hair when he ran his fingers through it in concentration. But as soon as he glanced up, those hazel eyes like windows to an enigmatic soul, you would recoil slightly, cheeks aflame, words retreating as quickly as they had dared to emerge.

Later, as the screen showed live feeds of the team moving through their environments, Penelope would nudge you gently with her elbow, her voice low and teasing. "You know, if we had a dollar for every time you fumbled around that man, we could retire and buy an island in the Bahamas."

You’d offer a small, embarrassed laugh, grateful for the low lighting hiding the worst of your blush. "I just... I don’t know how to act around him, Penelope. What if he doesn’t..."

"Feel the same?" she'd finish for you, her tone softening. "Sweetie, the heart’s a funny creature. It doesn’t play by the rules of logic that Spencer loves so much. But who knows? Maybe one day, he’ll surprise you and actually look up from those case files and see what’s right in front of him."

The comfort in her voice was soothing, yet each day ended the same—with you watching Spencer, Spencer watching Elle, and Penelope watching over you, a guardian angel clad in technicolor, armed with an arsenal of jokes and just the right words to keep you smiling through the uncertainty.

—

The day had been rolling along as usual in the BAU's bat cave, the rhythmic clicking of keyboards providing a steady backdrop to the glow of computer screens. Penelope had excused herself for a quick bathroom break, leaving you alone amidst the towers of technology. Just as the door clicked shut behind her, the shrill ring of the phone sliced through the quiet, startling you slightly. Calls from the field were usually Penelope’s domain, her cheerful voice a soothing constant for the team. Today, it seemed, you would have to step into her shoes.

“Y/N speaking, what can I do for you?” Your voice wavered slightly, anxiety bubbling up as you prepared for your usual toggle through databases and security feeds.

When Spencer’s voice responded from the other end, a different kind of alertness prickled across your skin. “Hi, Y/N, we need to cross-reference known associates of the unsub with recent flight records. Can you pull up the lists and cross-check for any matches?”

Your heart thumped erratically, his voice weaving through the receiver like a familiar song that never failed to stir your soul. You tried to maintain a steady tone, hoping your voice didn’t betray the sudden nervousness that his presence, even just over the phone, incited. “Sure, Spencer, just a moment.”

As your fingers danced across the keyboard, the professional mask you wore each day slid comfortably into place. You were adept at your job, a fact that never faltered, even under the weight of your emotions. Quickly pulling up the necessary records, you began the process of cross-referencing, your mind briefly detached from the flutter in your stomach.

“Looks like there’s a match. Michael Davidson, on a flight from Atlanta to D.C. this morning,” you reported, a trace of pride threading through your words at the efficiency with which you’d located the information.

“Great, Y/N. Thanks,” Spencer’s voice came through, a hint of relief palpable even through the static of the connection. His appreciation, simple and straightforward, filled you with a warmth that went beyond professional satisfaction.

Hanging up, you let out a breath you’d been holding. Penelope chose that moment to breeze back into the room, her presence as effervescent as ever. Catching the tail end of your smile, she quirked an eyebrow playfully.

“Spill the beans, buttercup. You look like someone just handed you a golden ticket,” she teased, settling back into her chair.

“It was just Spencer needing some quick info,” you shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant as your heart continued to beat a staccato rhythm against your ribs.

Penelope’s smile widened, her eyes twinkling with unspoken understanding. “Oh, just Spencer, huh?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, trying to brush it off casually. “Derek would never betray you by talking to me,” you teased, hoping to steer the conversation away from your flustered feelings.

Penelope’s eyes sparkled even more as she winked at you. “Oh, he’s allowed to have side pieces, my love. I’m a generous goddess.”

You burst out laughing, your nervousness momentarily forgotten as Penelope’s playful banter eased your tension. “I’ll let him know you said that,” you shot back, turning back to your screen, trying to focus on anything other than the residual warmth from talking to Spencer.

Penelope, never one to let you off the hook easily, leaned in closer. “Should I let Spencer know he isn’t allowed to have any side pieces then?” she asked, winking at you again, her tone as sweet as honey but with a hint of mischief.

“Penelope!” you gasped, feeling your face flush all over again. The blush you thought had faded returned with a vengeance as you turned away, hoping she wouldn’t see just how red you were.

She laughed, clearly pleased with herself. “I’m just saying, babe. The boy’s got options, but I think we both know his best one is sitting right here.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands as you let out a small, embarrassed laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Just doing my part to make sure he doesn’t miss any signals,” Penelope sang, tapping her keyboard lightly, her grin as wide as ever. You couldn't help but smile too, secretly grateful for her teasing. After all, it was these moments that made the crush a little more bearable.

—

During one of Rossi’s famed pasta-making sessions, a relaxed atmosphere filled his spacious kitchen, with the rich aroma of tomato sauce simmering on the stove and the sounds of laughter mingling with soft Italian music playing in the background. Rossi, the consummate host, guided everyone through the steps of making the perfect pasta dough, his hands moving with the ease of long practice.

You found yourself stationed next to Spencer, who was diligently kneading a mound of fresh pasta dough. His hands, beautiful and dexterous, worked the dough with a precision that was mesmerizing. The veins on his hands stood out, accentuating every deliberate movement, and you couldn’t help but be captivated by the fluidity of his motions. It wasn’t just his intellect that drew you in; even his seemingly mundane physical actions had a way of catching your undivided attention.

Derek and JJ, who were partnered up on the other side of the kitchen island, caught your fixed gaze and shared an amused look between them. Derek’s smirk grew as he nudged JJ, whispering loud enough for you to overhear, “Looks like someone’s more interested in the handwork than the handiwork.”

JJ chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she joined in the teasing. “Yeah, I think Y/N’s planning on writing a thesis on the manual dexterity of certain geniuses.”

Flustered, you tore your eyes away from Spencer’s hands, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. You attempted to focus back on your own portion of dough, which had begun to stick to the counter more than it should. Spencer, oblivious to the exchange, looked up and noticed your struggle.

“Hey, you need to dust a bit more flour on the surface,” he said, his voice gentle, unaware of the reason behind your distraction. He reached over to sprinkle some flour on your dough and then on the countertop, his fingers briefly brushing against yours. The brief contact sent a pleasant jolt through you, further flustering you.

Rossi, ever the observant host, noticed the playful dynamic and decided to rescue you from your embarrassment. “Alright, everyone, let’s focus on the art of pasta! Y/N, why don’t you help me with the sauce?” he suggested, giving you a knowing smile as he handed you a wooden spoon.

As you helped Rossi stir the simmering sauce, carefully blending the herbs into the rich, aromatic mixture, you couldn’t help but cast furtive glances across the kitchen. There, Hotch had taken up the spot you vacated next to Spencer, now deeply engaged in the art of pasta making under Rossi’s enthusiastic instruction. While Hotch was methodically following Rossi’s guidance, Spencer’s attention occasionally drifted.

Across from them, Elle was rolling out her dough with a confident flourish, laughing at something Hotch had said. You caught Spencer's eyes as they met Elle's, a shared glance of amusement passing effortlessly between them. The ease of their silent communication was stark, their smiles syncing in a moment of private jest that seemed to exclude the world around them—including you.

That simple, silent exchange felt like a punch to the gut. The laughter and camaraderie around you suddenly seemed a bit dimmer, a bit more distant. It wasn’t just jealousy that twisted in your stomach—it was the aching realization of how much could be said in a single look when there was a real connection; a connection you feared might never form between Spencer and yourself.

You turned your attention back to the sauce, the spoon moving mechanically in your hand as Rossi continued to chat about the nuances of Italian cooking. He didn’t seem to notice your distraction, caught up in his culinary passion. But inside, your thoughts were swirling as tumultuously as the sauce you stirred.

Trying to shake off the sinking feeling, you focused on the positives—the laughter of your team, the comforting weight of the wooden spoon in your hand, the delicious smell that filled the kitchen. But despite the festive atmosphere, a part of you remained reserved, quietly nursing the tender hope that maybe, just maybe, one day Spencer would look at you with the same warmth and understanding he so effortlessly shared with Elle. Until then, you resolved to keep smiling, keep stirring, and keep hoping.

—

The BAU briefing room felt unusually empty without Penelope's vibrant presence, Elle's keen insights, and Derek's charismatic confidence filling the space. With them on vacation, the dynamic had shifted, and you found yourself stepping into roles that stretched beyond your usual behind-the-scenes expertise. The weight of Penelope's responsibilities now rested squarely on your shoulders, a challenge you accepted with both determination and a hint of trepidation.

As the team gathered for the briefing on the new case, Hotch turned to you. "Y/N, could you walk us through the case description and the current leads?" His voice was calm, authoritative, yet imbued with a supportive undertone that did little to ease the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

Nodding, you stood, remote in hand, feeling every pair of eyes in the room settle on you. Public speaking was not your greatest fear, but it was hardly your favorite endeavor—especially not with Spencer's intense gaze locked on you. It was as if his eyes were a pair of spotlights, illuminating not just your words but every minute reaction and emotion that flickered across your face.

As you began to outline the case, detailing the patterns and possible psychological motivations of the unsub, Spencer's scrutiny never wavered. His stare was not judgmental nor dismissive; rather, it was analytical, perhaps even a bit curious, as if he were trying to read the nuances of your presentation, to understand not just the facts but the person delivering them.

"Based on the geographical profiling and the behavioral pattern, we believe the unsub may be operating within a ten-mile radius of downtown," you explained, pointing to the map projected behind you. Your voice steadied as you delved deeper into the analysis, the familiar terrain of data and evidence providing a solid foundation beneath your initially shaky confidence.

Spencer's focus, rather than rattling you further, began to foster a sense of resolve within you. You found yourself speaking more confidently, your nerves tempered by the realization that this was still your team—your family in all but blood. They weren't here to judge; they were here to listen and to learn from what you had to offer.

As the briefing wrapped up, Hotch nodded in approval. "Good work, Y/N. Keep us posted on any updates from Garcia's systems until she returns."

You nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. Glad it was over, you were already preparing to scamper back to your office when you heard a voice that sent a familiar shiver down your spine.

“Y/N?” Spencer's voice, calm yet inquisitive, caught your attention.

You spun around to face him, trying not to let your fluster show. “What’s up?”

“Can you put the map back up on the screen, please?” he asked, already standing by the large projection screen.

“Ye–yeah, of course.” Your fingers fumbled with the remote as you quickly reactivated the display, bringing the map back onto the screen.

“Here,” Spencer said, still not looking back at you. “Come look at this.”

You walked over to stand beside him, your eyes inadvertently drawn to his long fingers as they traced paths along the map, pointing out specific areas. The same hands that had mesmerized you earlier were now gliding over the screen, drawing you into his thought process.

Spencer started talking about the geographical profile, rattling off information with his typical rapid-fire brilliance. But what took you by surprise was how he spoke to you—not as the team’s tech analyst, but as if you were another profiler, someone he wanted to consult. This was new, and it left you momentarily stunned. He’d never done this before.

“Spencer?” you asked quietly, your voice barely audible in the spacious room. He hummed in response, still focused on the map as he tugged thoughtfully at his bottom lip—a gesture you’d come to adore and envy.

“Why are you asking me about this?” you continued, your curiosity growing along with your nerves. “Why not Rossi? Or Hotch?”

Spencer paused, finally turning to face you, his eyes filled with the same focused intensity he usually reserved for solving cases. “Because you see things differently,” he said softly. “You have a different perspective, and that’s valuable. Sometimes it’s not just about profiling. It’s about how we approach the data, and you… you understand patterns in a way that’s unique.”

His words caught you off guard, but they filled you with an unexpected warmth. You weren’t just the tech analyst who plugged in the data—they saw you, Spencer saw you, as part of the team, as someone with valuable insights.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you held his gaze for a moment longer than you intended. “Thanks, Spencer,” you whispered, trying to suppress the blush creeping up your neck.

He smiled, a small but genuine curve of his lips, before turning back to the map. “Now, what do you think about this area here?” he asked, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for you two to be collaborating like this.

For once, you weren’t just lost in thoughts of him—you were part of the conversation, and it felt good.

After you felt you'd helped all you could, you excused yourself back to your office, ready to sink back into the more solitary part of your work. However, Spencer seemed to have other plans, as he walked alongside you, his footsteps synchronized with yours, indicating he wasn't quite done talking. His expression was one of mild concern, a usual precursor to his deep dives into various subjects.

As you walked, he continued to unravel his thoughts about the case, tying loose ends and circling back to previous points with a precision that was nothing short of impressive. It was typical of Spencer to thoroughly dissect each aspect of a case, often taking tangential routes in the conversation that surprisingly led right back to the main topic, a testament to his prodigious mind.

However, as engrossed as he was in discussing the case, his next words veered sharply from the professional to the personal, catching you completely off guard and momentarily stalling your mental gears. The shift was so sudden that it took a moment for you to register what he was actually asking, pulling you out of your case-focused mindset and into a more introspective space. This unexpected question not only showed his human side but also reminded you of the depth of his observational skills, not just in work but in personal matters as well.

"How is Felix, by the way?" Spencer asked, an innocently curious tilt to his head as he regarded you, his pace slowing slightly.

"What?" The name jolted you, an echo from a past chapter of your life you hadn’t opened in ages, and certainly not one you had expected Spencer to know anything about. You blinked, momentarily confused, trying to piece together the leap in conversation.

"Felix? How are they?" Spencer repeated, his interest seemingly piqued by your reaction—or perhaps just his natural inclination toward thorough understanding.

You paused, standing now in the doorway of your office, the background hum of computer servers providing a soft soundtrack to this unexpected moment. "Um, I don't know," you admitted, still trying to navigate the strange turn the conversation had taken.

"Oh, I’m so sorry, did you two separate?" Spencer’s tone was filled with genuine apology, his face reflecting concern.

You managed a small, somewhat awkward laugh, finding both the absurdity and the sudden intimacy of the conversation slightly overwhelming. "Well, yes. A long while ago." Your response came out lighter than you felt, the surprise of the question making your heart race for reasons other than your usual nervousness around Spencer.

As Spencer absorbed your response, his expression remained unreadable, a common trait when he was deep in thought or processing information. He nodded, perhaps filing away the conversation for later reflection, before excusing himself with a polite but somewhat distant farewell. His departure was quick, efficient, the way he typically transitioned back to work, yet it left a trail of questions in its wake.

You watched him go, a blend of relief and curiosity mingling in your thoughts. The inquiry into your personal life was uncharacteristic of Spencer, who usually maintained a strict boundary between professional and personal discussions, at least when it came to initiating such topics himself. The interaction lingered in your mind, an outlier in the usual pattern of your interactions.

"Maybe it's because Elle isn't here," you thought silently, turning back to your computer.

After leaving your office, Spencer quickly texted Elle to update her that you were no longer seeing Felix, contrary to their assumption. Elle replied enthusiastically with two thumbs up, urging him to ask you out soon or she would take the opportunity herself. 

—

Throughout the week, with Penelope, Elle, and Derek away, the dynamic at the BAU shifted noticeably. Spencer seemed to step out of his usual reserved demeanor, engaging more frequently, particularly with you. His attempts at conversation often appeared to teeter on the edge of something beyond mere professional interest, though it was so subtle that it often flew under your radar.

Tuesday morning, Spencer leaned against the counter, watching you struggle with the temperamental coffee machine that had decided today was the day to revolt. "You know, statistically, manual coffee presses have a lower failure rate compared to electric ones," he commented, a slight quirk to his lips.

You glanced at him, chuckling lightly, "Is that so? Maybe I should switch, then."

"Yeah, and they make better coffee. Maybe I could show you how to use one sometime?" His tone was casual, but there was a tentative note to it, almost hopeful.

As the coffee machine finally sputtered to life, producing a somewhat decent cup of coffee, Spencer’s offer lingered in the air, subtly altering the atmosphere between you. His suggestion about the manual coffee press had been light, almost playful, but it carried an undercurrent of personal interest that left you unexpectedly flustered. Despite this, you masked your reaction with a casual nod, trying to maintain an even keel.

"Sure, I could always use better coffee," you responded, your voice steady despite the slight quickening of your heartbeat. You focused on fixing your coffee, adding just the right amount of cream and sugar, using the mundane task as a moment to collect your thoughts.

Spencer watched you for a moment, perhaps sensing the shift in your demeanor but respecting the boundary you subtly enforced with your nonchalant reply. His smile was gentle, not pushing further, as he too turned his attention back to preparing his own drink.

Wednesday at lunch you sat in the break room flipping through case files, Spencer slid into the seat across from you with his own lunch—a homemade sandwich seemingly crafted with meticulous care. "I read somewhere that sharing meals can enhance group bonding and individual rapport," he began, looking directly at you with an earnest expression.

You looked up, smiling at the factoid, you loved hearing Spencer talk. He was always so endearing. "That sounds about right. Food does bring people together."

"Maybe we could test that theory. There's a new Thai place nearby that’s supposed to be great," he suggested, his voice smooth but slightly hurried.

"That would be an interesting experiment," you agreed, your thoughts inadvertently glossing over Spencer's subtle personal invitation. Instead, your mind wandered to the social dynamics of the team, or perhaps more pointedly, the possibility of Spencer going out with Elle without having to extend a direct invitation—an idea that stoked a twinge of jealousy, burning in your stomach like an ugly green monster. 

Spencer nodded, his expression shifting subtly as he detected the undercurrent of your thoughts, interpreting them as disinterest in a personal outing. He tried to mask any hint of disappointment, maintaining his typical composed demeanor. Internally, however, he wrestled with the sting of what felt like another missed connection, another attempt at reaching out quietly rebuffed.

"It would be a great way to explore some new flavors... maybe just the two of us first, to see if it’s worth recommending to the team?" His tone was measured, carefully modulating between casual and sincere, revealing his hope that this might pave the way to a more personal connection between the two of you.

Despite his clear wording, your mind twisted his intentions, clouded by the assumption that his ultimate aim was to impress Elle upon her return. This idea gnawed at you, the thought of being potentially used as a stepping stone in Spencer’s strategy to engage Elle more personally. It tainted the sincerity you might have otherwise perceived in his proposal.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good plan," you responded, trying to mask your feelings with a nod and a polite smile. "Testing it out sounds sensible... then we can tell Elle and the rest if it's good." Your voice carried a hint of forced cheerfulness as you inadvertently redirected the focus back to Elle, reinforcing your misinterpretation of Spencer's motives.

Spencer noticed the subtle shift in your tone, the slight stiffness in your smile. He paused, a flicker of confusion crossing his features as he tried to gauge whether his message had been misunderstood. "Yes, of course," he agreed, his voice faltering slightly as he picked up on your emphasis on Elle. Disappointment edged into his heart, sensing a barrier he hadn't anticipated—one that perhaps wasn't his to cross just yet.

He nodded slowly, offering a gentle smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll send you the details later then," Spencer added, stepping back to give you space, his mind busy piecing together where the conversation had veered off track.

Thursday while you were digging through old case files in the archives, Spencer wandered in, ostensibly looking for a book. He lingered by your side, helping to shift the heavy tomes. "You know, there's this book on cognitive science I think you'd really like. It talks about pattern recognition and emotional intelligence in ways I think you'd find fascinating," he offered, his fingers brushing against yours as he handed you a different file.

"Sounds intriguing," you responded, your attention still partially on the file in your hands. The hint of a smile played at the corners of your mouth, touched by the realization that Spencer was not only paying attention to your interests but was actively thinking about ways to engage with you on a more personal level.

"I could lend it to you. We could discuss it over coffee?" Spencer's suggestion came with a hopeful undertone, as gentle and tentative as the expression in his eyes.

Your reaction, however, was immediate and unexpected—a sudden choke on your spit as his words caught you off guard. A brief fit of coughing ensued, and Spencer's concern was quick to surface. He reached out instinctively, placing a comforting hand on your back with a gentle touch. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with worry.

The unexpected contact made you jolt, a reflexive response to the sudden intimacy of his touch. Realizing your reaction, Spencer quickly withdrew his hand, a flash of disappointment crossing his features as he stepped back, giving you space.

"Yeah, I'm fine, sorry," you managed to laugh it off, though your cheeks burned with embarrassment. You tried to smooth over the moment, still recovering from the unexpected cough and the even more unexpected contact.

Spencer's response was gentle, a soft nod accompanying his words. "It's okay, I'll, uh, see you upstairs," he said, stepping back with a hesitant smile. His decision to not press the coffee invitation further reflected his respect for your comfort, but inwardly, he felt he might have missed his opportunity for the day.

As he turned to leave, the brief contact and your embarrassed reaction replayed in his mind, leaving him wondering about the right approach to take next time. His intentions had been straightforward, but the execution hadn't gone as smoothly as he hoped. The way your eyes had widened, the laughter that followed the cough—it all suggested a mix of emotions that he couldn't quite decipher.

Watching him walk away, you felt a pang of regret. His retreat made you realize that your reaction might have been misinterpreted as discomfort, rather than the surprise and nervous excitement you actually felt. The idea of discussing a book over coffee with Spencer genuinely appealed to you, and you wished you could convey that without the awkwardness of the moment overshadowing it.

Gathering your thoughts, you considered reaching out to him later to clarify your interest, maybe even suggest a specific day for that coffee. The day hadn't gone as either of you planned, but it wasn't over yet, and perhaps there was still a chance to turn it around.

Friday afternoon as you both waited for the elevator, Spencer tried again, this time a bit more directly. "Did you know that the probability of meeting someone compatible is surprisingly high within work environments?"

You raised an eyebrow, trying to steady the rapid thumping of your heart. "Really now? I guess we’re in the right place, then."

"Yes, exactly," Spencer agreed, a bit more eagerly than you expected. "It’s like... finding the right piece in a puzzle."

"Like solving a case?" you asked, your voice shrinking with uncertainty, afraid that, once again, he had someone else in mind—someone who fit into his world effortlessly, maybe a profiler like Elle.

"Yeah," he smiled warmly, his eyes soft as they focused on you. "Just like solving a case."

Your heart cracked a little at his words. You interpreted the metaphor differently, convinced he was searching for someone like the other brilliant profilers on the team—someone you believed you could never be. With a forced smile, you said quietly, "Well, looks like you need a profiler-shaped puzzle piece then."

Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his face as you stepped into the elevator. He stood there, frozen, not understanding the weight behind your words or why you seemed so distant.

As the elevator doors slid shut, he replayed the conversation in his mind, his heart sinking as he realized something wasn’t connecting. He had been trying to tell you, in his own way, that he was interested in you, that you were the piece he was talking about. But somehow, despite his best efforts, the message kept slipping through your fingers. Why weren’t you getting it? Why did every attempt seem to fall short?

Spencer watched the elevator descend, a sinking feeling settling in his chest. He had been so certain of his feelings for you, and yet, with every attempt, it felt like they drifted further away, lost in the unspoken misunderstandings between you.

—

When the freshly bronzed trio returned from their vacation, Spencer, seemingly on edge, wasted no time in seeking out Elle, his face etched with a mix of hope and frustration.

“So? Did you do it?” Elle asked eagerly as soon as they were within speaking distance, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Did she say yes?”

Spencer’s response was laden with disappointment. “Every time I try to ask her out, she thinks it’s a friendly suggestion, or—or she even mentioned you one time like I was thinking about you!” He ran his hand through his hair in exasperation, clearly puzzled by the recurring miscommunication.

Elle couldn’t help but laugh slightly, though her lips were closed, trying to mask her amusement at the situation. Spencer, on the other hand, whined in annoyance, “What?” He genuinely didn’t understand what he was missing.

With a fond smile, Elle prodded further, “Reid, how did you ask? And what did she say?” Her voice was gentle, coaxing him to unpack the details.

Spencer recapped all the moments from the past week—the coffee machine incident, the lunch invitation, the casual chat in the archives, and the awkward elevator conversation. Each retelling showcased his subtle, cerebral approach to what he thought were clear invitations.

“Oh, boy genius,” Elle said teasingly once he finished, her tone light but her words cutting to the heart of the issue. “I think I see the problem here.”

“What? What is it?” Spencer asked, desperation and confusion in his voice.

Elle placed her hand on his arm, a gesture meant to be comforting but one that did not escape your notice, intensifying the ache in your heart. “She thinks you’re interested in me!” Elle revealed, her insight sharp.

“Why would she think that?” Spencer asked, his bewilderment evident. The connection between his actions and your perception seemed utterly foreign to him.

Elle’s explanation was straightforward, “Because, Spencer, every time you make an attempt, it’s so subtle and wrapped in layers of intellect that it’s easy for her to miss the romantic intent.”

Her words seemed to pierce through the fog of confusion surrounding Spencer. The realization that his attempts at expressing romantic interest were getting lost in translation—or rather, lost in his own intellectual approach—was a revelation. He nodded slowly, the gears turning as he processed this new insight.

“Plus, if she’s mentioning me and no one else, she must think you’re looking for ways to take me out!” Elle added, emphasizing her point with a light chuckle, though her eyes remained sympathetic to Spencer’s plight.

The weight of Elle’s explanation settled heavily on Spencer. It dawned on him how his interactions, though well-intentioned, might appear to others, especially to you. His style, inherently analytical and often indirect, had inadvertently sent the wrong signals, steering your thoughts towards a narrative where he was interested in Elle rather than clarifying his feelings for you.

This misunderstanding struck a chord within him. Spencer had always prided himself on his communication skills when it came to the nuances of unsubs and case theories. Yet, here he was, stumped by personal emotions and interpersonal communications that veered off course.

“Okay, so... I’ve been too subtle,” Spencer acknowledged, almost to himself as much as to Elle. “And she’s misreading the subtlety as disinterest—or worse, interest directed at someone else.”

Elle nodded, squeezing his arm gently. “Exactly, Spencer. You’re thinking like a profiler trying to decipher hidden meanings, but sometimes, directness is key. Maybe it’s time to just tell her how you feel, plainly and clearly. No puzzles, no hints.”

“But—but what if she’s not interested?” Spencer stammered, the creeping sense of insecurity wrapping around him like a heavy blanket. His confidence from earlier was starting to erode. “I mean, she did turn me down on multiple occasions,” he added, his voice softening with self-doubt.

Elle sent him a playful glare, her expression one of disbelief. “Be serious, Reid,” she said, her tone firm but affectionate. “Everyone here can see that she’s into you. Ask anyone.”

Without giving Spencer a chance to stop her, Elle raised her voice, calling across the room, “Hey, JJ!”

Spencer's eyes widened in panic, his face flushing. “Elle! No!” His voice cracked as he tried to stop her, but it was too late.

JJ approached the two of them, a curious smile on her face as she looked between Spencer and Elle. “What’s up, you guys?” she asked, her easy going demeanor not yet aware of the situation she was about to walk into.

“Do you think Y/N is into anyone? Should we set her up?” Elle asked with a mischievous smirk, clearly enjoying Spencer’s discomfort.

JJ’s reaction was immediate—she burst into laughter, glancing between Elle and the now-mortified Spencer. “Are you kidding?!” she laughed, unable to believe the question was even being asked.

“No! Do you have anyone in mind?” Elle pushed, her smirk widening as she kept the act going.

Spencer looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, his mortification plain as he stood there frozen. His mind raced, desperate to find a way to steer the conversation away from himself. But JJ, still chuckling, fixed her gaze directly on Spencer, her expression turning to amused confusion.

“Spencer? Duh! She’s basically in love with you!” JJ declared, her blunt response leaving no room for misunderstanding.

Spencer blinked in disbelief, his mind stumbling over the directness of JJ's words. "W-What?" he stammered, his heart pounding in his chest.

JJ just shook her head, laughing softly. “Reid, it's so obvious. Trust me, you should ask her out.”

"Right," Spencer exhaled heavily, the weight of his nerves tangible in that single word. His eyes followed JJ as she walked away, her knowing smile and shake of her head a clear sign that she was rooting for him.

Elle, observing the entire interaction, turned back to Spencer with a look of determination. “Do you believe me now? You just need to be blunt,” she said firmly, reinforcing the advice with her unwavering gaze. Her stance was one of staunch support, wanting to push Spencer past his habitual overthinking.

Spencer nodded, feeling a bit more fortified by the support of his colleagues. Elle’s insistence on being blunt was exactly the nudge he needed. It was clear that subtlety had not served him well in this arena, and it was time for a change in strategy.

—

Throughout the week, Spencer made several more attempts to ask you out, each time with a bit more directness than the last, but somehow the message never quite landed. Each time deepening his frustration and your oblivious disappointment.

Spencer joined you at the coffee machine again, a site of many a casual encounter but today, he was armed with determination. "I was thinking," he began, carefully measuring his words, "that maybe you and I could try that new café downtown this Saturday."

You smiled, stirring your coffee absentmindedly, your mind on a deadline you were close to missing. "That sounds like a great break from work. It’ll be good to get the team out and about. Should I send an email to everyone?"

Spencer’s heart sank a little. "Uh, well, I meant more like a... never mind. Yes, let’s get everyone involved," he conceded, hiding his disappointment.

In the midst of discussing a particularly complex case, Spencer tried to weave in a personal invitation as naturally as he could. "And after we wrap this up, maybe you’d like to join me for dinner? I know a place that’s quiet, great for discussing... cases."

You nodded, focused intensely on the case details. "Oh yeah! I already told Pen I’d grab dinner with her after the case, do you want to join us?"

Spencer’s heart sank just a bit as he adjusted his glasses, a gesture that had become a telltale sign of his internal resignation. His intention of a quiet dinner, meant to create a private space for you and him, vanished with your invitation to Penelope. Still, he managed a smile, not wanting his disappointment to show.

“Sure, that sounds great,” Spencer replied, trying to keep his tone light and cheerful. Inside, however, he was strategizing his next move, wondering how he could ever convey his feelings without the constant backdrop of the team.

As the day progressed, his mind kept circling back to the conversation. He appreciated your inclusiveness—always making sure no one felt left out, a trait he admired deeply. Yet, he couldn’t help but wish for a moment where it could just be the two of you, away from the dynamics and distractions of the team.

As you both walked to the parking lot after a long day, Spencer decided to be as clear as he could. "I enjoy spending time with you," he said earnestly. "I was hoping we could maybe go out this weekend, just you and me. What do you think?"

You paused, turning to face him with a puzzled smile, unaware of the mounting frustration behind his calm demeanor. "Sure. What do you want to do? I heard of a nightclub that's supposed to have a disco on Saturdays, we could see if everyone is interested?”

Spencer’s patience, worn thin from repeated attempts, finally faltered. “That doesn’t really sound like my scene,” he replied, a note of desperation creeping into his voice as he motioned between the two of you. “Could we go somewhere more subdued? Just us?”

The simplicity of his request, paired with the intensity of his gesture, made you pause. "You want to hang out? With just me?" you asked, a hint of confusion lacing your words.

“Yes!” Spencer exclaimed, his voice echoing a bit louder than he intended in the quiet space between conversations around you. His hands were in the air, a gesture of his exasperation and earnestness. Realizing how his reaction might have seemed, he quickly lowered his hands and softened his tone. “I mean, yes, I would like to spend time with you. Just us. Maybe somewhere quiet where we can talk. Just... talk.”

Your heart was beating so fast you could barely contain it, “Just the two of us?” 

The realization struck you fully now, the words "just the two of us" hanging in the air, tinged with possibility. Spencer nodded, his eyes earnest and hopeful, watching for your reaction.

"Yes, just the two of us," he confirmed, his voice steadier now, filled with a quiet intensity. His gaze never wavered from yours, as if trying to convey all the sincerity he felt directly into your heart.

Your heart raced with the understanding of what he was asking, the implications of this simple request suddenly reshaping the narrative you had constructed in your mind about his feelings. The thought that Spencer, with his brilliant mind and shy demeanor, wanted to spend time alone with you, not for a case discussion or team outing but for something personal, sent a thrill of excitement mixed with nervous anticipation through you.

"Yeah, Spencer," you grinned, your heart still racing but excitement slowly overtaking your nerves. "That sounds nice. Um, I'm free Saturday."

"Saturday works for me," Spencer nodded, his own smile broadening with quiet confidence. "I'll call you?"

You nodded quickly, almost too eagerly, but you didn’t care. "Yeah, mhm, that sounds perfect."

For a moment, you both stood there, a shared anticipation buzzing in the air between you, neither wanting to break the connection just yet. When Spencer finally turned to leave, you found yourself smiling uncontrollably, the prospect of Saturday lingering in your mind, a warmth spreading through you that hadn't been there before.

—

Your excitement about the upcoming date with Spencer bubbled within you, yet you chose to keep it close to your chest. The thrill of it all felt so fragile, like a dream you didn’t want to jinx by sharing too soon with the rest of the team. This cautious optimism marked your days, turning ordinary moments into a series of hopeful glances at the calendar as Saturday approached.

Meanwhile, Spencer found himself seeking counsel from Elle, who was all too eager to lend her expertise, not just on potential date activities but on the more intimate aspects of dating as well, particularly women. Knowing Spencer’s limited experience—his only kiss having been with Lila Archer during a particularly intense case—Elle took it upon herself to offer some advice.

“Okay, Spencer, listen,” Elle began, her tone both serious and sisterly. “If the moment feels right and you think you want to kiss her, make sure you read her signals. It’s all about mutual understanding and respect, right?”

Spencer nodded, absorbing every word. Elle continued, “Make eye contact, see how she responds. If she seems receptive, maybe lean in halfway and let her meet you the rest of the way. It’s a two-way street.”

“Halfway,” Spencer repeated, mentally noting the advice. Elle’s directness and her willingness to discuss these details without any embarrassment provided him with a strange comfort.

“And, Reid, just be yourself. You’re a great guy. Let that show,” Elle added, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

Spencer felt nerves and gratitude at Elle’s advice, it was straightforward and practical, and helped ground him. He trusted her judgment, appreciating her sharing of her personal experience, especially when it came to navigating relationships—something he found infinitely more complex than the most puzzling cases.

—

The phone call on Saturday morning added to the bubbling excitement of the upcoming date. Spencer’s voice was clear and a tad nervous, which you found endearing. He promised a unique experience and asked you not to wear black, a request that piqued your curiosity and set your mind racing with possibilities. What kind of place would require such a specific dress code? The mystery only heightened your anticipation.

You quickly texted him your address, along with a playful note about your curiosity regarding the attire guidelines. Spencer replied with a simple smiley face, keeping the details of the date under wraps, which intrigued you even more.

As you prepared for the evening, you chose an outfit that was comfortable yet charming, avoiding black as instructed. The time leading up to Spencer’s arrival seemed to crawl by, each minute stretching longer than the last. You found yourself glancing at your reflection, adjusting your hair, and double-checking everything, ensuring you were ready when he arrived.

Finally, the sound of a car pulling up snapped you out of your reverie. Glancing out the window, you saw Spencer stepping out of his car, looking around with a nervous excitement that matched your own. 

As you stepped outside, your nerves fluttered slightly, but your smile was genuine when you saw Spencer waiting by his car. Waving shyly, you greeted him, "Hi, Spencer."

Spencer looked up, his eyes lighting up as he took in your appearance. "Y/N, you look great," he breathed out, his compliment wrapped in a warm smile that seemed to ease some of the tension between you.

"Thanks, I like your cardigan," you replied, noting the soft, well-worn cardigan he wore that somehow made him look even more approachable and endearing.

His smile widened at the compliment, and he seemed to relax a bit more. "Thanks! It's an old favorite," he admitted, holding the car door open for you. 

As you both stepped into the cozy, softly-lit space filled with the gentle sounds of purring and the occasional meow, Spencer immediately began sharing interesting facts about cats. “Did you know that ancient Egyptians considered cats sacred and even had a goddess named Bastet who was depicted as a lioness?” he said, looking into your eyes as you walked past a playful tabby.

Your response was a mix of admiration and amusement. “I didn’t know you were an expert on ancient cultures too,” you teased, feeling comfort and excitement as Spencer chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the opportunity to share his knowledge.

While playing with a particularly friendly cat, Spencer used the opportunity to flirt in his unique way. He gently lifted the cat, holding it out towards you. “It’s interesting how animals can facilitate social interactions, isn’t it? For instance, it's been found that people are more likely to engage in conversations in the presence of animals. They act as social lubricants.”

You laughed, reaching out to pet the cat and feeling a bit flustered by his proximity and the way he looked at you when talking about social dynamics. “Is that your subtle way of telling me you needed a furry wingman for our date?”

Spencer grinned, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Maybe, but it seems to be working, doesn’t it?”

“I don't know, say lubricant again,” you teased. Spencer's grin widened at your playful challenge, and the atmosphere between you sparked with a shared humor that made the moment light and enjoyable. 

He leaned in slightly, adopting a mock-serious tone, "Lubricant," he repeated, emphasizing the word, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You laughed even harder, your eyes bright with amusement. "Hearing you say 'lubricant' is so funny!"

Spencer, caught up in your joy, couldn’t help but laugh along. “Why?” he asked, his own grin wide as your laughter proved infectious.

"It’s just... it can be a dirtier word," you giggled, trying to explain through your laughter. "And I can’t imagine our resident genius using the word lubricant!"

Spencer's laughter joined yours, ringing out genuinely as he caught the playful jab. The lightness of the moment brought a relaxed glow to his features. "I assure you, the application of the word was purely scientific," he teased back, still chuckling. 

The café around you seemed to buzz with the warmth of your shared amusement, creating an intimate bubble amidst the quiet hum of other patrons and the soft padding of cat paws. "I suppose," Spencer continued, his smile lingering, "I should be more careful with my vocabulary around you. You're giving me a whole new perspective on language."

Your laughter gradually subsided into a series of light chuckles, but your eyes were bright with delight. "I think I like this side of you, Spencer," you said, a playful sincerity in your voice. "It’s nice to see you in a different light, not just as the genius profiler but also someone who can joke around about...lubricants."

Spencer's eyes softened, clearly touched by your words. "I'm glad," he said softly, his voice carrying a note of appreciation. "It’s not often I get to show this side, and I’m happy to share it with you." 

As you observed the cats seemingly gravitate towards Spencer, who seemed both amused and delighted by their attention, an idea sparked in your mind. It was the perfect segue into a lighthearted flirtation, mixing your shared love for animals with a touch of mystical charm.

"You know, it’s said that animals, especially cats, have a keen sense of good and bad," you started, watching Spencer's reaction as a particularly fluffy cat chose his lap as its new throne. "They're often drawn to people with good auras. I guess they must sense something pretty great about you."

Spencer looked up, his expression a mix of surprise and pleasure at your comment. He laughed softly, a sound that warmed you to the core. "Is that so? Well, I must be on the right track then. Maybe they sense my excellent choice in company for this evening," he replied smoothly, his gaze locking with yours in a moment charged with a gentle intensity as a cat nuzzled its way into your lap as well.

Your heart fluttered slightly at his words, and you smiled, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. "Oh, so we’re using cat behavior to gauge our decisions now?" you teased back, leaning in a little closer. "In that case, I think they’re on to something because I’m feeling pretty good about my choice too."

Spencer’s smile widened, and he reached over to gently nudge a playful kitten back onto the table, his actions thoughtful and tender. "I'll take that as a high compliment, coming from someone who clearly knows her way around cats and their mysterious ways," he said, his voice soft but filled with an underlying warmth that suggested he was as affected by the exchange as you were.

As the evening wound down, and the café began to prepare for closing, Spencer drove you home. The conversation flowed effortlessly, and you found yourself sharing little anecdotes from your childhood, while Spencer listened intently, always eager to learn more about you.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of your home. The end of the evening had come too quickly, a sentiment you both silently acknowledged as you lingered at the doorstep, not quite ready to say goodbye.

"Y/N...I had a really nice time today," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that seemed to wrap the evening in a perfect close.

"Me too, Spencer, thank you for asking me. I was kind of shocked," you admitted, your words sincere and open. The evening had unfolded beautifully, but part of you had still been wrestling with the disbelief that it was all really happening.

"Really? Why?" Spencer's curiosity was piqued, his gaze intent on you, wanting to understand more.

You smiled shyly, a nervous habit kicking in as you rubbed behind your ear. "I just... liked you for so long, I never thought you were interested in me too," you confessed, the words tumbling out more easily than you'd expected. The truth had been a quiet companion for so long, and saying it aloud to Spencer felt both freeing and terrifying.

Spencer's expression softened even further, a gentle understanding coloring his features. "Y/N, I’ve been trying to ask you out for two weeks," he confessed. His chuckle was light, trying to ease the tension.

Spencer's revelation brought a mix of relief and amusement. "Really? I had no idea you were trying," you replied, a smile breaking across your face, reflecting both the surprise and joy of the moment.

He nodded, a bit of sheepishness showing through his usual composed demeanor. "Yes, it turns out I'm not as skilled in expressing personal interest as I am with criminal profiles," he admitted, his light laughter mingling with yours.

The air between you felt lighter, a shared understanding dawning that, despite the initial miscommunications, there was a genuine and mutual interest. "Well, I'm glad you kept trying," you said, your tone sincere. "And I'm sorry I didn't pick up on it sooner. I guess I was just scared to get my hopes up."

Spencer reached across the small space between you, his hand hesitating just a moment before gently taking yours. "No more missed signals, okay? Let's promise to be more straightforward with each other," he suggested, his gaze steady and reassuring.

You nodded, squeezing his hand in agreement, feeling a warmth spread through you at the contact. "It's a deal," you responded, your heart feeling both settled and exhilarated by the new promise laid between you.

“So... in honor of being straightforward…” Spencer began, his voice soft but steady, a shy smile playing on his lips. He stepped closer to you, his eyes searching yours, a quiet vulnerability in his gaze. Gently, he took both of your hands in his, his touch warm and reassuring. “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart raced, the moment feeling both tender and surreal. The way he held your hands, the genuine care in his voice—it was everything you'd hoped for, wrapped in Spencer’s uniquely thoughtful way. You felt yourself nod before you even spoke, your breath catching slightly. “Yes,” you whispered, smiling softly, your eyes never leaving his.

Spencer’s smile deepened with relief and excitement. Slowly, he leaned in, his movements deliberate and gentle, giving you every moment to close the gap as well. When your lips finally met, it was soft, sweet, and full of the promise that had been building between you for so long. The world seemed to pause, leaving just the two of you in that quiet, intimate moment, finally aligned in your shared feelings.

When you pulled back, there was a brief silence before you both laughed lightly, the tension melting away completely. "That was… nice," Spencer said, his voice low, his smile radiating warmth. 

"Yeah, it really was," you agreed, still feeling the butterflies in your chest as you held onto his hands just a little tighter. 

“Oh, and for the record,” Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he took in your reaction, “I don’t like Elle—romantically, of course. She’s my best friend.”

Your face flushed with sudden embarrassment, realizing he'd caught on to your earlier assumptions. “Oh, I—well, uh...” you stammered, struggling to find the right words.

Spencer's smile remained soft and reassuring. “It’s okay, Y/N,” he said warmly, squeezing your hands gently. “Elle is super gay, not sure how you missed that, and... I really like you.”

His words, so genuine and direct, melted away the last bit of tension you’d been holding onto. You laughed lightly, the awkwardness dissolving into relief. “Well, that’s good to know,” you said with a grin, finally allowing yourself to fully relax into the moment.

Spencer's grin mirrored yours as he added, “I just wanted to clear that up. No more misunderstandings.” His gaze softened as he looked at you, the weight of unspoken feelings now out in the open. 

“No more misunderstandings,” you agreed, feeling the warmth of his words and the certainty that everything between you was finally where it should be.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[luvlyycy]

— a/n : , , thought this up w @cindol in a legit heartbeat ! bestfriend!sukuna... my beloved . . maybe I'll make a pt 2 iunno!

wc : , , 1k + !

summary : , , sukuna punches ur bf thats it. thats the fic. (angst/comfort)

Sukuna hates it. Everytime he looks at your face he's reminded of how weak and vulnerable he becomes. It's the classic sun and moon duo, and he hates it.

You're always going to him for your 'boy' problems, painting his nails as you yap on about this one boy in your class. You say how handsome he is or how nice his hands look. You've never said anything like that about him, but he doesn't care; or he tells himself that.

He'll often leave snacks on your table before your lectures, or drinks next to you at lunch. It's a small reminder that he cares about you.

Everyone says that he's a bad influence on such a kind, pretty girl like you. You never listen. Glued to his side as you walk down the long hallways, his piercings and black leather jacket a contrast to your beautiful outfit, the complete opposite of his.

You don't share dorms, and he wishes he put his pride aside and requested that you did. It's bothersome, having to make his routine of walking to your dorm, catching the eyes and hearing rumors of the two of you dating on the way.

Although, the snacks he hold are currently on the floor as the door opens, his lip curling upward and nose flaring in anger as he spots him— Satoru Gojo.

"What the fuck—"

He's leant against the door, a shit eating grin plastered on the face he's ready to punch the shit out of.

Is that lipstick on his fucking neck?

"Small world, huh?" Gojo chuckles out, turning around to face you, then back at Sukuna, "Guess I should tell ya. We're datin' now." .

There's a loud crash and a blur that you see as your boyfriend stumbles backwards, his hand holding his jaw.

Sukuna punched your boyfriend.

Sukuna just fucking punched your boyfriend.

You exclaim with a loud 'what the fuck' and get up from the bed, the blanket falling to pool around your legs.

Sukuna grits his teeth together as he sees you.. clad in panties and an oversized black shirt.

He begins to laugh and turns right back to Gojo, finally noticing that he's shirtless. He barks out a loud laugh and places his hand over his face, "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

Gojo throws his hands up, "What the hell is your problem?!" and Sukuna stops to look at you, then back at Gojo.

He points at the both of you, "Whatever the fuck this is, I don't want to be in between it. If I am in between it— your fucking little punk ass boyfriend— is getting punched again."

"Again?" Gojo laughs out, stepping closer to Sukuna, "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

You sharply yell out Gojo's name but Sukuna speaks over you, "Doesn't fucking matter you puss—" a loud 'thwack!' is heard as you see your best friend this time stumble backwards.

Blood runs down Sukuna's nose before he wipes his messily with his thumb, bringing up his fists in a messy fighting stance. He's far too angry to fight for real.

You've seen him fight, and it's nothing like what you're seeing.

They're going back and forth, Sukuna punching Gojo in places that are sure to bruise within a few hours. Gojo pushes Sukuna against the wall with his forearm against his neck as he spits some awful insults into his face, only for Sukuna to spit his own blood directly onto his cheek.

You hear Sukuna laugh, and before you know it, you're wailing; sobbing like a baby if you will.

They both turn to you, Gojo still holding a squirming Sukuna against the wall.

You've never liked violence— and Sukuna can't help but wonder, is that why you chose Gojo? Was he too.. violent?

"Get the fuck off of me— She needs me—" Sukuna shouts and Gojo cuts him off, "She doesn't need you, she needs me."

Oh. Oh.

He's right. Gojo's ... right.

His ears are ringing as he watches you cry, feeling Gojo inevitably let up on his neck and make his way over to you. He cradles you, his hands on your cheeks as he wipes your tears and snot away.

He can't tell if he's lightheaded or he's about to cry. He doesn't want to know. He doesn't say anything, just makes his way toward the door, exiting out and stepping over the drinks and snacks he had dropped earlier.

You don't need him.

Sukuna shuts the door and looks down at his hands, turning them over to look at his visibly red and bloody knuckles. More eyes are peering at him as he walks down the hallway.

It feels empty despite all the people out of their rooms due to the commotion. His phone is buzzing in his pocket the whole time, no doubt that it's you but he doesn't check.

You don't need him.

His chest fucking hurts, and he feels his eyes tear up for once. He frowns, still tasting the blood from his busted lip.

You don't need him.

Once he gets to his room, he undresses and plops down onto his bed— he's lost. He doesn't know what to do until—

He does.

He ignores you for a week, maybe two.

He often finds himself looking at the messages you sent, endless questions flooding his messages but the last one stands out.

It simply reads, 'what did i do?'.

You never needed him that's what you did. He slaps his hands against his face as he gets ready for a day of ignoring you again, he pulls a plain hoodie over his head.

He notices the nail polish on his nails is chipped almost completely off. Probably some weird metaphor for your and his friendship.

He makes his way out the door, almost recieving a heart attack as he sees you— eyes puffy and red, only in an oversized shirt and sweatpants.

" 'Kuna." you sniff, hands wiping your eyes, "What'd I do? Why did you punch Gojo? What happened?" you whine in the hallway.

Eventually you're yanked into his room and placed onto his bed, still lightly sobbing as you look up at Sukuna.

"I just, felt like punching him."

"Bull fuckin shit."

Potty mouth.

He sighs, wiping your eyes like he'd usually do before that day.

"It's fine. Don't worry about it. You don't need me." You're silent, and he looks dead serious.

"....What?"

"You don't—" "No, I heard you. I'm just, confused."

He frowns, this is the first time he's said it out loud, let alone explain it.

"I- I do need you!" you suddenly exclaim, hands gripping onto his wrists, "Fuck, Sukuna, I need you so bad." he watches more tears spill and he can't help but frown even more.

"No, you don't—"

"I do!" you cut him off, sobbing, "Remember when I had my period and had no pads? You got them for me. Or, or, whenever I got depressed you would stay in my room and make sure I ate and drank. You don't remember that? Or, when you beat up those guys who tried to bully me?? Or when... I had those silly nightmares—" you let out a soft hiccup, "and you let me sleep in your room and hug you until I fell asleep?".

He stares at you.

"I do need you, more than anyhing."

If he wanted to be vulnerable, he'd be crying right beside you, instead he whispers your name.

He crouches in front of you, a weak smile spreading across his lips as he watches you weakly reciprocate.

You laugh, and he does too, "We're fucking idiots." he laughs out, moving closer to you.

You place your hands softly on his cheeks and look at his face, "It's all my fault— I was stupid, and didn't realize in time and, and, I left Gojo when you guys fought—" he sighs.

It takes a few moments for you to realize but he kissed you.

He finally kissed you. You both melt into each other, molding into the perfect mix of night 'n day. It sparks, like the stars in the night sky and your brain clears like a sunny day.

He pulls away to whisper, "Sleep in my room." you giggle, "It's not even nighttime." and he spares a moment to smile, "Yeah, and? You need a nap."

"I do. I do need a nap actually."

You do need him.

[knavesflames]

IT'S FATHER'S DAY AND WE ALL KNOW WHO WE ALL CALL FATHER! PLEASE WE NEED ARLECCHINO DURING FATHER'S DAY!

⭐️

Hi ⭐️ anon!! Sorry this is delayed by a couple days, I had a lot going on. Happy Father’s Day to anyone who celebrated:)

Contents: fluff, arlecchino is soft

Word count: 869

Work utc!

When the children of the orphanage came up to you, whispering about a secret plan for this Father’s Day, you can’t help but feel your lips twitch into a smile. You swore to them you wouldn’t tell her, and you’d keep her away from the main hall as long as possible until Lyney somehow gave a sign. You wait patiently, the occasional smile slipping from your lips as you think of it.

You know Arlecchino has her own doubts about her ability as a Father. Forever scared of becoming Crucabena, she hides her emotions, choosing to be a strict and unfeeling Father. There’s no denying the affection she has for them, though. When she murmurs to you that one of the children needs to go shopping because they’ve begun to develop, or when one of the teenagers has a date and she sends them to you for advice. It seems, to the observer, that she’s passing them off onto you, but that could not be further from the truth.

She doesn’t know how to help them with these things. No, she was not taught how to go bra shopping, opting to wear random sports bras until she was well into adulthood because she didn’t know what her size was, or how to choose a bra that fit. Neither was she taught how to be affectionate, to date. She remembers the day you met, how she asked you on a date by simply saying “I will pick you up at 7, we are having dinner.” She’s glad that you were patient with her. So no, she is not passing them off to you because she doesn’t care. She guides them to you because she knows you are the one with the best expertise in those areas. Battle, interrogation? That’s her strength. Emotional things? Ehh, not so much.

So when you wake up on the Sunday, you immediately smell the breakfast the chefs make for the children, and the soft giggles as they plan everything. You look at Arlecchino, her sleeping form stirring as you wrap an arm around her. She murmurs a ‘good morning’, kissing your forehead and doing the same gesture she always does when she’s about to get up— a squeeze of your hand. You pull her back quickly with a soft smile, demanding she stay in bed today because in your words: “you’re too much at work and I miss you.” She can never say no when she sees those eyes of yours, so with a grumble, she agrees.

After an hour of cuddling, much to her dismay and amusement, she escapes your grip, standing up. Her muscles flex as she stretches before she hesitates, her eyebrows furrowing as she bends down.

“Why is one of Lyney’s cards here?”

“Hm? How odd.”

You bite your lip to hide the smile growing on your face, watching as she shrugs and places it on the nightstand. You wonder how he’s managed that, but you wonder that about a lot of his tricks. Now, you’re suddenly eager to get her downstairs, practically jumping out of bed and cladding yourself in clothes. Arlecchino’s eyes twitch in surprise at your sudden change of mind, but follows you anyway.

“It’s too quiet in here, if they’re in the garden with the spears again, I swear to the Tsaritsa, I’ll-“

Her words trail off when she sees the state of the main hall. Balloons on a couple of the tables, a banner that runs across the wall, a messily painted “happy Father’s Day” decorating it. And finally, on the table, is her favourite dish, the most plain looking steak tartare, exactly the way she likes it. Next to it is one singular slice of cake, her favourite cake, the one that’s always sold out, (she secretly gets grumpy when she doesn’t reach the bakery in time, but you vowed not to tell). She looks at you, and you can’t contain your grin. Neither can the children, really. Her silence is a positive thing, a very positive thing indeed. She is never silent when she’s unhappy.

She sits down, silently examining the food, and her lips twitch in a barely contained smirk when she sees the only seasoning being salt and a minimal dash of pepper. She’s not entirely sure how to react, her preferred type of affection being that she gives it and receives nothing back. Perhaps because she feels she doesn’t deserve any, or maybe because she doesn’t know how to react.

Either way, she picks up the fork before she clears her throat.

“Thank you, children. I will take a photo later and cherish this now.”

Her words are enough for the children to start talking and laughing again, most of them leaving to let her eat in peace. You hum and look towards her, content in watching her eat with a look of satisfaction on her face. Though, you catch a glimpse of her eyes, glassy and slightly red.

“I have allergies.”

She snaps in defence, but the softness in which she looks at you after proves that she’s just *happy*. You stare at her some more, a look of adoration in your eyes as she eats.

“Okay, love.”

“..do not tell them.”

[criminalyun]

cool for the summer (part two) | sim jaeyun

pairing: sim jaeyun x fem!oc

summery: summers over and if you thought hiding your relationship from your brother with jake when you were all together was hard, then you were in for a surprise when you’re forced to do long distance and not only have to stay up late hours in the night to talk, so that jay wouldn't suspect anything, but also have to question if your boyfriend even loves you.

genre: brothers best friend au, forbidden love, long distance, fluff, angst, smut.

warnings: minors dni!! virgin reader who overthinks a lot!

cw: violence, alcohol use, softdom!jake, sub!reader, piv, fingering, oral (f. rec), making out, pet names (pretty, pretty girl), foreplay, more to be added

word count: estimated 10-15k

release date: june 23rd, 2024

taglist: open !

read part one here

PREVIEW!

There he stood, Jake Sim, your boyfriend, looking as attractive as ever with his dark, messy locks of hair sitting effortlessly on his head, and his skin looking tanned and sun-kissed, and his usual brown eyes that now looked black with lust staring down at you with his plump, red lip tucked between his teeth.

He was clad in a pair of grey joggers and a black zip up jacket which had white writing written across the chest in cursive; the jacket loosely hanging off of him with his prominent collarbone peeking through the neckline.

You couldn't help but gulp at the sight of him, and it was like you were stuck in a trance as you subconsciously took a few steps backwards, allowing your brothers best friend into your room...

Quicker than ever, once your door had been shut tight — Jake pulling the lock across as he shut it with his hand, his eyes not leaving you once - you two dove into one another, your lips hungrily interlocking as your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down closer to you whilst his arms snaked around your waist, colliding your bodies as he walked you into the wall; your back pressing against the white painted brick.

"I missed you.." Jake managed to get out, parting your lips for a moment so that you could catch your breaths. "So much, y/n, you don't even understand." He shook his head, desperation seeping through his eyes as they eyed your lips.

“I missed you so much more." You spoke back to him, only earning a shake of Jake's head before he hurriedly attached his lips to your neck, sucking and biting at places that had never been touched before.

The sensation of his lips against your neck made a weird — pleasurable — feeling appear in your stomach and you slowly fluttered your eyes closed, biting down on your lip to prevent the sounds that were threading to escape from spilling.

"Not possible..." He whispered, grazing his mouth across your earlobe, goosebumps immediately forming on your skin as you accidentally let the sound — the moan — escape from your swollen lips.

Your sounds only caused the smirk on Jake's face to widen even more and he pulled back to look down at you, licking his lips as he brought his thumb up to caress your bottom lip.

"Be quiet, pretty, you don't wanna wake Jay up, huh?" He mischievously spoke, his voice just above a whisper as he teasingly played with your bottom lip, the certain area in his pants hardening as he watched as your eyes glossed over with submission.

Without another thought, the Sim boy quickly released your lip from his touch and hooked his arms beneath your legs, lifting you from the floor and heading over to your bed as he attached his lips to your exposed collarbone.

Once Jake was sat on the edge of your bed, you still being on his lap, he looked up at you in awe, reaching up to move a few strands of your hair away from your beautiful face and tucking them behind your ear as you unthinkingly ground your crotch into his; the weird, euphoric feeling making your stomach churn.

"Y/n.." Jake grunted out, a small whine lacing his voice as he squinted his eyes shut in pleasure. He quickly raised his hands, gently gripping onto your hips (afraid he'd break you if he held too hard) to halt your actions. "We don't have to go all the way, if you don't want to... I don't want to force you...

Immediately, you shook your head, denying the boy as your breathing became heavier and your body became needier.

You wanted him like there was no tomorrow...

COMING SUNDAY JUNE 23, 2024 !!

 criminalyun 2024

[undiscovered-horizon]

Die Happy - Sanji x Reader

SUMMARY: Sanji is disillusioned about your lack of interest in him. Someone like you could pick and choose among princes, kings and emperors. What's a measly cook to you? Nevertheless, his lovesick heart continuously rejoices when you choose him to waste time with.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.3k

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi

Part 2 -> "Maelstrom"

Sanji has never believed in ghouls, witches, faeries and the like. However, when he met you his belief began to shatter:

Like a dark sorceress covering the whole world with a curse, you lured all the influential, important men like fire does moths. At first, Sanji fooled himself that all those generals, merchants and noblemen only wanted something pretty to hang onto their shoulders but reality destroyed his comforting illusion when the said men offered riches most people couldn’t even fathom. If you asked them for an armada to sail to the Grand Line, they’d only ask what type of wood you’d prefer. Despite something akin to world domination lying at your fingertips, you always laughed those offers off, telling your powerful suitors that you would think about their words and get back to them.

Sanji once asked whether you’re truly considering marrying one of the generals or kings. Some more naive part of him hoped you’d say no. Alas, the truth, once again, was his adversary:

“Obviously!” you giggled at his silly question. “But I won’t marry the first one that offers me wealth and whatnot. First, I’d like to see all of my options and the world…” your voice trailed away as you vaguely pointed around the two of you. “Well, it’s a big place. Many more kingdoms to visit.”

But to his own demise, the cook was a fool unlike any other. He had no chance at winning your heart, no matter how much he’d try. Still, his untamable desire egged him on, whispering sweet songs of your grace. Even if he could taste your lips only in his imagination, he could do his best for you to have a reason to keep him around like a dog that begs for scraps at his master’s table.

Sanji knows he’s only hurting himself, only furthering his desperation when he makes you smile or earns a speck of your affection. Every dawn, he promises to free himself from your sorcery but when dusk comes and his left with the Moon, his only confidant, he realizes that he could never possess enough power to cut himself free from you. You’ve pierced his heart right through and if he pulls your knife out of his chest, he’s bound to bleed out and die. It’s better if he lets you have complete control over his mind and soul - it’s the only way he will make it out alive.

He’s left cold and lonely on that night. Soft, silver moonlight washes over him through the small porthole in the wall of his room. The sea is almost black at this hour of the night but it becomes a mystical sapphire when the Moon’s glow washes over the lazy waves making them glisten like pure diamonds.

Diamonds… maybe if he had diamonds, you’d see him as a man and not just a shipmate.

Quiet knocking on his door wakes Sanji up from his thoughts. Before he has a chance to get up and open the door or tell the guest to come in, the mysterious visitor enters out of their own volition.

Your tired face makes Sanji think about painting in museums - the ones all connoisseurs consider “classics” and “timeless”. The silk shirt you’re wearing looks not only awfully expensive but, which is much worse, to be a men’s size. Its hem ends right underneath your buttcheeks, threatening to expose your body should you lift your hands. In the darkness of his cabin, you appear as nothing beyond a phantom, a hallucination born out of desperation. And just like a ghost, you’ve come to haunt and torment him in the sweetest of ways; in a way only you can.

“What’s wrong, love?” he asks in a raspy voice. Sanji is doing a great job at appearing unaffected by your rather scantily clad form.

Carefully, you close the door behind you and walk towards him. Your skin glows when you step into the rays of soft moonlight pouring in through the porthole. Dishevelled hair, half-closed eyes and a slightly puffy face - Sanji has imagined you this way countless times but never actually seen. He can feel his body burning up, telling him to seize the opportunity, to wash you in the most charming and suave words he can think of.

“Nami kicks while sleeping,” you say quietly. “I swear to god my whole side is bruised at this point. Can I sleep with you?”

Sanji has to remind himself to breathe and to do so calmly. He’s cool, completely in control of himself. His mouth feels unbearably dry.

“‘Course you can,” he answers casually. With a swift move of his arm, he lifts the duvet. “Come on in.”

The pure bliss that suddenly appears on your face forces Sanji to take in a sharp, ragged breath. It’s an expression he also imagined one too many times when his desperation poisons his mind - not that he’s willing to admit it even to himself. He knows it’s wrong to even entertain a scenario in which you would grace him with such an enraptured face. Still, his will is not as strong as he often makes it out to be.

“Sanji, you are my salvation,” you tell him while getting under the covers with him.

“I know, love.”

It’s both strange and natural, the way your body fits his. As though the two of you have done it so much the memory of your muscles twists and turns your limbs to rest in the most comfortable and intimate way. The odd familiarity makes Sanji think that maybe in another lifetime this is how he always sleeps. He wishes he could find himself in that reality even for a second. Alas, it’s too far out of his reach.

“Damn, you’re really comfortable,” you mumble against his chest. Your hot breath makes him shiver. “And warm. I don’t think I’ll be going back to my bed.” A small grin of cosiness appears on your face - one that Sanji will never forget.

His broad chest and strong arm normally go unnoticed by you but now they’re like a fortress. And just like high stone walls are an unspoken promise of security and happiness, his firm hold on your body is a silent oath of a good night's sleep.

“Stay as long as you want,” he whispers back to you. 

Maybe if you weren’t so exhausted, you’d notice that his words aren’t a statement but a plea. They’re the last thing you remember before drifting off to a restful slumber.

Your breathing slows down and gains a steady, shallow rhythm. Keeping you close to his chest, Sanji allows his hands to gently brush against your arm and back. His movements are feathery, almost fearful. He wouldn’t want you to wake up and change your mind about spending the night beside him - he can indulge in his heart’s desire but he must do so carefully.

“If you only gave me a chance,” he whispers into the night.

Knowing you’re asleep and bound to remain ignorant of his affections, Sanji kisses the top of your head. His lips linger against your hair while he takes in the scent that haunts him day and night. Unknowingly, his grip around your body tightens at that moment as though he has suddenly grown most terrified of having you disappear. Too many nights he’s dreamed of this exact scenario only to wake up to a cold, empty bed.

When the dawn arrives and you leave his arms, this little moment of affection won't mean anything to you. It means nothing now. Sanji knows this very well. He doesn't try to lie to himself that maybe you'll wake up a changed person and finally see him as more than a friendly comrade. Although tonight means nothing to you, it holds an unspeakable weight to Sanji, who will forever gloat about the fact that when you needed help, it was him you turned to. It was his arms that guarded your sleep for a few hours.

Fighting off sleep until he collapses, Sanji revels in the feeling of you against his body and pretends, even if for one night, that you’re his the same way he will always be yours. Watching you sleep cuddled into him, he swears he could die happy now.

[corroded-hellfire]

Hii I love your work I was wondering I have a request for a AYW blurb/side story. I'm inspired by the hockey game I just went to

So let's say luke is in college or in high-school and he has hid first game and reader gets mildly anxious that he gets hurt and eddie reassures her everything going to be okay and he wins and they all go out to dinner.

Idk just something fluffy.

Thank you

Hockey?! Now you're speaking my language. I can't believe I never thought of Luke playing hockey before. Thank you for putting this in my brain!

Words: 2.5k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Magenta painted toes curl inside your thick, fluffy socks. The little girl who applied the shiny polish the other day stands on the metal bleacher, between you and your husband. Her little knees bend and straighten as she bounces up and down, two curly pigtails bobbing along with the motion below the soft pink beanie on her head. 

“Let’s go, Luke!” Eliza cheers. Small brown boots stamp on the metal surface below her as she claps her mitten-clad hands.

Eddie chuckles from the other side of her, one arm hovering around her small frame in case she loses her balance. The hockey game hasn’t even started yet and Eliza is ready to hand her big brother the MVP award. 

The chill from the ice rink soaks into your skin even through the layers of your long-sleeved tee and jacket. Your gloves seem to do nothing to keep your fingers from turning into icicles, so you tuck your hands between your thighs, hoping the body warmth can thaw them out. 

“You okay, babe?” Eddie asks, leaning back to look at you around your four-year-old. 

The nod you give isn’t convincing, even to yourself. You couldn’t be prouder of Luke for making the Hawkins High School hockey team as a freshman, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t worried about him getting hurt. The fresh batch of pregnancy hormones coursing through your system isn’t helping matters either. 

An obnoxious buzzer blares from the speakers on the wall as the scoreboard sets itself down to all zeroes. The crowd full of families and friends starts cheering as the two teams pour out onto the ice. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Eliza become airborne and you look to see Eddie lifting her over his lap so she’s standing in between him and Ryan instead of him and you. A steady arm wraps around you, and you gladly lean into your husband’s embrace.

“He’s going to be fine,” Eddie tells you.

“I know.”

“Yeah? Because you look like you’re about to storm onto the ice and drag Luke home by the collar of his jersey.”

You release a deep sigh and try to get your tense shoulders to relax. 

“He’s played sports before,” you say, sounding more like you’re convincing yourself than the man next to you. “Baseball, basketball. But this is different.”

“Why’s that?” Eddie knows exactly what’s different–it’s your usual protective Mama Bear energy enhanced tenfold due to your fluctuating hormone levels. But he isn’t dumb enough to come out and say that—again.

“Because,” you huff. “Now there are blades and sticks and boards he could be slammed into or ice he can fall down on.”

Eddie rubs his hand up and down your shoulder. It helps both comfort you and warm you up. 

“There are sticks in baseball,” he points out. “They’re just called ‘bats.’ And he’s fallen and skinned his knees both running the bases and on the basketball court. As for being slammed into the boards?” Eddie lets out a breathy chuckle. “That would be nothing compared to having little She-Hulk over here as a sister.”

You let out a small giggle, peeking around your husband to see Eliza enthusiastically shaking Ryan’s shoulder, pointing to where number 86 is out on the ice, warming up.

“I guess that goes for any hockey fights, too,” you say.

“See? Now you’re getting it.” Eddie smiles fondly at you and places a kiss against your temple.

A referee blows a whistle and both you and Eddie watch as the two teams take their places for the first face-off of the game. 

Luke’s best friend Sean skates up to the blue line, right in the center and ready to battle for the puck. Next to his number 19 jersey is Luke to his side as the right winger. The referee drops the puck and the game begins. 

Both your and Eddie’s eyes are glued to your son as play moves around the ice. Your gazes follow him up the ice and back down before he hops onto the bench for a shift change. Without her brother now to focus on, Eliza comes up with a new way to entertain herself: a cheer.

“Let’s go, Tigers!” Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap.

It only takes two turns of her cheering before the home crowd joins in, leaving the little girl beaming, proud to have started the trend. She’s no stranger to different cheers for the team; whenever Luke plays basketball, Eliza only cares to focus on the cheerleaders doing their routines on the sidelines. Ryan tends to pay a lot of attention to them too, but for different reasons. By now, Eliza could probably mimic most of Hawkins High’s cheerleading repertoire. 

A few minutes later, Luke hops back on the ice and you feel the nerves flutter in your stomach. It’s a very different, and distinctly more unpleasant, feeling than the fluttering of having a baby in there. 

“He’s okay,” Eddie murmurs to you, just loud enough to be heard over the din of the rink. 

You nod, but slip your hand into his for reassurance, nonetheless. 

“Mama?” Eliza crawls over her father’s lap, clearly not paying attention to where her bony little limbs are jabbing him, and reaches out to you. “I gotta go potty.”

A battle of emotions collide in your head as you nod and offer your hand to her. One part of you is thankful to get a small distraction from the game, your eyes able to relax instead of seeking out Luke’s constant presence. The other part of you is worried that something will happen while you’re not there, though. As if him getting a hard cross check from an opposing player wouldn’t have occurred if you were still in your seat. 

The ladies’ room is mildly warmer than the rest of the rink, and you lean on the outside of the stall door that Eliza goes into.

“You okay by yourself in there?” you ask.

“Mhmm! Wait. Can you hold my mittens?”

Once the stall door is relocked, you slip the pink mittens into your jacket pocket and listen as Eliza begins to hum a tune to herself. It’s difficult to tell at first, but you’re able to identify the song as I’ll Make a Man Out of You from Mulan. 

After Eliza finishes up, washes her hands, and slips her mittens back on, the two of you step out of the restroom. Before you’re able to take two steps in the direction of your seats, a horn blares, signaling a goal.

Eliza gasps and quickly tugs on the hem of your jacket because she’s too small to see what’s going on over the wall. You scoop her up and the two of you stand at the glass, near the net that was just scored upon. Both of you cheer when you see that it was the Tigers who got the first goal. Luke is sitting on the bench on the other side of the ice though, so you know he wasn’t the one who scored it. 

When the two of you get back to your seats, the first period is coming to an end. Eliza settles comfortably in her father’s lap and tilts her head to look up at him.

“What we miss?”

“Uh, Luke knocked a guy down against the wall over there.”

“Luke hit a guy into the boards,” Ryan translates into proper hockey terminology, smirking at his dad as he does so. 

“That’s what I said,” Eddie says. “And, uh, there was a penalty called on Sean for sticking a guy, so he went to sit out.”

Ryan snorts. “Sean’s stick got caught in another guy’s skates, so he got a penalty for tripping and was in the penalty box.”

“Time out!” Eliza declares. 

“Am I speaking Japanese?” Eddie asks, making Eliza giggle and curl into his lap.

“Of course not,” you assure your husband with a pat to his chest. “Just not speaking hockey either.” You giggle when he shoots a playful glare your way. But you manage to make it better by pressing a few kisses along his stubbled cheek. 

During both the first and second intermissions, Eliza entertains herself by looking for friends of Ryan’s or Luke’s in the stands and begging her oldest brother to take her to them. At one point, Eliza spots Ryan’s more-than-friend-not-quite-girlfriend-yet, Hannah, a few rows back and quickly makes her way up to her. Ryan’s face blooms scarlet as he follows behind his little sister, who has made herself comfortable in Hannah’s lap.

“Did you see Lukey?” Eliza asks the teenage girl. 

“I did!” Hannah says, smiling at Ryan as he takes a seat next to her.

Eddie leans in, his breath tickling your ear. “Do you think Eliza will ask Hannah to go out with Ryan before he gets around to it?”

You agree with a soft giggle and nod. 

“Oh, absolutely. Ryan’s so nervous and Eliza doesn’t have the patience for that,” you say. “God help any boy who is slow to ask her out in high school.”

Strong hands grab your sides, thick fingers digging into your ribs as your husband tickles you. A small yelp escapes your lips before you turn and burrow your head into Eddie’s neck.

“Hush your mouth,” Eddie murmurs. “Eliza isn’t going to date until she’s thirty.”

“Good luck with that.” You laugh and playfully shove his hands away from you.

Just as the third period is about to begin, Eliza and Ryan make their way back towards the two of you on the bleachers. Ryan has a lovesick smile on his face and the sight makes you smile in return.

“Have fun with the big kids?” Eddie asks as Eliza plops down next to him.

“Mhmm,” she nods, brown eyes scanning the ice for where Luke is. “Hannah say she likes my hat. And Juan said Mama is really cute.”

“What?” Eddie asks, arm immediately encircling you. “Who?”

“Ryan’s friend.” Eliza waves a dismissive hand in the boy’s direction, her focus still on the ice.

Eddie goes to look over his shoulder but you quickly grip his chin between your thumb and forefinger and bring his gaze back to meet yours.

“Really?” you ask him quietly. It’s impossible to suppress the amused smile on your lips. “Are you going to stare down a sixteen-year-old boy?”

“I don’t need a younger man hitting on my wife,” he says.

You laugh, shaking your head at his ever-present jealousy. 

“I don’t know if you noticed,” you say, “but I like older men. And no one is hitting on me.”

“Yet,” Eddie says, raising his eyebrows at you.

“Shoot it, Luke!”

Ryan’s shout refocuses your and Eddie’s attention back on the game in front of you. Luke stick handles the puck past a defenseman and skates closer to the opposing team’s net. You hold your breath as you watch Luke wind back his stick and slap the puck to the five-hole, between the goalie’s pads. Time moves in slow motion as you watch the black rubber disc travel over the goal line.

The siren blares and you stand up, raising your arms in the air as you cheer for your son.

“That’s my boy!” Eddie shouts, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“That’s my brotherrrrrr!” Eliza mimics.

Ryan hoots and hollers as you clap enthusiastically, a huge smile on your face. 

The other Tigers hockey players on the ice skate over to Luke, either tapping him on the leg or ass with their stick or knocking their helmet against his. 

The PA system overhead crackles to life before a student announcer says, “Goal scored by number eighty-six, Luke Munson!”

The crowd cheers, punctuated by a certain little girl’s shrill “Yay!” 

“Assisted by number nineteen, Sean Lowery, and number four, Alex Duffy!”

“Yay, Sean!” Eliza yells.

Luke’s goal ends up being the game-winning goal, which causes his team to pile on top of him once the game is over. 

“They’re going to hurt him,” you mumble as you stand up from the bleachers.

Eddie rolls his eyes, not unkindly, from his seat—he knows you won’t be able to see him since you’re standing. Your husband rises to his feet and presses a kiss to your temple.

“He’s fine, princess.”

He is, of course, and you’re glad to see it for yourself when he comes out of the locker room. A beaming smile adorns his face as he bounds towards the four of you, his curls soaked with sweat and his heavy gear bag thrown over his shoulder. 

“Did you see it?” he asks excitedly.

“See it?” Eddie repeats, eyebrows raising. “Didn’t you hear us?”

“I heard someone,” Luke teases, tugging Eliza’s pink beanie down over her eyes.

She huffs and quickly pushes it back up, giving her big brother one of her signature unamused glares. 

“I’m so proud of you!” You take Luke’s face, flushed from all the exertion, between your hands and press kisses over his sticky-with-dried-sweat face.

“Gross,” Ryan mumbles.

Misinterpreting why Ryan thinks the display of emotion is gross, Eliza turns to her oldest brother with her hands on her hips.

“Kisses not gross!” She hops up and down, making fish lips, like she’s trying to jump up to his level to give him kisses.

“Um, some kisses are gross,” Luke says once you’ve finished. When Eliza looks over at him, Luke’s eyes dart back and forth between you and Eddie. 

“Prepare to be disgusted then,” Eddie says, slipping one arm around your back and pulling your front flush up against his. He grins at you before lowering his head to slot his lips over yours.

“Ugh!” “Ew!” “Stooooop!”

You laugh against Eddie’s mouth, and the two of you break apart, sharing an amused look.

“Alright, goblins,” Eddie says, throwing his arm around your shoulders. “Let’s get going.”

The five of you start moving toward the exit when you tap Luke on the shoulder.

“Where do you want to go to dinner?” you ask him.

“Why does he get to pick?” Eliza whines.

“You can pick when you get a game-winning goal,” Ryan tells her, tugging on a single curly pigtail. Eliza pouts, looking suspiciously identical to her father, and crosses her arms over her chest. 

“Uhh…” Luke muses as your family steps out into the chilly October night. “I want Chinese food. Let’s get Eliza a pu pu platter.”

“Blech!” Your daughter sticks her tongue out and shakes her head. 

“Oh God, she’s going to steal everyone’s noodles again,” Ryan sighs. 

Eliza lets out the evilest giggle you’ve ever heard come from her as you reach the car. 

“I want all the noo-noos!” she declares as she yanks the back door open. 

“I’m ordering rice then,” Luke says as he climbs in behind her.

“Boo!” Eliza calls. 

“These kids are crazy,” Ryan says with a shake of his head.

Eddie laughs and musses up Ryan’s hair. It’s harder now that Ryan is almost as tall as him. 

“Okay, let’s get this hockey celebration on the road,” Eddie says, tapping the roof of the car as he walks around to the driver’s side. 

“Burn rubber, Gretsky,” you say as you slip into the passenger’s seat.

Eddie glances at you before turning the key in the ignition.

“Who?”

“Jesus, Dad,” Ryan sighs.

[capquinn]

thinking about Quinn and family doing a holiday movie night… matching pjs, Christmas movie the kids picked out, holiday treats. How excited the babies are for it and lowkey the parents too. Truly was one of my favorite memories as a kid and still kind of now at 22 tbh LOL and my mom just told me the other day it’s one of her favorite things we do every year for Christmas even though we’re all older

The living room is a picture-perfect holiday haven. The Christmas tree stands tall in the corner, its soft white lights twinkling slowly, casting a warm glow over the room. The ornaments glimmer softly, a mix of hand-me-downs, mismatched baubles, and Bug’s latest preschool crafts. Outside, frost clings to the windows, the kind of biting cold that makes you grateful for the cosy warmth inside.

Every Friday night is movie night but on the first Friday of December, it's the official kickoff of the family’s Christmas movie tradition — something that began long before the kids, back when it was just you and Quinn curled up on the couch together, sharing a bowl of popcorn and a blanket as the glow of twinkling lights painted the walls. It had been your little ritual, a moment of calm in the whirlwind of life, gearing up for the busy holiday season.

And then Bug came along, turning your quiet little ritual into something bigger, brighter. Suddenly, there were tiny hands tugging at blankets, excited chatter about which Christmas movie was “the best ever,” and bowls of gummy bears added to the lineup of holiday treats. It wasn’t just about the two of you anymore — it was about her wonder, her laughter, her joy becoming the heart of the tradition.

Now, Bug is old enough to pick the movies, Cub is here for his very first holiday season, and it feels even more magical this year. The kind of magic that makes the tradition feel brand new, like it’s grown right along with your family. What started as a small ritual between you and Quinn has blossomed into something so much bigger. Something that belongs to all of you, something that will grow with them, too.

Bug has been talking about this all week, her excitement bubbling over like a pot about to boil. After days of careful deliberation — during which Arthur Christmas had been a close contender — she’d finally settled on The Grinch, her nearly four-year-old self treating the responsibility of picking the perfect holiday movie with the gravity of a major life decision. Quinn, ever the doting dad, had already promised they’d watch her second choice next Friday, but for tonight, the Grinch’s antics reigned supreme.

“Daddy, hurry!” Bug calls from the couch, her voice high-pitched with impatience as she sprawls across the cushions. Her little legs, clad in Christmas tartan pyjamas, kick aimlessly in the air, her feet landing every so often on the spot where Quinn will inevitably sit.

“I’m coming, Bug,” Quinn calls back from the kitchen, his tone laced with mock exasperation.

He reappears moments later, balancing a tray stacked with steaming mugs of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and marshmallows, a bowl of popcorn, Christmas cookies, and a small dish of Bug’s favourite red-and-green gummy bears. He’s wearing the matching pyjamas you picked out, a reluctant but ultimately endearing participant in your insistence that everyone match for the occasion. The flannel tartan pants, patterned in red and green, and the long-sleeved button-up shirt feel almost comically festive, but he wears them anyway, his protest never extending beyond a half-hearted sigh when you first handed them to him.

Bug’s face lights up at the sight of the snacks.

“That one’s mine!” she declares, pointing eagerly at the mug with the mountain of whipped cream.

“Of course it is,” Quinn replies, his tone warm and teasing as he sets the tray on the coffee table. He ruffles her hair playfully before finally sinking onto the couch beside you with a contented sigh.

Cubby, who had been nestled in your arms, immediately perks up at the sight of his dad. His little hands grab at the air, making soft, insistent noises until you lean forward and let him scramble across to Quinn. The eight-month-old settles happily against his chest, chubby cheeks squished against Quinn’s shoulder, one tiny hand clutching at the fabric of his dad’s shirt.

“Of course, straight to dad,” you murmur softly, your smile widening at the sight of Cub settling so perfectly against Quinn’s chest.

Quinn adjusts Cub carefully into a more comfortable position, his hand resting protectively on his tiny back as he presses a gentle kiss to his head.

“Well, can you blame him?” he teases, glancing at you with a playful glint in his eye. “I mean, look at me — prime cuddle material.”

“Okay, big guy,” you tease, rolling your eyes with a soft laugh as you lean into him, your head settling naturally on his free shoulder. Your hand drifts to Cub’s back, resting there gently, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over the soft fabric of his Christmas pyjamas.

Quinn adjusts instinctively, shifting slightly to tuck you closer against his side. His arm tightens around your shoulders, his hand curling lightly against your upper arm, fingers tracing soft, absent minded circles into your skin and you feel the warmth of his body, solid and steady, enveloping you in that quiet, unspoken comfort that only he can give.

Bug, sprawled at the other end of the sofa, suddenly starts to wiggle her way back toward the center of the action. She’s determined, her little feet finding their way onto Quinn’s lap as she nestles into the corner with all the authority of a tiny queen reclaiming her throne.

“Can we start the movie now?” she asks, her voice high-pitched with impatience but brimming with pure, uncontainable excitement.

Quinn glances down at her feet, then back at you with an exaggerated sigh. “Guess I’m a human footrest now,” he quips, his tone light and teasing, though the fondness in his eyes gives him away.

“You’re just so popular tonight,” you tease softly, your voice full of affection as you nuzzle closer against him, brushing your nose lightly against his neck. It’s playful, warm, the kind of moment that draws a quiet smile from him. He tilts his head against yours, letting the weight of it linger in the soft space between you.

Bug wiggles her toes pointedly against Quinn’s leg, her feet still sprawled across his lap. “Daddy, the movie,” she prompts, her voice a mix of impatience and innocence, entirely oblivious to the tender moment unfolding just above her.

Quinn huffs a soft laugh, shifting slightly to look at her, his hand giving her ankle an affectionate squeeze. “Alright, alright, hold your horses,” he says, his tone teasing but full of love. “You’ve been waiting all week for this, haven’t you?”

Bug’s grin is wide and triumphant.

“Yes!” she exclaims, leaning back dramatically as if she’s been terribly wronged by the wait.

“Then I guess we’d better get started,” you say, laughing quietly as you reach for the remote.

Bug's entire body leans forward as though that might make the movie start faster, her little fingers clutching the small bowl of gummy bears like a lifeline, her wide eyes glued to the screen as the opening credits roll.

“He’s so grumpy!” she giggles loudly as the Grinch makes his first appearance on screen, her hands clasped together like she’s witnessing the most thrilling moment of her life. She looks over at you, then Quinn, as though seeking confirmation. “Is he always like this?"

Quinn chuckles, adjusting Cub slightly in his arms as the baby nestles deeper against his chest. “Yeah, Bug. That’s kind of his thing,” he says with a grin, his voice warm and amused.

Bug doesn’t respond immediately, her wide eyes glued to the screen as though the Grinch himself might pop out of it. The bowl of gummy bears rests tightly in her grasp, her legs tucked underneath her. The twinkling lights of the Christmas tree reflect in her curls, making her seem even more alight with energy.

And then, with all the flair of a dramatic revelation, she gasps. “But why does he hate Christmas?” she demands, sitting up just enough to point emphatically at the screen. “Did someone take his presents? Did his tree break? Did—”

“Bug,” you interrupt softly, a laugh escaping as you reach over to rake your fingers gently through her unruly curls, smoothing them back from her face. “Just watch the movie, sweetheart. You’ll see.”

She huffs, reluctantly sinking back against the sofa, her head finding its new resting spot in Quinn’s lap, her feet tucked up beneath her as her wide eyes stay glued to the screen. But her little mind is clearly still at work.

“He’s just so mad, though,” she mutters under her breath, her tone brimming with quiet exasperation, as though trying to reason through the Grinch’s grievances herself.

Quinn glances down at her, his free hand absently brushing along her arm. He casts you a look — one that’s equal parts amused and adoring, the kind of look that says, can you believe her? but also, I love her so much it’s ridiculous.

“She’s really into this,” he murmurs, his voice low so as not to disturb her moment of contemplation.

“She’s been waiting all week for it,” you remind him just as quietly, your fingers still threading gently through her hair. “I mean, who can blame her? It’s the first Christmas movie of the season.”

Bug wiggles slightly, making herself more comfortable as she pipes up again, unable to help herself.

“I think maybe he needs a hug,” she declares solemnly, her little voice so sincere it tugs at your heart.

Quinn bites back a grin, looking down at her. “You think that’s it?” he asks, humouring her, his voice warm and indulgent.

“Yeah,” Bug nods firmly, her eyes back on the screen. “A hug and some gummy bears. That makes me happy.”

Her words spark a quiet laugh from you, and Quinn shakes his head fondly.

“She’s got it all figured out,” he says softly, leaning back into the couch, his hand resuming its gentle patterns along Cub’s back.

Meanwhile, Cub doesn’t last long, and as the Grinch starts hatching his plans to steal Christmas, he is completely out, his little body molded perfectly against Quinn’s chest. His tiny hands clutch at his daddy's shirt with a grip so sure it tugs at your heart, as though even in sleep, he knows this is the safest place in the world. His chubby cheeks are squished against the soft fabric, his face utterly peaceful, serene in the way only a baby can be. His soft, rhythmic breathing the only sound competing with Bug’s constant chatter.

“Why is he taking their stockings? He can’t do that,” Bug whispers urgently, her big eyes darting between you and Quinn.

“Because he doesn’t like Christmas, remember?” Quinn replies, his voice low and patient, his hand lightly resting on her back now. “But maybe he’ll change his mind.”

And by the time the Grinch’s heart grows three sizes, Bug’s eyelids are drooping, though she fights to stay awake, her little fingers fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

“I knew he’d like Christmas,” she mumbles sleepily, her voice slurring just a little.

Quinn glances down at her, his eyes soft, his free hand brushing over her curls once before settling her head more comfortably against his lap. “Told you,” he murmurs, his voice low and fond.

You smile, leaning into his side, your fingers still raking through Bug’s hair.

“Merry Christmas, Hughes,” you whisper softly, and Quinn turns his head to press a kiss to your temple, the kind of moment that lingers, warm and unhurried.

“Merry Christmas,” he echoes quietly, voice full of love.

[wroteclassicaly]

Thinking about seeing a Friday the 13th double feature at the theater with best-friend Steve. You’ve both seen them on VHS countless of times, not to mention when they arrived on the big screen. But you again because he knows you prefer horror to any genre. He’s watching you when he thinks you’re not looking, and is completely oblivious when you’re staring at him. Fingers brushing sharing a popcorn, one large Coke to drink with one straw to share - the other fell between the seats, but neither of you care.

It’s he who jumps first, his massive waves tickling your face as he buries his head into your neck, stubble scratching along your jugular (where your pulse suddenly begins to race). He can feel it, and no one has time to react as a shattering of glass from the movie makes you react this time, curling around him. You just simply… hold one another and then you’re releasing with ease. Heartbeats unsteady, Steve briefly bouncing a jean clad knee, Nike shoe sticking to the floor. And you, you’re chewing on your thumbnail, nearly peeling the fresh black paint free.

By the time the movie ends, however, barely anyone can see the two of you backed into a cove by the snack counter. Coke soaked lips, salted butter and sweet candy coated treats on your tongues, his breath mingling with your own, to the wet sounds of your kissing. Your back is piled into the plastered wall, neon in your peripherals, one massive hand pinching at the lace trimming at the bottom of your shirt, the other cupping your face, fingertips tracing at your neck’s nape - making sure you can really feel him, what he can do. You cling to his shoulders, arms beneath his arm pits, squeezing the muscles beneath. Occasionally, he’ll switch up the path of his mouth and allow it to dance across your jawline, over your ear, ending at your neck, that nose nudging all across your face with each kiss.

You’re buzzing, shivering inside. His pupils are blown, glazed over when he does look at you, colors of red, blue, pink, orange, and purple hues reflected in his irises due to the scenery.

More. You want more. You need more. You have to have more.

And so does he…

[whore4abby]

I’m still deep in baby fever so maybe baby clothes shopping with Ellie or Abby! You can choose! And you end up buying tons of cute animal onesies hehe

ive been thinking about writing abby and reader with a baby but i haven’t written anything yet :( thank u for this !! such a cute idea &lt;3

you’re in the passenger seat of abby’s jeep heading to a nearby mall, with the main mission to go baby clothes shopping and basque in the calm before the storm of a newborn baby disrupting your peace. the drive is calm and quiet, abby hand gently resting on your growing baby bump and her fingers softly caressing your swollen tummy.

you eventually get to the store, walking through the doors hand in hand with abby. the store is brightly lit, walls are painted in pale, neutral colors with fluffy cloud-shaped light fixtures hanging from the ceiling.

the entire place is filled with all types of clothes and the cutest accessories from dresses to onesies, tiny denim jeans and the smallest pairs of shoes you’ve ever seen.

abby never once lets go of your hand as she leads you through the aisles, picking out all the outfits that she thinks would look cute on your little bundle of joy. and it doesn't take long before the shopping cart is filled the the brim with every item imaginable.

you eventually wander off alone down one of the aisles and abby can’t even start to worry about you before she hears you gasping from nearby and calling out her name.

her head snaps up at the sound of your voice and she comes around the corner into the aisle you’re in. she sighs as she sees you holding up yet another ridiculous looking bear onesie. the tiny ears sticking out of the hood and the smallest little mittens attached to the arms of the onesie.

your looking down at the item in awe, imagining your perfect little baby all bundled up in your arms clad in the soft, fuzzy material. you look up at abby and pout, “abs, please. we have to get this! baby will look so cute in this!” you whine and shove the onesie into her big hands.

“babe, we have so much stuff already!” abby huffs and gestures to the overflowing shopping cart she’s been pushing around for the last half hour. you look at her sadly and give her the best doe eyes you can muster up, “one tiny onesie isn’t gonna make a difference.”

her shoulders drop in defeat and she pushes the cart towards you and you happily throw the onesie onto the pile of baby clothes before leaning up and placing a kiss on her cheek. you turn on your heel and waddle off towards the checkout desk with abby following behind, sighing and rolling her eyes at your antics.

[yeoblurbs]

Clockwork

University AU - angst with a happy ending, best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers

Pairing: Jung Wooyoung x Female Reader (ft. Yeonjun of TXT x Reader)

Synopsis: Being best friends with Jung Wooyoung was everything you could imagine. That is, until you catch feelings for him. Now, you navigate a heartbreak minus the rejection, and Wooyoung doesn’t seem to like it.

WC: 8.7k

Content/Warnings: mentions of scars, subtle hints of disassociation in the beginning, mentions of spiraling, one harassment scene. less serious stuff —> making out, somewhat possessive!Wooyoung(not toxic), Wooyoung gets jealous:>, kind of idiots to lovers. kind of slow burn. apologies for any typos I’m afraid I can’t re read this even one more time

the hollow feeling in your chest eats at you while you lay on your couch, snuggled in a blanket clad in one of Wooyoung’s soft grey hoodies. you pull the hood up over your head and stare at the chipped paint on the wall.

would you ever find someone who loved you enough? someone who would stick by you after seeing you at your worst; someone who would kiss the scars on your body and reassure you when you got insecure. someone who would look at you with overwhelming love and whisper I love you between kisses on your skin.

you wanted it to be Wooyoung. god, you wanted him to love you like that, but Wooyoung has only ever looked at you like his best friend. and you should be thankful for that, after all, you were so incredibly lucky to be close to Wooyoung, able to receive the intense amount of love and care he has to offer.

but you can’t help but feel selfish and wish for more.

a knock on your door pulls you from your spiraling. you allow yourself to stare into nothingness for a second longer before pulling yourself together and getting up to open the door.

the winter breeze feels crisp against your bare legs. you look up to see who’s visited you so late, and there he is; dressed in baggy jeans and a black tee shirt layered with a jacket much too large for him, there was Wooyoung. your Wooyoung.

well, in your dreams anyway.

you’re once again pulled out of your spiraling when he calls out to you with that irritatingly gentle, yet teasing voice of his, “Y/n? Are you gonna let me in?” and suddenly you’re back to reality.

the cold night air brushes against your skin again, goosebumps arising in their wake; a reminder of how cold Wooyoung must be.

you roll your eyes and smile, grabbing Wooyoung's arm and pulling him in. he lets you lock the door before engulfing you in a hug. you inhale softly at the smell of his subtle cologne and wrap your arms around his back, shutting your eyes and allowing yourself the selfishness of wanting him close. but he breaks the hug a moment later, looking at you with that maddening smile and you feel yourself relax in his presence.

“So, what’re we watching?” he asks lightly, pulling your arm towards the couch as if he lives there. and he might as well, with how often he sleeps over. he removes his jacket, throwing it on the couch before sitting down. you struggle to not ogle his arms, “Nothing, actually.”

you plop down on the couch next to him, an unfamiliar distance between the two of you. you hope he won’t notice, but Wooyoung looks at you with an unreadable expression as he observes the space.

“Are you okay?” he asks quietly, serious eyes boring into yours.

of course, he noticed immediately, you think fondly. “I’m just tired, honestly. but let’s watch something?” you smile, trying to change the subject.

Wooyoung lets it go, but only after squinting his eyes and moving closer to you. you sigh when his shoulder touches yours, craving the skinship yet hating yourself for it.

Wooyoung decides on a random movie, and while you were distracted throughout the film, your eyes immediately snap to his phone when a notification pops up. Wooyoung picks it up, swipes to open the message, and text back.

you force yourself not to check who he’s texting and speak casually, “What is it?”

he glances up at you before looking down and shutting his phone off, “Just Miyu, she’s asking if we can see each other tomorrow.”

“Oh, are you guys a thing then?” a forced smile makes its way to your face, though you ensure it looks genuine enough for Wooyoung to not notice.

he exhales, “Honestly? Not really. I like her and I think she’s really cute, but I’m not sure I see myself in a committed relationship with her.”

Wooyoung runs a hand through his two-toned hair, black strands falling over the blonde, “I’ll see how it goes though after a few dates.”

“Good luck!” you smile; a response you always gave whenever Wooyoung told you he was dating someone. because although it hurt, you wished him happiness, even if that meant he found it in someone else.

the rest of the night goes uneventful, but you can’t stop thinking about the fact that something needs to change. you don’t want to do it anymore; you don’t want to sit on the sidelines and watch your best friend fall in love with someone other than you.

but Wooyoung was never going to choose you, so perhaps it was time you found someone who would.

you needed to move on, you realize. not only for yourself, but so you could continue to be close with Wooyoung even after he ultimately finds another girl; someone who isn't you. with a goal in mind, you bite your lip and click the contact of the only person you could think of; Hongjoong.

-

"So what, i’m supposed to just ask for his number?" you sigh, already regretting asking for his help.

Hongjoong crosses his arms, "Yes, exactly that. Men love when women ask for their numbers, something about the assertiveness or some shit like that.” he shrugs.

you squint wearily at him, “Well, you don’t sound so convinced yourself, but I don’t really have anyone else to ask,”

you groan as you watch Hongjoong’s face stretch into a smirk. “Okay, asshole, when should I do it?”

“Do it today after your last class.” Hongjoong moves closer to you and whispers, “From what I know, Yeonjun’s class ends at the same time as yours. So when he’s leaving the building, you just need to be ready to catch him.”

you pout at his instructions, unsure how you’ll manage to do something like this. Hongjoong pats your head in comfort. “Okay… thank you Joongie, I’ll try my best.”

You move to wrap your arms around his waist, feeling his chest rumble with a laugh, “No need to thank me Y/nie, just let me know how it goes, and if he’s an ass to you I’ll beat him up.” he pulls back at you to wink and you push him away with a laugh. Well, what could possibly go wrong?

-

Everything is going wrong. you were supposed to be running out of class immediately to find Yeonjun, but someone accidentally ran into you, dumping their entire large caramel macchiato on you in the process.

and unlucky for you, you were wearing white; now you had to put off asking Yeonjun out and walk home with sticky skin and a stained shirt.

you ruffle your hands in your hair frustratedly as you exit the school building, regretting not bringing a hoodie that day. in your rushed walk towards your car, you fail to notice someone standing right in front of you.

you run straight into their chest.

“Oh my fucking-, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.” you blurt out quickly, eyes filling up with tears in exhaustion as you look up to see Yeonjun.

Yeonjun.

No, No. No. this could not be happening.

you were supposed to ‘casually’ run into him with your hair neatly done and your outfit clean, but here you were with a huge stain on your chest and mascara tainting your tears.

your eyes move towards the floor as a tear falls, avoiding eye contact as you quickly wipe it away.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. nothing to apologize or get upset for,” he reassures, hands scrambling before landing on your shoulders.

he bends down to catch your eyes, “You okay? Doesn’t look like you’re having a very good day.”

and maybe it’s because you’re fed up with the events that occurred. not just the stupid sticky shirt but your stupid massive crush on your best friend that hasn’t gone away no matter how hard you try that you’re talking to the guy you were supposed to ask out to get over him and-

Yeonjun tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, staring at you in concern as you sniffle, trying to calm down and not have a total mental breakdown in front of someone you were not close with.

“Uh… I don’t exactly know what’s making you so sad, but if you need anything I’m here, even if we don’t know each other so well.” he smiles cutely, and your eyes dart to his full lips before glancing back at his eyes.

you don’t say anything, mind scattered and tired after the long day you’ve had. you wonder how you’re even functioning in this conversation with one of the hottest guys you’ve seen.

Yeonjun pouts once he realizes you are too tired to speak, before an idea comes to mind and his eyes light up. he grabs the hem of his hoodie and pulls it over his head, ruffling his hand through his hair as he hands it to you.

you don’t understand, this interaction is a lot more confusing than you initially thought it would be. but perhaps that was just your luck. your hands reach out unsure, so he pushes the hoodie in your arms firmly.

you clutch the lavender coloured fabric in your hands tightly, looking up at him in confusion. “What’s this for?”

he smiles again. you find you really like his smile. not as much as Wooyoungs though, an evil voice in your head reminds you. you frown as you ignore it.

“Well, I’m going to assume one of the things that’s got you so upset is about your shirt, so don’t worry about it, you can return the hoodie whenever you want,” he reassures kindly.

Your cheeks feel hot as you remember the humiliating stain. “Ah�� I see. Thank you, you really didn’t have to do this for me.”

“It’s okay, honestly! Like I said, don’t worry about it.”

you bite your lip and nod, before remembering your mission to ask for his number. would it be too awkward now? would he even want to speak to you after this odd encounter? your mind races as you think of what to do next.

luckily, Yeonjun picks for you.

“I don’t really know if this is an appropriate time to ask, but could I by chance get your number?” he looks to the side, rubbing the back of his neck as a light blush coats his cheeks.

your face brightens at his question, and a soft laugh bubbles out of you at the sight of his blush.

“Yeah, sure, of course.”

he opens his phone and hands it to you. your fingers shake as you type your number in, but you hand it back to him with a steady smile.

“Thanks, I should get going, but I hope the rest of your day goes well.” he winks.

your eyebrows raise at his sudden confidence, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t find it attractive.

“Okay,” you smile, “Thank you for the hoodie, really it means a lot.”

he shakes his head back at you, “It was nothing, seriously. and I’ll text you later!”

you bow your head, agreeing as you watch him wave before jogging to his friends.

you clutch the hoodie in your hands tightly as you turn to walk to your car. you smile giddily,

mission accomplished.

-

it’s a Friday evening.

Wooyoung lays on your bed unceremoniously as he scrolls on his phone while you search your closet for an outfit to wear to the party tonight.

while normally you would’ve gone for something a little more comfortable, you decide to go for something more risky.

you did enjoy parties, but tonight you had someone’s attention to catch. someone who wasn’t the boy sitting on your bed.

“I don’t get why you’re putting so much thought into it. We go to parties all the time, what’s so different about this one?” Wooyoung nags, body laying on his side as he’s perched up on his hand, elbow digging into the mattress.

you huff, “Because! I just want to look prettier tonight, isn’t that a valid reason itself?”

Wooyoung looks at you suspiciously before sighing, “Fine, fine! I’ll find out the truth eventually y/nie,”

you roll your eyes at his tone before looking in the full-body mirror. you have a tight black skirt on paired with a matching fitted cropped shirt. underneath the skirt are sheer stockings, and you top it off with an oversized leather jacket.

your makeup and hair are already done, styled in your preferred way as you twirl in front of your mirror with a happy smile. this will surely catch Yeonjun's attention tonight, and your stomach swirls with joy at the thought.

a cough breaks you out of your stupor and you look up to find Wooyoung staring at you with wide eyes. his cheeks are tinted red as he licks his bottom lip.

“What? Does it look bad?” You look down self-consciously, unused to Wooyoung looking at you like that. you wonder if this outfit will catch more attention than you predicted.

he shakes his head and relaxes his face, “No, no. I was just surprised.”

he smirks, “You look hot.”

your lips part stupidity as you swiftly turn around to face the mirror again. “Shut up,” you mumble, ignoring the way your heart jumped at his words.

-

Loud music blares through your ears as you step foot into the party, eyes scanning the chaotic room for someone familiar. Wooyoung grabs your hand, lacing your fingers with his as he pulls you towards your mutual friends. you stare at your intertwined hands in awe before remembering that it meant nothing.

nothing to him at least.

your fingers slip from his grasp once you reach your friends and he looks at you in confusion. you smile reassuringly at him, however, and he turns back without noticing anything.

you bite your lip as you look around; you need to leave. not the party, but you need to leave from Wooyoung's side. you don’t belong there. you never have.

you tug at Wooyoung's arm to get his attention, prompting him to bend down as you speak into his ear, “I’m gonna go get a drink.”

“Okay! Just let me tell them and we can go.” he smiles dazzlingly, but you frown in response.

“No! Stay here, it’s okay! I’ll get it myself.”

the smile slowly slips from his face and his brows furrow. you look around anxiously, you don’t know why you feel so nervous. "Alright, just be careful and call me if you need anything, okay?” he grabs your arm, gazing at you seriously, and your stomach rolls at his protectiveness. you wish he wouldn’t be so perfect. but this was Wooyoung, so that was rather impossible.

you nod at him in response before leaving, letting out a breath when you were far enough.

you glance back at Wooyoung who is speaking animatedly, upset that you couldn’t enjoy yourself with him all because of your selfish feelings. you ignore the internal pull to be close and turn back around.

until you bump directly into someone’s chest.

“Fuck, what is wrong with me lately?” you murmur to yourself, rubbing your nose lightly before looking up.

“I’m so- Yeonjun?!”

the universe is not on your side it appears, as the Choi Yeonjun is in front of you looking at you with that cute boyish smile. you want to melt into a puddle of embarrassment then and there.

he chuckles at your expression, “So, is running into people always your thing? Or is that exclusive to me only?” his lips stretch into a grin.

“Seems to be exclusive to you, unfortunately,” you say teasingly, giggling at his offended look.

he puts a hand above his heart appearing wounded, “Unfortunately?! I will have you know it should be considered an honor to bump into me.”

“Considered an honor by who? Yourself?” you gloat, enjoying the flirty banter with a guy you found immensely attractive.

he clicks his tongue before giving up the facade and smiling genuinely. “I thought you said you’d text me when you got here.” he pouts at you; you have to force yourself to look away from his lips.

you and Yeonjun had been texting ever since your little run-in on campus. he knew you were coming here, hence the fact that you also put in more effort for your look today. you hadn’t exactly told Wooyoung about him either, unsure how your best friend would react to you randomly finding interest in dating.

“I just got here! I was going to text you once I got a drink, I promise.”

he nods sulkily, and you suddenly think he and Wooyoung would get along well. “Okay then, let’s go get you a drink?” he asks, grabbing your hand to lead you.

you stare at your hand in his as he leads you through the swarm of people. his is much larger than yours, warmth radiating off him so intensely you wish you could feel butterflies. but it is nothing in comparison to how you feel with your hand intertwined with Wooyoungs, and your heart dims at the realization.

the rest of the night goes by fast and enjoyable, and you find yourself enamoured with Yeonjun. but as much as you wish you liked him romantically, you find him amazing platonically at best.

you feel as though you are fighting a losing battle, and that using Yeonjun to get over Wooyoung would not only fail, but be selfish in case he caught feelings for you.

so when it gets a little too late, you make your way back to Wooyoung. Yeonjun is still next to you, and the two of you are engaging in a very serious conversation about whether or not water is wet when you feel someone grab your waist softly.

you jump at the feeling, unintentionally moving closer to Yeonjun until you turn around to find Wooyoung.

you relax at the sight of him, now gravitating to Wooyoung subconsciously, “Hi! Ready to go? I’m so tired and my head is pounding from the music.”

Wooyoung smiles at you, but it looks forced. “Yeah, yeah. Who’s this?” he tilts his head toward Yeonjun, and you blanch as you realize what kind of situation you put yourself in. but it shouldn’t go awry; the two didn’t know each other, and Wooyoung had no idea that you were interested in Yeonjun- if you could even call it that.

“This is Yeonjun, he goes to our University. He’s majoring in Dance actually, just like you!” you try unsure, glancing back to Yeonjun to assess his face.

he doesn’t look as standoffish as Wooyoung however, seeming rather amused as he eyes Wooyoung's hand on your waist.

“Hey, it’s nice to meet you. I hope I didn’t hog Y/n to myself all night.”

Wooyoung's hand tightens as he takes a step closer to you. you can smell the cologne on him and feel the heat coming from him on your back.

Wooyoung laughs, but it is far from genuine, “No, of course not. Y/n is her own person, she can hang out with whoever she wants, even if it’s with someone like you.”

your head whips to Wooyoung, face scandalized at his last words. you push at his chest, moving him away from Yeonjun, “Dude, not fucking cool.”

you turn back to Yeonjun, ignoring the way he is still staring at Wooyoung in mirth.

“I’m sorry, he’s had a long night and too much to drink, we should get going.” You slap your hand over Wooyoung's mouth when he moves to open it, giving a crooked smile to Yeonjun as Wooyoung fumbles beneath your hand.

Yeonjun glances at Wooyoung before his eyes land on you, “No worries, I get it. Just text me when you get home. I’ll see you on Monday?”

you nod quickly, “Yeah, of course, I’ll see you then!”

without another word, you grab Wooyoung's arm and drag him out of the house and into his car. once seated in the passenger seat, you open your hand and look at him expectantly.

he glances to your open palm, “What?”

“Keys.” you sigh, wanting this night to be over so you can lay in bed and go to sleep.

Wooyoung places the keys in your hand with a pout and you clutch them before standing up, shutting his door, and getting in the driver's seat.

“So, Yeonjun huh? Didn’t know you two were so close.” Wooyoung says, voice cutting the deafening silence. your hands tighten on the wheel as you focus on the road.

Wooyoung is still sulking, and while you have no idea why, you also have no interest in finding out. his behavior in front of Yeonjun was extremely uncalled for and disrespectful, and you would give him an earful had he not drank anything tonight. “C'mon, Y/nie, don’t ignore me. I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have talked to him like that but I just... got bad vibes from him.”

you roll your eyes at his words, though some of your anger diminishes at his apology. well, at least he knew why you were upset.

“Bad vibes? Why? You’ve spoken to him for a total of two minutes.”

Wooyoung deflates. it seems he knows he is being unreasonable. “I dunno, okay? But listen, I’m allowed to be upset too. You haven’t told me anything about your relationship with Yeonjun, and I'm your best friend.”

you glance at his crestfallen face before sighing, “You’re right, I’m sorry too. I should have told you about him, I just didn’t know how to bring it up.”

“It’s okay I guess, but I’ll only forgive you on one condition.”

you narrow your eyes at him before looking back to the road, “And what would that be?”

Wooyoung grins mischievously, “You tell me all about it. When did you first meet, how did you first meet, how often do you text? And most importantly, how it went tonight with him!” he rambles excitedly, and you hate that he seems so happy at the prospect of you speaking to a guy.

and so you begin to tell Wooyoung the events leading up to the party, including the details such as your stained shirt, the hoodie, the fact that the two of you have been texting for quite a while, and why you dressed up tonight.

he nods excitedly at you as you go through the events while driving, but you fail to notice the dimness in his eyes and how his smile seems a little more strained as you go on a tangent about Yeonjun's cute lips.

you arrive home soon after, dropping Wooyoung off and parking his car before walking to your apartment. the two of you lived quite close.

once in bed, you recount the events that occurred at the party, stomach lurching when you remember Wooyoung's possessive hand on you.

but then the butterflies morph into moths, an ugly wretched feeling of yearning swallows you whole, and you find yourself spiraling at the realization that you are zero steps closer to getting over Jung Wooyoung. you have merely been going in circles from the start.

Wooyoung on the other hand, lays in bed with a permanent frown. he doesn’t understand the irritation he feels towards Yeonjun, and he certainly doesn’t understand why he felt threatened by seeing you two together. you were his best friend, and that’s all you’ve ever been to him.

but as he stares at his ceiling and pictures a life where you are not his, he wonders if you’ve meant more to him all along.

-

"I’m going to break things off with Yeonjun." You rest your head on your hands, elbows perched on the table in front of you.

Hongjoong sits before you, mouth open as he looks at you as if you are crazy. and perhaps you are for even thinking of letting Yeonjun go, but you were never really a selfish person, much less a selfish lover. and while you were not considered Yeonjun's lover just yet, you figure you need to pull back now before the tide takes you too far, leaving you stranded and alone drowning in your own consequences.

he exhales rather dramatically, "Are you sure? I'm going to be honest, I don't understand at all. Everything has been going so well! Why would you give up now?"

"But it hasn't been going so well Joong. I find him attractive but my feelings for Wooyoung are still very much there and alive." You take a sip of your drink, allowing the cool beverage to calm you. "I don't want to be one of those assholes who lead someone on when they aren't over their first crush or whatever."

you shake your head, "That's never going to be me."

Hongjoong nods understandingly. "Well, if you put it like that I can't really disagree."

he reaches over from across the table to pat your head comfortingly, "I'm proud of you, though. You are so selfless, it makes me worry someone will take advantage of you." You smile abashed at his praise, having always looked up to Hongjoong.

"Don't worry, I'm strong too, okay? I learned from you, after all." You smile as he scoffs teasingly.

Hongjoong glances out the window before looking back at you, "So, when are you planning on breaking the news to him? And what do you plan to do after?"

you press your lips together, "I asked him to meet me in an hour, so hopefully that goes well."

"As for after that..." you smile bitterly, "Maybe I'll confess to Wooyoung. I don't know, maybe a rejection would help me move on properly."

Honghoong tilts his head up and down, "You're a good person, y'know? It's not selfish of you to catch feelings for someone. Stuff like that is inevitable."

"And confessing your feelings wouldn't be a burden, I know what you are thinking, you deserve an answer to your feelings, whether that is an acceptance or a rejection."

you smile at Hongjoong's words, "Thank you, my unpaid therapist I so dearly love."

"Anytime." he deadpans, and you giggle as you watch his face break out into a smile.

you leave the coffee shop soon after, enjoying the breeze as you walk back to campus to meet Yeonjun. you aren't sure how your talk will go, but you know you need to get everything off of your chest, including the guilt of leading Yeonjun on.

"Y/n!" a voice calls out from behind you, and you turn to see Yeonjun waving at you. He jogs up to you, smiling once he is close, "Hey! How are you doing?"

you grin softly at him, "I'm doing okay, how about you?"

he runs a hand through his hair, and you are once again reminded of his strikingly amazing looks. you hope he finds someone to appreciate him as he deserves. "I'm alright, but I'm guessing you have something to speak to me about after that ominous text."

"Yeah... you're right." you glance up at him before looking back in front of you. "Lets walk and I'll tell you?"

"Of course, start whenever you're ready."

you exhale shakily, "So, there is no easy way to say this, but for as long as I've known Wooyoung, I have had feelings for him," You bite your lip, ripping the bandaid off immediately. "Maybe it was something about the way he treated me, or the way he treated everyone else. He was just so full of love and I was immediately smitten."

you look up into Yeonjun's eyes, "It's been three years, and no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to get over him." You move to stand directly in front of Yeonjun. "I owe you a massive apology. I am so incredibly sorry for showing interest in you despite having feelings for someone else. It wasn't right for me to practically use you, not when you have been so good to me from the beginning."

you finish your apology with a deep bow, only rising when Yeonjun scrambles to make you stand straight.

"Well, I can't say I'm totally surprised. I did see how he looked at you at the party, but I do appreciate the apology." he smiles, not seeming resentful in the slightest. you wonder if he was an angel in his past life.

but you're also confused, "What do you mean how he looked at me? It's unrequited, he only sees me as his best friend." Your mind races as you try to imagine what Yeonjun could possibly mean, but you try not to get your hopes up.

he tilts his head, "I just mean he looked really jealous, but I guess you didn't notice." You look at Yeonjun with furrowed brows, before pushing the thought out entirely. you could overthink this later, when you weren't in the presence of the sweet guy in front of you.

"Anyway! I just wanted to talk to you about that. I really am sorry, and I hope we can be friends even if I was a selfish asshole."

Yeonjun shakes his head seriously, "You are not a selfish asshole for trying to get over him. You telling me all of this now proves that you are much kinder than you give yourself credit for."

"And of course we're friends! If it makes you feel any better, I'm still not one hundred percent over my ex, so I hope that will ease your conscience." he pats your shoulder reassuringly.

you raise your eyebrows at his confession. "Thank you, seriously." You move to hug him and he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you into him firmly.

what you don't notice, is your best friend staring at you a few feet away, your favorite donut in one hand and his iced americano in the other.

he eyes Yeonjun's arms wrapped around you, wanting nothing more than to pull him off and surround you with himself instead. you deserved someone better than Yeonjun. you deserved someone who would make you breakfast when you slept in; someone who would bring you hot cocoa between classes during harsh winters, and someone who would shower you with more love than you could possibly imagine.

he could do that for you; he could be that person for you.

Wooyoung's chest feels lighter when he realizes what this means, but his brows furrow as he watches you break apart from Yeonjun, looking up at him with a sweet smile. he pouts, glancing at the donut in his hand as he turns away, a new goal in mind.

he is going to pursue you. not Miyu, whom he hadn't had an interest in quite some time, nor Yujin, the girl from his class who wouldn't leave him alone. he doesn't know why he's been searching so hard for something- or someone who was right there all along.

but he has time to make up for it, and he certainly will.

The next time you see Wooyoung is during your break between classes. you are sitting at a bench outside, headphones on as you whisper the lyrics to 'Dust' by Seventeen.

you shriek when you feel a cold sensation on the back of your neck, pulling your headphones off as you hear that familiar cackle behind you. you glare at Wooyoung as he wipes tears from his eyes, finding you very amusing.

"I'm glad that was so funny to you," you say snarkily, but all Wooyoung does is beam at you in response. "You're not going to thank me? I drove all the way to the store to grab it."

you glance down at the cold drink in front of you, seeing your ultimate favorite beverage from a store all the way across town. you look up to Wooyoung with an excited smile, "Oh shit! Thank you, you really shouldn't have."

Wooyoung shrugs your comment off with a wave of his hand, but his cheeks burn pleasantly. he takes a seat next to you, nuzzling your neck as he wraps his arms around your waist and you freeze. you haven't been this close to Wooyoung in weeks, courtesy of the distance you implemented in order to get over him.

"I miss you," he whispers, and you relax instantly. the last thing you wanted was for Wooyoung to feel neglected in your friendship, so you accept his hug without a care for your initial goal.

you pat his head, running your hands through his hair as you notice it has gotten quite long. he melts underneath your touch, and you smile fondly. "You okay?" you ask.

Wooyoung lifts his head, facing you. the two of you are inches apart, and your heart races at the close proximity. you can see his precious dot, as he likes to call it; your eyes trace his nose bridge as your gaze falls to his lips, eyeing the beauty mark on his bottom lip.

he bites his lower lip, and you glance back up to his eyes, noticing his gaze stuck on your lips as well. you wonder what he’s thinking.

you swiftly turn to your laptop, "So, how was class?" Your cheeks feel hot, and your chest burns. you were about two seconds away from saying fuck it and kissing him.

Wooyoung sighs, "It was okay I guess. Nothing interesting, I'd rather be with you."

your stomach lurches at his words, but you turn to him puzzled. "Isn't Miyu in your last class? What happened?"

"Nothing," he shrugs. "I've just realized there are more important things for me to focus on. More important people to focus on."

you stare at his unusual seriousness, "Ah... I see."

he suddenly smiles brightly, "Plus, I'd rather be around my Y/nie than any other girl!" he moves to hug you again, and you stare bitterly at the drink in front of you.

you would never get over him. it was like clockwork.

-

"Okay, let's go?" you ask Wooyoung, who is once again perched up on your bed as you exit your bathroom, spraying your perfume and eyeing the black bodycon dress that hugged your body flatteringly.

when you look up Wooyoung is standing with his arms crossed, mouth pursed in a pout. you raise your eyebrows at him, "What?"

he falls backward on your bed, facing the ceiling. "How is it possible to look that beautiful. I'll never know."

your heart jumps like it always does when he compliments you, though you giggle as you wave him off, "C'mon, Youngie, we’ll be late."

the two of you arrive at the club less than thirty minutes later, and Wooyoung laces his fingers with yours the moment you step in. you glance down, stomach swirling at the sight of the rings adorning his hands and prominent veins leading up his arms. you bite your lip and look up; you could not get distracted by his arms so early into the night.

"Wooyoung! Y/n! It's so good to see you." the tall bartender greets.

you smile up at him, "It's good to see you too, Mingi. I hope you're doing well,"

Mingi nods, "I am, and I'm doing even better after seeing you two. It's nice to see some familiar faces in this place."

"When you finish your shift you should come with us! We miss you, Mangi, it's been too long." Wooyoung whines from his place beside you. you roll your eyes at his antics, but you would be lying if you said you didn't miss Mingi too.

Mingi laughs, smiling at the two of you. "So, the usual?"

"Yup! Please and thank you." You grin cheekily. Mingi winks before leaving to get your drinks.

Wooyoung turns to you, "The others should be here any second now, I'm honestly shocked we got here first." You lean your head on Wooyoung's shoulder, unable to hear his breath hitch due to the loud music, "I'm not really surprised, we've always been punctual people."

you lift your head and smile at him, faces close as you wink, "That's why we get along so well."

Wooyoung gulps at your closeness as he smiles nervously, "Yeah, I really hate people who are late." You giggle and nod, understanding him completely.

a large figure runs into Wooyoung from behind as their arms wrap around him, and you laugh as you watch San smile at you from his place on Wooyoung's shoulder, "Hi, Y/nie! Youngie! I've missed you guys so much, it's been like, forever!"

"It's actually been three days, but I gather that's too long for you two." you tease, and Wooyoung pouts at you as he turns around to hug San properly.

San moves to hug you next, "Yeosang and Hongjoong are using the bathroom, those two losers drank too much water or something." San looks disgusted as Wooyoung giggles.

"TMI Sannie, TMI," you say stifling a laugh. San was very close to Wooyoung, and very similar to Wooyoung. those two were the cutest platonic soulmates you've seen, and it has always been fun when they were together.

"What did you tell them, San-ah?" a deep voice deadpans from behind you. you turn to see Yeosang and Hongjoong, squinting at San as he hides behind Wooyoung.

you jump out of your seat, "Sangie!" you run into his arms, squeezing him tightly. "I missed you so much, you barely come to these events anymore." You pout up at him as he smiles, "Sorry, Y/n, I've been a little busy, but I promise I'll try to come as often as I can."

Hongjoong stands to the side, "The fuck am I? Chopped liver?"

you break away from Yeosang and giggle as you move to hug Hongjoong as well, "Hi, Joongie. I missed you as well, even if I saw you two days ago."

"Uh-huh. Sure." Hongjoong says dismissively, though the smile on his face tells a different story.

the four of you move to a booth, ordering another round of drinks along with some food. the night is fun, filled with laughter and jokes as you watch Wooyoung and Hongjoong bicker like children. you are almost finished your meal when you spot a familiar head through the crowd.

"I'll be right back, I want to go say hi to someone," you tell them, taking a sip of your drink before sliding out of the booth as you stare at your target.

Wooyoung eyes you from his seat, ignoring the looks of mirth he gets from his friends. you look amazing tonight, just as you do every night, and it's been hard for him to not want to keep his arms wrapped around you the whole time. not because of others staring, but because of how irresistible you look. he wonders who you have left to speak to, but once he gets a glimpse of their face, he scowls.

Yeonjun.

"Yeonjun! Hi!" you greet, smiling toothily at the tall man.

he looks shocked for a moment before his face relaxes at the sight of you, "Hey, Y/n, how's it going?" he moves to hug you, arms covering your torso as you stretch to hug his neck. you feel as though someone is staring at you from behind, but shrug it off as you look back to Yeonjun.

"It's good! Hongjoong, Yeosang, and Wooyoung are over there." You point back to them, and Yeonjun glances at the table, coughing when he sees Wooyoung glaring at him.

"Oh, that's cool. I came with Beomgyu, and HueningKai. They're over there getting shitfaced as we speak."

you look behind him and find the two of them dancing sloppy and chuckle at the sight. "And let me guess, you are the responsible parent for the night?"

Yeonjun sighs, "Unfortunately. Without me, these idiots wouldn't end up home most nights."

you nod at him, amused.

"So, how's everything with Mr. Loverboy?" Yeonjun asks, tilting his head toward Wooyoung. you glance back and catch Wooyoung's eye; he smiles charmingly, and you grin back before facing Yeonjun, and your face drops. "I actually have no idea. Sometimes it feels like we're having a moment, but then he treats me like normal, so I'm not really sure."

you exhale, "If there's one thing I know, though, it's that he isn't interested in any girl right now. He told me he has more important things and people to focus on or something like that."

you smile sadly, "I wonder if it's too naive to think it's me."

Yeonjun scoffs loudly, and you look up to him startled. "Listen, if I wasn't sure before, I am sure now. Wooyoung most definitely feels the same way about you." he leans down to your ear, feeling only slightly scared as Wooyoung glowers at him from across the room. "Not only was he incredibly jealous the first time I met him, but he has been shooting daggers at me since you approached me."

Yeonjun lifts his head and smiles encouragingly, "I'm sure all he needs is a little push, and he'll confess. Don't give up yet, Y/n. He's almost there, I can tell."

you look at Yeonjun, not very convinced though not as dejected as before. "Okay, yeah. I should get back."

You glance at his friends, "Good luck with those two, let me know if I can help." You smile, giggling when Yeonjun sighs dramatically at the sight of them.

"Don't worry, I can handle them. You should focus on the jealous boy who's waiting for you across the room." Yeonjun waves before giving you a little push towards Wooyoung, "Please, go before he rips my head off."

you roll your eyes with a chuckle, smiling as you wave and make your way back to your friends and Wooyoung. you attempt to swiftly pass the people dancing, but you get caught up in the crowd, losing sight of the table and struggling to get out.

when a hand grabs at your wrist, you flinch, moving back as you cradle your arm against you protectively. "Hey, sweetness," a gruff voice comes and you glance up to see an older man with missing teeth.

Just what you needed.

your hands shake as you attempt to move past him, "Sorry, not interested." but he grabs your arm again and you rip it out of his grasp for the second time.

"I said I'm not interested."

he laughs, and you can smell his rancid breath from where you stand. "You don't mean that, c'mon, why else would you be wearing that?" Your face drops at his comment, and your mind races as you wonder if you'll be able to run fast enough to lose him. you glance at the dancing bodies surrounding you, realizing that was highly unlikely.

but before you can panic any longer, a familiar scent fills your senses as you are pulled into someone's chest. you flinch again, still jittery, but when you see Wooyoung you relax immediately.

Wooyoung curls an arm around your waist and you sink into his embrace, "She said she’s not interested, you fucking loser." he glowers, face devoid of the usual joy it contains, as his eyes are hardened with protectiveness.

“Well, maybe she shouldn't be wearing that outfit if she didn't want the attention!" the man yells, causing people to look your way as a circle forms surrounding the three of you. you tug at Wooyoungs arm when you see his nose flare in anger not wanting things to get physical, "Wooyoung, fuck this idiot, don't bother with him," you glance up at the man before you,

"He has enough problems, like the fact that he wakes up every day looking like that." You sneer.

Wooyoung grins, "Good point."

the man opens his mouth in fury, but he gets interrupted, "Is there a problem here?" Two security guards approach and the man pales. you interject before he can speak, "Yes, actually. This guy grabbed me twice when I said I wasn't interested."

the man flails uselessly as the two men escort him out, cursing at them in rage. a rather anticlimactic ending to such a panic-inducing situation, but you gratefully accept it. you exhale once they are out of sight, relaxing onto Wooyoung as he wraps both of his arms around your waist. you feel exhausted, though Wooyoung feels comforting around you, and you do not wish to move.

"Y/nie, let's go home?" he whispers in your ear, and you nod slowly before turning around and burying your face in his neck. Wooyoung, your Wooyoungie. you feel tears spring to your eyes, because the truth is he wasn't yours.

perfect, protective, kind, thoughtful, and sweet Wooyoung was not yours, and you find that thought a little harder to digest right now. Wooyoung feels something wet on his neck as he looks down at you worriedly, "Y/n? Are you okay?"

you don't respond, clutching him harder as he curses before maneuvering you outside.

the cooler night air feels refreshing as it greets you, and you sniffle once the door closes and you are alone with Wooyoung. "What's wrong, Y/nie? Talk to me, pretty."

another tear streams down your face at the term of endearment as you push him away frustrated. "Don't call me that!"

Wooyoung's face drops, "Don't call you pretty?" he looks at you helplessly, "I-I'm sorry, but I don't- Are you upset about what just happened? Because why does it seem like you're upset with me?"

you wipe your tears, annoyed with your shaky hands and legs that felt much too like jello. "I am upset! I'm scared because that was a really scary situation to be in, but more importantly, I'm upset with you!"

Wooyoung looks heartbroken, his hand reaching out to you before falling to his side.

"It's not fucking fair, okay? You don't get to buy me sweet drinks and get possessive when I flirt with someone, and then glare daggers into guys I'm just friends with and protect me from creepy ugly men without me catching feelings for you!" you cry out, breathing heavily as you continue.

"I'm so tired of the shitty butterflies I get when I see you, or the sadness I feel when you look at every girl but me, and most of all I'm sick of your stupid pretty lips that look way too pretty to be real and- now I'm rambling about your lips being pretty-"

he grabs your cheeks gently, pushing his lips onto yours and your brain short circuits. your hands lift unsure, before finding purchase on Wooyoung's broad shoulders as you part your mouth, a small noise leaving your throat when he bites your bottom lip gently.

he pulls back first, and you swallow the whine you want to let out. "I have feelings for you too, Y/n. I'm sorry it took me so long to figure that out, but I'm here now." he smiles unsure, "And uh, if it's okay with you, I'd like to take you out on a date sometime. Or something like that." he says shyly.

you smile at his red cheeks before cupping his face and pulling him down into another kiss, this time taking your time as you slip your tongue in and tug gently on his bottom lip back with your teeth, before parting and giggling at his furious blush.

"I'd love to go on a date with you." You kiss his nose and smile before grabbing his hand and leading him back to the car. "And you're coming home with me tonight! I deserve cuddles," you demand as Wooyoung stares at you dopily from behind.

you would get all the cuddles you wanted, and more. Wooyoung would give the world to you if you asked, because that was exactly what you deserved.

Extra:

“C’mon, Junnie. Don’t be scared. I just want to introduce you two since you both mean so much to me,” you whine at Yeonjun, pulling his arm as he shakes his head back and forth.

he whines back at you, “Why would you subject me to this knowing how Wooyoung feels about me? You are cruel, Y/n. Very cruel."

you roll your eyes at his dramatic behavior, “This is exactly what I mean when I say your extra ass will get along with Wooyoung. You two act so similar it’s honestly kind of scary.”

“Yeah, except I don’t glare at people when I feel jealous.” he crosses his arms, staring at the ‘Welcome’ sign in front of the cafe Wooyoung was waiting for you two at.

you push him closer to the door, “Please, Junnie? It would really mean a lot to me,” you beg softly, knowing Yeonjun wouldn’t be able to handle your sad eyes.

he sighs, head falling down before he looks back up, “Fine, fine. Just stop looking like a kicked puppy.”

you cheer with your arms up, smiling happily as you drag him inside.

“Wooyo!” you call, watching Wooyoung look up with a cute smile. you let go of Yeonjun's arm as you take quick steps toward your boyfriend, “I know you two know each other already, but this is time for re-introductions.” you state seriously, grabbing Wooyoung's hand softly.

he stares at you sulking, but listens obediently. “Wooyoung, this is Yeonjun, one of my close friends. Yeonjun, this is Wooyoung, my boyfriend! I hope you guys can get along well.”

the two of them wave half-heartedly, mumbling ‘hellos’ but you figure that’s good enough for now. “Okay, I’ll go grab the food then,”

you ignore the way both of them turn to you with wide eyes, smirking as you approach the front and leave them alone with one another.

Wooyoung glares at Yeonjun as he avoids eye contact, finding the stain on the table much more interesting. “So. Yeonjun, I’ll be frank, do you like Y/n?”

Yeonjun's eyes snap to Wooyoung's serious ones as he sighs, “No, I only like her as a friend, I promise.” Wooyoung sits back unconvinced as he crosses his arms. Yeonjun figures he should come clean and explain himself properly, for your sake at the very least.

“I understand why you would be skeptical, especially since we did flirt before, but neither of us actually felt anything for each other from the start. We may have tried, but Y/n was way too in love with you to even bother looking at me, and I was still getting over a breakup so I never really looked at her like that.” he bites his lip, glancing at Wooyoungs face for a reaction and is in shock when he sees Wooyoung... blushing.

“She’s… in love with me?” he smiles elated, and Yeonjun wonders if he spoke too much. “Well, yeah? I thought… oh fuck.” he rubs his hands on his face; he was just fucking up one thing after the other.

he places his hands on the table as he watches you pick up the food making your way back to the table, “Okay, please keep this conversation to yourself otherwise I will never see the light of day again.”

Wooyoung giggles, “Mmhm, no worries!” he looks the happiest Yeonjun has ever seen him, and he sighs as he figures Wooyoung wouldn’t out him immediately at least.

you place the tray of food on the table, “What’s got you so happy, Woo?” you ask, smiling at his very obvious joy.

“Nothing, nothing,” he winks at Yeonjun, and he has to stop himself from face palming.

you glance at Yeonjun amused, “Okay, you guys can keep your secrets, don’t mind me.”

the rest of the lunch goes by shockingly pleasant, as Wooyoung and Yeonjun get along just like you knew they would. by the time the three of you are leaving the cafe, Yeonjun and Wooyoung have their arms intertwined as Wooyoung tells Yeonjun about the time he free styled for his dance exam after someone stole his choreography, Yeonjun listening intently as his mouth parts in awe.

you giggle as you watch them from behind. sure, Yeonjun might be your new rival for Wooyoung’s attention, but so long as Wooyoung was happy, you didn’t mind. the grin on your face only grows when you watch them hug goodbye.

this was your true happy ending.

unofficial tags: @scuzmunkie

[stevielicious]

𓆩⟡𓆪 His Little Stripper 𓆩⟡𓆪

pairing- Colby Brock x fem!reader

summary- a stripper catches the eyes of a handsome man, has a lotta fun

warnings- a lil angsty, some hardcore smut lol, cute lil ending

word count- 3k or sum? maybe 4k, LMAO

a/n- been a long time since I’ve written, enjoy

o==[]::::::::::::::::>

The whole studio was bouncing, the bass rhythmically played throughout the club. Swimming inside the walls, almost enticing you in. The night was young and had only just begun, it was a start to a long night. Here, I was treated almost like royalty, all the other dancers liked to roll their eyes or make snarky comments because they didn’t like the way I hogged all the attention, I was young and that’s nothing I could help.

You could say I was a good dancer. One of the best.

Brittney. I only had one friend in this place, the rest would only batter their eyelashes to get a hand on your earnings. Not Brittney though. She was a sweet, honest girl that just needed the extra cash and in complete fairness, that’s what we were both here for. We were both the youngest in this place. University costs an arm and a leg, there’s no lie in that. It was a hated industry, but the world is a tough place to make a living.

“Girl! You gotta get out there! it’s thriving with old dudes that have a TON of money!!” She heaved, slumping on a swivel chair next to mine, with a wide-eyed expression painted across her makeup clad features. I glanced at her through the huge mirrors stuck to the smoke stained walls, with a slight smirk finishing up on my cherry red lipgloss, “Oh yeah? Sounds just like every other night.”

“Well, I did see these couple guys around our age, maybe older, they were sooo hot.” Brittney explained, emphasising their good looks, applying makeup to her smudged areas. She seemed skittish, almost like she was eager to get back out there. This time I’d turned to face her, making my blonde hair a bouncy, wavey look. Being expressive with her hands, matter of factly she had said, “I sooo wished they’d came over to me, that brunette guy was soo handsome, so mysterious too. I’ll have to show you when you get your ass out there! I’d give that man a dance for free any day.”

I giggled, never hearing her talk like this made me believe these men were as handsome as she said they were. Maybe I’ll have to see for myself. I began to slip my cherry red heels on, glancing in the mirror, puffing my hair out. I had styled it in to an 80’s blowout type look, just more modernised. “I believe you girl, it’s been a while since we’ve had a looker come here.”

“Man, you look like a whole full course meal looking like that, Y/N. You have more of a chance than me at getting that handsome devil in a booth. Gosh, you’re so sexy!” Brittney huffed, looking at me with a sad but hopeful expression.

I grabbed her hand, pulling her out of her chair. Cupping her face with my hands, I said with confidence, “God is a woman, and you my friend are a fucking goddess! Now let’s get out there and make some fucking money!” She smiled into my hands as I then spun her around, seeing the sparkles on her little outfit shine.

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I stood behind Brittney as she peeped from behind the big, draping, scarlet red curtain that lead out to the runway. A shiny pole awaiting us. Britt had kept an eye on the stage as I was trying to skim the crowd for the one who looks like they had the most cash with them. “Oh! Gabriella’s almost finished her dance, god blue is NOT her colour!”

“Brittney! You have to watch your mouth sometimes, you’ll get in trouble if someone hears you!” I wispered harshly, playfully jabbing her arm. She moved over a little so I could get a better look of the crowd. Taking me by surprise, a pair of striking blue eyes caught my own as I swiftly shut the curtain, almost knocking Britt over, “Holy shit.”

“What? What!” The brunette nudged me out the way as I took a step back, body running cold. I heard her muttering as she closed the curtain as quick as she re-opened it, turning to me. “Oh my God, that’s him!”

“Shut up! I’ve never seen him before, I can’t dance infront of him, he’s too pretty to be here! What’s a guy like him doing here?! God!” I gulped, walking back and forth on myself, finding my nerves getting the better of me of me. God, his dark brown hair and that shiny earring glistening in his ear, the black button up, the shine on his rings and tattooed arms, man. I’m used to dancing for 40+ year old guys, not actual good looking guys my age!

“Are you being serious right now, Y/N? You’re the hottest one here, if Gab’s can flaunt it then you definitely can too!” She exclaimed assertively, stopping me in my tracks, hands on either side of my arms. Pointing her finger in my face.

“Hey sluts, they’re waiting.” A scratchy, unbothered voice had sounded as the clacking of heels sounded down the set of stairs held by the stage. We both rolled our eyes as she swang her hips side to side, sauntering away from us.

“Ugh, whatta bitch.” We muttered in unison, breathing out a laugh. Britt gave me a subtle peck on the cheek, something she always did to calm my nerves before my journey to the pole, “Knock ‘em dead, Y/N”

As she turned my track on, I took a deep breath, pushing my boobs up a little, feeling the deep red lace against my body. Promiscuous sounded, by Nelly & Timbaland. As much as it is a corny song, the boys loved it.

Whipping my hair over my shoulder, I winked at my bestie, and started my walk. The giant curtains opened as I started to strut. The dim lights only lighting up solely on the pole. My confidence returning as my hips swirled to the beat, winking at thirsty men in the crowd. I raised my arms leaning my head back touching my chest.

I made my way over to the center, strutting around the shiny metal pole, caressing it gently. Placing my heels accordingly on the polished platform, stepping on dollar bills everywhere I walked. “Promiscuous girl, you’re teasin’ me. You know what I want and I got what you need.”

I raised my leg on the pole letting my body drape around as my arm held my balance along the pole. As I smoothly came to the bottom of the glistening metal, I spread my legs one infront and one behind, bouncing slightly. Rolling onto my next move, the same pair of blue eyes caught my attention, I couldn’t help but stare for a second, which felt like minutes, as I got behind the pole, he winked at me.

Which took me by surprise as I blushed. I gulped and returned the wink. I blew a kiss at this man, as I slut dropped down the metal shaft, licking up it. Keeping eye contact, his mouth agape. When I grew confidence, I also grew dirty. Giving what these men came to see. “Have all my money!”

One man shouted, another had exclaimed, “I want you to ride my face, please! Be my dirty little girl!” I smiled politely at these men, knowing full well they probably have wives at home, most of them having a ring on their marriage finger. Bastards.

As I danced around the pole, I let my hips do the work, shaking them around in a sexy way. Left to right, innocently dancing. Mouthing the lyrics, shutting my eyes ever so slightly. With my back to the pole now, I had slid down it, mouthing the lyrics, “I’m all alone and it’s you that I want!”

Motioning this handsome blue eyed boy to me with my fingers, in a ‘come here’ type of way. Hoping to entice him, or just playfully tease him. He was leaning against the bar, eyes glued to me. I’ve felt his eyes on me the whole dance. He had this dark smirk on him, looking me up and down with these hungry eyes. Turning his full body towards me now. He mouthed, “Oh yeah?”

In return, I sent an innocent wink his way, with a smile this time. Getting on my feet and swinging around the pole one last time before subtly dropping down, against the cold metal, arching my back as I pushed my hips towards the pole, not letting go. The lights going dark once again as my time came to an end.

I blew the crowd a kiss as I took one last glance toward the bar, the man that had captivated my full attention could not be seen. My heart sank a little as I turned on my heel, forming a strut down the walk as the curtains closed behind me, the money being collected as I had left the stage that I had now earned.

“Eeek! Y/N! You did so good! How am I supposed to follow that performance up?!” Brittney squealed, high fiving me.

“You’ll do even better than me, I’m sure of it!” Giving her praise, she was the one thing that got me through this place, she deserved more confidence. “ I’m gonna take a walk on the floor, gonna get a drink! Go get ‘em tiger!”

As much as I was there for my girl, I desperately wanted to see if this man had stuck around.

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Venturing onto the men-riddled floor, I tried to keep my composure. This was when my nerves got the better of me, you’re looked at as a piece of meat when you’re of the floor. Up on the stage, you feel as though everyone’s below you, literally. You’re on top, nobody can touch you up there.

I found myself at the bar, just asking for a lemonade to pass the time, a kind, older woman had served me. She was one of the nicer workers that resided here, “Would you like a cherry in there too, Y/N?”

“You know me.” I softly said, giving her a thankful smile. Some saw me as the baby here and some saw me as the queen. It was a weird place to be, I just appreciated the kind ones. She gave me a wink and went on her way to make me a the simple concoction.

“Y/N. What a name. Pretty, too.” A deep, husky voice sounded from next to me, as I felt his eyes burn into the side of my head. I turned, slowly looking up at him, his tall, dark frame leaning down on me. I gulped. Those familiar blue eyes keeping ahold of my attention, his warm smile sounding, “Hey, I’m Colby.” He took my hand and kissed it gently.

“Y/N. Hey.” I shyly ushered out in one whole breathe, as I glanced down, my hair falling infront of my face. He was gorgeous, a true beauty. I must be lucky for someone like him to be able to approach me.

“Yeah, I know” He chuckled. I blushed as he heard the lady behind the bar already address that. Don’t screw up now girl! “Is that your real name? I know ladies like to have a disguise around here.”

He observantly mentioned, smirking too. I was at a loss for words, Colby was so captivating, I was lost in his celestial, lapis eyes. His chestnut hair cascading infront of his eyes ever so slightly. “It is, does that disappoint you?”

I decided to be honest, maybe he’d find that attractive in its self. After all, he was honest with me. “What? God no, I think you’re stunning, and your names just the cherry on top!”

Colby ironically exclaimed, as my drink was placed infront of me. The lady looked at both me and him and smiled, raising her eyebrows at me. He glanced at my drink, taking the cherry. Swivelling it in his grip, he glanced at me. I looked up at him with my doe eyes, as he popped it in my mouth, plucking the stem from the cherry itself. “Good girl.”

My heart started to race as he reached his hand out, ushering me closer. As I went to take his hand, a loud roguish man approached me, grabbing me by waist, immediately yelling in my face, “Are you gonna dance for me or what? Huh?”

The alcohol definitely playing its part, I glanced to security, they hadn’t seen the commotion yet and my heart was jumping out of its chest. He towered over me demanding, impatiently waiting for an answer. “Sir, please don’t speak to me like tha-“

“I can speak to you how the FUCK I want, don’t you dare think for a second that your better than me or anyone’s gonna save your pretty little ass, you do what I tell you-“ a huge thud landed as I was swiftly pushed back, the man in front of me collapsing to the ground. Colby had lunged at the drunken man. Angered, he had hit him square in the jaw, a tooth rolling around on the floor. A splash of blood on already red heel.

My breath hitched in my throat, still no security in sight, the music too loud for anyone to really give a shit. Colby had picked this man up by his shift, as though he weighed of nothing, he hissed in his face, “Beat it.”

The man was dropped to his feet and quickly scurried away, as if he saw death itself. I watched as he was out of site, a warm touch against my chin snapped me out of the trance I was in. Startled. “Are you okay, beautiful?”

Gazing into his eyes, hard to look away, I stuttered out, “I-uh, yeah. Thank you.” I placed my hand on his chest trying to gain my breath back, it all happened so fast, a boldness took over me, the sheer sign of strength made so effortlessly was almost overwhelming, “Wanna get out of here?”

I felt his heartbeat pick up every so slightly as he huskily said, “Lead the way, Y/N.”

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Of all places, I lead him to one of the private booths, the expensive, champagne riddled rooms. I shut the curtains to the room, letting staff know that it was occupied. The curved couch was a sparkly red, that had a pole in the middle as well as a love seat. The circular table had three bottles of champagne in a bucket of ice, recently been placed there. Lights had become dim since I’d closed the curtains and there were little sources of light emerging from under both seats. Colby had poured a drink for me and himself, keeping them set down on the table, he approached me with a smirk on his face, “What brings us here then beautiful?”

“I wanted to thank you back there, you were so brave.” Placing my hand on his chest once again, ever so slightly pushing him backwards, towards the curved seat, trailing my hand downwards. Batting my eyelashes at him with my big doe like eyes, I pouted, “So strong.”

His legs hit the textured couch, falling back on, eyes never straying from mine once. I began to crawl on top of him, in a straddle position, feeling himself twitch underneath me, “I-That was nothing back there, a beautiful girl like you shouldn’t have to take that shit.”

He insisted while taking in my body, my looks. Colbys hands began to travel up and down my lacy, deep red piece, taking it all in, breathing a little heavier than before. Muttering, he shifted a little from under me, looking back up at my eyes, “Fuck.”

Smirking slightly, I leant forward, giving him an eyeful of my cleavage, whispering, “I’ll make you feel good, Colby.” His breath began to hitch as I began to kiss up his jaw, his eyes darkened as he lifted my face, gazing into my eyes. His plump lips were begging to meet mine, he took a quick glance at my lips and mumbled hastily, “You’re making me crazy, beautiful.”

And with that he crashed his whiskey stained lips into my cherry tasted ones. Hunger was taking over and I grew to want him so badly. His great hands found their way to my back, travelling down and cupping me, grabbing me ever so slightly but enough for me to moan into his mouth. He seemed to like that. Swiftly, he took my laced bra off with one quick motion, making me gasp.

My hands got the better of me and I started unbuttoning his shirt, almost frustrated that it wasn’t coming undone quick enough. He pulled away, picking me up, his hands under me, straddling his waist now, “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

The blue eyed boy had laid us down, I was now laying on the love seat, he towered over me, looking me up and down, ready to feast. Colby stood there, with his shirt unbuttoned, his abs glistening from the sweat we had just created. He looked godly in this moment. He quickly took off his jeans, his member almost throbbing to be let out. I gulped as he looked bigger than anything I’d ever seen.

He lowered himself down, and kissed me passionately, still hungry for more. My hands roamed freely, helping him take off his shirt completely. With this motion I quickly flipped us, wanting to be on top of him. I begged, “Let me please you, Colby.”

Impressed at my strength, Colby had stifled a moan as I started to leave hungry kisses down his chest, until I got to his boxer line. I looked up at him through my lashes, as he nodded with approval, removing the clothing. His thick member throbbing. I gulped, taking in his size, he was fucking huge.

“Fuck.” I muttered as I teased him, licking up his shaft, keeping eye contact with him as he propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look. I wrapped my hand around his member, kissing the tip.

I began to take him in my mouth, bobbing my head up and down and sucking slightly, wanting him to feel euphoric. His sweet moans filled my ears, making me work harder for him. Wanting to make him feel better than ever. “You’re such a good girl, Y/N.”

Seeing his eyes roll back as his shaft touched the back of my throat was enough to make me moan, knowing I was doing a good job. I was a good girl. His good girl. Colby’s hand traveled to the back of my head, grabbing my hair slightly bobbing my head. It felt so good. “You like that baby girl?”

I nodded quickly, not wanting to disappoint, all of a sudden feeling really submissive. As I carried on sucking it for a little longer, Colby pulled my hair back and away from him gently making me look up at him, he muttered, “C’mere baby.”

I did as he asked, waiting for what was to come. Colby got on top of me, his chain dangling infront of my face, his arms looking as muscular as ever as he towered over me, I felt completely under his spell and I was more than ready for what he was about to do to me.

He caressed my breasts, with both hands as I started to breath heavier, trying to keep it together. His eyes flickering towards mine and my bare chest, he muttered sweet nothings as he latched onto them, kissing them. Sucking them. I couldn’t help but moan at the way his tongue moved against my body, “Colby!”

“Shh, baby. You sound so fucking good, but we can’t get in trouble now, can we?” He muttered against my breasts, knowing full well we’d get in big trouble as clients weren’t supposed to be touchy let alone all over each other. He was far from being a client, but I would definitely get kicked out immediately for this behaviour. I groaned out of annoyance, frustrated with pleasure. He began to bite them ever so gently, putting my hand over my mouth to shuffle my moans. Colby had made him way down to my panties, asking for approval, granting him access. He swiftly took them off with ease, “Fuck you’re so perfect.”

“Are you ready baby?” He huskily marvelled, admiring the mess he had made me into, touching himself. His hair stuck to his forehead a little, his muscles glistening all over, his tattoos made his aura dark and mysterious but he seemed like a complete utter dream. In response, all I could manage was a swift nod, with impatient, hungry eyes.

He lined his huge member up with my already wet folds, awaiting the small pain that came with it. He came down closer to me, kissing me roughly and pushing himself into me at the same time, causing me to melt into his mouth, both moaning loudly. My hands traveled up to his hair, getting tangled in his locks. His motions were euphoric and heavenly, making my back arch with every move. Colby moaned roughly into my neck, kissing it and nipping at the skin with his teeth, leaving slight bruises as he trailed.

“Fuck, you feel so good Y/N.” My nails scraped along down his back, marking him as equally as he did me. He couldn’t keep back his moans as they sounded through my body. Unwinding. As is pace quickened, my orgasm started to grow nearer. I couldn’t hold it any longer, he was making me feel pleasure like I’ve never felt it before, “Colby, I’m so close!”

“Fuck baby, don’t come until I tell you too. I know you’re a good girl. My good, good girl.” He quickened his pace and became a little rougher with his thrusts, making me into a moaning mess. He couldn’t bring himself to tell me to be quiet anymore, he loved the way he was making me feel. He moved so he could put my legs over his shoulders, making my climax come quicker, “Colby, please!”

“Oh baby, I’m gonna come too.” He muffled tensely, his thrusts getting sloppier, I looked at him with pleading eyes, muttering and begging, Colby looked at me with pleading eyes, “Come for me beautiful.”

With that, I had unleashed my orgasm, coming undone at his command, moaning his name as I rode out my high. I started toying with my breasts to get him closer to his climax, wanting nothing more but the warm fill, “Colby, please come. Please!”

Not even a moment later he came undone too, filling me up with his come. We were both messes, moaning into each other as he collapsed on top of me, pecking my neck as he collected himself. He rolled over to the next of me, putting his arm underneath his head and one out for me to lay on. We were both panting like sick dogs. I propped myself up on my elbow, my head resting against my palm.

“You know, I’ve never seen you in here before.” I muttered, playing with a strand of my hair. I pondered it, because he was a beautiful man, a young man. A man that didn’t suit these kind of places.

“I thought you’d ask, it’s a good friend of mines birthday and we all thought it would be a good surprise to bring him here.” Colby chuckled, looking into my eyes. He reached out for my hand and placed it on his chest, his heart still erratic. “You are beautiful though, Y/N. I meant what I said.”

“Thank you. You’re not too bad yourself.” I giggled, him faking a hurt expression, giving me a pearly white smile, something that made me melt on the spot. His crinkles next to his eyes matching perfectly with his happy looks.

“A pretty girl like you, how’d you end up here?” He looked at me sincerely, wanting to know me a little better. I didn’t think he’d ask, making me feel slightly embarrassed that I have money issues.

“Oh it’s nothing, just- university won’t pay itself, you see.” I said with honesty. glancing down at my hands down, playing with them.

“University? That’s incredible, I can’t imagine how expensive that must be, I guess I can understand.” I looked up at him, he seemed genuine and I melted into his gaze, I gave him a small smile. Appreciating his kind words. Mouthing a ‘thank you’.

“You know,” propping himself up to really look at me this time, grabbing the two glasses of champagne on the table. Handing one to me, “I would really like to take you out, get you away from here eventually.”

“I would really love that.” I blushed, him smirking in return.

“It wouldn’t be classed as inappropriate to maybe cheers to this? A new beginning, potentially?” Him raising a glass.

I giggled, feeling a sense of happiness and fulfilment. Cuddled up with a man you feel like you’ve known forever, chatting, getting to know each other and just sealed a date with, raising a toast to a new beginning. “Cheers.”

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a/n- omg I had no plan for this just a thought, one thing led to another and BOOM. hope you enjoyed lol I never know how to wrap up endings

stay sweet x

[cera-writes]

First Impressions - A Kurt Wagner x gn!reader one-shot

Summary: You first met Kurt at the Herr Getmann's Traveling Menagerie. The first time you laid eyes on the blue elf, you were smitten. Fast forward to the 90s and you and Kurt meet again under much different circumstances. tags: fluff, coming of age, mutual pining

The Bavarian sun, a pale orb veiled by a dusty scrim, cast a sickly yellow glow upon Herr Getmann's Traveling Menagerie. The peeling paint on the rickety wooden sign promised wonders, but the air itself held a different story. It reeked of damp straw and the acrid tang of manure, a far cry from the anticipated scent of popcorn and sugared treats. Disappointment gnawed at you, a shadow settling over your heart despite your parents' enthusiastic promises.

Your parents had dragged you along on this trip. It was your summer vacation and apparently you were there to also stay with distant relatives. But you knew your parents were in it just for the free stay and a vacation away from the States. Out of all the touristy things your parents could have picked for you to do, they chose a musty, worn down circus. Honestly, you were ready to be back in America with your friends at the arcade or skating rink. This wasn't how you imagined you'd spend your summer at all.

"C'mon darling. The show is about to start!" Your mother ushered you inside the tent as the ticket master tore your ticket stubs in half as your father followed close behind.

Inside, the spectacle was every bit as underwhelming as the exterior. The big cats, once proud denizens of the savanna, paced restlessly in cramped cages, their magnificent coats dull with neglect. Their amber eyes, once fierce and watchful, were now clouded with resignation. The stench of their confinement hung heavy in the air, a stark counterpoint to the vibrant posters plastered precariously on the weathered orange and red canvas walls. You took a seat in the rafters for the best view, if you even could call it that.

Suddenly, the loudspeaker crackled to life, the announcer's voice a tired rasp battling with static. "Presenting," he declared, his voice tinged with a hint of forced excitement, "our opening act of the night, the Mystifying Nightcrawler!" A spotlight pierced the gloom, bathing the center ring in a harsh white light. From the shadows emerged a figure unlike any you had ever seen. Your eyes widened. Was he- was he really a mutant? You had never seen one in person. He was absolutely beautiful.

"It's him..." you mother sneered. Your parents however, held gazes of contempt and disgust towards Nightcrawler, and any other mutant for that matter. You tuned out their nasty whispers and just focused on the boy standing at the platform.

He was clad in a costume that shimmered with an otherworldly sheen, a deep cobalt blue that seemed to drink in the stark light. A mask, sculpted from some unknown material, obscured his face, but a shock of blue black hair, as vibrant as a summer sky after a downpour, peeked out from beneath it. It was a stark contrast to the peeling paint and sun-bleached canvas that surrounded him.

Then, he moved. There was an effortless grace to his every action, as if defying the earth's very pull. He launched himself from a platform hidden in the shadows, his form a blur of blue and black against the harsh white backdrop. He wasn't just swinging; he was dancing, his body twisting and turning with an impossible fluidity. Every leap, every flip spoke volumes of preternatural strength and agility. He was a silent symphony in motion, an enigma wrapped in cobalt and shadow.

But it was more than just his skill that captivated you. There was an aura about him, an undeniable magnetism that drew you in like a moth to a flame. It was a mystery that whispered promises of adventure and a world hidden just beyond the confines of the dusty circus tent. With each breathtaking leap, with every impossible maneuver, a spark ignited within you, a yearning for something more, something extraordinary.

For a fleeting moment, his gaze seemed to find yours through the harsh glare of the spotlight. A jolt of electricity shot through you, a connection forged in that shared glance. Then, with a flourish that echoed the fading magic of the moment, he vanished back into the shadows, leaving behind a trail of shimmering blue and the lingering echo of wonder in your heart.

The rest of the night was a blur. The other acts faded into oblivion, their performances mere afterimages compared to the spectacle you had just witnessed. Your mind replayed the image of the Nightcrawler, his impossible agility, and the enigmatic smile hidden beneath the mask. The program, clutched tightly in your hand, became a talisman against the fading magic, a tangible reminder of the night that had stolen your breath and ignited a latent flame deep within your very core.

As the applause dwindled and the spotlight dimmed, you felt a frantic energy surge through you. You couldn't just let this incredible encounter end. You had to meet the Mystifying Nightcrawler, to thank him for his amazing performance. It totally didn't have anything to do with your newfound crush. Nope.

Despite your parents' apathy towards mutants, their dismissal fueled a rebellious spark. Seeing the way they interacted with the worn-out animals solidified your resolve. This wasn't a place of wonder, but a place where the extraordinary was exploited. But Nightcrawler, he was different. He brought a touch of magic to the dreary spectacle.

"Come on," your mother called, her voice laced with impatience, "Let's get some overpriced cotton candy and get out of here."

You mumbled an excuse, your heart hammering in your chest. Scanning the emptying stands, you spotted him – a flash of blue disappearing behind a faded red curtain. With a last furtive glance at your parents, now deep in conversation with a vendor, you sprinted towards the backstage area.

The worn canvas walls billowed in the evening breeze, and the air thrummed with a low murmur of voices. You navigated the maze of caravans, each one a peeling testament to the circus's nomadic life. Just as you were about to give up, a figure emerged from one of the larger caravans.

It was him. The Nightcrawler. But instead of his vibrant costume, he was clad in worn jeans and a simple white shirt. He held a red rose in his hand, its vibrant color stark against his stark blue fur. His mask was off, revealing kind golden eyes and a mischievous grin.

Your stomach did a nervous flip-flop. This wasn't the enigmatic performer you'd admired from afar. He had to have been around the same age as you. His vulnerability made him even more captivating. You hesitated, unsure of how to approach him.

Sensing your presence, he turned, his yellow eyes widening in surprise. Then, a smile spread across his face, as warm and genuine as the setting sun.

"“Hallo Schöne”," he said, his voice a melodic baritone. "Seems the Mystifying Nightcrawler has a little fan."

You stammered, cheeks burning. "I, uh… I just wanted to thank you. Your performance… it was incredible. Um, you're also the first mutant I've ever seen. Sorry, I'm not from around here. I'm from America." You played with the hem of your shirt, fidgeting nervously around him.

He chuckled, a rich, rumbling sound. "Thank you, frau. You make a kind audience. I hope I did not frighten you. I know I look a bit... ungewöhnlich."

He held out the rose. "Would you care for this?"

You hesitated for a moment, then reached out to take the flower, its soft petals cool against your fingertips. "It's beautiful," you breathed.

His gaze held yours, an unspoken question lingering in his eyes. "So," he said, his voice dropping a touch, "what's a junge Dame like you doing backstage at a traveling circus?"

You inhaled deeply, the scent of hay and diesel fuel filling your lungs. As you spoke, a strange tingling sensation crawled up your arm, making the hairs stand on end. It felt... electric, like a current running just beneath the surface of your skin. You flinched, dropping your gaze from Kurt's captivating golden eyes to the rose in your hand.

"I…" you started, your voice catching in your throat. The tingling intensified, spreading across your body in a wave. Panic surged through you, a primal fear of the unknown. Before you could apologize or explain the sudden tremor, your vision blurred at the edges. The world seemed to distort around you, the vibrant red rose in your hand pulsing with an otherworldly glow.

Kurt's demeanor shifted instantly. His playful smile vanished, replaced by a mask of concern. He reached out, his hand hovering a safe distance from yours. "Are you alright, Freund ?" he asked, his voice laced with worry.

You struggled to speak, your tongue thick and heavy. The strange energy within you crackled, yearning to be released. This wasn't the first time your body reacted this way. You feared the worst. You were starting to believe you were a mutant too. But you could never reveal that to your parents.

They'd disown you in a heartbeat. All those scholarships they made you apply for would never matter if they found out you were different. You knew you needed to get away, to disappear before you lost control and revealed your secret in front of the mysterious Nightcrawler.

"I… I don't feel well," you managed to force out, your voice shaky. Shame burned in your stomach for the abrupt change. "I should get back to my parents."

Kurt's eyes flickered with understanding. He nodded, a hint of sadness in his gaze. "Of course," he said gently. "Let me take you to them."

He moved with his trademark agility, guiding you through the maze of caravans with an ease that left you breathless. You stumbled slightly, your legs shaky under the weight of the unknown power coursing through you. Kurt offered you his arm for support, but before you could reach for it, your parents' voices cut through the air.

"There you are!" your mother exclaimed, her voice laced with annoyance. "We've been looking everywhere for you!"

You turned to see them approaching, their faces etched with concern. When they spotted Kurt hovering beside you, their expressions hardened.

"Don't touch our child, freak!" your father barked, his voice thick with disgust.

Shame washed over you, hot and suffocating. Kurt's hand recoiled as if struck. His shoulders slumped, the joy that had previously emanated from him extinguished.

"I was just helping, Herr," he said, his voice mild yet firm. "They seemed unwell."

Your mother scoffed. "Don't need any help from your kind." She grabbed your arm possessively, dragging you away before you could even look back at Kurt.

"Wait!" you cried, struggling against her grip. But your voice was lost in the bustle of the crowd. You stole a final glance over your shoulder, only to see Kurt standing alone, with one hand rubbing subconsciously over his other right bicep.

His yellow eyes, once filled with warmth, now held a flicker of sadness as they looked off in the distance. He was the first of his kind that you had met and you finally felt like you resonated with him. But it was all too short lived. All you were left of him was the single red rose he'd given you as a memory of your encounter.

With a heavy heart, you were whisked away from the circus, your first encounter with the Mystifying Nightcrawler ending abruptly, leaving a bittersweet aftertaste and a burning question: would you ever see him again?

The 90s were a whirlwind of discovering and finally, somewhat, honing your mutant abilities. Mutants, now looked down upon more than ever, made you even more of an advocate for your kind. You got that scholarship but at the expense of your parents actually disowning you after a fight at the dinner table ended up with your mother's smashed fine China on the floor at the expense of your powers.

For some reason, they'd brought up Nightcrawler again and it sickened you to the point that you'd had enough. When they found out you were just another "freak" that was the last straw and they kicked you out and you never heard from them again. Good riddance you'd said.

The only thing that sucked about them kicking you out was that you had to quickly find a job and a place to live or you'd end up just another homeless mutant on the streets. All that trust fund money had long gone down the drain when they cut you off completely.

You were residing in New York now. You found a dingy little apartment to live in while you finished up your degree in Advanced Physics. You were finally set to graduate this month and after that, who knows.

You wanted to find a job and finally move out of the crappy little apartment you'd called home for a few years now. At least your neighbor next door, Peter Parker, was usually quiet and it gave you room to study without having to complain with a knock at his door, even if he did come and go at odd times of the night.

One particular day, you were sitting at your favorite little corner coffee shop, studying for your final exam, when all hell broke loose on the street. A piece of large shrapnel flew through the glass of the shop, eliciting screams and terrified shouts from pedestrians as people flew to take cover.

You dove for cover under the overturned coffee table, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs. The tremor that had rattled the windows had morphed into a full-blown city-rattling rampage. But it wasn't an earthquake. The tremors moved, a monstrous crimson figure stomping through the city streets, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.

Juggernaut. You recognized him from news reports – a mutant powerhouse the X-Men struggled to contain. And here he was, rampaging through your city like a bull in a china shop.

Panic threatened to consume you, but amidst the chaos, a voice in your head rose above the fear. You were no longer the scared kid, afraid of their powers, who watched Nightcrawler perform at the circus.

If this new era taught you anything, it was discovering your mutant abilities, the escalating anti-mutant sentiment, and the brutal fight with your parents that ended with disownment and shattered family heirlooms. The memory of them calling you a "freak" like Nightcrawler still stung, but it also ignited a fire within you. You wouldn't be another victim.

Squinting past the overturned table, you saw the X-Men, their familiar blue and gold uniforms standing resolute against the crimson giant. And there he was, Nightcrawler – older, even more handsome than you'd remembered, but with the same twinkle in his eyes. He fought with a desperate grace, teleporting in and out, trying to flank Juggernaut. But the red behemoth seemed unstoppable.

It was now or never. Taking a deep breath, you channeled the theoretical knowledge from years of studying advanced physics. The raw energy of the city pulsed around you, a live wire waiting to be tapped into. It felt almost like an extension of yourself, hungry for release. You stood, running from your sense of security, and joined the chaos outside.

With a surge of will, you unleashed it. A concentrated beam of pure energy, hotter than a thousand suns, erupted from your outstretched palms. It slammed into Juggernaut's side, the red giant staggering with a surprised grunt. The X-Men seized their chance, a flurry of attacks momentarily halting the crimson tide. Cyclops blasted an optic beam, Storm unleashed a swirling vortex of wind, and Wolverine harried Juggernaut with his adamantium claws.

Kurt, finally free from the relentless onslaught, materialized beside you, his yellow familiar eyes widening in disbelief. It was as if he'd seen a ghost. "It's you," he rasped, his voice barely audible over the din of the battle.

You offered a small smile, a mixture of exhilaration and exhaustion. "Helping hand, remember?" Your voice was hoarse, but it held a newfound strength. With another surge of energy, you deflected a stray blow from Juggernaut, allowing Storm to unleash another torrent of wind.

The X-Men, rejuvenated by your unexpected intervention, pressed their attack. Professor Xavier's telepathic voice boomed, urging Juggernaut to stand down. The fight raged on, but your power tip, the concentrated beam of pure energy, proved to be the turning point. Juggernaut, overwhelmed by the combined forces of the X-Men and your unique ability, faltered. His helmet had crumbled, rendering him vulnerable.

Finally, with a roar of frustration, Juggernaut surrendered, taken away by the NYPD as they forced his hefty frame into the back of a mutant prisoner containment vehicle. Exhausted but victorious, the X-Men regrouped. Kurt materialized beside you once more, his gaze still filled with awe and disbelief. "Freund," he repeated, his voice thick with emotion. "Is it really you?"

You met his gaze, no longer the scared kid from the dusty circus tent. The years of hardship and self-discovery had forged you into a new person. With a defiant smile, you nodded, ready to tell your story and finally find your place amongst the X-Men.

You wanted more than anything to catch up with the infamous Nightcrawler. But Professor Xavier was making his way over to you, clearly wanting a word. The look on his face was nothing short of astonishment. Kurt, sensing this, gave you a reassuring nod as he turned to join the others once more.

"Are you alright, young one?" he inquired, his voice warm and calming.

You nodded, finding your voice a little hoarse. "Yes, Professor. Just a bit… surprised, I guess." You couldn't believe you were talking to the Professor X.

"Surprised?" he echoed, raising an eyebrow. "I imagine so. But you were quite… extraordinary out there."

The compliment brought a shy smile to your face. You explained how you'd been studying advanced physics, how the energy in the city resonated with you, and how you'd finally been able to control it. You confessed your situation too, about the fight with your parents and being disowned. Shame burned in your stomach, but you held Professor Xavier's gaze.

"It seems you have much to learn, young one," he said, his voice filled with understanding. "But you also have much to teach. We've been looking for someone to help our young mutants hone their abilities, someone who understands the science behind them." His eyes twinkled. "Would you be interested in a position at the X-Mansion, once you graduate of course?"

A wave of emotions washed over you – relief, hope, and a flicker of something more. The X-Mansion. A place where you could belong, where you could use your abilities without fear. You looked at Kurt, who stood a few feet away, a wide grin plastered on his face. His saffron eyes held a spark of excitement, mirroring your own.

"I… I'd be honored sir," you stammered, a genuine smile blooming on your face.

Professor Xavier chuckled. "Excellent. Now, how about we get you cleaned up and settled in? The X-Mansion can be your home. In the meantime, we can work on your new alias." He chuckled lightly.

The mansion, a sprawling structure that seemed to rise organically from the wooded landscape, took your breath away. It was a world away from your cramped apartment, a sanctuary for those who were different. You settled in quickly, the warmth of the X-Men a stark contrast to the cold rejection you'd faced at home.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the lake behind the mansion in hues of orange and pink, you found yourself drawn to its peaceful serenity. As you sat on the edge of the dock, a sudden bamf! sound reverberated next to you as a scent of brimstone hung in the air. It was Nightcrawler.

Suddenly, you felt very conscious and shy all over gain. It was really him. There was no mistaking that sheen of blue fur that lined his skin.

"Quite the entrance you made today," he said, a playful glint in his eyes.

You laughed, a nervous flutter in your chest. "I figured you could use some help."

Silence settled between you, punctuated only by the gentle lapping of the water. You took a deep breath, finally ready to share your story.

"Remember what you said at the circus? About me being a kind audience?"

Kurt nodded, a flicker of curiosity crossing his features.

"Well," you continued, your voice dropping to a whisper, "I wasn't just kind. I was… smitten. You were the first mutant I ever saw, and it was like watching magic. The thought that for one second, I wasn't alone. That there was another similar to me."

You explained how your parents' reaction had fueled your fear, how you'd kept the rose all these years. You confessed how they'd called you a "freak" just like you'd mentioned, and how you'd ended up alone after they disowned you.

Kurt listened intently, his expression a mix of sympathy and something else you couldn't quite decipher. When you finished, he reached out, taking your hand gently in his. His blue fur felt surprisingly warm against your skin.

"My Freund," he said, his voice soft yet firm, "You are no freak. You are extraordinary. And your parents… well, they were wrong. Trust me, I've lived all my life thinking I was an abomination."

You felt a twist of pain at his words. He was so kind and sweet. Even just so as the night when you'd met him the first time back at that old, sketchy Bavarian circus.

He squeezed your hand, and a spark shot through you. You looked into his eyes, seeing a reflection of your own feelings there.

"The truth is," Kurt confessed, a hint of a blush creeping up his neck, "you've never left my mind either. There was something about you that day, a spark I couldn't ignore."

Your heart was hammering inside your chest. The thought of him feeling the same way all those years sent a warmth throughout your body. The thought that you'd somehow made an impression on him sent butterflies wildly dancing in your stomach.

The truth hung heavy in the air, a silent confession echoed in Kurt's blushing cheeks and your own hammering heart. The twilight sky, ablaze in fiery hues, seemed to witness the unspoken yearning that crackled between you.

His touch, a gentle pressure on your hand, sent a jolt of electricity through your body. You leaned in, drawn by a force stronger than gravity. The kiss, when it came, was a revelation – tentative at first, then deepening with a passion that mirrored the vibrant tapestry of the setting sun.

His lips were warm and surprisingly soft against yours, the sweet taste of berries lingering on his tongue. Your hand reached up, tracing the contours of his face, the velvety texture of his blue fur sending shivers down your spine. He reciprocated, his touch delicate yet firm, as if afraid to break the spell.

The kiss deepened, a silent conversation flowing through the press of your lips. He tasted of adventure, of something innocent but also skilled in the ways of romance. A gentle breeze rustled the nearby leaves, momentarily pulling you apart.

"It's Kurt... my name is Kurt Wagner," he'd finally told you his name.

You gazed into Kurt's eyes, a newfound understanding blooming there. The dam holding back your emotions seemed to break.

"Kurt," you whispered, your voice thick with a desire you could no longer deny.

He responded with a low rumble in his chest, his blue fur darkening with a blush. Without a word, he scooped you up in his arms, teleporting you both to a deserted corner of the mansion's rooftop.

The cool night air whipped around you, carrying with it the distant sound of laughter and music from the common room. The city lights twinkled in the distance, a glittering backdrop for the nascent intimacy unfolding between you.

His touch became bolder, exploring the exposed skin of your arms, sending shivers down your spine. Your fingers trailed down his back, tracing the ridges of his spine and the surprising strength hidden beneath his lithe frame. Clothes became an unwelcome barrier, discarded in a tangle of limbs and whispered promises.

The moonlight, a silent witness to your blossoming love, bathed your entwined forms in an ethereal glow. Passion flared like wildfire, fueled by the years of unspoken attraction and the shared trauma that had bound you together.

The night unfolded in a symphony of whispered endearments and stolen breaths. With each touch, each lingering kiss, the anxieties of your past faded, replaced by the promise of a future brighter than the city lights on the horizon. You'd found each other, and this time nothing would take Kurt away from you.

[ribbeoms]

「 the blue between us 」

-> painter!yeonjun x g/n reader

-> wc : 2.0k || no warnings

sypnosis ; 「 yeonjun is your childhood best friend turned distant stranger after he debuts as an idol. one day, he unexpectedly reaches out with an invitation to his secret art exhibition, where all his paintings are in shades of blue. as you explores the gallery, you slowly piece together that every painting reflects memories of your shared past— and your unresolved feelings for each other. 」

part of the blue-kissed moments masterlist ! pls feel free to check the other fics ^^

[m.list]

a/n : missing yawnzzn hours .. sorry this took a WHILE to post i kinda forgot abt it 💀💀

the invitation weighed heavy in your hand. on your coffee table is the discarded cover of the letter, thrown away as soon as your eyes landed on the familiar handwriting of your best friend, yeonjun. well, at least that’s what you think, anyways. before he discarded you, left you in the dust for the idol career he’s been pursuing for the past year. in the small corner, there was a drop of teal paint. or maybe teardrops, as the handwriting is a little smudged. you couldn’t care less, however, as all of your attention is taken up by the simple eight words in the middle of the otherwise empty page.

“i hope you’ll come. i’ve missed you.” an address to a nearby art gallery is scrawled near the bottom.

your hands gripped the letter tightly. how dare he? how dare he promise to share the rest of your lives together before completely dropping you and ghosting you? how dare he fill your closed-off heart with hope and then completely squash it? how dare he decide to drive a dagger deep into your heart and then decide that he wants to see you again? that he longs for your presence? your hand balled into a fist, completely crumpling the side of the invitation. a tear fell, landing beside the teal paintdrop. you watch as it mixes together.

standing up from your couch, you smoothed your clothes out as you made your way into the bedroom. your mind is still clouded and hazy with doubts, swirling as they seem to feed on the negative thoughts, adding on and on. “what if he isn’t there? what if he’s just playing you like a fool, like all those years ago? this must be a set-up, he doesn’t care about you anymore.” you closed your eyes, sitting down at the edge of your bed. the twilight jacket in your closet twinkles, the sparkles on it glinting like the stars in midnight. the jacket yeonjun bought for you. the jacket he bought for you all those years ago, before he let your calls go unanswered. before he let all your messages go to delivered. your heart aches, knowing that he is the one who promised a future with you, and broke it.

standing in front of the mirror, you gazed at how the twilight jacket fit on you. “like a glove,” you could almost hear yeonjun’s voice. taking a deep breath, you grabbed your keys and prepared to make the walk towards the gallery. and maybe, the walk of shame back, too. a part of your heart yearns, longs for him to be there, his presence always calming you down. twisting your door knob open, you took the first step out, the hardest step. paint is poured onto the canvas.

the building looms before you, the yellowed lights inside the exhibition only serving to blind you. opening the glass door, you could see many of the observers here clad in blue. was there some sort of dress code that you weren’t made aware about? you let your gaze wander towards the paintings on the wall, before it all finally clicked. all of the paintings contained blue, be it traces or perhaps the entire painting itself. your feet carried you to stop in front of a painting, where it depicted what looked like someone underwater. “overwhelmed��, the title reads. the subject has been drowning in a sea of feelings, and it almost seems like there is no way out. unless there was a lifeguard, of course. but this was the world of art, and who are you to intrude upon an artist’s sanctuary and proceed to criticise them? out of the blue, footsteps slow to a still behind you. a feeling of dread travels down your spine, your body instinctively recognising the mere rhythm of his breathing. you tugged at the sleeve of the jacket he bought for you, before turning around to face him.

choi yeonjun, an idol of one year, your best friend of twenty, and a stranger of one. he looked… different. taller, more confident, but his eyes still held that familiar warmth that you adored, his hair still parted down the middle, his stubborn complaints when you playfully messed his hair up ringing in your ear like tinnitus. his sleek outfit is a stark comparison of the plain way you’ve decided to dress, and his look. you almost couldn’t recognise him, if not for the necklace hanging on his pale neck, one that matches yours. you decided to wear it today, in a small wish that even if he hadn’t shown up, at least the necklace would’ve connected the two of you. “yeonjun.” you looked up at him through your eyelashes, studying the way his eyes slightly widened when he heard his name fall from your lips.

“ (name) , i thought you weren’t going to show up.” his hand reflexively reached for yours, much like all those years ago. when the both of you held hands walking down the street, without a care of what others around even thought. but now, he has to be careful of stalkers. he can’t even interact with his best friend without being scrutinised by the public eye. however, you slapped his hand away. “why did you invite me?” yeonjun freezes up. “you have three seconds to reply before i walk out of this gallery, choi yeonjun.” the ice cold tone of your voice cut through his heart like ice, the lack of a nickname hurting him harder than he wishes.

“i- i wanted to apologise. i didn’t know how, so i.. drew all this. well, some, and submitted it anonymously to this gallery..” his lips formed a pout, and oh, how you wish it was your smile that can wipe it off as quickly as it appeared. “fine. walk me through the paintings.” you relented, reluctantly giving in to his wishes. (not as reluctant as you’d hope. you hated how he could always make your heart softer.) a warm smile appeared on yeonjun’s face, and that small expression of joy makes your heart yearn for more. a brush against the canvas, painting it blue.

the two of you walked over to the next painting. the title was “midnight walk”. you hated how it reflected the walks you guys used to take, when the stress was overwhelming but being with the other could instantly calm your mind. “why didn’t you just call me..?” your voice came out softer than you expected (wished). yeonjun hesitated. “i didn’t think you’d want to hear from me. and then… time kept passing, and it got harder to reach out. but I never stopped thinking about you.”

the raw honesty in his voice made it hard to hold onto your anger.

the both of you spent the next hour walking through the gallery together slowly. yeonjun pointed out the inspiration behind each piece, and slowly, you begin to see the story he was trying to tell. each painting was a memory, a moment the two of you shared. but there was a thread of sadness running through them- an ache that mirrored your own. “this one,” he said, stopping in front of the centerpiece, “i titled it ‘the blue between us.’” you stared at it, breath catching in your throat. the canvas was filled with swirling shades of blue, light and dark intertwining like a storm. two figures were barely visible, reaching for each other across the chaos.

“did.. you draw ..” you paused, the next word sticking in your throat like (g)gum, refusing to come out. “us. i painted it the year I debuted. everything felt so overwhelming, and all I could think about was how much i missed you.” came yeonjun’s reply. tears brimmed your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “a few paintings and words won’t fix the gaping hole you created in my heart, jun.” you looked away, eyes choosing to focus on the floor instead. “i know, so i have one more thing to show you.” at this point, the gallery was beginning to clear out. yeonjun grabbed your hand, leading you up to the rooftop of the gallery.

“do you remember when we would come up here as kids all the time?” his voice echoed towards the stars, reflecting your own jacket. “i remember all that we did, jun.” melancholy fills your tone as you hugged your knees tighter to your chest. “it was just like yesterday for me, but i’m sure it must’ve been a millenia for you.” you spat out harshly. “look, are you going to explain what’s happened or no? i have my own life too, jun. i’m not someone who’s free for you to play around with, so-” yeonjun interrupted you with a hand on your knee. “stop, please. you’re not a plaything for me.” he whispered. “so why ..”

“why do you keep treating me like one?”

you could barely even choke out that sentence before tears streamed down your cheeks. “do i really mean that little to you, jun? why did you throw me aside, like i mean nothing..? i don’t want to be a porcelain doll for you..” you sniffled, burying your face further into your knees.

the way yeonjun gazed at you was nothing short of wanting, loving. he stared at you like you hung the stars, his warm palms engulfing yours as you tilted your head to face him. his eyes was filled with what could only be described as the purest form of love, one that strikes you so deep in your heart you swear you could feel actual blood dripping.

“ (name) ,” he starts off breathlessly. “i can never imagine a future without you. you are my first love, and my last. i cherish you so, so much, and i talk about you to everyone, even to the point where even my group mates seem to know more about you than me, the guy they spend twenty-four seven with. you are not a toy to me, and you will never be. so please, stop thinking of yourself as nothing short of a miracle to my life, because that’s what you are. everytime i’m away, the you-shaped hole in my heart bleeds, and when i’m with you it is sewn back together by the threads of love that you produce. i love you, (name) . and i will continue loving you, until the last sun sets.” two figures are formed on the canvas, two hands touching each other, intertwined. against the blue.

immediately, it seemed as if the world just got a little better. the bright building lights behind yeonjun frame his hair in a way that makes him look like he has a halo on, and from the way his angelic voice called out to you with such heavenly words, you’re inclined to believe that yeonjun is an angel in front of you. your guardian angel, in the shape of a childhood best friend.

“it’s really been one year?” you mumbled out loud, putting the small canvas down. it was the gift that yeonjun placed into your hands, forcing encouraging you to take care of it, treasure it as if it was his heart. the palm-sized painting of two hands intertwined, in the likeness of the two of you. “it’s so hard to believe. every moment with you feels so fleeting because i enjoy it so much.” came yeonjun’s reply, from the kitchen. “too much,” you joked, walking into the kitchen and sneaking your arms around your boyfriend’s waist. “you couldn’t even keep your hands off me after that night.” you giggled, mirth filling your tone as you watched his ears go beet red.

“hey, i pour my heart out for you and you don’t even appreciate it..” he pouted, facing away, eyes too embarrassed to meet yours.

“silly jun, i love you for who you are anyways.” you pressed a kiss to his pout, wiping it away as fast as it appeared.

the canvas sits proudly on the shelf in your living room, the centerpiece of your shared home.

₊˚ʚ 🌌 ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ 🌀 ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ ❄️ ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ 🌫 ₊˚✧ ﾟ. ₊˚ʚ

@cherr4es @beestvng

[daydreams-after-dark]

Private Show | minsung x fem!reader | version.1

you're a dancer at an exclusive establishment where you perform for kpop idols in masks. Minho and Jisung are after a specific kind of private show from you.

v.2 is unhinged

cw: unrprotected p in v sex, blow job, creampie, cum swallowing.

The exclusive establishment was one of your favourites to perform at. Boudoir meets cabaret meets masquerade party.

The show only allowed up to ten guests per night, and each of them had to wear masks to obscure their identity.

A lot of attendees were kpop idols. It was a place where they could enjoy this kind of performance without the risk of being recognised.

After the main performances came the individual private and semi-private shows. These took place in various sets such as a bedroom, dressing room, a mini stage and a bar lounge.

In addition to the mask rule, the other rules were no touching (the performers or themselves), and no full nudity.

Of course there wasn’t much left up the imagination though because they mostly performed in lingerie.

Tonight you were taking the bedroom / boudoir themed set, and your audience was two young idols.

You summoned the pair into your boudoir where there was a lavish four poster bed, and a gorgeous plush rug on the floor. French style painting were hung on the walls, and 2 velvet tub style armchairs were positioned a short distance from the foot of the bed.

You gave your best, most enthusiastic, most sexy performance for the two men before you, whilst they sat perfectly still. Every now and then the taller one would bring his hand to his mouth like he was deep in thought. The shorter, would fidget in his seat whenever you did anything “extra” sexy.

After you'd finished your performance, you look at the two men with a seductive pose. It is the perfect finishing touch.

One of the men wordlessly stood up and walked over to the ensure the door is locked. This is absolutely against the rules, but you knew who the two men were.

You recognised the men’s bodies. You could see their hair. Their mannerisms were obvious. Fuck they were even wearing clothes you'd seen before! And their mouths! You couldn’t mistake Jisung’s sneer, or Minho’s mouth and the way it would hang open in awe.

Maybe they weren’t trying to hide their identities? Maybe they were only wearing the mask because it was the rules of the venue?

The tension was thick. You felt both vulnerable and powerful. The silence was communicating one glaringly obvious thing - they wanted more than just a private show.

Minho moved from the door to the music player, setting it to some sultry French music, and Jisung sat with his arms hanging over the chair arms and you could see his eyes boring into you from behind the mask.

Minho came to sit on the bed beside you, and Jisung dragged the tub armchair closer to the bed making you have to bend your knees and lift your feet up out of the way. He sat back on the chair taking you gently by the ankles and placing them on the seat on either side of his legs. Your breath hitched at having your legs parted like this.

Minho took your chin gently in your hand, an turned your head so you're were facing him. You looked down to his lips. They were parted as though he was in awe with you. His hand landed on your stocking clad thigh and he growled as gripped it harder, suddenly looking hungry as he leaned forward and took you in a kiss.

For second your mind was going crazy with so many thoughts at once. “What is happening?”, “this can’t be happening”, “This shouldn’t be happening”, “ Oh fuck… it’s happening”, “It feels good”, “I want more”.

Minho slowly lowered you down onto the bed without breaking the kiss. At the same time you felt Jisung’s hands slide up your thighs.

You were normally a confident and strong woman, but right then these men made you melt. This feeling was new. It was confusing. It was concerning that they could make you swoon like this. Especially when only minutes before you were the one in control.

“Tell me kitten,” said Minho from behind his his mask. “Do you give other idols performances like this?” His thumb brushed your lip. Jisung’s hands explored her inner thighs, making your pussy gush.

Minho kissed your neck, his breath hot. “Do you dance like that for Chan? Or Hyunjin?”

You let out a whimper. “I dance like that for everyone.” you panted.

Minho’s hands were all over you. Jisung’s fingers had reached your lace underwear. His finger stroked your clit through the lace. you're so wet. He’d have to feel it.

“You dance like that for everyone… but we want you to do more than dance for us.” He peppered kisses across your collarbone.

“We’re tired of having to keep our distance. We’re tired of pretending you don’t turn us on.” Added Jisung.

“But, this… this is inappropriate - ” you protested.

Minho pulled away and took off his mask. “Do you want us to stop?” He looked at you seriously. Jisung’s movements halted.

“Because if you don’t want us to stop, there’s so much Jisung and I want to do to you”. He doesn’t break eye contact. “We’re tired of not being able to be close to you, or look at you, or touch you.”

The look in Minho’s eyes conveyed so much want and need. You glanced down to Jisung who had also discarded his mask, and met his questioning eyes.

You looked back and forth between the two desperate men and bit your lip.

“Please… keep going.” You didn't recognise your own voice.

It all happened so fast.

Minho was back on your mouth with his. Your underwear was pushed to the side and Jisung’s wet, eager tongue dove deep into your pussy. The men’s hands caressed your entire body. It felt like heaven.

“Please… what do want to do with me? How do you want me?” You whimpered breathlessly. The desire to be helpless and taken overpowered any rational thought.

Minho broke the kiss and looked into your eyes. “Can I watch Jisung fuck you?” His voice was deep and husky.

Your cunt clenched at the thought.

You looked down to Jisung and nodded. His eyes were fixed on yours as he stood and removed his belt. He swiftly freed his hard cock, and looked down at your pussy. With one hand he pulled your lace underwear aside, and with the other he dragged his cock through your folds, before sinking himself into you.

“Fuck, baby…” he choked as he began to move.

“Ji, how does she feel?” Minho asked his eyes focused on watching Jisung’s cock appearing and disappearing into you. He licked his lips when Jisung withdrew and he could see your wetness glistening on his cock.

“So fucking wet…and tight… you’ve wanted this as much as us haven’t you, baby?” He panted.

You looked to Minho and palmed his erection through his pants. Minho hissed, then smirked “You want my cock too, huh?” He cooed.

You nodded, licking your lips. Why did you have to seem so needy? “Want your cock.”

Minho released his aching dick and straddled your chest, offering the head of his penis towards your mouth.

You eagerly wrapped your hand around it and took him in your mouth. His cock was perfect. “Jesu-fuck… oh god you take me so well, kitten.”

You picked up the pace, putting all your enthusiasm into pleasuring him. You cried around his cock suddenly, when Jisung changed the angle of his thrusts.

Minho decided he needed to come at you from the side so he could watch Jisung again. He got even harder when he saw Jisung pick up the pace, thrusting into you hard.

"Such a pretty little slut. Just for us." he taunted you. "Falling apart so easily on our cocks, hmm."

Minho reached down to rub your clit, sending you over the edge and making you come so fucking hard that you saw stars.

"So needy." Minho smirked. "So fucking perfect."

The sight of you falling apart was too beautiful for the two men, and they came within seconds of each other. Jisung deep in your pussy and Minho in your mouth.

Jisung pulled out and climbed on top of you, kissing you deeply, taking some of Minho’s cum for himself. He peeled away from your mouth. “You’re ours now.” He whispered deviously, then gave you a big gummy grin.

“Only ours.” Minho agreed.

a/n: this was an old story I wrote that I've updated a little bit. I also have another version where reader doesn't know who is behind the mask and it's much raunchier than this story. I think they double pen her... I need to find it an update it. Should I share it on the blog?

version 2, unhinged

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin @weareapackofstrays @kangnina @3rachasdomesticbanana @palindrome969 @xxkissesforchanniexx @chuuchuu1224 @fun-fanfics @wolfennracha

[forcefemdemonprincess]

I finished a little fantasy themed short story I've been cooking up for the last few days, with lots of corruption and forcefem kinks, if anyone wants to give it a read!

One ordinary day, I sense something reaching out to me, from the faraway depths of the material plane; the feeble presence of a summoning spell, beckoning me towards it's caster. It would be simple to ignore the call, yet as my curiosity gets the best of me, I deign to answer, following the thread of conjuration magic to it's source.

My senses take in the sight of a stone tower, a summoning circle scribed upon the very center of the floor, the candles surrounding it flickering with a faint orange flame. Beyond it there is a wooden work desk and chair, a simple bed, and walls covered in bookshelves, all with disorganized tomes and scrolls strewn about; and a large window on either side through which the starlight shines in a moonless night, curtains billowing in the breeze.

Standing before the circle stands a half-elven wizard, seeming to be in his twenties in human years - though elven blood makes it difficult to ascertain, he could be anywhere from two decades to a couple centuries old - with short brown hair and the lithe, frail frame of a scholar and a smooth face with rather comely features. He chants the summoning spell, his voice filled with uncertainty as he slowly sounds out the incantation as if the words were alien to his lips.

And they likely are. Far from an archmage of yore, the young man seems to have little more skill than a mediocre apprentice. The binding runes around the summoning circle, meant to keep the caster safe and the fiend contained, are all written incorrectly, not that it would have worked with a demon of my caliber to begin with. Even the spellbook he holds is old, certainly passed down to his hands by another, perhaps a mentor or loving relative.

The candles flicker, then go out entirely. The wizard stops his chanting and takes a step back startled, and slowly I rise from the summoning circle. I choose a relatively nonthreatening form, a scantily clad, mostly human-looking woman, save for the pink skin, curved horns, and a thin tail which ends in a heart shape. The candles light up again, their flames painting the room a bright, pink hue.

He immediately looks surprised, as if he'd never expected his spell to work to begin with, but once the shock has passed, he speaks in a shaky voice:

"I-I am the mage Theodoros! I bind you to my service, o' fiend!"

It takes great effort to stifle the urge to laugh. Not only did the fool forget to put up wards or use any binding spells to speak of - not that it would have mattered - he made the oldest beginner's mistake in the book and told a demon his name, not to mention his utter lack of confidence and authority, the wizard paints a laughable picture.

Yet, it's been so long since I've had a mortal plaything to toy with... And this one is so cute and pathetic I simply must have him. And thus, I decide to play along:

"Of course... Master," I smirk deviously. His ecstatic grin makes it clear the half-elf holds no suspiscion of my subterfuge whatsoever. His naivete is baffling, truly. "What is it you desire? Power? Knowledge of dark, forbidden spells? Or are you simply looking to fulfill your wordly lusts?"

The adorable blush of embarrassment that quickly takes over his pale cheeks at the mere suggestion of sex is almost enough to make this worth it already. Virgins are especially fun to break.

"Uh, the spells and power, yes." He calms himself with deep breaths. "I want to become a powerful archmage."

"And you decided to take a shortcut, did you? Very intelligent. Why slave away over dusty old tomes if you can drink directly from the fountain."

He smiles wide at but a few honeyed words. "Exactly! You get it. Well then... Go ahead and uhm, make me stronger. With your demon magic and all."

"Gladly. Could you give me your hand, for but a moment?"

"What? Hells no, I'm not letting a demon touch me, that sounds far too dangerous!" Oh, now he's thinking about risks and consequences. I almost roll my eyes.

I pout. "Come now, it's only through contact that I could lend you my power. Besides! I'm bound to your service, remember? I couldn't harm you if I wanted to."

"Oh... That's true. Alright, do it." He extends his hand, as if for a handshake. I grasp it tightly, and pull him closer into the summoning circle, nearly making him trip, and bring his hand to my lips. They sear with infernal flames, branding a lipstick mark into the flesh of the back of his hand despite how he whimpers and uselessly tries to pull it away.

Before he can issue any further complaint, the blissful heat and raw strength of my demonic mana flows into his being, making him gasp, his eyes momentarily flashing a bright pink hue and his dick becoming painfully hard, his size... Unremarkable. Slightly below average, perhaps.

"I... I thought you said you couldn't harm me." Theodoros says, out of breath.

"Oh, don't be such a baby... A little bit of pain is no harm at all. Quite the opposite, in fact! Don't you feel it?"

"I feel... Hot?" He raises his hands, the tip of his fingers shimmering, brimming with arcane might.

"Go on, try it out!" I grin.

He walks over to a large window that leads to a balcony, trembling with anticipation. He extends his hands, and an unending torrent of fuchsia colored hellfire, hot enough to melt steel, erupts up into the air. He laughs maniacally, drunk with the power and the demonic magic seeping into his body and mind from the infernal brand on his hand. The lustful magic overtakes him, and his concentration in the spell is broken as he orgasms on the spot.

"Hah... I only ever managed to make sparks and light candles before. This is incredible!" He says, with a giddy smile and an unfocused gaze.

"And it's only the beginning," I reply with a smirk as he walks back to me.

"What more can you teach me?" He asks excitedly.

"Oh, plenty. You can manipulate hellfire, bend minds, change into whatever shape you like... And that's not even mentioning the libraries worth of knowledge I've accrued over the years."

"That's... Fucking hells, that's everything I wanted and more." His chest heaves up and down, the adrenaline not going down in the slightest... Nor does his raging arousal. "Can you... Do something about this?" He asks, pointing to the tent in his robes, which refuses to go down despite him already having finished once.

"Oh, plenty! Why don't you come over here and let me show you?"

"I meant more... Just make it stop? With magic or something? It's driving me mad!"

"It's a side effect of demonic magic. I can't make it go away... But I can help relieve you of it in a more direct, and much more pleasurable manner." I say, sliding aside the strap that holds my upper garments to my shoulder, revealing one of my beautifully shaped breasts, while pumping more arousal through his brand. "Just let me out of this summoming circle and I'll show you," I say, dropping the other strap to let my chest bare in it's entorety for his viewing pleasure. I could step out of the circle any time I wanted, but it's far more delicious to make him submit willingly to my whims.

"Hhrn... Alright, fine!" He walks over and rubs his sole on the chalk circle, opening a passage. I step through and put my hand on his chest, giving him a slight push against the wall before pressing my lips to his, forcing a delicious throaty moan out of him as I press my body into him.

My longue, forked tongues explores his mouth, swirling around his in a long, sloppy kiss, grabbing onto his ass roughly enough go make him squeal again. He eventually pushes me off to gasp for air, a strand of saliva lewdly connecting our mouths.

"Mo... More..." He pleads in a breathy voice. "I want to fuck you." He nearly growls, consumed with lust.

"As you wish," I say with a grin, and touch his forehead. With a flash of light the mage is teleported onto the bed, his clothes dropping onto the floor where he stood.

I slowly walks towards the bed, taking off the rest of my garments, making him writhe with anticipation as my curvy, hourglass shaped frame comes into view. I run my hand along my smooth pink skin as I get on the bed, getting between his legs.

He bites his thick, luscious lips as I lick his length from shaft to tip, nearly shooting his load then and there, before I hold it down with a bit of magic. Not yet.

I take his tip in my mouth, wrapping my lips tightly around it and swirling my tongue, feeling the cutie wizard get all wet for me with his pre. I suck aggressively hard, making him moan and twitch and give pathetic little bucks of his hips into my mouth as it envelops his unimpressive member completely.

I make him ride on that very edge of release for countless minutes each stretching on to feel like hour, watching him melt and turn into a writhing, mewling mess, trying everything, from thrusting his hips, to grabbing my horns to try and push me away, all to no avail, until he's barely forming coherent sentences, begging and pleading with tears in his eyes.

When I suddenly pull it out of my lips and release the spell, letting him drench himself in his seed in a mind-numbing orgasm that goes on and on endlessly, the wizard's wjole body shaking and spasming, howling moans escaping his throat.

Each spurt of his seed, that becomes increasingly thin and watery the longer his peak goes on, drains his already somewhat petite member slowly of it's size. When it subdues at last, he's lost about half of it, and with it, you can clearly see how his body and face have gotten softer, his hips wider, waist slimmer, and nipples puffier as his chest begins to form into breasts. His irises begin to glow with that unnatural pink glow from before, and two small pointy protrusions begin to subtly grow along the sides of his head.

Theodoros is, however, too much of a giggly, horny mess at this point to notice, let alone care. "His" eyes half-lidded and a giddy, drooling grin rests on the "man's" lips, nary a coherent thought in the mage's mind... Yet that diminutive dick remains hard, hips bucking needily. Theo's eyes find mine with a pleading look, and the slut manages to speak, in a moany voice:

"Ple... Please..."

I smirk wide, straddling the weak-willed wizard, and letting their now diminutive dick enter me. The pleasure of having it in me as I start riding it is negligible, but the delight and satisfaction of watching this pretty little thing unravel under my will more than makes up for it.

I bounce on it, roughly, wrapping my hand around the wizard's throat as they look into my eyes, pinned under my body as I fuck their brains out, riding their cock until they're chaining one orgasm right into another without stop.

This time, there's no spell to make their dicklet hold back. They cum over and over and over again, shallow spurts of weak, watery seed shooting again and again inside me as I quickly drain away their virility and the rest of their size until there's nearly nothing left anymore of the wizard's dick.

Their last spurt comes with great difficulty, painfully making them writhe and yielp until they shoot out a tiny, pretty little gemstone, brimming with life. Theodoros cums her soul out, and with it goes the rest of her masculinity and self, sealing her transformation into a lesser demon, with a cute, lithe frame, a pair of small horns on her head, a tail, with a heart shaped tip, and pink eyes with slitted pupils.

In a moment, a large demonic cock forms onto my crotch, and Theo instinctively spreads her legs, presenting a smooth, bare crotch. I press my tip between her legs and push, her body yielding to my will and my cock, shapeshifting her pussy and womb into existence to better serve my needs.

"Good girl. You'vrle yielded your soul to me, and now... You're bound into my service, eternally. From now on, I rename you... Theodora. And you may adress me as mistress, Thea."

"Yes... Mistress." Her mind seems to object momentarily to the idea, but the thought is quickly discarded. Whilst holding her soul, Thea's mind is as malleable as her body. The fledgling demoness can't even will herself to want to resist. The very thought brings her pain... And obedience brings bliss.

"That's my good girl... You and I are going to have a lot of fun."