#don’t feel the need to read i just needed to throw words out there

[enviedear]

stay, little valentine, stay ｡𖦹° jason todd

🎧ྀི your roommate makes the fateful mistake of passing you, his roommate, off as his girlfriend to his boundary ignorant family. now the both of you are tasked with maintaining a faux romance for the entirety of a dinner at wayne manor—simple enough, right?

wc 4.2k | roommate!jason, lowercase intended, fem!reader, brief mention of booze, cursing, mutual pining, two idiots fake dating…truly what more can i say (a lot, so). please, enjoy my 'funny little valentines' day special ᯓᡣ𐭩

“there’s not enough room in the freezer for the ice trays. either move your booze or enjoy an ice free apartment,” your voice is tinged with annoyance as you stare down your long-term roommate.

he’s laid back on the shared couch, right cushion side, staring back at you with a impish grin on his face, “or, you could finally throw out that cake you bought for your ‘promotion’ party. since, the fuckin’ promotion never happened and it takes up half of my freezer.”

“our freezer.” you add. “and fuck you, i could still get that promotion any day now. i can always unfreeze it—good as new.”

jason seems to be beginning to tune you out as your eyes drift to a new letter on the fridge, stuck on with an ‘i hate gotham’ magnet. the print is fancy, cursive, bold black ink—YOU’RE INVITED—it reads.

“what are we invited to?” you ask, ice tray debacle not at all at the forefront of your mind now. not when you can tell your roommate’s got an invite from his estranged past guardian, none other than bruce wayne.

he hums a reply at first, still zeroed in to the rerun of some prison show. when he finally picks up on your question he sours, visibly, “some idiotic anniversary dinner for dick and kori. we’re not going, you weren’t even invited.”

you pout, “i want to go! why can’t we go?”

jason’s got a stern look on his face now, and you’ve always found it so unnerving how quickly he musters it up—usually so relaxed in your shared domain.

“we’re not going because i told a lie, and if we show up…everyone will know.” he groans, “just drop it, i need a little more time to ride this out.”

suddenly more intrigued, you prance over to him on the couch, flopping down beside him, “a lie?”

“don’t. just drop it.” he huffs at the obvious annoyance on your face, “it’s just stupid.”

“c’mon, we know all of each others ‘stupid’ shit. what was the lie, todd?” you’re being genuine, riddling your appeasement with a sweetly sardonic tone.

finally, after a good minute of staring at a very completive jason, he cracks, “i might have alluded to being in a relationship with you.”

your smile cracks before he even finishes his admission, oscillating between confusion and sheer giddiness—trying to halt the part of your brain that wants to imagine a life where a relationship isn’t such a laughable idea.

you curl your lips to stifle your last giggles before looking back up at him, “why?”

jason shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the question. his eyes dart away from yours, finding sudden interest in the television screen, "bruce kept...asking about my life here. if i was settling in, if i was happy." he runs a hand through his dark hair, "and then, all the others got involved, asking to set me up with people. i needed them to stop asking. and you-" he pauses, scratching the back of his neck, "you were the most believable option.”

you stare at him, unblinking, trying to process his words. "most believable option…” you repeat slowly, testing how the phrase feels on your tongue. a warmth spreads across your chest-whether from flattery or something else entirely, you're not quite sure. "so, what? think i can’t pretend to be your girlfriend for a dinner?" the idea sends an unwelcome flutter through your chest. you curse yourself.

jason's expression shifts, a mix of surprise and something else you can't quite read. "you'd do that?" he asks, his voice carrying an unusual note of vulnerability.

"of course," you reply, trying to keep your tone light and casual. "what are roommates for? plus, free fancy dinner at wayne manor? count me in." you're aiming for nonchalance, but your heart is racing at the prospect.

jason's jaw clenches, a tell-tale sign of him thinking too hard, "it's not that simple. they'll know it's fake. bruce especially—dick and tim too—they’re too observant for their own good.”

"oh please," you wave off his concern, settling deeper into the couch cushions, "we've lived together for what, two years now? we already act like an old married couple anyway. i know your coffee order, you know my work schedule. we share groceries, we fight about ice trays—“ you gesture broadly to the kitchen, "it's practically method acting at this point."

he looks at you then, really looks at you, with an expression you can't quite read. "you'd really do that? pretend to be with me in front of my entire family?"

"of course i would," you say softly, nudging his shoulder with yours. "what are friends for if not to fake date each other to avoid awkward family dinners?" you try to keep your tone light, ignoring the way your stomach flips when he smiles at you that rare, genuine smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"fine." he finally concedes, shrugging his shoulders, "but we need to get our story straight. no holes, no gaps—i figured we'd keep it close to the truth. roommates who gradually realized there was something more." he pauses, then adds, "the best lies are built on truth or some shit, right?”

you nod, and start crafting the imagined romance with jason. over the next hour, you both piece together your relationship timeline—how you first bonded over late night takeout after his patrols, the way you'd patch him up after particularly rough nights, and how somewhere between shared grocery runs and movie marathons, faux you fell for him. or him for you—the both of you can't agree on that just yet.

you try not to focus on how easy it is to imagine, how some of these made-up memories feel more like documentation rather than fabrication.

"okay, and when did we actually get together?" you ask, pulling your knees up to your chest, trying to ignore how invested you're becoming in this alternate reality.

"three months ago." jason answers quickly, too quickly, like he's already thought about this. "after that night I came home really beaten up, remember? you were so pissed at me for being reckless."

you remember that night vividly—how he ever thinks you could forget, you’re unsure.

him stumbling through the window at three in the morning, blood seeping through his stupid jacket. how your hands shook as you stitched him up, how quiet he was, how close his blanched face was to yours. you’d attributed the racing of your heart to fear, but now…not so much.

"yeah," you say softly. "that works."

the rest of the week flies by in a blur of preparation and anxiety, until suddenly it's the night of the dinner, and you're standing in front of your mirror, wondering if you've made a terrible mistake.

you're wearing a deep red-toned dress that hits just above your knee—something you'd bought on a whim (a fifty percent off sale) months ago and never found the right occasion for. jason had given it an approving nod when you'd shown him, which somehow makes you feel more nervous than reassured as you stare yourself down.

"ready?" jason's voice comes from behind you, and you turn to find him adjusting his tie in the hallway mirror. he looks…different. good different. the suit fits him perfectly, and you wonder briefly if alfred had something to do with that. the older man has a penchant for doting over your overgrown battling ram of a roommate.

"as i'll ever be." you manage, trying to keep your voice steady. "but, um, how convincing do you think we need to be?"

jason's eyes meet yours in the mirror, "enough to fool the world's greatest detective," he sighs, "and his army of protégés." he turns to face you properly, and something in his expression softens, but he looks away too quickly for you to discern, "you look really pretty."

"thanks." you mumble, fiddling with your clutch. "so do you. very…boyfriend."

he laughs, but it sounds slightly strained. "that's the idea, isn't it?" he offers his arm to you, "shall we?"

the drive to wayne manor is muted. jason's knuckles are white on the shifter, and you find yourself reaching over to place your hand over his without thinking. he startles slightly, but he doesn't pull away—even keeps contact as he switches gears.

"hey." you start softly, "we've got this. we know each other better than anyone, we live together. besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

jason sighs, his hand tightening slightly under yours. "you clearly don’t know how bruce and tim get at these things. anniversary or not, they'll smell blood in the water if we slip up."

"relax," you assure him, glancing out at the looming trees lining the driveway. "i doubt they’ll care about your relationship timeline when they’re busy fawning over how happy dick and kori are."

jason shoots you a look that clearly says 'don't tempt fate', but his grip on the wheel loosens slightly. "just…follow my lead. and if it gets too weird, we can always fake a medical emergency."

"that...is always an option." you grin, trying to ignore the way your stomach flips when he smiles back.

the manor looms up ahead, and as jason pulls up to the gate, you feel his hand squeeze yours briefly, almost indecipherable.

"last chance to back out." he murmurs.

you intertwine your fingers with his, ignoring the voice in your head that whispers how right it feels. "not a chance, todd. you're stuck with me."

the gates open, and as you drive up the winding driveway, you're unable to shake the feeling that you're about to cross a line you can't come back from. but with jason's hand so warm and relaxed in yours, you're not sure you want to.

jason parks the car in front of the house at the partition, "in case we need a quick exit." he shrugs.

"i think you're too worried, jason. i doubt they'll even question it. you said they wanted you dating anyway, i bet they'll just be happy." your voice is quiet, hand hovering in front of the doorbell.

he sighs, "you don't know these people, they question everything."

before you can reply or try to alleviate his doubts, the double doors fly open. you grab jason's hand in your own and pull him closer, just as alfred sets eyes on the pair of you.

alfred's eyes visibly brighten at the sight of both of you, his normally reserved expression softening into something fonder, "master jason," he greets, a ghost of a smile on his lips, "and miss, how lovely for you to be joining tonight. everyone is very excited to meet you, i fear my few stories were not enough to quell them."

you smile, a real genuine one too, "it's nice to see you again alfred! i hope we're not too late—jason decided to change his tie last minute."

alfred hums and beckons you both inside, "fashionable tardiness, miss. i assure you."

jason, hand now sweaty in yours, chuckles, "he's being nice since you're with me. he's usually irate by my lateness."

you shoot jason a pointed look as alfred continues. "master richard and miss kori have been eagerly awaiting your arrival. their anniversary dinner is a rare occasion they’ve pulled out all the stops for, you see."

jason grumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, overachievers.

the sound of multiple voices echos through from a room, and you feel jason's grip tighten slightly. you've heard stories about his family for years now—mostly complaints, occasionally fond remembrances, and everything in between during late night conversations over takeout.

"master bruce insisted on formal dining tonight." alfred mentions, though his tone suggests mild disapproval. you've learned over your visits that alfred much prefers when the family dines in the kitchen.

jason scoffs quietly, "because god forbid we eat somewhere comfortable." you squeeze his hand again, a silent reminder of your emergency exit strategy. two years of living together has given you an extensive library of non-verbal communications.

the dining room, when you enter, is exactly as alfred has described it countless times—grandiose in a way that speaks to old money and older traditions. the table stretches long and elegant, set with what you recognize as the ‘good china’ alfred often mentions.

your muscles tense slightly as you finally notice all of the eyes on you—staring and studying—you have to think before you step.

bruce wayne rises first, and despite all of jason's stories, despite seeing him on tv and in newspapers, you're struck by his presence. "jason." he greets, then turns his attention to you. "we've all heard quite a bit about you from alfred, though significantly less from my son."

you feel jason's posture stiffen, but you're prepared for this. "oh, you know how jason is with sharing things." you say easily, the words flowing naturally after years of defending his privacy to nosy neighbors and concerned coworkers. "though, alfred's probably told you all my embarrassing stories by now."

dick grayson—exactly as handsome as the magazines suggest—breaks into a wide grin. "actually, alfred's been surprisingly tight lipped. just kept saying we should ask jason ourselves." his eyes sparkle with mischief. "which, of course, got us nowhere."

"some things don't need to be broadcast to the whole family." jason grumbles, but his thumb is mindlessly drawing small circles on your hand, a gesture you've learned means he's more comfortable than he's letting on. 

"oh, but this is so wonderful!" a melodic, cheerful voice chimes in, and you glance up to see koriand’r—kori to most—seated beside dick, her vibrant curly red hair catching the light as she smiles radiantly. "you must forgive us for prying, but jason does not often share such…delightful surprises."

"by 'us,' she means her." dick cuts in with a smirk, earning a playful nudge from kori.

"yes, and what of it?" she replies lightly, turning her attention fully to you. "you see, jason is like a tamaranian grisnek—so fierce and protective on the outside, but underneath, he is all kindness and loyalty. how could we not be curious about the person who has captured his heart?"

"great. glad we're all analyzing my personal life at the dinner table." jason mutters, though his hand stays on yours, his grip steady.

"do not be fooled," kori says in a whisper that is anything but subtle, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. "jason pretends to be irritated, but inside, i know he is glowing with happiness."

your lips twitch into a smile despite yourself, and jason sighs heavily, his shoulders sagging with mock defeat. "i think i'm gonna need another drink."

kori leans back, laughing softly, the sound warm and lilting, as she looks between you and jason once more. "you are lovely." she adds sincerely, her tone softening. "and jason could not have chosen better."

tim drake, who you've only seen in passing when he's stopped by your apartment to drop off miscellaneous ‘private’ documents, raises an eyebrow. "yes, it's all very sweet." he hums it almost, tone carefully neutral but eyes sharp, studying you.

"sweet indeed." you agree, letting some of your genuine fondness for jason color your voice. it's not hard to fake being in love with someone when you've spent two years memorizing their coffee order, patching up their wounds, and falling asleep on their shoulder during movie marathons. the hard part, you're starting to realize, might be pretending it's all pretend.

bruce barely looks up from his plate as he speaks again, cutting through your blissful thoughts of jason, “a shame i wasn’t aware you two were involved.”

jason tenses beside you, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “yeah, well. guess you don’t know everything, old man.”

bruce sets his fork down with deliberate slowness. his gaze flicks between the two of you, assessing, “i never said i did.” his voice is even, unreadable. “but you don’t bring people around often. that’s worth noting.”

jason scoffs, like he couldn’t care less, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—annoyance, unease, probably both.

jason’s hand finds yours under the table. it’s definitely not a calculated move, not a necessary nor obvious display for the act you’re putting on. it’s just—there. warm and solid, his fingers curling around yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

you don’t let go.

dinner progresses with a strange mix of tension and ease. You find yourself falling into natural conversation with dick about your work, while jason maintains a careful distance from bruce's attempts at engagement. still, his hand hasn't left yours, and you're starting to wonder if he's forgotten it's all for show.

"so—how did you two finally get together?" dick asks, leaning forward with genuine interest.

you exchange a quick glance with jason, settling into the story you've rehearsed. "it wasn't really some big dramatic moment," you say, the lie feeling uncomfortably close to the truth. "we just...realized we work."

jason picks up the thread smoothly, his thumb still tracing patterns on your hand. "she was patching me up after a rough night, mad at me for being so bruised," he says, and you can hear the genuine emotion in his voice. "and i just...i dont know—knew, i guess."

tim's watching you both with analytical eyes, and you wonder if he can see through the charade. "that tracks." he says finally. "you two have always been...close."

"speaking of close," dick interjects with a grin, "i think it's hilarious jason used to insist you were 'just roommates', and yet never went on any of the dates i set him up on. i should have known, really." there's a pout on his face, humourous.

you laugh, perhaps a bit too nervously, "well, we were. for a while." the irony of the statement isn't lost on you. you can see jason watching you from your peripheral, face stoic—but his eyes are soft. the way they watch over you, simply affectionate.

bruce, who's been quietly observing, finally speaks. "i'm glad jason has someone looking out for him," he says, and there's something in his tone that makes your heart ache. "he's always been...independent."

jason's grip on your hand tightens almost imperceptibly. "yeah, well, some things change." he mutters, but there's less bite in his words than usual.

the conversation shifts to safer topics—work, current events, alfred's latest culinary experiments. you find yourself relaxing despite the pretense, falling into familiar patterns of banter with jason, finishing his sentences, and sharing knowing looks.

it's during dessert that damian, who's been suspiciously quiet, finally speaks up. "you're good for him," he declares with all the authority of a youngest sibling. "he's less annoying when you're around."

jason chokes on his tiramisu, and you pat his back automatically, the gesture so natural you don't even think about it. "thanks, damian!" you say, fighting back a smile. "i think."

as the evening winds down and dinner ends, you find yourself in the manor's vast library, having wandered away from the group for a moment of quiet. besides, you feel somewhat redundant against their coded phrases and stories. jason finds you, as he always does.

"hey." he speaks softly, coming to stand beside you. "you doing okay?"

you turn to face him, suddenly very aware of how close he is. "yeah, i'm good. your family's...intense, but nice. just like you said."

he laughs quietly, but there's something different in his eyes. "you're amazing, you know that? playing along with all this. you didn't have to."

"i wanted to." you admit, and it feels dangerous how true those words are. "besides, what are fake girlfriends for?"

jason's looking at you with an expression you can't quite read, and for a moment, you think he might say something more. but then dick's voice calls from somewhere far off in the house and the moment gaps.

"we should head back." jason says, but he doesn't move. "before they send a search party."

you nod, trying to ignore the way your heart is racing. "yeah, we should."

but neither of you moves, caught in this strange liminal space where pretend and reality blur, and you're no longer sure which is which. even less sure if you hunger for dreams or waking existence—which is which? for a split second, you want to reach out. you desperately want to feel him—to possibly transfer the devotion you’re still too afraid to admit you harbor.

jason’s breath is staggered, coming out forced and shallow. his eyes, darker in the dim light, are flitting between you and the door—until he focuses in on you, fully. you’re too confused as to why he’s getting closer to you to react accordingly when his lips brush yours.

your first instinct is to furrow your brows, still confused. then, you kiss back. hungrily. confusion still fogs your mind, but nowhere near the way jason does. his lips are chapped, plump, and still tasting faintly of expensive dark liquor. his body cages you close him, hands respectfully at your shoulders. of course the only thing you can recognize is jason.

you err on the side respectfulness—opting to tug him closer by the tie. there’s a flash of the memory of him putting it on, and you can’t fight a small smirk from slipping onto your lips. jason must notice, because he finally breaks away to peer down at you.

“what?” he whispers, panting and staring down at your lips.

“what do you mean, what? we kissed.” you still feel giddy from his kiss, but reality begins to settle into you like a winter chill.

jason watches you closely, his expression a mix of smugness and unease, “hmmm—playing it dangerous.” he finally murmurs, shaking his head.

you arch a brow, feigning derision. “you say that to all the girls, todd?”

he exhales a laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “yeah,” he huffs. “that grand number of...you.”

before you can say anything, footsteps echo just outside the library's door. jason instinctively steps back, widening the space between you just as dick pokes his head in. “there you two are! we were about to send out a search party.”

you smile, pushing down the lingering tension. “sorry. just taking a little tour.”

dick’s gaze flickers between you and jason, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “right. well, come on. we're playing charades—and bruce is actually smiling. you don’t want to miss that.”

jason groans, but he follows you and dick back back toward the others. his hand brushes against yours in the hallway, and for a second, you think he’s going to take it again. but he doesn’t. 

charades is winding down by the time you return, alfred putting away various dry erase boards and markers with the kind of efficiency only a butler can possesses.

kori beams when she sees you, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “lovebrids! you have returned!" she gestures to herself and grayson, "thank you for coming—we would like to extend our support to your relationship.”

jason lets out a little breath, like he wasn’t expecting that—like he isn’t sure what to do with the sincerity. “thanks, kori.”

bruce, too, seems slightly less intimidating now. “thank you for coming—you’re welcome here anytime, both of you.” he tells you, and it sounds like a rare offering.

something about it all settles in your chest, warm and unexpected. you’ve spent so much time being jason’s person in private—patching him up, watching his back, making sure he gets home in one piece—that it’s almost startling to have it acknowledged in front of everyone else.

goodnights and goodbyes come soon after, and tim catches jason by the elbow before the pair of you can walk out the door, pulling him aside for a hushed conversation. you linger near the doorway, talking with kori and dick, but you can’t help the way your attention keeps flickering back to jason.

when he finally returns to your side, his expression is unreadable. “ready to go?”

you nod, murmuring your goodbyes as you both step back into the night air. jason doesn’t say anything as he leads you back to the car, but his hands flex at his sides.

the drive back is quieter than before, the easy banter from earlier replaced with something heavier, something neither of you seems willing to touch just yet. jason’s grip is tight on the wheel, his jaw set, eyes fixed on the road.

it isn’t until you’re pulling into the familiar streets near your apartment that he finally speaks. “they bought it.”

you huff a quiet laugh. “yeah? i told you so.”

jason’s eyes flick to you for a fraction of a second before he exhales. “thank you, seriously. you were great.”

you glance at him, something warm curling in your chest. “we just make a good team.”

something glints in his expression, something hesitant, something aching. “yeah,” he agrees, voice quieter. “we do.”

the silence stretches between you as he parks the car. you unbuckle your seatbelt, but neither of you make a move to get out. stuck stagnant.

“so, this is was fake...” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

jason’s fingers drum against the steering wheel, knuckles red. “yeah.”

you should leave it at that. you should forget the kiss. you should revert back to just his roommate. you should laugh it off, make some joke about how convincing you both were—but you don't—instead you say, “does it still feel fake to you? us...tonight?”

jason’s breath catches. for a long moment, he doesn’t answer. you almost let doubt seep in.

then, he turns, his eyes dark and searching. “god, no.”

your heart stutters in your chest, and you swallow hard, pulse roaring in your ears. “good. me neither.”

for a second, he just looks at you, like he’s waiting for you to take it back, to laugh it off. but you don’t, you won't. and when he leans in—slow, hesitant, like he’s giving you every chance to pull away—you don’t.

you decide to meet him halfway, instead.

writer’s note .☘︎ ݁˖ all of my thanks to the helpful, @sunnie-angel for being my beta reader for this fic! thank you again for your services—and your sweet comments on this little story, very very happy to have a moot like you !!!

🖇️ masterlist | askbox | recent works

[dreaminguponlilypads]

PUNISHMENT.

Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader

pt. 2

happy birthday to me lol, you guys have starved for a fic long enough so i shall feed you. tell me if you want pt.2

You had never thought someone like Ghost would ever look twice at you.

You were quiet. A recruit who blended into the background, more comfortable observing than being in the spotlight. You had your own demons—self-doubt, anxiety, the constant nagging thought that you weren’t enough. That you’d never be enough.

But then he came along.

He had seen you when no one else did. Not just as a soldier, but as a person. His patience, his quiet reassurances, the way his hand would linger at the small of your back or how he’d pull you into his warmth after a rough day—it had all been real. Or so you thought.

Until you saw the messages.

Soap: Congrats, ya big muppet. Can’t believe yer actually gonna do it.

Gaz: Who would’ve thought a lost bet would end up here?

Price: Never seen you so whipped, mate. From bet to buying a ring—hell of a journey.

Soap: Aye, remember when he was grumbling about even asking em out? Now look at him.

Your stomach twisted as you read and reread the words.

A bet.

It had all started as a joke.

The relationship that had saved you, that had made you feel wanted, seen, loved—had started as nothing more than a game to him.

You wanted to be angry. Wanted to storm up to him, demand an explanation, throw the damn phone at his chest. But you couldn’t.

Because how could you be mad at something you had already feared deep down?

Of course, it had been too good to be true.

You had spent so long convincing yourself that Simon really wanted you, that he really saw something in you. But now? The gnawing insecurity that he had helped you fight off came roaring back with a vengeance.

Your hands were shaking when you set his phone back on the table.

You needed to get out of here.

-

Simon knew something was wrong the second he walked into your shared quarters.

He found you standing there, arms wrapped around yourself, eyes red-rimmed like you had been holding back tears. His stomach dropped.

“Love?” His voice was low, cautious. “What’s wrong?”

You forced out a shaky breath. “Was it all a bet?”

Silence.

Your heart clenched as you watched his expression flicker—confusion, realization, then something that almost looked like fear.

“Where’d you hear that?” His voice had taken on that measured tone he used in the field. Like he was calculating his next move.

You let out a hollow laugh. “Does it matter?” You lifted his phone slightly before setting it back down. “Your team’s got quite the sense of humor.”

He cursed under his breath. “It’s not what you think.”

You swallowed hard. “Then tell me what it is, Simon. Tell me why the man who made me believe I was worth something only asked me out because he lost.”

His eyes darkened. “It was a stupid bet. A joke between the lads. I didn’t think—I didn’t know—” He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “I never expected to fall for you.”

You flinched at the choice of words. “But you still lied.”

“I didn’t lie—”

“You didn’t tell me,” you shot back. “That’s the same thing.”

His lips pressed into a tight line. “I was ashamed.” His voice was quieter now. “Didn’t want you to think—” He cut himself off, jaw clenching before he forced himself to look at you. “Didn’t want you to think this wasn’t real.”

Your breath hitched. “But it wasn’t real. Not at first.”

His silence was all the confirmation you needed.

You had spent so long fighting off the belief that you weren’t good enough. That you weren’t worthy of someone like him. And now, every whispered fear, every creeping doubt, had been proven right.

You felt yourself withdrawing, curling inward, that familiar weight of insecurity pressing down on your chest. The walls you had let him tear down were rebuilding themselves brick by brick.

“I need to go,” you choked out, turning towards the door.

His hand caught your wrist, firm but careful. “Baby, please,” he murmured. “Don’t shut me out.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, breathing ragged. You wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that everything he had done for you, every loving caress, every whispered reassurance, hadn’t just been out of guilt or obligation.

But how could you?

You pulled your wrist free, ignoring the way his fingers lingered, like he couldn’t bear to let go.

“I can’t do this right now,” you whispered.

And then you walked away, leaving Simon standing there with his hands clenched at his sides, the weight of a ring box in his pocket feeling heavier than ever.

[ducktoo]

Again

IVE’s Jang Wonyoung x M!Reader

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

This concludes the unofficial (or official ig) IZ*ONE marathon. @hyeyulenjoyer hope this was a fun ride for you. And thank you everyone for enjoying these fics as well! Also appreciate IVE for paying respect to the recent tragedy. All the dumb haters who find ways to hate them again....just touch grass pls.

(this was the perfect picture for this fic lol)

The tickets sit on your desk, undisturbed, their glossy surface catching the dim glow of your bedside lamp. You don’t even need to read the text printed on them anymore. The details are already burned into your brain.

A fan sign.

It was supposed to be special. The kind of thing you looked forward to for weeks, marked on your calendar with a little star. You were supposed to show up, tease her about messing up choreography, make her laugh in the middle of a serious performance, see that look in her eyes that was just for you.

Now, the tickets feel like a joke.

Your phone is face-down beside them, dark screen hiding the messages you haven't opened yet—the well-meaning texts from friends, the casual work notifications. All messages except from her.

Wonyoung.

You close your eyes, but it doesn't help. The memory of your last call with her is still fresh, the words playing over and over like a song stuck on repeat.

"I just don’t have time for this anymore."

"For us, you mean?"

"Mhm."

The way she said it—calm, measured, like it was just another item to tick off on her to-do list—had made something inside you crack. There had been no anger in her voice. No hesitation.

That…hurt more than anything.

You had wanted to say something, anything to make her stop. To remind her of the nights spent whispering over the phone until she fell asleep, of the rare moments when she let herself be vulnerable with you, of the way she would light up the second she saw you waiting for her backstage to take her to eat a whole cow together.

But you couldn't mutter a voice.

You had just sat there, phone pressed to your ear, fingers gripping the fabric of your hoodie so tightly it threatened to tear.

And then, just like that, she was gone.

It was three days ago.

Three days of checking your phone too often. Three days of convincing yourself you were fine. Three days of staring at these damn tickets on the desk and trying to figure out why you hadn’t just thrown them away. You should sell them. Give them to someone who’d actually enjoy them.

But something stops you.

Maybe it’s pride. Maybe it’s stubbornness. Maybe it’s the stupid, lingering part of you that refuses to admit that she’s really gone. Whatever the reason, you find yourself gripping them tighter instead of throwing them away.

You decided that you will go.

Not for her. Not to see her.

Just so you don’t have to sit in this room, drowning in thoughts of what used to be.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

-

The venue is packed.

Fans shuffle forward in line, their chatter buzzing in the air like static. Excited whispers, rustling light sticks, the occasional squeal when a favourite member’s name is mentioned.

Your fingers tighten around the album in your hands. (Ironically you still hold onto her album)

This is normal for them. For the fans around you, this is just another fan sign. A chance to meet their idols, to share fleeting moments, to walk away with a signature and a memory they’ll cherish for years.

You should feel the same. Instead, you’re just… tired. Who could blame you, you’re about to come face-to-face with your ex-girlfriend.

And she has no idea you’re here.

Your grip on the album tightens as the line inches forward. The first few members greet you with polite smiles, their voices light and bubbly. You do your best to respond normally, but your mind is elsewhere, trapped in the inevitable moment that keeps creeping closer and closer.

You don’t need to look up to know she’s at the end of the table. You can feel her presence.

And then, suddenly, there’s no more time left.

Your album slides across the table. Long, slender fingers stop it in place.

There’s a small pause—so brief that no one else seems to notice—but you do. You feel it in the slight delay before she looks up, in the way her fingers tighten just a fraction around the album’s edge.

And then her eyes meet yours.

She looks the same. Flawless, as always. Every strand of hair perfectly in place, makeup soft and ethereal under the bright overhead lights. And those sparkly eyes that you often got lost in.

But…she’s not yours anymore. Not at all.

There was a flicker of something—recognition, surprise, something deeper—crosses her face. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by a carefully neutral expression.

Her lips part slightly, but no words come out at first. Then…

“Hey.”

It’s awkward. Too awkward. You can feel the tension hanging between you, thick and suffocating.

You swallow, trying to ignore the way your chest tightens. “Hey.”

For a split second, she looks like she wants to say something else. Like she wants to break the script, ignore the rehearsed greetings and practiced smiles.

But then—

She doesn’t.

Instead, she picks up her pen, the mask slipping back into place. Her expression evens out, and in a voice so perfectly professional it almost stings, she says,

“Thanks for coming.”

Just like she would to any other fan. That made your stomach twists.

You should’ve known. Of course, she wouldn't acknowledge it. Not here. Not in front of all these people.

Still, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah. Would’ve been a waste of money if I didn’t.”

Something flickers across her face, but it’s gone before you can catch it. She presses her lips together, nodding slightly. “Right. Can’t have that.”

She signs her name, her handwriting as neat and practiced as always. But there’s a hesitance in the way she moves, a slight delay before she lifts the pen from the page.

When she finally pushes the album back toward you, her fingers linger just a second longer than necessary.

Then, in a voice so quiet that only you can hear…

“Take care, okay?”

She’s looking at you now. Really looking at you.

And for a moment, just one fleeting moment, she’s not the Jang Wonyoung, the IT girl, the global superstar.

She’s just…Wonyoung.

The girl who used to call you late at night just to hear your voice.

The girl who used to lace her fingers through yours under the table when no one was looking.

The girl who told you she didn’t have time for you anymore.

You stare at her.

The words stick to your throat. You genuinely don’t trust yourself to say anything.

So you just…don’t.

You just take the album, stand up, and walk away. And even as you disappear into the crowd, you can still feel her eyes on you.

-

You’ve been doing fine.

Or at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

It’s been a few days since the fan sign, and you’ve buried yourself in anything that keeps your mind occupied—work, games, mindless scrolling through your phone. Anything to keep yourself from replaying the look on Wonyoung’s face at the fansign. From remembering the way she hesitated before handing your album back. From thinking about the way her gaze kept flickering toward you as you walk away, as if she was looking for something.

Or someone.

But that’s not your problem anymore. You told yourself that the moment you left the venue.

Which is why, when your phone starts ringing at an ungodly hour, you almost don’t check the caller ID. Almost.

The second you see her name flashing on the screen, your stomach twists.

Jang Wonyoung.

The ringing continues, each second stretching unbearably. You should let it go. Turn off your phone. Pretend you never saw it.

But you don’t. Because deep down, you know you still want to hear her voice. So you answer.

“...Hello?”

There’s silence on the other end for a moment, followed by a soft giggle—breathy and drawn out, the kind that used to slip past her lips whenever she was feeling particularly affectionate.

"Dummmyy!" she hums, stretching your nickname like it’s some sweet, familiar melody.

“Wonyo. Are you drunk?” You sigh, ignoring the way your nickname for her easily rolled out of your tongue.

She giggles again, the sound loose and unguarded. "Mmm… maybe."

"Goddamn it." You rub your temples. "Where are you?"

A rustling noise filters through the receiver, followed by the distant hum of traffic. "Somewhere," she mumbles. "Some bar, I think. The girls took me out."

Figures.

You shift in bed, propping yourself up against the headboard. “It’s late.”

“I know,” she says, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “But I wanted to call you.”

You close your eyes, exhaling through your nose. “Why?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, there’s a soft exhale, the kind she lets out when she’s gathering her thoughts. Then, quieter…

“Because I miss you.”

Your fingers tighten around the phone.

"Don’t do that," you say quietly.

"Do what?"

"Say things you don’t mean."

Another pause. When she speaks again, her voice is steadier. "But I do mean it. I do miss you."

You swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. "Well, that’s not my problem anymore, is it?"

She goes quiet.

For a moment, all you hear is the faint sound of music in the background, the distant chatter of people. She’s probably in the back of some high-end bar or a private lounge that someone of her status often went. You can picture it too easily—her long hair falling over her shoulders, her lips painted red, the glow of the city lights reflecting in her eyes.

Your heart beat rapidly at the image.

"You came to the fansign," she says suddenly, cutting into your thoughts.

You rub at your temple. "Mhm."

"Why?"

"You already know why."

"Say it anyway."

You sigh. "Because I had the tickets. It would’ve been a waste."

She lets out a humourless laugh. "Right. Can’t have that."

Something about the way she repeats your words from that day makes your stomach twist.

There’s another long pause. Then, almost hesitantly.

"Did you feel anything?"

Your eyes widened. "Feel what?"

"When you saw me again." Her voice is quieter now. "Did you feel anything?"

Your jaw clenches. You want to lie. Want to say no, not at all. That it didn’t matter. That she doesn’t matter. But you can’t.

Because the truth is, you felt everything.

The way your heart clenched when she looked at you. The way your stomach twisted when her fingers hesitated over your name. The way your mind screamed at you to move on, to stop letting her affect you, to stop caring.

But you don’t tell her any of that.

Instead, you settle for, "Who cares anyway."

"Why not?"

"Because we’re done, Jang Wonyoung."

She sucks in a sharp breath, and for a second, you wonder if she’s about to cry.

"You-" She stops, swallows. When she speaks again, her voice is unsteady. "You didn’t even try to fight for me."

Your grip tightens around the phone, knuckles turning white. "You were the one who ended things. On the phone, may I remind you."

"I know," she whispers. "And I thought it was the right choice. But now I just—" She breaks off, voice cracking slightly. "I don’t know anymore."

You shut your eyes.

It would be so easy to give in. To tell her that you don’t know either, that you still think about her, that you still wonder if maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t supposed to end like this.

But what’s the point?

She made her choice.

And you’re tired of being the one left picking up the pieces.

"You’re drunk, Jang Wonyoung," you say, voice carefully even. "Go home and go to sleep."

"Wait—"

"Goodnight."

And then, before she can say another word, you hang up.

The silence that follows is deafening.

And yet, for the first time in days, you finally let yourself breathe.

-

Or at least, it should be.

You did the right thing, you tell yourself—cut it off before it could spiral any further. Before you let yourself believe, even for a second, that anything has changed.

But still, the weight in your chest lingers.

The room feels too quiet now, the kind of silence that presses in from all sides, making it impossible to ignore the thoughts creeping into your head. You lie back down, throwing an arm over your eyes, willing yourself to sleep.

You don’t know how much time passes before you hear it.

A knock.

You freeze.

At first, you think you’re imagining it. Sleep-deprived, emotionally drained, and still reeling from that damn phone call, your brain must be conjuring things that aren’t real. But then, the knocking got more insistent. Erratic, yet insistent.

Your brows furrow. You sit up, straining your ears.

"Who the hell…?"

It’s almost 3 AM. No one in their right mind would be visiting you at this hour. Then again, you just got a call from a drunk girl not in their right mind.

Knock, knock, knock.

It’s louder this time, clumsy and uncoordinated, like whoever’s on the other side can barely keep their balance. A sinking feeling settles in your stomach.

You begrudingly throw off your blankets and push yourself up, padding toward the door. Your hand hovers over the handle for a second before you sigh and pull it open.

And there she is.

Wonyoung.

She’s standing there in the dim, flickering hallway light, wrapped in a thin coat that does nothing to protect her from the cold. Her long hair is slightly tousled, the glossy perfection from the concert gone, strands falling loosely over her shoulders. She sways just the slightest, a delicate wobble on unsteady feet. Her lips are slightly parted, eyes glassy—not just from the alcohol but from something else. Something unreadable.

You blink.

She blinks back, like she’s just now processing that you’re standing in front of her.

Then, with absolutely no warning, she wobbles forward, collapsing against your chest.

You barely manage to catch her. “Jesus—Wonyo.” You gently hold her arms, steadying her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

"Surprise," she breathes, half-laughing, half-sniffling.

You let out a sharp breath. “Surprise? You’re seriously—” You stop yourself, jaw clenching. “How did you even get here?”

"I took a taxi," she announces, like that explains anything. Like that justifies her showing up at your door past midnight after breaking up with you.

You stare at her. “Alone?”

“Mmhmm.”

Your stomach twists. “Wonyoung, do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

She just hums, leaning more of her weight onto you. Her forehead presses against your shoulder, and you can feel the slight tremble in her body.

You sigh, tightening your grip. “You’re freezing.”

“I was walking.”

“Walking where?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she tilts her head back to look at you properly. Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something—something serious, something she’s probably been holding in for too long. But then, she hiccups.

You close your eyes, exhaling sharply through your nose. “You’re unbelievable.”

She smiles lazily, like she didn’t just show up at your door dead drunk in the middle of the night after breaking up with you.

"You hung up on me," she murmurs.

You pull back slightly, just enough to see her properly. “Yeah. I did.”

"That was mean," she says, pouting. "I was talking."

"You were drunk."

"Still talking."

You shake your head, adjusting your grip on her. “Come on. You need water. And sleep.”

She hums, letting you guide her inside. “Only if you let me stay.”

You pause.

For a brief second, something in her voice sounds painfully sober.

But then she giggles again, burying her face in your chest, and you decide that you’ll deal with that in the morning.

For now, you just hold her close.

You sigh, pressing your lips into a thin line as you shift your grip on her. She’s barely standing at this point, practically melting into you like she has no bones in her body.

"Alright, come on," you mutter, wrapping an arm around her waist and leading her inside.

She stumbles slightly, her fingers gripping at your shirt as she giggles under her breath. "You smell nice," she mumbles.

You ignore that.

You close the door behind you with your foot, guiding her toward the couch. She flops onto it with zero resistance, her coat slipping off her shoulders. The moment she’s down, she tilts her head back, blinking up at you like she’s expecting something.

She doesn’t hesitate. Stumble inside like she belongs here.

And maybe that’s the problem. She did belong here.

And now? Now you don’t know.

Her eyes lazily drift across the apartment, lingering on the things she still remembers—the half-empty cup of coffee on your desk, the hoodie she used to steal draped over the chair, the faint indent in the couch where she used to curl up next to you.

Then she noticed your desk, the same desk where the fansign ticket sat just days ago. The same one she saw in your hands at the fansign days ago.

"You really came," she murmurs, not looking at you. "I didn’t think you actually would."

You shrug. "Like I said. Would’ve been a waste."

She flinches. Just the tiniest bit. But you catch it.

She exhales slowly, arms wrapping around herself. "It was weird."

"What was?"

"Seeing you there. But not... There, you know?" She fully looks at you now, and there's something raw in her expression. Something you’re not sure you’re ready to face. "You didn’t smile. You didn’t tease me like you usually do. You barely even looked at me."

"What did you expect?" you ask quietly. "You dumped me, Wonyoung. You can’t just expect me to act like nothing happened."

She presses her lips together, fingers gripping the hem of her sleeve. "I know."

You wait. Give her the space to say what she came here to say.

But she doesn’t. Not right away.

She defeatedly sighed, tucking her knees under her chin, looking smaller than she ever has before. She stares at her hands for a long moment before mumbling, "I don’t know why I came here."

You scoff. "Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you drunk-called your ex, then showed up at his apartment in the middle of the night without a plan."

She frowns. "I do have a plan."

You raise an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

She huffs. "Step one: get inside. Step two..." She falters, looking away. "...I didn’t think that far."

You shake your head. "Unbelievable."

Silence stretches between you, heavy and unspoken.

Then, barely above a whisper, "Do you hate me?"

You freeze.

Your first instinct is to say no. Because of course you don’t hate her. You never could.

But that’s not the right answer, is it?

So instead, you tell the truth.

"I don’t know," you admit. "I want to. But I can't."

She looks up at you then, eyes searching. Hopeful and afraid all at once. "I messed up, didn’t I?"

You let out a hollow laugh. "Yea. Big time."

She swallows. Lowers her gaze again. "I thought breaking up would make things easier. For you…for both of us."

"Did it?"

She shakes her head. "No."

You run a hand through your hair, exhaling. "Then why did you do it?"

"I was scared," she says, and her voice is so small, so unlike the confident idol the world knows, that it almost hurts to hear. "I thought I was being selfish, holding onto you when I barely had time to see you. I thought you deserved more than stolen moments and rushed phone calls."

Your jaw clenches. "You didn’t even ask me what I wanted."

"I know," she whispers. "I thought I was making the right choice."

You sit down across from her, legs spread, elbows on your knees. "And now?"

She meets your gaze, vulnerability laid bare. "Now... I just miss you."

Your heart leaped a mile. This was the Wonyoung you always see. Not the glamorous and model-esque Jang Wonyoung everyone always see on TV. Not the well-spoken and powerful public figure everyone knows. Just…a gentle yet bubbly girl who snuggled up next to you on the couch at the end of the day.

But your brain should tell her to leave. To sleep it off, to sober up and think about this when her mind is clearer.

Then she reaches out—just the slightest, her fingers brushing against yours on the couch. And you don’t pull away.

"You’re drunk," you remind her, though your voice lacks conviction.

She smiles faintly. "Thanks…Mr. Obvious."

Silence. Then, tentatively, "Can I sleep here tonight?"

Another hesitation.

But just like before, you already know your answer.

You sigh. Your hand intertwined with hers.

"Go get a blanket. Wonyo."

She doesn’t move right away. Just watches you, like she’s memorizing you all over again.

Then, with a small, almost relieved nod, she gets up and stumbled into your bedroom as she dragged you along—the same bedroom she used to slip into after long schedules, the same one she used to call hers.

And just like that, the distance you tried so hard to create crumbles.

Again.

[a-d-nox]

pac/pap: a letter from your future spouse

take what resonates leave what doesn't - nothing is 100% for you because these aren't personalized so please no angry comments or dms about what i am saying not being a good fit for you or that you "don't claim" just keep scrolling if that is the case. be kind, self reflect, and have fun.

last pac/pap: a love life check-up

return to the masterlist of pap/pac posts

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pile 1

i wonder what you’re doing right now. are you chasing a dream you’ve started to question? laughing with friends who see only parts of the real you? or are you like me - reflecting on the strange twists life keeps throwing your way, trying to make sense of how it all fits together?

i don’t have all the answers, but i know this: our story is unfolding exactly as it should. the setbacks, the detours, the heartbreak - it’s all shaping us, preparing us for the moment our lives finally align. even in the moments when you doubt that there is light ahead, know that i see it clearly. you’re the hope i keep reaching for, even in the dark.

i often imagine meeting you for the first time. maybe it’s ordinary - a passing glance, a casual conversation. but there will be something unshakable about it. something in the way your smile catches me off guard or the way your voice pulls me in. i’ll know it’s you. and even if i don’t say it right away, you’ll feel it too.

right now, i’m still figuring things out. life’s been throwing me in every direction, and i’m just holding on, trying to steer clear of what i can. the funny thing about fate is how it works even when you don’t see it coming. every choice i’ve made, every chance i’ve taken, has brought me closer to you.

when the time is right, i’ll be ready to step up for you, for us. i’m not the person i was yesterday, and i’m still becoming the person i want to be. there is one thing i know for sure: when we meet, i’ll choose you - again and again, every day, through every celebration and every challenge.

yes - there will be celebrations. i want to laugh with you until we can’t breathe, to celebrate to our wins, big and small, and to hold you close when the night winds down. i want to share your joy, your dreams, and every quiet moment in between. you’re the person i want standing next to me through it all.

until then, i’ll keep working on myself, learning from the lessons life throws my way, and holding space for you in my heart. when fate turns in our favor and our paths finally cross, i’ll be ready to give you my love, my devotion, and my whole damn soul.

yours,

future spouse

pile 2

i’ve been lost before. trapped in my own cycles, chasing goals that felt hollow or moving too fast to notice what i was really missing. there were times i poured my energy into the wrong things, thinking that success or control could fill the void. but life has a way of humbling you, of forcing you to stop, slow down, and face the truth: none of it matters without you.

you’re the one who will make me want to be better - not out of obligation, but because i’ll see in you everything i’ve been searching for. you’re my anchor and the softness in need in my life, the one who shows me that love isn’t about perfection or performance, but about presence. when i look at you, i’ll see everything i didn’t know i needed - warmth, patience, and a kind of beauty that radiates from the inside out.

i know i’ve taken the long road to get to you. sometimes i’ve been stuck, unsure of what to do next, afraid to leave what felt comfortable, even when i knew it wasn’t enough. but you’ll be the one who changes that. with you, there will be no fear, no hesitation - only a deep, undeniable pull that i can’t resist.

you have this power, don’t you? to nurture and create, to transform whatever you touch into something extraordinary. you’re a queen in every sense of the word - abundant, radiant, and endlessly giving. i want you to know this: you don’t always have to give. you don’t always have to hold everything together. with me, you can let go. you'll be able to lean on me. i’ll be the one to carry the weight when you’re tired, to remind you how much you’re worth, even when the world forgets.

i know i’ll mess up sometimes. i’ll stumble, i’ll falter, and i’ll get caught in my own head. but i promise i’ll never stop trying. i’ll never stop choosing you. even in the moments when it feels like we’re standing still, i’ll be there, holding your hand, reminding you that we’re exactly where we’re meant to be.

there’s no moving on from you. no walking away, no running from the love i know we’ll have. you’re the one i’ll keep coming back to, again and again, because you’re home. and when we’re together, i’ll spend the rest of my days showing you just how much you mean to me.

my heart is your's,

future spouse

pile 3

if you’ve felt a restless pull in your heart, know that i feel it too. i’m not the kind of man who sits still for long - i’ve always chased what makes me feel alive, even when i didn’t fully understand what i was after. somewhere along the way, i realized what i’ve been searching for is you.

you’re the spark in the distance, the promise of something more. i can feel your energy even now, calling me to move, to grow, to become the man you deserve. i’m not perfect—sometimes i charge ahead too fast, speak before i think, or get caught up in chasing every wild idea that crosses my mind. but one thing i know for sure: when i meet you, everything will fall into focus.

you’re the kind of person who could make a man rethink everything. your passion, your curiosity, your fire - i want to match it and watch us both burn brighter together. with you, every day will feel like an adventure, every moment full of discovery. i want to know your mind, your dreams, and your wildest ideas. i want to be the one who makes you laugh so hard you forget to breathe and who listens when you need to share the thoughts you’ve never spoken aloud.

but i also want you to know this: i’ll be the one who gives you space when you need it. life isn’t always about the chase; sometimes, it’s about the stillness. when the world gets too loud, when the fire feels like it’s burning too hot, i’ll be there to remind you to rest. i’ll be your calm in the chaos, your quiet in the storm.

i know we’ll make mistakes - together and apart. we’ll say the wrong things, take the wrong steps, and sometimes, we’ll need time to figure it all out. but isn’t that part of the beauty? love isn’t about perfection; it’s about showing up, learning, and growing side by side.

i can’t wait to see where life takes us, to chase the wild unknown with you by my side. you make me want to dream bigger, run faster, and still, somehow, savor every single moment. i’m ready to throw myself into this with you, no hesitation, no regrets.

until we meet, i’ll keep searching, learning, and preparing for the day when i get to call you mine.

yours always,

your future spouse

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁𝓂𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝜗𝜚 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒, 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑔𝑒𝑜

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Where the TKATB men ache for you with an intensity that borders on obsession, while the men remain oblivious to the fact that you’ve been 'the one' all along. 

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

I wanted to share something sweet for Valentine's Day—a little glimpse into love and longing to celebrate the occasion.

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

For over two years and counting, Crowe has been haunted by the memory of your touch.

Crowe would never deny that he enjoys having you around. But if you don’t see him that way—if you never do—he’ll live with it. He’ll push it down, bury it deep, because losing you entirely is something he refuses to accept. If friendship is all you can offer, then he’ll take it, no matter how much it eats at him.  

After all, it was him that day. The day those bullies cornered you, their words sharp and cruel, their intentions worse. He was the one who stepped in without hesitation, who made it clear that they’d have to go through him first. He didn’t do it for gratitude or recognition. He did it because it was you.  

It’s always been about you.  

He doesn’t just want you in his life—he needs you there. He wants you around his friends, wants you to feel safe, to feel at home wherever he is. He wants to see you smile, wants to be the reason for it, even if you never look at him the way he looks at you. It doesn’t matter. Because Crowe loves everything about you.  

The way your laughter sounds—effortless, bright, like something he could get addicted to. The way you wsolkle your nose when you’re annoyed, the way your eyes soften when you talk about something you love. The way your presence alone makes everything feel a little less heavy.  

And it scares him. 

The way he aches for you. 

The way he yearns for more.  

But if being close to you means keeping his feelings locked away, then he’ll do it. He’ll endure it. He’ll hold himself back, bite his tongue, force himself to be content with whatever piece of you he’s allowed to have. Because even if it’s not everything he wants, at least it’s something. At least it’s you.

Crowe lets out a slow breath, stasolg at the pile of papers in front of him, but his mind is elsewhere.  

You’re sprawled across the floor, cross-legged among scattered documents, your back against a pile of pillows as you skim through a paper in your hands. The soft glow of the evening light filters through the curtains, casting a golden hue over you, making you look almost unreal. He should be focused—should be sorting through the paperwork like he said he would. Instead, all he can focus on is you.  

You—who insisted on helping despite him telling you he could handle it.  

You—who sits there with that small, content smile, completely unaware of how you consume him.  

“Crowe, you need to file these by date,” you murmur, tapping a few papers into a neat stack. “You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be.”  

He huffs, running a hand through his loose braid. “I never asked for help.”  

“You never ask for help, period,” you counter easily, throwing him a glance before looking back at the papers. “Besides, I don’t mind. This way, you won’t end up buried under a mess of your own making.”  

He watches as you shift, your knee bumping against his, and his whole body tenses. It’s nothing. Just a touch. But his mind lingers on it, the warmth spreading, sinking into his skin like ink on paper. He clenches his jaw, flipping through the stack in his hands without really reading anything.  

“Crowe?”  

Your voice snaps him back, and he blinks at you.  

“You okay?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.  

He exhales through his nose, forcing a smirk. “Yeah. Just wondering why you’re still here when you could be doing something better with your time.”  

You roll your eyes, shifting again—brushing against him again. “And miss watching you suffer through basic organization? Never.”  

He scoffs, shaking his head, but his grip on the papers tightens. It’s not fair. How easily you get under his skin, how effortlessly you settle into his space, into his life. He wonders if you even realize it—how much of him you consume, how much he aches for you in ways he has no right to.  

Crowe doesn’t know when it started, this need, this craving that’s carved itself into his ribs. But he knows it’s always been you. The realization sits heavy in his chest, like a secret too dangerous to let slip.  

His fingers twitch as he watches you. He wants to touch you, to reach out, to thread his fingers through your hair and trace the curve of your jaw. To pull you closer, to feel the warmth of you against him.  

But you’re his friend. Closest Friend.

And if that’s all you’ll ever be—if that’s all you can give—then he’ll endure it.  

Even if it kills him.

The silence between you stretches, filled only with the occasional rustle of paper and the rhythmic tick of the clock on the wall. Crowe exhales, a slow and controlled breath, as if that alone will steady the wildfire spreading in his chest. It doesn’t.  

You’re still here, still close enough that he can feel the faint heat radiating off your skin, and he can’t focus—not on the papers, not on anything other than the phantom sensation of your touch line side on his jaw. His resolve is slipping, unraveling thread by thread, and it’s all your fault.  

He tells himself to let it go. 

To push it down, bury it deep where it belongs.  

But then you shift, stretching your arms above your head with a quiet sigh, before letting yourself fall back against the pillows behind you. “I think we deserve a break,” you say, staring up at the ceiling. “Your filing system is a disaster, by the way.”  

Crowe lets out a breathy chuckle. “I don’t have a system.”  

“Exactly.”  

You turn your head to look at him, that lazy, contented smile still playing on your lips, and something inside him caves.  

Without thinking, he moves, shifting onto his side until he’s lying next to you. The papers don’t matter. The mess on the floor doesn’t matter. Nothing does—except this moment.  

You don’t react, at least not in the way he expects. There’s no teasing remark, no raised brow questioning why he’s suddenly this close. Instead, you just glance at him as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.  

“I thought you didn’t take breaks,” you murmur.  

“Maybe you’re a bad influence.” His voice is quieter now, softer.  

You gsol, amused. “Maybe.”  

Crowe watches as your fingers absently play with the hem of your sleeve, and he wants to reach out. Wants to take your hand in his, wants to thread his fingers between yours just to see how it feels. The temptation is maddening.  

“Do you ever get tired of this?” he asks suddenly.  

You blink, tilting your head. “Tired of what?”  

His throat is dry. He swallows, pretending that the words aren’t sticking in his chest. “Of… being around me all the time.”  

It’s a stupid question. He doesn’t know why he asked it. Maybe he just needs reassurance—something to hold onto before he completely loses himself to this feeling that he refuses to name.  

Your expression softens. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.”  

The answer should be enough. It should satisfy him and quiet the restlessness inside him.  

It doesn’t.  

Because there’s something about the way you say it—so effortlessly, like it’s obvious. Like, it’s simple. And for you, maybe it is. Maybe you don’t see the weight behind it, the way your words settle into his bones, warm and suffocating all at once, like they were always meant to be there.  

Crowe barely has a second to react before you move—quick, decisive, and utterly reckless with his personal space. His body tenses, muscles coiled tight, but he doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t even try.  

One moment, you’re standing beside him, your usual teasing lilt laced in your voice. The next, he’s flat on his back, breath knocked from his lungs as you press him into the floor. His pulse jumps, sharp and immediate, but it has nothing to do with the impact.  

Your legs cage around his waist, your hands planted firmly against his chest, pinning him in place. And worst of all? You look amused. Like this isn’t something that should have him gripping at the last shreds of his self-control.  

His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to do something—grab your hips, push you off, pull you closer—but he forces himself to stay still. His chest rises and falls beneath your touch, each breath shallower than the last as his mind races to catch up with what the hell just happened.  

Crowe narrows his eyes, lips parting like he’s about to throw out some sharp remark, something cool and dismissive, to mask the way his body reacts to you. But when he meets your gaze—playful, expectant, entirely unbothered—his words die before they even form.  

And that’s when it hits him.  

You know. 

You know exactly what you’re doing. 

And worse? 

You’re enjoying this.

“What the—?!” He instinctively tries to push himself up, but you’re already pressing your palms into his shoulders, effectively trapping him.  

“Oh, relax,” you huff, gazing down at him. “You looked like you were spiraling. I had to do something before you started brooding so hard you set the house on fire.”  

Crowe glares. “I don’t brood.”  

“You totally brood.”  

“I don’t.”  

You raise a brow. “You’re literally doing it right now.”  

Crowe opens his mouth, then closes it, then just scowls. He hates that you might be right. He hates even more that you’re looking at him like this, all smug and unbothered, completely unaware of the absolute chaos you’re causing in his head.  

This is normal to you, isn’t it? Sitting on top of him like it’s no big deal, pinning him down like you aren’t single-handedly wrecking his sanity.  

Crowe groans, throwing his head back against the pillows. “You’re actually gonna kill me one day.”  

“You’re being dramatic.”  

“Oh, am I?” His voice is dry, but there’s a flicker of something else beneath it—something dangerously close to unsteady. His hands slide onto your hips, firm yet hesitant, like he’s caught between pushing you away and pulling you closer. His fingers press just enough to make you aware of his grip, of the fact that you could move away if you wanted to.  

Not that you would.  

“Because last I checked, you’re literally on top of me right now,” he continues, a sharp exhale leaving his lips, “and I’m pretty sure I’m experiencing cardiac arrest.”  

You snort, unfazed. “Please. If I wanted to kill you, I’d at least make it more interesting.”  

His deep blue eyes flick up to yours, something flickering behind them—amusement and frustration—but before he can bite back with some witty retort, you lean in closer.  

Your weight shifts slightly, pressing down in a way that makes his fingers tighten on your hips, his knuckles paling for just a second. The movement knocks a few strands of his long brown hair over his forehead, but he doesn’t dare lift a hand to fix it. Not when you’re this close.  

“Y’know…” Your voice is softer now, teasing, thoughtful, like you’re genuinely contemplating something. “You’re weirdly warm.”  

Crowe stiffens when your hands leave his shoulders, fingers trailing up the column of his neck, slow and deliberate. His pulse betrays him, hammering beneath your touch.  

Then your palms frame his jaw, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, and he knows he’s done for.  

He swallows hard, his throat bobbing beneath your fingers. His breath stutters, his mind screaming at him to say something—anything—before you realizes the effect you have on him. But his mouth refuses to work, completely useless as you study him like you’ve just uncovered something interesting. 

Your grin barely has a second to register in Crowe’s mind before he moves.

With a swift, effortless motion, your world flips—air rushing past you as your back meets the ground, cool earth pressing against your skin. A startled gasp barely escapes your lips before you feel it—him.

Crowe’s body cages yours, his knees planted firmly between your legs, his hands pinning yours above your head. His long brown hair falls forward, strands grazing your face like a ghost of a touch, teasing and torturous all at once. His deep blue eyes lock onto yours; the corner of his lips twitches. “Not so funny now, is it?”  

Your breath catches, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of looking flustered. “Oh? Did I strike a nerve?”  

His grip on your wrists tightens—not painful, just *commanding.* Enough to remind you of the sudden shift in power between you.  

Then, without warning, he leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as his voice drops to something low, almost *gravelly.*  

“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”  

A shiver bolts down your spine, but you refuse to react, refuse to let him see how much his proximity affects you. *Two can play this game.*  

“Oh, I know when to quit,” you whisper back, tilting your head ever so slightly, your lips just inches from his. “I just don’t want to.”  

And then it happens—so fast, so unexpected—you barely have time to process.  

Crowe’s lips crash against yours, hot and unrelenting, stealing the very breath from your lungs. It’s not slow, not gentle—it’s every bit as competitive as the both of you, as if he’s trying to prove something.  

Your fingers twitch in his grasp, the need to grab him, to pull him even closer overwhelming every thought in your head. But he keeps you pinned, controlling the moment, teasing you with the maddening way his lips move against yours.  

Then, just as quickly as he kissed you, he pulls back, hovering above you, his breath warm against your swollen lips. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes—oh, his eyes—they’re gleaming with something smug, something victorious.  

“Still think this is fun?”  

You blink, still reeling, heart hammering so hard it might burst out of your chest.  

And then, in the most infuriatingly casual voice, you breathe out, “...Kinda,”  

Crowe groans, head dropping to your shoulder as he mutters, “You’re actually going to kill me.” he mutters, barely audible.

And that’s the real problem, isn’t it?

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

Sol says three months. Honestly, it’s like one week. Every moment of it, you’re there.

Understand that Sol has always been the quiet one, the guy who blends into the background until he doesn’t. He’s the type that hardly stands out, sitting at the back of the room, hidden behind his own little world. It’s easy for people to forget he’s even there, especially when he doesn’t really give them a reason to look. He’s cold, distant, and usually wrapped up in the space between the pages of a book or the strokes of a paintbrush. A lone figure in the corner, always studying, always creating, always alone.  

But then… you came along.  

He remembers the first time he saw you, your laugh like a melody that somehow cut through the haze of his own isolation. You didn’t ask him anything, didn’t try to crack his shell like everyone else did. You didn’t even seem to notice the way his eyes followed you, the way his heart skipped a beat every time you came near. Instead, you just *were*—existing in the same space, offering him something different: peace.  

And, slowly, things began to change.  

Sol became more aware of the way your smile lit up the room. The way your laughter stuck with him long after it had faded. He started paying attention to you in a way he never did anyone else. Your presence seemed to be magnetic, drawing him in like a force he couldn’t resist. And with every passing day, the intensity of his thoughts about you only grew. 

It wasn’t just your smile, though—no. It was the way you interacted with him. The way your eyes lingered on his work, the way you’d ask him about his day as if it mattered. And when you spoke to him, there was a warmth in your voice, an unspoken invitation to be more than the quiet kid at the back of the room. It made him feel something, something deep in his chest that he couldn’t quite explain.  

That’s when the obsession started.

Every time Sol closed his eyes, you were there. His mind wouldn’t let him rest, and no matter how hard he tried to push you away, you kept slipping in. You were there in the sketches he couldn’t stop drawing, the paintings that came to life in ways he didn’t intend. You were the muse behind every piece, every stroke, every line. He found himself lost in the idea of you, consumed by the thought of you.  

And then, it hit him like a wave. 

You had become his art. You were the subject that filled his pages, the image he couldn’t get enough of. The way you moved, the way you smiled, the way you lingered in his thoughts long after he’d seen you. Every brushstroke he made in his art book brought you to life, even if just for a moment. He painted you in every way—your hands, your eyes, the soft curve of your smile—all the details that stayed with him, making his heart race and his hands tremble as he worked.

You were in every sketch. He couldn’t escape you, not even on paper. You had taken over his mind completely, and now, you were becoming a part of his creations. The more he drew you, the more real you felt. The more your presence seeped into his soul, until there was nothing else that mattered. 

And as he sat there, pencil in hand, gaze focused intently on the page in front of him, he found himself lost again. He wasn’t just sketching anymore. He was memorizing every little detail of you—every little thing he hadn’t quite captured yet, like the way your hair would fall when you tilted your head or the way your fingers would idly trace along the edges of the paper when you were distracted. It wasn’t just art now—it was obsession.

The thought of you lingered even as he set his pencil down, staring at the half-finished drawing of you, and he could hear your voice in his mind. A voice, soft and warm, saying, “I knew you could do it.”

And just like that, it didn’t matter how tired he was, how much he wanted to just collapse from exhaustion. The only thing that made his heart race now was the idea of you—you in his world. 

You in his art. And even though he couldn’t quite reach you yet, he was determined to make you his, on paper if nowhere else. 

Because of this feeling? 

This feeling of wanting you, craving you? 

He wasn’t sure he’d ever stop.

Sol likes to think of himself as someone who takes his time—someone slow and deliberate when it comes to relationships. He’s not the type to let someone in easily, to open up to someone so quickly. After all, he’s spent years building up a wall around his heart, carefully maintaining a distance to protect himself from the potential sting of rejection or loss. It’s worked for him. He’s always been cautious, weighing every connection with a cool, measured approach.

You, who had slipped past his defenses in ways he never expected. You, who made everything feel real. And despite his doubts—his constant questioning of whether this would last, whether you’d want to stick around—Sol found himself unable to ignore the way you made him feel. The way you looked at him, the way you cared so easily, so genuinely. He couldn't deny that he’d been falling for you for months now.

It had been three months since you’d entered his life, but it felt like a lifetime in all the best ways. You were always there—patient, kind, steady in a way that soothed the nervous parts of him that he’d hidden for so long. But still, he told himself it was too soon. He couldn’t be this vulnerable.  

Until that one moment.  

The words slipped out so casually, so innocently.  

“You’re so good at this; I’m so proud of you, Sol.”  

It felt like the ground beneath him had shifted. The world suddenly tilted off its axis. Those words—those words, coming from you—sent a shockwave through him, rattling something deep inside him he hadn’t realized was there. The way you said it, with such sincerity, the way your eyes held his, soft and full of admiration—it changed everything.

He tried to brush it off. He told himself it was nothing. He’d been complimented before, praised by others countless times. It was just a simple phrase. Nothing special.

But it was different. It was you.

You made it feel special. Your words were like a thread that wove into the very fabric of his being, pulling him closer to you, to this feeling that he couldn’t name but knew was consuming him.  

Now, nothing else felt as important. Those praises from others? They didn’t matter. They were just words, empty and shallow. They didn’t stir something in him the way your words did. 

He wanted more of it. He needed more of it.  

He had spent months convincing himself that he was just inspired by you—yeah, that was it. You were his muse, his favorite subject, the reason his sketchbooks were filled to the brim with your face. It wasn’t that deep.  

And then, one day, as he stood in his studio apartment, paint staining his fingers, a half-finished portrait of you staring back at him from the canvas, he realized something terrifying.  

He wasn’t just painting you. He was worshiping you.  

The way your lips curled when you teased him, the way your eyes softened when you looked at him like he was worth something—it was all captured in every brushstroke, every tiny detail. He wasn’t just an artist anymore. He was a man possessed.  

And before he could stop himself, he was standing in front of you.  

Before you could process what was happening, Sol was already moving. His strong hands found your waist, and in one swift motion, he pulled you into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. The half-dried paint on his fingers smeared against your skin, marking you as his, but he didn’t seem to care.  

His grip was firm, almost possessive, keeping you locked in place as he gazed up at you, eyes dark and unreadable. His chest rose and fell heavily, the intensity in his expression making your breath hitch.  

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, voice rough, like he was holding himself back from something reckless. His fingers flexed against your hips, grounding himself—or maybe keeping you from getting away. 

Sol’s fingers dug into your waist, his grip firm but not enough to hurt—just enough to make sure you weren’t going anywhere. His chest rose and fell against yours, breaths uneven, like he was trying to hold himself back—Trying, but failing miserably.  

Your hands pressed into his shoulders instinctively, steadying yourself, but that only made it worse—made him want you *closer*, made him crave the feeling of you melting against him. His fingers flexed, sliding up your back, slow and deliberate, his warmth seeping through your clothes, leaving a burning trail in its wake.  

“Please,” he murmured, his voice rough, dangerously low, his lips hovering just beneath your ear. “Say it again.”

It wasn’t a request.  

You shivered, your heartbeat hammering, knowing exactly what you were doing when you leaned in just a little, your breath teasing against his skin, close enough that your lips nearly brushed his.  

“…You’re so good, Sol.” 

His breath hitched, a sharp inhale like your words had physically hit him. His jaw tensed, his fingers tightening their hold as if he was afraid that if he let go, you’d slip right through his grasp.  

And then—he broke.  

His mouth was on your throat in an instant, teeth grazing your skin before he bit down—not hard enough to bruise, but enough to make you gasp, enough to leave his mark. His other hand tangled into your hair, tilting your head just so, giving him more access, more you. 

A low, satisfied sound rumbled in his chest when he felt you shudder against him, your fingers clutching at his shirt. He soothed the bite with a slow, open-mouthed kiss, his lips lingering, savoring.  

“You drive me insane,” he murmured against your skin, his voice strained, almost helpless. His nose brushed along your jaw as he exhaled, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine.  

His hands tightened around you, possessive, like he was trying to pull you into him, like *having you* in his lap wasn’t enough.  

“Again,” he whispered, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.  “Please.”

And this time, it wasn’t a plea. 

It was a demand.

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

Lastly, for Geo, it took about a year and some months; he doesn’t really all that time, starting at you.

Geo was never meant for this to happen. He didn’t plan on it, didn’t think it was even possible. He wasn’t the type to fall for people—let alone someone like you. 

His life had always been straightforward, filled with precision, discipline, and control. Best in archery with enough wealth to make people respect him without having to ask. That’s how things worked for him. No one dared to challenge him. No one dared to get too close. 

Except, somehow, you. 

You were Crowe's friend. It had started innocently enough—nothing more than tolerating your presence because Crowe trusted you and because you seemed to enjoy spending time with him. But the more time passed, the harder it was for Geo to ignore you. 

Your laughter, your smile, the way your eyes lit up when you spoke. It wasn’t anything spectacular—he tried to convince himself—but it was... enough to make him curious. 

He liked to think of it as curiosity. 

But the more he tried to convince himself of that, the more it became something else entirely. It wasn’t just curiosity, and it wasn’t just the way you seemed to blend seamlessly into his life, leaving an imprint without even trying. It was something deeper, something he couldn’t explain, something he didn’t want to acknowledge. 

It was the way you wore that soft lip with that shiny gloss. That was the first thing he noticed. You probably never realized how you applied it, but to Geo, it became the only thing he could focus on whenever you were nearby. How it caught the light, the way the gloss made your lips look fuller, more inviting. 

He hated how distracted he got by it, but he couldn't help himself. He'd watch as you smiled and delicately applied the gloss, not realizing that each time you did, his eyes would flicker to your lips, unable to look away.

It wasn’t just about the gloss—he hated to admit it, but it was the way your lips moved, the way they curved up when you spoke to him. Every smile felt like an invitation, and it made his heart race every time he saw it.

And the worst part? 

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

His mind ran wild, imagining what it would be like to kiss you, to taste that gloss. Would it be sweet? Fruity? Would it be like strawberry or maybe something more decadent, like cake? Geo didn’t know, but the mere thought drove him crazy.

Yet, every time you caught him staring, you would smile, the same playful glint in your eyes, and then push away from him. It was maddening. 

“It was nice talking to you,” you’d say, and just like that, you were gone, leaving him standing there with the weight of his thoughts.

It wasn’t the way you left that bothered him—it was how you left him wanting more. 

He couldn’t help but wonder, when you left, if you knew how much power you had over him. Did you know how much he craved the taste of you, how much he longed to be the one you smiled at like that? And every time you walked away, it felt like you were pulling something from him, something he couldn't get back. 

Geo wasn’t used to feeling like this—unsure, obsessed, craving something that was just out of reach. He never thought he’d be the type of person to feel like this, but here he was, and it made him desperate. 

He couldn't keep pretending he didn't want you, even though he knew better. He couldn’t deny how much he wanted to be the one to kiss you, to taste the sweetness you wore on your lips. But you’d never give him that satisfaction. 

And that, more than anything, pulled him in even deeper.

Even during one of his archery competitions, it was all background noise. His eyes, always sharp and calculating, found you almost immediately—despite the sea of people around, despite the chaos of the competition unfolding before him. There you were, standing off to the side, caught up in the frenzy, but somehow, your presence always felt like it anchored him. 

Geo’s focus sharpened, his usual stone-cold expression becoming intense, almost feral, the moment he locked eyes with you. His heart skipped in a way he couldn't explain, and for the briefest second, the noise of the crowd, the frantic cheers, the tension in the air—all of it seemed to fade into nothing. 

There was something in the way you looked at him, that same fire in your eyes. It sent a shock of electricity through his veins, tightening his chest. It wasn’t just admiration. No, it was something deeper. Something possessive. Geo didn't want to admit it, but the way you looked at him, unwavering, made his ego swell in a way he had never known. 

The satisfaction of knowing you were watching him, that you were his to look at, made his body hum with need.

It was this feeling that had him doing something uncharacteristic for him: walking over to you before the competition even started, pushing through the crowd as if he had a claim on you. His movements were deliberate, as though the world had momentarily paused just for him to take that step toward you.

And as the competition wore on, Geo found his gaze kept darting to where you stood at the edge, just beyond their reach. When he wasn’t actively participating, his attention would always wander back to you. 

It was like an anchor, something he couldn’t shake off. 

Geo had never been one to linger—at least, not without reason. He was efficient, calculated, and never one to waste time where it wasn’t necessary. And yet, here he was, standing just a little behind his group, hovering just enough to be near them but not quite *with* them.  

And then you appeared.  

“What are you doing here, all by your lonesome?”  

Your voice was light, teasing, and when he turned his gaze downward, there you were, standing just slightly apart from the others—just like him.  

Geo had always found idle conversation tedious, a waste of time. But with you? It never felt like that. Even when you were talking his ear off, rambling about things he barely understood or had no real interest in, he listened. 

Normally, he would’ve found it grating. Normally, he would have shut it down with a deadpan stare and a clipped response.  

But with you…  

His ever-present frown softened, the tension in his shoulders easing in a way he didn’t quite notice. He wasn’t even irritated that you were talking. If anything, he found himself waiting for the next thing you’d say, some stupid remark or observation that would somehow make him want to keep this—whatever this was—going.  

“They’re loud,” he muttered, nodding toward his friends.   

You scoffed, rolling your eyes with exaggerated flair. “And you’ve decided to, what? Hide in the shadows, all broody and mysterious? Go, girl, give us nothing.”  

A breath of a laugh—not quite full, not quite deliberate—escaped his lips before he could stop it. It wasn’t loud, wasn’t obvious, but it was there.  

When his gaze flicked back to yours, you were already smiling, your eyes alight with something effortless. Effervescent.

Geo’s stomach twisted, but not unpleasantly. It was unfamiliar, unsettling in its quiet intensity. He didn’t yearn for people—he never had. He never needed anyone. But then why did his pulse kick up when you tilted your head at him like that? Why did his body seem to lean ever so slightly toward you, like some invisible force was tugging him closer?  

He swallowed, barely aware of the way his fingers twitched at his sides.  

It was ridiculous. 

You were ridiculous.  

Geo wasn’t one for impulse—he was sharp, calculated, always in control. But with you? That control slipped too easily, unraveling before he even realized what was happening.  

Your teasing words hung in the air between you, your smile playful, taunting. “You know I can see you always looking at me, right?”  

His jaw tightened, his mind already preparing a sarcastic reply—something to keep the moment light, to keep his defenses up. But before he could think twice, his body moved on instinct.  

“Yeah.”

The single word left his lips smoother than he expected, like it belonged there. But then he took it a step further, voice dropping just slightly—just enough to make your breath hitch.  

“I love it.”

Your expression shifted instantly, amusement flickering into something softer, something unsure. Your lips parted, a small, stunned noise escaping before you stumbled over your words. “What—huh?”  

Geo smirked, watching the blush creep up your neck, your wide eyes blinking up at him in disbelief. And damn it, the sight sent a rush of satisfaction straight through him, settling deep in his chest.  

Before you could think of backing away, before he could second-guess himself, he reached out. His fingers wrapped around your wrist—gentle, firm—as he tugged you toward him in one smooth pull.  

The space between you disappeared in an instant, your breath mixing with his as you steadied yourself against his chest. His other hand ghosted along your waist, his touch featherlight but possessive, like he wasn’t willing to let go just yet.  

“Wha—?” The protest barely left your lips before he leaned in, lowering his head, his breath hot against your skin as his lips brushed against your forehead—slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the moment.  

You froze.  

He felt it—the way your breath caught, the way your fingers curled ever so slightly against his shirt like you were trying to ground yourself.  

Geo smirked against your skin before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze again. His aquamarine eyes burned into yours, filled with something unreadable, something dangerous.  

“You were saying?” His voice was smooth, teasing, but there was no mistaking the edge beneath it—the quiet claim, the unspoken you’re mine.

And just like that, he let his fingers slip away, leaving you standing there, flushed and breathless.  

His smirk deepened.  

Yeah.  

He definitely loved it.

[bitchinbarzal]

Got you | J Hughes

summary: jack shows up in the middle of the night and you’re the only one he wants.

-

The insistent buzzing of your phone jolts you awake. Disoriented, you squint at the screen, the glowing numbers reading 1:37 am, before your bleary eyes focus on the name flashing across it.

Jack.

Your stomach twists. He never calls this late. Jack is the kind of guy who falls asleep with his phone still in his hand, mid-text, and wakes up at a reasonable hour with no recollection of what he was saying. If he’s calling now, something’s wrong.

You answer, voice thick with sleep “Jack?”

There’s a pause, just long enough to make your chest tighten. Then, his voice — low, quiet.

“Can you let me in?”

You don’t think. You just move. Throwing off the covers, you rush to your front door, unlocking it without hesitation. The second you pull it open, you see him stood with his hood pulled up, hands stuffed in his pockets, the dim hallway light casting shadows across his face.

“Jack—”

He steps past you, barely meeting your eyes, his movements stiff like he’s holding something back. He paces once before sinking onto your couch, elbows on his knees, hands laced together like he’s trying to keep himself from coming undone.

You close the door softly “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head.

Jack is rarely quiet. He’s the guy who always has a chirp ready, who fills silences with offhand comments or dumb jokes just to keep the energy light. But this is different. This is Jack stripped of all his usual defenses, and it unsettles you.

You sit beside him, close but not touching “Talk to me”

He exhales sharply, tipping his head back against the couch. For a second, you think he won’t say anything at all.

“I had a bad game”

Your heart aches at the way he says it. Like it’s more than that.

You frown “Jack—”

“I know” he interrupts “I know it’s dumb. I know it’s just one game, and I know I’ll bounce back, and I know it’s not the end of the world” His voice strains on the last part, and he shakes his head, jaw clenched “But I couldn’t shut it off. The way I played, the way I let the team down. I got in my own head, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t know where else to go”

The last part is barely a whisper.

You exhale slowly.

So this is why he’s here.

He didn’t come for empty reassurances. He didn’t come for someone to tell him it’s fine, that it doesn’t matter.

He came for you.

For the quiet. For the comfort.

You don’t say anything at first. Instead, you shift closer, reaching for his hand. He tenses at first, but then exhales, letting you thread your fingers through his. You squeeze gently.

“It’s not dumb” you murmur. “I know how much you care. That’s not a bad thing”

He lets out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against your skin “I just feel like I can’t get out of my own head sometimes. Like I’m never enough, no matter what I do”

Your chest tightens. Jack Hughes; rising superstar, face of a franchise, beloved by an entire city and yet, sitting here in the dim glow of your apartment, he’s just Jack. He is a boy who puts too much pressure on himself, who carries the weight of expectations too heavily on his shoulders.

You wish you could take some of it from him.

But all you can do is be here.

“You don’t have to figure it out alone” you whisper “I’m here. Always”

Something shifts in his expression. His fingers tighten around yours like he’s grounding himself in your presence. For a long moment, he just looks at you, something unspoken hanging in the air between you.

Then, he moves.

He leans into you, head resting on your shoulder, body finally relaxing for the first time since he walked through the door.

You stay like that. Wrapped up in each other, your fingers still laced together. You don’t fill the silence with meaningless words. You just exist beside him, letting him take what he needs.

And when his breathing evens out, when the tension in his body finally eases, you press a soft kiss to the top of his head and whisper

“I’ve got you”

And you do.

Always.

[losernb]

Valentine's Day Surprise

Sevika’s never experienced  this before. Valentine's Day is a Piltover holiday, there’s no time for stuff like this in Zaun. She never would’ve known about it if she didn’t decide to take you and the girls out for a fun day last week.

Valentine’s Day:

“Look over there!” Jinx points, drawing Isha’s attention to the giant sign. It’s bright pink, covered in a bunch of hearts, and it reads:

Valentine’s Day Sale- All the chocolate, flowers, and plushies a girl could ever want!

Isha’s face lights up with excitement as she reads it. Candy, flowers, and a new teddy bear?! I want them! She signs eagerly towards Jinx.. 

“You gotta ask Sevika, she’s the one with the money.” Jinx says with a laugh.

Without hesitation, Isha dashes over to where you and Sevika are talking, tugging insistently at Sevika’s sleeve. Sevika looks down at her, brow raised in confusion.

“What’s wrong kid?” Sevika asks, voice hinting with confusion. Isha points to the sign, causing both you and Sevika to turn and look at it. You laugh a little, knowing why she was drawing your attention to it. 

“Looks like we know what we’re buying today.” You laugh and pick Isha up, settling her down on your hip and kissing her cheek. She giggles and throws both arms up, letting out a victorious squeal. Sevika rolls her eyes and lets out a sigh, “Alright, c’mon girls let’s go see what this is about.”

The four of you walk into the store, taking in the assortment of flowers and the piles of plushies. Isha and Jinx are mesmerized. Before you can blink, Isha wriggles out of your arms, grabbing Jinx’s hand and dragging her toward the stuffed animals.

“The hell is ‘Valentine’s Day’ anyway?” Sevika asks you, never having heard of it before. You grew up in Zaun as well so you had no clue. 

“Maybe we can go ask?” You suggest, walking up to the first worker you see. It’s an older lady who smiles when she sees the two of you. “Hello, what can I do for you lovely ladies?” She asks, smiling warmly.

“Hi, I just wanted to ask what Valentine’s Day is, I saw it on the sign outside.” You reply, offering back a small smile. 

The woman lets out a small laugh, “Oh dear, you’ve never heard of Valentine’s Day? Are you new to Piltover?”

You nod. “Yeah, actually. We don’t really have fancy holidays in Zaun—just birthdays and anniversaries, mostly.”

Sevika shifts beside you, resting a hand on your back—a habit of hers whenever she senses something’s off. You glance at her, noticing the subtle furrow in her brow.

Then, the woman’s smile fades. Her expression stiffens, her warmth turning to something colder.

“Oh,” she says, voice suddenly clipped. “Well, it’s a day to celebrate loved ones.” The words feel forced, like an afterthought. “Excuse me, I need to go.” She turns abruptly, walking away without another word.

You turn back to Sevika and understand the look now, she caught the lady’s shift in attitude before you did. You kiss her cheek, as a reminder that everything’s okay. “Cmon Sevi, lets just get our girl and go.” Sevika nods, jaw tight, but says nothing.

You make your way over to Jinx and Isha, who are still enthralled by the plushies.

“Pick out anything you like yet?” You bend down to ask Isha. She’s holding a little brown bear and Jinx is holding a bunny. This one! She signs, putting down the bear to free up her hands.

“Excuse me.”

You turn to see a small man, his posture stiff, a name tag reading Manager pinned to his vest.

“Could you please leave?” His tone is polite, but his expression is anything but.

You don’t need to ask why. The woman from earlier must’ve told him where you’re from. Zaunites aren’t banned from Piltover stores, but some people—especially in places like this—act like they should be.

You sigh, standing up and gently gathering Isha into your arms.

What’s happening? Isha signs, confusion flickering across her face.

“We gotta go, kiddo,” Jinx says with a sigh, patting her back.

Isha deflates against your shoulder, small hands gripping your jacket. Her excitement, her joy—gone in an instant.

Sevika sees it, too. The hurt in Isha’s expression. The way Jinx looks away, lips pressed into a thin line. And something inside her snaps.

She steps forward, towering over the manager. “Yeah? And what exactly is the reason we need to leave?” Her voice is steady, but there’s a sharp edge to it.

The manager swallows, visibly intimidated. “I—I just think it would be best if—”

“Best for who?” Sevika cuts him off. “We were minding our own damn business.”

His gaze flickers between her and you, then to Isha in your arms, her little brown bear still clutched to her chest. He hesitates, but the damage is done.

Sevika clicks her tongue. “Tch. C’mon, let’s go,” she mutters, turning on her heel.

Jinx nudges Isha. “Keep the bear, kid. They owe you.”

Isha nods hesitantly, tightening her hold on it as the four of you leave.

Surprise Set up:

A week had passed since that incident, and Sevika had mostly put it out of her mind, believing it to be a thing of the past. Little did she know, while she was busy in Piltover handling her Councilor duties, you and the girls had been hard at work planning a little surprise.

While you baked the cake and prepared the dinner, Jinx was in charge of the decorations and Isha sat at the table, her tongue poking out in concentration as she scribbled on a card.

“Isha! The cake is done cooling, do you wanna help me decorate it?” You called out to her.

There was no verbal response—just the rapid pat-pat-pat of Isha’s little feet racing toward the kitchen. She crashed into your legs at full speed, nearly knocking you off balance.

“Whoa—!” You let out a startled yelp, catching yourself on the counter.

“Slow down, you little tornado. Almost made me drop the cake.” She just nods in understanding before grabbing the stool, the one that was exclusively hers since she was the shortest, and drags it over. 

You leave Isha to do her own little thing, knowing it’ll be messy but heartfelt. With her focused on the cake, you wandered into the living room to check on Jinx’s progress.

Your jaw nearly dropped.

Jinx had outdone herself—balloons, streamers, and paper hearts covered the room. Candles flickered on various surfaces, their soft glow giving the space a warm, golden hue.

“You seem to really enjoy this, huh?” You nudge Jinx’s shoulder. She chuckles, admitting, “Yeah, its fun to be asked to spice up a room instead of just vandalizing it.” You grinned and pulled her into a quick hug. “It looks amazing. She’s gonna love it.”

Jinx smirked but looked away, pretending not to care too much. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Once everything was set, you plated dinner and let the girls eat even though Sevika wasn’t home yet. You knew better than to wait—whenever she had meetings, she always came home late.

After dinner, you put on a movie, intending to wait up for her. But before it even reached the halfway mark, the three of you had melted into a sleepy pile on the couch—tangled together in a mess of limbs, warmth, and slow breathing.

Sevika’s Arrival:

The front door creaked open softly. Sevika stepped inside, moving quietly in case you and the girls were already asleep. Sometimes, she found you curled up on the couch, waiting for her with a book in hand.

That was what she’d been hoping for.

Instead, what she saw made her stop in her tracks.

Balloons. Candles. Paper hearts covering the walls.

She blinked, wondering if exhaustion was playing tricks on her. But no—it was real.

Slowly, she walked toward the dining table. A full meal sat waiting for her, along with a very wonky-looking cake and a single handmade card.

She already knew whose handiwork the cake was.

With a quiet chuckle, she picked up the card and opened it.

Inside was a drawing—your little makeshift family. Jinx and Isha in the middle, Sevika on the left, you on the right. It was messy, colorful, imperfect, and completely perfect.

At the top, in bold, sloppy handwriting, it read:

Happy Valintinez Day!

Sevika swallowed hard, her chest tightening. Her vision blurred slightly. She hadn’t expected this. Not after the way that stupid Piltover store had turned you all away like you were less. Not after she’d spent years thinking she wasn’t someone people would celebrate, let alone love.

A quiet sniffle escaped her. She tried to muffle it, rubbing at her eyes, but the sound must have woken you.

Blinking groggily, you lifted your head from the couch, scanning the room until your eyes landed on her.

Sevika stood frozen by the table, her back to you, shoulders trembling just slightly.

You nudged the girls off you gently before getting up and walking toward her.

“Hey,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around her from behind. “What’s wrong, love? Shitty meeting again?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she turned around, cupped your face in her hands, and kissed you—soft, slow, and deep.

When she pulled away, her forehead rested against yours. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Nothing’s wrong. It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

You smiled, brushing away the stray tears that clung to her lashes. “Oh, you big softie,” you teased, tugging her toward the couch. “C’mere.”

You shifted Jinx and Isha just enough to make space, then pulled Sevika down with you. Isha stirred slightly, snuggling into Sevika’s side while Jinx grumbled in her sleep before draping an arm over both of you.

Sevika sighed, her arms instinctively wrapping around the girls, keeping them close.

“I love you guys so much,” she whispered, like it was something sacred. Something she’d never dared say before.

You pressed a kiss to her cheek before resting your head on her shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.

“We love you too,” you murmured.

Sevika glanced down at the small, sleeping faces tucked against her, at the mess of decorations still scattered around the room. Her heart was full in a way she didn’t think possible.

She pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead before letting sleep take her, safe and warm in the only place she’d ever truly belonged.

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this T^T. I would've posted this earlier but I had to go to work lol

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY POOKS <3

[gloomweed]

Eddie Loved Valentine's Day (eddie munson x bestfriend!reader)

a/n: I got the idea for this story last valentine's day, but I didn't finish it until today and I'm still not quite satisfied with it but I had to just get this out there already. This fic is more angsty than romantic, but it didn't feel right trying to shoehorn in some romance, so this is just how it's going to be.

summary: Eddie deals with some bad childhood memories on a valentine's day he spends with you.

w/c: 3.7k

Eddie loved Valentine’s day. Loved, as in, he used to. Specifically, when he was still in elementary school. Back then, the class would spend the whole day creating little mailboxes to hold all their cards. Decorating the recycled shoebox with stickers and markers, writing his name in big scrawling letters over the top. His mom would help him the night before, preparing the cards he was going to hand out. She would tell him how to spell each name, going one letter at a time. When she would ask if he needed help spelling his name, Eddie would hold out his little hand saying very confidently, “No, I know how.” Her voice was always gentle when reminding him ‘Eddie’ has a second ‘D’ after the first one.

Although there was little variety in the pack his mom bought from the store, Eddie made an effort to pick the card he thinks the recipient would like best. A Garfield card for Sindy, since she is always borrowing his orange marker. It’s her favorite color. An Odie card for Josh, since he spends recess digging with sticks and rocks. Something about wanting to find dinosaur bones. It would go like that until all the cards were signed, folded, and held together with little heart stickers.

The following day, Eddie would pass out all his cards and return to his seat to find his makeshift mailbox stuffed. In those days, he would get a card from every single classmate. He’d be filled with excitement as he opened each one. The puns and characters on the cards were fun to see, but really Eddie just enjoyed the thought that someone made him something. Some cards even came with a little candy. It was a fun day all around, and doing less school work was also a big plus.

After his mom passed, Valentine’s day kind of lost its charm. His dad said buying Valentine’s cards that kids were only gonna look at once and throw away afterwards was a waste of money and effort; however, that didn’t stop Eddie from participating anyways. He spent the night making his own cards out of notebook paper, drawing hearts and smiling faces on each one. Despite all the care he put into them, the finished product looked pretty messy. The cards weren’t all the same size, there were some misspelled words, marker ink bleeding through the paper, and since he didn’t have stickers, they were held together with regular translucent tape. Give him a break, he was nine. It wasn’t much, but Eddie put his heart and soul into it.

Once all the cards were passed out, everyone began digging into their boxes, reading cards and opening candy. “What even is this?” Eddie looked up from his pile of valentines to see one of his classmates holding up one he homemade, a disgusted look on their face. Another kid laughed. “Why does it look like that?” Eddie felt red, hot shame fill his cheeks as others began to join in the laughter. He sank further into his seat, wishing to disappear completely. Seeing Eddie’s name on the card gave the boy a target. “What’s the deal, Eddie? Couldn’t afford real valentine’s this year?” 

Eddie shot up from his seat. “No! My dad just forgot to buy them, is all,” he lied. “I just thought, you know, something is better than nothing, right?” His eyes darted between his classmates, hoping they bought it. 

“Next time, don’t even bother. It’d save us the time of throwing them away,” they laughed. It was then that the teacher made the announcement to return to their seats to resume the rest of the learning day. As Eddie sat back down he could feel the sting of tears behind his eyes. He put a lot of effort into those cards, only for his classmates to laugh at him and throw them away. His dad was right. What a waste.

That was the last time Eddie ever participated in Valentine’s day. Ever since then, he would spend the day doing anything else besides celebrating it. This year, he was at your house helping you get a head start on spring cleaning. You wanted to turn your life around, starting with a more organized living space. February 14th is as good a day as any to get started, and it wasn’t like you had any big plans. Which is totally fine and doesn’t depress you at all. 

Although he never told you exactly why, you knew Eddie didn’t particularly like the Hallmark holiday. You assumed it was because of how commercialized it had become since its inception. Of course it could be the matter of keeping up with his image. Soft petalled roses and candy hearts are pretty far from ‘metal.’ Whatever the reason may be, you hated the idea of your friend being alone on a day celebrating love, so inviting him to clean was the next best thing. While it took some convincing, eventually you coaxed him into it with the promise of beer and snacks.

You were both currently working in your bedroom. Eddie would hold something up and ask if you wanted to keep it or throw it away. Meanwhile, you sit on the hardwood floor creating piles all around you as you sift through the contents of your room. He did most of his work while sitting on your bed, a beer in his hand. 

Sometimes he would try on clothes you were feeling unsure of, saying that having someone model it would make it easier to decide its fate. Of course, this theory might have been successful if they actually fit him. The mental image of him in your too small knitted red cardigan is something that will bring a smile to your face for years to come. 

Running out of things to hold up to you, he looked in his direct vicinity and noticed a round tin by his feet, mostly under your bed. When you heard him gasp you turned to see what he had found. “Oh, that’s just my-”

“Cookies!” he shouted as he opened the blue butter cookie tin only for his face to fall in a confused frown.

You laughed. “Yeah, sorry. I reused that old cookie tin for my sentimental crap.”

Instead of delicious cookies, the tin was full of old birthday cards and handwritten messages left by people who cared about you. A letter from your now deceased grandmother, movie stubs from big releases, and Polaroid pictures of some childhood friends. Eddie smiled to himself. It was cute how you would keep stuff like this. From the outside, you didn’t look like the type of person to hold on to birthday cards from your 5th birthday. He looked at you with a playful pout, his eyebrows pulled together. “Aww. You do have a heart.”

Your offended face only made Eddie grin wider. “Shut up,” you laugh before grabbing the nearest stuffed animal and throwing it at him.

Laughing as he dodged your attack, he couldn’t stop some of the cards from jostling out. As he was gathering them back into the tin, he took a closer look at the one made of notebook paper. ‘From Eddie’ was written on the back in big messy letters.

Noticing his sudden silence, you stand to get a better look at what’s in his hands. You peek over his shoulder to see the valentine he hand made in the 4th grade. Immediately you become overwhelmed with embarrassment thinking Eddie was completely freaked out by the fact you kept the card so long, like some kind of stalker weirdo. Words vomit out of your mouth as you try to save your dignity. “Oh! That's- that's so weird! I can't believe I still have that. I thought I threw that out years ago. I’ll just take that back-”

Eddie instinctually snatches the card against his chest, his chin tucked in as he searches your eyes. When it's clear to you he isn't going to give it up, your hand falls limp at your side. Glancing at the card once more, he tries his best to keep his voice steady. “You kept this?” 

The change in demeanor feels unsettling. “Yeah, of course I did.” You look at your feet shyly. “It, uh, means a lot to me.” When you look back up, you see Eddie staring back with confusion.

You’ve gone through this scenarios hundreds of times in the late hours of the night when your brain just couldn’t stop running. How would Eddie react if he found out you kept something he made you when you were kids? The scoff that slips past his taunting lips was the last thing you expected from Eddie. He stands from the bed, looking down on you with a humorless smile. “This shitty scrap of paper means a lot to you?” The sudden scrutiny feels harsh and full of malice. You’ve never had the displeasure to be on the receiving end of Eddie’s anger, and from what little you’ve seen thus far, you hope to never face it again.

Shrugging like it was no big deal, you try your best to downplay your defensiveness. “Well, yeah. I thought it was really sweet of you.” You can’t stop yourself from squinting at him in confusion. “I’m sorry, are you mad at me for keeping it?” Why is he upset with you over this? It was given to you as a gift. You should be able to decide what you do with it without his approval. 

Despite being the one who asked the question, Eddie doesn’t really hear your answer, nor the following question. As he stares down at the messy writing on old, yellowed notebook paper, he feels his chest tighten in an overwhelming stifled rage. Having to be face to face with a reminder of his failure fills Eddie with so much self-hatred that he can’t think straight. It’s a reminder of his shitty dad. A reminder of his shitty childhood. It wasn’t fair. Every imperfect line and patch of bleeding ink stared back at him, mocking him. It all congeals to a point of no return in his gloomy head.

Eddie stares in silence for a moment too long and you can see the emotions shift in his face into something darker. “What are you-” You are cut off by the sound of a quick and quiet crunch, the paper crumpling in his first. It’s a knee jerk reaction that has you gasping at the sight, and Eddie immediately regretting. A piece of his heart shatters at the sound of yours doing the same. “Eddie!” Your high pitched squeal of anguish around the syllables of his own name has him filling with that same sinking heat of shame he felt all those years ago. 

Your hands dart at him, taking the paper from his grip as fast as it was destroyed. You do your best to smooth the paper back into some semblance of its former glory, but the creases on the old, thin paper still remain. It makes it difficult to see the handwritten words on the page, especially since your eyes are welling up with tears. You turn away from Eddie, too angry to face him. Too hurt to let him see you cry over this. Instead you kneel on the floor, slumping over the valentine you hold with the same delicacy as you would hold a baby bird with a broken wing.

Eddie feels his heart racing with anxiety. He didn’t mean to do that. He didn’t mean to make you cry. He didn’t mean to. All he wanted was to get rid of the stupid reminder, not ruin your priceless keepsake. Eddie stands there for a moment, unsure what to do with himself. He fucked up, he knows that, but he doesn’t know how to make it right. Your name falls from his lips in a stuttering mess. “I- I didn’t mean-” 

Whipping your head back to shoot him a teary eyed glare, you cut him off. “Don’t.” A sad shake of your head, “Just don’t, Eddie.” You didn’t want to hear how he was just trying to make some kind of joke. It wasn’t funny. It was just cruel. You turn back to stare at the ruined item in your cupped hands.

Eddie backs up towards the door, eyes wide and voice small. “Sorry.” You don’t say anything, but of course he doesn’t really expect you to forgive him. He leaves you be, silently making his way out of your house. 

On the drive home, he’s mentally kicking himself the entire time. Why did I do that? What is wrong with me? Why do I have to find a way to ruin everything? When he pulls into the gravel driveway of his uncle’s trailer, he cuts the engine and contemplates in silence.

He has to make this right. That valentine meant something to you. You kept that shitty scrap of paper for years while the rest of the class threw it in the trash where it belongs.  That has to mean something, right? You wouldn’t keep trash for this long unless it was important, right?

Eddie runs a hand down his face as he belatedly processed what you said about him. I thought it was really sweet of you. You thought he was sweet? The tiny compliment is enough to bring a flush to his cheeks, and it only makes him feel worse about the whole situation. It’s going to take more than an apology to make it up to you.

It’s a few hours after the incident when you hear a knock at the door. “Coming!” You yell down the hall as you race to answer it. Seeing your kind smile fall when you realize it’s him, Eddie feels like you twisted a knife in his chest. He’s holding a modest bouquet of flowers towards you, gaze struggling to meet your own. “Well, look who it is.” You lean against the door frame, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’ve got some nerve, Eddie Munson.”

Eddie huffs a sigh, his breath visible in the frosty February evening. “I know. I know I don’t deserve to see you, but you deserve an apology. I came back to explain myself. Not that I had any right to do what I did.” He looks up at you from under his lashes. “Can I come in so we can talk?”

There’s a pout on your lips as you consider. The flowers do look very pretty, and he was thoughtful enough to have your favorite color as the centerpiece. Getting flowers last minute, on Valentine’s Day no less, was likely no easy feat, making the gesture more grand than usual. You hum in thought a moment before finally taking pity on the man practically groveling on your doorstep. “Fine.” You step aside to let him in, looking reluctant to do so. 

Relief washes over him as you make room. The warmth of your home felt like a welcoming embrace upon his bone chilled body. Once the door is closed, Eddie outstretches the bouquet towards you again. “Uh, these are for you.”

Doing your best not to show how pleased you are, you take the flowers from him wordlessly. Eddie turns to walk towards your living room, and you take the moment to smell the sweetness of them while he isn’t watching. You sit on the couch, laying the bouquet on the coffee table for the time being. 

Eddie continues to stand, feeling unworthy of your comforts. It feels reminiscent of when he first visited your home. The awkwardness of being new friends was evident as he stood in the corner, waiting for permission to sit on the couch or even enter the room. Now it’s like he wouldn’t sit even if you asked him to. Eddie preferred to pace while he talked. He has too much energy to expel to be still.

You give him your attention finally, arms crossed again, waiting for the apology he owes you. He clears his throat, hands nervously wringing together. “So first of all, I’m sorry for ruining your valentine. And your Valentine's day, for that matter. I wasn’t thinking clearly.” He chuckles dryly, nervously scratching the back of his neck. “Shit, I wasn’t thinking at all. I just got caught up in my stupid bullshit. But I swear, I wasn’t trying to be an asshole. It was just-” You raise an eyebrow, not quite believing him yet. Eddie releases a breath like it was struggling to get out. “Seeing that valentine I made that everyone gave me shit for…” he sighs again, struggling to find the words. “It just brought it all back. I was a kid again being pointed and laughed at in front of everyone.” 

As he says this, your features soften when you recall what he’s talking about. You heard what some of the other kids were saying about Eddie’s valentines, but at the time you didn’t think he cared what they thought. He was always unapologetically himself to the point that the thought of Eddie being embarrassed or ashamed never even crossed your mind.

Eddie looks at you with a sad tilt of his head, wild curls bunching at his shoulder. “That doesn’t make it right, but I thought you ought to know why I did what I did.” He shakes his head dismissively. “It had nothing to do with you and I’m sorry I couldn’t control myself. I’m a fuckin’ idiot, sweetheart.” He smiles ruefully, “but you already knew that.” His eyes dim a little at his self-deprecation.

You nod in understanding, a small smile on your face. “I appreciate your apology.” You weren’t sure if you were ready to forgive him just yet, and you wanted to be sure he realized that.

Although Eddie knew it wouldn’t be easy, he can’t help but feel disappointed he hadn’t earned your forgiveness yet. Regardless, he nods with a tight lipped smile in acceptance before reaching a hand into the inner pocket of his leather jacket. “I wanted to make it up to you,” he pulls an envelope out, “with this.” 

You blink owlishly at Eddie’s outstretched hand, surprised he brought more than flowers. Standing from the couch, you gingerly take the card from him, watching him for any signs of what it might be. 

As you open the package, Eddie is already explaining his reasoning. “Now, I know it’s not the same, and it doesn’t hold the same meaning as the original, but I tried my best to remake it for you.”

Pulling the card from the envelope, you gasp at what you find. The writing is much neater, the drawings more detailed, and even the paper feels like it’s made of thicker material, but there is no doubt that this is Eddie’s reconstruction of the card he destroyed. 

The premise of the card was the same. A penguin (your favorite animal at the time) wearing sunglasses, surrounded by icebergs with bubble letters saying ‘U R COOL’ after your name. The sketches are much more sophisticated than any nine year old could make. It was clear that Eddie had honed his art skills over the years by doodling in the margins of all his school work instead of paying attention in class. But it wasn’t what the card looked like that made it special. It was the thoughtful gesture itself. 

When you look back up at Eddie, he shifts on his feet uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck. He’s unsure what to make of your expression. “So, uh. Do you like it?” Before you can answer, he’s already speaking for you with a defeated slump of his shoulders. “You hate it, don’t you? I’m sorry, I know it’s not-”

“I love it.”

His eyes go wide, genuinely surprised. “Yeah?” He perks up when he sees your beaming face. “Really?” Eddie lets out a small ‘oof’ when you crash into him with an enthusiastic hug. His chuckling rumbles against your ear as you hold him tightly. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

Parting from the hug, you admire the valentine some more. “And I do forgive you, Eddie. I just wish you would have told me what Valentine’s Day really means to you sooner.” You search his dark chocolate eyes. “We’re friends, right? You know I would never make fun of you like that.”

And Eddie did know that, but in that moment, he couldn’t rationalize his intrusive thoughts away. It’s easier to hear that you’re loved versus actually believing it. All he can muster is a shrug, unable to put his inability to trust into words. “Yeah I know.”

With his unconvincing answer, you try a different approach to get him to understand what he means to you. Wordlessly, you leave the room leaving Eddie standing there wondering what you’re up to. You’re back before he gets the chance to overthink your departure, a picture frame in hand. As you fiddle with the tiny metal prongs holding the backing in place, you begin to explain. “From now on, I’m gonna make sure everyone sees this.” You slot the valentine into the frame before securing the backing once more. 

You hang your trophy in the center of your living room wall. Once you’re satisfied with the results, you take a step back and admire it with your hands on your hips. “There. Now, anytime someone visits me, I can brag to them about the personal valentine you made me.” Looking back over your shoulder, you see Eddie smirking bashfully.

“Oh come on. No one’s gonna want to see that.” He gestures to the hand drawn image, but you’re already shaking your head defiantly.

“Too bad. They’re gonna have to. Matter of fact, I’m gonna require they marvel at it for no less than 60 seconds before they can even enter my home.” Your arms are crossed with a playful smile on your face.

Eddie chuckles and there’s a small pause as he appreciates you. “You’re such a dork,” is his mumbled response.

You point up at the framed doodled penguin adorned in shades behind you with an astonishing amount of confidence. “Not according to my best friend.”

He huffs an exasperated sigh. “That’s it. I’m taking it back.” Eddie starts towards the wall, reaching above you. “You’re not cool anymore.” 

Instinctually, you put your hands on his chest in an attempt to stop him, but Eddie isn’t one to back down. “No! You can’t!” Giggles bubble out of you as you try your best to stand your ground. “I am cool!”

[unwantedthots]

Captive Bird | Caleb x Reader

- genre : smut, porn, slight plot, feelings, creampie, cum, dirty talk

- writer: Ive literally NEVER written smut before but ive read a couple and felt like i wanted to write it lol. This is my first ever time writing this so PLEASE bare with me in the new territory im learning lol. Im sorry if its not that long or all jumbly <333

———————————————————————————

"You don’t need me?"

Caleb’s breath hitched, his eyes burning with hurt and fury. "Is that what you think?" His voice wavered, but the desperation in it only grew. "Then tell me—what do you need?" He leaned in closer, his grip tightening. "We can go back to Linkon if you want. We can rebuild our old home. If a house isn’t enough, I’ll build you an entire maze filled with everything you want. No one will ever find you again. I’ll protect you forever."

His gaze bore into yours, searching and pleading for any sign of understanding. His emotions spiraled out of control. And by the time he realized it, he was already too far gone.

You stare at caleb with a stern look and shake your head, trying to wiggly out of his grasp but its no use. “You acting like this, you really think this is how you will get me to stay?” you spewed. Caleb and you hardly argued but when you did it was pure emotion. “I haven’t seen you in months, you show up out of the blue and bark orders at me?”

Caleb's hands twitched against your wrists, his grip loosening significantly at their words. His violet eyes darkened, the depth of his feelings plainly visible. "You think I want to act like this? That I'm doing this because I enjoy it?" The tension in his voice was palpable, the intensity behind his words making the air in the room grow heavy.

“Everything I have done has been to protect you” He growled, throwing his hand to the side. His stare was deep, penetrating, his eyebrows furrowed, jaw clenched. “You just don’t see it. You’re too stubborn.”

You rolled your eyes. “I didnt need protecting.” You spat trying to shove him off, but he didnt budge. “You forced ME to stay here. You kept secrets.” You argued poking your finger into his sternum. “You.. you died. You left me and made me believe you were dead.”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze never leaving your face. Then slowly, he leaned back, finally releasing your wrists. His hand ran through his messy dark hair, a sigh escaping his lips.

"Caleb.. I-" You spoke bringing down your tone. He brought his hand up to cup your face, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear. His touch was as gentle as ever, showing a stark contrast to the harshness of their argument.

You moved your head from his hand

"I don't want you to stay because I'm forcing you to," he added, his gaze sincere. "I want you to stay because you want to… because you can't imagine being anywhere else. Because you feel safe with me."

You moved away from his touch, but slowly began to let him do as he pleased. His prior frustrated facial expression had turned to a soft gaze.

His fingers gently trailed down your cheek, his touch feather-light. Despite their argument, despite the storm brewing outside, this was the Caleb, you knew. Not the ruthless Farspace Fleet Colonel. Not the man who would manipulate situations for his own benefit. Just Caleb, the man who cared for you more than anything else.

"But if I'm not the one who makes you feel safe anymore…" he trailed off, his gaze dropping to his lap. "If all I bring you is pain and misery… Then maybe it's best if you do leave. Maybe you would be better off without me around."

His purple irises met theirs once more, a silent plea hidden within their depths. He lowered his hand and grabbed yours placing it onto his chest. You could feel his muscles through his clothes, his heart racing ever so slightly.

The argumentative atmosphere had dissipated. You both had so much love for each other and the way you were showing it now was toxic. You NEVER argued.

“You know thats not true.” You trailed off feeling his breathe. You sighed softly. Your friend you loved was so mature, something so unfamiliar to you.

Caleb's gaze was earnest, filled with a yearning that seemed to pull you closer. "When I look at you, it's like seeing the one person who stayed the same, no matter how much the world turned upside down. I want to protect that—you, the way you’ve always made me feel. But I don't always know how to do it right anymore."

Calebs hand slid up to your face. “I really dont know whats right anymore” Caleb said tilting his head to the side, staring down at your lips. He was about to cross a line that had never been crossed.

Your heart raced at the thought of caleb kissing you. The sibling relationship you guys had went away after he ‘died’. When you mourned for Caleb you were filled with regrets. Now one of those regrets was about to wash away.

You closed your eyes as Caleb closed the gap between you two. His kiss was almost as if he had been waiting for this for years. The way his body completely moved with yours.

His touch was gentle yet filled with a raw intensity, as if trying to convey the words he couldn't quite form. For a moment, everything else faded away—the arguments, the pain, the confusion. There was only this: a connection that had always been there, simmering beneath the surface.

Your eyes buldged as caleb kissed you, unsure of the new territory but you slowly began to accept. Calebs hand trailed down to your wrist and he squeezed it firm almost like he was holding back.

The anger you felt, the confusion you felt, was all gone. You could only think about his lips on yours.

When his hand moved from their face to their wrist, his fingers had curled around it gently. He was careful, mindful of his own strength, feeling the steady pulse beneath his fingertips. That familiar rhythm brought a sense of calm, even as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him.

The storm outside was still brewing and yet you and caleb didnt seem to mind. The only thing on your minds was each other.

His grip on their wrist softened, shifting to intertwine their fingers as he spoke. "If this is too much—“

“No.. No keep going” you spoke with pleaful eyes. He nods and deepens the kiss as his hand finds the wall behind your head, resting on it. His eyebrows furrowed, his body language full of lust.

Your hands trailed to his waist, gripping onto his pants and pulling him closer to you, both of your tongues swirling in an almost drunken kiss.

A low groan escaping his lips as he felt your fingers grip his pants. He pressed closer, the hard lines of his body molding to the curves of their own. The wall at Y/N back and Caleb's arm around their waist pinned them together, a delicious trap from which neither seemed eager to escape.

His hand slid from their hair to their jaw, tilting it slightly as he explored their mouth with a newfound intensity. Years of pent-up longing and desire coursed through his veins, and he channeled it all into this single moment, this perfect, stolen interlude. He wanted to devour them, to consume every last inch of their skin until there was nothing left but the two of them.

Caleb swept you up into his strong arms, gripping their thighs as he hoisted them onto his hips. He pressed your back against the wall, pinning you there with his muscular frame as he crushed his lips to yours in a searing kiss filled with long-denied passion and lust. One hand slid down to squeeze the curve of your ass, pulling your hips snugly against his own. The hard, thick ridge of his arousal pressed insistently against your core, separated only by the thin fabric of his pants and their clothing.

Breaking the kiss with a gasp, Caleb's dark, desire-glazed eyes met yours, his gaze heavy with hunger and unspoken desires. "Fuck, Y/N," he growled, his voice low and rough with need.

With that, he swung around and carried you towards the bedroom, his long strides swift and purposeful. He kicked the door shut behind them, the sound echoing in the charged air between them. Caleb laid you down on the bed, following them down, his body blanketing yours, his hips nestled between your spread thighs.

"Tell me to stop," Caleb rasped, his breath hot against your cheek, then your neck. “Tell me this isn’t what you want, this isn’t right.”

You squeezed your eyes shut at the sound of his voice. “No, keep going” You spoke reopening your eyes to gaze at him.

He let out a small groan, a sound that came from someone who was surprised by an answer.

He nipped at your collarbone, soothing the sting with a kiss as he pressed his hips more firmly against yours. The hard, thick length of him throbbed insistently, separated only by the barrier of their clothing. He rolled his hips, grinding against their core, and a low groan rumbled in his chest at the delicious friction.

"Fuck, Y/N," he breathed against his racing heartbeat, "I feel how much you want this too. I know you feel how hard I am for you."

Your face flushed at the sound of Calebs dirty talk. This was such a new area you didn’t know how to feel. You felt shy almost, like this was your first time with anyone.

His hand slid up their side, pushing the hem of your shirt upwards to expose more of your soft skin. Callused fingers brushed over the sensitive underside of their breast, making their way to their nipples.

You let out a soft moan which made Caleb chuckle. The fact that Caleb was able to get you to make such a sound, for him to finally hear that sound, sent chills down his spine. Emboldened, he tugged impatiently at his shirt, taking it off his body, same with his belt.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. He swallowed your moans, drinking it down like the finest wine as he ground his hips more insistently against theirs.

Breaking the kiss, Caleb trailed his lips downwards, his tongue flicking out to trace the elegant line of their neck, the delicate curve of their collarbone. He could feel their heart pounding beneath his touch, matching the tempo of his own.

You began to take your shirt off leaving you bare chested. Caleb had sat up, staring at you intently, almost drawing every curve of you in. He licked his lips and grabbed a condom from the drawer to his right, holding it in between his teeth as his ripped it.

Tossing the empty wrapper aside, he held the condom aloft, his eyes locking with Rose's. The dark purple irises swirled with lust and anticipation, a promise of the pleasure to come.

"I'm going to love you like i’ve always dreamed of" Caleb murmured, his voice low and rough with desire. "I want to feel every inch of you, to be inside you in every way possible."

“Caleb… don’t say such provocative things…” you said shakily, your voice barely above a whisper. The heat radiated from your ears, cheeks, and shoulders, painting your skin a bright shade of red. You could feel your heart pounding out of your chest, each beat echoing the intensity of the moment.

He chuckled softly, a teasing glint in his eyes as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin. “But you love it,” he replied, his tone playful yet filled with an undeniable heat. The way he looked at you made your stomach flutter, a mix of excitement and nervousness swirling within you.

You tried to maintain your composure, but the way he spoke sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire deep inside. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stammered, attempting to sound defiant, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

Caleb’s gaze softened, and he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your skin. “You can’t hide how you feel from me,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “I see the way you react, the way you light up when I say those things.”

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as his words wrapped around you like a warm embrace. The connection between you was electric, and despite your attempts to play it cool, you knew he was right. Every teasing word, every sultry glance only drew you closer to him, making it impossible to resist.

He tossed the condom onto the bed beside you as his hands slid down to the waistband of your pants, his fingers toying with the button. He laughed at your comment and leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered:

"I need you, Y/N. I need to feel you wrapped around me, I need to finally be able to touch you.” Your throat dried up quickly as you nodded, gently cradling Caleb's face. "I don't want to be distant from you… Not again, not ever."

The urgency in your voice nearly left Caleb in a state of turmoil; he was trying his best to remain calm and tender with you. With care, he slid your panties down and moistened two of his fingers, tenderly exploring between your folds.

As he touched you, your back arched instinctively, a wave of warmth cascading through your body. A flutter of excitement stirred in your stomach, a delicious mix of anticipation and desire that made your breath hitch. You bit your lip, trying to hold back your reaction, but the sensation of his hands exploring your skin was intoxicating, igniting every nerve ending.

Caleb took a moment to steady himself, his breath even, as he positioned himself at your entrance. One arm rested next to your neck and the other placed around his cock, just between your legs.

He looked into your eyes, ensuring that you were comfortable and ready for what was about to happen. The atmosphere was tense, filled with an anticipation that hung heavily in the air. Communication was key, and he wanted to make sure you felt safe and in control.

You looked up and noticed the necklace you had given him swaying gently, a reminder of your connection. His pupils were dilated, revealing an intensity that suggested a deep desire. The moment felt charged, each heartbeat echoing the shared anticipation between you.

Caleb regarded you with a questioning gaze, and you nodded in response, granting him permission.

He gradually pressed deeper, and you found yourself unprepared for his size. A low groan escaped his lips as his hand, which had been wrapped around him, moved to your other shoulder.

“Mmph, Caleb,” you murmured, glancing down at his abdomen. His muscles were taut, glistening with beads of sweat that trickled down his body. When you looked back up, you noticed his eyes were closed, and he appeared to be in a state of near discomfort.

You reached out to touch his face, but he caught your hand firmly, pushing it back down into the pillow. The unexpected move sent a thrill through you, a mix of surprise and excitement. His grip was gentle yet possessive, a reminder of the intensity of the moment.

“Not yet,” Caleb said, his voice low and filled with a teasing authority that sent shivers down your spine. “I want you to feel this. Just let go and trust me.”

Your heart raced at his words, and you felt a rush of adrenaline. The way he looked at you, with a blend of desire and determination, made you feel both vulnerable and empowered. You nodded, surrendering to the moment, allowing him to guide you.

He slowly began to pull in and out of his, his eyes focused on looking down, making sure he wasn’t hurting you. ‘Mmph’ You said quietly causing Caleb to look up at you, his heart nearly beating out of his chest.

He picked up the pace, and you found yourself unprepared for the sudden intensity. “Caleb,” you moaned, attempting to press your other hand against his chest, but he swiftly pushed it back down. “Slow— mph, down,” you managed to say, your hands now trapped beneath one of his.

He slowly opened his eyes and pressed his lips against yours, savoring every moan that escaped you and returning the sensation with equal fervor. One of your hands slipped from his and reached to his back grabbing onto his shoulder blade harshly.

The way he was making you feel was to much, it was to fast for your. “Caleb-“ You spoke again before he cut you off.

“Please, hah, please don’t make to slow down…” he spoke through moans“I’ve been waiting for this… please don’t make me slow down.”

You quickly covered your mouth and screwed your eyes shut as you let Caleb continue. He felt so large inside of you almost like you could feel him in your stomach.

Caleb had let go of your other hand and gripped the headboard of his bed, almost clawing at it.

“You feel so good,” he breathed, his voice low and filled with desire. “You feel so fucking good.” Each moan that escaped his lips was breathtaking, sending shivers down your spine and igniting a fire within you. The way he spoke made it clear that he was on the edge, teetering between pleasure and the brink of release.

“Always back-talking me—hah—and now… now you’re silent,” he teased, his words dripping with a playful challenge. His thrusts became more erratic, more desperate, as if he were trying to chase the high that was just out of reach. The tone in his voice wasn’t angry; instead, it felt like this was his way of getting you back, of reminding you of the playful banter that had always defined your connection.

You could feel the intensity building between you, a palpable energy that made the air around you crackle. Each thrust brought you closer to the edge, and you could sense the shift in him, the way his control was slipping as he surrendered to the moment. It was exhilarating, the way he pushed and pulled, teasing you while also losing himself in the pleasure you shared.

As you locked eyes, you could see the mix of determination and vulnerability in his gaze. It was a reminder that beneath the playful banter and teasing, there was a deep connection that bound you both together, one that thrived on intimacy and trust.

Your walls clench at Calebs stern comment, making his whole body shake for a moment. “You did that in purpose.” Caleb groaned leaning over so his head was into yours ear.

Your stomach tightens at Calebs words and your legs begin to shake. You were so close so you quickly pushed onto his chest trying to push him away. ‘Caleb- Ha - I’m mph, Im close You cried

Caleb’s head tilted back for a moment before he locked eyes with you, his grip firm as he cupped your face. “Don’t push me away anymore,” he said, his voice echoing with a hollow intensity.

Your heart raced at his words, a mix of fear and desire swirling within you. You could feel the tension in the air, thick and electric. “Caleb—please, I can’t... I’m so close, just stop,” you pleaded, your voice trembling as you instinctively tried to push him away.

But he didn’t budge. Instead, his gaze softened slightly, revealing a vulnerability that made your stomach tighten. You were caught in a whirlwind of emotions, teetering on the edge of something you both feared and craved. “Let me see you, please.” He begged.

Your eyebrows furrowed and your legs began to shake. “Mmph-“ You moaned as your legs wrapped around his waist pulling him closer towards you.

“Let it out, Y/N,” he urged, his hand sliding to grip your waist. The moment his fingers brushed against your skin, a wave of sensation washed over you, turning you into a moaning mess. Your toes curled, and you arched your back, each vibration coursing through your body like electricity, igniting every nerve ending.

“Ahh, damn,” Caleb moaned, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “It feels so good... I’m so close.” His words spilled out in a breathless rush just before you felt him twitch, his body trembling with pleasure as he released within you. He sucked on your neck as he released with pleasure, moving his hand in yours, grasping it tightly before softly letting go.

Caleb slid out of you and settled beside you, both of you panting, sweaty, and utterly satisfied. You turned to look at him, and your heart skipped a beat as you met his gaze. His eyes were locked onto yours, filled with an intensity that spoke volumes—he looked utterly in love, as if he wanted to savor every part of you.

You leaned up to get out of bed, but Caleb quickly wrapped his arms around you, pulling you back against him. With your back to him, you felt his warm breath against your neck as he nuzzled in, inhaling the scent of your hair. “Stop,” you giggled, trying to squirm free, but he held you tighter, a playful grin on his face.

You rolled over to face Caleb, who had been gently playing with your hair. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he looked at you. “Hi,” he said, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. “Hello,” you replied, your gaze dropping shyly to the sheets.

You scooted closer to Caleb, burying your head into his chest, and he welcomed you by wrapping his arms around you. With a gentle motion, he grabbed the blanket that had been tossed aside, pulling it over both of you and creating a cozy cocoon. “Laying together like this feels like old times,” he said, his voice warm and nostalgic. “But now it’s even better.”

A smile spread across your face as you ran your fingers through his hair. “I missed this...” you murmured softly.

As you settled deeper into his embrace, you realized that this moment was more than just a memory; it was a promise of all the moments yet to come.

Caleb squeezed you putting his chin ontop of your head, engulfing you in all the love he had to share. A new beginning of both of you, a new uncharted territory and yet you both were so excited to just be there together.

[kitkatkitzune]

MAKEUP MENACE

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Fem!Reader

Summary: You need a model to practice your skills, thankfully Elijah is there to help… and distract you.

Warnings: Sex jokes, Flirty!Elijah, Maybe OOC!Elijah?, My minimal makeup knowledge, inconsistencies in the tense it’s written in

Notes: Special thanks to @wholoveseggs for helping me brainstorm ideas for this fic!! I hope I did your suggestions justice!

Happy Valentine’s day everyone!!

Word Count: 1.5k

———————

You groan in frustration and throw your makeup brushes down, dropping your head onto your vanity table.

Elijah, who was sitting on the chair in the corner of your shared room, reading, looks up from his book, “Darling? What’s wrong?” he’s off of the chair and at your side in a matter of seconds.

You pick your head up from the table and look up at your fiancé, “This is just so frustrating! These stupid silicone molds are nothing like real skin!” you scoff, looking back at the table.

Elijah smirks, “So silicone is nothing like the real thing?”

“Yes, Elijah! That’s what I just said!”

“So… the real thing is better?”

“Am I speaking one of the two languages you don’t speak? Yes! I just said that!” you exclaim, looking back up at him.

His grin widens, “Silicone doesn’t compare to—“

“Elijah!” you scoff, slapping his arm as you finally catch on to what he’s doing.

He laughs, “My apologies, dear, I couldn’t help it.”

You scoff, “You’re a dick.”

“Ah, but you like my ‘dick’…” he pauses for a moment, “It’s certainly better than silicone.”

“Elijah,” you groan, dropping your head back onto the table, “you’ve been hanging around Kol too much,” you mumble into your arm.

“Kol?” he questions, “You talk about male genitalia with my little brother? I don’t know how to feel about that…”

You lift your head up a bit to glare at him and he chuckles again, “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I’ll stop. What’s wrong?”

“I’m trying to learn this new technique and practice for my exam but the silicone face pieces are making it so difficult, it just won’t work the right way because it’s not skin!”

“So you need a model?”

You sigh, nodding, “And Rebekah isn’t here for me to practice on! She’s off galavanting around with Marcel, doing God knows what that I don’t want to think about!”

Elijah hums in thought before shrugging, “You could practice on me?”

“Really?” you beam, “You’d let me?”

“As long as you promise not to stab my eye out, I think we’ll be fine.”

You squeal, standing up from your chair, pushing Elijah to sit down and he does, man-spreading. You gather all of your supplies and Elijah watches you intently, happy to see you in your element.

“Okay, let’s get started…” you begin but Elijah raises a finger, making you trail off.

With dramatic flair, he pulls out his handkerchief and tucks it into his shirt as if he was about to eat a messy dinner.

You roll your eyes and he smiles, the corners of his eyes creasing, “What? I love you, truly, but this suit was nine thousand dollars… I don’t want it stained.”

You chuckle and step closer so you’re standing in between his legs, “Are you sure this isn’t going to fracture your masculinity?” you tease.

He laughs, resting his hands on your hips, “Dear, you forget I’m over a thousand years old, this isn’t the first time I’ve worn makeup.”

“I wish there were cameras back then,“ you whine, “I’d have loved to see you all ‘dolled up’,” you quote Elijah, he would always refer to you getting dressed up as getting dolled up.

“Maybe Nik has some old paintings…” you tap your finger to your chin, grinning when he groans and rolls his eyes.

After a bit of teasing, you finally begin your work, trying not to get too distracted by the way Elijah was rubbing up and down your hips. He smiles at you knowingly, making you scowl. Deciding two can play at that game, you straddle his lap, causing his eyes to momentarily widen.

“I hope you don’t sit on all of your clients like this…” he muses.

You giggle, “Only the really pretty ones,” you use the brush you were holding to boop his nose.

He hums, moving his hands to rub up and down your back as you do his eyebrows. When he realizes you’re no longer being affected by his teasing he lowers his hands until they reach the curve of your ass and squeezes.

You immediately halt your movements and lean back, smacking his shoulder, “Behave ,” you hiss.

“I am being a perfect gentleman.”

“More like a perfect menace.”

Finally, you get to the eyes. You dip your eyeshadow brush into the brown, tapping it against the pallet before placing it on Elijah’s eyelid.

“Brown?” he questions.

You hum, “Simple yet elegant, a classic.”

When you finish his eyes you uncap a red lipstick, “And a red lip, classic and bold.”

You finish applying the color to his lips, giggling at the way he had his lips puckered. You shriek when he leans forward, grabbing your face and placing kisses all over just like you do to him, leaving red lip marks behind. He finishes his onslaught of kisses by placing one on your lips.

He pulls back, admiring his work and you narrow your eyes, using your fingers to wipe away the smudged lipstick around his mouth.

After fixing his lipstick, you grab your hand held mirror to show him the final look.

“I look absolutely fabulous, you did fantastic sweetheart.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

You smile, happily, and hop off his lap much to his surprise, “Stay there! I need to get my phone so I can take a picture for my portfolio.”

You’re gone before he can even protest, practically bouncing down the stairs. You see Klaus and Hope on the staircase, you had completely forgotten they had gone out shopping. Little Hope was practically buried in shopping bags.

“Auntie Y/N!! Look at all my stuff!!”

“What on earth happened to your face…?” Klaus trails off, referring to the kiss marks, you ignore him, addressing Hope.

“In a second, honey, I promise!” you pluck a few of the bags out of her arms, revealing her face, “I have to get my phone, I need to get a picture of Elijah!” you continue down the stairs.

“Elijah?” Klaus raises a brow, stopping in his spot on the steps, “Is the noble stag actually smiling for once in his immortal life?”

“No? Yes? Maybe!” you exclaim, “It’s for my portfolio!” you pass Klaus, grabbing a few more bags from Hope and she rushes up the stairs after you.

When she sees Elijah, she bursts into a fit of giggles, “Uncle ‘Lijah! You look pretty!”

Elijah shoots you a look before scooping Hope up in his arms, she pokes his rosy cheeks and laughs again.

“Pretty silly,” Klaus says, leaning on the doorway, making his presence known.

“Niklaus,” Elijah sighs.

“No! Just pretty!” Hope exclaims.

“Y/N,” Klaus pushes off the doorframe to leave the room, “be a doll and send me whatever pictures you take…”

“Yes!” Hope squeals, “And me too! Send them to me!”

“Hope, you don’t have a cellphone,” Elijah deadpans.

“Oh.”

“But we can send them to your mother!” you smirk, trying to suppress a giggle when Elijah glares at you.

Hope giggles and runs out of the room, yelling for her mother to come see ‘pretty Elijah’.

Elijah sighs and you smile, shrugging, “You’re the one who said it’s better to indulge him.”

“I suppose I did say that…”

You take a few photos of him and set your phone down, “Hope’s right, you do look pretty.”

“Well I think you’re prettier.”

He smiles and stands up, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as possible to press a sweet kiss to your lips.

“Ew!” Hope yells from the doorway, causing the two of you to pull apart. She’s standing there, carrying her own makeup box that she had just got during her shopping trip with Klaus.

An idea suddenly pops into your head, making you grin, “Hey Hope, you want to make Elijah pretty?”

Seemingly forgetting about the whole previous interaction, Hope smiles, hopping up and down, “Yes! Can I make you pretty uncle Elijah?”

Elijah widens his eyes at you, as if you had just sent him to the slaughter, “Well, I have all this makeup on already, sweetie.”

“Oh come on, Elijah,” you smirk, “I can easily take that off! Let the girl do your makeup!”

“Please uncle Elijah! I promise I’ll do a good job!”

Between your encouragement and Hope’s adorable little pouty face, Elijah couldn’t say no.

Which is how he ended up with cheap, glitter makeup rubbed all over his eyelids and cheeks with cute little bows in his hair.

“I’m going to be a makeup artist! Just like you, aunt Y/N!” Hope grins at you, unveiling her work.

By some miracle, you manage to contain your laughter even as Elijah narrows his eyes at you.

“You did great, sweetheart! Isn’t that right, Elijah?”

“Yeah,” his voice almost cracks, “I look beautiful.”

Hope grins, running out of the room, shouting for everyone to come see ‘pretty Elijah’ again, making Elijah groan and bury his face in his hands.

You laugh and he looks up at you, “I’m glad you enjoy my suffering.”

“Oh honey,” you smile, placing your hands on his shoulders, “I’m your fiancé, of course I do.”

[elliecore4eva]

Part 4 of THE SUNSHINE THAT FELL FAR FROM THE SKY

Pairing: Ellie Williams x Sunshine! Joel's Daughter! Fem! Reader

Genre: Angst/ Fluff

REDEMPTION ARC

ATTEMPT ONE: THE LETTER

Ellie doesn’t know how to say the right thing anymore.

Every time she sees you, she freezes. Her throat locks up, and suddenly, all the words she’s been practicing in her head crumble into dust.

So she writes.

The letter is messy, uneven. She starts over four times, each attempt crumpled and tossed onto her bedroom floor.

But finally, she gets one down that doesn’t make her want to punch a hole through the wall.

She folds it carefully and slips it under your door.

You find it the next morning. Your fingers hover over the paper for a second too long before you unfold it.

Bunny, I don’t know how to fix this. But I need you to know that I want to. I’m sorry doesn’t feel like enough, but it’s all I have right now. Please don’t shut me out. Please don’t let that night be the last thing I ever get to be in your story. -E

You read it. You read it twice.

And then you fold it up and tuck it into your bedside drawer.

You don’t throw it away.

But you don’t answer, either.

Ellie waits. She checks her door every hour for a reply that never comes.

When she finally sees you in town later that day, her heart jumps into her throat.

She rushes toward you—only to halt when she sees Dina walking beside you, her hand resting gently on your back. You’re listening to whatever she’s saying, but there’s a distance in your eyes.

Dina glances up, sees Ellie, and her expression hardens.

Ellie doesn’t need words to understand what Dina is saying.

"Not yet. You don’t get to rush this."

So Ellie swallows her desperation and lets you walk away.

She’ll try again.

ATTEMPT TWO: THE SONG

Ellie’s guitar has always been her safe place.

And now? She wants to make it yours.

One night, she sets up on your porch.

She knows you’re home. The candlelight flickering through your window tells her that.

So she starts playing.

It’s a song she wrote for you.

Soft, aching, full of regret and longing.

And for a moment, she thinks she sees your shadow shift behind the curtain.

But you don’t come out.

You don’t stop her.

But you don’t let her in, either.

She plays until her fingers hurt, until her voice gets raw—until she has nothing left to give.

And then she leaves.

Joel is waiting for her on the steps when she gets home.

"That go how you wanted it to?"

Ellie sighs, running a hand down her face. "No."

Joel leans back, watching her.

"You don’t give up on people you love, kid."

Ellie doesn’t need to be told that.

She already knows.

She’ll try again.

ATTEMPT THREE: THE DOG

A week passes before her next attempt.

She hates waiting. But Jesse tells her, "You push too hard, and she’ll shut down completely."

So she waits.

And then she gets an idea.

Stormy, the little gray mutt that you love more than anything, has been acting off. Pacing outside your house, waiting by the stables. Whining.

She misses you.

Just like the whole town does.

Ellie scratches behind Stormy’s ears, muttering, "You miss her, huh?"

The dog just wags her tail, eyes hopeful.

Ellie sighs, running a hand over her face before gripping Stormy’s collar gently.

"Alright, c’mon. Let’s go see our favorite girl."

Bill and Frank, sitting on their porch nearby, both pause mid-conversation.

Bill raises an eyebrow. "Our favorite girl?"

Frank smirks, leaning into him. "Oh, she’s down bad."

Ellie pretends she doesn’t hear them. Her face is already burning enough.

She just takes a breath and walks Stormy to your door.

And when you open it, your breath catches.

Because it’s not just Ellie.

Stormy is practically vibrating with excitement, pawing at your legs, licking your hands.

And for the first time in weeks—you smile.

It’s small. Barely there. But Ellie sees it.

She doesn’t say anything. She just shoves her hands into her pockets and mutters, "She missed you."

You nod, swallowing. "I missed her too."

Not I missed you.

But Ellie will take it.

It’s a start.

Bill watches the whole thing from across the street.

"That kid’s got it bad."

Frank hums, crossing his arms. "She deserves to suffer a little."

Bill smirks. "Oh, she’s sufferin’, alright."

And Ellie?

She knows they’re right.

She deserves this.

But she’s not giving up.

She’ll try again.

ATTEMPT FOUR: THE ROUTE (WITH BILL AND FRANK’S INTERVENTION)

Ellie doesn’t know if you’ll ever look at her the same way again.

That’s the thought that’s been eating her alive for weeks now.

Because it’s not just that you won’t talk to her.

It’s everything.

It’s how you used to gravitate toward her without thinking—touching her wrist, leaning into her side, kissing her cheek just because you could.

It’s how your voice used to light up when you saw her. How you used to say her name like it was your favorite word.

Now?

Now you don’t even look at her.

And Ellie is drowning.

So she tries again.

This time, she does something she knows will get your attention.

She changes patrol routes.

You hear about it before she can tell you herself.

Maria is the one who lets it slip.

"You’ll be taking the west route tomorrow."

You frown, confused. "I thought Ellie and I were on that route?"

Maria gives you a look. "Ellie requested a switch."

Your stomach drops.

She… switched?

Ellie—who hates change and always said she felt safest when she was patrolling with you?

Ellie, who once told you, "If we’re gonna die out there, at least I get to die looking at you."

She switched?

Maria hesitates, clearly watching your reaction.

"She, uh… she said she didn’t want to make you uncomfortable."

You swallow hard.

She did this for you.

And for the first time in weeks, you don’t know how to feel.

That night, you find her.

She’s sitting on her porch steps, hands clasped together, staring at nothing.

When she sees you approaching, her entire body tenses.

She wasn’t expecting this.

You sit down next to her—not too close, but close enough.

And for the first time in weeks, you break the silence first.

"You didn’t have to switch routes."

Ellie lets out a breath, rubbing the back of her neck. "I know."

You hesitate. "I don’t want you to… avoid me."

Ellie turns to you so fast it almost startles you.

"I wasn’t—I’m not avoiding you, Bunny." Her voice is quiet, desperate. "I just… I didn’t want you to feel trapped with me."

You look down at your hands.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

And then you hear Ellie inhale sharply.

"I—fuck, I miss you so much."

Your fingers twitch in your lap.

She sounds broken.

Like she doesn’t know how to do this anymore.

Like losing you has shattered her.

You squeeze your eyes shut, taking a breath.

"I should go."

You stand up. Ellie’s hands clench into fists, like she’s physically stopping herself from reaching for you.

But she doesn’t stop you.

She won’t.

She’ll let you set the pace.

Even if it kills her.

Bill and Frank watch from their window.

Bill sighs. "She’s gettin’ there."

Frank leans against his shoulder. "Slowly."

Bill smirks. "Good. Let her suffer a little more."

Frank chuckles. "You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?"

Bill shrugs. "Just a little."

They watch Ellie drop her head into her hands.

Frank’s amusement fades. "Maybe we should help her."

Bill scoffs. "Help her? Why the hell would we—"

Ellie suddenly lets out the loudest, most miserable groan.

Bill and Frank both jump.

Then they stare.

Ellie drags her hands down her face, muttering, "I’m gonna fucking die."

Bill’s eyebrows shoot up.

Frank blinks.

They look at each other.

Then back at Ellie.

Then back at each other.

Bill clears his throat. "Yeah, alright. Maybe we should help her."

ATTEMPT FIVE: BILL AND FRANK’S INTERVENTION

Bill and Frank decide to intervene.

Because at this point, watching Ellie suffer is almost painful for them too.

Sure, Bill might have enjoyed watching her stew in her own mistakes for a bit—serves her right for screwing up so badly—but even he has to admit that this is getting pathetic.

Ellie looks haunted.

She barely eats. She barely sleeps. She’s snapping at everyone.

And the worst part?

She still worships you.

Every time she sees you in town, she stares like she’s starving.

Like you’re the only thing that could ever make her feel whole again.

And every time you pass her without stopping, without smiling, she looks like someone just ripped her heart out.

So yeah.

Bill and Frank decide to do something about it.

It starts with a trap.

Ellie comes back from patrol, exhausted, covered in dirt, and just ready to collapse.

But the moment she reaches her front door, she pauses.

Because Bill and Frank are standing on her porch.

Waiting.

Bill crosses his arms. Frank waves.

Ellie groans. "What now?"

Frank grins. "Sit your ass down."

She doesn’t move.

So Bill grabs her shoulder and forces her onto the porch step.

"Jesus, okay! Fuck, I’m sitting!"

Frank sits next to her, nudging her boot with his own. "Kid, you look like shit."

Bill snorts.

Ellie glares. "Thanks, Frank. That helps."

Bill leans against the porch railing, squinting at her. "You still in the doghouse?"

Ellie lets out a long, pained sigh. "Oh, I don’t think I even live in the house anymore, Bill. I think I’m in the goddamn yard, under the goddamn dirt."

Frank whistles lowly. "Damn."

Bill shakes his head. "Serves you right."

Ellie groans again, flopping back against the steps. "You guys suck at this."

Frank pats her knee. "We’re not here to make you feel better, kid. We’re here to tell you how to fix it."

Ellie blinks.

Because that’s new.

She sits up quickly. "Wait, you actually have advice?"

Bill grumbles. "Unfortunately."

Frank grins. "You know what she loves, right?"

Ellie stares. "Uh. Yeah? Of course?"

Frank shrugs. "Then make her remember it."

Bill sighs, rubbing his temples. "Look, kid. You fucked up."

Ellie nods.

"You said some dumbass shit."

She nods harder.

"And you’re lucky she still lets you breathe the same air as her."

Ellie nods so hard her neck starts to hurt.

Frank laughs. "God, you are so in love with her."

Ellie scowls. "Was that not obvious?"

Bill smirks. "Oh, it was obvious." He gestures at her. "But watching you be a lovesick dumbass is hilarious."

Ellie glares. "Okay, great talk, guys, really—"

Frank grabs her arm. "Ellie. Listen."

She does.

Frank leans in, voice serious. "She loves stars, doesn’t she?"

Ellie stiffens.

Because yeah.

You do.

You’ve always loved them. You used to drag Ellie out at night just to watch them, even on freezing cold nights. You used to lie beside her, pointing at constellations, teaching her their names.

And the worst part?

You haven’t been going outside at night at all since she broke your heart.

Ellie swallows. "She hasn’t been stargazing."

Frank nods.

"So take her."

Ellie’s stomach twists. "She won’t come with me."

Bill rolls his eyes. "Then don’t ask."

Ellie stares.

Bill huffs. "Kid, you’ve been trying to fix this by saying sorry over and over again. And it ain’t working. You gotta show her who you are. Show her who she is to you."

Frank smiles. "Make her remember how it feels to love you."

Ellie feels her heart clench.

Because fuck.

They’re right.

She swallows hard, eyes burning.

"How?"

Bill shrugs. "Figure it out. You’re the whipped one here."

Frank laughs.

And Ellie?

Ellie gets to work.

ATTEMPT SIX: UNDER THE STARS

Ellie doesn’t sleep that night.

Instead, she plans.

Because Bill and Frank are right—words aren’t enough anymore.

You don’t trust her words. You don’t trust her promises. And honestly? She doesn’t blame you.

So if she can’t tell you she’s still yours, she’ll have to show you.

The next evening, just as the sun starts to set, Ellie sets her trap.

She knows your routine. Even if you don’t talk to her anymore, she still sees you—quietly taking care of Jackson, giving the town your warmth even when you’re running on empty.

And tonight?

She uses that against you.

Ellie stations herself outside Maria’s house, where she knows you’ll be stopping to drop off supplies.

When she sees you approaching, arms full of food rations, she doesn’t hesitate.

She steps into your path, hands stuffed in her pockets, trying to ignore the way her heart clenches when you immediately tense at the sight of her.

"Hey."

You don’t answer.

She swallows. "Look, I know you don’t wanna see me. But can you come with me? Just for a little bit?"

You shift uncomfortably, adjusting your grip on the food. "I have things to do."

Ellie shakes her head. "Not tonight, you don’t."

You blink, startled by her certainty.

And then—Maria’s voice rings out from the house.

"Go with her."

You turn sharply. "What?"

Maria appears in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. "You’re done for the night. Whatever this is, it’s more important."

You stare at her, mouth opening—but Maria shuts the door before you can argue.

Ellie watches as you slowly exhale, visibly frustrated.

But after a long, agonizing pause—

You give in.

You set the food down on Maria’s porch.

Then you turn back to Ellie.

"Fine. Let’s go."

Ellie doesn’t speak as she leads you out of Jackson.

She just walks, steps careful, nerves fraying with every second that passes.

She’s not sure what she expected—maybe for you to call her out, demand an explanation.

But you don’t say a word.

You just follow.

Ellie clenches her fists, stomach twisting as she sneaks glances at you.

You look tired.

Tired in a way she’s never seen before.

And fuck, that’s her fault.

She bites her lip hard enough to hurt, turning her gaze back ahead.

Just a little further.

When she finally stops, you hesitate.

Because you recognize this place.

You stare at the grassy clearing, the old tree you used to lean against, the familiar stretch of sky just beginning to darken—

And your heart aches.

Ellie swallows.

"You stopped stargazing."

You flinch.

Ellie watches you carefully, hands twitching with the urge to reach for you, to hold you.

"So I figured..." She clears her throat. "If you weren’t gonna go by yourself, maybe I could—"

"Ellie."

Her heart stutters.

You stare at her, expression unreadable. "You brought me here to stargaze?"

Ellie nods.

You blink.

Then you laugh—quiet, hollow.

"Ellie, you—" You shake your head. "You don’t get to just bring me here and expect everything to be okay."

Ellie flinches. "I know."

"Then why—"

"Because this was ours."

Your breath catches.

Ellie steps closer. "This was ours. And I fucking destroyed everything else we had, but maybe—maybe I can fix this one thing."

You swallow.

Ellie clenches her fists.

"Please, just—sit with me. Just for a little while."

You hesitate.

Then—with an exhausted sigh—you lower yourself onto the grass.

Ellie follows.

And for the first time in weeks, you lie beside each other.

Silence settles between you.

The sky darkens.

And Ellie watches you instead of the stars.

Watches your face slowly relax, your breathing steady as the familiar comfort of the night settles in.

And for a brief, fleeting moment—it almost feels like before.

Almost.

Then—

"Ellie."

Her breath catches.

You finally turn to her, and for the first time since that night at the Tipsy Bison—you let her see the pain.

"I don’t know how to forgive you."

Ellie’s throat tightens.

"I know."

Your gaze flickers.

And for the first time in weeks—Ellie sees it.

The smallest crack in your armor.

The tiniest sliver of hope.

And she clings to it with everything she has.

THE FINAL STEP

Ellie doesn’t rush it.

She doesn’t push, doesn’t press, doesn’t beg.

She just sits there, watching you, watching the way your fingers twitch in the grass like you want to reach for her but don’t trust yourself to.

It’s the closest she’s been to getting you back.

But she won’t ruin it by expecting too much too soon.

So she just nods, forcing her voice to be steady.

"That’s okay."

You blink.

"I don’t care how long it takes," Ellie murmurs. "You don’t have to forgive me now. Or tomorrow. Or next month. Just—just don’t shut me out completely. Please."

Your eyes drop to the grass.

Ellie waits.

And finally—you give the smallest nod.

It’s barely anything.

But it’s enough.

And Ellie swears to herself right then and there that she will never take another inch of your love for granted again.

LATER THAT NIGHT

Ellie walks you home.

You don’t talk much, but you let her be near you.

And maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but Ellie swears she sees a tiny glimpse of you—the real you—when you glance at her before stepping inside.

She doesn’t sleep that night.

She just sits in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling something she hasn’t felt in weeks.

Hope.

THE NEXT MORNING

Ellie is so fucking close to falling back asleep when—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

She frowns.

Grabs her knife from under her pillow and trudges toward the door.

She pulls it open, rubbing her eyes—

And pauses.

Because Bill and Frank are standing on her porch.

Ellie blinks. "Uh—?"

"Jesus Christ, kid," Bill grumbles, shoving past her. "You look like death warmed over."

"Thanks?"

Frank enters next, shooting Ellie an amused smile before glancing around. "This is... cozy."

Ellie just stares. "What the hell are you guys doing here?"

Bill sighs dramatically. "Frank wanted to check on you."

"You wanted to check on her too, don’t act tough," Frank says.

Bill ignores him.

Frank turns back to Ellie, tone softer. "We heard you finally got her to talk to you."

Ellie rubs the back of her neck. "Yeah. Kinda. It’s—" she exhales—"It’s slow."*

Bill snorts. "Well, what the fuck did you expect? A goddamn miracle?"

Ellie glares. "No, I just—" she exhales—"I don’t know. I just hate waiting."*

Frank pats her arm. "Well, too bad. You’re in this for the long haul."

Ellie sighs. "Yeah, I know."

Bill crosses his arms. "You sure? 'Cause if you fuck this up again—"

"I won’t." Ellie’s voice is dead serious. "I swear to god, I won’t."

Bill nods approvingly. "Good."

Frank grins. "So. When are we gonna see our favorite girl?"

Ellie freezes.

Then—before she can even think of an answer—

Bill smirks.

"Oh, I like watching you panic."

Ellie groans.

Frank laughs, nudging her. "Relax. We’ll give her time. But when she’s ready?" He raises an eyebrow. "You better make damn sure we’re invited to the reunion."

Ellie grins despite herself.

Because for the first time in weeks, she actually believes there’s going to be one.

THE FINAL PUSH

Ellie doesn’t want to rush you.

She tells herself to be patient, to wait, to let you come back to her in your own time.

But Bill and Frank are assholes.

Because every time she sees them now, they keep fucking reminding her that they’re waiting for the moment she and you are okay again.

"Any day now, kid," Bill grumbles when she sees him at the greenhouse. "I’m getting old."

"You were always old," Ellie mutters, tossing a crate of tomatoes onto the table.

Frank smirks. "You know, if you’re too scared to take the next step, we can always have Joel do it for you."

Ellie glares.

Joel, who’s been conveniently ignoring this conversation, snorts under his breath.

Ellie hates them all.

Because they know she’s dying to see you—to really see you—to hold you again, to kiss you, to remind you that you are the love of her fucking life.

And they’re right—she’s scared.

Because if she pushes too hard, too fast—what if she loses you all over again?

But Joel of all people—Joel, who has barely spoken about this entire thing—finally gives her the push she needs.

"You got one chance, kid," he says later that night when they’re both sitting on the porch. "One good shot to do this right."

Ellie swallows.

Joel side-eyes her. "So what the hell are you waiting for?"

THE REUNION

Ellie finds you at the stables the next morning.

You’re brushing one of the horses, completely in your own world.

And Ellie has to stop for a second—just to look at you.

Because god, she fucking missed you.

It’s been weeks since she’s seen you up close like this—since she’s seen you without the walls, without the careful distance.

She takes a slow breath and steps forward.

"Hey."

You freeze.

Your hands still against the horse’s mane.

Slowly, you turn to her.

"Hey," you say softly.

And Ellie almost breaks down right there because—fuck, your voice.

She takes another step.

Then another.

You don’t back away.

And that’s when she knows.

Knows that this is it—this is the moment she’s been waiting for.

"Can I—?" She gestures vaguely between you two.

You hesitate.

Then, slowly, you nod.

Ellie doesn’t waste a second.

She steps into your space, gently cupping your face, giving you every possible chance to pull away.

But you don’t.

You just stand there, blinking up at her, so fucking soft and familiar and god, she’s never going to hurt you again.

"I’m so sorry," Ellie whispers. "I love you. I love you so fucking much. And I don’t care how long it takes, I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you if I have to."

Your breath shudders.

"Ellie..."

"Just—just tell me what you need," she pleads. "Tell me what I can do. Anything, baby. I swear, I'll do anything."

And finally—finally—your eyes soften.

Your shoulders drop.

Your lip wobbles.

And you fall into her arms.

Ellie catches you instantly, holding you, squeezing you, gripping you like she’ll never let go.

Because she won’t.

Never again.

You bury your face in her neck, your breath warm against her skin.

"Don’t be mean to me again," you mumble.

Ellie feels like crying all over again.

"Never," she whispers. "Never again."

And for the first time in weeks, she finally believes it.

EPILOGUE: BILL AND FRANK BEING ASSHOLES, PART 2

Two days later, Ellie and you walk into the Tipsy Bison together.

And the entire town fucking stares.

Then—applause.

Like actual, loud, obnoxious cheering.

Ellie groans, burying her face in your shoulder.

"What the fuck?" she grumbles.

"Told you we were waiting for the reunion," Frank says, grinning from his table.

Bill smirks. "Took you long enough."

Ellie flips them off.

But she’s smiling.

Because you’re here.

And you’re holding her hand.

And she has you back.

THE FINAL HUMILIATION

Ellie tries to act cool about it.

She really does.

But you’re smiling at her.

That soft, warm, real smile that she thought she’d lost forever.

And she can’t help it—she grins like a fucking idiot.

Which is exactly when Jesse whistles and yells across the bar:

"Damn, Ellie, you’re so whipped."

Ellie sees red.

Because fuck Jesse.

And fuck every single person in this goddamn town who’s having the time of their lives watching her fall apart over you.

"You wanna fucking go, Jesse?" she threatens, pulling away from you like she’s actually about to swing.

Jesse laughs his ass off.

Dina is crying from laughter.

Joel just shakes his head like he knew this was coming.

And Bill—Bill fucking smirks.

"Told you," he says to Frank. "She’s hopeless."

Frank sighs, shaking his head in exaggerated disappointment. "Truly pathetic."

Ellie hates them.

But then you giggle.

And fuck.

Ellie melts instantly.

Because that’s the first time you’ve really laughed in weeks.

So she lets it go.

She groans, shaking her head, wrapping an arm around your waist, and pulls you closer like she’ll never let you go again.

"Whatever," she mutters.

And for the first time in forever—everything finally feels right again.

THE WHIPPED REALIZATION

Ellie grumbles for a second. Just for show.

She shakes her head, muttering something about how Jesse is a dead man walking—but then she looks down at you.

At you.

Smiling at her. Loving her.

Forgiving her.

And fuck.

She is whipped.

She’s so fucking whipped that it’s embarrassing.

So she sighs, loudly, and then—she owns it.

"Yeah, okay." She shrugs, tightening her grip around your waist. "I’m fucking whipped. So what?"

Jesse gawks.

Dina chokes on her drink.

Joel rubs a hand down his face like he can’t believe he has to witness this.

Bill groans. “God, kid, have some dignity.”

Frank? Frank is beaming.

"Oh, I love character growth," he says, clapping.

Ellie rolls her eyes—but she’s grinning now.

Because she doesn’t care.

Let them talk. Let them laugh.

She’s got you back in her arms.

And if being completely, utterly, hopelessly whipped is what it takes to keep you there?

She’ll fucking take it.

You tilt your head up at her, smiling softly.

"You are," you tease, voice warm, lighthearted in a way Ellie thought she’d never hear again. "Like… really, really whipped."

Ellie groans, dramatically burying her face in your shoulder.

"Jesus Christ, babe, don’t make it worse."

You laugh—really laugh—giggling as you thread your fingers through her hair.

"Oh, no, I think it’s adorable," you hum, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. "My big, scary, grumpy girlfriend—wrapped around my little finger."

The bar erupts in laughter.

Jesse nearly falls off his chair.

Dina is wiping away tears.

Joel? Joel just sighs.

"This is painful to watch," he mutters.

Bill grimaces. "Agreed. Disgusting."

Frank, however, grins proudly.

"No, no, this is beautiful," he says, patting Ellie’s back. "She’s finally embraced the truth."

Ellie groans again.

But she’s smiling.

Because you’re smiling.

And if everyone in this town wants to make fun of her for it?

She doesn’t give a shit.

You’re hers. That’s all that matters.

Ellie huffs dramatically, pulling you even closer like she’s shielding you from all the teasing.

"Alright, alright, laugh it up, assholes," she grumbles, glaring at Jesse, Dina, Bill, and Frank. "Glad my suffering is so entertaining for you."

Jesse wipes a fake tear. "It really is, man. Like, deeply entertaining."

Dina nods, still cackling. "This might be the best night of my life."

Joel just shakes his head.

"You brought this on yourself, kid," he mutters, taking a sip of his drink.

Bill looks at Frank. "You think we should get the shotgun and put her out of her misery?"

Frank gasps, clutching his chest. "Bill! What kind of love story would that be?"

"A merciful one," Bill deadpans.

Ellie groans.

You, meanwhile, are laughing so hard you can barely breathe.

And that sound?

That sound makes every second of public humiliation completely fucking worth it.

Ellie sighs, finally giving in.

"Fine," she mutters, looking down at you with so much love in her eyes that it’s almost embarrassing. "I’m the most whipped person in Jackson."

You grin.

"In Wyoming, probably," you add.

Ellie snorts.

"In the entire fucking world," Jesse corrects.

And at that, Ellie just shakes her head, smiling like an idiot, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"Whatever," she murmurs. "As long as I’m yours, I don’t care."

And for the first time in weeks—everything feels perfect again.

n the first place.

Ellie’s throat tightens. She blinks fast, willing herself not to get emotional in front of everyone.

"Yeah," she breathes, voice quieter now, meant only for you.

She leans in, nudging her nose against yours, pressing the softest kiss to your lips.

"Yours."

And for the first time in forever—she actually believes she deserves to be.

The moment is so sweet that even Bill and Frank have mercy.

"Alright, alright," Bill mutters, waving a hand. "Show’s over. Let’s get back to drinking before I throw up."

Joel sighs. "Finally."

Jesse smirks, nudging Dina. "Bet you ten bucks Ellie starts crying in the next five minutes."

Dina grins. "Oh, you’re on."

Ellie flips them off without even looking.

Because fuck them.

Right now?

She has everything she needs.

Ellie barely hears anything after that.

The bar is still loud as hell—Jesse and Dina are still laughing, Bill is still muttering something sarcastic to Frank, and Joel is still watching her like he’s mentally filing this whole night away to tease her later.

But Ellie?

Ellie can only focus on you.

The way your arms stay wrapped around her, secure and warm. The way your eyes shine, even in the dim light of the Tipsy Bison. The way you just said okay—like this is real, like this is good again, like she can breathe again.

Ellie cups your face, tilting her forehead against yours.

"You really back?" she whispers.

And you—because you are the single most agonizingly wonderful person she’s ever met—just grin.

"Guess you’ll have to wait and see," you tease.

Ellie groans dramatically, letting her head fall onto your shoulder. "You’re literally evil."

"Yeah, but I’m your evil."

Ellie pulls back just enough to look at you, and she swears she almost fucking cries because—

Yeah.

You’re hers.

And she’s never letting this fall apart again.

"Alright, alright," Frank sighs, clapping his hands together like he’s the host of a reality show. "Romance quota for the night has been exceeded. I need another drink."

"You always need another drink," Bill grumbles.

"And yet, you love me anyway," Frank says smugly, pressing a dramatic kiss to Bill’s cheek.

Bill just grumbles something under his breath, but the corner of his mouth twitches.

Ellie huffs, still holding onto you like it’s instinct.

Joel chuckles. "You sure you ain’t too old to be actin’ like a lovesick puppy?"

Ellie glares. "You sure you ain’t too old to be gettin’ in my business?"

Joel just shakes his head. "Not when it’s this funny."

Dina snickers. "Ellie, be honest. How bad was it?"

Ellie squints. "How bad was what?"

"Sleeping alone."

The entire table bursts into laughter.

Ellie?

Ellie just groans and buries her face in your neck.

You smile into her hair, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"It’s okay, babe," you whisper, "You suffered enough."

Ellie lifts her head just enough to look at you.

"Yeah?"

You grin.

"Yeah. I think I’m done punishing you."

Ellie exhales, pulling you in tighter.

"Thank fuck."

Please note that reblog, comments, follows and likes are very much appreciated!

[maeintree]

i'll call your mom | s. reid

Summary: When everything feels like it's falling apart, Spencer Reid faces the unbearable weight of his struggles, leaving behind a heartbreaking letter for the one person who would’ve stood by him no matter what.  Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader Word Count: 2.8k Warning/s: Suicide, self-harm, emotional distress, depression, themes of loss, mental health struggles, graphic emotional content Author's Note: no words, i'm so sorry

Medicate, meditate, swear your soul to Jesus Throw a punch, fall in love, give yourself a reason

The apartment smelled like coffee and old books, the scent of worn paper mixing with the faint aroma of vanilla from the candle you had lit earlier. Spencer sat on the couch, legs folded beneath him, a book balanced in one hand and a half-empty mug of coffee in the other.

He wasn’t really reading, though. His eyes flicked up every few seconds, watching you as you moved around the kitchen, pretending not to notice. "You’re staring," you teased, pouring the last of the coffee into your mug.

Spencer hummed, a small, barely-there smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"How you always leave exactly two sips of coffee in the pot, so you don’t feel bad about not making a new one."

You scoffed, but when you turned to look at him, his expression had softened. His eyes—tired but warm—held yours for a beat too long, like he was trying to memorize the moment.

"You love me anyway," you said, raising your mug in a mock toast.

He smiled brightly and chuckled. 

"Yeah," he murmured. "I do."

"You alright hon?" You ask; he's been different lately. You don't know how to explain it, but it's just different. Not in a good way or a bad way. 

"Huh? Oh yeah, I am—just headaches." He smiled before "reading" his book, the bold big print of "The Fabric of Reality" on the cover. 

"Alright." 

You checked the time on your phone and sighed. “I have to go.”

Spencer frowned from his spot on the couch, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Already?”

“Some of us don’t have a whole week off,” you teased, slipping on your shoes by the door. Working at a marketing agency meant early meetings, endless emails, and way too much coffee—but at least it was predictable.

Spencer set his book aside as you walked over, tilting his face up just in time for you to press a soft kiss to his lips. He tasted like coffee, warm and a little bitter, and for a second, he lingered, like he wasn’t quite ready to let you go.

“Don’t spend the whole day reading,” you murmured, brushing your fingers through his hair.

“No promises,” he said, smirking.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your bag. “At least eat something real for lunch.”

Spencer made a noncommittal hum, already reaching for his book again. But just before you stepped out the door, his voice stopped you.

“Hey.”

You turned, and for a moment, he just looked at you. Something unreadable passed behind his eyes, too quick for you to catch before he forced a small smile.

“Love you,” he said.

You smiled back. “I love you too.”

And then you were gone.

The conference room was buzzing with conversation, the low hum of voices mixing with the faint tapping of fingersagainst keyboards. You sat near the head of the long table, posture straight, eyes scanning over the presentation slides on the screen.

“As we move into Q2, we’re looking at a 12% increase in engagement across our social campaigns,” one of your colleagues was saying. “But our paid ad conversions have been inconsistent. We need a strategy to—”

Your phone buzzed against the polished wood of the table. You clicked the power button without looking, silencing the screen before turning your attention back to the discussion.

“We should be focusing on the quality of engagement, not just volume,” you interjected. “If people are clicking but not converting, we need to reassess targeting—”

Bzzzt.

You exhaled through your nose, subtly flipping your phone over.

“Exactly,” another manager agreed, nodding. “And maybe rethink our CTA approach.”

Bzzzt.

A few eyes flickered toward you at the sound. You gave an apologetic smile, pressing the side button again. The room settled back into discussion, and you forced yourself to focus, scribbling notes into your planner.

Then, a longer buzz. A call this time.

You clenched your jaw, lifting the phone just enough to peek at the screen. 

Love 💌 is calling. . . 

Your stomach twisted. He never called while you were at work—never interrupted your meetings unless it was important.

Ignoring the way your pulse picked up, you exhaled quietly and slipped the phone under the table, pressing decline.

You’d call him back later.

You had a meeting to finish.

The meeting wrapped up around 4 P.M., conversations fading into casual goodbyes as people filtered out of the conference room. You stood, stretching the stiffness from your shoulders before grabbing your notebook and phone.

“Good work today,” one of your colleagues said, patting your shoulder as they passed.

“You too. See you tomorrow,” you replied, forcing a smile.

You pulled on your coat, looping your scarf around your neck as you made your way toward the elevators. The office had mostly emptied out, leaving only the distant sounds of typing and the occasional ring of a phone.

As you stepped into the elevator, you finally pulled out your phone.

Your stomach dropped.

Hundreds of notifications.

Missed calls. Texts. Voicemails. From Spencer. From his team—Jennifer, Morgan, Emily.

Your fingers shook slightly as you scrolled up, eyes scanning over the frantic messages.

Love 💌 (3:12 PM): Hey, are you there? Love 💌 (3:17 PM): I really need to talk to you. Please pick up. Love 💌 (3:24 PM): I love you. Just… I love you, okay? Love 💌 (3:30 PM): I don’t know how to do this anymore.

Your heart pounded as you flicked through the texts, each one more desperate than the last.

JJ <3 (3:42 PM): Have you heard from Spencer?? He’s not answering.

Morgan (3:45 PM): Call me. Now.

Ems (3:51 PM): We’re heading to his place. Please tell me you’ve talked to him.

Your breath came short and shallow as you reached the last message.

Love 💌 (3:56 PM): I’m sorry.

The elevator doors opened.

You ran.

Don't wanna drive another mile wonderin' if you're breathin' So, won't you stay, won't you stay, won't you stay with me?

You flagged down the first cab you saw, breathless as you practically threw yourself into the backseat. “Capital Plaza Apartments, Washington D.C.,” you said urgently.

The driver barely nodded before pulling into traffic. Your leg bounced wildly as you opened your messages again, scrolling up and down, reading and rereading Spencer’s words like they’d suddenly change if you looked at them hard enough.

I love you.

I don’t know how to do this anymore.

I’m sorry.

A tear slipped down your cheek before you even realized you were crying. You wiped it away with trembling fingers, pressing your lips together so hard they hurt.

Then, your phone vibrated again.

Ems (4:27 PM): We’re here. The door was locked.

Ems (4:28 PM): We’re going in.

Your breath hitched as the next message came in.

Morgan (4:29 PM): Stay on your way. Just hurry.

They didn’t say if they found him.

You gripped your phone so tightly it might break. “Can you go any faster?”

The driver glanced at you through the mirror, sensing your urgency, and pressed harder on the gas.

You weren’t sure if you were too late.

You just knew you had to get to him.

The drive felt endless. Every red light, every slow-moving car, every second ticking by on your phone made your pulse hammer harder. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

You kept rereading the messages, as if somehow, doing so would make Spencer respond—would make Morgan or Emily tell you it was okay.

But no new texts came.

When the cab finally pulled up in front of Spencer’s apartment building, you barely remembered paying before you were throwing the door open, nearly tripping over yourself as you ran inside.

The lobby was a blur. You didn’t register the elevator—just the stairs, taking them two at a time, your breath ragged, your heart threatening to break through your ribs.

When you reached his floor, the door to his apartment was wide open.

Emily was standing just inside, her phone in one hand, her other gripping the doorframe like she needed something to hold her up. Her head snapped up the second she saw you.

"Where is he?" you gasped.

JJ was farther in, by the couch, her back turned, hands on her hips like she was trying to steady herself. And then there was Morgan, just stepping out of the hallway leading to the bedroom—his jaw clenched, his usual confidence nowhere to be seen.

The way he looked at you made the floor tilt beneath your feet.

"Where is he?" you demanded again, voice breaking.

Morgan took a step forward. "He’s alive," he said quickly. "But—"

You didn’t hear the rest. Your feet were already moving.

The bedroom door was open.

And there he was.

Spencer lay motionless on the bed, his skin pale, his lips slightly parted. His breaths were slow—too slow. There was an empty pill bottle on the nightstand, a glass of water spilled onto the floor.

Your knees nearly gave out.

“Oh my God,” you choked, rushing to his side. "Spencer, hey—hey, wake up."

His body was warm under your hands, but he didn’t stir. His long lashes barely fluttered against his cheek. You cupped his face, shaking him gently. "Spencer, please."

JJ was suddenly beside you, a hand on your shoulder. "Paramedics are on their way," she said softly. "He's breathing, but he needs help."

A broken sob tore from your throat as you tangled your fingers in his hair, pressing your forehead against his. "Why didn’t you call me again?" you whispered. "Why didn’t you wait?"

Morgan's voice was quiet behind you. "I think he thought you wouldn’t make it in time."

You let out a shaky breath, pressing a trembling kiss to Spencer’s temple.

"I'm here," you whispered. "I'm here."

Your fingers trembled as you held the empty pill bottle, your mind racing, trying to make sense of it.

Your sleeping pills.

Not Dilaudid. Not something to knock him out of this world. Just a way to make it easier to sleep. But that’s all it was, right?

A harmless mistake. He wasn’t trying to end it.

He couldn’t have been.

“Spencer…” you whispered, brushing his hair from his forehead again, your fingers cold against his skin. “You didn’t mean to do this, right? You didn’t want to…”

The words caught in your throat, and you felt the panic rising. He couldn’t have wanted this. He couldn’t have.

JJ, standing beside you, glanced at the pill bottle in your hand and then back at Spencer. She sighed quietly, stepping forward, her voice low and careful. She says your name “—he’s tried before.”

“No,” you snapped, shaking your head and pulling Spencer closer to you. You couldn’t—wouldn’t—believe it. “No, he hasn’t. He just… he just wanted to sleep. That’s all.”

Morgan’s hand rested on your shoulder, firm but gentle. “We need to be real here.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but the weight of his words hit you like a punch to the chest. “We’ve all seen the signs. You’ve seen them too. He didn’t want to sleep. He wanted to...”

You looked at Spencer’s face, so still, so empty in its unconsciousness. The pill bottle in your hand seemed to mock you.

“No…” you said again, but it was quieter now. The fight starting to fade from your voice.

Emily stepped forward, her eyes soft but determined. “He didn’t want to die, but he wanted the pain to stop. Sometimes, when you’re carrying it for too long… you just don’t see another way.”

You shook your head harder, the tears you’d been holding back finally breaking free. “No. He couldn’t… he wouldn’t.”

JJ knelt beside you, her expression both sympathetic and firm. “You’re not hearing what we’re saying. He didn’t use Dilaudid or something that could kill him. He chose your sleeping pills because he didn’t think it would be enough to do the job. But it was. He was hoping—.”

“SHUT UP.” You shout, refusing to acknowledge it, but the truth was creeping into your heart anyway. JJ stopped talking, and out of pity, you apologize, "I'm sorry. I just—"

You squeezed Spencer’s hand tighter. “No… he’s just sleeping. He’s just… he’s not like this.”

Morgan gave you a look that spoke volumes, his voice breaking through the denial. “He is. And we need to get him help before it’s too late.”

The sirens were getting louder now, the flashing lights of the ambulance bathing the apartment in red and blue. But all you could do was look at Spencer, wishing you could find something—anything—that would make this okay again.

“The paramedics are here.”

Emily’s voice cut through your haze, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Spencer’s face. His breaths were slow, shallow, but they were still there, and that was all you clung to.

You heard the door swing open, the rush of footsteps, the sound of voices. A pair of paramedics rushed in, their uniforms already stained with the city’s grimy air. They barely spared you a glance before they moved into action. One of them crouched beside Spencer, checking his vitals, slipping on an oxygen mask. The other was quickly scanning the room, looking for anything else that could offer insight into what had happened.

"He's breathing," the first paramedic said, placing a stethoscope to Spencer's chest, eyes flicking toward the pill bottle on the nightstand. “But it’s slow. We need to get him to the hospital. Now.”

Your hands were still shaking, your fingers gripping Spencer’s tightly, unwilling to let go. You could hear the muffled sounds of the paramedics coordinating, gathering equipment, and preparing for the transport.

“He’s going to be okay, right?” you whispered, the words barely a prayer, but more of a desperate hope.

The paramedic paused for a moment, glancing up. His expression was guarded, but there was a hint of something softer in his eyes.

“We’ll do everything we can.”

“Spencer,” you said again, this time louder, as if calling him back from the edge. “Please, don’t do this. Please come back to me.”

I'll drive, I'll drive all night I'll call your mom

You held the phone tightly in your hand, the soft, rhythmic ringing in your ear causing you to squirm in bed. Each second seemed to stretch longer than the last, and you couldn’t sit still. Every time the line clicked, your heart seemed to skip a beat, but still, no one answered.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the line connected.

“This is Senior Memory Care, how may I help you?” the receptionist’s voice came through, polite but indifferent.

“Hello, hi, um,” you stammered, trying to steady your voice. “Is Diana Reid available?”

There was a brief pause. “Uh, let me check.” You heard the sound of clacking keys on the other end. “Yes, she is. Will you be visiting her?”

“Yes, I will be,” you replied, trying to sound calm even though your heart was racing.

“Okay! Purpose of the visit, Miss?”

You swallowed hard, feeling the words choke you, but you pushed them out. “I need to talk to her about something regarding her son. She knows me, I’m her daughter-in-law.”

There was a brief hum from the receptionist, a sound that could almost be described as a knowing acknowledgment. “Would you like to speak to her directly?”

You hesitated for a moment, your stomach twisting. “Uh, no, sorry, I’d rather talk to her in person.”

“Ah, okay. We’ll set up for 2 p.m. tomorrow. Is that alright?”

“That’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Alright, have a good day, Miss.” 

The call ends, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Your gaze drifts to the funeral invitation and his suicide note resting on your desk. A sob escapes as you curl into yourself on the bed, pulling your knees close, grief consuming you whole.

Sweetheart

I’m sorry. 

I wish I could explain, but words don’t feel like they’d do justice to how much I feel like a burden. I’ve spent so long pretending, trying to keep up with the world, when all I really want is peace. Please don’t blame yourself for this. You’ve done everything you could, and more. I know you’ll be better off without me. You deserve someone who can be there, who isn’t broken, someone who can handle the weight of the world without it tearing them apart. I couldn’t be that person, no matter how much I tried.

In any universe I’m in, I will always fill up that coffee mug for you. I would’ve made it all work. We would’ve laughed at the little things, fought over silly arguments, and you would’ve been the one I woke up next to every day. But in this life, I wasn’t enough. And I know you deserve more than what I can give.

I was going to be your husband. I know that. I know I was going to make it happen some day. But somewhere along the way, I lost myself. I lost the person I was supposed to be for you, for us. I couldn’t live up to the promise I made to you, and that’s the hardest thing for me to admit.

I’m sorry. I don’t know if you’ll ever understand why I couldn’t keep going, why I couldn’t be the man I promised you I would be. I just hope, in another life, we could have been happy. And that in the end, you’ll forgive me.

I love you. Forever and always. 

Spencer. 

this was incredibly difficult to write, but i wanted to shed light on the weight of the struggles and the silent battles people fight every day. if you or someone you know is struggling, please know that you're not alone—help is out there, and you are loved more than you know. thank you for reading.

[clovechicken]

I wish my birthday was 7 months earlier

[corellianhounds]

Hmm I kind of want to write something for Valentines day but I’m drawing a blank on something self-contained

[s-soulwriter]

Things Real People Do in Dialogue (For Your Next Story)

Okay, let’s be real—dialogue can make or break a scene. You want your characters to sound natural, like actual humans talking, not robots reading a script. So, how do you write dialogue that feels real without it turning into a mess of awkward pauses and “ums”? Here’s a little cheat sheet of what real people actually do when they talk (and you can totally steal these for your next story):

1. People Interrupt Each Other All the Time In real conversations, nobody waits for the perfect moment to speak. We interrupt, cut each other off, and finish each other's sentences. Throw in some overlaps or interruptions in your dialogue to make it feel more dynamic and less like a rehearsed play.

2. They Don’t Always Say What They Mean Real people are masters of dodging. They’ll say one thing but mean something totally different (hello, passive-aggressive banter). Or they’ll just avoid the question entirely. Let your characters be vague, sarcastic, or just plain evasive sometimes—it makes their conversations feel more layered.

3. People Trail Off... We don’t always finish our sentences. Sometimes we just... stop talking because we assume the other person gets what we’re trying to say. Use that in your dialogue! Let a sentence trail off into nothing. It adds realism and shows the comfort (or awkwardness) between characters.

4. Repeating Words Is Normal In real life, people repeat words when they’re excited, nervous, or trying to make a point. It’s not a sign of bad writing—it’s how we talk. Let your characters get a little repetitive now and then. It adds a rhythm to their speech that feels more genuine.

5. Fillers Are Your Friends People say "um," "uh," "like," "you know," all the time. Not every character needs to sound polished or poetic. Sprinkle in some filler words where it makes sense, especially if the character is nervous or thinking on their feet.

6. Not Everyone Speaks in Complete Sentences Sometimes, people just throw out fragments instead of complete sentences, especially when emotions are high. Short, choppy dialogue can convey tension or excitement. Instead of saying “I really think we need to talk about this,” try “We need to talk. Now.”

7. Body Language Is Part of the Conversation Real people don’t just communicate with words; they use facial expressions, gestures, and body language. When your characters are talking, think about what they’re doing—are they fidgeting? Smiling? Crossing their arms? Those little actions can add a lot of subtext to the dialogue without needing extra words.

8. Awkward Silences Are Golden People don’t talk non-stop. Sometimes, they stop mid-conversation to think, or because things just got weird. Don’t be afraid to add a beat of awkward silence, a long pause, or a meaningful look between characters. It can say more than words.

9. People Talk Over Themselves When They're Nervous When we’re anxious, we tend to talk too fast, go back to rephrase what we just said, or add unnecessary details. If your character’s nervous, let them ramble a bit or correct themselves. It’s a great way to show their internal state through dialogue.

10. Inside Jokes and Shared History Real people have history. Sometimes they reference something that happened off-page, or they share an inside joke only they get. This makes your dialogue feel lived-in and shows that your characters have a life beyond the scene. Throw in a callback to something earlier, or a joke only two characters understand.

11. No One Explains Everything People leave stuff out. We assume the person we’re talking to knows what we’re talking about, so we skip over background details. Instead of having your character explain everything for the reader’s benefit, let some things go unsaid. It’ll feel more natural—and trust your reader to keep up!

12. Characters Have Different Voices Real people don’t all talk the same way. Your characters shouldn’t either! Pay attention to their unique quirks—does one character use slang? Does another speak more formally? Maybe someone’s always cutting people off while another is super polite. Give them different voices and patterns of speech so their dialogue feels authentic to them.

13. People Change the Subject In real life, conversations don’t always stay on track. People get sidetracked, jump to random topics, or avoid certain subjects altogether. If your characters are uncomfortable or trying to dodge a question, let them awkwardly change the subject or ramble to fill the space.

14. Reactions Aren’t Always Immediate People don’t always respond right away. They pause, they think, they hesitate. Sometimes they don’t know what to say, and that delay can speak volumes. Give your characters a moment to process before they respond—it’ll make the conversation feel more natural.

Important note: Please don’t use all of these tips in one dialogue at once.

[tonycries]

We Don’t Have No Babies!

Synopsis. Well, it’s a bit difficult to have no babies when they’re well and fully intent on fúcking one into you.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected, bréeding, mentions of kids, máting press, pússydrunk boys, manhandling, marking, spitting, degradation, praise, cúmplay, the elders ugh (Gojo’s), some HEINOUS things, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.9k

A/N. WHEWW take this as an apology gift for missing yesterday’s post date, I overslept eheheh.

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - What’s another?

“Don’t hah- pass out on me yet, doll.” Toji hisses. Spreading your swollen folds further apart with his fingers, already stretched so obscenely around his swollen cock, and only trying to squeeze deeper. “What was it that brat said again?”

And you can only let out a broken whine in response - too high off the stretch and the utterly sinful pool of his cum spreading on the sheets below. It’s been like this for hours now, both of you barely lucid at this point. But you can’t bring yourself to be disgusted, not even a little bit. 

Because Toji’s throwing your legs over his shoulders, pressing down, down, down, till your knees were at your tits. Folded in half, and stuffed full beneath him. God, you weren’t going to make it out alive. 

“Oh, riiight.” he drags out, voice strained. Deceivingly innocent had it not been for that devilish grin. “He called you ‘mama’.”

And there it was - Megumi’s tiny, seemingly mindless slip-up that got you into this mess in the first place. One that had poked some raw, primal part of Toji so dangerously awake.

The one that had Toji splitting you in half with his aching cock, hips pressing so hard against yours that it almost hurts. Fucking into you in slow, languid motions of his hips, while he drinks in your sobbed out little, “Ah- Hngh- Toji, s’too much I-” 

Lazily, he thumbs open your folds even more, watching in awe at the way his seed dribbles and oozes down your thighs, seeping into the mattress. It takes him a while to form the words, too hazy from how warm and sloppy you were inside. 

“Too much?” he drawls, with the audacity to sound genuinely taken aback. “I don’t think it’s enough, ma.”

It’s the only warning you get - barely - before he laces his fingers on top of your head to take him deeper, snapping his hips harder. Sloppier. Sensitive cock stinging with sensitivity, balls squeezing painfully. It hurt, but it hurt so good. And Toji wasn’t even sure if he could cum again. But he was milking his cock on your pussy like he was gonna fill you up until he physically couldn’t anymore.

“B-but m’so full.” you babble, mouth dropping into a fucked-out little oh! as you look down at the way you were swallowing him up so well. “Dunno if I can’t hngh- t-take anymore.” 

Oh shit, had he said that out loud? Ah, who gives a fuck. Because Toji was chuckling in surprise, stuck on the way you could still form coherent sentences - he had to fix that, of course. 

“Shhh. Don’ worry about it. Jus’ need to fill you up- ah, fuck a baby into ya, ma.”  he gently kisses away those big, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. “All you gotta do is sit there all pretty n’ take- it-” 

Hand snaking down to toy with your swollen clit - frenzied, barely-circular motions just to get you off. Because shit he can’t just stuff you full of his cock without getting the mother of his future kids off, right? And he let you know, of course. Maybe he was whispering sweet nothings in your ear - probably it was just promises of how he was gonna fill your pretty lil’ cunt till morning comes and Megumi was gonna be the best big brother and-

“-m’gonna make ‘em breakfast. And you’ll dress ‘em up. We’ll read oh- them bedtime stories and-” he’s babbling so pathetically into the crook of your neck now. “-an’ tuck ‘em into bed- Oh, fuck fuck fuck.” Drunk off your pussy and the heavenly feeling of his heavy balls squeezing so dangerously, letting his hips go out of control now. “And then- hngh, and then-”

“T-then what?” you let out such cute sobs into his open mouth, seeing stars behind your eyes each time he ravages you.

“Ya really wanna know, ma?”

Somehow, his words have you squeezing around him so good. Enough that it’s almost difficult to move inside you. Enough that Toji doesn’t even realize that he’s cumming and cumming so hard that you’re bloated with his seed. Squelching out of your quivering pussy and soaking his cock as he doesn’t even think of stopping even as you keen at your poor overfilled pussy, teeth latching onto your earlobe as he holds you still for him. 

“And then…” Toji’s hot breath fans your face, voice guttural and sounding like he was losing a little bit of his sanity with each thrust. Hips moving again and again to fuck his cum deeper into you. “And then m’gonna fuck another one into you.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Lonely? No problem!

“Aww, m’sorry. Did I make you feel lonely, my love?” Kissing your lips softly, running his hands all over the pretty lil’ lace covering your body - just barely, of course. “Did I leave my pretty lil’ wife all alone in this big house?” 

You give him a pouty little nod, and oh does that do something to Nanami’s heart - and his achingly hard cock. And he can’t help but pull the drenched fabric of your panties further to the side, greedily honing in on the way you glisten and clench around him. 

“Well, we should fix that, right? So that my pretty baby is never alone in here.”

You would be reassured by his answer - had it not been for the way Nanami doesn’t even wait for your reply. Instead, looking straight into your eyes while he pushes his thick cock deeper inside you. Not even fucking preparing you as he usually would.

“Oh! Oh, mm fuck-” And it’s all you can do to buck into his touch and just fucking take it while he grunts at the slight resistance. For once in his life more concerned about trying to fuck desperately into your dripping cunt than whether or not your poor pussy would hurt herself trying to take him. 

That merciful, practical little part of his brain going slow to let you adjust to his massive cock - because, well, he couldn’t break the mother of his future children. Now, could he?

But oh how you’d beg to differ with the way Nanami fucks into you in languid , shallow grinds of his hips. No matter how many times Nanami stuffed you full of his cock - his size never failed to disappoint. Stretching you out, fingers swiping at your clit, expertly grazing against all the right spots he knew so maddeningly well. 

“Two or three?”

It takes you a second to register that he’s waiting for your answer - too delirious with the way your husband’s splitting you apart deeper and deeper on his cock. Leaving neat crescents of his nails on your hips as he holds your slutty pussy still. 

“W-what?”

“Two or three?” Nanami gives your pulsing clit a little smack! as if to get your attention, hips stuttering ever-so-slightly at the way you squeeze his thick cock in surprise. “How many babies am I fuckin’ into you, my love?” 

Oh. Oh, shit. You weren’t making it out alive.

But were you really complaining? No.

Swallowing thickly, “Ah! Fuck, Kento- wan’ two.”

And maybe you’re a mastermind, maybe you’re an idiot. Because nowhere is the gentleman that you married, Nanami’s spitting on your quivering cunt once. Twice. Watching like a predator stalking his prey at the way it misses - purposefully, splattering against your inner thigh.

Smearing it all over your pussy and your panties - which he was too impatient, too starved - to remove. Messy. 

It’s all Nanami needed to do before he’s bottoming out completely. Pressing his forehead against yours in such a sweet motion, even though his hips were so mean. Drinking in your delirious whines as his heavy balls smack your ass. Over and over-

The duality making your head spin as he fucks his cute lil’ wife dumb, part of his sanity dancing away with his restraint every time your slutty hole sucks him up so deliciously. 

“Shit. More?” he grunts, sounding absolutely wrecked. Moaning at the way you tug at his hair, legs wrapping around his toned waist as if to urge him to go faster. Deeper. Begging. Begging him to ruin you. More more more- 

And, of course, what his girl wants - she gets. Because Nanami’s dragging his weeping tip across your swollen folds, all the way out till he’s collecting your sweet juices on his head. “Better take it like my good wife then.”

Then he’s pushing and pushing inside your tight pussy, but not like he was before. Jagged, desperate grinds of his hip - no adoration, no warmth. Just fucking you like his little slut, high off the idea of fucking his cum into you till you couldn’t walk. Till you were so full of him that he’s all you could think of. “We’ll have such beautiful babies, my love.” 

“Shit shit shit, Kento- yer gonna ruin me-” you’re whining, body torn between arching into Nanami’s unforgiving cock and running away. 

As if you ever had a chance - he was holding you so bruisingly by the hips, gasping into your mouth. “Shhh, that’s the point.”  Fucking you so filthy, each word punctuated by his out-of-control hips, so harsh and unfocused with lust that those tufts of blond at his base scratch your sensitive nub. And the feeling is so fucking obscene that you barely hear the words that follow. “You jus’ focus on taking care of my babies, n’ m’gonna be the one to ruin this pretty cunt- The one to fill you up- fuck. ”

Nanami throws his head back as you squeeze the soul out of his throbbing cock, so pent-up and needy that you’re creaming all over his cock already. And of course, Nanami isn’t any better - because with a strangled groan of your name, he’s cumming. Hard. almost painfully so. 

“N’ you’ll never be lonely, cuz everyone’s gonna see you and see me. I did that.” 

Jolts of electricity going all the way from his heavy balls to the thick, hot ropes of cumming filling your dripping pussy. Painting it all a desperate, desperate white.

And shit was Nanami an entirely different man tonight. Pulling out ever-so-slightly, only to admire his seed gushing out of you - so lewd and his. 

“Y’know what, my love, I don’t think two will be enough after all.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - Pretty (and his)

“Awww, pretty baby.” Geto purrs, in such a dangerously low voice, smacking his tip - so red, and angry - all across your swollen folds. He bites his lip at the way his cum spills down your legs, pooling onto the hardwood floor with a deafening tap! tap! tap! “Y’want it so badly, huh?”

“Shit- hngh- please!”

You don’t know what you’re begging for - maybe release. Maybe mercy. Maybe to be anywhere but here - shoved against the wall right beside the front door, dress hiked up, almost your way to go clubbing with your friends before your beloved boyfriend had caught you. And stuffed you full of his cum, at least.

Whatever it is, Geto only gets messier, teasing your sloppy hole by slamming in - just barely grazing that one spot. And pulling out completely, watching you clench and glisten in the dim lighting. In. And out. In and out in and-

“Sugu!” you squeal, tired of the way he was having way too much making such a mess of your pussy. Swiping at your slick, and shoving his seed back into you - smirking at the obscene mess. 

“Mhm?” he nods absent-mindedly. Eyes flitting between your ravaged pussy and that absolutely adorable pout on your lips. Chuckling, “What~? If I cum in this cute pussy one more time, you’re sure to get pregnant, y’know.” 

Scoffing, “Shoulda thought of that when you came inside me the first time.”

Geto rolls his thumb over your sore clit - just as a little punishment - breath hot against your ear as he whispers raggedly.  “And are you complaining, gorgeous?”

“N-no…” 

“Then?”

He’s licking little circles at the crook of your neck now, in time with the maddening, frenzied patterns on your cunt. Enough friction to keep those pretty lil’ whines spilling from your swollen lips, but still teasing you just enough to have you bucking and keening onto his aching cock for more more more-

“Please! I jus’ want your cock, Sugu-”

All it takes is your broken little whimper, and it’s like something snapped - because Geto’s plunging into your plushy walls completely. Finally giving you an ounce of that friction you’ve been craving for so long. Only half the man he was once before while fucks into you deliriously. 

“F-fuck. Love it when you’re so messy f’me.” he’s hissing lowly, as if you could be anything but messy. As if he’s not pulling you back by the hair to bounce you like some slut, hips snapping mercilessly. As if he isn’t absolutely ruining you.

And maybe if you were in any better state of mind you’d have said something about the pure disrespect in his cock. Fucking you nothing like the sweet sweet whispers he was muttering in your ear, ragged and hoarse with desire.

“Gonna fill you up, huh? Give me some cute lil’ babies?” he groans,nibbling on your earlobe, fingers pressing down around your throat so the only response he gets are wet gurgles. Ones that go straight to his twitching balls, as Geto keeps running his mouth pussydrunk. “They better have your personality, don’ wanna share my pretty girl. Isn’t that right?”

So mean. Just babbling like you rarely get to see him - usually the ever-graceful Geto Suguru. Now, drunk on your tight pussy and the image of you with a little baby with black hair and him - there for it all. His perfect little family. 

“Gonna be the perfect momma, huh?” 

Geto only gets a broken little whimper in response - one that almost makes him want to go easy on you. Almost, instead, he settles for breathing out a ragged, “Fuck fuck fuck, yeah, gorgeous. Squeeze me s’tight like that - jus’ like that jus’ like that-” 

Trailing such a delicate finger up your legs, Geto pools that sinful mixture of your slick and his cum on his fingertips - before shoving them unforgivingly in your mouth. The slightly salty taste was so addictive on your tongue - and, hell, you aren’t even mad that you’re running late to meet your friends.

Smirking as you gag and mewl around him, he only gets sloppier. Faster. Licking a long, languid stripe up your neck, just knowing that he’s gonna cum inside your cute pussy harder than he has his whole life. Have your poor pussy bloated with him him him- “Now, yer gonna go to that lil’ party of yours jus’ like this. And everyone’s gonna know who you belong to.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Can’t help himself

“N-no, swear-” Choso lets out a broken little whimper into the crook of your neck. Feet flat on the bed, hips bucking up mindlessly over and over to where you were splayed out so prettily on top of him. So messy and dripping all over his glistening cock. “Gonna ngh- be the last one- I s-swear.”

You’ve heard this broken little mantra before - and you knew it wouldn’t end well for your poor pussy. Especially not with Choso bullying his weeping cock back into your snug cunt. “But, Cho!” you gasp, “We’re out of-”

He knows you’re out of condoms. But, really, does it matter?

Because shit were you like the gates of heaven spread wide open for him. And, well, here he was - completely pussydrunk, two rounds and a still rock-hard cock later. The only thing on his mind from then on was to not paint your pretty pussy white with his seed, no matter how much he wanted do. 

“Last time, baby. Promise I won’t cum inside.” And then he’s batting this long lashes so unfairly up at you. So fucking beautiful with his dark hair untied, lips swollen, eyes-half-hooded and miles away. And, well, how could you say no to that?

And you’ve barely gotten out your delirious little nod before Choso’s wrapping two strong arms around your waist, pulling you so intimately closer like he worshipped you - while he fucks your hot cunt like anything but. So hard that you knew it would leave marks - your nails on his chest, his balls on your ass, fingers on your waist. 

God, you were squeezing so desperately around him and he just thinks he might just cum right then and there. So fucking perfect that Choso knows he’s never buying another box of condoms ever again. 

“F-fuck, feels s’good. Love having you so deep n’ messy inside me.”

You were going to be the death of him.

“Hngh- fuck fuck fuck, yeah? You like that, baby?” he groans lowly. Abs burning and flexing each time he rams his cock into your tight pussy, absolutely loving the way you were leaking his cum all over the sheets. 

“Shit- I-” 

“Yes, Cho~?”

Face burning in embarrassment, choking pathetically on his words, Choso instead lets his hips do the talking. Strained whimpers of your name leaving him each time he bullies his painfully twitching cock through your plushy walls.

Voice cracking almost-embarrassingly at the end as he rambles, “Oh my god- y’feel so fucking good wrapped around me, baby. Wanna- hngh-” Trying his very best to sound like every cute lil’ whimper didn’t make his thoughts steer into the dangerous territory of how pretty you’d be with his kid. Of a little girl with dark hair and your eyes and-

You. His hips speeding up now, so sloppy with now rhyme or rhythm. How round and glowing you’d be with his kid. You, how everyone would know that he was that ruined your pretty pussy n’ got you this way. You, you, you-

“Wanna cum in this cute pussy, baby.” He finally confesses. Hips getting so messy - mindless, quick little jabs that have you keening on top of him, balls squeezing painfully. “Wanna fill y’up until you can’t take it anymore, fuck you so full until we have a pretty baby. Can I, baby? Please don’t say no please please-”

And at this point all you can do is whine and buck your hips to meet his merciless cadence, letting Choso crane his neck and kiss you senseless. “Fuck yeah. Thought you’d never ask-” you mutter, muffled around where he was sucking on your lips, like they were his favorite candy. “Want you to cum inside me, Cho.”

Well, you didn’t need to tell Choso twice because no sooner have the words left your lips before he’s giving you one harsh thrust. Veins throbbing against your gummy walls, again and again. 

Tears pricking his eyes as he cums with such a guttural grunt of your name. “Gonna have a pretty lil’ girl.” Both white-white pleasure and the image of you and him and his daughter flashing behind his eyes. “She’ll look just as beautiful as you, baby. N’ have your cute smile.”

Your own orgasm is nothing more than a few tingles, overstimulated and limp on top of Choso as stuffs you full of his seed. Thick, white ropes that gushing all the way out of your snug pussy, smearing all over his twitching balls. 

You could get used to this.

And it’s such a heavenly feeling that Choso barely registers his hips moving again, as if on instinct. Fucking mindlessly into you again. Again and again. Gasping, breath hot against your ear. 

“Only one more, baby. Promise.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - A reward

“F-fuck, woman” Sukuna grunts, fingers so bruising on your hips as you slide down his throbbing erection. Inch by fucking inch, keening at the delicious burn. “Y’act so innocent but you’ve got such a slutty lil’ pussy, huh?”

As expected, the only response he gets is an incoherent babble of agreement. Your eyes watering, drool dripping down the corner of your mouth as you struggle to take him. And his sharp eyes narrow in amusement at the sight of his painfully inexperienced consort’s pretty cunt sucking him up so eagerly. Hips stuttering and leaking your sweet, sweet so sloppily juices all over his thighs.

Humans were always such interesting little creatures.

“Tch.”

Slow ones, too, apparently.

Because immediately, Sukuna’s stuffing himself into your sloppy pussy as far as it would go. Groaning at the resitance, a large hand pumping his cock slowly - enticingly - as he fucks his hips in quick, shallow little thrusts, just to fit himself inside your snug cunt. 

And you needed to breathe in and out maybe, relax your plushy walls, but Sukuna wasn’t going to wait. Why would he? He had his favorite woman - not that he’d ever let you know - sat on his lap, legs spread so shamefully and bouncing on his thick cock.

“F-fuck.” his jaw falls slack ever so slightly, groaning at the feeble resistance against his massive cock. Still only half-inside you but still pushing relentlessly. “S’like your pussy was made f’me, brat. Milking me so well.”

“Shit shit shit- hah- ‘Kuna, feel s’good-” you gasp, thighs quivering with the pressure to meet his rough cadence. And Sukuna huffs out a low laugh at your audacity to call his name, feeling charitable enough today to forgive this transgression. 

Instead toying with your pretty clit, pinching and rolling between his thick fingers, loving the way you buck and squeal his name. 

“Hmm, feels good?” he hums dangerously, amused at your barely-lucid little nod. Fucking into you like his personal fucktoy - his favorite one. “Good ‘nough to give me an heir?”

At this your eyes snap open - but not for long because you just have to screw them shut again with Sukuna finally bottoming out in a quick, harsh thrust. Splitting you apart deeper and deeper on his cock, veins throbbing a maddening little bump! bump! bump! matching your heartbeat. 

You barely have the time to breathe out a sigh of relief before he’s fucking into you. Unforgivingly. Like the monster he claims to be. All the blood draining into his achingly dick at the idea of fucking his cum into you until you couldn’t walk. 

And he tells you - chuckling at the cute lil’ ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth each time his fat head hits your cervix. “Y’want that, my little slut? To be my cute plaything to breed? Help m’make the next king of curses?”

Fuck, you don’t know if you’re reeling more from the way he was ramming his cock into you or the way he was talking to you in that mean little tone. 

“Mmm- yes! Yes yes yes!”

“Use your words.”

“Wan’-” you hiccup, batting your lashes at him so tearily, in a way that makes Sukuna’s heart thump so strangely. An uneven little beat matching the led rhythm of his hips. “Wan’ your cum- gonna give you a kid.”

So cockdrunk and delirious, you barely register the way he wrestles your arms behind your back, using it like leverage to bounce you harder and harder on his cock. Only looking up at him with such cute lil’ heart eyes as Sukuna uses you as he pleases. 

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck yeah?‘ he gasps into your open mouth. Teeth latching onto the crook of your neck, biting down right over your pulse. Dangerous. “Gonna make me an heir so powerful. Have him treat you like a queen n’ kill everyone that doesn’t? Ya like that, my lil’ slut?”

“Shit- ah- I want that s’bad, ‘Kuna.”

Knock! Knock! Knock!

And oh how pretty you look, cunt clenching and all surprised at the knock on the door - some lowly human here to beg for their life, maybe. But it doesn’t matter, because Sukuna’s only licks away the big, fat tears streaming down your cheek, hips burning while he breeds you like some animal. Hard, and almost violent.

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same, breathless and shaking on Sukuna’s lap while he fill you with his hot seed. Thick and intoxicating. Hips unstopping, just animalistic little movements from such a carnal part of himself. Over and over-

And you’re so fucking drunk off of your lord’s cock that you barely even realize when he’s thumbing your ravaged cunt open. Letting his cum drip all the way down to his gaudy throne, on full display for whoever was about to-

“Come in.”

It’s adorable how you try to scramble off his lap, trying - and failing - to cover yourself up as the door cracks open. 

“Not yet, woman.” Sukuna grasps you in an iron-hold grip, dangerously sharp nails tethering right at your throat and your hips. Starting to drag you up and down on his swollen cock once more with no concern or care for whoever was about to enter. “Gotta make sure it takes.”

It was filthy. 

Completely debauched. And exactly where you wanted to be. You and your lord - and maybe your future heir, too.

♡ GOJO SATORU - Give ‘em what they want!

“Hah- f-fuck imagine- Imagine I fucked the next s-strongest into you right now.”

Oh. 

You knew by the look in his eyes that something was off - that something hadn’t gone well in that meeting with the elders. Really, it was a miracle he attended in the first place, but somehow you had an inkling that this was the type of something that would have you needing a miracle.

That was three hours ago.

And fuck did you need a miracle - because Gojo had you splayed out on top your office desk, his cum spreading in a pool beneath, you throbbing cock stuffing in and out of your snug cunt while you try not to alert the entirety of Jujutsu High about how needy the great Gojo Satoru was being right now.

Gojo’s ramming his swollen dick into your poor, overstimulated pussy like he was drunk off the sight of you all cockdrunk and in a tight mating press. Moaning at the sting of painfully hard erection twitching inside you, and your nails running down his back. 

Not even bothering to let you adjust this time before he’s fucking you again and again and-

You think it’s a bit unfair, really. Because who were you against the strongest? Well, the pretty lil’ wife who’s going to give him his successor, apparently. 

“Shit- wouldn’t that be funny?” he lets out a humorless laugh, wrestling your legs further and further apart. Eyeing the way you suck him up lewdly, “If I made my kid the strongest n’ just wiped these old fossils out?”

“T-Toru- we’ll get ca-”

“Caught? Who fuckin’ cares, they want a Gojo successor n’ they’re gonna get one.”

He’s letting out his frustration in the way he chases both your highs for the - well, you lost count which orgasm it was at this point. Letting you stain all over the expensive desk as he yells out little curses into your mouth.

And oh how you want to kiss that little furrow in his brow, to whisper away his stress - but, no, the only thing getting Gojo out of this bad mood was to fully and thoroughly ruin his girl’s cute lil’ cunt. 

But Toru-” you sob into his open mouth, hips bucking wildly for more. “What if I can’t give you the strongest…” You know you’re babbling deliriously, little insecurities you didn’t even know you had coming to the surface as it really hits you that shit this is your Gojo. And he’s here. And he’s fucking you until he’s sure you’re pregnant.

“Who gives a shit?” he licks away the big, fat tears streaking down your face. Salty on his tongue while he plays with your pretty clit, rubbing quick, tight little circles on it. 

As if to emphasize his point, Gojo brings his fingertips to his mouth with a lewd pop! So blissfully wrapping his lips around them. Darkened blue eyes rolling to the back of his head at the taste - it only spurs him on more. 

Fingers immediately back down on your clit. Frenzied - like he couldn’t wait any longer, like it killed him to not see you cum again. Body bowing into yours, hand digging and bruising on your hips as he holds your filthy pussy still on his cock, 

“Fuck, gonna give it all to you, sweetheart. M’gonna train them to be the strongest n’ protect their pretty mommy.” 

Sloppy, he was so fucking sloppy - such a mess of teeth and spit and pure desire to paint your walls white. 

“Gonna have my eyes, huh? N’ your hair. Fuck they’re gonna regret bringing this up.” Babbling little nonsenses that drove you mad. He sounded so fucking pathetic, crazed with lust. “Ooooh they’re gonna regret it.” Overstimulated enough that it hurt.

Kissing the side of your ankle beside his head, lacing his fingers together to pull you further and further down his rock-hard cock. Sloppy and moving with no rhyme or reason. “Because they fucking hate me. All of ‘em will look at our kid n’ you - so round and pretty and see me. All me.” 

Now, you’ve heard of orgasms that come out of nowhere - ones that have you convulsing and gripping onto Gojo - the desk, his shoulders, his hair. And this was no different. “Ah! Hngh, Toru m’cumming m’cumming oh-”

Delirious, white-hot pleasure cracking behind his eyes, Gojo’s pumping hot thick, hopes ropes of cum into your poor, overfilled pussy. And shit no thrill of taking out the elders could compare to watching the way his seed drips down the side. Slow, and thick, pooling at his quivering balls as he fucks you like an animal. Over and over and-

“Hey, sweetheart, y’think if I cum in you again, they’ll come out twice as strong?”

“...”

A/N. Plagiarism not authorized.