#but there's definition to his edges. there's reasons and explanations.

[thebleedingeffect]

Oh one of these days I need to make a whole Gary meta post cause he's unironically so fascinating to me I need to spin him at max speeds

[dcdreamblog]

What’s the oldest record you’ve come across of an individual who resembles what we might call a superhero today?

"Hey Sid, how about you put your foot directly into the biggest minefield in your profession so that no matter what you say one of your colleagues WILL have you assassinated?" Oh boy! How could I resist?!

This post is going to be more qualifier than answer but here we go.

The definition of "superhero" is famously squirrely. We only CALL them superheroes in common language because of Superman's appearance kicking off the current heroic age. In the 40s they were called mystery men, there were heroes like them among the lawmen of the American west, the Revolutionary war, the vikings, the knights of Camelot and ALL of those examples are just those who fit my personal working definition of a superhero which is someone holding 3 distinct aspects.

Has powers, abilities or skill sets outside those of the normal population for their nation, class and time period

Uses an identity, costume or motif separate from their 'legal' identity

Uses said powers and secondary identity to confront crime or injustice within their society and correct it.

You'll note that that 2nd reason is, for instance, why mythological figures like Perseus and Hercules don't count. While they had skills and abilities beyond mortal ken, they did so under their own pedigrees so to speak. Reasons 1 and 3 disqualify many historically attested classes of masked soldiery or specially named military units who had the abilities expected of them for high level military men AND acted upon the orders of military superiors.

Every single word of these explanations and definitions can be torn apart by the edge cases. This has to be accepted, there is no universal definition of "superhero" that includes everyone you think counts and excludes everyone you think doesn't. Nature of the game.

ALL of that being said, here's my pick.

(Reconstruction of a marble carved mural from within the villa of the 'Golden Gladiator') Marcus Tiberius (unknown if that was his birth name but unlikely considering how Romans regularly changed their names or the emphasis on their names in relation to societal rank) was a common shepherd living near the city of Segusio (modern day Susa, Italy) whose first appearance in the historical record is being convicted of a crime. Accused of attempting to assassinate Praetor Clodius Crassus, Marcus was indentured to slave galley. Eventually saving the life of the ship's captain when a lion being transported to Rome for the gladiatorial games escaped on board, Marcus himself was recommended for the games.

Now in close proximity to Cinna, the centurion who had actually attempted to assassinate the Praetor, Marcus overcame purposefully rigged challenges against much stronger opponents, defeating a raging bull with a faulty spear and a chariot race against one of Cinna's allies earning his freedom and the lifelong moniker that's most easily translated as: The Golden Gladiator.

The Golden Gladiator would spend the next decades of his life doing everything in his power to foil Cinna's plots for power, even falling in love with and marrying Cinna's niece Lucia in the same year Cinna was recognized as having framed Marcus all those years ago. He served as a close advisor to Emperor Vespasian for many years, being made bodyguard of his son Titus where he eventually perished guarding him from an assassination attempt in 73 AD

This is by no means a perfect answer. Considering the things Vespasian and Titus are actually RESPONSIBLE for even as two of the "good emperors", and Marcus was by no means so hero outside his own moral time and place calling for the liberation of slaves and the end of imperialism, obviously. There's a reason we start the moral and spiritual continuity of our modern heroic legacy at the Crimson Avenger and don't try to tie them back much further than that so we can stay out of the moral thickets that inevitably come from examining the actions of any human being who lived before the previous century at best. But he DID use an assumed persona to fight against criminality and corruption within his society so as far as that goes, that's the hand I've got to play. Now I get to post this and wait for some really STIMULATING emails and voice messages from people I went to college with!

[luveline]

hi love! i absolutely adore ur writing and u should be so so proud of it. anyway i was just thinking about coworker james when readers car wont start in the parking lot and he like takes a look at it and is under the hood and reader is just like "oh...😍" cause the muscles are OUT and shes down bad

ty lovely 💌 fem

“Oh,” you say, “of course.” 

You drop your face into your steering wheel and sigh. An annoyed burst of sound, not cute or feminine or fun, a grunt of defeat. This sucks. Work sucks, life sucks, your car not starting is the least of your worries and yet somehow the most prevalent. 

How am I gonna get home? you think to yourself, defeated.

“Hey!” someone calls. Jogging, the last person you want to see in the world right now stopping at your door. James frowns at you. “It’s not starting?” 

You pop your door, careful not to pop him at the same time. “How’d you know?” 

“I heard the engine turn over.”

“It’s making a clicking sound,” you say, twisting the key so he can hear it. 

“It’s dead, probably. Your battery.”

James has an odd way of talking occasionally, as though you’ve started a conversation and he’s adding onto it. Remus says it's ADHD. You like it no matter what it is and despite yourself —it’s getting harder to pretend you don’t like him. Like, you hate him, he’s annoying beyond explanation, but your more positive feelings for him are heavy and ever present. So, so heavy.

“I’ll pull my car up and we can give it a jumpstart,” he says. “Easy fix.” 

“You don’t have to go?” 

“What?” 

“You have rugby today.” 

“Oh, no, it's the off season now.” He smiles and you don’t get why. “Let me go get the car.” 

James jogs back to his car and brings it next to yours. Everybody who isn’t Human Resources or security has left already, leaving the car park practically empty, ample room for him to park beside you. He gets back out. 

“I don’t have, uh, cables,” you say.

James gives you a smile that is as patronising as it is attractive. “Don’t worry about it, beautiful. I have everything you need.” 

He feels along the edge of your hood, pops the seal, pushes it up into the air, and hooks the prop rod into place. He’s clearly done it before, and the whole while you’re watching his arm. His rolled sleeves draw attention to the tightness at his bicep, and the moving ligament and muscle of his tricep as he leans into the engine to look things over. “I’m no mechanic, but I do know everything, and I thought maybe things were a bit hot but your engine’s stone cold.” 

“So it’s definitely the battery?” 

“Probably.” He scratches his jaw, peering curiously into the guts of it all. “When was the last time somebody looked in here?” he asks, squinting at you, unaware that he’s the finest thing you’ve ever seen. 

Your breath gets caught. 

“Have you ever had it looked at?” he asks, concerned. 

“I… maybe I did. I think so.” 

“You’re supposed to have it looked at every year? For MOT?” 

“I know, I thought you meant before that.” He’s distracting.

James looks you over. “It’s fine,” he says emphatically, “even if I can’t fix your battery, I can still drive you home. You’re panicking for no reason.” 

“Right.” Panicking! Yes, this is panic.

“Listen, can you get the jump leads from my boot? I have to open the hood.” He gestures for you to go. You do as he’s asked, wobbly, and struggle when you get there to actually open it. You slides your fingers under his car's emblem and flinch as it flies up past your face. 

His boot is surprisingly well organised. There’s a duffel bag to one side half-zipped that showcases a flash of red and white uniform, a pair of formal shoes, a dark jacket folded and hidden behind the bag. You want to be nosey and you don’t want him to think you’re stupid. You rush to grab the cables and almost clip yourself on the boot as you duck from under the boot and round the car. 

James smiles when he sees you. No indication that you’re an imposition, it’s sort of like you’re two friends. 

He pushes his sleeves farther up and digs in. It’s awful, what business does he have looking so sharply put together? You hadn’t thought you were preferential to muscle until right this moment watching James move around your engine like an expert. 

“What are your plans tonight?” 

Your palms are hot behind your back. “I was thinking I’d watch a new movie.” 

“That sounds fun.” He ducks away from the engine. “I don’t watch many movies.”

“What do you do with all your time?” 

“Argue with Sirius about who’s turn it is to wash the dishes.” 

You startle. “You and Sirius live together?” 

James laughs and pulls the leads to his own engine. “You didn’t know that?” 

“You come in different cars.” 

“I come in much earlier than he does. And after work he and Remus always have things to do. It’s weird, isn’t it, how couples are always busy? I feel like I never do anything.” James grins at you. “This is interesting, at least. My Friday night isn’t a total waste.” 

James gets into his car and you into yours. With some fiddling, pleading, and a strange noise, he manages to push life back into your car. His smile when it works is his worst one to date, elated and shockingly handsome. 

That Monday, against your better judgement, you bring him a little carrot cake in a tin. A thank you card felt like too much. 

To his credit, he doesn’t brag to anyone that he saved you. He says thank you for the cake with another real smile, and for some reason, despite the mild weather, he rolls his sleeves up at his desk. Almost like he noticed you…

Well, he couldn’t have. Right?

[aurumalatus]

part one found here

Kinich would say he is a fast learner, partly due to the natural curiosity he possesses. He wants to be prepared, to know as much as he can so that he has enough knowledge to apply to whatever situation he may encounter. His circumstances are anything but ordinary, so whatever he can do to give himself an advantage is clearly worth it.

He’s curious by nature. It’s a good trait for a hunter. There’s nothing wrong with that.

But is that why he can’t stop thinking about your stupid lip gloss?

It’s ridiculous. It’s weird, and definitely the kind of thing Ajaw would use to tease him endlessly. This time, he can’t even blame him. He can’t even quite understand it himself, but if there’s one thing he knows, it’s that he can’t force the thought from his mind.

His memory of that day, of that moment is frustratingly clear.

He could ask Mualani, but there are certain questions that warrant both explanation and suspicion, and that is definitely one of them. There’s no viable reason why he would randomly need to know the flavor of your lip gloss. He might as well just stand on the roof and scream that he’s embarrassingly in love with you—yeah, that would go over well.

He’s teetering on the edge of a mental breakdown by the time Ororon enters Zakan’s Street Bites, hair mussed and dark circles ringing his eyes. Despite his exhaustion, he offers Kinich a soft smile before collapsing into the seat across from him, head tilted back and eyes shut.

When your familiar head of hair waltzes through the doorway, Kinich immediately fixes his posture, straightening his back and attempting to appear casual. He’s not sure why he’s trying to appear casual—he is being casual, he hasn’t even done anything, but still—

“Hey, Kinich, Ororon,” you greet tiredly, rubbing at your eyes and yawning under your breath. Everyone’s been rightfully exhausted from the Pilgrimage preparations, it seems.

Kinich mumbles out a greeting in reply, one which Ororon echoes, beckoning you over to sit next to him. You do so without complaint, already striking up a conversation about something you dreamt about.

Even this early in the morning, you’re cheery, only happy to be spending time with your friends. It’s quite cute of you, really. Kinich adds commentary to your story when he finds it necessary, Ororon laughs, and it’s just…nice. It’s nice, it’s warm, and it’s comfortable. You always are.

But something changes.

It happens when you reach the climax of your story, gesturing enthusiastically and sitting up in your seat to really seal the deal. Kinich is listening intently, as always, but Ororon looks…perturbed.

His face twists in curiosity, nose scrunching up. He sniffs the air once, then twice, before his gaze flickers over to your mouth.

“Hey,” he starts, leaning a bit closer to you. His tone is completely innocent, merely curious, but Kinich still feels his breath hitch. “What kind of lip—”

“What are you peasants doing, just sitting around?!”

The chair next to Kinich is thrown back unceremoniously, as Ajaw floats over to occupy the space. Kinich honestly isn’t sure why he even bothers, considering he floats.

Mualani comes next, shouting something about how Ajaw is so noisy in the morning and needs to control his voice. With a laugh, you voice your agreement.

Chasca and Kachina and even Citlali settle in next, the quiet atmosphere and Ororon’s impending question long forgotten, and Kinich finds that he doesn’t really mind it this time. In fact, he feels a strange self of relief.

Because for some reason, he finds that he doesn’t want Ororon knowing what kind of lip gloss you use. Not even a little bit.

[bullet-prooflove]

7000 Follower Celebration: The Filing Cabinet - Frank Langdon x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @julessworldd @yousigned-upforthis @travelingmypassion @julius-ceasar

*Spot the Hawaii 5-0 reference and get a cookie.

Summary: Things haven't been the same between you and Frank since the attack.

Companion piece to:

Ivy - Frank gets a tattoo to commerate the woman he loves.

Hypocrite - Frank struggles to make amends for a past wrongs.

Crash - Almost getting you fired wasn't the lowest point of Frank's addiction.

Rock Bottom - Frank hits rock bottom when he sees the devastation his addiction's caused.

Little Black Dress - Frank starts to spiral when he realises you're dating.

Every Damn Day - A drunk text leads to a confession.

Wet Dream (NSFW) - Frank sometimes dreams about the life you had together.

War Stories - A realisation about your coping habits leads you to Frank's door.

The Three Cs - Frank and you finally discuss your issues and pave away towards the future.

The Wall - A date at the climbing wall leads to a revelation from Frank.

Commitment - You create a fun way of showing Frank your commitment to the relationship.

At Your Alter - You discover Frank's tattoo when you undress him for the first time.

All In (NSFW) - You and Frank take a big step forward.

Slut (NSFW) - Frank gets a little bratty after a bad day.

Nightmare Fuel - Frank’s been waiting for the fall to come.

Boo Fucking Hoo - Your forced to defend yourself after you’re attacked outside the hospital.

The Incident - Frank’s world is thrown into turmoil when he learns about your attack.

Frank doesn’t tell you he’s selling his house.

You find out when you come across the listing on your tablet while undertaking a virtual tour of your neighbour’s place across the street. Gerald is a kitschy little bitch and you want to see if the rest of his house is styled in the same poor taste and it is, it definitely is.

When the pop up appears with ‘Other places you might like to view…’ you grumble, your finger hovering over the close button and that’s when you see it, Frank’s bedroom, the place where you jammed a fuck ton of Narcan up his nose when he was oding.

You think about calling him but it’s past midnight and he’s in Summerfield, North Carolina, helping out his folks after his dad took a tumble down the stairs and broke his hip.  

“I thought we were done keeping secrets.” You text him with a link to the property.

There’s only one reason you can think of for Frank to sell his house and that’s rehab. He’d maxed out his savings the first time around in a top notch treatment centre in Maryland. You guess he’s selling his house to pay for another go, it would explain a couple of things. He hasn’t been the same since you were attacked and honestly neither have you.

“I’ll talk to you about it when I get back.” He responds.

That’s it, no explanation, no apology. You’re just supposed to wait another week until he returns to Pittsburgh for an answer.

It cuts like a fucking scalpel because yet again you weren’t enough to keep him steady, in fact you suspect it was you that pushed him over the edge this time. You don’t text back, you hit an Al-Anon meeting instead because you’re so dangerously close to doing something stupid you can taste it.

“You have your own shit to deal with.” The chairperson reminds you, referring to the fact you’re still in counselling after you were attacked a few months back and that asshole whose left nut you destroyed is suing you. “You can’t save a person from drowning if your head is already under the water.”

“Yeah I know.” You say dejectedly. “It’s just… It’s starting to feel a little hopeless. Like the tide, it just keeps dragging me out, further and further away from the shore.”

The reality is you don’t have the money to fight a lawsuit, your paycheque goes into the mortgage on your house. Honestly you don’t have the energy either, it’s been slowly ebbing out of you since the night he put his hand around your throat and tried to choke you.  

“You can not let him win.” Frank had argued with you, when you told him you were settling. “He could have killed you!”

“I can’t afford not to.” You’d informed him. “The police lost the security tape, he’s not even going to jail.”

He’d lost his shit then and you’d watched him fall apart with that numbness in your chest because the truth is, you couldn’t take anyone’s pain anymore, not even his.

“I need to take some mental health leave.” You tell Robby, the next day when he finds you up on the roof after your shift. “The job, it’s killing me.”

You feel his dark eyes on you, studying you as you lean on the safety railing overlooking the city.

“You seeing someone about it?” He asks gently and you nod your head, your eyes stinging as you focus on the sun as it dips down under horizon.

“He says I’ve got post-traumatic stress disorder.” You confess, toying with the elastic band on your wrist. You’ve snapped it five times since being up here, that’s five times you’ve thought about jumping off the roof. “He’s starting me on EMDR therapy in a couple of weeks, suggested I take some time off until then.”

“Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing.” Robby says knowingly as he leans back on the safety railing beside you. “I had it after what happened with Allegra and Pittfest, it helped a lot. My counsellor described it as a way to stop the filing cabinet jamming, the file being whatever traumatic event you’re trying to process. It helps you reorganize that file so you can slam that fucker shut.”

“My filing cabinet feels like it’s just been tossed by the IRS.” You inform him, tucking your hands into the pockets of your military jacket. “It’s like someone has taken every good thing in my life, set fire to it and all I’m left with is the ashes.”

“Does Frank know that you feel this way?” Robby questions and you shrug your shoulders.

“I’m not sure he gives a fuck.” You say honestly. “He’s not been the same since I told him about the lawsuit, I found out he’s selling his house, and if it’s for what I think it’s for then I can’t go down that road with him. I don’t have it in me Robby, I don’t have anything left to give.”

“I’ve been here.” Robby says, his palm rubbing over the back of his neck. “You need to focus on yourself right now, get healthy again. Let me worry about Frank.”

“I will.” You promise, taking a deep breath and straightening your shoulders. “I’m got a brother in Hawaii, Danny, he’s paid for me to fly out there. He’s gonna put me up for a while until I get my head on straight.”

“Sun, sea and sand, it might be just what the doctor ordered.” Robby responds, the edges of his mouth tipping up into a kind smile.

“I hope so.” You say as you step away from the ledge. “I really fucking hope so.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[flippinpancakes64]

The Wobbly Third Wheel

Summary: You and Steven have been going strong for a couple of months now. The only bump in the road is Marc, who for some reason, can't even seem to be cordial with you...

Marc Spector x Reader-centric, fluff and a lot of angst, mostly just a look at Marc's character

Note: I'm finally branching out past Twilight someone take a picture omg. But this is my first try writing for something different, so hopefully it goes well. I saw a Moon Knight edit on TikTok and now I'm back in my MK phase so... Anyways Enjoy!

In the beginning, you told yourself it was just him getting used to you.

Steven already told you all about Marc's past. His history with his mom which led to Steven's creation, the whole situation with Layla, Khonshu, being Moon Knight, basically everything.

So you weren't all that surprised when the grumpy American didn't exactly want to be your best friend. That's fair after all. You never asked to be best friends.

What you did ask, though, was for something like a mutual respect. A peaceful coexistence where you could both exist in your own spaces and interact in a kind way if you needed to.

Only, Marc seemed hellbent on, well, giving you hell.

He would go out of his way to order food for himself and not you, even if you were sitting on the couch right across from him. There have been a couple of times where you and Steven were out on a date, and Marc suddenly fronted. He would walk off, leaving you stranded and frantically searching for your boyfriend without any explanation or apology later on.

But the worst were the nights.

You had spent the night at Steven's place again, and it was currently the middle of the night. The moon was high in the sky, and London was quiet. You two were intertwined like vines, one of your legs between Steven's, his arms wrapped around your body in turn. It was hard to distinguish where you ended and he began.

It was nice, everything was peaceful.

Until Marc woke up.

He slowly blinked his eyes open, scanning their bedroom for anything that might have caused him to wake up. Finding none, he looked down at you.

And promptly got up.

That was always one of the worst things he did. Whenever you and Steven would be cuddling, or hanging out, or even just talking, if Marc fronted, he would always leave like there was a fire. Never an explanation, never a warning, just a complete tonal shift.

You know the boys can't necessarily control who comes forward, when they do, or how long they stay out. You know they have some level of control over it, but not a whole lot. And the way Marc looks at you when he suddenly fronts definitely leads you to believe that he's not the one behind the switch.

The surprise, followed by annoyance and slight disgust. His signature look whenever he saw you.

Marc roughly twisted out of your hold, not really paying any mind to if it woke you up or not. He sat up on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through his hair and sighing as if he just got off a long shift.

Truth be told, he doesn't really know why he pushes you away like he does. He thinks you're nice enough. And clearly you love Steven. But there's just something about it, about even entertaining the idea of holding someone else close just like how he used to hold Layla.

Steven sometimes catches him fidgeting with his bare ring finger, running his fingertips over the indent left by his wedding band from all those years ago.

Layla moved on a long time ago, so why can't he? He doesn't know, and he doesn't really want to look too far deep into himself to figure it out.

You moved on the bed, groaning softly as you reached out for him. No, not him- Steven. You were reaching out for Steven. And he doesn't really want to think about the way his heart clenched when he thought of that.

"Steven," you groaned, your eyes blinking open sleepily as you turned to face him on the bed. His back was to you, but you recognized the tense line of his shoulders. The way his head was perpetually hung low like he was always guilty. Always a poor puppy waiting for another kick to land.

"Not Steven," he responded, his voice low and quiet. He wanted to be gruffer, to make himself sound tougher than he really did in that moment. But his body betrayed him, something it's been doing for years now.

"Marc," you whispered. He could hear you shuffling around on the bed, and when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw that you were now sitting up. No closer to him than before, still giving him the space he needed. He appreciated that.

"Just... just go back to bed," he sighed, running his hand over his face tirelessly. It was too late for this bullshit. Too late to be having a late night conversation with his alternate personality's partner who he's slowly starting to develop feelings for too.

"Are you alright?" you asked, your voice infinitely caring. So caring and kind and understanding that it grated on him.

"I'm fine. Go back to bed," he grumbled, moving to stand up.

"Wait," you called, grabbing his arm before he could go too far. "Please, can we just talk?"

"We have nothing to talk about. I'm not your boyfriend," he gritted, his voice tight.

He could hear your tired sigh, and he felt his heart clench at being the source of your sadness.

"I know you're not, but you're a part of him. A big part of him. Please, can't we just talk for a little bit? I'm tired of this passive-aggressive act you've had going on for weeks now," you pleaded. When he turned back to look at you, he was met with those sincere, loving eyes. The same ones he's seen through Steven's. A patient, caring gaze that you save only for those you love most. And he's part of that.

He huffs, trying his best to play the part of the annoyed, grumpy man he's always portrayed himself to be. "Fine. Talk," he grits, sitting back down on the bed and facing you.

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. You realized this might be the only chance you have to change things, to at least convince Marc to be civil.

"Okay. Look, Marc, I'm not asking you to cuddle with me, or to kiss me or dote on me like Steven does. You're not him, we're not dating, I know that," you started, looking deep into his eyes. Marc hates to admit how his chest tightened at that, how he had to fight back the urge to do exactly that.

"All I'm asking is that we can coexist. I love Steven, and I want to be able to spend time with him without feeling like I'm intruding on your space," you continued.

"You are intruding on my space. This is my apartment, this is my bed, you're wearing my clothes," Marc grits before he can stop himself. The way you sigh and bow your head afterward makes him want to hurt someone. Mostly himself.

"I know... I'm... I'm sorry. I promise, I don't want to make you uncomfortable. That's what I'm trying to get at. But I can't work with you if you don't work with me," you pleaded.

He wants to scream. He wants to tell you that you're always welcome, that you don't need to work around him. But he can't. His pride is too fragile, his ego too small. To turn around now would be to wound himself.

"Well I don't know what you want me to do," he settled on instead. A non-answer he always gave Layla when they argued. It had the same effectiveness now as it did back then, which is not much.

"All I want is some communication. I'm not very good at picking up the differences between you two yet. And sometimes it happens so quickly I can't catch it. It's jarring, you know? To be cuddling your boyfriend one minute and then the next minute he just gets up and leaves with no explanation," you said, your voice dripping with worry and sorrow.

"So what do you want me to say?" he gritted. He needs to backpedal, he needs to go back, but he can't stop himself. "'Hey, it's not Steven anymore, so fuck off,'? Is that what you want me to say? 'Hey, it's Marc, get out of my goddamn apartment, I don't want you here and have never wanted you here'? Do you want me to tell you that you're a nuisance? That you take away from my limited alone time because you're always fucking here? That I can't get a moment's peace?"

The look on your face told him everything he needed to know. The lines between your brows, the slight purse of your lips, the wobble of your chin.

"If... if that's what you want to say, then go for it," you whispered, barely hiding the hurt in your voice. No, no, no. He doesn't want you to cry, he's never wanted you to cry.

But this is just who he is.

He's Marc Spector. Moon Knight. The guy who always manages to fuck up everything good that comes his way. The guy who ruined not only his life, but has managed to fuck up Steven's too. The one his broken brain made to be the good one, the one who was supposed to be happy and live a good life away from all of their trauma, he pulled him into it too. And now they're both broken. Everything he touches breaks, and clearly, you're no exception.

Your hand on his shoulder that pulled him back down into the bed, the one that urged him to keep talking, that was when fate was set. And the proof is right in front of him.

The love of his life, his second chance at happiness, crumbling to pieces in front of his eyes.

And yet all he could do was watch.

A tear slipped down your cheek, falling from those eyes that hold so much love, so much patience. He knows if he watched long enough, all the love that you held in there for him would disappear too, so he looked away.

He didn't say anything after that, he just got back up off the bed and stalked out to the kitchen. You were left to tremble silently, to reel and mull over what he just said.

The next day, Steven told you that he didn't mean it. He reassured you that Marc doesn't hate you, but you don't believe it. From your eyes, Marc has only ever pushed you away.

This is what always happens. Marc breaks your heart over and over again, constantly proving that he doesn't love you.

But when it's the dead of night, you don't notice your boyfriend's arms tightening around you. You don't hear the whispered confessions of love that slip from his mouth, missing that signature British accent. You don't feel the hesitant kisses he places on your cheeks and forehead, ghosts of affection that he believes aren't supposed to be there.

Marc thrives here, in the shroud of darkness where no one, not even Khonshu, can see the love in his eyes. No one can hear the vulnerability in his voice. No one sees the tremble of his hands or the reverence they hold. And no one, not even Steven, can feel the longing for love inside of him.

[odileeclipse]

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 9

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You drummed your fingers against the edge of your notebook, staring at the corrections Shadow Milk Cookie had pointed out. You had already rewritten most of the problem areas, refining your explanations, filling in the missing steps. Soon, your work would be as polished as it could get. And then what? You swallowed, shifting in your chair as a thought that had been lingering in the back of your mind finally surfaced. “How many more of these do you think I’ll need?” Shadow Milk Cookie, seated across from you in his office, glanced up from his own work. His golden eyes flickered with quiet curiosity. “Clarify.” “These tutoring sessions,” you said, feigning nonchalance as you tapped your quill against the parchment. “At some point, I’ll be good enough on my own, right? So… how much longer before I don’t need them?” He regarded you carefully, setting his papers aside. “That is not a question I can answer definitively.” You huffed out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Of course not.” “Improvement is an ongoing process,” he continued, unbothered by your reaction. “It does not cease simply because one reaches a threshold of competency.” You nodded absently, but your mind had already started to drift. Of course, he was right he always was but that wasn’t really the heart of what you were asking. At some point, these tutoring sessions would end. At some point, you would stop meeting with him like this just the two of you, in the quiet of his office, surrounded by books and the faint scent of parchment and old ink. Your stomach twisted slightly. You had been struggling for so long that improvement felt like a distant dream, something to chase but never quite reach. And now? Now it was finally happening. You were getting better. He had acknowledged it himself, and though he would never coddle you with outright praise, you could tell he recognized your efforts.

But what happened when there was no more need for his guidance? Shadow Milk Cookie was a figure far beyond your reach in the academic world. He only taught high-level courses, ones you had little hope of qualifying for anytime soon. If not for these tutoring sessions, you would have had no reason to interact with him at all. And when they were over… you wouldn’t anymore. You shifted in your seat, the realization sitting uncomfortably in your chest. “I guess I was just wondering,” you murmured, eyes fixed on your notes, “when I’ll stop needing to come here at all.” Shadow Milk Cookie observed you for a moment before responding. “Is that what you desire?” You blinked, glancing up at him. Was it? You had dreaded tutoring at first dreaded the thought of being under the scrutiny of someone so renowned, someone so impossibly intelligent. And yet, now… Now, the thought of not being here felt strangely hollow. You forced a small smile, shrugging. “Well, all good things have to end eventually, right?” Shadow Milk Cookie studied you, his expression unreadable. Then, in a voice as composed as ever, he said, “Perhaps.” The single word lingered in the air between you, neither a confirmation nor a denial. And yet, something about the way he said it made your chest tighten just a little. You lowered your gaze back to your notebook. For now, at least, these sessions weren’t over yet. And you weren’t in such a hurry for them to be.

Your fingers curled slightly around the edge of your notebook, your gaze drifting from the pages to the scholar seated across from you. The warm glow of the enchanted lamps cast soft shadows across his desk, illuminating the meticulously arranged books and parchment. Shadow Milk Cookie, ever composed, was glancing over a separate manuscript perhaps something unrelated to your session, or perhaps some ancient text that only a mind like his could decipher with ease. You hesitated, staring at him for a moment longer than you should have. The words formed slowly, heavy on your tongue before you finally managed to voice them. “And… after all this,” you began, carefully, “would I still be allowed a fraction of your time?” Shadow Milk Cookie’s golden eyes lifted from his work, meeting yours with quiet intensity. His gaze was steady, not startled, not dismissive, just… observing. As if measuring the weight of your question before offering an answer. You quickly looked back down, fingers tightening around your notebook. “I know you’re busy,” you continued, keeping your voice level. “You’re a scholar, a mentor. There are plenty of students who actually belong in your classes, who actually need your time. I’m not-I mean, I wasn’t even supposed to have these sessions in the first place, so I get it. I just…” You exhaled slowly, feeling foolish for even asking. “I just wanted to know if when this is all over I’d still be able to come to you. Even if it’s just once in a while.”

There. You had said it. There was silence for a moment. Not uncomfortable but weighted. You forced yourself to look up again, only to find Shadow Milk Cookie regarding you with that same unreadable expression. When he finally spoke, his voice was as measured as ever. “It is true that I am often occupied.” Your stomach twisted slightly. “But,” he continued, his tone softer than before, “if you have need of guidance, I would not turn you away.” Your breath caught. It wasn’t a grand declaration. It wasn’t an invitation, nor was it a promise of time freely given. It was simply… an acknowledgment. A confirmation that, despite the inevitable end of these sessions, despite the divide between your standing and his, you would not be dismissed outright. It wasn’t everything. But it was enough. You swallowed, nodding. ���Right. Of course. Thank you.” Shadow Milk Cookie inclined his head slightly before returning to his work, as if nothing had changed. But for you, something had. Because even when these sessions ended, even when the structure of weekly meetings and guided lessons fell away, there would still be a path back to him. Not as a student in need of tutoring but as a scholar seeking wisdom.

You carefully gathered your things, slipping your notebook into your bag as you rose from your seat. Shadow Milk Cookie had already turned his attention back to his manuscripts, his golden eyes scanning the delicate inked text with unwavering focus. You hesitated for just a moment before speaking. “…Thank you for your time.” He didn’t look up immediately, but he inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Use it wisely.” You weren’t sure if he meant the knowledge he had shared with you or the time itself. Maybe both. Either way, you nodded, gripping your bag a little tighter as you made your way to the door. The cool brass handle was smooth beneath your fingers as you stepped out into the quiet corridors of the Scholars’ Wing. The moment the door shut behind you, you released a slow breath, as if shaking off the weight of the session. Not that it was a burden no, if anything, you felt lighter in some ways. More certain of your steps. But also… heavier in a way you couldn’t quite describe. You shook your head. No use lingering on it now. You had other things to focus on. Adjusting your bag, you set off toward the dining hall, your pace brisk. You hadn’t had the chance to chat with your friends earlier, and after spending so much time analyzing, correcting, and reevaluating, a little familiarity sounded nice. If you were lucky, Chai Latte, Hazelnut Biscotti, and Earl Grey would already be there, saving a seat for you. The halls of Blueberry Yogurt Academy carried their usual late-evening quiet, the kind that settled after most scholars had retreated to their dormitories or study halls. The faint glow of enchanted lanterns flickered along the walls, casting a soft, ethereal light as you made your way through the winding corridors. As you neared the grand entrance of the dining hall, the distant murmur of voices and clinking silverware greeted you. The warmth of the space seeped into your skin before you had even stepped inside, a stark contrast to the cool air of the Scholars’ Wing. And for a moment you allowed yourself to set aside formulas, calculations, and the lingering weight of scholarly expectations. For now, you just wanted to be with your friends.

Balancing your tray, you weaved through the bustling dining hall, the comforting aroma of warm, freshly prepared food lingering in the air. The glow of enchanted lanterns cast a golden hue over the long wooden tables, where groups of scholars sat in clusters, deep in conversation. Your eyes quickly found them Chai Latte, Hazelnut Biscotti, and Earl Grey, huddled together at your usual spot near the wide arched windows. The three of them were already deep in discussion, voices low but animated, leaning in as if exchanging some grand secret. Of course. They always ended up like this, discussing whatever academic gossip, theoretical debate, or absurd rumor had surfaced that day. It was tradition by now no matter how busy you all were, dinner was the time to reconnect. As you approached, Chai Latte Cookie spotted you first. Her ears perked up as she waved you over, a warm grin spreading across her face. “Oh, finally! We were starting to think Shadow Milk kidnapped you for extra lessons or something.” Hazelnut Biscotti chuckled, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Given the way you’ve been practically living in the Scholars’ Wing, I wouldn’t have been surprised.” Earl Grey, who had been sipping his tea with an unreadable expression, finally glanced up. “I assume it went well?” You set your tray down, sliding into the open seat between Chai Latte and Hazelnut Biscotti. “Define ‘well.’” Chai Latte smirked, resting her chin in her hand. “That bad, huh?” You exhaled, picking at your food absentmindedly. “It’s not that it was bad. I just…” You hesitated, unsure how to put the feeling into words. It was true that you were improving. Shadow Milk himself had acknowledged it. But the thought of your tutoring eventually coming to an end it lingered in the back of your mind, unwelcome and difficult to shake. Earl Grey studied you for a moment before setting his cup down with a soft clink. “Something on your mind?” You glanced down at your plate. “…Just thinking about how much longer I have left before I don’t need tutoring anymore.” For a second, there was silence. Then, Chai Latte hummed. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” You sighed. “I mean, no. Obviously, it’s good that I’m getting better. I just…” You frowned, shifting uncomfortably. “I won’t really have a reason to see him after, will I?” The words felt strange coming out, but they were true.

Shadow Milk was a renowned scholar, an academic figure so highly regarded that students like you would never have had the opportunity to be taught by him under normal circumstances. He wasn’t a professor for general coursework; he lectured at the highest levels, among the greatest minds of the Academy. Once your tutoring ended, what reason would he have to spare time for you? Hazelnut Biscotti tapped a thoughtful finger against the table. “You could still ask for guidance,” he mused. “He hardly seems the type to refuse an earnest pursuit of knowledge.” Earl Grey nodded slightly. “It isn’t as though he’d suddenly forget you exist once your tutoring ends.” Chai Latte elbowed you lightly. “And hey, maybe you’ll impress him enough that he’ll let you take one of his classes someday.” You snorted. “Yeah, right. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” But despite your skepticism, their words eased something in your chest. Perhaps it wouldn’t be as simple as the end of tutoring, meaning the end of knowing him. Maybe there would still be a way a reason to stay in touch. For now, though, you shook your head, letting yourself settle into the warmth of your friends’ company. There would be plenty of time to figure things out later.

Chai Latte Cookie leaned in, eyes gleaming with barely-contained excitement as she dramatically whispered, “Alright, so you all won’t believe what I heard today.” Hazelnut Biscotti sighed, already adjusting his glasses. “Here we go…” Earl Grey, ever composed, simply lifted his teacup, the slightest raise of his brow the only indication that he was mildly intrigued. You smirked, propping your elbow on the table. “Alright, let’s hear it.” Chai Latte grinned, clearly reveling in the anticipation. “So, you know that second-year alchemy student, Chestnut Praline Cookie? The one with the horrifically unstable potions?” “The one who accidentally turned the entire east corridor into a swamp last semester?” Hazelnut Biscotti deadpanned. “That’s the one!” Chai Latte beamed. “Anyway, I heard from very reliable sources” “Meaning?” Earl Grey interjected smoothly. She waved him off. “Irrelevant! The point is, I heard that during today’s lab session, they were supposed to be brewing a simple fortification tonic, but” she paused for dramatic effect, looking at each of you before continuing, “they messed up the proportions so badly that instead of a tonic, they made an unstable crystallization compound. It reacted immediately, turned rock-solid inside the cauldron, and then exploded.” You blinked. “Wait. Exploded? Like, actually exploded?” “Like boom,” she confirmed, flinging her hands outward to emphasize the blast. “Whole classroom covered in glittery, indestructible shards of whatever-the-heck they created.” Hazelnut Biscotti groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How does this keep happening?” “I have no idea,” Chai Latte admitted, clearly enjoying herself. “But here’s the best part…they panicked and tried to neutralize it with a dissolving elixir, except they grabbed the wrong bottle and-” “Oh no,” you murmured, already sensing where this was going. “Oh yes,” she grinned. “It was a growth solution. The shards expanded. The entire back half of the classroom is apparently a crystalline forest now.”

You choked on your drink. Earl Grey, despite his usual impassive demeanor, actually sighed. “Professor Mulberry must be exhausted.” “Oh, definitely,” Chai Latte agreed. “I mean, they tried to undo it, but apparently the magic stabilized too fast, so now it’s… permanent.” You buried your face in your hands. “No way.” “Oh, yes way.” She was practically vibrating with amusement now. “The Headmaster had to step in, and his solution was to just leave it there. Apparently, it looks ‘aesthetically pleasing’ and they don’t want to risk another alchemy accident trying to remove it.” “I give it three weeks before it’s declared a ‘historical landmark of academic perseverance,’” Hazelnut Biscotti muttered. You snorted. “Honestly, it wouldn't be the weirdest thing this Academy has immortalized.” “Exactly!” Chai Latte gestured wildly. “That’s why I love this place. Any other academy would call that a disaster. Here? It’s just Tuesday.” Hazelnut Biscotti sighed heavily. “Remind me why I still have hope for the future of academia?” “Because deep down, you love the chaos,” Chai Latte teased. “You pretend to be the responsible one, but I see you, Biscotti. I see the way you actually enjoy our nonsense.” He shot her a flat look. “I tolerate your nonsense.” “You enable it.” “She’s not wrong,” Earl Grey added, casually taking another sip of tea. Hazelnut Biscotti exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “I should find new friends.” “No, you shouldn’t,” you said, nudging his arm with a grin. “You’d be miserable without us.” For all his grumbling, he didn’t argue. Chai Latte smirked, propping her chin in her hands. “See? This is why dinner is the best part of the day. Where else would you get quality entertainment and deep philosophical insights into the state of academia?” You chuckled, shaking your head. As much as you stressed over your studies, over the uncertainty of the future, moments like these made everything feel a little lighter. No matter what else happened, you had this this ridiculous, wonderful group of friends who made even the strangest days feel like home.

You leaned in slightly, a smirk tugging at your lips as you tapped your fingers against the table. “Alright, since we’re on the topic of unbelievable things, I have something, too.” Chai Latte Cookie perked up immediately, eyes sparkling with interest. “Oh? Do tell.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie arched a brow. “If this is about your last failed experiment” “It’s not,” you interjected quickly. “This one isn’t about me, thank you very much.” Earl Grey Cookie gestured lightly with his teacup. “Then by all means, enlighten us.” You glanced around conspiratorially, then lowered your voice. “So, I was cutting through the Academy gardens earlier today you know, taking the long way to clear my head-” “Procrastinating,” Hazelnut Biscotti muttered.

You ignored him. “when I saw something very interesting near the Moonvine Pavilion.” Chai Latte gasped. “Not the Moonvine Pavilion! You know everything that happens there is scandalous!” “Exactly,” you said, enjoying the dramatic effect. “So, I’m walking by, right? Just minding my own business. And then I see Professor Star Anise Cookie” Earl Grey blinked. “The Divination professor?” You nodded. “Yes, him. Mister ‘I Foresee All, Nothing Escapes My Gaze’ Star Anise Cookie.” You paused for effect, then leaned in closer. “Holding hands with Professor Frosted Clementine Cookie.” Chai Latte practically squealed, grabbing your arm. “WHAT?!” Hazelnut Biscotti’s spoon clattered against his saucer. “You must be mistaken.” “Oh, I am not mistaken,” you said, voice full of certainty. “They were standing real close, talking in hushed voices, and then clear as day he took her hand. And she blushed.” Earl Grey actually set his teacup down. “That… is unexpected.” “I know!” you said, grinning. “I always thought Professor Clementine was too icy for romance, but apparently-” “She’s been thawed,” Chai Latte finished dramatically. You cackled. “Exactly!” Hazelnut Biscotti groaned, rubbing his temples. “Stars above, why do we care about this?” “Because it’s deliciously interesting!” Chai Latte countered. “Think about it two esteemed professors, secret romance, destiny versus logic-” “Truly, a tale for the ages,” Earl Grey murmured, amused. Chai Latte turned back to you, grinning. “Okay, but what happened next? Did they notice you?”

You shook your head. “Nope. I stayed hidden behind the wisteria trellis.” Chai Latte gasped. “You spied?” “I observed.” “Same thing.” You rolled your eyes. “Anyway, I didn’t stick around too long, but I swear, they were lingering. Like, full-on ‘I-have-more-to-say-but-should-I-say-it’ lingering.” Chai Latte fanned herself dramatically. “Oh, this is juicy. I need to know what happens next.” “We all need to know what happens next,” Earl Grey said. Hazelnut Biscotti sighed, shaking his head. “You all are ridiculous.” “And yet,” you teased, “you’re still here listening.” He scowled, but said nothing. Chai Latte grinned. “This is why dinner is essential.” She looked around the table. “Academics? Stressful. Life? Chaotic. But gossip? Gossip keeps us alive.” You laughed, shaking your head. As much as you worried about the future, about your studies, about everything, moments like this reminded you that some things friendship, laughter, and a little bit of intrigue made it all worth it.

Chai Latte Cookie turned toward you with a sly grin, resting her chin in her hands. “Sooo… since we’re already talking about romance in the academic world…” You froze mid-bite. “...What about it?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie sighed, already sensing where this was going. “Chai.” “No, no, I have a valid question,” Chai Latte insisted, waving him off before turning her full attention back to you. “You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with the esteemed Sage of Truth lately.” Your stomach flipped. “That’s because he’s tutoring me.” “Oh, is that what we’re calling it?” she teased. “Yes,” you deadpanned. Earl Grey Cookie smirked slightly over the rim of his teacup. “You do talk about him quite often.” “That’s because he’s my tutor,” you repeated, heat creeping up your neck. “And because I have to. It’s academic.” Chai Latte hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Mmmhmm. But is it just academic?” You groaned. “Yes! What else would it be?” “Well, let’s think about it,” she mused, tapping her fingers against the table. “You spend hours together, he personally reviews your work, you get that look whenever you talk about him-” “What look?” you interjected defensively. Hazelnut Biscotti exhaled through his nose. “The one you’re making right now.” You covered your face with your hands. “I hate all of you.” Chai Latte cackled. “Oh, relax! I’m just saying, if you did develop a little scholar’s crush, it would be so poetic.”

“It would be pathetic,” you muttered. Earl Grey quirked a brow. “I don’t know. There’s a certain… tragic beauty in it. A scholar seeking wisdom from an untouchable figure, only to long for something far beyond mere knowledge.” Chai Latte gasped, clutching her heart. “Ohhh, that’s good. Forbidden academia love!” Hazelnut Biscotti groaned. “Don’t encourage them.” You shook your head aggressively. “No. Absolutely not. He’s a respected scholar, and I am…” You gestured vaguely. “Me.” “So?” Chai Latte shrugged. “All I’m saying is, you’re getting a lot of personal time with him, and if something were to happen-” “Nothing is happening,” you interrupted firmly. Chai Latte just smirked knowingly. “Mmmhmm.” You sighed, stabbing at your food with more force than necessary. “Can we talk about literally anything else?” “Oh, of course,” Chai Latte said sweetly, before shooting you one last teasing look. “But just so you know if you ever do need to talk about a certain someone, you can always confide in me.” You groaned again, but despite yourself, a tiny, conflicted part of you wondered If all good things must come to an end… would your time with him, too?

You leveled Chai Latte Cookie with the flattest stare you could muster. “I would be caught dead before anything like that happened.” Chai Latte giggled, undeterred. “Oh, would you now?” “Yes,” you said firmly. “And even if such a ridiculous thing were to happen, I wouldn’t tell you because I know you’d never let me live it down.” She gasped dramatically, clutching her chest like you’d struck her. “Me? Tease you? I would never!” Earl Grey Cookie raised an eyebrow at her. “You absolutely would.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded in agreement. “Without hesitation.” Chai Latte huffed. “Okay, maybe a little hesitation.” Then she grinned at you. “But only because I’d need time to craft the perfect response.” You groaned. “And that is exactly why you’ll never hear a word from me.” Chai Latte pouted. “Aw, c’mon! You can’t really expect me to believe you’ve never thought about it, even just a little.” “Nope.” You popped another bite of food into your mouth and chewed, staring blankly ahead as if the conversation had ended. She narrowed her eyes playfully. “You’re a terrible liar.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, voice perfectly monotone. Chai Latte leaned in. “I will crack you, you know.” You met her gaze, unblinking. “No, you won’t.”

A challenge sparked in her eyes, but before she could escalate further, Hazelnut Biscotti cleared his throat. “As entertaining as this is, some of us would like to enjoy our meal without listening to Chai interrogate our friend like a suspect in a crime novel.” Earl Grey nodded. “Besides, we wouldn’t want them to actually drop dead just to avoid answering.” Chai Latte sighed dramatically, leaning back in her chair. “Fine, fine. I’ll drop it.” You exhaled in relief. Finally, some peace. Then she smirked. “But if I ever hear a whisper of something happening, just know I will have my moment.” You rolled your eyes. “Duly noted.” Even so, you couldn’t help but feel a tiny prickle of unease. Not because she was onto something because she wasn’t…Right? Earl Grey Cookie set down his fork with a sigh, running a hand through his neatly combed hair. “As much as I enjoy listening to Chai torment you, I have my own set of troubles to air.” You glanced at him, thankful for the change in topic. “Oh? What’s got you sighing like that?” He exhaled again, dramatically this time. “Professor Mulberry Bark assigned another impossibly long analysis on pre-Astral Convergence enchantment theory. Again.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie winced. “Didn’t he just assign something similar last week?” “Yes. And the week before that. I am convinced he enjoys watching us suffer.” Earl Grey shook his head. “If I have to analyze another obscure spell construct with a name that’s longer than my lifespan, I might actually collapse.” Chai Latte Cookie snickered. “Well, at least you know what to expect. That’s something, right?” Earl Grey shot her a tired look. “That’s precisely the problem.” You chuckled but tilted your head when you noticed him studying you for a moment, like he was debating something. “What?” you asked. Earl Grey hesitated, then leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. “I heard something about you earlier.” Your stomach twisted slightly. “...Should I be concerned?” He shrugged. “Not really. Just thought you should know. There’s been a little talk about how you’ve been spending a lot of time with the Sage of Truth.” Your heart nearly stopped. “...Oh.” Chai Latte Cookie practically lit up. “Ohhh?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie frowned. “That’s not surprising. They’ve been struggling in class. The Sage is their tutor. That’s normal.”

Earl Grey nodded. “Right, but, you know how the academy is. If you see a student spending too much time with a high-ranking scholar, people start making assumptions.” You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Let me guess someone thinks I’m dating him?” Chai Latte gasped. “Are you?” “No!” Hazelnut Biscotti gave you a reassuring pat on the back. “Don’t let it bother you. You know how people love to speculate about things that have nothing to do with them.” Earl Grey hummed. “Agreed. Just figured I’d give you a heads-up. It’s nothing serious, but it’s always better to be aware.” You sighed, slumping back in your chair. “Great. As if I didn’t have enough to deal with.” Chai Latte leaned in with a mischievous grin. “Well, if you ever do want to confirm or deny anything to the masses, I’d be happy to act as your spokesperson.” You shot her a glare. “I would rather let the rumors consume me whole.” She giggled. “Fair enough.”

You exhaled through your nose, arms crossed as you mulled over Earl Grey Cookie’s words. Try as you might to brush it off, the thought itched at you. It was one thing for idle rumors to float around, but another entirely if people were actually taking note of you specifically. You leaned forward, lowering your voice just slightly. “Do they know who I am?” Earl Grey Cookie regarded you carefully before answering. “Not exactly.” You tensed. “What do you mean, not exactly?” He took a slow sip of his tea, as if weighing his words. “No one’s mentioned your name outright not that I’ve heard, anyway. But people have noticed you.” Chai Latte Cookie’s ears practically perked up. “Ohhh? So they’re talking about the Sage of Truth’s mysterious pupil rather than our dear friend?” You groaned. “That’s not better.” Earl Grey chuckled. “It means you still have some anonymity. But if you keep showing up with him, that might not last long.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie offered you a reassuring nod. “It’ll pass. The academy cycles through rumors like the seasons. By next week, they’ll be onto some other scandal about some other student.” Chai Latte Cookie wiggled her eyebrows. “Unless something happens that fuels the intrigue.” You shot her a warning glare. “You are not helping.” She grinned. “I know.” Still, you couldn’t shake the unease settling in your chest. The academy was full of whispers, and if you were becoming the subject of them… well. You weren’t sure how you felt about that. You frowned, still turning it over in your head. “But how would they even know?” you asked, skeptical. “The Scholar’s Wing is only for the best of the best. Everyone there is too busy with their studies to care about me.” Earl Grey Cookie gave you a knowing look. “You do realize that scholars gossip just as much as anyone else, right?” You blinked. “...No, they don’t.” Chai Latte Cookie snickered. “Oh, sweet, naive you.” She leaned in, resting her chin in her palm. “You think just because they’re studying complex theories and groundbreaking spells that they don’t have the time to notice a new face trailing after the Sage of Truth?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded in agreement. “It’s a closed circle up there. Any change, no matter how small, is bound to be noticed.”

Your stomach twisted slightly. It wasn’t like you had expected to go completely unnoticed, but you hadn’t thought you’d stand out enough to be talked about. You had assumed you were nothing more than a passing presence just another struggling student seeking guidance. “So what exactly are they saying?” you asked, dreading the answer. Earl Grey took another slow sip of tea before replying, “Mostly just curiosity. Some are wondering why the Sage of Truth took on a student at all.” You shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not like that. He’s just helping me with my studies.” Chai Latte Cookie smirked. “Oh, we know that. But they don’t.” You groaned, dropping your head into your hands. This was the last thing you needed being a subject of curiosity among the scholars of the academy. It was hard enough trying to keep up with your studies without the weight of expectations or scrutiny. “Great,” you muttered. “Just what I needed. More reasons to embarrass myself.” Earl Grey Cookie gave you a reassuring pat on the back. “At least it’s just talk. Nothing malicious.” “Yet,” Chai Latte Cookie added with a playful grin. You shot her a glare. “Not helping.” She winked. “I know.” You knew she meant well attempting to lighten your mood.

Dinner had ended with laughter, the warm kind that settled in your chest and reminded you why you treasured these moments. No matter how exhausting the day had been, sitting among friends, sharing stories and teasing jabs, made the weight on your shoulders feel a little lighter. Even with Earl Grey’s quiet reminders of your newfound attention among the scholars, even with Chai Latte’s relentless teasing, even with the lingering ache of your tutoring session tonight, it had all felt manageable. For a little while, at least.

But now, alone in your dorm, the silence pressed in. You shut the door behind you, exhaling softly as you leaned against it. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of your enchanted study lamp casting long shadows over your desk. Your books sat in neat stacks where you’d left them that morning, your notes still open from the frantic reviewing you’d done before class. It was strange walking back in after everything that had happened today, as if stepping into a space untouched by time. Like you had changed, but your room had stayed the same. You crossed the room and sat on the edge of your bed, rubbing your hands over your face. You had asked Shadow Milk Cookie if, after all this, you’d still be allowed a fraction of his time. Even now, the question sat heavy in your chest, the weight of it something you weren’t ready to unpack. Because the truth was You didn’t want this to end. You should. It was just tutoring. Just guidance. And eventually, you’d get better. You were getting better. You were fixing mistakes faster, answering questions with more confidence. And once you had proven you could stand on your own, you wouldn’t have any reason to sit across from him in his office, feeling the steady rhythm of his voice guiding you through your work. You swallowed, running a hand through your hair. For all the exhaustion, all the frustration, all the times you had felt like you weren’t good enough, there was something about his presence that settled you. He was direct, sometimes painfully so, but there was never malice behind his words. No mockery. No disappointment. Just… expectation. And when he expected something from you, it made you want to rise to meet it. What would it feel like when that was gone? You frowned, lying back against your pillow and staring at the ceiling. It wasn’t as if you had some grand claim to his time. He was a scholar of the highest caliber, someone who spent his days immersed in pursuits far beyond your reach. Eventually, he would move on to the next great pursuit, and you…You’d go back to being just another student at Blueberry Yogurt Academy. The thought left a strange hollowness in your chest. You shut your eyes and let out a slow breath. For now, at least, it wasn’t over yet. There were still problems to solve, still concepts to master. And as long as you still had those to cling to, you had a reason to be there to see him. You just wished it didn’t feel like something you’d have to let go of too soon.

Morning came far too quickly, the night passing in what felt like mere moments. You had tossed and turned more than you’d like to admit, thoughts looping endlessly in your head, yet somehow, the sunrise still managed to sneak up on you. Still, routine was routine. You got up, dressed, and made your way to breakfast, finding comfort in the familiar sounds of the dining hall the clatter of plates, the hum of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter from a particularly lively table. Your friends were already gathered in your usual spot, Chai Latte waving you over before launching into another enthusiastic recounting of last night’s gossip. You let the conversation wash over you, contributing here and there, but your mind was already half elsewhere. Lecture passed in its usual blur taking notes, trying to keep up, nodding along even when you weren’t sure if you fully grasped what was being said. But today, there was no office hours afterward. No quiet moment in Professor Almond Custard’s study. Today was a lab day. It wasn’t that lab worried you, exactly. It was necessary, practical, the kind of work that let you take theory and make it tangible. But something about it always felt daunting as if the moment you stepped into that room, everything you thought you understood would be tested under an unflinching lens. Mistakes were easy to make, and unlike a homework assignment where you could take your time correcting them, here, they were immediate. Unforgiving. Still, you steeled yourself as you made your way to the lab, tucking your notes under your arm. It would be fine. It had to be. At least there was something to look forward to after.

The laboratory was already buzzing with activity by the time you arrived, the steady hum of voices mixing with the occasional clang of glassware and the flickering glow of enchanted burners. The air carried the faint scent of alchemical reagents earthy, metallic, with an underlying sharpness that hinted at something volatile. At your shared workstation, Chai Latte Cookie was already setting up, adjusting the height of a distillation apparatus while glancing over the day’s experiment guidelines. She looked up when you approached, a knowing smirk playing at her lips. “Well, well, look who finally decided to join me in our noble pursuit of scientific progress,” she teased, flicking a stray strand of hair out of her face. “I was beginning to think you were going to ditch me.” You rolled your eyes as you set down your materials. “You’ve been here for, what, five minutes?” “Five minutes alone, which is practically an eternity when there’s no one to complain to about this absolute mess of instructions,” she sighed, tapping the alchemical guide on the table. “I swear, do they try to make these as convoluted as possible?” You pulled your copy of the instructions closer, skimming the details of today’s experiment. A multi-step reaction sequence designed to test your ability to control magical yields if done correctly, it would produce a shimmering, stable potion infused with starlight essence. If done incorrectly… well, you didn’t want to think about that. “It’s not that bad,” you said, though your confidence wavered as you tried to make sense of the notations. “We just have to be careful with the reagent additions. One mistake and the whole thing destabilizes.” “Right, no pressure at all,” Chai Latte muttered, pulling on her gloves. “Okay, genius, where do we start?” You took a breath, rolling up your sleeves. “Let’s take it one step at a time.” Despite the initial nerves, there was something grounding about working in tandem with her. The two of you had fallen into a familiar rhythm over the semesters passing instruments back and forth without needing to ask, watching each other’s work to catch any potential mistakes before they became disasters.

You and Chai Latte Cookie worked in quiet concentration, the only sounds between you being the measured clink of glassware and the soft bubbling of the mixture as it reacted to each new addition. The instructions required careful precision one misstep, and the starlight essence could either dissipate entirely or, worse, cause an unstable chain reaction.

Chai Latte handled the base mixture, combining the ethereal dew and powdered astralite while you carefully calibrated the enchanted heat rune beneath the flask. The potion had to remain within an exact temperature range for the essence to bind properly too hot, and the components would burn off; too cold, and they would crystallize before infusion.

“Alright, heat’s stable,” you murmured, adjusting the rune’s glow to maintain the proper balance. “How’s the solution looking?” Chai Latte squinted at the swirling liquid in the flask, giving it a slow stir. “I think it’s at the right consistency it’s got that whole ‘liquid moonlight’ vibe going on.” She stepped back slightly and gestured at the next reagent. “Your turn. Time to add the starlight essence.” You nodded, taking the small vial of softly glowing liquid in hand. According to the instructions, the essence had to be introduced in an incremental spiral pattern a slow, deliberate movement that would ensure even diffusion throughout the solution. Lifting the dropper, you steadied yourself, exhaling before carefully letting the essence fall into the potion in a spiraling motion. As the shimmering liquid made contact, the mixture pulsed with a faint, otherworldly glow. Chai Latte whistled. “Okay, that looks really cool.” You didn’t respond immediately, too focused on ensuring the reaction stabilized. A few more careful additions, a few more slow stirs, and then, finally, the glow settled into a deep, mesmerizing blue with flickers of silver threading through it like tiny stars suspended in liquid. Chai Latte leaned in, inspecting it closely. “I think we did it.” You studied the potion as well, double-checking the indicators from your notes. “Yeah… that looks right. No weird discoloration, no sudden temperature spikes…” You allowed yourself a breath of relief. “We actually pulled it off.”

Chai Latte grinned, nudging you lightly with her elbow. “See? Maybe all that tutoring is finally starting to pay off.” You gave her a halfhearted glare, but there was no real annoyance behind it. “Or maybe we’re just a good team.” “Obviously,” she said smugly, crossing her arms. “Now let’s just hope we don’t jinx ourselves. We still have to get it approved.” Right. The professor would be coming around soon to check everyone’s results. You took a final look at your work, double-checking for any overlooked mistakes. With the experiment successfully completed and approved, you packed up your station, cleaning up any stray residue while Chai Latte Cookie hummed to herself. By the time everything was put away, the weight of responsibility lifted ever so slightly. “Alright, that’s that,” Chai Latte announced, stretching her arms above her head. “And we’re free until our next class. Or, in your case, free until tutoring.” She shot you a knowing look. You rolled your eyes. “Yes, I know.” She grinned, leaning against the lab bench. “So, what’s the plan? Gonna go grab a snack before you spend the rest of your afternoon basking in the wisdom of The Sage of Truth?” Her voice took on an exaggerated, reverent tone. You gave her a dry look. “I was just thinking of walking around for a bit.” Chai Latte raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. By yourself?” “…Yes?” She huffed dramatically. “Fine, be mysterious. But don’t think I haven’t noticed how much time you’ve been spending in the Scholars’ Wing lately.” Your stomach twisted slightly, though you tried not to show it. “It’s tutoring,” you reminded her. “Tutoring,” she echoed, smirking. “Right, right. Well, don’t work yourself to death. I’ll see you at dinner later?” You nodded, and with a wave, Chai Latte Cookie disappeared down the hallway, leaving you standing in the now-empty lab. With still nearly an hour before your tutoring session, you had time to breathe, to wander. The idea of heading straight to the Scholars’ Wing so early felt… too much. Instead, you found yourself walking toward the academy gardens. The crisp afternoon air met you as you stepped outside, the scent of enchanted flora and old stone pathways filling your lungs. Your feet carried you forward on instinct, weaving through the familiar paths of the gardens, past the towering moonlit trees and the delicate, glimmering flowers that thrived under the academy’s protective enchantments. The place was quieter at this hour, most students still busy with their classes.

You let your mind wander. You had improved. That was undeniable. Shadow Milk Cookie had acknowledged as much himself. And yet, the closer you got to mastering your coursework, the more uneasy you felt. Because once you did what then? Would this all just… end? Would he simply nod, satisfied, and send you on your way? And then what? You’d go back to struggling through everything on your own? The thought of it left an odd hollowness in your chest. You sighed, rubbing your temples before shaking your head. You were overthinking again. For now, you still had today. You still had tutoring. You still had time. With that thought grounding you, you turned and began making your way toward the Scholars’ Wing. You hesitated at the doorway, one hand lightly gripping the frame as you took in the scene before you. The door to Shadow Milk Cookie’s office was slightly ajar, just enough for you to hear the unmistakable cadence of his voice measured, rich with knowledge, yet tinged with something… lighter. Amusement? You couldn’t make out every word, but the conversation was fluid, the way one spoke when deeply engaged in an exchange of ideas. He wasn’t alone. Another scholar, most likely. Someone of his caliber. Someone who belonged in this space. You shouldn’t feel so strange about it. And yet, you found yourself rooted to the spot, fingers tightening against the wood of the doorframe. You had always known, of course you had that he was a renowned scholar, well-respected, well-sought after. He didn’t just make time for you. Still, you’d never walked in on him mid-conversation before. You weren’t sure why that bothered you. The question now was whether you should make your presence known or wait. Logic told you it wasn’t a difficult decision. It wasn’t as if you were interrupting anything truly private. You had a scheduled session, after all. If he was too busy, he’d tell you. And yet, another part of you…the part that still struggled with being here, in his space, in his world hesitated. Would it be better to wait? To not intrude? You swallowed, debating your next move. You took a breath, steadied yourself, and knocked lightly against the door. The conversation inside paused for only a moment before Shadow Milk Cookie’s voice rang out, steady as ever. “Enter.” You pushed the door open, stepping inside. The atmosphere of the room shifted slightly not in a way that was obvious or outwardly hostile, but in a way that made you hyper-aware of your presence. Seated in the office, gathered around the central desk, were three other scholars. Two women and one man, all poised with an air of effortless intellect. Their robes were neatly arranged, their notes methodically placed before them. They belonged in this room, in this world of academia, their presence natural expected. And then there was you. Your gaze flickered between them briefly before settling on Shadow Milk Cookie. He remained as composed as ever, but you couldn’t ignore the way the three scholars regarded him. Their eyes, bright with admiration, held something deeper, something lingering beneath the surface adoration. It wasn’t surprising. Who wouldn’t look at him that way? You shifted your weight, suddenly feeling out of place. This wasn’t your space. You were just a struggling student, given the privilege of his time through necessity, not merit. “Ah,” Shadow Milk Cookie said, closing the tome in front of him. “Right on time.” That pulled you from your thoughts. You hesitated, then nodded, gripping your notebook a little tighter. “I yeah. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” The man among the three scholars tilted his head, eyes flickering over you in quiet assessment. “A student of yours, Sage of Truth?”

Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. “Not quite,” Shadow Milk Cookie answered smoothly. “But an eager learner nonetheless.” You weren’t sure why, but that phrasing stung just a little. One of the women smiled, though there was something unreadable in her gaze. “How fortunate to receive such direct guidance.” You gave a small nod, unsure of what to say. Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you briefly before gesturing to the side of the room. “Take a seat. I will conclude here shortly.” You obeyed, moving to the seat he had indicated, but even as you sat down, the sense of displacement remained. They resumed their conversation something about magical theorem applications but your mind was elsewhere, thoughts caught on the undeniable truth. You were not like them. And maybe you never would be. As the three scholars rose from their seats, they exchanged their final words with Shadow Milk Cookie, their voices carrying a warmth that felt both familiar and distant. “Until next time, Sage,” one of the women said, her fingers ghosting over the edge of his desk before she stepped away. The other woman offered a gentle smile, her eyes lingering just a second too long. “Conversations with you are always illuminating.” The man gave a slow nod, expression composed but reverent. “Your insights remain unparalleled.” Then, with a final exchange of glances ones that seemed to hold something unspoken as they departed. You hadn’t meant to watch them so closely, but there was something in the way they carried themselves that you couldn’t ignore. Something in the way their voices softened when they spoke to him, in the way their gazes lingered just a breath longer than necessary. You shifted uncomfortably, staring at the door they had left through before glancing back at Shadow Milk Cookie. You had only caught fragments of their discussion snippets of terminology and references to studies far beyond your grasp. It had been like listening to a language you had only just begun to learn, the meaning slipping past you before you could latch onto anything concrete.

Still, what unsettled you wasn’t the academic distance between you and them. It was the way they looked at him. And the quiet realization that he was always surrounded by people like that. People who understood him. You hesitated before speaking, trying to keep your voice neutral. “…Were those your friends?” Shadow Milk Cookie, who had been straightening his desk, paused only briefly before resuming. “Colleagues.” The word was delivered so smoothly that it almost seemed rehearsed. You frowned slightly. “So, not friends?” He regarded you for a moment before answering. “Friendship, in academic circles, is often secondary to the pursuit of knowledge.” That was… not exactly an answer. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting, but something about his response sat strangely with you. Something about the way he had said it, as if dismissing the notion entirely. “…I see,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. You swallowed, gripping the strap of your bag a little tighter as you tried to gather your thoughts. “I… really saw how much they admire you,” you said, keeping your voice light, as if it was just an idle observation. Shadow Milk Cookie looked at you with mild curiosity, but he said nothing, waiting for you to continue. You let out a small breath, averting your gaze slightly. “They just… seemed so comfortable talking to you. Like they already knew exactly what you meant before you even finished a sentence.” There was something strange in the way those scholars had interacted with him and how naturally they seemed to fit into his world. You weren’t sure why it lingered in your mind so much, but the feeling sat heavy in your chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome. “I guess I just…” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “I don’t know why I feel this way, but… it kind of made me wonder if I’ll ever be able to understand you like that.” It was an uncomfortable thought; one you hadn’t fully grasped until you said it out loud. You had been learning, studying harder than ever, and yet somehow, today had made you feel like an outsider again. Like there was an invisible wall between you and him, between you and the world he truly belonged to. Shadow Milk Cookie was silent for a moment, his golden eyes steady as they regarded you. He didn’t immediately dismiss your feelings, nor did he rush to correct them. Then, with a measured tone, he finally spoke. “There are many paths to understanding,” he said. “Not all must be the same.” You met his gaze again, and though his expression remained composed, there was something deliberate in his words as if he was choosing them with care. He was not denying the gap that existed between you, nor was he pretending it wasn’t there. “I guess… I hadn’t thought about it like that,” you admitted. “But sometimes, it feels like no matter how much effort I put in, I’ll always be behind. Like I’m chasing after something I can’t quite grasp.” Shadow Milk Cookie considered this, his expression unreadable. “A scholar’s journey is not a race,” he said. “Nor is it a simple ascent. There will always be others who stand at different points along the path some ahead, some behind. But progress is not measured by where you stand in relation to them.”

You frowned slightly, tapping your fingers against the desk. “That makes sense, but it doesn’t change the fact that there’s still a gap.” He nodded. “No, it does not. But gaps are meant to be bridged, not feared.” Something about the way he said it made you pause. He spoke as if the answer was so simple, so obvious like it wasn’t a question of whether you could catch up, but when. The thought settled strangely in your chest, a mixture of comfort and something you couldn’t quite name. You glanced down at your notes. The hesitation from earlier still lingered, but it no longer weighed as heavily as before. “I… guess I’ll just have to keep going, then.” Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head slightly. “Was there ever any doubt?” You let out a quiet huff, shaking your head. “I don’t know. Maybe a little.” His lips quirked just slightly, an almost-smile, before he gestured toward your notebook. “Then let us ensure your doubts do not linger.” And just like that, the moment passed, leaving you with something new not quite confidence, but something close enough.

You cleared your throat, shifting slightly in your seat before sliding your notebook toward him. “Anyway,” you said, trying to sound casual, “I finished the assignment for Professor Almond Custard’s class. I think I did well on it.” Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze flickered to the notebook, and he reached for it with his usual practiced ease. You watched as he scanned through your work, his expression remaining unreadable as his fingers ghosted over the lines of your calculations and explanations. You told yourself you weren’t waiting for his reaction but you were. A part of you hoped, maybe even expected, that this time, he’d simply nod in approval and move on. That he’d confirm what you were feeling that you had done well, that you had finally gotten it right. Shadow Milk Cookie turned the pages with practiced ease, his golden eyes scanning your work with a meticulous gaze. You tried to sit still, to keep yourself from fidgeting under the weight of his silence, but every second that passed made it harder. Then, finally, he set the notebook down and looked at you. “…Well done.” You blinked. “Wait, really?” He nodded once, fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the desk. “Your reasoning is clear, your calculations correct. The structure of your argument is sound. This is a marked improvement.” For a moment, you just stared at him, half-expecting some kind of ‘but’ to follow. When none came, a rush of relief, no, pride bloomed in your chest. “I actually got everything right?”

“Indeed.” You exhaled, barely resisting the urge to sag against the desk. “Finally.” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you with something almost amused. “Did you expect otherwise?” “Honestly?” You huffed a small laugh. “Yeah.” His expression softened, just a little. “Doubt is natural. But in this instance, unnecessary.” He tapped the notebook again, deliberate. “You are capable. This work is proof of that.” It wasn’t an elaborate speech, nor was it overly sentimental but coming from him, it meant everything. You let out a breath, rolling your shoulders back. “I’ll take that as high praise.” “It is.” Your chest felt lighter than it had all day. You beamed brightly, laughter spilling from your lips pure, unrestrained, the kind that came from deep within your soul. Just knowing you had finally done something great, something without the need for corrections, overwhelmed your senses in the best way possible. “I can’t believe it,” you admitted between quiet chuckles, shaking your head as if that would make the moment feel more real. “No mistakes? Not even one?” Shadow Milk Cookie’s lips curved ever so slightly. “Had there been, I would have pointed them out.” You grinned, still riding the high of accomplishment. “Wow… I actually did it.” For the first time, you weren’t scrambling to make last-minute fixes, weren’t leaving his office weighed down by another list of errors to correct. It was strange, in a way like standing at the peak of a mountain you had been climbing for so long, unable to believe you had finally made it. Shadow Milk Cookie watched you, his gaze steady. “This is the result of your perseverance. Do not diminish it with disbelief.”

You paused, taking in his words. He was right. You had worked for this. You had earned it. You straightened, exhaling a breath that carried away the lingering doubt. “Then I’ll just say… thank you.” He inclined his head slightly. “No thanks are necessary. You have proven yourself through effort alone.” Still, you smiled, warmth filling your chest.

A/N no update tomorrow I won't have time to finish the chapter, but it'll be started and then finished+editing by hopefully Wednesday latest Thursday you might be asking yourself "Odile how do you get these chapters out so fast?" The simple answer: I'm hyper-fixated...+ It...'s break week and it was raining all day...My friends and I had to call it a day early cause it was pouring...so it gave me time to use the rest of my day to write and cook a good dinner etc...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

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[miclipse]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ princess & the fish.

pairing: rafayel x fem! reader

synopsis: rafayel’s dream of turning into a human had miraculously come true! but things didn't turn out like he had expected…

word count: 3.7k

cw: afab! reader, rafayel is a fish (literally, but he turns into a human), reader is a princess, nicknames used (princess, your highness), rafayel struggling to walk with legs, rafayel hates toes, very slight and brief abysswalker! rafayel reference (just one line), reader finds rafayel half-naked in her room, fluff

dt: everyone that wanted fishy rafayel (aka fifi) to turn into a human + the person in my asks asking if i was continuing this.

note: reupload because apparently my post didn’t show up in the tags :( but unfortunately that means the ask got deleted as well, sorry anon :(

likes reblogs & comments appreciated! <3

this all had to be a dream, right?

…actually, no. this was most definitely a nightmare, if anything.

because why else would rafayel be standing naked in your bedroom, the fishtank he once called his home now nothing but shattered glass scattered across your study table?

there was no logical explanation for this, rafayel thought to himself while struggling to manoeuvre around your room with his new pair of human appendages.

he spent at least ten minutes stumbling over his toes while trying to make his way to your bathroom door.

…seriously, why did humans even have a need for toes? and ten of them, at that!

when rafayel had finally, finally made it to the bathroom entrance, he spent another five minutes figuring out the mechanism behind how to open it.

turns out, the grand secret behind it was that he had to push the door, not pull.

once in the bathroom, rafayel was tempted to fill up your bathtub with water and just jump in for a swim, but he figured seeing a naked man with a towel wrapped around his waist would be a little less intense for you than having to see a fully naked stranger swimming around in your tub.

thus, rafayel opted to grab a spare towel from the cabinet just under the sink, carelessly tying it around his waist to hide his indecency before you came back from your royal duties.

rafayel spent yet another ten minutes trying to walk out of your bathroom (he nearly slipped at least twice but he refuses to talk about it) and towards the nearest furniture he could sit on without it breaking due to his new physique.

looking around your bedroom to ensure that there were no maids around to witness this phenomenon, rafayel plopped himself on the edge of your soft mattress.

resting his head on his fist, his eyebrows furrowed in the process.

this was not how he imagined things to go at all.

in all honesty, rafayel was pretty satisfied living life as your pet fish. though there were many pros and cons that came along with his new domestic life, he wouldn't have wished for things to be any different than how it was.

of course, there were times when rafayel would ponder to himself how life would be for him if he were to turn into a human and be able to properly talk with you.

but out of all the exaggerated and cliche scenarios rafayel had fantasized about during his free time (which was whenever you were not around), being naked with only a fluffy white towel tied around his waist as he dreadfully waited for you to return was definitely not one of them.

well, it probably was. but it was not at the top of his list, that was for sure.

but here came the real question—

how did he even turn into a human? there was no logical or scientific reason behind how all of this was possible. rafayel had never heard others talk about stories of fishes turning into humans either.

well, unless you included ariel from that little mermaid movie. but ariel was a mermaid, so it really was not exactly the same as rafayel’s current predicament.

and besides, rafayel didn’t think he knew or angered any shady sea witches back when he lived in the waters.

there was nothing he could really do at the moment. as much as rafayel wanted to sneak to the royal library to dig out some sacred books in order to do some research about his condition, he dared not imagine the consequences he would have to face if anyone caught him sneaking out of the princess’s private chambers with only a skimpy bath towel covering him from waist-down.

just the image of him getting beheaded by the royal guards was enough to convince rafayel not to leave your private chambers, knowing it was the safest place for him to be in right now.

so his only option now was to wait for his princess to return to her chambers so that he could try to explain the situation to you in hopes that your naive little brain could understand and help him out.

he was your beloved fish afterall, so surely you would find a way to help him, right?

an ear-piercing scream echoed loudly through the room.

rafayel's eyes snapped open in panic and immediate dread, sitting up from the bed frantically only to be met with a big white thing smacking his face.

as he made a clumsy attempt to back away from the bed and nearly tripping over his newly grown toes (human toes be damned), rafayel’s eyes wandered to the big white thing that was thrown at him.

it was your polar bear plushie, he noted.

rafayel then turned to look at the door, only to see you standing there looking like a frightened kitten, now holding a thick, hard-cover book ready to launch at him once more.

it was only then rafayel realised that he had accidentally fallen asleep in your bed while waiting for you to come back.

this was not good. not good at all.

“who… who are you?!” you shrieked out, preparing yourself to throw the book in his face within the next five seconds if he didn't respond.

“me? i’m…” without even realizing it, rafayel darted his eyes to look at your study table as he fell silent, his lips pursing together.

you gave him a look of skepticism before slowly following his gaze. the man watched as you let out a horrified gasp when you saw that your fishtank was nothing but shattered glass on the table.

“fifi!”

running to your study table, you stared at what once used to be fifi's home for the past three months, now nothing but broken shards scattered all across the table.

“you! what have you done to my fifi?”

rafayel backed up into the corner of the room when you pointed an accusatory finger at him, feeling very wronged by your assumption.

what, did you think he ate your fish or something?

“woah!”

to prevent his nose from breaking tonight, rafayel quickly moved his head to the side to narrowly dodge the book in your hands that came flying towards his face.

that was a close one.

“let's use words, shall we?”

before you had a chance to frantically look around your bedroom for a new deadly weapon to fling at rafayel's handsome face, he had to think of something believable, and fast.

“i’m asking you one last time, where. is. my. fish?”

your eyes narrowed and your eyebrows furrowed as you glared at rafayel as an attempt to threaten him.

rafayel doesn't really have the heart to tell you that your glare was nothing more than a little fly trying to square up to a frog.

not the best comparison, but you get it.

“well, if you're looking for fifi, i’m right here.” rafayel responded as nonchalantly as he could, desperately trying to hold back his laughter.

you shot him an incredulous look, obviously doubtful with his claim of being your pet fish. rafayel felt absolutely scrutinized under your gaze while you looked at him up and down.

“do you think i’m five?”

“well, given how you spend your nights talking to a fish like it's your newfound soulmate, i wouldn't doubt it.”

man, rafayel wished he could describe how proud he felt when he saw your jaw slacken and you gawk at him with wide eyes.

it felt so good finally being able to talk back to you, and in a way that you understood him too. rafayel picks this over ‘glub! glub! glub!’ anyday.

you looked around the room cautiously, before your eyes landed back on rafayel.

no one really knew that you spent your nights telling your baby fishy little bedtime stories.

…not unless this man in your room was fifi himself. it was a secret solely kept between you and fifi.

…still, it wouldn't hurt to double check, right?

“oh yeah? tell me something about fifi then.” you challenged, crossing your arms over your chest. you still felt doubtful over this whole situation. “anything at all.”

i mean, it wasn't everyday that you got to see your fish turn into a grown man (that was also naked, you observed), now a head taller than you.

rafayel smirked at your demand. oh boy, where should he start? he had many, many juicy secrets that he could spill to you. ones that he knew were only shared between you and your beloved fishy (him) in these very four walls.

but he was determined to embarrass the hell out of you, so he was thinking what exactly was the most embarrassing moment you've ever told him.

maybe he should start with that one time you started weeping your eyes out in front of his tank because you thought he was sick and about to die since he wasn't eating the kibbles you poured into his tank? (you were overfeeding him).

or perhaps that one time you told him you accidentally broke your mom's jewellery box while trying on her earrings and blamed it all on the maid instead?

oh. he couldn't forget the countless amounts of times you fell asleep sprawled over the study table, your hair looking as neat as a bird’s nest, drool escaping from the corner of your lips and dripping onto the sleeve of your nightgown as you snored the night away.

but the most memorable one of them all was…

“...remember that time when you tried to cut a piece of strawberry cake and dump it into my tank?” rafayel questioned, a smirk appearing on his lips as his eyebrow quirked upwards, anticipating the kind of reaction you’d give.

the way your eyes widened in horror and the tips of your ears started to tint in a dark red hue was enough for rafayel to conclude that he had won this round.

“only fifi would know that…” you mumbled out in utter disbelief. was this man standing in front of you really your pet fish of three months?

“exactly.” rafayel puffed out his chest proudly at your words. “but if you’re not convinced, i can tell you about that time when you tried to bring my fishtank to your bed so you could hug me to sleep—”

oh. not that. you desperately cut rafayel off mid-sentence.

“stop! stop, stop!” your face felt hot, as if you just ran a whole marathon with no breaks in between.

there was an awkward and tense silence lingering in the air, with you looking at your pet fish dead in the eyes.

“s.. so it really is you, fifi…” you managed to mutter out, albeit still in disbelief that your pet fish was now a grown man a head taller than you.

rafayel doesn’t have it in him to break the devastating piece of news to you that his name was actually ‘rafayel’ before you came along.

“affirmative.” fifi— or, rafayel, nodded his head without a beat of hesitation.

you both then proceeded to awkwardly stare at each other without a word, waiting for each other to break the tense silence.

eventually, rafayel was the one that broke the silence.

“so…” he sheepishly rubbed the nape of his neck, feeling like a fish out of the water (literally and figuratively). “has the shock died down yet?” he asked, hoping you were calm enough to have a proper conversation with him.

you blinked and glanced back at the broken fish tank a couple of times to make sure that rafayel was not some kind of crazy hallucination stemming from your lack of sleep recently.

“well, not really.”

“good enough for me.” rafayel casually bent down and picked up the weapons you used for your assassination attempt (your books and polar bear plushie), making his way to your study table to put the books back where they belong.

“i know you probably have a lot of questions, your highness,” rafayel’s gentle voice filled the room’s silence once again. “but i, too, don’t have the answers to them. i hope your highness can forgive me.”

he briefly glanced at you from his peripheral vision, a faint and apologetic smile ghosting his lips while he slotted the books back into the shelf.

you were still standing in the middle of the room, your eyes following rafayel’s figure while he was putting back your books. you still had the dumbfounded and surprised look from this whole ordeal.

when rafayel caught sight of you meekly nodding your head in silent agreement to his words, he took it as a sign to continue speaking.

“since you’re free tomorrow, how about your highness help a fishy out to find a way to turn me back?” he asked with a chuckle, making a final stop to your bed and gently placing your polar bear down by the pillows, now reunited with the rest of your fuzzy friends.

“how’d you know i’m—”

oh, that’s right. you told fifi at the start of this week that you had tomorrow to yourself. the realisation that you spent your nights practically telling this man (in his fish form) the a to z’s about your life started to settle in, coupled with embarrassment.

“oh.. right..” the corners of your lips twitched into an uncomfortable smile, trying to keep your cool despite the absurd situation unfolding before your very eyes.

“also, do you mind if i borrow a hoodie of yours or something? walking around with only a skimpy towel around my waist is a little uncomfortable.”

“ack!”

before you could protest, rafayel strutted towards your wardrobe and began rummaging through it like a stray mouse in search of a slab of cheese.

attempting to recollect your composure, you stammered out a remark in hopes to gain back some sort of control.

“h..hey! is this how you act in someone else’s bedchamber?”

rafayel halted his scavenger hunt for a brief moment.

“… i’ll remember for next time.”

…and he’s back to digging through your wardrobe for one of your oversized hoodies.

in the end, rafayel settled with one of your gray hoodies coupled with a pair of sweatpants he miraculously could fit in.

“what’s this?”

a look of confusion washed over his face as the fish stepped out of your bathroom, finally properly clothed.

his eyes were glued to the unfamiliar scene before him. a thick woven quilt was spread across the carpeted floor not far away from your bedframe, accompanied by two pillows and a neatly folded but thin blanket sitting on top of it.

“your new bed for the night.”

your response was as casual as inviting a friend over for a sleepover.

you gave his new bed a few soft pats, a gesture to coax him over, before making your way back to your own cozy haven.

“since you don’t fit in a fish tank anymore, i figured we have to come up with an alternative.”

rafayel watched as you tucked yourself into bed and fluffed up your pillows, getting ready to drift to dreamscape anytime from this point forward.

“yeah, well what if your maids see me?” his voice was full of skepticism as he approached his new bed, lifting up the blanket to fit into the warm cocoon.

“then i can tell them that you’re fifi.”

one of rafayel’s eyebrows quirked up in doubt and a hint of amusement.

“and will they buy it?”

“no.”

“…”

well, that was reassuring.

rafayel’s head was resting against the pillows now, completely unimpressed with your response while also trying to get used to sleeping outside of the water.

“well, but that’s something we’ll both deal with tomorrow.” you laughed nervously, leaning back against the plush pillows and turning your body so that you were laying on your side; facing rafayel with a faint smile ghosting your lips.

staring into your eyes like this made rafayel’s heart swell in an odd way. he didn’t know exactly how to put it to words, but the atmosphere of your bedroom felt dangerously intimate right now.

in fact, way too intimate for an owner and her pet fish to be having.

rafayel was no fool— he could tell how you seemed to be holding back more now that he had taken the form of a human. how the gaze you directed towards him still held a hint of love and affection amidst all of your other mixed emotions. you looked at him as if nothing had changed between the two of you, like he was still that tiny fish you had brought back home (kidnapped) three months ago.

“yeah… we should get some rest. we’ll be ransacking our brains a lot tomorrow.” rafayel agreed with a nod of his head, breaking eye contact first by turning his head to look up at the ceiling, trying to get rid of the dangerously growing intimacy dancing between the two of you.

his arm slid beneath his head to get into a more comfortable position for himself, still in disbelief that he was actually a human now.

he tried. keyword, tried to ignore the lingering feeling of not being able to bury his little fishy body in his favourite coral reef to fall asleep, and instead having to settle with sleeping on the cold hard ground with a paper-thin blanket that barely reached to the tip of his toes.

but in the end, the thought still greatly bothered him.

“tell me a bedtime story.”

…the words flew out of his mouth before rafayel could even comprehend what he was saying.

“i beg your pardon?” your expression morphed into one of astonishment.

“what? don’t you always go on and on about your day in front of my fishtank?” rafayel scoffed, turning his head back to face you. he had been kept awake against his will, forced to listen to your endless ramblings ever since you first kidnapped him.

he had grown so accustomed to your excited life updates that it was part of his daily routine now. rafayel always relied on your storytelling to help him get sleepy and prepare for bedtime, and he definitely wasn’t going to let this routine stop tonight just because he had grown a pair of legs out of thin air.

“… how about you tell me a bedtime story this time, fifi?”

your soft voice almost made rafayel wonder if he misheard what you had just said.

“hah, me? as if i have any tales that would fascinate you.” rafayel was quick to dismiss the idea of telling you a story.

one, bedtime storytelling was your thing. it always has been, and it always will be. as a fish, rafayel was habituated to just listening. i mean, he was a fish, there wasn’t much he could say to you in the first place. asking him for a sudden role reversal to play as the storyteller was beyond his expertise and comfort zone.

and two, his life out in the seas wasn’t as interesting or fascinating as whatever you were expecting.

or in other words, rafayel had no stories to tell in the first place.

“oh come on, i’m sure there’s some interesting stories about your life before you started living here.” you continued to persuade him further, trying to give him a metaphorical nudge to get him to open up.

rafayel really couldn’t resist when you talked to him in that soft and persuasive tone. you might as well grow a pair of fins and live in the ocean as a siren with how easily you allured him to obey your words.

“fine, fine, let me think of something,” the fish grumbled, his eyebrows furrowing together as he dug through his memories for anything worth mentioning to you.

entertaining a princess was hard work— rafayel was finally starting to understand the pressure of being in the presence of a princess like yourself. it was like there was an invisible expectation for him to uphold. one that was unspoken, but still anticipated in a way.

“does me being chased by an octopus sound entertaining enough for you, your highness?”

the way your smile grew, and your eyes held a hint of curiosity made rafayel let out a breath he didn’t even realise he had been holding.

so that was how he began telling you about the instance where he was chased by an octopus back when he was still adventuring around in the stray waters.

rafayel’s storytelling skills wasn’t top tiered as compared to yours. his story began awkward, his tone unnatural. this was not his forte, so he was basically a fish out of the water (once again, literally and figuratively).

however, the sounds of your soft giggles, hums of acknowledgement and occasional small nods of your head served to be the main catalyst for him to improve as the story progressed.

by the time the story reached its climax, he sounded more confident and sure of himself. he also was more natural when speaking and somehow, without even realising it, managed to lull you to dreamscape.

“...seriously? just as i was at the good part too.” rafayel muttered, feigning mild irritation when he saw that your eyes were closed, facial features relaxed, along with your breathing deep and slow.

rafayel let out a defeated sigh, lightly shaking his head before he turned his head to face back towards the ceiling again.

he finally understood how you always managed to fall asleep so quickly after telling him about your day— talking in such an excessive manner was… tiring. and now, he was feeling the growing fatigue about to consume him too.

he briefly snuck a glance at your sleeping form through his peripheral vision, the corners of his lips gently tugging upwards into a smile.

rafayel’s mind was tired, but his heart was filled to the brim with nothing but affection. affection that you had been showering him with for the past three months.

“no matter what form i take, you’ll still love me just the same, huh?”

he wasn't expecting an answer. he didn't need your verbal response to confirm his thoughts in the first place. the facts were as clear as day before his very eyes.

his vision was getting blurry, his breathing slowing down and his eyes feeling heavier with each blink.

rafayel vaguely remembered letting out one final whisper before everything fell to the darkness.

“…at least now i can finally tell you that i love you too, princess.”

all rights reserved © miclipse 2024. do not repost, plagiarize, copy, modify or translate my works on any platforms.

[boneblushed]

Cruel Summer

a/n: blink and you’ll miss it — it’s a folkloreslovechild original 💐 18+, minors PLEASE dni as contains mature content

Fever dream high, in the quiet of the night

You shouldn’t be walking the streets alone.

It’s the first thought Rafe has when he spots your figure from a distance, smooth legs exposed and pretty face hidden. Above him, the argent moon wanes, a half-crescent of silver light that does little to illuminate your features. A lone star twinkles further north of the horizon.

He begins to slow down and squints hard, pupils sharp and thick eyebrows furrowed. You have your head down as you walk along the path ahead of him, worn sneakers kicking up loose bits of gravel from the asphalt.

Of the paltry details he is able to discern, perhaps most valuable to him is your thready, white singlet and raw-cut, denim shorts. Glowing inches of bare skin. Rafe’s gaze skates along the poorly-defined edges of your silhouette, taking careful note of your slender limbs, the shadows created by the column of your throat. His pulse does something strange. You really, really shouldn’t be walking the streets alone, especially not looking like that.

He’s frozen in place, a conspicuous few feet away, when you do finally lift your head and meet his gaze.

You startle as his figure registers, stumbling backward in surprise.

“Fuck,” you curse, clutching your chest with adrenaline-weak fingers. Underneath them, your poor heart staggers forth in quick surges. “You scared the shit out of me.”

The street lamp overhead stripes your face with lemon-yellow light. A thick band of kiss-able cheek, a soft corner of your parted lips. You must be a touron. There’s no other explanation for why someone as pretty as you has evaded him until now.

“Me?” He asks, mostly joking as he raises his eyebrows. “What about you?”

You lift yours in tandem, the rate of your pulse acquiescing a little. Through the inches of velvet night that fill the space between your figures, there’s enough solid torso for your eyes to find purchase. Shadowing light defines his chiseled jaw, the strong biceps that become stronger, forearm muscles.

He’s hot. You almost forget that he’s also the stranger that’s blocking your path.

“What about me?” You return, faux-indignant.

“I’ve been walking this path since I was a kid,” he answers easily, taking a step closer. There’s something woody–vetiver, maybe, warmer notes of crackling musk–in his cologne that draws you in. “And never before have I seen you walking it, too.”

You shrug. “Maybe you’ve just never bothered to notice.”

“Trust me.” Rafe pauses, his voice low, gravelly around the edges. “When it comes to girls like you, I always bother to notice.”

You feel your pulse leap. The summer air presses into your skin, an all-encompassing heat, but it’s the sincerity in his tone that really has your warm cheeks burning.

“Girls like me?” You ask quietly, more bashful now.

He steps even closer still, the tips of his sneakers making contact with yours. And maybe it’s the stillness that twilight tends to bring, the way that dead of night suburbia warps time into something meaningless. But Rafe swears, in that moment, that you’re definitely not real. There’s a thin film of sweat that shines over your bare skin, and Rafe swears, bathed in dim moonlight, it looks honest-to-God iridescent.

The way his train of thought is veering toward Jane Austen prose is perplexing. His hand twitches toward yours without meaning to, an absent-minded action.

“Yeah,” he says, his heavy gaze falling over your features slow, agonizingly slow, like he’s trying to commit all of you to memory. “You’re the whole reason I’m out here so late at night in the first place.”

Lie. His father’s stern instruction about taking care of family business was the only thing capable of bringing him back to the Banks in the first place.

He’d only docked at the anchorage near Tannyhill a short while ago, the sky bleeding burnt ochre, dusk his only accomplice. And though he’d managed to sit down at Ward’s desk and get started, the restless whir in his brain had prevented any meaningful progress.

All he’d needed was some air. Clearly, your presence had given more than he’d bargained for.

“What?” You narrow your eyes jokingly. “Because I’m easier to kidnap in the dark?”

Rafe cocks his head to one side, his roguish grin cracking through. “Like… in a sexual way? Or…?”

“Oh my god,” you admonish, breathing out an exasperated laugh. “No way you’re trying to pick me up right now.”

“That’s the whole reason you’re out here, right?” Rafe asks seriously, furrowing his brow in feigned bemusement. “God’s put you in my path because he knows how much I need it.”

You raise your eyebrows appraisingly. “It?”

“You know,” Rafe answers vaguely, waving his hand in the air. His signet ring glints as the street light folds over it. “Beautiful girl with an end-of-summer deadline. Something to live for until the shit I’m running from catches up with me.”

This gets your attention. Your expression falters as the weight of his words wash over you, parenthetical tone with an allusion to something deeper.

And it makes Rafe’s chest ache, the concerned crease between your brows, pretty lips he wants to kiss pulling down into a frown. He’s even about to call it quits on grounds of your worry alone, when he realizes, questionable motive or not, you’re a touron that’ll be leaving in two months.

There isn’t time enough for you to wind up in his fucked-up orbit. He can still have you, he attests, he’ll just have to keep at arm's length; resign himself to touching, not marking, letting the bruises he leaves fade away.

Amongst other things. He adds, definitely overcompensating, “Don’t look at me like that, it’s nothing serious, yeah? I just mean the boring family business I’m supposed to inherit from my dad.”

“Oh,” you say, features relaxing it a little. You cock your head to one side and regard him for a moment, the moon’s glow bringing light to the mirth within your gaze.

When you’d first moved into your grandparent’s quaint beach house a few days ago, never once had you imagined stumbling into a no-strings-attached arrangement.

Not that there was any harm in one, especially not with a boy with as much small-town charm as this one. He’s just enough brash to make this fling a forgetful one, maintain a safe enough distance to ensure your heart remains unharmed.

You blink. Would-be fling. “So I’m something to live for, huh?”

“Worship, even,” Rafe murmurs quietly, his gaze dropping to your lips.

Your eyes widen in surprise, his rough voice rousing something deep in your stomach. “Little excessive, don’t you think?” You ask weakly, clearing your throat in an effort to regain your composure.

“Probably.” Rafe shrugs. So close now, you can almost feel the rustle of his polo as he does so. “Working though, isn’t it?”

A pause. You hate how right he is about that. Trying for more fire, you answer, “Maybe it’d work better if I knew who you were.”

“Fair enough,” Rafe says through a roguish smirk, pressing his tongue against his cheek. “Rafe Cameron.”

“Cameron?” You echo slowly, brow furrowing in thought.

Of the slew of unfamiliar names your grandfather had mentioned on his Outer Banks tour, Cameron was one of the few with enough significance to consolidate for good. The details were a little hazy — something about a powerful patriarch, a Pogue on Kook war gone awry. You’re sure the island slang would rouse more concern if you knew what any of it meant in the first place.

“Like…” you pause, looking up at him in astonishment, “…Ward Cameron who owns all of Tannyhill estate?”

Rafe makes a face. “Of course you’ve heard of my dad and not me.”

“Rafe Cameron.” You say his name slowly, soft eyes widening as they skate over his features. “The family business you’re inheriting is Cameron Development?”

Rafe could get used to this. Not often does he come across strangers—let alone pretty strangers—who correctly identify him as the big deal he is. He raises his eyebrows playfully, returning, “You sure you’re a touron, Polaris?”

“Pogue, kook, touron,” you list, shaking your head exasperatedly. “Why do the people that live here speak another language?”

Rafe chuckles appreciatively, strong arm swinging forward as he runs his hand over his buzz cut. Goosebumps bloom as the air shifts. “It’s a superiority complex thing.”

“To hold over tourons?” You half-admonish, mostly tease, the sticky heat of night pressing over you in waves.

Rafe doesn’t miss a beat. “To impress them. You.”

You balk, frowning bemusedly. “Why would you want to impress me, Rafe Cameron?”

“Are you kidding?” A gust of wind lifts your hair from your shoulders, exposing a smooth canvas of bruise-able neck. He could definitely get used to this. “You’ve gotta know that you’re the most beautiful thing on this Island right now.”

“This thing has a name, you know,” you say indignantly, your traitorous cheeks warming. “And it’s not Polaris.”

“You’re sure?” He grins easily, placing his hands on your shoulders, a soft-on-rough pressure that has your skin burning. In one, swift motion, he pivots you on your heel, stretching an arm above you to point out a lone star that's twinkling. “It was right above you when I spotted it, you know that?”

His broad torso folds over you easily, a blanket of vetiver and musk body heat. “The North Star?”

“Yeah,” Rafe says, his head above yours, chin this close to your hair. “Pretty, huh? Sure your name’s prettier.”

A pause. You can feel his chest wall lifting with every breath he takes, a barely-there force that presses into your chest.

“Guess you’ll never know,” you say with a shrug, pulling away slowly. Charming as he is, you’ll be damned if you make the chase that easy. You step out of his sphere of influence and turn back around, regarding him warily.

“Anyway,” you add, beginning to walk past him. “I better get back before my grand-parents realize I’ve left.”

“Hey – wait,” Rafe says in a hurry, reaching out to clasp your wrist. Hold you in place. He squeezes gently, jolting fire along veins that are already half-singed. “I can’t let you go alone.”

Your gaze drops to his rough fingers encircling your wrist, the way his thumb swipes over the skin of your forearm. You blink. “Of course you can.”

“No I can’t.” Rafe pulls ever so slightly, just enough force to return you to his side. “Not in good conscience, at least.”

“Seriously, Rafe,” you argue, drawing your hand back when his hold acquiesces. An imprint of sloven heat lingers. “I’ll be fine.”

Rafe frowns, looking over your features carefully. “Why’re you out here this late, anyway?”

Your lips pull down in tandem, a little meaner, a little more defensive. “Why’re you?”

“I know this neighborhood inside out,” he answers, raising his eyebrows.

“So you’ll know that the Clarence Lane cul-de-sac is only two streets away,” you return, folding your arms across your chest.

“Uh-huh.” He beckons you forward expectantly. “Won’t talk very long to walk you there.”

You frown down at his calloused palm, all the rough grooves and ridges that he’d pressed into your shoulders. “Alone.”

“Not on my watch.”

“If you’re trying to be chivalrous –”

“Would it help if I wasn’t?” Rafe interrupts faux-solemnly, splaying his large hard across the center of chest. “If I was only offering to walk you home as an excuse to get your number?”

“No.” You pause, the corners of your mouth twitching despite your feigned disinterest. “Maybe. Yes.”

“Alright then,” he says, nodding soberly. “I’ll be a total fucking douchebag from here on in.”

“From here on in?” You echo, raising your eyebrows playfully. “What? Because you weren’t being one of those when you scared the living daylight out of me ten minutes ago?”

“Shit, I know right?” He agrees apologetically, resting his hand on the small of your back to guide you forward. “I’m such a fucking tool. You’ve gotta make me pay by forcing me to walk you home.”

The warmth of his palm filters through your singlet, a spiderweb of heat that unfurls over your skin. You hadn’t realized, until now, how much comfort you’d find in his presence. It makes your pathetic pulse lurch, heart racing in juxtaposition.

“A five minute walk hardly counts as a punishment,” you say.

“You know what else you could do?” Rafe’s thick brows furrow as he pretends to think. “You could… wait, I know — you could let me take you out. I hate doing that shit. Fucking hate taking out pretty girls. Especially hate paying for them, bringing them home with me for another drink —”

“Fucking hell,” you interrupt exasperatedly, laughing despite yourself. “You know how creepy this’d be, Rafe Cameron, if you weren’t as hot as you are?”

“And rich,” Rafe supplies unhelpfully. “You forgot to mention my lord of the manor shit.”

His large hand sinks lower, a little less chaste and a lot more firm. You turn a corner in tandem and kick up more loose gravel, your grandparent’s large beach house growing in your line of vision.

“Cocky, too,” you return with a shake of your head, shying away from his touch. “Not used to people saying no.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” A few houses away from yours, now. The quaint cul-de-sac ends at a shortcut to the beach, and suburbia begins to thin as you near this man made trail. “Saying no to me?”

“If I am,” you say, raising your eyebrows at him. “It’s mostly just because I want to knock you down a peg.”

Rafe pretends to look affronted, his bright eyes full of mirth. “After I’ve taken the time to walk you all the way home?”

“Five minutes,” you remind him.

Rafe shrugs. “Feels longer.” His palm makes contact with your skin before drawing back, the rectangle of bare waist that’s exposed between hem and buckle. The heat of his touch lingers. “Actually, no, feels shorter. Five insanely short minutes where I still haven’t got your number.”

“Or your name,” he adds significantly, looking over you with a frown.

“Shame,” you say evenly, slowing to a stop as you near their gate. It’s paneled with driftwood and rustic bamboo, still quietly unlatched from when you’d snuck away before.

This time, when you step away from him, Rafe Cameron doesn’t catch your wrist and stop you. You walk backwards and nudge it open with your hip, trying to ignore the way your bones ache in protest. A phantom of his rough, clasping touch folds over your forearm.

“So…” Rafe trails off helplessly, running his fingers over his buzz cut, “...shit, I mean, that’s it?”

“I don’t know, Rafe Cameron,” you say softly, slipping through the gate and closing it on him. “Is it?”

“Fuck.” His pathetic heart lurches. “I hope not.”

“Hm,” he only just catches your silhouette shrug, any definable features shrouded by velvet night. “I guess all you can do is just keep hoping.”

—

Bad, bad boy shiny toy with a price

It’s a week before you see Rafe Cameron again.

The sky is a seamless, periwinkle blue, the sun shining over the horizon, a yellow bulb of light. Tepid seawater glimmers below it.

As you roll along the Island Club green in a golf-cart, the coastline dances in and out of sight. You veer to the right as hole eight comes into view, your grandfather and his old friend, Judge Thornton, close behind you.

You don’t recognise him at first. His buzz cut is hidden under a regal, white cap, a salmon-coloured polo stretching over taut biceps. He’s in the process of loosening the Velcro straps of his glove, and as he slips his fingers free, a signet ring glints in the sun.

An identifiable signet ring, with a flat surface of buttery gold. You swallow down the beating heart that’s bounding into your throat, trying not to think about the implications of him being here.

You being here. There’s something about the looming proximity that’s making your chest whir.

When the cart is close enough to cast his figure in shadow, he straightens and looks over, deep, blue eyes squinting hard. Acquiescing. He’s able to recognise you without any extra thought.

The whir in your chest grows deafening. It replaces the golf cart’s ignition as you slow, stopping just short of his figure by the hole.

“Looks like all that hoping’s paid off,” he says by way of greeting, grinning down at you as you climb out of your seat.

“All that hoping, huh?” you return playfully, folding your arms across your chest in faux-skepticism.

Rafe’s gaze drops with the action, an absent-minded gesture, and he catches an eyeful of cleavage that has him balking. You’re wearing a tighter singlet than you were a week ago, a black skirt instead of denim, shin-high socks with embroidered sunflowers. More gloss on your pretty lips, a sunscreen shine to your tired complexion.

And a visor. Rafe gives it a careless, little flick before responding.

“Think we can make a deal, Polaris?” He asks blithely, cocking his head to one side.

You raise your eyebrows. “Depends on the deal.”

“Alright,” Rafe says, gesturing to the tee below him. “I get this hole below par, and you let me buy you a drink.”

“And if you don’t?” You return with a frown, looking over the assessingly. The low rumble of Judge Thornton’s golf-cart grows louder.

“I will,” Rafe answers confidently, not missing a beat.

“That wasn’t my question, Rafe Cameron.”

“I know.” Rafe grins handsomely, strapping his golf glove back on. “That is my answer, though.”

You let out a defeated sigh, shaking your head exasperatedly. “What’s par for this hole, anyway?” You ask, obliging as he motions you backward.

Rafe doesn’t answer right away. He steps up to the tee with strong shoulders hunched, a punishing grip on the club that brings his knuckles to a blanch. When he swings, the metal heel clips the golf ball neatly, its trajectory through the air a majestic, half-crescent. It lands just short of the putting green, a few feet from a hole-in-one.

Behind you, your grandfather wolf whistles appreciatively. You blink. How did you fail to register his arrival?

“That was a beautiful shot, son,” Judge Thornton says then, stepping past you to give his broad back a firm pat.

“Beautiful shot for a beautiful girl,” Rafe returns smoothly, flashing you a quick, roguish wink as he straightens.

The compliment roars through your traitorous cheeks, a burning heat. You say, fighting hard to maintain nonchalance, “Par, Rafe Cameron.”

“Four,” he answers through a smirk, pressing his tongue against his cheek. “Does two under mean two drinks instead of one?”

“Woah there, country club,” you return playfully, trying not to smile. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Your ball’s on the putting green, you haven’t even got it in yet.”

“C’mon,” he faux-chastises, raising his eyebrows. “What did I say before?”

“Something fucking cocky, I’m sure,” you snort out, shaking your head exasperatedly.

“Cocky or not,” he returns, plunging the club back into his bag slovenly, “I was right.”

“Not quite.” You watch him jog it backward with raised eyebrows. “Not yet.”

He grins devilishly before turning around and quickening his pace, the heavy bag gathering grass stains as it trudges along behind him.

There’s no denying the mild amusement on your features as you watch him, though it’s only once Rafe’s well out of earshot that someone addresses it.

“Ward’s kid, huh?” your grandfather says, raising his eyebrows appraisingly. Rafe’s poised and ready on the putting green, now, his strong forearms flexed, the sun’s shadow making them ripple. You swallow instinctively. “How do you two know each other?”

This gets your attention. You tear your gaze away just as he taps the ball, just enough force behind his mallet to make the ninth hole in two. “Hm?”

“Your acquaintance with the Cameron boy, my dear” your grandfather repeats, regarding you with steely-eyed disapproval. “How long has this been going on for?”

You grimace abashedly, looking equal parts helpless and defensive. “We aren’t… well, I wouldn’t say we’re acquainted, per se –”

“Now listen,” your grandfather interrupts sharply, his gruff voice austere. “That boy may come from a very reputable family, but there’s no denying that trouble seems to follow him everywhere he goes.”

“Grandpa,” you groan, burying your head in your heads. You do not want to be having this conversation with him right now.

Or ever, for that matter. It isn’t as though this fling with Rafe Cameron is capable of turning into something serious.

Right? You add, your quiet voice muffled weaker by sweaty palms, “I’m not – I mean… we aren’t –”

“And that’s not to say,” he continues grimly, more to eschew an argument than anything particularly paternal, “that I forbid you from seeing him. God knows he’s still far better than the pogues your mother would bring home.”

Your diffidence eases a smidgen, head lifting again and pretty smile shining through. Through the corner of your eye, you catch a smug-looking Rafe Cameron with his putter raised above his head, thick biceps stretching.

“You think so?” You ask absently, a little distracted now. Rafe relaxes his shoulders and jerks his thumb toward the Island Club, mouthing, through a satisfied smirk, “Come find me when you’re done, yeah?”

A terrifying emotion sears through you. You send him a playful glare before turning away, meeting your grandfather’s weary gaze with something akin to embarrassment.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly, grimacing again. “You were saying? About Rafe?”

A pause. Something within his stern features softens. “You’ll promise me one thing?”

“Anything.”

“You’ll take everything he says with a grain of salt?”

“C’mon, grandpa,” you chide, elbowing him playfully. “You really think I’d fall for his little douchebag act?”

“My dear,” he returns sagely, raising his eyebrows. “You can’t blame me for worrying. It’s a tale as old as time. How else do you think I got your grandmother?”

—

Rafe’s already ordered you a Mai Tai when you find him.

He’s drinking whiskey neat, the deep colour of thick molasses, lounging back against a chair that overlooks the yawning green. When he spots you, he’s quick to lean forward and straighten. The front legs of his chair slant down and strike the ground again.

“What?” You fold your arms across your chest, pretending to look affronted. “I don’t come across as someone who also likes straight whiskey?”

“D’you want to swap?” Rafe offers with a grin, sliding his low ball across the table.

You raise your eyebrows dubiously, sidling into the seat opposite his. The drink in front of you is sunset tangerine, a heady mix of tropical citrus and sweet, orgeat syrup. “That easy, huh?”

Rafe presses his tongue against his cheek, regarding your features with mild amusement. “Anything for a name, Polaris.”

“And what if I say no?” You return, taking a long sip of your drink. Remnants of sticky Curacao making your full lips shine.

“I mean,” Rafe says, his voice lower now, more gravelly. His eyes drop to the column of your throat as you swallow, and his mind strays to something less innocent leaving it awry. “There’s nothing I can do about that.”

He leans forward and swipes his thumb over your bottom lip gently, just enough pressure to gather the glossy, Mai Tai film. When he brings it to his own mouth, his heavy gaze holding firm, it’s sweeter than he remembers it, more you than the orange liquer of his youth. “But I’ve realised,” he adds after pause, pulling away. “That a need-to-know basis doesn’t have to be so bad.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, hand lifting to your chin on instinct. The pads of your fingers press over your bottom lip, feeling the phantom of his touch, the soft nerve-endings he singed.

“Exactly,” you agree after a beat, swallowing thickly. “If anything, it’s better if you don’t know my name.”

Rafe cocks his head to one side, an imperceptible something flickering over his blue irises. “How so?”

You don’t miss a beat. “Makes things more interesting.”

Rafe picks up his wide-rimmed glass, taking a generous pull of whiskey. “And the other way around?” He asks, the auburn liquid burning as he swallows. “Am I less interesting as Rafe Cameron to you?”

“Not at all,” you answer honestly, shaking your head. “My name doesn’t carry the same weight that yours does.”

“Bad weight,” Rafe infers, a funny ache in his chest.

“Mm-hm.” A pause. There’s no way you’re thinking straight right now. “So bad that it’s good.”

—

Killing me slow, out the window

You’d decided against giving Rafe any means of contacting you.

Save knowing where you live and your affinity for moonlight trysts, you’ve given him little over nothing to work with since he’d bought you a Mai Tai.

Not that it matters. Somewhere between your first meeting and now, he’s made a habit of sneaking through your grandparent’s driftwood gate and waiting below your window for you.

Admittedly, there’d been a hankering in his chest since your Club rendezvous. Though you’d politely declined his offer to walk you home after a few rounds of liquor, the promise of more had permeated the sticky air as you’d looked over his features.

Harder when you’d pulled him closer. The kiss had been quick and fleeting, soft lips tinged with longing, and his rough hands had only just found purchased when you’d broken it.

“Later,” you’d said in cryptic yearning, breaking away from his figure and disappearing through the exit.

And of course, he’d taken you up this on this offer, finding his way to your grandparent’s front porch that night, rough heat in the stillness of suburbia.

Another kiss to seal your fate. His was doomed the second you’d slipped away.

Tonight, the air is thick with honeysuckle and the trill of cicadas.

You unlatch your window and push it open fully, the thick heat of June curling over you unrelentingly. You duck your head through the opening and peer into the back garden, a canopy of indigo dusk overlaying the perennials. No Rafe within the flowers. Your traitorous heart aches.

It’s as you’re preparing to acquiesce that a rustle of movement in your periphery catches your eye. It crawls along the dimly lit path until it’s right below you, a vague form with broad shoulders that you recognise, stronger forearms.

“Waiting for me, tonight?” He asks quietly, raising his eyebrows at you, roguish smirk on his face. “I’m touched.”

“God, shut up,” you bite back, smiling despite yourself. “What are we doing tonight?”

He shrugs cryptically. “You’ll see.”

It’s how you find yourself in a secret alcove on the edge of the beach, two towels splayed out with a bottle of French label connecting them.

You’re sitting opposite each other, cross-legged, the tips of your knees touching, jolts of electricity that hold you in place.

You reach for the bottle and take a careless swig, the bottom of your singlet riding up from the action. Rafe’s eyes drop to the taunting rectangle of exposed skin, silvery moonlight making it glow iridescent. He swallows thickly.

“Okay,” you say, handing it over to him. “Truth or dare?”

Rafe presses his tongue against his cheek mirthfully, still looking over at you as he tips back the bottle. “Truth.”

“How’d you find this place?”

A pause. Rafe looks over the weathered walls of the alcove, his eyes lingering over familiar ridges, the grooves his mother traced over when she’d first brought him here.

“I didn’t,” he says after a beat, the revelation searing through his chest like a knife. “My mom did.”

“Oh.” You regard him for a moment, your mischievous smile faltering a little. “Do you think about her often?”

Rafe hesitates. He takes another steely pull of the wine before thrusting it toward you, quick to avert his gaze. “That’s two questions, Polaris. It’s my turn.”

“Right,” you say, frowning slightly. You accept the bottle and take another long sip, your soft lips stick with saliva and warm liquor.

“Truth or dare?”

“Hm.” You pause, turning toward the poorly defined coastline in the distance, inky night descending over a slurry of dark waves. “Dare.”

“I dare you,” Rafe says deviously, swiping the bottle from your grasp, “to go for a swim.”

You tear your gaze away from the horizon, raising your eyebrows. “That’s it?”

“Naked.”

There’s only a moment where you falter, a split- second of uncertainty. Had you not already consumed half a bottle of expensive wine, you probably wouldn’t have had it in you to go through with something so brazen.

There’s a blur to your vision that has Rafe liquefying around the edges. You nod curtly and stand up, a coy smile dancing over your features.

“On one condition,” you say, voice smooth and saccharine sweet.

“Anything,” Rafe answers, and means it, too. He discards the near-empty bottle and pulls himself onto his feet, your gaze lifting up as his shadow folds over you.

“You count to five before following me.”

“Fuck,” Rafe groans, reaching forward and pinching your hip indulgently. “Fine. Alright. One —”

You break free from his grasp and tug off your thready singlet, throwing it into his chest before turning around and running forward. Rafe watches as articles of clothing fly onto the warm sand, watches the soft curves of your silhouette, the way you shrink as you grow bare.

By the time he’s counted to five, you’re already submerged in the water. Your exposed limbs glisten in the moonlight as you wave him over, and as he follows your fabric trail, Rafe feels a strange pull that makes him falter.

He’s a few feet away from you, and the pulse in his wrist isn’t capable of bounding faster.

“It’s warm, I promise,” you say, running your fingers through your wet hair.

“Fucking hell.” It’s an unrelenting rhythm, and his fingers shake as he fumbles with his own clothing. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?”

“In a good way?” You ask, watching his arm muscles ripple in tandem with the waves, almost balking at the ease with which he wades through the water.

He’s in your space before you can so much as blink, his rough hands skating along your bare back. “The best way,” he murmurs, pressing you against him indulgently.

“Guess that makes two of us, huh?” You mumble back distractedly, wrapping your arms around his neck. He nudges the slant of your jaw with his nose until your head falls back, sponging wet, hungry kisses along the soft column of your throat.

“Hm?” He hums, the sound reverberating through your skin.

“You’re the best kind of bad weight,” you breathe out, his tongue this close to rolling over your hard, sensitive nipple. “And I’m the best kind of death.”

There’s no coming back from making love in the middle of the ocean. In that moment, though, alcohol in your veins and Rafe everywhere, you realise, as the needy ache sears through you, that you couldn’t care less.

Control is overrated. For Rafe Cameron, you’d pick cruel over safe anyday.

—

And it’s new, the shape of your body

“Shit, Rafe,” you breathe out, awestruck, staring down at the vintage bottle of champagne that he’s holding. “No way you just happen to have 1990 Cristal lying around.”

A dim row of wall sconces bathe the scene in yellow light.

A dim row of wall sconces bathe the scene in yellow light.

The air feels stale as it bears down on you, thick and untouched, every bottle you disentomb exhaling a fresh cloud of must.

“What?” Rafe furrows his brow in mock thought, swiping over the chalky film of dust on the label. “This old thing?”

“Shut up,” you chide, swatting his chest playfully. “You have to know it’s worth like, $10,000, easy.”

Rafe’s blue eyes lift to yours, a glimmer of mirth painting them softer pastel. “Good enough to open, you reckon?”

You balk. “You’re kidding.”

There are a torturous, few inches between your figure and his, a little less when you consider the champagne bottle’s width. A faint, yeasty scent, some vetiver, a little bergamot, enough emanating body heat to rid the air of your alcohol-heavy lungs.

Rafe’s long retired the baseball-style shirt he was wearing when you’d first arrived, the mood lighting etching every line on his torso. His shorts hang low on his hips, belt free, revealing the devastating V that defines his lower abdomen. He passes the bottle between his hands absentmindedly, strong shoulders square and thick biceps tensing.

“C’mon, Polaris.” He raises his eyebrows faux-appraisingly, holding the neck away from your face. “Do I ever kid when it comes to expensive shit?”

He holds your gaze as he peels away the aureate foil, uncorking the screw and releasing wisps of white smoke. No brilliant spurts of foam, no deafening fireworks, and yet — you still feel that quick flurry of hope.

You reach for the bottle just as he pulls away, nimble fingers swiping still air instead of Cristal. He tsk-tsks softly before bringing it to your mouth, the cool rim bruising the pillow of your lips as he slants it forward to permit a pull.

It’s all effervescence and a hint of citrus, candied fruit and truffle within the melange. Rafe’s gaze skates along your neck as you swallow, his pupils dilating as he takes a gulp himself.

“More?” He murmurs absently, more an ulterior motive than anything particularly gallant.

“Mm-hm,” you answer, lips parting obligingly. He pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb gently, tilting it up so he can tip more in. The wetness on the bottle rim leaves your soft lips shining.

Rafe stares down at them, all pupil now, with something akin to reverence. “Can I have a taste?” He asks quietly, setting the bottle on a table beside him.

Your breath hitches. The criss-crossing shelves of the wine cellar press into your back, a firm pressure, though the heat of his gaze feels far heavier. He cages you in by placing his arm on the wall adjacent your figure, bicep to ear. And he’s so close, his head ducking to yours, lips a hairsbreadth away and yet still so far.

You lean in first.

There’s a tentative press of your lips on his before he gathers his bearings, pushing into you fully. The weight of his torso holds you against the shelves, a sloven, almost discomposed air to his movements. Like he’s desperate, memorising your mouth through rough, teeth scraping kisses.

His lips drag along your jaw, the smooth expanse of your neck. And when he finds the sensitive spot beneath your earlobe, bruising it amaranthine, you have to bite down on your soft cheek to suppress the moan it elicits.

“Don’t do that,” he murmurs into your skin, like he’s worshipping you. “Wanna hear you, sweetheart.”

There’s a mess of warm limbs and discarded clothing as he paws at your layers, eager to feel you fully.

And though you’d never once imagined you’d make love in a wine cellar, the way Rafe Cameron rocks into you, slow, agonisingly deep, makes you feel as though you’ve been missing out on a whole avenue of sexual misdemeanours.

He’s in tune with your body in a way you didn’t think possible. Every thrust of his cock has your tender clit swelling, the stale air filled with the lewd sound of your wetness. And he’s a man starved as he fucks you, his needy tongue swirling over your nipple, rough hands groping every inch of soft skin.

“Fuck, you feel unreal,” he grunts out, a thin sheen of sweat making his chiseled torso shine.

“Mm,” is all you can manage in response, fingers gripping his broad shoulders, a needy ache at your core. “K—Keep going —”

“Yeah?” He encourages, his own orgasm close to apex. “You going to cum for me, angel?”

And when you do, hot pleasure shaking through you in waves, it isn’t the first time, nor the last, that Rafe’s made you finish since you’d arrived.

There’s something about being around him that tends to charge the air with hungry static.

A little later, when you’re lying in his bed, details hazy, you turn your head and look over his vaguely obscured features. A lone band of silver moonlight spills through his slightly ajar, bedroom window.

“Rafe Cameron,” you whisper, angling your body toward his.

He shifts in tandem, his vivid, blue eyes like glow-in-the-dark stars. “What’s on your mind, Polaris?”

There’s an ache in your chest that’s difficult to explain. It enfolds the heart within your ribcage and squeezes, a heavy, cloying pressure that’s fairly unrelenting.

If only you knew that you aren’t it’s only victim.

“I don’t know.” A pause. Rafe reaches out before he can help himself, tracing over the planes of your face with his forefinger. Along your cheekbones, the pert tip of your nose. The Cupid’s bow above your lips. There’s a soft on rough juxtaposition that he’s trying to commit to memory. “Summer’s ending in a month.”

“I know,” he murmurs softly, barely audible. He thumbs over pillow of your bruised bottom lip, faltering.

“I’m leaving in a month,” you say quietly.

“I know.”

Another pause. You reach up and clasp his outstretched wrist gently, squeezing the pulse within it that’s staggering. “How come I only feel like this when I’m meant to be sleeping?”

“The same reason you were out that night that we met,” he answers, coaxing your fingers free to intertwine with his. “Easier to think when the world isn’t listening.”

“I feel like,” you hesitate, exhaling carefully, “like this is going to end badly.”

Rafe moves a little closer, his hip brushing against your thigh. “Probably.”

“But hey,” he adds, bringing both of your hands down. He leans in and presses a kiss on your lips, harder, more pressure, his figure bearing down. “Let’s leave worrying about that for when it comes, okay?”

—

It’s cool, that’s what I tell ‘em

Polaris: my grandparents aren’t home tonight btw

“…and — eh! Hey now, country Club,” Barry rebukes, his metal crown glinting as he bares his teeth. “I ain’t got the time to say this shit again.”

Rafe peels his gaze away from his phone screen forcibly, feigning a cool sense of disinterest. “What?”

Barry pauses, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Who you texting?”

“Shit, relax, no one, alright?” Rafe answers in a hurry, locking his phone and sliding it into his back pocket. He raises his arms in placating surrender, trying to ignore the restless whir of his insides.

“Now I know that ain’t true,” Barry throws back, waving his weathered pocket knife at his face knowingly. “You ain’t been in this room for a while.”

Rafe swallows evenly, leaning back into Barry’s dirty couch and spreading his thighs against either armrest. “I’m listening.”

“No you ain’t,” Barry snorts back, shaking his head. “You been texting since you came. What…Mrs Country Club asking you where you went?”

The taunt makes Rafe’s face crumple, if only for a split-second, and the realisation that dawns on Barry’s features tells him he’s lost this battle.

“Well, shit,” he goads, wolf whistling lewdly. “A Mrs Country Club, huh. Didn’t even know that you had one of those.”

“I don’t,” Rafe answers, gritting his teeth.

“Why you getting your little panties in a twist then, eh?” Barry smirks smugly, regarding Rafe with mild amusement. “Where you two meet? Brunch, or some shit?”

“There’s — it’s not like that, okay?” Rafe responds wearily, running his fingers over his buzz cut. “We’re just fucking. No strings attached.”

“Shit, doesn’t look like no strings,” Barry raises his eyebrows, gesticulating with his knife. “You been off your game for a while now.”

Rafe balks, frowning bemusedly. Sure he’s had to cut a few business meetings short, cancel a trip or two to Barry’s because he didn’t want a date to stop.

But it isn’t as though he’s with you every second of every day, is it? Thinking about you within these parameters of time is different to your physical presence.

Right? He says, voice hoarse and unconvincing, “Whatever, bro. You’re full of shit.”

“And you, Rafe,” Barry returns, scoffing exasperatedly, “ain’t listening to me.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Rafe dismisses frustratedly, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “What were you saying? I’m fucking listening.”

Barry ignores him. He walks forward and squats just short of the couch, face to face now with his brown eyes narrowed. “She the reason you been avoiding these parts the last few weeks?” He accuses, cocking his head to one side.

“I’ve just been busy, alright?” Rafe answers gruffly, keenly avoiding the question.

“Huh.” Barry runs his tongue over his metal crown, his own jaw tight. “With Mrs Country Club.”

Rafe feels his phone vibrate with another text through his linen shorts. It’s as though, when the urge to check it surges through him, when the forefront of his mind works furiously to place his absence elsewhere, that he realises he needs to give in and stop fighting it.

You. Brazen as his taunts are, there’s some truth to what Barry’s saying.

Every spare moment Rafe’s had in the past few weeks, he’s wanted to spend in your presence. Sunset walks that end in moonlight trysts, endless hours of pillow talk, skinny-dipping at the beach. He’s tasted more champagne through your lips than he has a bottle, marked more of your soft skin with purple bruises than he thought possible. A criminal amount of touching. Don’t even get him started on the looking. Rafe thinks, the course of the cruel summer coming to fruition, that he’s done more memorising of you than school’s taught him. God, he’s in love with you, and the revelation is dreadful.

This wasn’t part of the plan. You’re leaving the Banks in a week or two.

“There,” Barry says after a beat, tapping the sharp edge of his pocket knife against Rafe’s forehead. “Shit’s clicking, ain’t it?”

“Yeah,” Rafe answers in a rush, straightening. “I need to get my priorities straight.”

“And what might they be?”

“Not this.” Nothing else has ever felt more obvious. “Not any of this. Listen, Barry, I’m done.”

–

I’m drunk in the back of the car

You aren’t quite sure what set you off.

The pair of you were a few drinks deep when you’d felt it, that deep, cloying ache that’d been plaguing you since you met him. It was a sudden blow to the system, this ticking time-bomb of an arrangement, and the Island Club clamour in your ears was only heightening your emotions.

It was the same timbre of obnoxious as on your first rendezvous, a reminder of the day he’d used a Mai Tai to covet you. Frightening to think that that was a mere two months ago, the whirlwind of a summer romance with him feeling far longer.

Moments from ending. You were forty-eight hours away from being fully packed up and leaving.

So when that stupid, Taylor Swift song blares through the car radio, the same one you were listening to when he’d startled your midnight walk, you forgive yourself for the thick, hot tears that well to the surface.

Rafe’s struggling with his own hankering heart as they surge forward. He’s been stealing long, wistful glances at you throughout the car ride home, selfishly driving the scenic route in an attempt to avoid what’s coming. The fact that your skin glows in silver moonlight—a neck that he’s marked with a bouquet of bruises, smooth legs that he’s felt encircling his torso—is but an added bonus to an otherwise excruciating end to summer.

He isn’t sure when exactly it happened, but somewhere within the haze, you begun taking precedence over his father. He stopped thinking about retribution, his dauntless greed ebbed, and the situation with the cross and the pogues meant far less. Almost nothing, as he registers the falling tear on your cheek. It sears him with a fresh swell of longing, car beginning to slow as he pulls up beside your grandparent’s beach house.

He unbuckles and leans forward, placing his hand on your thigh and squeezing gently.

“What are you doing?” You ask in a strained voice, shying away from his touch. You turn away lest he see you cry, scrubbing your cheek in a hurry.

“Polaris.” Rafe reaches up to cradle your jaw, feeling his chest tighten when you flinch. “You’re crying.”

“I’m drunk,” you mutter, looking away from him. A fresh steam of tears flow down your face, creating a trail of hot fire that makes you ache.

“Talk to me,” he tries again, sounding more desperate than he wants to. He moves his arm around your headrest, the other finding purchase on the centre console. An all-encompassing figure in your periphery, the way he’s always been, the way you’re doomed to remember him.

“About what?” You ask, voice breaking as it rises.

“What — what’s on your mind?” Is it the same as what’s on mine?

“What do you think, Rafe Cameron?” You let out an exasperated sigh, muffled weaker by the sound of a strangled sob. “I’m leaving in two days.”

A pause. You turn toward him bravely, the whites of your eyes tinged red with a spiderweb of tears. “You’re staying.”

Rafe swallows. The pads of his fingers brush over the bare skin of your shoulder. “I thought that’s what we agreed on.”

It comes out all wrong — Rafe didn’t mean it like that. He grimaces when he catches the way your face crumples, cruel buzzcut a little longer, almost swaying as he shakes his head. “That’s not — I mean — I’m not saying I’m happy with —”

“No… I, whatever, I get it,” you interrupt languidly, swallowing down another sob. “We… it was no-strings-attached for a reason.”

“I’m bad news,” he reminds you quietly, honest-to-God yearning.”

“And don’t even know my name,” you agree, equally as quiet, a touch more subdued.

Rafe feels his own eyes burn, the unshed tears in your making them vague and glossy. “Not for lack of trying,” he murmurs.

“Glad I held my ground, anyway,” you whisper back, biting down on your cheek roughly. “It’s better this way.”

Is it?

Rafe doesn’t think so. His gaze falls to the same lips he’s memorised with his kisses, sometimes soft, something hard, and he really doesn’t think so.

“If you say so,” he allows after a beat.

“I do.” A pause. “I’m fine.”

Rafe forces himself to draw his arm back to his side. “You’re sure?”

“Of course I am,” you answer with a nod, averting your gaze as you click open the passenger’s side door. “Listen. Thank you. For… for showing me around, for taking me out, for making this summer so fucking incredible.”

Too fucking incredible. There’s a sad voice in your head that’s screaming in protest, growing louder, more desperate, with every inch of added distance.

“Hey,” Rafe calls, clasping your wrist as you pull away. “I — wait. That’s it?”

You look down at the rough fingers as they encircle it, wide-eyed and fairly close to acquiescing again. “That’s it,” you echo, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

“Well,” he retrieves his hand, running his palm over his buzzcut distractedly, “Now it’s my turn to talk

You exhale slowly, watching him. “About what?”

“Shit, Polaris, maybe the fact that I’m in love with you?” He says incredulously, torso over the center console now. He’s looking up at you with enough intensity to revive burning embers, dry the tears on your cheeks until your skin feels vulnerable.

You balk, frozen in place as your eyes widen. “What?”

“I love you,” he repeats, sighing defeatedly. “And I know that I’m meant to keep that shit to myself, it wasn’t part of the plan and —”

“Rafe Cameron,” you interrupt, your warm cheeks burning. “I love you too.”

A pause. The confession makes the hankering dissipate, so quick Rafe almost doesn’t notice. His lips pull up until he’s sending you that sweet, devilish grin.

“Huh.” He reaches for your wrist again, tugging hard. “Well ain’t that just the worst thing I’ve ever heard.”

—

[ckret2]

A leaked list of some of the exciting upcoming content from The Book of Bill:

The pyramids of Giza ranked from most to least sexy.

Winning lottery numbers. He does not say which game they're for.

Three pages of Bill practicing blackletter calligraphy so that he can write the fancy-looking "The Book of Bill" on the cover. (Meant to tear those pages out before submitting book to publisher.)

A section where he implies that all your headcanons about him are stupid. Yes, your headcanons specifically. If you compare your copy of the book to a friend's, these sections will have different text. He insults all headcanons equally, even the ones that contradict each other.

A long, rambling story about a funny thing that he saw at a party in the Nightmare Realm, but he keeps getting distracted gossiping about the embarrassing love affairs and crimes against reality the partygoers have committed. Not a single one of these characters has ever been mentioned before or ever will be again. He gets so distracted he never finishes the original funny story. He was clearly drunk when he wrote this section.

A pet care sheet on how to keep a pet axolotl. All of the information is extremely wrong.

Some of the other dimensions he's tried and failed to conquer. He keeps insisting that all the failures were somebody else's fault. It's extremely obvious that they're his fault.

A photograph of a vivisected elephant, for some reason.

A phone number written on a cocktail napkin that Bill insists would be really funny for all the readers to prank call. It leads to the desk phone of the director of the CIA. 

Bill claims he definitely totally knew that Stan was disguised as Ford the whole time, he only played along to trick the Pines back, and then he quickly changes the topic.

A page of Bill's original poetry. It's all unintelligible symbols. It will take 27 years for somebody to crack the code. They're all gory but juvenile limericks.

A cocktail recipe. It will kill you.

Bill's original version of the portal blueprints that he copied to give Ford, with Bill's handwritten annotations. One part of the blueprints is labeled "component that will accidentally destroy the universe. REMEMBER NOT TO INCLUDE THIS COMPONENT IN SIXER'S COPY!!" He underlined this twice. If this page is compared to the portal blueprints in Journal 3, it's clear that Bill included that component in Ford's copy.

A personality quiz to help you meet your ideal sleep paralysis demon.

Bill's baby pictures. He looks exactly the same, except his bow tie and top hat are too big.

Bill reveals that he thought the llama symbol on the zodiac wheel referred to that farmer guy on the edge of town, and he was super confused to see Pacifica there.

Multiple pages scattered through the book about Bill's amazing powers, his brilliant and fun plans for our dimension, and all the cool favors he's willing and able to do for his friends and followers. All these pages end with a passive-aggressive aside about how somebody would have to be REALLY stupid to turn down an invitation to join Bill's crew, Stanford Pines—

A page labeled "My loyal servants and slaves!" filled with several hideous, oozing, nightmare-inducing Lovecraftian monsters, and one Mickey Mouse.

A self-portrait depicting Bill riding a rocket ship playing an electric guitar while rainbow lightning flashes all around him and money rains down from the sky.

A cynical, sneering tirade about how love is evolution's idiotic way of tricking primitive species into reproducing and how only simple-minded mortals who can't separate their true thoughts from their hormones fall for it. In the margins he's drawn a heart around the words "Bill Cipher +" a scribbled-out blot. The blot is completely unreadable. Despite this, the fandom will spend years debating the name underneath based on the size of the blot.

Extremely stupid "explanations" about various unsolved mysteries and crimes. In six years the world will discover one of them is accidentally correct and Alex Hirsch will get investigated by the FBI.

The book will be divided into four sections. Each section will begin with a big illuminated letter. In order, the four illuminated letters spell "F" "U" "C" "K".

[de4dlyniightshade]

꩜ LIFT YOUR EYES

꩜ pairing: spencer reid x afab!reader

꩜ rating: 18+, mdni!

꩜ word count: entirely too many. (9.3k;-;)

꩜ warnings/contains!: smut, virgin!spencer, sub!spencer, softdom!reader, loss of virginity, piv, handjob, mirror play(?), dacryphilia, slight body worship, pwp, unprotected piv(don't do that.), creampie, nervous spencer, marking, smidge of orgasm denial, praise, pet names, mention of and use of plan B, silly love confessions, no use of "y/n"!!, i think that's all

꩜ lyric: "lift those eyes, look into mine, cause i can guide you, i can guide you"

© to de4dlyniightshade. no translations/reposts!

[WARNING! - explicit sexual content! proceed at your own risk!]

꩜ A/N: this is proofread but i'm a moron and can't read so no promises🤷‍♀️ ALSO! be nice to me i haven't written a single thing in like a good few years</3

Spencer had been acting off ever since he had drunkenly revealed that he was still a virgin on one of your group nights out. Being a profiler had many benefits, and this was definitely one of them. He was more withdrawn from all of you, had been keeping to himself, and kept conversations to a minimum. He was pretty inconspicuous with the ways he did it, but you picked up on it immediately. You couldn't blame him; he had been backed into a corner by Derek and Garcia, pressing him for a sex story, but what they didn't expect was his answer to be that he didn't have any, with Spencer leaving shortly after, the whole atmosphere being unbearable for him.

You acted the same with him; of course, being a virgin was nothing to be ashamed of, and you didn't see him any differently; he was still Spencer, and honestly, it didn't surprise you; he certainly wasn't the type to sleep around or have one-night stands, and you were sure you would've heard of an ex-girlfriend by now, which you hadn't, not a single mention, so you put two and two together and just assumed the others would do the same, but unfortunately not.

If you were being entirely honest, the fact that Spencer was still a virgin only made you more attracted to him. You were already borderline infatuated with him, but this newfound information only heightened it. You didn't really know when your crush on him developed, but it developed rapidly, your small crush turning into an intense desire. You couldn't stop thinking about him, thinking about how easy he would be to render a babbling mess, how he would be so sensitive and reactive to every little touch, and how pretty he would sound moaning your name. You had to force yourself to shake your thoughts, trying to focus on what you were actually supposed to be doing, which was mundane work tasks, and it didn't help that Spencer somehow always ended up in your line of sight. 

You managed to push through the rest of the day without much more zoning out and you were packing up your things to go home for the night when Spencer approached you, stopping what you were doing to give him your attention. He seemed on edge, his body language was stiff, and he wouldn't look you in the eye. "Can I uh- , do you mind if I come over?" He spoke meekly, and honestly, if he'd been any quieter, he'd be whispering.

You just smiled, ignoring his strange behaviour, knowing there had to be a reasonable explanation that you'd soon find out. "Of course, what's the occasion?" You pulled your bag onto your shoulder, ready to leave with him without much question. You didn't want to turn him down considering the recent events, and you also just wouldn't. You loved hanging out with Spencer; he was a breath of fresh air, completely honest with you, and just great to be around.

"Oh uh no occasion, just haven't hung out in a while." He gave you that straight smile he did all the time, still avoiding your eyes for the most part. You hummed in response as you motioned for him to follow you, making your way to the elevator, Spencer following close behind, your joint footsteps echoing through the empty space, the two of you being some of the last people in the whole building, which was eerily quiet.

Spencer didn't say a word to you on the whole way down in the elevator or on the walk to your car, and still not a peep halfway through the car ride to your apartment, you decided to pry a little—not a lot, but just to see if he'd crack and spill whatever it was that was bothering him.

"what's up? You're an unusually quiet Spence." You took your eyes off the road very briefly to glance at him, seeing that he was in a world of his own, staring out of the window, your voice breaking whatever his train of thought was as he looked back at you with a dazed look on his face, taking a moment to process what you'd asked him.

"Nothing's up; why would something be up?" His tone wasn't defensive, like you were accusing him of something, which is yet another reason why you knew something was definitely up. There had never been a single time where someone had insinuated something was up with him and he didn't get defensive about it, but you just took his word; he clearly didn't want to talk about it, and you weren't going to force him to yet.

"No reason, Spence, just thought I'd ask." You flashed him a sweet smile, and he nodded, going back to completely ignoring your presence. Something was seriously going on with him; you just needed to figure out what it was. Honestly, it was eating you alive the whole way to your apartment. He had never been silent for such a long period of time in the entire time you'd known him, and it was unsettling.

Once you reached your apartment, you unlocked the door and shuffled in, switching on a light before locking your door behind you just to be safe. You hung your bag on your coatrack and shrugged off your jacket, Spencer doing the same, both of you removing your shoes in unison before you turned and made your way to your sofa. "Wanna watch a movie?" you asked as you plopped down on your designated corner of the couch, looking over at him and awaiting his response.

"Yeah, sure," Spencer smiled. Following suit to your sofa and sitting at the opposite end, you furrowed your brows at his choice of seat. He always sat in the middle when he was here. Always. As if all the other unusual behaviour wasn't evidence enough that something was going on with him. This certainly topped it off, which prompted you to begin your interrogation, ready to present your extensive evidence.

"Alright, Reid, out with it. What's going on with you?" You turned to face him, your elbow resting on the back of the sofa as you stared him down.

"Nothing's going on with me? What makes you think that there is?" His tone was defensive this time, but not in an aggressive way; more in an accused way. His sudden change from in the car only further proved your point.

"You've been nothing but weird since you came up to me; you were completely silent the whole way here, and when I asked in the car what was up, you weren't defensive, which you've never done before; you hate when people insinuate something is wrong; you also haven't looked me in the eye this whole time; and finally, you're sitting on the opposite end of the couch." You finished your rundown by flashing a smile at him and raising a brow. You knew he couldn't deny any of it because you knew he knew you were right. It was your job, after all.

"Alright, fine, you got me, but it's nothing, really." Spencer finally met your eyes, his expression unconvincing. It wasn't nothing, and you knew it, but you just couldn't work out what it was on your own. You were good, but not that good.

"stop lying! I know it's not nothing, Spence. C'mon you can tell me. Promise nothing you can say will phase me."You shuffled closer to him as you spoke, now sitting in his spot in the middle. The sudden closeness of your body to his putting him under pressure.

"I don't know how to say it," he said softly, eyes fixed on his lap as he fidgeted nervously. His behaviour only made you more desperate to hear what it was. You'd never seen him so nervous before, so you knew it had to be good whatever it was, and you knew he had to get it off his chest asap. You also didn't think you could handle him being so quiet for a minute longer.

"Ugh, c'mon, just spill it; the anticipation is killing me," you giggled, trying to make him feel at least a little more at ease so he'd just get it out already. Spencer sighed, mentally preparing himself as he mustered up the courage to say what he was thinking.

"Okay, alright, you can absolutely say no, and we'll never talk about this again. It's completely your choice, of course. I would never try to force you to do something you didn't want to do, y'know. I completely understand if you say no; I won't take it personally. I just thought I'd ask just in ca-" You cut off his rambling with a loud groan, reaching out to hold his face with your hands and forcing him to look at you.

"stop rambling. say it. right now, Spencer Reid." You both sat in silence for a moment before he took a deep breath, closing his eyes before he finally said it. His words rendered you completely speechless as it all made sense; no wonder he was a nervous wreck.

"Will you have sex with me?"

The words bounced around in your head like a ping pong ball, repeating over and over and over again as you just continued staring at him. He cracked his eyes open to see the dumbfounded expression on your face, immediately regretting ever considering asking as he moved to get up.

"I uh- forget it, I'm just gonna go," he said, making a beeline for your door as you continued to sit in silence, watching him grab his jacket before you squeezed your eyes shut, letting out a deep breath.

"I will," you said, opening your eyes again to see him completely still, back to you, so you couldn't see his face. The only reason you hesitated was because you weren't entirely sure that you were awake. You'd been daydreaming about a situation just like this one only hours prior, and when you realised that this was actually happening and Spencer Reid was actually asking if you'd have sex with him, you knew you couldn't turn him down; you'd be a fool to.

"you will?" Spencer finally turned to face you, his doe-eyes meeting yours. You smiled at his sweet expression; he looked almost excited, and you nodded. "Course I will, c'mere," you said nonchalantly as you patted the spot next to you, and he nervously padded back over, sitting next to you before you reached out to tuck his hair behind his ear, his eyes meeting yours again.

"Is this about the other night?" You kind of already knew it was, and you weren't going to take it personally if the only reason he was asking was so he wouldn't be a virgin anymore. It flattered you honestly, the fact he wanted it to be you, that he felt comfortable enough to ask you and allow you to take his virginity.

Spencer sighed, "Yeah, I mean- not entirely, partly—I just don't want to have to tell another person that I'm still a virgin, but I do think you're pretty, of course! I'm not just using you," you let him ramble, knowing he felt the need to explain himself most of the time. You couldn't help but smile at his behaviour; he was always so put together and professional, and now he was completely erratic and hardly making any sense.

"You think I'm pretty?" You teased, pulling your lip between your teeth. Spencer then realised what he'd said; unable to backtrack, he opted for scrambling to explain, "I-I mean, yeah, you're stereotypically attractive; most of the population would be objectively attracted to you just based on a visual first impression." You couldn't help but laugh at his flustered state, moving to run your hand through his hair, the physical affection making him relax slightly.

"Can I kiss you, Spence?" You mused, your fingertips stroking the hair behind his ear. You already knew the answer to your question, but you wanted him to tell you that you could, that he wanted you to, you wanted his consent through the whole experience, making sure that he knew he could tell you if there was something he didn't like or if he'd changed his mind.

Spencer let out a shaky breath, hesitating for a beat before replying. "Please," he practically whined, his voice airy, and you felt the air shift. A whole different atmosphere filled the room as you gently moved your hand to his cheek, turning his face to you. You smiled, just staring into his eyes for a moment before you slowly leaned in, placing an experimental kiss on his lips, and he immediately returned it, which was then followed by another and another before your gentle kisses became open-mouthed, sensual making out, your lips slotting perfectly into his as he tentatively placed his hand on your waist while you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and pressing your body to his, your actions causing him to moan quietly into your mouth. The sound was sweet, like music to your ears, and you wanted more.

You tugged on the hair at the nape of his neck lightly, eliciting another moan from him, the pretty sound vibrating against your lips before you ran your tongue across his plush bottom lip, and he immediately knew what you wanted, opening his mouth to allow you to slip your tongue in, the feeling of your warm tongue exploring his mouth making him let out a whimper as he allowed you to completely dominate him, the sound awakening something in you as you moaned into his mouth before you broke the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips, you quickly manoeuvred to straddle his lap, your skirt riding up your thighs, mere inches from exposing your underwear.

You began pressing open-mouthed kisses down Spencer's jaw and neck before you were stopped by the collar of his shirt. You pulled away, moving to take ahold of his tie before you hesitated, looking up at him. "Can I?" you asked, almost desperately. Spencer looked back at you, already with a lustful expression on his face, his lips swollen and red, his hair dishevelled, and his cheeks flushed pink.

He nodded eagerly as you still held his tie in your hand. "Ah, ah, words, honey." Honestly, you didn't need him to say it, but you definitely wanted him to. The idea of him having to outright tell you what he wanted or what you could do to him made your stomach flip.

"Y-yes," you saw his Adam's apple bob as he gulped, a sly smile spreading across your lips as you leaned in to place a few stray kisses on his neck, stopping just below his ear. "Good boy," your voice was sultry and teasing as you loosened his tie, his breath hitched at your words, eyes closed as he let you do whatever you pleased.

You discarded his tie on the floor, moving to unbutton his shirt, kissing lower and lower with each button before kissing your way back up to his collarbones as you started kitten licking at his skin, hesitating before biting down—not too hard, of course, as not to startle him too much. Spencer gasped at the feeling, a whimper following after. His pretty sounds were so much better when they weren't muffled, and you had to resist the urge to just unzip his pants and pull your underwear to the side then and there.

"You sound so pretty, baby." You spoke into his skin, flicking your tongue out to lick his neck, your words making him whine. "P-please," he mewled. His voice was high-pitched and whiny as he pleaded with you to do something, anything.

"Please, what, baby? Tell me what you want." You placed a few kisses on his cheek before pulling away, your hands resting on either side of his neck and your thumb stroking his skin. He was a nervous wreck, muscles tense and eyes darting around the room, looking anywhere but your eyes. You let out an airy laugh while he gulped, trying to muster up the courage to tell you what he wanted. He was adorable, and it made you want to croon at him and take care of him, doing whatever you pleased without him having a say, but you knew you couldn't. This was about him, and you wanted his first time to be memorable in a good way.

"Aw, baby, it's okay; just relax; tell me what you want; I won't say no; this is about you and making you feel good, okay?" Your tone was soft and almost motherly as you caressed his cheek, trying to ease his nerves as best you could. Spencer looked at you with puppy eyes, his lips slightly pouting as he took a shaky breath, trying to force himself to relax.

"T-touch me, please." He whined, eyes still fixed on yours; you could've melted right there. The sight of his pleading eyes, swollen lips, messy hair, flushed cheeks, and bare torso beneath was enough to make you let out a muffled moan, surging forward to lock your lips with his in a desperate kiss, Spencer returning it with equal desperation.

You trailed your hands down his body, stopping to stroke his slim waist. His skin was hot to the touch and silky smooth, and the sensation of your hands caressing his skin made him whine into your mouth. You let your hand trail lower, stopping at the clear bulge in his pants. Your touch was feather light, teasing just a little to hear him whine again. You pulled away, watching him chase your lips before you fully palmed him over his clothes. The sudden stimulation made him gasp, jutting his hips upward into your hand for more.

"God, you're so fucking pretty, you know that Spence?" You rasped out, continuing to tease him, knowing that the material separating your touch from where he wanted you would get him hot and bothered. Your words made him whine and mumble something inaudible; your curiosity piqued.

"hm? What'd you say, baby?" You spoke softly, continuing to palm Spencer over his pants. His head was tipped back, resting on the back of your couch, his eyes closed and lips parted as he let out laboured breaths.

"I'm not," Spencer's words made you stop dead, the loss of stimulation making him open his eyes to look at you, only to find you already glaring at him, "What did you just say?" Your tone was stern, and eye contact was unfaltering as Spencer began to sweat under the pressure of your eyes and demanding tone.

"I'm not pretty," he murmured, shrinking in on himself and averting your gaze. You took his chin between your fingers and tilted his head to face you again. "Don't you ever say that to me again, Spencer," you ordered, watching him swallow thickly at your sudden change in demeanour.

"W-why?" he asked meekly, a doe-eyed, innocent expression on his face. You raked your hand through his hair, leaving a silence in the room before you answered his stupid question.

"Because, Spencer, you are pretty. Let me show you." You stood up from his lap as you spoke, Spencer gaping up at you with a confused expression on his features. His confusion was quickly squashed when you extended your hand to him, placing his hand in yours without question and standing up from your sofa, allowing you to lead him through your apartment to your bedroom. Once there, you kicked the door closed behind you before trailing Spencer to the side of your bed, pushing his shoulders down for him to sit on the edge before you switched on your lamp.

You moved to press a kiss to his lips, which didn't last nearly long enough for him, making him whine as you pulled away. You just smirked, moving to the side to get onto the bed with him, revealing the mirror directly in front of him, and he was about to ask why when you moved to kneel behind him, your hands smoothing up his back and stopping at his shoulders. You placed a kiss on his covered skin before you took his shirt in your fingertips, sliding it off of him, gently kissing his exposed skin as you did. Spencer assisted you in removing it before you balled the material up and discarded it on your floor.

You continued to kiss his soft skin, kitten licking and nibbling as you went, stopping at the junction at the base of his neck, looking up through your lashes to make eye contact with him in the mirror as you marked his skin, suckling and biting harshly, the sensation of your hot mouth on him making him whimper, feeling you smile against his skin as he did.

Once you were satisfied with marking his neck and shoulder, you shifted back, spreading your legs. Spencer whined at the loss of your body heat before you tugged him back into your chest, his head against your shoulder. Spencer watched you trail your hand down his body through the mirror, stopping at his waistband and bringing your other hand around his waist, starting to slowly and teasingly unbuckle his belt. Spencer swallowed in anticipation, his breathing picking up as you unbuttoned and unzipped his pants.

You trailed your fingertip over the outline of his hard length over his boxers, watching his brows snap together as his eyes fell closed, his mouth dropping open, a moan falling from his lips, the thin material of his underwear making the feeling much stronger than before. His reactions only egged you on, fully palming him and beginning to stroke him through the material.

"A-ah-p-please" Spencer mewled, reaching back to grip your thigh. You smiled, leaning your head into his, Spencer opening his eyes to see what you were doing. His eyes glazed as they connected with yours in the mirror.

"Don't look at me, look at you," you whispered into his ear. Spencer followed your direction, his eyes gazing at his own reflection. The sight was so foreign to him; he'd never seen himself like this; it made him feel vulnerable and shy, a blush blooming on his skin.

"Good boy, now lift your hips for me, honey," you breathed, hooking your thumbs into the elastic of his waistband. Spencer swallowed, letting out a shaky breath before he complied, raising his hips enough to allow you to tug his underwear and pants down to his mid-thighs, his cock springing free and hitting his pelvis. The sight made you pull your lips between your teeth, Spencer sucking in a breath and screwing his eyes closed at the cold air hitting his hot, sensitive skin.

"God spence, look at you, so fucking pretty, even got a pretty cock," you rasped in his ear, your lewd words making him gasp and blush a deep pink. You pressed a kiss to his cheek as he cracked his eyes open, watching you run your hands up and down his sides, the sensation tickling slightly, making him squirm against you.

"Can I touch you, baby?" You asked the question as if you didn't already know the answer; it was obvious, of course, but you still wanted to hear him say it. The question made Spencer roll his hips into nothing, subconsciously nuzzling his head into yours.

"Y-yes, please," he breathed, his eyes still fixed on his own reflection, watching as your hand trailed lower, painfully close to where he needed you, but you stopped just before your hand reached his length, drawing figure eights into the smooth skin of his pelvis. Spencer whined at your teasing, jerking his hips into your touch, urging you to touch him where he needed you, but you wouldn't; instead, you just let out a breathy laugh in his ear.

"I'll give you what you want if you do one thing for me, baby, just one. Can you do that?" Your voice was silky smooth, your light touch still on his skin, and Spencer nodded eagerly, "Yes!, yeah, anything! I'll do anything!" His voice was needy and whiny as he spoke, his head tipping back onto your shoulder as his eyes fluttered closed.

"Look at yourself and tell me you're a pretty boy," you said into his ear, your lips grazing his skin as you did. A smirk spread across your face when you heard his breath hitch in his throat, eyes opening to see you already looking at him, waiting patiently.

Spencer locked his eyes on himself, breathing deeply as his tongue darted out to wet his lips, his skin heating up, a pink tint spreading from his cheeks all the way down to his chest. You could see the hesitation in his eyes. You were inching your hand just slightly closer to remind him of his reward, mumbling "go on" under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

"I-I'm a p-pretty boy," Spencer stammered, his voice cracking and shaky as he spoke, instantly tearing his eyes away from his reflection, blushing impossibly harder, and his cheeks turning cherry red. You smiled wide, kissing his hot cheek. "That's my good boy, my pretty boy," you praised, finally taking his length into your hand. Spencer immediately let out a breath that formed into a whimper, relaxing against your body as you slowly dragged your hand up his shaft. Spencer let out a moan at the slightest stimulation, making you wonder what he'd sound like when you picked up the pace and stopped teasing.

You soon found out when you began languidly stroking his cock, not too fast but definitely not as painfully slow as you had been so far. Spencer was twitching in your arms, his hips stuttering into your touch while he let out strangled moans of pure pleasure. The whole experience was completely new to him; he'd never felt this good before, and it was going to his head, making him babble incoherently.

"Feel good, pretty boy?" You mused, your thumb rubbing his slit, and Spencer's hand flying to grip yours that rested on his hip, squeezing hard as he shuddered and whined, his back arching slightly. "S-so good, feel so g-good, d-don't stop, p-please don't s-stop," Spencer's voice sounded teary as he rambled, your hand continuing to stroke his length and your pace fastening slightly, drawing more of his sweet sounds from him.

"I wasn't planning on stopping, baby, don't you worry, I wanna see you cum," you finished your sentence by circling your palm over his tip, the action pulling a choked sob from him as tears welled up in his eyes, threatening to spill over any second. Your eyes were fixated on his reflection, mesmerised by the way his body writhed against you, his hips rutting gently into your hand and his mouth agape as his head rested on your shoulder, the close proximity of your faces having him practically moaning in your ear.

"O-oh, my god! f-fuck" Spencer moaned loudly, his hips rutting into your hand more harshly as tears spilled down his pink cheeks, quiet gasps falling from his lips. You could feel the dampness pooling in your underwear as you watched Spencer fall apart in your arms. He looked irresistible as he gripped your bedsheets with one hand and your hand in the other. His entire body was shaking and twitching as he got closer and closer to cumming.

"I-I-think I-" Spencer could hardly form a sentence, at least every second word being interrupted by whimpers and sobs. You hushed him, understanding exactly what he was trying to say and opting to stroke him faster, tightening your hold just slightly. The change made Spencer arch his back into your touch, a choked moan filling the room, his hips uncontrollably rolling into your hand as he chased his release.

"F-fuck, I'm gonna c-cum, please p-please d-don't stop, s-so close." His voice was high-pitched and whiny as he lost control, his body spasming as he let out choked sobs. When you felt his cock twitch in your hand, you stopped at the base and squeezed tightly, preventing him from cumming. The sudden denial and loss made him cry out, and a non-stop stream of tears ran down his face and neck. He became a babbling mess, unable to form a sentence, just begging over and over again for you to let him cum.

"Shh, baby, shh, I'm going to let you cum Don't worry, baby, just do something for me, okay?" You slipped your hand from his to smooth his hair off his forehead, the sweat that had gathered making it stick to his skin. Spencer opened his eyes, his lip quivering and his waterline still teary. "p-please please, a-anything! j-just p-please l-let m-me, n-need it so b-bad," Spencer sobbed. The sound broke your heart, hearing your pretty baby so distressed.

"Watch yourself cum for me, baby." Your voice was low as you spoke in his ear, your hand absentmindedly stroking his hair, unknowingly soothing him slightly. Spencer nodded erratically, shifting in your hold as his gaze fixed on himself, his heart hammering in his chest. The anticipation of finally getting his release made his whole body start short-circuiting.

"Such a good boy for me, baby," you praised, releasing your hold on his shaft and drawing back to your steady pace. The abrupt stimulation had Spencer moaning almost pornographically, and the sound was music to your ears, knowing you were the only person to have ever made him sound and feel this way, only making it so much more exhilarating.

Spencer's breathing became exasperated as he tried to say something, his voice failing him completely, but you knew what he was trying to say, his cock twitching in your hand, giving it away. Spencer's eyes were trained on his reflection—something so sinfully mesmerising about watching himself and seeing himself this way—not many people have the chance to see themselves so vulnerable.

"P-please, c-can I?" Spencer mewled. You think if you said no, he might've broken down right then and would never forgive you. You weren't going to, of course. You wanted this as much as he did, and as soon as you whispered those three golden words, it was all over.

"Cum for me."

Spencer cried out as he came, his eyes rolling back into his head. His orgasm hit him harder than it ever had before, his mind going completely blank. cum painted his abdomen and your hand in spurts, the thick white liquid coating his skin as you milked him of every drop, working him through his orgasm. You only stopped when he let out a whine of protest at the overstimulation and tried to squirm away from you.

"So proud of you, baby; you did so so well, my good boy," you said sweetly as you wrapped your arms around him, hugging him close to you while nuzzling your head into his and pressing gentle kisses to his hair.

You sat in silence while Spencer came down from his high, allowing him time to get his breath back. The sound was the only thing filling the room. You placed a chaste kiss on his shoulder before you spoke, "You know we don't have to have sex tonight if you don't feel up to it, baby; we can just cuddle; I won't mind." Your chin rested on his shoulder, eyes closed, while Spencer peeled his open, turning his head to look at you fully instead of through the mirror.

"No, I want to; I wanna at least try to return the favour." His voice was raspy as he spoke, all the noise he'd been making taking a small toll. You tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear, the same strand that seemed to be perpetually out of place, your expression softening at his words, "Spence, you don't have to return any favors; I told you at the beginning that this was about you, not me." You knew Spencer was persistent and wasn't going to give in easily, or even at all, but at least you offered.

"I want to, for you...and for me," Spencer averted your eyes, shy at admitting wanting this for his own trivial needs. His conformation that he did in fact want this and he wasn't just doing it for you because he felt guilty was convincing enough for you as you pressed a kiss to his lips. The sudden action caught him slightly off guard, but he quickly recovered, kissing you back with fervour, the anticipation of what was coming making him borderline intoxicated.

You broke this kiss, tugging Spencer's bottom lip with your teeth as you did, the action making him whine and chase your lips, desperate for more, but you just giggled, pulling away from him completely as you shifted up the bed, his eyes fixed on you as you moved to begin slowly unbuttoning your shirt. Your pace was painfully slow, giving him a bit of a striptease, the way he licked his lips and scanned every inch of skin that was revealed only egging you on further.

Once you popped the last button open, you slipped the material off your body, throwing it on the floor alongside his shirt. The sight of your chest, although covered by your bra, had the blood rushing straight to Spencer's cock, his eyes too busy on your boobs to notice you clearly staring at him until you spoke.

"Wanna touch them?" It could've just as well been a rhetorical question, with the answer already blatantly obvious. Spencer nodded eagerly; his keenness was endearing, and it had you squeezing your thighs together and biting down your lip.

You furrowed your brows when Spencer sat unmoving until you realised what he was waiting for; "C'mere then, baby" Your go ahead had him closing the space between you at light speed, and your eyes trailed down to see him fully hard again. It was a lewd sight, his pants pulled down just enough to free his length, his stomach still covered with his release, and his neck, shoulder, and collarbones lined with dark red and purple bruises.

Spencer noticed your staring and whined in embarrassment, feeling exposed while you were still mostly covered. You couldn't help but chuckle lightly. "You want me to take my skirt off? Will that make you feel better, baby?" Your voice dripped with honey, and the premise of seeing you in just your bra and underwear made Spencer's brain turn to mush.

"Y-yeah, please," he rasped, his eyes scanning your body from top to bottom, watching as you moved to kneel and reached behind you to unzip your skirt, pushing it down to your thighs before you leaned back on your elbows, your eyes connecting with Spencer's as you concealed a smirk.

"Help me take it off, pretty boy." You fake pouted and fluttered your lashes. Spencer's breath hitched in his throat, letting out a shaky breath before leaning over you, taking your skirt in his hands and slowly slipping it down and off your legs, dropping it on the floor before his eyes trailed back up to your covered crotch, attempting to swallow the lump in his throat at the sight.

"Fuck c'mere pretty boy," you leaned up onto your hand, placing the other on the side of his face and surging forward, pressing your lips to his with fervour. The kiss was sloppy and desperate as you pulled Spencer down to lay on top of you, taking his hand in yours and guiding it to your chest. He moaned into your mouth at the feeling of your soft breast in his hand, starting to knead and massage gently.

"Can I- can I take it off? please?" Spencer breathed, breaking the kiss, his hair falling around his face as he looked down at you. You bit down on your lip and nodded, arching your back off the sheets to allow his hands to slip around your body, fumbling with the clasps for a moment before they clicked open, your bra going slack on your chest. You weren't even surprised that he was also good at that.

Spencer let out a breath, watching you take the straps in your fingers and slowly pull them down your arms, finally revealing your bare breasts to him, his mouth gaping at the sight, seeing your nipples harden in the cold air, perking up and practically begging for him to suck on them, so he did, taking you by surprise when he leaned down, taking your nipple into his mouth without hesitation, wasting no time with testing the waters.

"Oh, fuck baby," you mewled, placing your hand on the back of his head and running your hand through his hair as he continued to suckle on your hardened nipple, letting out muffled moans into the soft flesh while he kneaded the other. You arched your back, pushing your chest into his face as he turned his attention to the other nipple, giving equal attention to both while you let out sighs of pleasure, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Spencer released your nipple once he was satisfied before burying his face in the crook of your neck, the movement causing his cock to press into your thigh, whimpering into your skin at the feeling. "Take your pants off, baby," you rasped in his ear, kissing his hair. Spencer immediately complied, pulling away and standing up from your bed before tugging his pants and underwear down his legs and stepping out of them, leaving them crumpled on the floor.

When Spencer turned around to climb back onto the bed, he was met with you completely naked, holding your underwear out to him on your foot, your lip pulled between your teeth. You giggled at his reaction, knowing that he'd be completely awestruck, not expecting you to be bare in front of him.

"Keep 'em if you like," you said teasingly, a sly smile on your lips as Spencer took the garment, dropping it on the floor along with the rest of your clothes and watching as you slowly spread your legs, completely exposing yourself to him, watching as his mouth dropped open at the view of your glistening pussy, feeling a little boost to his ego knowing that he was the reason you were wet.

"Are you going to come and fuck me or not, pretty boy?" You purred, watching him quickly climb back onto your bed, moving to be leaning over you again.

You could hear his heavy breaths, his body tense, nerves wracking his body under the pressure. You tucked his hair behind his ear once again, smiling sweetly at him. "Don't be nervous, baby; I'll tell you if you're hurting me or doing something wrong." Your words eased him slightly as he shifted closer, kneeling between your thighs, his eyes scanning your body from your face to your chest down to your waiting entrance.

Spencer didn't notice his breathing getting out of control again until you sprung up, taking his face into your hands, a worried expression on your face. "Hey, hey, breathe, baby, just breathe. You're okay. What's going on?" You tried to calm his breathing before it became a panic attack. Your soft touch and gentle words worked enough for him to talk to you. "I-i c-can't-" Spencer stuttered, avoiding your eyes and trying to pull away, but you just secured your arms around his neck, keeping him close.

"Yes, you can Spence; if you don't want to, that's completely different, but if you're just worried about doing it wrong, then you're not going anywhere." Your words made Spencer lift his gaze to your eyes, scanning your expression to see that you were completely sincere. He hesitated for a moment before leaning in to kiss you, initiating it for the first time. His kiss was gentle and slow, and you returned the same treatment, slowing the pace down to his comfort zone before you went any further.

You were the first to break the kiss for air, both your chests heaving and Spencer's nerves seeming to have subsided. You pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips before looking up at him, his eyes already fixed on yours. "You ready, baby?" You smiled, your hand resting on the back of his neck.

"Yeah, I am now." With that, you lay back again, watching Spencer smooth his hands down your inner thighs, urging your legs to open wider before wrapping them around and tugging you closer to him with no effort. The action made you gasp, feeling butterflies in your stomach.

Spencer placed a hand on your hip before his head snapped up to look at you. "I don't have any protection, do you?" He had a slightly panicked expression, and you just laughed, realising that you, in fact, didn't. "Just pull and pray," you said it so nonchalantly as if it weren't completely irresponsible and unreliable.

"But that doesn't prevent you from getting pregnant, and it's stupid, are you sure? I could go to the st-" You cut him off with a loud groan, glaring up at him. "Spencer, I swear to God, please just fuck me." You weren't usually so forward, but right now you were borderline sexually frustrated with how much he was putting it off.

Spencer gulped, nodding as you sighed in relief, watching as he moved to stroke his length a few times, taking a deep breath before leaning over you, pushing his hips forward enough for his tip to meet your entrance. You gasped at the contact, rolling your hips up and causing his length to dip into your cunt. Spencer immediately pushed further in at the feeling, his jaw falling slack as your walls started surrounding him, wet and warm and perfect, his hips subconsciously rutting forward into you.

"F-fuck s-sorry," Spencer apologised, stopping his movements to make sure he hadn't hurt you. You responded by wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer until he was bottomed out. A strangled moan ripped from his throat at the feeling of your soft walls wrapped around him. "O-oh, my god," Spencer breathed, his eyes screwed shut as he tried not to move, knowing that he had to wait and let you adjust to the stretch, which you were thankful for because it definitely was a stretch, making sure to mask the pain so he wouldn't worry. You lay quietly while Spencer let out laboured breaths, the hot air fanning your skin as his head rested on your chest.

Instead of telling him he could move You rolled your hips upward, Spencer moaning into your skin as you did, pulling out slightly before pushing back in, both of you moaning in unison. Spencer lifted his head from your chest and looked up at you, silently asking for reassurance. "Keep doing that, baby; that's good," you breathed, slinging your arms around his neck.

Spencer took your waist into his hands, continuing to roll his hips into yours at a steady pace, but you could tell he was holding back, trying so hard to be gentle and slow for you. It was endearing, of course, but you needed more. "F-faster, please" you moaned out, encouraging him to just give in and fuck you how he wanted to, how you needed him to.

He fastened his pace at your plea, his hips snapping into yours as he dropped his head to the crook of your neck, moaning desperately into your skin. "F-fuck! S-so good, pretty boy," you gasped, gripping his shoulders harshly, your nails leaving crescent moons in his skin. Spencer didn't even notice the stinging; the feeling of your pussy clenching around him overwhelming his senses as he moaned and whimpered into your neck.

"O-oh god, s-so warm," Spencer whined, gripping your waist tighter as he rutted his cock into you harder, his tip brushing that perfect spot inside you, the feeling making you gasp, nails running down his back, leaving red streaks across his skin. "R-right there! F-fuck Spencer, don't stop!" you moaned wantonly, back arching off the sheets as the sound of skin against skin filled the room.

Spencer's movements were slightly clumsy and out of rhythm, but the way he filled you and moaned your name made up for it completely. You felt his hips begin to stutter slightly, knowing that he wasn't going to last much longer; it didn't bother you at all. Your expectations for how long a virgin would last weren't exactly high; you didn't even expect to finish, but when Spencer moved his hand from your waist down to tentatively rub circles on your clit, you felt a familiar knot forming.

"Fuck, baby, that's it!" You moaned loudly, Spencer's fingers working faster at your praise, reassuring him that he was doing good. You felt tears prick your eyes, the sensation of Spencer's cock dragging against your sensitive walls and his fingers rubbing tight circles on your clit making your mind go numb, clinging to him as you ground your hips up to meet his thrusts, the head of his cock brushing your g-spot over and over again.

"I-I'm gonna c-cum," Spencer warned, voice strained and whiny as his pace faltered, thrusts getting sloppy as he neared his second orgasm. "m-me too baby just a l-little more," you whined, head thrown back against your pillows as a few stray tears escaped your eyes, thighs beginning to shake against his waist, your legs still secured around him.

It didn't take much longer for you to feel Spencer's cock twitch inside you, your walls fluttering around him as you felt your orgasm dangerously close. Spencer was suddenly trying to pull away to release on your stomach, your legs instinctively constricting him harder, desperate for your own release. "I-I c-can't hold i-it; you need to l-let me-" You could hear how much he was straining in his voice, desperately trying not to cum, but your mind only had one train of thought, and that was your own release.

"I-inside! p-please just c-cum inside!" You begged, Spencer's eyes blowing wide at your words, his cock twitching at the implication of filling you with his cum, and honestly, it seemed like his only option. Your thighs clenched around his waist and hands holding him with a vice-like grip, so he gave in, hands moving to hold your hips as he let himself thrust into your warmth, both of you moaning in tandem.

Spencer gave a few more sloppy thrusts before he choked out a moan, eyes squeezing shut and head tipping back as he released into you, burying his cock as deep as it would go, cum painting your walls in spurts, the feeling of the warm liquid filling you to the brim had to toppling over the edge, your back arching as you clenched around his length, a mix of his and your cum spilling out around his cock as he gently rocked his hips into you, riding out both your highs.

Spencer let himself collapse on top of you, his arms wrapping around you as he nuzzled his head into your chest, which was rising and falling quickly with your heavy breaths. You both lay in silence as you caught your breath, only remembering that you had to get up and clean yourselves when Spencer moved slightly, feeling more of his cum seep out of you.

"You should go pee." Spencer's voice was muffled as he spoke into your chest. You laughed lightly at the fact that he knew that. I mean he of all people would know that women had to pee after sex. "Well, get out then," you joked, Spencer cringing at your choice of words but complying, lifting himself off of you and slowly pulling out his softening length, both of you sucking in a breath at the feeling.

Spencer insisted on cleaning you up, taking care to be gentle and careful as he did, knowing you would still be sensitive before he all but forced you to pee, going on a tangent about UTI's and the statistics of how many women get them after not peeing after sex, and shoving him out of the bathroom. You finally got some peace to actually use the bathroom without him making you paranoid about your vagina falling off or something.

"alright! i pissed! happy now?" You walked back into your bedroom to find Spencer digging around in your closet in just his underwear, your bedsheets strewn on your floor. "Yes, very, where are your spare sheets?" he asked, turning to face you. You just stood in silence for a moment before you smiled, padding over to him, suddenly full of emotion as you wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your head into his bare chest. Spencer was surprised at your sudden affection but returned your hug, resting his chin atop your head and enveloping you in his arms, his larger body completely engulfing yours.

"What was that for?" Spencer asked when you pulled away, and you just looked at him with your eyebrows furrowed. "We just had sex, and you're asking why I hugged you? Got your priorities  straight, I see Dr. Reid," you jokingly rolled your eyes, feigning being mad at him. Spencer had learned how to differentiate when you were joking and serious pretty early in your friendship, so he just laughed at you, shaking his head but still curious as to why you decided to hug him.

You brought out your spare sheets from the closet, looking at Spencer with a look on your face that said everything: "I swear I looked there." He tried to reason, but you just scoffed, mumbling, "Yeah, yeah" and shaking your head.

Spencer all but forced you to let him help you make the bed, quickly regretting it when it turned into you both bickering over who was doing it wrong and who was doing it right, Spencer cursing more in the ten minutes it took to make the bed than he had in your years of knowing each other, but you eventually had the bed made, both of you getting in on your designated sides. It was a good thing you both religiously slept on opposite sides, or you think you might've actually become an unsub.

You switched off your lamp before rolling over and scooting over the bed to press yourself into Spencer's back, wrapping your arm around him and nuzzling your cheek into his back. "Are you...spooning me?" Spencer sounded as if he was trying not to laugh, and you glared at him even though you couldn't see him whatsoever and he couldn't see you even if a light was on. "Oh, I see, you don't appreciate my spooning you ungrateful little ass; I'll just be over here, don't you worry," you scoffed, rolling over aggressively and letting out an overexaggerated huff as you scooched right to the very edge of the bed, as far away from him as you could get, taking all the blankets with you.

"No no! i do! I really appreciate your spooning! come back!" Spencer laughed, reaching behind him to find you, his hand accidentally landing on your ass, making you gasp and swat him away. "Pervert! You're lucky you're cute, y'know." You rolled back over and moved to slot yourself behind him again, pinching his waist as a form of punishment for grabbing your ass before you draped your duvet back over him.

You both lay listening to each other breathing as you felt sleep begin to creep up on you. You heard heavy breaths leaving Spencer's lips. You poked him lightly a few times to be sure he was asleep before you whispered quietly, "I hugged you because I'm kind of in love with you." You held your breath, praying that he was actually asleep, and when he didn't reply, you let it out, sinking into the mattress as you let your exhaustion win, everything going black.

silly little epilogue!

"Shit, shit, shit!" you practically yelled, rushing out of your apartment with Spencer in tow, still buttoning his shirt, belt undone, and hair awry as you both hurried to your car. You had both slept in for work, completely forgetting to set alarms the night before. You only woke up when Penelope called you, asking where you were, eyes bulging out of your head when you noticed how late you were, Spencer stirring beside you at the commotion, opening his mouth to say something when you slammed your hand over his lips, his eyes widening when he realised it was Penelope on the phone.

You had to lie to her when she asked if you knew where Spencer was, telling her you had no idea and that you were sure he would be there soon. Spencer took the opportunity to jump out of bed to scavenger hunt for his clothes around your apartment.

You made a pit stop on the way to the pharmacy to pick up the morning after pill, the cashier looking at you with a knowing look at your appearance; your hair was messy, your clothes were askew and untidy, and there was not a lick of makeup on your face. You only realised you didn't have anything to take it with when you got to the car, and you were not taking it dry, opting to just speed off and deal with it later.

Your car all but screeched to a stop when you reached the building, both of you swinging the doors open and slamming them behind you, almost forgetting to lock your car as you tried to discreetly run-walk to the elevator, which didn't work. Passersby giving you both weird looks.

You did your best to fix yourself in the elevator, trying to look at least presentable to minimise questions from your colleagues. You didn't even glance at Spencer; how he looked was his own problem today. The elevator dinged and the doors opened, both of you striding out in unison, making your way through the office to the conference room.

"So sorry, I'm late!" You spoke, quickly making your way to your seat. "Traffic was terrible, sorry, hotch." Spencer followed suit, taking the seat next to you as everyone's eyes turned to you, looking at you both with a strange expression that you couldn't quite put your finger on.

Hotch went back to the briefing, going over the details that you had about the case when you leaned in to whisper to Derek, who was next to you. "Can I have a sip of your water?" you asked, and Derek nodded, handing it to you without hesitation. You tried to slyly pull the pill out of your pocket and quietly remove the packaging, but you clearly weren't sly or quiet enough. Penelope was gasping from across the table.

"no way! you dirty dogs!" She practically squealed, everyone's undevided attention turning to you, some confused expressions at her outburst. "That, my friends, is the morning after pill, and those, my friends, are a whole bunch of hickeys; oh, may I remind you they came in together, by the way?" Penelope pointed as she spoke, at your hand and at Spencer, both of you blushing and trying to wrack your brains for an explanation, but there was none.

"My boy!" Derek celebrated, leaning around you to pat Spencer on the back. You turned to him with an apologetic expression, realising it was probably your fault for not checking that they were covered, too worried about your appearance.

"Why am I not surprised?" Rossi added, a few of the others agreeing with him. You could tell that everyone wanted to bombard you both with questions but knew that they couldn't because of the whole part where you were all in an important meeting, Hotch clearing his throat as a reminder, everyone's attention turning back to the case.

You took the opportunity to actually take your pill, throwing it in your mouth and taking a swig of dereks water before handing it back to him and turning your attention to Hotch, the meeting continuing as normal.

You didn't notice Spencer scooting closer to you until he gently tapped your thigh to get your attention, turning to face him before he leaned in to whisper in your ear.

"I'm kind of in love with you too, by the way."

[skippingstonez]

Should start including more small stuff like this between stories!

NSFW Alphabet- Sky

A= Aftercare 

Does this one even need any explanation? S-tier cuddles. Probably has an absurd amount of fluffy blankets by his bed so that he can wrap you up in one before hugging you close to his chest. You always claim that those naps are the best of your entire life.

B= Body Part 

He would say something sweet like your eyes, but realistically I think it would be your stomach (especially if it's a bit more plump). He loves skin contact, so he actually loves just putting his fingers just beneath your shirt to rest on your stomach. He gets his skin contact without feeling guilty about groping you all the time, plus he can do it a bit more when out and about.  Definitely nuzzles his face around your belly-button during naps and smirks at the amount of bite marks around it. 

C= Cum

It's going inside one way or another. Either directly or he’ll cum on your stomach and stuff it inside with his finger as it drips down.

D= Dirty Secret

Has definitely thought about using that whip of his. Will probably never be the one to bring it up but he definitely ‘forgets’ to put it away and it's always conveniently somewhere he knows you'll see it. So if you were to ever ask he would be very on board.

E= Experience

Not very experienced. Definitely gives off a ‘wait till marriage’ vibe. However he is a very quick learner and more than enthusiastic to take a few pointers.

F= Favorite Position

Missionary, but specifically when your legs are wrapped around him and your nails are scratching down his back. Otherwise I think he'd also really like the both of you on your sides for those extra lazy days 

G= Goofy

He tries really hard to keep it pretty serious, especially during the climax (hehe) of it all. But if a mishap happens or one of you makes a funny sound he is definitely gonna start laughing his ass off and probably needs a sec to get it together before you keep going. It never exactly ruins the moment but it definitely has made the two of you have to start over once or twice.

H= Hair (Grooming headcanons)

It's chilly up there in the clouds, so there is no way he fully shaved. The sleepy boy also has some massive bedhead going on most of the time that he cannot for the life of him tame for some reason, and I think the rest of him would be the same. He still trims and tries to keep it neat but…well at least it's not totally out of control.

I= Intimacy

Perfection. The literal king of romantic gestures both in and out of the bedroom. Princess treatment is this man’s bare minimum everyday and he will worship the ground beneath your feet without you having to say a word.

J= Jack Off

Rarely. Growing up with such little privacy it's definitely not a habit he had until after he met you. So now he only really does it when he's been away from you for too long and/or he is very frustrated and doesn't wanna take it out on you. Even if you wish he would.

K= Kink

Edging. 2000% he is all for it. He loves knowing he can get you SO worked up over and over again. Also loves it when you do it back to him as well even if he whines about it the entire time.

L= Location

This comes from a headcannon @portraitofalinkonfyre and I talked about. Again, with such little privacy on Skyloft, I think Sky would actually have a hidden spot somewhere on an outer floating island or maybe down on the surface that he takes you. Especially if he doesn't wanna have to be quiet.

M= Motivation

Skin contact. Literally just a brush of your hand and he is as hard as a stone talos. He constantly graces physical touch so when it's skin on skin or even when you are the one to initiate it? Say goodbye to the rest of your clothes cause you probably won't see them the rest of the day.

N= No (Something they wouldn’t do)

No sex while flying. Don't look at me like that, it had to be said! Sky won't even think about doing anything if he suspects Crimson is even in the general vicinity. It's a hard rule that I think most people of Skyloft follow. (Though there has probably been someone who has done it)

O= Oral

Enjoys receiving but loves to give. He will gladly suffocate himself if it means he does buried between your thighs. Because of his asthma you will have to keep an eye on him and probably have some sort of air potion/inhaler nearby if that's the direction things are going.

P= Pace

There will be no rushing this man once he has started. Absolutely takes his time and takes things slow and steady till he has devoured every inch of you. What he ‘lacks’ in speed, he makes up for in every other way!

Q= Quickie

As i just said, he likes to take his time, our boy doesn’t like feeling rushed. It gives him really bad anxiety. He does do them on occasion though. He understands you're both busy and therefore he can't take as much time as he'd prefer and he'd rather gave you at little than not at all. 

R= Risk

Skyloft is a small place with even smaller walls. Everywhere basically is a risk to an extent. But he knows the best places to get some real privacy when needed and he will even take you down to the surface for a bit a thrill if you're both feeling adventurous.

S= Stamina

If you can't tell, I ove the headcannon that Sky has really bad asthma and so though he can go for a really long time, he has to pace himself to do so. Otherwise he will passout from not being able to breath. But if his head is between your thighs when it happens? Say your goodbyes now.

T= Toys 

Isn’t opposed to them, but is maybe a bit wary of them at first. He personally doesn’t own any but after a while he will buy some for his beloved if they are into it.

U= Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He tries to be a tease but I think he still would get flustered easily. So its usually him being teased and taunted till he breaks and takes you against the nearest wall

V= Volume 

Don't let him fool you. This man may be really quiet but he is noisy. Whines and whispers are constantly pouring out of his mouth, but only loud enough for your ears, and yours alone which is how he likes it.

W= Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character)

Low-key super scared about having sex the first time. Not full on panic attack level, but close to it. He grew up having a general idea of what it was but nothing in depth and so the poor boy had no idea what he was doing the first time around.

X= X-ray 

Kind of right in the middle. Maybe about average/slightly above average in length? (Aka probably around 6inch?) A bit thicker than some of the others though definitely not as thick as Twilight or Time.

Y= Yearning (How high is their sex drive)

Constantly craves physical contact, which turns him on, which leads to sex. Rinse and repeat. So basically, unintentionally high

Z= Zzz 

Sky could fall asleep standing on his feet on a regular day. Get him in bed, snuggled up with his love after a job well done? This boy is out like a light in seconds. Likely to the point that neither of you even have time to clean up before he is pulling you to him, using your chest as a pillow and he is peacefully snoring for at least the next hour or so.  

[moonstruckme]

I recently found ur page and omfg I spent hours yesterday reading all ur work!!!! What a lil fic of Sirius and reader but like pre relationship where she's in the hospital (u can pick reason) and she refuses to see anyone and just asks for Sirius

Thanks for requesting my love!

cw: hospital, mention of stitches

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 906 words

Sirius feels awkward and stiff as he pulls back the curtain, though for all he knows you’re too hopped up on pain meds to even know it’s him. Really, that’s the only reasonable explanation for the directions the nurse had just delivered: “She said she’ll only see Sirius right now.” 

He has no clue why you’d ask for him. He’s probably the least comforting of your roommates, and as soon as he catches sight of you, knees tented in front of your chest and hands clasped around your ankles, his worry for your choice deepens. 

Someone’s tried to clean you up, but they’ve done a shit job of it. There’s still blood crusted on your chin, and your face is blotchy, your cheeks smeared with dark gray like you’d wiped across them with your hands only to spread your makeup off to the sides. James had said you’d cried the whole car ride to A&E, but Sirius still wasn’t prepared to see you like this. His chest feels hollow and achy. 

“Hey,” you say, voice scratchy. If hearts have strings, you’re playing his like a fiddle. 

“Hey, doll.” He goes for a smile as he sits on the edge of your little cot, managing to sound halfway normal. “Come here often?” 

You start to grin, then stop like it hurts. Sirius stops, too. 

“Yeah, you know,” you say, “now and then.” 

“Don’t see why.” He makes a show of looking about him, at the papery blue curtain and beige-ish linoleum floors. “Place is sorta depressing.” 

You roll your eyes, and Sirius’ heart lightens to see you in a better humor. “Yeah, I think I’ve judged my hangout poorly. I’m dying to get out of here.” 

He’ll bet. You’ve been here hours longer than him. James had been the only one home with you when you’d tripped on the stairs and bitten through your lip, and Sirius and Remus had only found out when they’d gotten home and seen the note James left, his already scribbly handwriting worsened by haste and panic. By the time they’d arrived they’d missed most of the action (Sirius was secretly thankful for that) and James had filled them in before the nurse had come out to inform them that you’d gotten three stitches in your lip and summoned Sirius back. 

“I can understand that.” He gives you his best approximation of James’ easygoing grin. “You ready to go home then, gorgeous?” 

The shift is slight, but Sirius sees your bravado fade, a shyness entering your expression. “That’s actually why I wanted to see you,” you say.

“Yeah?” He doesn’t bother to hide his curiosity. “Why’s that?” 

“Because I know you’ll be honest with me.” 

He feels his eyebrows go up. “About what?” 

You shrink a bit, knees drawing closer to your chest. Your voice is small when you ask, “Is it awful? I mean, do I look awful?” 

Ah. Sirius can see why you’d want him for this, but you’re wrong in your assumption. He’d absolutely lie to you if he needed to, just like Remus or James would in his place. But you’ve asked for him, so Sirius tries to do right by you. 

“You could never look awful, dollface. Be sensible.” He squints his eyes teasingly, reaching for your ankle and giving it a reprimanding little shake. “It’s just a couple of stitches, you haven’t been warped unrecognizable.” 

You frown, and it’s even more upsetting than usual. Your eyes look heart-breakingly insecure. “Are you sure?” you ask softly. 

“Yeah, I’m fucking sure.” Sirius scoffs like you’re unbelievable. “You said it yourself, babe, I wouldn’t lie to you.” He definitely would, but there’ll never be an occasion for that. He can’t imagine you genuinely looking bad. “I can clean you up a bit, though, if you’d like.” 

You blink. “Um, yeah. If you think it would help.” 

“Brilliant. Sit tight.” Sirius gets up and starts going through drawers, sifting through medical supplies for something he can use. 

“Fairly sure you’re not supposed to do that.” You sound like you’re trying not to smile. 

“Fairly certain my taxes pay for this place, and they’ve left my best-looking roommate with a dirty face.” He finds a box of mini-wipes, turning back to you. “Don’t tell James I’ve said that.” 

“Oh, I’m definitely tattling on you,” you tease, and Sirius is caught between feeling triumphant and worried that you look very near to grinning. He has no clue how easy it is to tear your stitches. 

“What, you want us to match? That’s cruel, sweetheart.” 

You roll your eyes. “He won’t punch you.” 

Sirius huffs a laugh, holding you still with a hand on your jaw as he wipes gently at your chin. “You haven’t known him as long as I have.” 

Your brows flick up as you meet his eyes, disbelieving. “Our James? You really think our James would hit you for saying he’s not the best looking roommate?” 

“Well, not if you’re in front of me,” he muses. He throws out the first wipe, ripping open another. “He already feels bad for you, so maybe that can work in my favor. If you are going to tell him, lean on me as we walk out, okay, doll? Give me a fighting chance.” 

The corner of your lips twist as you close your eyes and Sirius wipes sideways across your cheek. “Yeah, fair enough. I’ll do my best for you.”

[acapelladitty]

`♡° kinktober 2024! ---

☆ kink: Thigh fucking

☆ pairing: Messmer/Reader

☆ summary: Injured and in need of assistance, you take full advantage of Messmer's vulnerability.

kinktober '24 ☆ main masterlist ☆ ao3

Arriving at Messmer's chambers, you find the door already cracked open and you only pause long enough to take a deep breath before pushing the door further open and stepping through into the now familiar room.

His absence had been felt across the Shadow Keep, your discovery of his leaving only taking place hours after he and a close guard had long departed for whatever business had snatched their attentions.

One of the older servants, a sweet and elderly woman who managed most of the kitchen runnings had been the one to inform you of his return many days later. But her message came with a request, a summons which you were to heed immediately as your lord demanded your presence in his private chambers.

The heat of his room instantly pressed at your skin, making the thin cotton robe which made up your daily clothing feel tight against your flesh. A thin red ribbon, the material silken and smooth, cinched your waist and the pull of it gave you both some definition to your frame and also marked you as personal property of the lord of the keep. A designation which afforded you a decent experience as much of your time was spent in your assigned rooms or mingling with other servants.

As remarkably tall as ever, Messmer is lounging off the edge of his bedchamber and his back straightens as he watches you approach. He is half-nude, his long torso exposed fully while his lower half remained covered by some loose blankets, the light colours only serving to make the paleness of his skin even more pronounced. His snakes watch you with yellow eyes, protruding from his body in their various positions as they keep close to their master.

“I see you received my summons, spirited paramour.”

Spirited paramour.

A title he had bestowed on you quickly after he had secured his coercion of you as his willing lover. He had appeared pleased with himself at the title, pointing out the dual identity of your spirited attempt to kill him and also how quickly you had succumbed to being spirited away as his paramour.

“I was unaware of your return, my lord,” you reply sweetly, only the slightest hint of bite to your voice as you walk towards him with gentle footsteps. Taking in his appearance, you are surprised to note that he looks tired; a weariness sitting loosely on his features as the skin below his eyes appears somewhat sunken and darkened by fatigue. But your gaze is quick to fall from his face as you take in the most obvious change in his appearance, that being a thick patch of reddened skin which looks raw and recently burned.

Beginning at his collarbone and extending down past his right nipple, the expanse of burned skin looks painful to the touch and you cannot hide the grimace which stretches your lips as you stare at it with open interest.

"You are injured."

It wasn't a question and he didn't treat it as such as his dual gaze of gold and darkness pinned you with a serious look.

"By a filthy, impure creature no less. A divine beast of the accursed Hornsent, roaming free in the lands of Rauh and attacking the men stationed there. Had Gaius not been occupied I would have sent him to deal with it," Messmer explained, his voice low and calm as he watched your approach with a slight tilt of his head.

Surprise alights in your face and Messmer is quick to take note of it, his head tilting in such a way that many of his red locks drop past his shoulder to hang free in the air.

“You know of such beasts?”

“In my previous life,” you begin quietly having no reason to hide your knowledge, “I had encountered one similar in my struggles. It attacked and I was forced to flee.”

He considers your words, drinking in the explanation as his elbow comes to rest on his knee and his head balances delicately atop one hand.

“I would not expect you to flee much, my lover. Or perhaps I overestimate how deeply those foolish tarnished traits run?”

Ignoring him, you choose information over a retort, "Did you defeat it?"

"Its decorative head was delivered to the men of the northern encampment whom it had been terrifying. A boon to drive their spirits and alleviate their fears."

Standing before his bed, the massive frame of it perfect to house his elongated body, you rove your eyes across the sturdy wood as you nod. The cloths which drape across the structure look soft as hell and your fingers itch with the urge to reach out and stroke along them.

"What do you need from me, my lord? I doubt my summons was merely to listen to you speak."

Snatching your attention back his face, Messmer's spine straightens once more - a move which makes the burn marks on his pale torso even more pronounced - and his haughty tones wash over you with a familiar smugness as he takes the disrespectful question in stride.

"My injuries have left me with an unfortunate ache in my limbs. You will put yourself to good use in assisting me with such a menial task, little tarnished."

Inclining his head to a half-full bottle of oil which sits on the floor to the side of his bed, your task is obvious and heat flares in your cheeks as you realise he wants you to rub your hands across his vast frame.

As his chosen paramour, you had been intimate several times across the short time you had lived within the Shadow Keep. The first coupling, where he had claimed you, had been brutal and unforgiving but his attitude had been tempered in your engagements since – his desire for intimacy making him a more thoughtful lover than some of the men you had shared your bedroll with.

His size was always a challenge but he often took the time to prepare you with his fingers to ensure a smoother, less pained entry, and it was a decision which had softened the lingering resentment of his defeat of you. Not to mention the genuine pleasure which he appeared to enjoy sharing and, in the few times where his release had come before your own, he had continued to use his hands and cock to drag you over the edge of oblivion.

A demigod through and through.

Apparently.

You pick up the bottle of oil and walk around the side of his bed, quickly clamouring up atop the sheets as you take up position behind him – your body having to raise fully on your knees to give you the height necessary to reach his shoulders. Spilling a little of the oil in your hand, the scent of it is heavily perfumed and it catches your breath for a moment as you inhale it slowly and warm the liquid between your palms.

As you rub your hands, you take a moment to look at his back – an area of his body that you were quite unfamiliar with in your exploits. The skin there was as pale as the rest of him and equally as littered with imperfections. Regardless, you can’t help the thrum of pleasure that pulsates through your cunt at the thought of getting to touch him in such a manner.

Rolling your palms across his wide shoulders, the natural heat of his body makes the application of the oil much smoother as you spread it thinly across the scarred skin. He's covered by the history of his wars; sharp, white lines decorating the skin here and there while more ragged tissue covers a patch near the top of his shoulder, the scarring there looking more bestial in nature than anything else.

His snakes never take their eyes off you, floating in the air comfortably as they take in every small motion and expression which crosses your face as they stare with empty gazes. You try to not meet their eyes as you massage their master, feeling the taut knots which sit below his skin as his flexing muscles hold their tension.

A thought rises, unbidden in your mind, of what could have happened if the beast had gotten the better of him. With Messmer dead, your role would die with him, as would the protection that such a position provided you. You had seen some of the other men as they roamed the Keep, those war weary soldiers and generals who had witnessed you in your soft clothing and it had not taken much to notice how hungry their gazes were as they fell across your body.

With no lord to serve, you would be vulnerable to claims from another, but it was a concern for another day.

Messmer is as relaxed in your palms as you could expect and you can feel the rumble of his approval thundering through his chest as he enjoys the attention. A wicked thought rises in your mind as you shift your thighs together and feel the dampness there.

Abandoning his shoulders, you grip at his long arm with a firm clench as you snake your way across his body and deposit yourself in his lap. His hands move swiftly to secure you in place on his knees and a soft gasp slips free of your lips as you take in the aroused state of his cock, the thick length tenting the blankets which you are now perched on.

You move slowly, pulling the blankets free to expose his length and heat flares in your cheeks as you avoid his heated gaze. Fingers still slick with oil, you take a moment to transfer what little of the liquid still sat on your hands to his cock as you take him into your palm.

"Wanton little tarnished," Messmer growls, bucking into your hand and you wrap it around the base of his cock, "what do you think you are doing?"

Feigning ignorance as you continue to slowly use the residual oil on your fingers to coat his cock, his thighs are hard as they flex beneath your clothed groin.

"Taking care of you, my lord. Is that not my purpose?"

He's suspicious. Rightfully so. But he allows it.

Once he’s fully oiled up, you lift your body enough to pull the hem of your robe high and push it behind you to expose your lower half. Taking his cock in hand, you shuffle forward until you’re able to place his length between your legs and close your thighs around it. The heat of his cock is warm against the underwear which covers your sex and you shudder into the sensation as you gently lift your ass and drag your thighs across his oiled cock.

Content to allow you your desires, Messmer makes no attempt to hide his interest as his hard length jerks between your things, the pillowy flesh making his lips curl back into a smirk.

“Spirited paramour, didst thou miss my presence within the Keep?” His voice low with arousal, the familiar smugness is as subtle as ever.

“No,” you deny hotly, “the peace was delightful.”

At the response, Messmer growls, “Lies.”

His wide hands come to settle on your hips and his strength is as breathtaking as ever as he lifts and lowers your body with a steady rhythm, matching his light thrusts with your movements as he fucks himself between your thighs. The scent of the oil is heady and your breath comes in shallow pants as his cock rubs against the thin fabric which covers your cunt – every stroke slowly building the aching heat within your groin.

Messmer is as vocal as ever, his muted grunts and soft exhales making your hold back a smile as he enjoys your body. From this position you can feel his chest rising and falling as you splay your fingers across his torso, tactfully avoiding the wide burns. His hips move quickly though, building a pace which tells you that he is close to his release.

With a guttural noise, somewhere between a hiss and a moan, Messmer comes and his cock jerks between your heated thighs before depositing its seed in a wide arc with some of it landing on your thighs and some reaching as high as his own stomach. Your cunt twitches against the throbbing length, nowhere near its own fulfilment, but something in how slack Messmer’s jaw goes while his golden gaze dulls is stunningly distracting.

Pale and red, the son of a god, he truly was beautiful in how unique he appeared.

Sated and coated in his own mess, Messmer allows his body to fall back to the softness of his bedsheets as he reclines comfortably. A high noise, one not quite a scream, slips free of your lips as his right arm wraps around your waist and pulls you down with him.

He enjoyed physical contact in the aftermath, a fact that was as unexpected as his other strengths. Many of the men who you had known previously were very strict in their wants.

His leg tilts, pushing up between your legs and you spread them willingly, adjusting to the new position as you're now forced to cling to him like a maiden. Your legs a tangled mess of limbs and your head pressing to his chest, his arm pins you against him roughly - clearly unwilling to allow you to leave as he relaxes into the surprisingly peaceful moment.

Not willing to be the one to disturb the quiet, you let him adjust you as he sees fit and choose to give it at least five minutes before reminding him that your own frustrated arousal had yet to be met in kind.

[syluslnd]

Hellow! just wanted to say I love the way you write Sylus ><

Spoiler warning kinda?? For those who didn't read his story chapter 1 story 3.

Can I request an imagine of how y/n would apologize to Sylus for shooting him upon the first meeting?

In a pre-relationship, y/n blushes at anything and is too embarrassed, shy and just feels really bad for shooting him after she develops feelings for him! So she looks for ways to apologize to Sylus before confessing her feelings (maybe through making cookies?). However, her actions made Sylus's suspicions rise.

Feel free to change anything the rest is up to you!

Thank you and I love your writings :(´◦ω◦｀):

trying to apologize to sylus

The kitchen was warm, the smell of cookies filling the air as you nervously wiped your hands on your apron. This whole plan had seemed like a good idea at the time—a small way to make up for what had happened.

Your guilt had been eating at you ever since you’d shot Sylus. It wasn’t an accident and though it was necessary at the time, the memory still made your stomach twist.

Sylus, however, hadn’t seemed bothered by it. He shrugged it off, as if getting shot was just another day at the office. That casual dismissal only made you feel worse.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by the sound of footsteps. Sylus stepped into the room, his eyes scanning the counter full of freshly baked cookies before settling on you. His brow furrowed slightly and you could already sense the suspicion radiating from him.

“What’s all this sweetie?” he asked bluntly, folding his arms across his chest. He didn’t move any closer, just stood there, assessing the scene like he was trying to piece together some hidden agenda.

You tried for a smile, but it came out nervous, shaky. “I, um, made cookies. For you.”

“For me” His tone was flat and you could tell he wasn’t buying it. He narrowed his eyes, watching you with that intense gaze of his. “Alright, sweetie, what’s going on?”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his stare making your heart race. “Nothing’s going on! I just thought… maybe you’d like some cookies.”

Sylus raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving your face. “Cookies” he repeated, his voice skeptical. “You don’t bake and you definitely don’t just hand out treats for no reason. So, I’ll ask again—what are you up to?”

Your face heated up, and you fiddled with the edge of your apron, avoiding his gaze. “I—I’m not up to anything. I just wanted to do something nice.”

Sylus didn’t move, didn’t blink. “Uh-huh and this sudden burst of kindness wouldn’t have anything to do with, say, you shooting me, would it?”

Your stomach flipped and the guilt you’d been trying to bury bubbled to the surface. “W-well… maybe” you mumbled, staring down at your feet.

There was a long pause, the room thick with tension as Sylus just looked at you, his face a mask of confusion. “Wait. Are you saying you’re apologizing? For that?”

You winced at how bluntly he put it, and your hands tightened into nervous fists. “I just… I felt bad, okay? I didn’t mean for it to happen that way”

“You shot me, kitten” he interrupted, his voice sharp with disbelief. “You shot me on purpose.”

You bit your lip, feeling your face flush with embarrassment. “I know. But I didn’t want to! I didn’t know what else to do at the time, and… I’ve felt bad ever since.”

Sylus blinked at you, clearly still processing your explanation. Then, to your surprise, he let out a short, incredulous laugh, shaking his head as if you were the most amusing thing he’d ever encountered. “You’ve been baking cookies to apologize for shooting me? That’s what this is about?”

Your eyes shot up to meet his and you felt a fresh wave of embarrassment wash over you. “Well, when you say it like that…”

“I’m saying it exactly how it is” he said, still laughing softly. “Sweetie, you’re unbelievable.”

You frowned, crossing your arms defensively. “I mean, it’s not funny! I’ve been feeling guilty this whole time and you just—”

“Oh, no, no” Sylus cut you off, stepping closer and cupping your chin in his hand, forcing you to look up at him. His eyes gleamed with amusement, a smirk playing on his lips. “It’s definitely funny. You shot me in my face and you’ve been walking around like you killed me when I didn’t even think twice about it.”

You opened your mouth to argue but the words died on your tongue. He didn’t even think about it? That was somehow even more humiliating.

He tilted his head, watching your reaction closely. “Kitten, I wasn’t exactly holding a grudge. You did what you had to. But I am curious…” He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering, “If you’ve been feeling this bad about it, maybe it’s not just the shooting you’re sorry about, huh?”

Your heart stuttered in your chest. “W-what do you mean?”

His smirk widened, and his thumb brushed gently along your jawline. “Come on, sweetie. You’ve been jumpy around me ever since. I’m starting to think maybe you’re hiding something else. Something more… personal.”

Your face burned as you realized what he was implying. “I… I don’t…”

“Don’t what?” he teased, his voice a low purr as he edged even closer. “Don’t have feelings for me? Or don’t want to admit it?”

You stammered, every nerve in your body screaming at you to either run or somehow disappear on the spot. “I—I wasn’t going to say anything” you managed to whisper, your hands trembling slightly. “It’s not… I didn’t think you’d… feel the same.”

Sylus blinked, his smirk softening just a touch, though the amusement in his eyes remained. “Sweetie, you really are something.”

You braced yourself for whatever teasing comment would come next but instead, his hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you in gently. His lips brushed yours in a kiss that was surprisingly soft, a stark contrast to the bluntness of his words.

When he pulled back, he grinned down at you, his voice low and teasing. “If I didn’t feel the same, I wouldn’t be here, kitten.”

Your breath hitched and you could only stare up at him, completely flustered.

“Now” he said, his hand slipping from your neck to grab one of the cookies. He took a bite, clearly savoring it before flashing you a playful look. “If all your apologies taste this good, maybe I should get shot more often.”

You rolled your eyes but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

He winked. “But you love me anyway. Right, sweetie?”

Your face flushed again, but this time you didn’t bother denying it. You just let the warmth of his teasing settle in your chest, knowing now that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

[koqabear]

(Un)Professional

♫: te pongo mal, Kali Uchis

“When Soobin struck up the proposition to be friends with benefits, he did it under the guise of remaining single and focusing on his music, adamant on keeping things “professional”— god forbid anyone else tries to get with you though, because maybe he didn’t really mean it when he told you no strings attached.”

Soobin x fem!reader

Genre: fwb to ???, pwp, kinda angst, smut, rockstar!au

Word count: 4.5K

warnings: soobin is actually kinda mean and toxic but they have their little redemption arc idk TT… barely edited sorry

smut warnings: mean/hard dom! soobin, sub!mc, mc is kinda bratty, so also brat tamer soobin hehe, rough sex, unprotected sex, pet names, (pretty, baby, etc.) possessiveness, jealousy, degrading, thigh riding, dry humping, breast play, edging, marking, biting, oral (f. rec.), fingering, dacryphilia, hair pulling, dumbification, creampie (lmk if i should add anything!)

Notes: this is a mini series that was made simply because i am an indecisive loser. don’t ask why i was listening to reggaeton for a rockstar au, it just happened 😭 also i wrote all these parts after midnight bc that’s the only time i was able to write i guess— in other words… don’t expect too much from this. 

Soobin doesn’t do relationships. 

There’s no room for something as fragile as that in his life, at least not when he’s traveling to a new state every day for his tours— the last thing Soobin would ever do is fuck up what he already has just for something as fickle as love. 

However, he is a man with needs— needs that are gladly fulfilled by you, his pretty best friend that always travels with them. 

He’s known you long enough to have struck up this arrangement confidently; knowing there would be no strings attached, not able to form any feelings for someone he’s been content being just friends with for— well, forever. 

So this— his pounding heart, his brows that furrow together with frustration, his hands that grip his microphone a little tighter— is definitely new. 

There is no logical reason as to why he should be feeling like this; there’s no logical explanation as to why it’s been such an eyesore to watch Yeonjun interact with you the whole night, watching the way the man not so subtly sends winks and coy smiles in your direction, Soobin’s lips being bitten at as he watches the way you merely smile cutely in response. 

You don’t even act this way with him; every time you’ve come to their shows, you’ve always made it a point to act normal whenever Soobin comes around— just enough excitement to make you seem like a fan, but not enough to make it seem like you know him— you’ve learned this the hard way.

“Tone it down a bit next time, yeah?” Soobin told you once, as you laid in his hotel bed and surfed through the tv channels with droopy eyes, “If we’re gonna keep doing this, we should be professional about it.”

His words garnered a massive roll of your eyes— what the fuck did he even mean by that? It’s a concert, of course you had to seem excited— but it seems as though you took his comment to heart, watching the way your excitement dies down the moment Soobin approaches your side. 

No one’s watching you— no one cares about what faces you make or what you say when Soobin stands before you, but the thought of him telling you to keep it professional pisses you off so much that you decide to show him just how good of an actress you are; the difference of reactions is almost incredible, and you take in the way Soobin’s eyes narrow at the sight of you. 

There’s no reason he should get mad— after all, there’s nothing between you. 

Agreeing to this was a stupid idea. What kind of a self-destructive freak agrees to be friends with benefits with someone they had feelings for? A self-destructive freak like you apparently, because as you watch Soobin leave with one last glance at you, you can’t help but wish that he was just a bit mad. 

The two of you distract yourselves in your own ways; Soobin tries not to visit your section for the rest of the night, and you try to get the attention of the rest of the members in response— and the boys, surprised to see your excited attitude when they come around, are more than happy to oblige— and if the fans noticed that Soobin seemed to be in a bad mood for part of the show, well, that’s on him.

You feel a bit more tired than usual by the time the concert ends— you’re not sure why, but you find yourself trudging backstage because of that; maybe you should just go to the hotel instead of congratulating the boys for their show like you usually do. 

“Oh, hey ___!” Yeonjun spots you before you can turn on your heels and exit; you’re immediately putting on a bright smile as the said man throws an arm around you, still in his encore outfit as he drags you along the halls and undoubtedly to where the rest of the members are, “What’d you think of the concert? It was good huh?”

“As always,” you smile, nudging Yeonjun softly as he clearly waits for you to continue, “You were great out there, your energy was insane.”

“Why thank you,” he purrs, leaning in and watching as you scoff at him playfully, “Watching you enjoy yourself practically gave me all the energy I needed.”

You don’t find yourself surprised by his comment; Yeonjun is always like this, his flirty and suggestive behavior nothing out of the ordinary as you simply scold him to get out of your face— you’re so caught up in bickering with the man that you don’t notice the heated stare of another, brows twitching at the way you laugh and play along with Yeonjun.

After a moment though, you feel it— your head is turning before you can really process it, and you’re meeting eyes with Soobin, who looks… well, pissed off.

Before you can get a good look at his face, he’s standing abruptly; taking long strides to where you are, your heart beginning to pound at the sight of him slowing to a stop next to you. 

“Meet me outside.” His voice is gruff and on edge as he whispers the words lowly to you, walking off without another word as you simply turn to watch— because of course he wouldn’t try to get Yeonjun off you or outwardly ask for your attention, choosing instead to relay you a quiet message before he’s off, regardless of the way everyone sends him a confused look as they watch him leave. 

“He looks mad,” Yeonjun hums, watching as you shrug his arm off gently, “Gonna try to talk to him?”

You sigh, hoping he doesn’t see the way your hands grab at the hem of your shirt anxiously. 

“Yeah,” you say, then you’re off, barely able to turn the corner once you’ve exited before you’re harshly pulled by none other than Soobin.

“Ow— what the fuck—!” Soobin’s hold on your wrist is bruising as he pushes you into the room next door, a changing room that’s not meant to hold multiple people as he simply locks the door behind him and pushes you against the wall; he doesn’t bother to turn on the lights as he approaches you— the light that comes through the frosted window on the door becomes the only thing that allows you to see Soobin’s frustrated expression. 

“Had fun flirting with the others?” He asks, his lips so close that you’re able to feel the puff of his breath as he huffs in frustration— the room is so small as you press yourself against the wall, feeling as though Soobin is filling your senses and making you dizzy, “Was that your little way to try and get my attention? Because it fucking worked, you poor little thing.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” you hiss, pressing a hand against Soobin’s chest as you feel him try to swoop in to kiss you, his hands already sliding under the hem of your shirt to trace shapes along your skin, “I’m friends with the others too, you know.”

“Have you always been this friendly with them? Hmm?” he asks, slotting a knee between your legs as you’re left to look up at him speechlessly, “What, gonna try to fuck them next?” 

“Dude, what’s your fucking problem!” you hiss, punctuating your words with a punch to his chest as you glare at him, not lost upon the fact that his thigh is pressed firmly against your cunt, your skirt fanning along his leg and hiding the way he’s flexing and pushing it against you.

“And if I wanted to, then what?” you ask, pretending as though you haven’t given in to the way Soobin’s hands are guiding your hips, making you grind against him as he feels the way you become wet by his actions, “What’ll you do, get jealous? Try to stop me? That wouldn’t be very professional of you— I might as well ask Yeonjun if he’s free after this.”

“Don’t get fucking smart with me,” He says, a hand coming up to grab your cheeks and tilt your head toward him, “I’m not letting any other bitch get with you, touching what’s mine.”

It’s just his arrogance and possessiveness talking again— at least that’s what you tell yourself, failing to hold back your weak whimper as you roll your hips against him, feeling him press against your hip and rut his hard cock against you slowly. 

“I’m not fucking yours,” you grit out, your words muffled as you try to speak through the hold that Soobin still has on you, “The only reason why we’re still friends is so you can get a good fuck, don’t lie—”

Soobin is kissing you before you can finish your sentence— if he wasn’t angry before, he definitely was now, his teeth clashing against yours as he kisses you roughly and without control, a mess of spit as he bites down on your lip, drinking in your pained moan before he’s slipping his tongue in to get a taste.

He’s noticed the way your hips have begun to move erratically; your hands are gripping tightly at his shirt, probably stretching it out as you continue to moan into his mouth, a hand guiding your movements as he flexes and presses his thigh firmer against you, his free hand letting go of your face to slip under your shirt and get access to your breasts as he begins to roll and pinch your nipples between his fingers. 

“Do you like it when I treat you like this?” he asks breathlessly, finally pulling away to watch the way a string of saliva continues to connect you— the sight is filthy and has your brows furrowing as you bite your swollen lips in hopes to muffle your sounds, “Like you’re nothing more than a fucktoy for me to use after my shows? A good little thing to take my stress out on?”

The pleasure is beginning to build up— there’s a tight knot in your stomach, making your brain go foggy as you feel the way your clit rubs against Soobin’s thigh every time you angle your hips a certain way, feeling as you soak your panties and his sweats the longer you rut against him.

Soobin simply watches you with a small smile; his eyes are lidded as he leans back, eyes glued to the way you roll your hips against him, weak whines becoming louder and more frantic as you begin to pull at his shirt with wide, teary eyes. 

But before you can finally cum, he pulls away. You’re whining softly at the loss, hitting his chest petulantly as you curse at him under your breath— before you can land another hit, he grabs your wrists, freezing you entirely as he sends you a sly look, leaning in so he can whisper in your ear.

“You’ll let me fuck you, right? You can always go to someone else if you need to cum,” he says, waiting for your response as he begins to kiss and suck at the spot just under your ear, knowing how sensitive you are as he feels the way you attempt to curl into yourself.

“Fuck you,” you whine out, attempting to shake his hold off you, only to fail— he simply laughs softly, sinking his teeth into the marked flesh as he listens to the yelp you let out. 

“I’m trying,” he huffs out, finally pulling away as he sends you a childish grin, “Now be good and turn around for me, okay sweet thing?”

The nickname catches you so off guard that you don’t protest the way Soobin turns you around without another word, your cheek pressed against the wall and your hands held behind your back as you continue to curse at him quietly— and judging by the way Soobin simply laughs softly, he’s definitely enjoying himself, shameless as ever as you listen to the sounds of shifting behind you.

You hope he doesn’t notice the way your breath hitches as you feel him push your panties aside, his tip brushing against your entrance— swiping at your leaking slit to gather your wetness, clearly teasing you as he takes in the way you try to push back against him, letting out a soft please as you feel his tip sink into you slightly, feeling the way you stretch around him before he’s pulling back out.

“Please? Why are you begging for me, baby?” he asks, slowly beginning to push in as he watches you rest your forehead against the wall, letting out a shaky sigh at the stretch, “I’m not here for you— you can go to another one of your toys if you’re looking for someone to worship you.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything as you feel him bottom out inside you— no matter how many times you find yourself in this situation, you can never get used to it, the size of him enough to have your eyes rolling back as you feel his tip prod at your cervix, hips flush against your ass as he begins to grind softly into you. 

It’s not enough— not for you, and certainly not for him, though he refuses to give you the pleasure of fucking you stupid so soon as he watches instead the way you begin to squirm, wanting more as you hang your head and try to fuck yourself against him— all attempts are quickly stopped as Soobin uses a hand to still your movement, firm on your waist and forcing you back against the wall as the other continues to bind your hands, pressing your fists against the small of your back and watching with a sly smile as you begin to arch in response. 

“Why are you so quiet?” he asks softly, leaning in to trail kisses along your neck, continuing his slow and agonizing pace, “Usually you’re so loud I have to keep a hand on your mouth.”

You refuse to give into him— refuse to let him hear what he wants, ignoring the ache between your legs and the fire in your stomach that just begs to be put out— but the way you’re leaking around Soobin’s length and clenching around him is giving you away, and it’s enough to have you turning away from him in hopes that he won’t be able to read your expression. 

This proves to be harder than you expected; Soobin’s hand has let go of your waist in favor to play with your clit, nimble fingers circling and pinching the bud as he begins to thrust shallowly, listening to the way you try to swallow your sounds and keep your eyes shut at the feeling— it isn’t long before he’s building you up again, taking in the way your legs shake and you begin to push back against him subconsciously, giving away just how needy you are as your fists tighten. 

You’re close, so fucking close, maybe if you stay quiet Soobin won’t notice— but, for a man who insists you two aren’t anything, he’s eerily aware of the way your body gets when you’re about to cum— meaning, all his movement immediately stops the moment you’re about to tumble over the edge, bottoming out inside you and laughing mockingly as he listens to the broken sound you let out. 

“Fuck, I’m so tired from today’s show,” Soobin groans, resting his forehead on your shoulder, beginning his slow, shallow thrusts again after a moment, “You don’t mind if I take it slow tonight, do you?”

You say nothing— you have yet to say anything that would irritate or please Soobin, and that in itself is enough to egg him on— because even if you refuse to talk, the way your body trembles from his touch and you bite your lips to suppress sounds is enough to tell him all he needs to know. 

The way you clench around Soobin when he begins to play with your clit almost has him cumming— he has to concentrate on not doing so as he takes in the weak whine you let out, your previous orgasms being built up once more as you let out a shaky sigh, listening to the wet sounds that come from the way Soobin fucks you. 

You’re trying so hard to remain neutral as he winds you up— but god, he knows you like the back of his hand, his hips rutting and rolling into you as he does everything to make you go insane, already feeling your high creep up on your from how up-tight your body is. 

“Feels good?” He asks, using your hands as leverage as he pulls you back into him for a particularly harsh thrust— the suddenness of it has you moaning loudly, your lips immediately pressing together as you feel your face grow hot— Soobin’s cocky laugh is both annoying and hot and you hate yourself for feeling that way. 

“Don’t worry, you don’t have to say anything,” he grins, picking up his pace as he watches the way you begin to break, weak moans and whines leaving you from how harshly he thrusts his cock into you, “I’ll do all the work, just stand there and look pretty, okay?”

You can feel your high approaching— it’s intense and fast, and you’re barely able to process the way your mouth falls open as you begin to chase the feeling, ready to fall over the edge and cream all over Soobin’s cock when—-

Like an absolute jerk, he pulls out. 

“You know what?” he says, talking more to himself than anything as he turns you back around and tucks himself back in, your back colliding with the wall behind you as your breath hitches, watching as he falls to his knees and sends you an innocent look, “I haven’t tasted you in so long, baby— fuck, I can’t help myself, I’ll be quick.”

Soobin is never like this— you’ve only ever experienced quickies backstage, so to say that you’re surprised to see the man dragging things out here is an understatement, letting out a shaky sigh as he throws your leg over his shoulder and scoots closer to you, burying himself under your skirt without hesitation. 

You’re practically dripping on the floor— it’s even worse when his fingers begin to prod at your entrance, feeling the way your walls clench wildly at the feeling and your hips thrust toward the sensation; Soobin’s tongue licks at your clit teasingly, taking his time to trace circles around it as he finally sinks his fingers inside you, curling them and pressing against all your sensitive spots as he takes in the way you squirm above him. 

Soobin’s face is practically suffocated by your cunt— you’re not sure how long he does this for, but he proceeds to bring you close to orgasm only to pull away a few more times, listening to the way you begin to cry and plead a bit more with each one. 

At some point— your fifth ruined orgasm, you think you’ve lost count— you find yourself pulling at his hair and begging, the words stuttered out through hiccups as you feel hot tears stream down your cheeks, pleading Soobin to let you cum as you grind your pussy along his face, feeling his tongue dip to your entrance before he’s back to teasing your clit, laughing softly at the sound before he finally emerges from under your skirt— his face is shiny and flushed as he looks up at you, sending you a grin that only has you pouting even more. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, feigning concern as he begins to run his hands along your thighs, waiting patiently for you to respond as he begins trailing kisses up your legs, hearing your soft sniffles as he reaches your inner thighs, “Aren’t you enjoying yourself?”

“Soobin,” you whine, shutting your eyes as you feel his swollen lips leave opened-mouthed kisses on your inner thighs, already soaked with your arousal as he licks it up, only to begin biting and sucking at the area leisurely, “Soobin please—please let me cum, wanna cum so bad, please.”

The sound of your begging is welcomed to his ears— he looks up at you through his lashes, sparkling eyes a stark contrast to the filthy way he continues to mark your thighs, ignoring your soft whines that others will see them, please binnie…

“Others will see them?” he repeats, clenching his jaw at the way you nod frantically, a clear concern in your eyes— slowly, he stands, hooking your leg over his waist as he presses himself against you, hissing softly at the way you immediately soak through his sweats, “So what? Let them see. That way they know what happens when we’re alone.”

“But… we shouldn’t— you said we need to keep this hidden…” His words are nothing but confusing— you’re sure it reads on your face, because Soobin is aligning his cock with your entrance once more, chuckling softly at your expression before he shakes his head in exasperation.

“Did I? Well, I don’t wanna hide it anymore,” he says, eyes lidded and filled with need as he sinks himself slowly into you; your eyes are threatening to flutter shut at the sensation, only to be stopped at the feeling of Soobin cupping your chin, telling you softly look at me. before he finally bottoms out.

“Want everyone to know you’re mine,” he says, and you’re more than ready to respond with another mean comment before he continues, “And that I’m all yours. Don’t want anyone else to touch you.”

“W…what—?” your words are being cut short by the feeling of him fucking into you again, a hand coming up to grab his shoulder and your leg pulling him in closer in fear of having your orgasm ruined again— Soobin simply huffs, his hands going to hold onto your hips to fuck into you better, indulging in your fucked out face and dazed eyes as he smiles softly; slowly, he’s leaning in, lips brushing against yours as he speaks. 

“‘m so fucking stupid for starting all this,” he laughs softly, holding back a moan at the way you clench around him, your nails digging into your shoulder slightly, “Told myself I’d never catch any feelings like this— fuck, look at me now…”

“Just wanna keep you for myself— maybe I’m being selfish but… fuck,” you think you’re getting the gist of what he means— your free hand comes up to tangle itself in his hair as you close the gap between the two of you, hoping that you’re not misinterpreting his words as you feel him fuck you faster, setting a rhythm that has your eyes rolling back and your mouth falling open, so wound up from tonight that you think your legs might give out any moment now. 

“Soobin,” you whine out, pulling at his hair and shirt as you begin bucking your hips at him, trying to fuck yourself on his cock as you whine, “Please let me cum— please please please, need it so bad, just wanna cum, please?”

The way you’re whining and begging is more than enough to Soobin; he’s gripping your hips and fucking you harder, eyes widening slightly at the way your sounds increase in volume, too fucked dumb to even realize.

“Shit,” Soobin grits out, planting his hand on your mouth and telling you to quiet down, “You were really holding back, huh? There’s my girl, all loud and pretty for me.”

He’s cooing softly at the way tears well up in your eyes and spill promptly after; running over his skin, biting at his lip to suppress sounds of his own as he feels the way you become impossibly tight around him.

“You gonna cum? Pretty doll just wants to cream my cock, finally had enough of me using you, right?” The way you’re nodding mindlessly only spurs Soobin on, insanely turned on by the way you’ve become fucked stupid, “Come on baby, show me how good you feel, been waiting patiently to cum, such a perfect doll.”

He’s cooing softly and talking you through your orgasm— you don’t even realize that your legs have given out, and Soobin’s hands are flying to support you as he holds you up, pressing himself fully against you and grinding his hips into you as your head falls on his shoulder; your sounds are muffled by the fabric of his hoodie as you bury your head further into him, pressed entirely against the wall and left to Soobin’s mercy as you allow him to continue rutting into you slowly.

“Binnie,” you whine out, right next to his ears as you begin to speak quietly to him, “Want you to cum inside, fill me up please? Never wanted any other guys but you, just wanna feel you cum inside, please…”

Your soft pleas set Soobin off immediately— his hips are bucking into you so roughly that your body is jolting with every thrust, his head burying itself in your neck as he lets out a soft groan— you then feel the way he fills you up, warm cum staying inside from the way he continues to fuck you well after he’s calmed down, his shuddering breaths on your skin enough to know that how sensitive he is.

For a moment, you just stay there; pressed against the wall as Soobin slowly pulls his cock out of you, feeling the way his release begins to drip out from how much he filled you— your chest is heaving against his as you attempt to catch your breath, legs still weak as you take advantage of Soobin’s strength to help hold you up. 

Soobin’s arms wrap around your waist; he’s pulling you in even closer, your bodies melting together as he nuzzles his head into your neck, inhaling slowly as your own hesitant hands come up to embrace Soobin.

“Sorry I was so horrible to you,” he says, littering kisses on the exposed skin of your neck before he continues, “But I did mean that whole thing about catching feelings— the timing’s horrible, I know— but….”

You hum softly, as though lost in thought, “How long have you felt like this?”

“I… this whole time,” he admits, his face growing hotter at the confession, “I was just in denial half the time we did this whole thing— god, why do you think I suggested it in the first place…?”

You hold back a laugh— Soobin however, is nervous at your lack of reaction, pulling away from his hiding place to analyze your expression.

“I’m sorry. Is this weird? I understand if you don’t feel the same way, I’m really sorry if you felt uncomfortable with anything I did today, I seriously don’t know what I was thinking—“

You’re cutting him off with a kiss— but it’s gentle this time, and you really take a moment to feel his soft lips as you feel him smile against you, his cheeks warm under your touch as you finally pull away. 

“Soobin,” you say softly, smiling fondly at the way he lets out a soft hmm? in response, “I feel the same. But yeah, you were a fucking jerk with me.”

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, cupping your face as he sports the look of a kicked puppy, eyes filled with nothing but guilt, “I’m sorry, I seriously never meant to go that far, I should’ve just asked you out like a normal person instead of being so mean.”

“I don’t know,” you say, pouting softly as his eyes widen softly, seemingly afraid of what you might say; you simply peck at his lips chastely, unable to hold back your laugh at his expression, “I kinda liked it.”

Your words are horribly confusing to Soobin— but hey, at least he knows how you feel.