#i feel like everything i do is just wrong
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areislol · 2 days ago
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hsr!men with a reader who 'stresses' them out to see if they actually like reader that much or not >< HSUDHNS like testing them! kind of. during a post-confession stage where they both kind of know but haven't put any labels on it yet........
AHCK IM SORRY IF THIS IS ODDLY SPECIFIC LOL
pairings. jing yuan, dan heng, blade, welt, sampo, gepard, luocha, caelus, dr ratio, aventurine, boothill, gallagher, moze, jiaoqiu, sunday x gn! reader
warnings. just fluff
a/n. i love this idea sm omg!! this is so cute and adorable, thank you so much for popping in!
wc. 10.6k
synopsis. testing the hsr men to see if they really like you or not...
recommend listening to: blue - yung kai
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caelus
✧ caelus is feeling a mix of patience and confusion. mostly confusion.
✧ you’d stress them out by acting overly distant or cryptic with your words. of course, this would be a bit too mean but.... you needed to know whether or not he truly liked you or not!!!
✧  now caelus always has this quiet confidence about him, a grounded presence that somehow keeps you both intrigued and comforted. you’ve been walking the line between friendship and something more for weeks now—soft smiles, lingering touches, and late-night conversations that stretch into the early morning. but neither of you has made the leap to define it, and the uncertainty starts to gnaw at you.
✧ so, you decide to test him. not out of malice, but out of curiosity—does he care as much as you think he does? or are you misreading everything?
✧ it starts small. you "accidentally" forget your jacket during a particularly chilly day on the xianzhou luofu. "it's fine," you say, feigning nonchalance as you rub your arms. "i’ll survive."
✧ caelus, who notices everything, doesn’t hesitate. without a word, he shrugs off his coat and drapes it over your shoulders. it’s warm and smells faintly like him—clean and earthy.
✧ "you’ll catch a cold," he says simply, his expression unreadable. but the way his fingers linger at your shoulder for a moment longer than necessary sends a shiver down your spine.
✧ okay, you think. that’s a point for him.
✧ but you don’t stop there. later, as the two of you work together to sort some scattered archives, you sigh dramatically. "i’m so bad at this," you say, even though you’ve already figured out the system. "caelus, can you help me? i think i’m doing it all wrong."
✧ he glances at you, eyebrows raised slightly. he knows you’re capable—you’ve proven it plenty of times.
✧ "really?" he asks, his tone soft but teasing. "you seem like you’ve got it handled."
✧ but he still moves to your side, explaining the process again with patience and care. you can’t help but notice how close he stands, the way his arm brushes against yours.
✧ another point, you mentally tally, biting back a smile.
✧ the final "test" happens that evening. the two of you are sitting on a bench overlooking the bustling streets below. you lean your head back, sighing loudly.
✧ "caelus," you start, your tone heavy with faux melancholy, "do you ever think... maybe we’re wasting our time? like, maybe this—whatever this is—isn’t worth it?"
✧ his head snaps toward you so fast you almost laugh. his usual calm demeanor falters for a moment, and there’s a flicker of something raw in his amber eyes.
✧ "what are you trying to say?" he asks, his voice lower than usual.
✧ suddenly, the air feels heavier. you weren’t expecting such a serious reaction, and it makes your chest tighten.
✧ "i mean..." you hesitate, suddenly feeling a little guilty for pushing him. "i don’t know. it just feels like maybe we’re stuck in this limbo, you know?"
✧ he stares at you for a moment, his gaze searching. then, he exhales softly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "if you think this isn’t worth it," he says, his voice steady but quiet, "then tell me. but don’t assume i feel the same."
✧ your heart stutters at his words.
✧ "you don’t?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. he turns to look at you again, his expression soft but serious.
✧ "no," he says firmly. "you mean a lot to me. more than you realize. i’m just... waiting for you to figure out how much you mean to me too."
✧ and just like that, the test is over. you realize you didn’t need to test him at all—he’s always been steady, always been sure. it was you who needed the reassurance, and he gave it to you without hesitation.
✧ as the silence stretches between you, you feel the weight of his coat still draped over your shoulders. you finally let yourself smile, leaning closer to him.
✧ "okay," you murmur. "i get it now."
✧ he doesn’t say anything, but the small, satisfied smile that tugs at his lips says enough.
gepard
✧ poor gepard takes your “test” far too seriously.
✧ (his face falls immediately, and he starts overthinking everything he’s ever done. he’d even try to change his habits, stumbling through awkward attempts to “loosen up.” “i—i can be fun! watch this!” (proceeds to try something clumsy.))
✧ testing gepard’s feelings feels almost unfair. he’s so earnest, so genuine, that you almost feel bad for trying to push his limits. but a little part of you—it’s that gnawing insecurity, that need for reassurance—wants to see how much he’s willing to handle for you.
✧ it starts during a routine patrol around belobog. you walk beside him, pretending to be engrossed in your surroundings, but you’re really watching him out of the corner of your eye. his posture is as perfect as always, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, eyes scanning for any sign of trouble.
✧ "gepard," you say suddenly, interrupting the calm. he turns to you immediately, his expression softening. "yes?"
✧ you fake a dramatic sigh. "do you ever think you work too hard? like... maybe you’re so busy being a model captain that you don’t have time for other things?"
✧ his brows furrow slightly, clearly not expecting this question. "what do you mean?"
✧ "i mean, what if someone in your life needed more of your attention? would you even notice?"
✧ he stops walking, turning to face you fully. there’s a flash of concern in his blue eyes, and you almost feel guilty for how well this is working.
✧ "if someone needed me," he says, his voice steady but laced with worry, "i’d do everything in my power to be there for them. are you... trying to tell me something?"
✧ you wave your hand dismissively, laughing lightly. "oh, no, just a hypothetical. don’t worry about it." he doesn’t look convinced, but he nods and resumes walking, though you notice he stays closer to your side after that.
✧ later, you decide to push a little harder. when the two of you are back at the overworld base, you feign exhaustion, slumping dramatically onto a nearby bench.
✧ "i’m so tired," you complain, rubbing your temples. "today was so stressful. i don’t think i can even move."
✧ before you can say anything else, gepard is already at your side. he crouches slightly, his hands hovering awkwardly as if he’s not sure whether he should offer to help you up or just sit beside you.
✧ "you should have said something earlier," he says, his voice full of concern. "if you’re overworked, you need to take a break. here, let me—"
✧ you cut him off with a teasing smile. "what are you going to do, carry me around belobog like some kind of knight in shining armor?" he freezes for a moment, his cheeks flushing pink. "i mean... if you needed me to, i would."
✧ you weren’t expecting such a sincere answer, and it throws you off balance. your heart flutters, but you’re determined to keep the act going.
✧ "you’re too sweet, gepard," you say with a grin. "but don’t worry, i’m fine. just testing you a little." his blush deepens, and he shifts nervously. "testing me?"
✧ "yeah," you admit, leaning back against the bench. "just wanted to see how far you’d go for me."
✧ he frowns, clearly conflicted. "you don’t need to test me," he says quietly. "if something’s bothering you, you can just tell me. i’d rather you be honest than try to figure things out on your own."
✧ his words hit you harder than you expected, and you suddenly feel a little guilty.
✧ "you’re right," you mumble, looking down at your hands. "sorry, i didn’t mean to make you worry."
✧ he sighs softly, then sits beside you, his shoulder brushing yours. "it’s okay," he says after a moment. "i just... care about you. a lot. and i want you to know that you never have to doubt it."
✧ you glance at him, his expression as open and honest as ever, and your heart aches in the best way.
✧ "thanks, gepard," you say softly.
✧ he smiles, and it’s so warm and genuine that you know you didn’t need to test him in the first place. he’s always been exactly who he says he is—steadfast, caring, and utterly devoted.
✧ “please, don’t do that again. my heart can’t take it. but... i do care about you more than anything.”
dr. ratio
✧ dr. ratio sees through your “stress test” almost immediately, being as perceptive as he is.
✧ testing dr. ratio feels like trying to rattle an unshakable pillar—he’s sharp, meticulous, and composed to the point where you’re almost certain he’ll see through you immediately. but your curiosity gets the better of you. you want to see if the normally calm and collected doctor could ever crack, even slightly, under your antics.
✧ you decide to start small, choosing to "stress" him out during one of his intense research sessions.
✧ "dr. ratio," you call out from across the lab, your tone light and teasing.
✧ he doesn’t look up from his holopad. "yes?"
✧ "can you explain this to me again? i swear i just don’t get it."
✧ you hold up a tablet displaying a simple analysis you’re perfectly capable of interpreting. it’s the third time you’ve asked him about something today, and you’re sure he’s starting to notice.
✧ he sighs, finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. "are you sure you’re not just overthinking it?"
✧ "maybe," you say, shrugging. "or maybe you’re just bad at explaining things."
✧ that earns you a sharp look, and for a split second, you think you’ve actually pushed too far. but then his lips twitch, a flicker of amusement breaking through his usual stoicism.
✧ "bad at explaining things?" he repeats, setting his holopad down. "are you testing my patience, or are you testing my intelligence?"
✧ "both," you reply with a cheeky grin. he chuckles softly, shaking his head. "if you wanted my attention, you could’ve just asked."
✧ despite his calm exterior, you notice the subtle way he shifts closer to you, his focus entirely on you now. you can’t help but feel a small thrill of triumph, though you know you’re playing with fire.
✧ later, you decide to up the stakes. while he’s meticulously organizing data, you lean against the desk, deliberately placing your hand over one of his charts.
✧ "do you ever think about taking a break?" you ask, tilting your head at him. "you work so much, it’s like you’re married to your lab."
✧ he arches an eyebrow, his gaze flicking to your hand covering his work. "and if i am? does that bother you?"
✧ "a little," you admit, your tone teasing. "what if you end up ignoring more important things?"
✧ he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as he studies you. "and what would those ‘important things’ be?"
✧ his voice is calm, but there’s a glint in his eyes that makes you feel like you’ve walked right into his trap. "me, obviously," you say, trying to maintain your confidence.
✧ he hums thoughtfully, as if considering your words. then, without warning, he reaches out and gently flicks your forehead.
✧ "you’re not very subtle," he says, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
✧ "ouch," you say, rubbing your forehead with a pout. "was that necessary?"
✧ "completely," he replies smoothly. "if you’re going to test me, at least make it challenging."
✧ his words leave you flustered, and you quickly retreat from his desk, muttering something about needing fresh air. but later, when he finds you in the lounge, he sets a cup of tea in front of you without a word.
✧ "what’s this for?" you ask, looking up at him.
✧ "you seemed tense earlier," he says simply. "and since you’re so concerned about me ignoring important things, I thought I’d remind you that you’re one of them."
✧ your heart skips a beat at his casual declaration, and for once, you’re at a loss for words. he smirks at your reaction, clearly pleased with himself, before walking away, leaving you to process his unexpected yet reassuring gesture.
✧ turns out, dr. ratio isn’t so easy to test—but he makes it clear that he’s always paying attention.
✧ however, he sits you down for a serious talk afterward. “you don’t need to test me. i like you—that much should be obvious by now.”
aventurine
✧ aventurine takes your antics in stride but is clearly not one to tolerate nonsense for long.
✧ but in all seriousness it feels like you're trying to move a mountain. his steadfastness and confidence make it seem impossible to throw him off balance, but you’re determined to see how deep his patience and affection run. you tell yourself it’s just curiosity, but deep down, you crave the reassurance that this larger-than-life man truly feels the same way you do.
✧ it begins subtly, during one of his routine mineral inspections. he’s meticulously cataloging a haul of rare crystals when you decide to “help.”
✧ “aventurine, what’s this one called?” you ask, holding up a dazzling gem you already know the name of.
✧ he barely glances up, his deep voice calm and measured. “that’s a starshard geode. its structure is—”
✧ “wait, wait,” you interrupt, turning it over in your hands. “are you sure? it kinda looks like... a moonstone?”
✧ his head finally lifts, and he looks at you with a mixture of amusement and mild disbelief. “a moonstone? not even close. are you trying to challenge my expertise?”
✧ “maybe,” you tease, placing the gem back in the wrong compartment.
✧ he sighs, but there’s no frustration in his expression, only a patient shake of his head as he moves the gem back to its proper place. “you’re impossible,” he mutters, though there’s a small smile tugging at his lips.
✧ later, you decide to turn up the heat. as he’s polishing a massive chunk of raw celestium, you sit nearby, swinging your legs off the edge of the table.
✧ “aventurine,” you say sweetly.
✧ “mm?” he responds without looking up.
✧ “do you ever get tired of being around me?”
✧ that gets his attention. he pauses mid-polish, his golden eyes narrowing slightly as he turns to face you fully. “what kind of question is that?”
✧ you shrug, feigning nonchalance. “i mean, i can be annoying sometimes. don’t you ever just... wish for some peace and quiet?”
✧ he sets the celestium down with deliberate care and crosses his arms, his imposing figure suddenly feeling even larger.
✧ “you’re trying to get a reaction out of me,” he says plainly, his voice as steady as the ground beneath your feet.
✧ “what? me? no way,” you reply, trying to sound innocent.
✧ he steps closer, leaning down so his face is level with yours. his expression is serious, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his gaze.
✧ “if i wanted peace and quiet, i wouldn’t be here,” he says firmly. “do you really think i’d waste my time with someone i don’t care about?”
✧ his straightforwardness leaves you momentarily stunned, and he chuckles softly at your silence. “you don’t need to test me, you know,” he adds, his tone softening. “if you have doubts, just ask. i don’t like games, but i’ll always give you the truth.”
✧ you feel a pang of guilt for pushing him, but his reassurance warms your heart. “sorry,” you mumble, looking down. “i just wanted to be sure...”
✧ he reaches out, gently lifting your chin so you’re forced to meet his gaze.
✧ “then let me make it clear,” he says, his golden eyes unwavering. “you matter to me. and that’s not going to change, no matter how many gems you mislabel.”
✧ you laugh softly, the tension melting away as his words sink in. it was clear that his affection for you is as solid and enduring as the earth itself.
boothill
✧ boothill is rough around the edges but has a soft spot for you, so your little test catches him off guard.
✧ boothill's unmovable, stone-faced, and never shows signs of cracking, no matter what you throw his way. but that’s exactly why you’re so curious. you’ve seen his stoic side, his professionalism, and his dedication, but does that mean there’s any space for you in that heart of his? you decide to try and test the waters.
✧ it begins in a quiet moment, after a long mission. you’re both back at the base, sitting side by side on a bench. boothill is cleaning his weapon, his focus so intense that it feels like nothing in the world could distract him. you watch him for a moment, then decide to start.
ïżœïżœÂ â€œboothill,” you call out softly.
✧ he doesn’t look up, but you see his fingers pause for a fraction of a second before he resumes cleaning his weapon.
✧ “yeah?”
✧ “do you ever wonder if you’re too... distant? i mean, you’re always so focused, so serious. don’t you ever need to relax a bit?”
✧ he glances at you now, his piercing gaze meeting yours for just a second. but he doesn’t answer right away, instead just continuing with his task.
✧ “relaxing isn’t exactly something i prioritize,” he replies with his usual calm. “there’s work to be done.”
✧ you scoff lightly, pushing your luck a little. “work, work, work. what about you, huh? when’s it your turn to... i don’t know, enjoy life? have some fun?”
✧ he looks at you then, and there’s something almost unreadable in his expression. his eyes soften just a fraction, and he lets out a small sigh.
✧ “if you think i don’t enjoy life, you’re wrong,” he says, voice low but surprisingly tender. “i just don’t need distractions.”
✧ you press a little more, feeling a mischievous spark inside you. “so, you’re saying you don’t need me to distract you?”
✧ boothill stops what he’s doing for a moment, and this time, he stares at you, really staring. for a split second, you think you’ve gone too far. but then he leans back, folding his arms across his chest, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
✧ “testing me, huh?” he says, his voice laced with dry amusement. “you’re a little more persistent than i expected.”
✧ you shrug nonchalantly, hoping your nonchalance hides the fact that your heart is pounding. “i just want to know if you care, boothill. i mean, you’re so... detached sometimes. how do i know it’s not all just professional to you?”
✧ his gaze softens, and for a brief moment, there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that catches you off guard. then, without warning, he reaches out and gently grabs your hand, pulling it into his lap.
✧ “care?” he murmurs, his thumb stroking the back of your hand in slow, deliberate movements. “i care more than you know.”
✧ your breath catches in your throat, and you feel the weight of his words settle over you like a blanket. the walls he’s built around himself are still there, but now, you realize that inside, there’s room for you.
✧ “you don’t need to test me for that,” he adds, his voice low and reassuring. “just... don’t expect me to show it the same way as everyone else.”
✧ you can feel the sincerity in his touch, in his gaze, and something inside you finally clicks. boothill’s love is subtle, understated, and a little rough around the edges, but it’s real.
✧ “i get it,” you whisper, squeezing his hand gently. “sorry for making you doubt me.”
✧ he chuckles quietly, a rare sound that makes your heart flutter. “you’re relentless. but that’s why i like you.”
✧ and there it is—he may not always wear his heart on his sleeve, but boothill’s love for you is unwavering, and that’s something you can rely on, even if it’s not always obvious.
gallagher
✧ gallagher is as easygoing as they come, but even he has limits.
✧ it starts innocently enough—just a playful attempt to poke at his carefully maintained composure. he’s in the middle of preparing a meal, the scent of fresh herbs and sizzling meat filling the air as he moves about the kitchen with his usual precision. you, however, are seated at the table, tapping your fingers lightly against the wood, watching him with a raised eyebrow.
✧ “gallagher,” you start, your voice casual but laced with curiosity.
✧ “hm?” he replies, glancing at you briefly before returning to his task.
✧ “how do you always manage to keep your cool? i mean, don’t you ever get tired of being so... well, perfect?”
✧ he doesn’t look up this time, but there’s a subtle shift in the air, like he’s sensing you’re trying to test him. his movements are smooth and measured, and he doesn’t skip a beat as he finishes plating the food.
✧ “there’s no point in losing composure over things that don’t matter,” he says matter-of-factly, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “chaos doesn’t make for a good meal.”
✧ you bite your lip, leaning back in your chair. “so, you’re saying everything has to be ‘in its place’ with you? even with people?”
✧ his hands freeze for just a moment, and you catch a flicker of something in his expression—maybe amusement, maybe something else. but it’s gone as quickly as it came. he finishes plating the meal with a soft sigh, setting the plate in front of you.
✧ “i’m not a machine, if that’s what you’re implying,” he says, finally meeting your gaze. “i’m not perfect. i just prefer things to be organized—helps with focus.”
✧ you raise an eyebrow, pushing a bit more. “oh? and does that mean you like it when people don’t mess with your focus? or is that just a ‘you’ thing?”
✧ gallagher pauses, studying you carefully. for a moment, the air is thick with tension, but then he smirks slightly, a glimmer of teasing in his eyes.
✧ “messing with my focus?” he repeats, his voice playful now. “is that what you’re doing? because, if i’m being honest, it’s working. you’ve got my attention now.”
✧ you blink, taken aback by his response. you expected him to brush it off, but instead, he steps closer, his presence a little more imposing now.
✧ “you know,” he continues, his tone lower, “you’re not as subtle as you think you are. but i’ll give you points for persistence.”
✧ you try to recover, but there’s something about the way he looks at you that leaves you speechless for a moment.
✧ “persistence?” you murmur, a little breathless.
✧ he nods, his smile softening just enough to show you that it’s genuine. “you’ve got a lot of questions, but i don’t need to play games with you. if you want answers, just ask. you don’t have to test me to find out if i’m interested.”
✧ his words hit you harder than you expected, and you realize that gallagher isn’t someone to hide his feelings. it’s not that he’s cold—he’s just direct. he’ll never say it in the way you might expect, but his actions speak louder than anything else.
✧ “i guess i’m just used to waiting for things to fall into place,” you admit, trying to play it cool.
✧ he leans in slightly, the faintest hint of humor in his eyes. “you don’t have to wait with me. i’m already here.”
✧ his tone is simple, but it carries a weight of meaning that makes your heart skip a beat. gallagher doesn’t do drama, but when he gives you his attention, it’s clear that he’s all in, no matter how much he might downplay it.
moze
✧ moze is a man of few words, and your antics genuinely confuse him. 😰😰
✧  he's calm, composed, and always so serious, which makes you determined to break through that cold, unreadable exterior. you’ve decided to test his limits, just to see if you can get a real reaction out of him.
✧ it starts on a typical day after a mission. you’re sitting across from him in the common room, watching as he pores over some data logs. your usual routine involves making things just a little more interesting for him, because let’s face it—moze needs to lighten up.
✧ “moze,” you say, a grin tugging at your lips.
✧ he doesn’t look up, but you can see the slight twitch of his eyebrow. “what is it?”
✧ you make a show of examining the ceiling, tapping your chin dramatically. “have you ever wondered if the world is actually upside down? like, maybe gravity's all wrong, and we’re just... stuck to the floor by pure luck?”
✧ moze pauses for a split second, probably wondering how you can turn a perfectly normal moment into this. then, without missing a beat, he glances at you, deadpan.
✧ “if the world was upside down, i assume you'd be the one stuck on the ceiling by pure luck,” he says flatly, already returning to his work.
✧ you burst into laughter, but moze doesn’t even flinch, just continues typing, his expression still as composed as ever. he’s like a stone statue, and it’s honestly a little impressive.
✧ “okay, okay,” you say, wiping a tear from your eye. “let’s try something different.” you lean forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. “do you ever get bored? you know, just sitting there all serious, pretending like you’re too busy to talk?”
✧ this time, he doesn’t even look up from his work. “bored? No. Are you trying to see how far you can push me before i snap?”
✧ you nod, trying not to smile too widely. “yep! How’s it going so far?”
✧ moze lets out a soft sigh, clearly unamused but still managing to hold his ground. “i’m doing great. You, on the other hand... are a handful.”
✧ “a handful? me?” you gasp dramatically, clutching your chest. “I’m hurt, moze. I’m just trying to keep things interesting around here!”
✧ his lips twitch ever so slightly, but it’s almost imperceptible. “you’re making it interesting... in the same way that throwing a tantrum in a library is interesting.”
✧ you tilt your head, pretending to consider this for a moment. “so, you’re saying you don’t like chaos?”
✧ “i like order,” he says, never looking away from the screen. “but if you’re asking if you can test my patience, then yes, you’re doing a very good job of that.”
✧ you giggle, thoroughly entertained by the way he’s handling you. "oh, come on, just admit it. you love the chaos! You secretly think it's hilarious when I mess with you."
✧ moze looks up at you for the first time in a while, his expression still all business but with the tiniest glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “if by hilarious, you mean mildly irritating, then yes.”
✧ “mildly?!” you gasp in faux offense. “I’m doing my best here, moze! how could you rate my efforts so low?”
✧ he leans back slightly in his chair, finally breaking his stoic routine. “honestly, i’m impressed you’re still going. most people would’ve given up by now.”
✧ “well, i'm not ‘most people,’ am I?” you reply with a cheeky smile.
✧ he smirks ever so slightly, though it’s mostly to himself. “no. clearly.”
✧ you can’t help but giggle, because while moze definitely isn’t as easily rattled as others, it’s clear he’s starting to find the humor in your antics.
✧ “admit it, moze,” you tease. “i’m the most fun you’ve had all week.”
✧ he raises an eyebrow, finally closing the data pad and turning his full attention to you. “if by ‘fun’ you mean ‘annoying distraction,’ then yes.”
✧ you stick your tongue out at him playfully. “you love me, admit it.”
✧ moze chuckles dryly, though it’s far from his usual serious tone. “you’re impossible. But for some reason, i don’t mind.”
✧ “there it is!” you exclaim, pointing dramatically. “the confession! finally!”
✧ he sighs, but there’s a hint of fondness in his eyes now. “don’t push your luck. i’m still not letting you off the hook for the chaos you’ve caused.”
✧ you grin, leaning back in your seat, satisfied. “you can’t get rid of me that easily, moze. get used to it.”
✧ “i’m already used to it,” he mutters under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head.
jiaoqiu
✧ jiaoqiu is calm and composed, but your “test” slowly chips away at his patience.
✧ his idea of "testing" his patience feels almost like trying to mess with a finely tuned recipe—you know that if you push too far, something could spoil, but you can't resist seeing how he’ll react. the thing about jiaoqiu is that he’s blind, but that doesn’t stop him from being as sharp as a knife when it comes to his senses. especially when it comes to cooking—his true passion.
✧ you’ve noticed something about him, though. the more you “stress” him, the more attentive he gets, in his own way. it’s kind of like the game’s in his favor, and you’re slowly realizing he might be playing right along with you.
✧ one evening, you’re hanging out in the kitchen with jiaoqiu, and you’ve already decided to take your "testing" to the next level. as he prepares some of his signature dishes—no surprise, they're the most complex meals imaginable, even though he can't see a thing—you're doing your best to throw him off.
✧ “jiaoqiu, are you sure you don’t want me to help with that? it looks... dangerous,” you tease, noticing the steam rising from the pot in front of him.
✧ “dangerous?” he repeats, clearly amused but not thrown off. he moves deftly around the kitchen, the sound of his chopping board in the background. “my dear, cooking isn’t dangerous unless you’re trying to make something impossible.”
✧ you laugh softly, leaning against the counter. “so, you’re saying if I started pulling the wrong spices out, you wouldn’t even notice?”
✧ he pauses, then lets out a small chuckle of his own. “i might not see it, but i can certainly smell it. and don’t think i don’t know when you’re reaching for something you shouldn’t be.”
✧ you feign shock, dramatically holding your hands up as if caught in the act. “i would never! i have complete respect for your culinary expertise!”
✧ jiaoqiu hums, as if pondering your words, but then he continues his cooking with that quiet confidence he always carries. “you’d be more convincing if you didn’t have that mischievous glint in your eye.”
✧ your grin widens. it’s clear he’s onto you now, but you still try to push. “well, how would you know? You can't see, after all.”
✧ “true,” he replies calmly, “but i know the sounds of the kitchen well enough. if you were to drop something, or mess with the ingredients... i’d hear it. the rhythm of it all gives me a good idea of what’s happening.”
✧ you blink, stunned. you had been testing him, but jiaoqiu seems to always be one step ahead. how does he know? how can he be so confident?
✧ “and,” he adds, his voice still soft but with a hint of playfulness, “i know you, [your name].”
✧ you laugh, finally admitting defeat. “okay, okay! you got me. but seriously, how do you do it? how do you know where everything is?”
✧ he pauses his cooking and turns toward you, his voice warm yet full of humor. “let’s say i’ve had a lot of practice. and when you love something as much as i love cooking, you learn to rely on all your senses, not just sight. even when you can’t see, your other senses fill in the gaps.”
✧ you watch him work for a moment, and despite his lack of eyesight, he’s a master in the kitchen. it’s clear that his expertise comes from much more than just the act of cooking; it’s a connection to the ingredients, the textures, the sounds of each step.
✧ “okay, but what if i really messed something up? what if i did something totally wrong, just to mess with you?”
✧ he raises an eyebrow—something that’s only visible through his voice, but you get the feeling he’s smirking. “well, if you did that, i’d probably just end up fixing it before you even noticed. and then i’d make you do the dishes.”
✧ you groan, defeated but also thoroughly entertained. “you’re way too good at this.”
✧ “you’re the one testing me, not the other way around,” jiaoqiu reminds you, returning his focus to his cooking. but this time, you can hear the faint warmth in his tone, a reassurance that’s just for you. “but don’t worry, i’m not going to let you ruin dinner. even if you try to be a little mischievous.”
✧ there’s something comforting in the way he handles it all—the teasing, the games you play, even the mess-ups you deliberately throw his way. he may not be able to see you, but you know he can feel your presence, your energy, and you can’t help but feel safe in it. despite his teasing, despite the quiet confidence, jiaoqiu has a way of making everything feel just... right.
✧ “next time,” you say, grinning, “i’m going to really throw you off.”
✧ jiaoqiu just laughs softly, shaking his head as he finishes up his dish. “i’ll be waiting, [your name]. i’ll be waiting.”
✧  “but uh, next time, just ask me. there’s no need for this kind of... drama.”
sunday
✧ sunday is all sunshine and joy, but even he can get flustered when you start testing him.
✧ sunday is a halovian, with those distinct small fluffy wings nestled around his neck—adorably soft and always twitching with his every mood. you’ve learned that while he might seem all chill and sunny on the surface, he’s got his own quirks, and if you push him far enough, he’s more likely to play along than snap at you.
✧ one day, you’re lounging in the living area, and sunday’s sitting across from you, lazily flipping through a book. you can’t resist; it’s time for some mischief.
✧ “hey, sunday,” you call, trying to hide your grin.
✧ “yeah?” he replies, looking off guard. "have you ever been nervous before? like, nervous nervous?"
✧ “nervous? me? c’mon, i’m practically impossible to ruffle.” he gives you a lighthearted shrug, but you can see the playful challenge in his eyes. he’s used to keeping things breezy, but you’ve caught his attention now.
✧ you press on, deciding to have a little more fun with this. “oh really? well, let’s see... I’ve got a whole list of ways I could mess with you.”
✧ sunday doesn’t seem fazed at first, but you notice the way his fluffy wings twitch a little more with each word you say. it’s like a radar for his mood—you know he’s still calm, but there’s something in the way his feathers ruffle when he’s listening to you.
✧ “well, you’ll have to be a lot sneakier than that if you want to get under my skin,” he says, flashing you that signature grin of his, but now you can see a little spark of competitiveness in his eyes.
✧ you, of course, aren’t backing down. “let’s see if i can. hey, sunday, do you ever get tired of being all... perfect?” you ask, making air quotes around "perfect" with your hands.
✧ sunday’s wings flutter again, and this time, you catch the faintest shift in his posture. “perfect?” he asks, trying to play it off, but there’s a subtle twitch in the fluff near his neck. “you’re really gonna call me perfect? what’s wrong with that?”
✧ oh, he’s biting now. perfect. you lean in, voice teasing. “well, it just seems a little... too easy, don’t you think? i mean, you’re always so relaxed, always in control. how do you even do it?”
✧ you can see sunday’s lips twitch in amusement, and his wings give an exaggerated little flutter, like they’re bristling. he’s definitely aware now, but the best part is how he's trying to play it cool, still acting like he’s the one in control.
✧ “you really think i’ve got it all under control, huh?” he responds, a bit of a challenge creeping into his tone. “well, i guess i am pretty awesome. i mean, who could resist all this charm?” he gestures to himself dramatically, his wings fluffing out like he’s proud of the effect they have.
✧ you laugh, but don’t let up. “oh, i’m sure the charm works, but... do you ever get tired of being this smooth?” you tease, pretending to think it over. “i mean, surely you get a little flustered once in a while, right? just a little bit?”
✧ that’s when you see it—a small, barely perceptible shift. sunday’s wings twitch against his neck, brushing lightly as he tries to keep his expression neutral, but you catch it. there’s a softening in his demeanor, a slight heat creeping into his tone.
✧ “huh. so now i’m too smooth?” he teases, but it’s a little less confident now. “maybe you’re just getting good at finding my weak spots.”
✧ you smile, leaning back triumphantly. “maybe. or maybe you’re just too easy to read, sunday.”
✧ he narrows his eyes playfully, but you catch the small, almost imperceptible shift in his posture as his wings flutter just a little more. it's like they’re signaling his internal shift—he’s starting to realize you’re not just playing around.
✧ “okay, okay,” sunday says with a dramatic sigh, his wings now fully unfurled behind him like a soft, fluffy halo. he rubs the back of his neck and gives you a teasing look. “you wanna stress me out, huh? well, guess i’ll have to turn the tables a little.”
✧ with that, sunday leans closer, grinning mischievously. his wings brush against his neck again, this time on purpose, causing a soft, tickling sensation that makes you jump a little.
✧ “how’s this?” he asks, and now, you realize—he’s playing his own game. “i think we’re gonna see how you handle me.”
✧ sunday’s easygoing nature mixed with his unexpected turn in this little game makes it all the more fun. as he continues to toy with you, you can’t help but laugh at how well he’s handled your antics.
✧ “alright, alright,” you admit, finally letting the game end, “you win. i’ll stop testing your patience... for now.”
✧ his wings flutter triumphantly behind him as he gives you a mock salute, his grin still wide and playful. “you’re welcome to try again any time, [name]. but you should know—I don’t get flustered that easily. unless...” he pauses, giving you a teasing look, “...you do something even crazier next time.”
✧ you can’t help but smile back. sunday’s laid-back nature might be hard to crack, but it’s clear—he does enjoy the game, and in the end, he’s always up for a little bit of fun at your expense.
jing yuan
✧ jing yuan usually keeps his composure, but when you start “testing” his patience, he begins to crack ever so slightly.
✧ jing yuan is the epitome of calm, controlled elegance. he carries himself like a well-balanced scale, measured in his actions and words, always composed, always unfazed. but when you start testing him that balance teeters, just a little, though he’s careful to maintain his outward serenity.
✧ you know he's a man of patience, but every person has their breaking point—and you're curious to see how far you can push his.
✧ it all starts innocently enough, a bit of teasing and mild mischief on your part. you might "accidentally" misplace his paperwork, or maybe ask him endless trivial questions when you know he’s buried in his work. you’re not being cruel, of course—just playful, testing the waters to see if he’ll falter.
✧ he humors you at first, a chuckle escaping his lips when you ask something particularly silly. “what is it, my dear?” he asks, a gentle smile tugging at his lips, his golden eyes never leaving his work. “another question for me?”
✧ but as the questions come one after another, you start to notice a shift. his pen slows, and for a moment, his fingers still. he leans back in his chair, gaze lifting to meet yours.
“you’re playing a dangerous game, my dear,” he says, his voice low, but laced with amusement. “are you testing me to see if i’ll lose interest? because i can assure you, i won’t.”
✧ there’s a sharpness to his tone now, the calm facade slipping just slightly. it's subtle, but you catch it—a flicker of something deeper behind his eyes. his gaze darkens with an unreadable emotion, and for the first time, you wonder if you've pushed him too far.
✧ but you’re not one to back down easily, so you keep going, shifting the game into a new gear. you become a little more persistent, trying to get under his skin without being too obvious. you ask more ridiculous questions, throw in more distractions, all in the name of seeing how he reacts. surely, a man like jing yuan, so steady and composed, would get annoyed eventually, right?
✧ you watch him for a long moment, his gaze steady and unwavering. His fingers tap lightly on the edge of the desk, his lips curling into a knowing smile.
✧ "is that what you're after?" he asks, his voice softer, but with a certain challenge in it. "you wish to see how far i'll bend? to see if i can be swayed by such... antics?"
✧ your breath catches in your throat, and you wonder if you’ve finally crossed the line. but instead of growing irritated, jing yuan does something entirely unexpected. he sets his pen down with a deliberate motion and stands up, walking around to your side of the desk. his presence looms over you in the most comforting, yet commanding way.
✧ before you can even react, he reaches for your hand, his touch warm and steady. “i can’t help but wonder
” he begins, his voice dipping into something more intimate, more affectionate than you were prepared for. “did you think you could test me without consequences?”
✧ you blink up at him, the playful tension suddenly replaced by a sense of vulnerability. there’s something in his eyes now, a deep knowing.
✧ without waiting for an answer, he leans down, his lips brushing lightly against your ear. “you’re not the only one who can play games, [name],” he murmurs, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine.
✧ you’re thrown off balance. the tables have turned, and now it’s you who’s feeling slightly flustered. where you were once testing him, now he’s testing you. he’s suddenly more attentive, more affectionate, drawing you in with every word, every touch.
✧ he chuckles softly when he sees your reaction, his golden eyes glinting with amusement. “you didn’t think i’d let you have all the fun, did you?” he teases. “i must admit, i’m rather enjoying this.”
✧ you open your mouth to respond, but all you manage is a soft laugh, caught between trying to keep your composure and wanting to give in to the sudden wave of warmth he’s throwing your way.
✧ “alright, jing yuan,” you say, trying to maintain your cool, but failing miserably. “i’ll admit defeat... for now.”
✧ his smile widens, a gentle but confident grin. “defeat? no, my dear. this isn’t about defeat. this is about knowing where we stand. and now that i’ve shown you, i expect no more games.”
✧ his words hang in the air like a promise, and you realize he’s not just testing you—he’s reassuring you, in his own way. with him, you never had to worry about being lost in his affection, because it’s clear: he’s always there, steady as ever.
✧ and just like that, the game you started has ended—only now, it’s more than you ever expected.
dan heng
✧ dan heng is the embodiment of calm and collected. his reserved nature and stoic expression almost never crack, even under the most trying of circumstances. it takes a lot to throw him off balance, which is why you’ve made it your mission to see if you can break that calm demeanor of his—just a little.
✧ at first, you start small. maybe you ask him to help you with something you’re perfectly capable of doing yourself, like reaching for a book you’re clearly just a bit too lazy to grab. you catch him off guard, but as expected, he’s kind enough to help without comment.
✧ “thank you, dan heng,” you say with an exaggerated sigh of relief.
✧ he gives you a short, quiet nod, his expression unchanged. “it’s no trouble,” he mutters, though there’s a faint suspicion in his voice.
✧ you smile innocently, but it’s not lost on you how quickly he’s growing aware of your game. so, you keep at it, asking for more and more “help” with things you’re fully capable of doing on your own. every time he obliges, you see his eyes narrow ever so slightly, and you can almost feel the gears turning in his head as he processes what's going on.
✧ “dan heng,” you ask one day, leaning into the playful tension between you two, “could you pass me the salt?” the shaker’s right in front of you, of course.
✧ there’s a long pause. his gaze flicks over to the salt shaker, then back to you, his brow furrowing just the tiniest bit. “you’re not really that helpless, are you?” he asks, his voice quiet but sharp.
✧ you feign surprise. “i’m not? you sure?”
✧ he doesn’t respond right away, his fingers tapping lightly on the surface of the table. you can practically see the wheels turning behind his eyes.
✧ “i know you’re not,” he says finally, voice even but tinged with a little irritation now. “so, what are you trying to prove?”
✧ you chuckle softly, realizing you’ve definitely gotten under his skin now. but it’s more out of curiosity than malice—you want to see how far you can go before he snaps, how long he’ll let you test him before he turns the tables.
✧ “oh, nothing,” you say innocently. “just wanted to see if you’d do it without asking questions.”
✧ dan heng’s eyes narrow, and for the first time in this little game, he seems to truly study you, as if trying to gauge your intentions.
✧ “you’re not as subtle as you think,” he finally says, his tone firm but not unkind. “you’re trying to get a reaction out of me, aren’t you?”
✧ you grin, leaning back with a satisfied look. “maybe... what’s the harm?”
✧ dan heng stands up from his seat, a deep sigh escaping his lips as he slowly gathers his things. you know you’ve pushed him a little, but you’re unsure if he’s genuinely upset or just playing along.
✧ “fine,” he mutters. “you want a reaction? here it is.”
✧ you blink as he steps closer, his usual reserved demeanor slipping as he looks down at you with a slight, almost imperceptible frown. “if i didn’t care about you, i wouldn’t even be here, helping you with these ridiculous requests. so, stop trying to push my patience.”
✧ you freeze for a moment, surprised at how direct and blunt he’s being. there’s no anger in his words—just a quiet frustration, the kind that comes from realizing how much you’ve been testing him.
✧ he lets out a short laugh, shaking his head as if he can’t quite believe what he’s dealing with. “honestly, i’m not sure if you’re trying to get me to lose my patience or just see how far you can push me.”
✧ you smile sheepishly, knowing you’ve been a little relentless with your “tests.” “i guess a bit of both,” you admit, but there’s a softness in your voice now. “i just wanted to see if you’d care enough to call me out on it.”
✧ dan heng sighs deeply, but now there’s a warmth to his expression that wasn’t there before. he steps closer and places a hand gently on your shoulder, the touch more tender than you expected. “i care enough to call you out, even if it means putting up with your nonsense.”
✧ it’s quiet for a moment, but you can feel the sincerity in his words. you’ve definitely ruffled his calm, but in a way that shows just how much he’s paying attention, how much he truly cares for you.
✧ you laugh lightly, not expecting him to be so honest about it, but secretly glad to know you’ve gotten through to him. “i’ll try not to test you so much, okay?”
✧ dan heng shakes his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “i’ll believe it when i see it.”
welt yang
✧ welt, being the mature and experienced gentleman he is, notices your little “test” immediately.
✧ the man is used to dealing with delicate matters, whether in his long history of research, his time as a historian, or the countless responsibilities that come with leading in times of crisis. so, when you start testing his patience, you know it’s going to take a lot more than a small inconvenience to shake him. that being said, you enjoy challenging him, just a little, to see how far you can push him.
✧ you start off small, of course. asking him the most trivial questions when he’s in the middle of reading one of his ancient books. “hey, welt,” you say sweetly, “do you think this book is boring?” the book’s not even in your hands, and he knows that you’re probably more interested in him than in the actual content of the text.
✧ at first, he doesn’t mind. he chuckles softly and lowers the book, humoring you with a small smile. “if i’m being honest, i would say it depends on your taste in reading. but you do know i can’t really afford distractions right now, right?”
✧ you smile, but this isn’t nearly enough to throw him off. you push again, dropping little hints like the fact that he’s been at his desk for hours on end and could probably use a break. you make a comment about how he’s always so serious, so focused, and maybe you should help him lighten up.
✧ “you know,” you tease, “you work too hard. you should take a break. come on, just for a minute?”
✧ welt sets the book down and looks at you, raising an eyebrow. “i’m not sure if i would call it ‘work’ if i’m doing something i enjoy, but i do appreciate the concern. perhaps you have something else in mind to keep me occupied?”
✧ his tone is light, playful even, but there’s something in his eyes that suggests he’s well aware of your intentions. he’s not the type to get easily upset, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t picked up on your little game.
✧ “you really know how to throw me off track, don’t you?” he says with a smile, clearly amused by your antics. “is this your way of seeing how far i’ll go before i lose my cool?”
✧ you grin, not backing down. “maybe. you seem so calm all the time. i wanted to know if i could make you flinch, just a little.”
✧ welt lets out a soft laugh, leaning back in his chair. “you’re testing me now, aren’t you? i suppose i should’ve expected as much from you.”
✧ you notice his hands move to the side of his glasses, adjusting them ever so slightly, and that’s when you realize: he’s fully aware of what’s going on.
✧ “you know, it’s cute that you think i’m impervious to distractions,” he continues, clearly enjoying your playful attempts. “but perhaps you underestimate how well i’ve learned to focus in the midst of chaos.”
✧ you can’t help but laugh at that, realizing that no matter how hard you try, you’re not going to make him flinch. he’s too smooth, too used to handling these kinds of things.
✧ “maybe i should stop testing you,” you say, a bit sheepishly. “you’re just too good at staying calm.”
✧ welt smiles knowingly. “i’ve had plenty of practice, but if you really want to test me further, i’m sure there are other ways to do so.” he leans forward, raising an eyebrow, his voice turning just a bit teasing. “but i’m not so easily caught off guard, dear. if you want to see me lose my composure, you’ll have to be a little more creative.”
✧ you blink in surprise at how easily he flipped the situation on its head, and then it dawns on you: you’ve just been outplayed.
✧ he notices the realization in your expression and gives you an amused glance. “now, if you’re really interested, i can give you some advice on how to keep your distractions less obvious in the future. but don’t expect me to fall for it again so easily.”
✧ you can’t help but laugh. “alright, alright, you win this round.”
✧ welt chuckles softly, picking up his book again. “it’s not about winning or losing, but about knowing how to handle what comes your way. and if you ever need a distraction, you know where to find me.”
✧ “but do you know, if you want reassurance, you only need to ask. i don’t play games when it comes to my feelings for you.” my man does NOT play when it comes to you!! đŸ™…â€â™€ïž đŸ™…â€â™€ïž
blade
✧ he is stoic, so basically this feels like poking a sleeping tiger. you’d try to stress him out by being overly affectionate in public or daringly teasing him in front of the stellaron hunters.
✧ blade is a man of few words, and even fewer smiles. so when you start poking at him, trying to get a rise out of him, you know you’re walking a fine line. but that’s exactly what you want, isn’t it? to see just how much you can push before he cracks.
✧ it starts with small, playful jabs. teasing him about his stoic nature, of course. you know he’s not the type to express himself easily, but that doesn’t stop you from trying to bring out something more from him.
✧ “blade, do you ever smile? i think i’d faint if i saw it.”
✧ you say it with a mischievous grin, watching for any sign of a reaction. his first response is the usual – a glare that could melt steel. but there’s something else in his eyes, a flicker of something that tells you he’s holding back a smirk. deep down, you know he secretly enjoys your antics.
✧ “you’re really trying to get me to laugh, aren’t you?” he says, his voice low and steady, though it has a hint of something playful beneath it.
✧ you push further, though, not willing to let up so easily. “come on, blade. you can’t possibly be that serious all the time. it’s like you’re stuck in permanent brooding mode.”
✧ and that’s when the situation takes a turn. before you can even process it, he grabs your wrist with surprising speed, pulling you close, his voice dropping even lower, sending a shiver down your spine.
✧ “you think i’d waste my time with someone i didn’t care about? don’t test me.”
✧ his words come with an intensity that you didn’t expect, his presence so overpowering that it almost takes the air out of your lungs. you blink, momentarily taken aback, but you don’t back down. the playful teasing lingers in the air, even though you can tell that you’ve crossed the line.
✧ but blade, in his own way, seems to realize that. after a moment, he releases his grip on your wrist, letting out a quiet sigh. the edge of his tone softens, just slightly.
✧ “you’re important to me,” he mutters, his voice low but genuine. “stop doubting that.”
✧ there’s no grand declaration, no flowery words. just the blunt honesty of a man who’s difficult to read, yet in his own way, he’s showing you something far deeper than what words could ever convey.
✧ you watch him for a moment, realizing that, despite all his coldness, there’s a warmth buried deep beneath the surface – one that he’s not so quick to reveal, but it’s there, unmistakable in its own quiet way.
✧ “i guess i’ll just have to take your word for it, huh?” you say with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood once more.
✧ blade doesn’t respond with a smile, but the slightest hint of amusement flickers in his eyes. and maybe, just maybe, that’s his version of a win.
sampo koski
✧ sampo loves games, so he immediately plays along with your little “test.”
✧ sampo has always been the life of the party, the one with a smile on his face and a witty comeback ready for anything. so when you start throwing him off with your uncharacteristic seriousness, it’s like throwing a wrench in his well-oiled machine of flirtations.
✧ you don’t laugh at his jokes, you don’t play along with his flirtations, and you certainly don’t give him the usual banter he’s used to. instead, you respond with an almost eerie level of calm.
✧ “oh? no witty comeback today? you’re scaring me, sweetheart,” he teases, leaning back, watching you with an exaggerated frown as though he’s genuinely concerned. you can see the twinkle in his eyes, but he’s trying to hold it together.
✧ at first, you don’t budge. you just stare at him, deadpan, giving nothing away.
✧ he blinks a few times, clearly thrown off. then, he lets out a dramatic sigh. “oh no, what’s happening? is this
 a breakup? did i mess up somehow? what did i do wrong? i can change! i swear, i’ll stop with the flirtations—i’ll even stop trying to steal your snacks!" he says, eyes widening as though he's on the verge of a crisis.
✧ the way he overacts is so ridiculous that it’s hard to keep a straight face. but you’re committed, your expression still unreadable as you let him stew in the nonsense he’s coming up with.
✧ when you finally can’t hold it in anymore and let out a soft laugh, his entire demeanor shifts. in an instant, his playful grin is back, and he pulls you into a sudden hug.
✧ “sweetheart, if i didn’t like you, i wouldn’t stick around this long. but nice try!” he says between chuckles, his voice playful and warm.
✧ you can’t help but smile at his antics. he may act like he’s been genuinely stressed out, but deep down, you know he’s been enjoying every minute of your teasing.
✧ he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes sparkling mischievously. “you really had me going there for a second. but hey, now i know you care enough to test me. i’ll take it as a compliment.”
✧ you shake your head, still amused by his dramatic performance. “don’t ever change, sampo.”
✧ he winks at you, his usual grin returning in full force. “don’t worry, sweetheart, i’m never going to change
 unless it’s to make you laugh more.”
luocha
✧ luocha is patient and gentle, but even he has his limits. you’d try to test him by asking endless hypothetical questions about relationships or intentionally making vague statements about your feelings.
✧ when you start throwing questions his way, testing his patience with doubts about his feelings, you know he’ll handle it with the same serenity he always exudes. but the longer it goes on, the more you start to wonder if you’re pushing him too far.
✧ “what if someone better came along?” you ask casually, watching his expression for a hint of reaction. it’s a harmless question in your mind, but you can tell he takes it seriously.
✧ he pauses, his hand resting gently on his chin, thinking it through before answering with his usual calmness. “if someone better came along, then you’d deserve to find happiness with them, just as I would wish for your happiness no matter the circumstances.”
✧ his response isn’t what you expected. it’s thoughtful, selfless, and it makes you question your own intentions. but you can’t help yourself – you press on, seeking reassurance in the form of his steady words.
✧ “but what if you don’t feel the same as you did before? what if you find someone who catches your eye more than me?”
✧ luocha’s gaze softens as he listens to your words. there’s no anger in his eyes, no irritation. only concern, as if he’s trying to understand why you would even think such a thing. his voice remains calm, but now there’s a slight edge to it, as if the question weighs on him more than you realize.
✧ “are you trying to test me?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, his brow furrowing just enough to show he’s genuinely curious. “i hope you know i mean every word i’ve said to you. my feelings are not something i take lightly.”
✧ you’re taken aback, your mind racing as you realize just how much this is affecting him. you weren’t trying to hurt him; you just wanted to see if he truly cared. but now, the weight of your questions hangs heavy in the air.
✧ seeing the uncertainty in your eyes, he lets out a small, almost imperceptible sigh. he reaches out, taking your hand in his, offering you a reassuring smile that radiates warmth.
✧ “there’s no need for doubt,” he says softly, his voice gentle yet firm. “my feelings for you are genuine, and they won’t change based on fleeting insecurities. you are the only one i see, the only one i care for.”
✧ his words carry a weight that resonates deep within you, his sincerity undeniable. you feel a warmth spread through your chest, a sense of relief washing over you.
✧ “i’m sorry,” you say, a little embarrassed by how far you’ve pushed him. “i didn’t mean to make you doubt how much i care.”
✧ luocha chuckles softly, his thumb brushing gently over the back of your hand. “it’s alright,” he says, his voice filled with understanding. “i know you’re just seeking reassurance. but i hope this is enough to put your mind at ease.”
✧ you nod, grateful for his patience and the depth of his affection. his unwavering calmness and the way he handles your doubts only make you feel even more certain that, with him, you never need to worry about someone else coming along.
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note: if you would like to be added to the honkai star rail taglist pls just ask me!! dont be shy
taglist đŸ·ïž:  @tomansimp @one-offmind @miitchiji @dainsleif-when-playable @momoewn @stygianoir @irethepotato @v4an @imetsk @fiannee @sunnyf4lls @yuri-is-silly @khoiyyu @daydreaming-paradies if im missing anyone please tell me because i have an inkling feeling i missed a few..
liking + following + reblogs are very much appreciated!!
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dear-ao3 · 11 hours ago
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by popular request: how to write an email
a disclaimer that this is the specific kind of email you send when people are absolutely smiting you and you know a phone call or an in person meeting is not possible/will not help. like youre 12 emails deep in an email chain and going in circles. youve been re routed to 13 offices 4 separate times. those kind of emails.
credentials: ive taken something like 13 semesters of college (dont ask) and every single semester have had to fight at least 3 offices for varying reasons in order to take classes. (including one time where i was shorted 5k in financial aid. i ended up getting 200 more dollars than i needed in the end) also my dad taught me everything he knows about emails (hes a tradesman turned corporate man and most of his job consists of telling people (nicely) that what theyre doing sucks and makes absolutely no sense)
Step 1: figure out who the email needs to go go
there is nothing wrong with emailing 11 million people if it gets the job done. if someone isnt helping you and you Know that they Should Be feel free to start to copy their boss on the email. copy your boss on an email. (or advisor or whoever). even if you think the person might only be like Vaguely helpful, sometimes people know people.
also theres nothing wrong with emailing the same email to several departments. sometimes you have to make a lot of noise to get something done (again. as like a last resort. dont email 11 million people right out of the gate)
Step 2: remember to be Polite
a very tempting step to ignore especially when you are 13 thousand emails deep in problems. but! if you are not nice to them! they will probably continue to smite you in the future! you want to make friends! not foes! so no matter how much people are smiting you, try to resist the urge to be an utter dipshit because it will not get the job done. vent to a friend or a coworker and send your polite and nice email
Step 3: articulate the problem Clearly.
a very important step. especially if you are adding more people to your email chain. dont assume they know your exact problem. they probably are dealing with other problems. articulate Clearly what is happening, no matter how long the email may be. its far better to get a long and detailed email rather than a non helpful short one. that will only prolong the process of how long it takes the problem to get solved.
Step 4: cite your reciepts.
wildly important. send your screenshots your attachments your whatever the fucking fuck youve got. its always good to have a paper trail. this is also where you would state any previously attempts to have the problem Sorted (ie i reached out to x person on x y and z days about x problem and it is still not resolved). you would not believe how many people dont scroll down in an email, especially a forwarded/replied one. so summarize whats Down There in your most recent email
Step 5: use the appropriate lingo
you dont have to be Overly Formal but there are a few good Buzz Sentences that usually get the job done. for example:
As Per My Last Email: a great line. emphasizes that youve already mentioned this. and this is not the first time youre mentioning this point. also emphasizes that the Thing has yet to be solved
See Attached/See Below: under utilized. again. people do not open attachments and they do not scroll down. almost had a friend once fail a class because a professor gas lit them in an email chain saying they didnt receive the final paper when the paper itself was attached earlier in the email chain. be Painfully Literal. it pays off.
Help Me To Understand: this is one of my dad's favorite lines. it really shows that you have no fucking idea what the person youre emailing is getting at and youre offering them the opportunity to spell out their nonsense for you. so that you can then be like. well. clearly This is where the miscommunication lies. its a great line. has saved my ass many times. because it is not accusing it is just offering someone to understand. it does not attack. it just is.
Step 6: give a polite sign off.
something along the lines of "thank you in advance for any help" or "i look forward to hearing from you" does the job. something that sends the message you are not pissed to shit at them even if you are.
Step 7: follow up and follow up often.
polite email response time is 48 business hours/2 business days. if it has been longer than that you have every right to email back and say hi x person just following up on this email, have you had the chance to review it yet? again. keep it polite. you actually want them to help you. and if they still dont respond well then maybe its time to loop in a boss or a supervisor or whoever the hell else. dont be afraid to go above them if you need to. nothing wrong with getting shit done when it needs to get done.
and really, if all that fails, as my dad says, a little office bribe in the form of cookies has never hurt anyone :)
so an email. should be formatted something like this:
Greetings/Good Morning (Afternoon) (Person)
I hope this email finds you well (or something similar for a greeting). I am reaching out regarding X incident/problem/whatever the fuck it is. I have previously reached out to X person on X dates and (summary of whatever they did or didnt do). See below/attached emails/pdf/screenshot/document (if applicable)
(explanation of the problem in as simple and detailed terms as possible. have someone re read it to make sure that it cannot be misconstrued)
(explanation of what you are looking for as a solution)
Please help me to understand why this (solution) has not been able to be reached. (explain you are on x timeline if the situation is urgent)
Kind regards/Thank you for any help in advance/I look forward to hearing from you etc,
email signature
go forth and conquer your emails. remember, sometimes you have to be a squeaky wheel. and in my million cases of email sending, it has ALWAYS paid off and i have gotten the problems solved. dont be afraid of the emails they can help you.
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crookedteethed · 2 days ago
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ᥣ𐭩 who do you love? . ‱ °   .  * : r. cameron
synopsis -- mistress! reader goes bonkers and films a surprise video for Rafe and his wife's anniversary. ۶ৎ
warnings -- 18+-mdni, smut (unprotected p i v), breeding kink, video voyeurism, infidelity, mention of alcohol usage, age gap, cursing, pussy whipped! rafe, homegirl is... yeah
other woman masterlist |taglist | based on this ask | wc: 1.7k
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You knew exactly what you were doing when you typed her name into Facebook's search bar. Your fingers moved with purpose, guided by an obsession you couldn't shake.
There it was - Rafe's wife's profile, and right at the top, exactly what you'd been hunting for: a fresh post celebrating their decade of marriage, complete with a photo from their younger days when their love still seemed pure and untainted. You stared at their beaming faces, letting the bitterness wash over you.
Each scroll feels like turning a knife in your own heart, but you can't stop.
Their life unfolds before you like some twisted fairy tale: Rafe teaching their daughter to ride a bike, their annual trips to the Maldives, their matching Christmas sweaters with those damn Dobermans.
And her—always her—wearing that diamond tennis bracelet you once saw in his browser history, claiming the life that should have been yours.
This should be me, the thought burns like acid.
Your fingers hover over a photo of their Mediterranean cruise, her perfectly manicured hand resting on his chest, that massive engagement ring catching the sunset.
She has everything: the weekend brunches at that fancy place downtown, the Range Rover you've seen in their driveway, the three beautiful children with his eyes, the garden parties you watch from afar, and him—God, especially him.
The life that slipped through your fingers because of timing and trust funds. She had everything you didn't: old money, country club connections, and most crucially—age.
While you were still learning to drive, she was already the perfect socialite, the appropriate choice for a man of Rafe's standing. The Seventeen-year age gap between you and Rafe might as well have been an ocean—one that she had already crossed long before you even learned to swim.
Sometimes you wonder if that's what drew him to you in the first place: your youth, your naivety, everything that made you so different from her. Everything that ultimately made you impossible.
Your wine glass is empty again. When did that happen?
A tear escaped your eye as jealousy carved deeper into your chest, the pain spreading until you could barely breathe. Your trembling fingers found your phone, muscle memory still remembering his number after all these years. You knew it was wrong—God, you knew—but you pressed call anyway.
One ring. Two rings. Your heart threatened to burst.
"Hello?" His voice, still so familiar, sent electricity through your body.
"I—" your voice cracked, "I need to see you, Rafe. Please. I can't
 I can't stop thinking about you, and I'm so alone tonight. Please come over, I need you."
The silence that followed felt eternal—like light years away, stretching between your world and his, filled with everything unsaid.
You could picture him there, standing in his perfect house with his perfect family just rooms away, probably running his fingers through his hair the way he always did when he was conflicted.
Your heart hammered against your ribs as you heard him move, presumably stepping outside or into his study. Then came that familiar sound—the slow exhale through his nose that you remembered from countless late nights together, when difficult decisions hung in the air between you.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, rough with something that might have been regret or desire or both: "I'm on my way."
Three simple words that shattered whatever remained of your resolve. You ended the call before he could change his mind, before reality could catch up to either of you, before guilt could claw its way back in.
Your hands shook as you set the phone down, knowing that in fifteen minutes—twenty at most—you'd hear his car in your driveway, and everything would change again.
When he steps through your door, the world narrows to just this: his loosened tie, your trembling hands, the soft thud as his back hits the wall. "We shouldn't," he whispers, even as his fingers dig into your hips, even as he pulls you closer.
You silence his protest with a kiss that tastes like regret and wanting, knowing tomorrow will bring guilt but tonight—tonight belongs to muscle memory and bad decisions.
Your hands roam greedily over each other, ripping clothes away with primal urgency. Your mouths hungrily devour one another, teeth nipping at lips as you guide him to the bedroom. Your heart races with desire and anticipation, knowing what awaits in the heat of passion.
The phone you carefully propped against the lamp earlier blinks silently in the darkness, its camera catching everything. You position him perfectly in its view, letting him think it's just desire guiding your movements.
"God, I've missed you," he breathes against your collar bone, completely unaware that every word, every moan, every mistake is being captured. You almost feel guilty—almost.
Then you think of her Facebook shrine to their perfect marriage, and something shifts inside you—guilt crystallizing into purpose.
Your phone keeps recording in the darkness, anticipating to capture every betrayal, every whispered confession.
Soon, her perfectly filtered life won't matter anymore. Soon, you'll have something far more precious than any photograph: Rafe—cornered, desperate, and finally yours.
Without hesitation, you shoved Rafe onto your queen size bed. Straddling his naked body, you disregarded any notion of foreplay.
As much as you craved the feeling of his tongue on your clit or his thick fingers probing you, all that mattered was having Rafe's cock buried in your cunt.
"Damn, you weren't kidding. You really do need me," Rafe smirked as his palm immediately found its way to your dripping core, but to your dismay was swatted away.
With a seductive grin, cooed in your sweet, high-pitched voice that made Rafe's brain mush. "Un huh, now be a good boy and let me take care of myself," you purred, guiding his rock-hard cock to the entrance of your wetness.
"Are you going to let me do that?" Your tone was condescending, but it only fueled the intense desire between you both, and because Rafe's mind turned to mush the moment you said you needed him, he nodded, totally pussy whipped and enamored by you.
The sharp gasp that escaped both of your lips was matched only by the intensity of your desire.
Slowly, you sank down onto Rafe's throbbing cock, savoring the feeling of him stretching you just as he always did.
"You're so tight, baby," he groaned out, his voice dripping with lust.
As you remembered the phone set up hidden by your side table lamp, a mischievous thought crossed your mind:
"Am I tighter than your wife?" you asked, already beginning to rock your hips on his length. Naturally, Rafe's hands found their way to your waist, not to guide you but to bring you closer to his lips.
"So much tighter, shit," he breathed out between hot kisses, with each agonizing slow rock.
"You're gonna leave her for me, huh?" you asked, face to face with Rafe, cradling his jaw to peck his lips. Slowly, you began to pick up the pace. 
Your rhythmic movements escalate into frenzied bouncing, his hard length molding perfectly to your slick walls, stretching you to the limit. You lift yourself up and press down on Rafe's chest for leverage, driving him deeper and harder into you
Rafe's eyes rolled back as you bounced harder, your pussy gripping him like a vice. "Fuck, I
 I don't know," he groaned, his hips bucking up to meet your thrusts.
You leaned down, your breasts brushing against his chest as you whispered in his ear, "Come on, baby. Tell me you'll leave her. Tell me I'm the only one you want." Your walls clenched around him for emphasis, drawing a strangled moan from his lips.
"God, yes," Rafe panted, completely lost in the sensation of your tight heat enveloping him. "I'll leave her. You're all I want, fuck!"
Hearing those words sent a thrill through you. You began to bounce faster, slamming yourself down onto his thick cock with abandon. Your breasts bounced enticingly and Rafe reached up to cup them, pinching your nipples between his fingers.
"Say it again," you demanded breathlessly, grinding your hips in circles. "Tell me you're mine."
"I'm yours, baby," Rafe panted, thrusting up to meet your movements. "All fucking yours."
You leaned down to capture his lips in a searing kiss, your tongue tangling with his as you continued to ride him relentlessly. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with your shared moans of pleasure.
"Gonna cum for me?" you asked, clenching your walls around him. "Gonna fill me up? Gonna give me one of your babies?"
"Yeah, gonna stuff your sweet pussy with my hot load, fuck, I'm about to explode," Rafe moaned, his nails digging into your flesh, leaving red marks on your hips.
You reached down to rub tight circles on your clit, chasing your own release. "Me too, don't stop," you gasped.
With a few more forceful thrusts, you both toppled over the brink together, moaning in bliss as powerful waves of pleasure engulfed you. Rafe followed suit, releasing his hot and sticky load inside you, filling you up completely.
The afterglow lasts exactly thirty seconds before Rafe is already reaching for his clothes, his movements quick and efficient like this is just another business meeting wrapping up, breathing hasn't even steadied.
"I need to get back," he says, checking his watch. "We have dinner reservations at La Maison."
"Of course. The anniversary dinner." Your voice sounds hollow even to your own ears. "Rafe?" He pauses, shirt half-buttoned. "Did you mean any of it? What you said while we were
?"
He crosses the room, cups your face, and plants a soft kiss on your lips—the kind that feels like goodbye. Then he's gone, the front door clicking shut behind him.
You sit in the twisted sheets, his warmth already fading, listening to his car fade into the distance. Your hands shake as you reach for your phone and stop the recording. The email address you've had memorized for months appears in the recipient field without hesitation. You attach the video—forty-three minutes of undeniable truth—and watch the upload bar creep forward. In the subject line, you type five words that will demolish their perfect life: "Happy Anniversary, From Us Both."
Your finger hovers over 'send' for just a heartbeat before pressing down. Let her enjoy those reservation plans now.
Now he'll have to choose, you think, watching the loading bar reach 100%. And this time, he'll choose me.
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a/n -- thanks for making it to the end, as always all likes comments, and reblogs keeps me motivated! đŸ’•đŸ«¶đŸŸ
taglist --
@rafestoothbrush @alexxavicry @trapistani @Hejsj @neslayuh @hotvampdragon @alyisdead @jelybely @elmolovesw33d @littlelamy @futuremrscameron @percysley @rrafeswhore
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qipsir · 1 day ago
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Forgive me if this is redundant at all, but I literally just had a talk with my mother about this pointing out that this is where things went really wrong with me as a childhood and it's why I'm so disconnected from her as an adult. She said "yeah, in an ideal world, [listening to your child when they're upset is] exactly what would happen." But it's not a matter of an 'ideal world' or not, it's a choice you actively make. Either you can repeat what you know because That's What They Taught Me, or you can look at the situation through a problem solving lens and resolve the problem. By doing something like leaving the grocery store.
Imagine your best friend, someone you cared about deeply, got hit with a magic spell that turns them into a kid and you had to care for them until the spell wore off or until you could find a solution. Would you treat them the way you're treating your kid right now?
Children are not some blank slate for you to program and be an extended version of you where they should automatically just be fine with everything because you are. People are different from each other, and children don't just magically become people when they're "old enough". They are people with their own thoughts, limits, feelings, everything. And OP, I am genuinely so glad your parents understood that
last time my mom visited I was talking to her about parenting and how I appreciated a lot of the choices she and my father had made about raising me and my brother and she agreed that just listening to the child and taking them seriously was the One Weird Trick to cutting out like 60% of conflicts between parents and children. and she said one time I was about three or four years old and we were all going to the grocery store, and at the threshold of the store I just had a meltdown. i was overwhelmed, I was crying, I was just at the end of my rope like kids get sometimes. and instead of dragging me through the store my mom and dad stopped what we were doing and just asked me what the problem was. and I was able to say I didn't want to be there, I couldn't do it, I wanted to go home. and she says she and my father just looked at each other and back at me and said "okay" and we all went home that day instead of forcing the grocery store trip. and I had so few public meltdowns as a kid despite being pretty autistic because, I think, I knew that if I ever really needed to leave, my parents would understand and back me up. and that was the case throughout my childhood. which paradoxically (one might think) resulted in me having fewer incidents of being overwhelmed in the first place, which then made me better able to handle increasing amounts of stress and so on. it also taught me that expressing feelings and communicating them to my caretakers wasn't going to be punished or ignored or called weird, so unlike many other autistic kids who get judged or rebuked for expressing sensitivity or opposition, I didn't need to constantly blockade everyone and internalize everything all the time.
it's a pretty simple concept whether your kids are autistic or not, but most parents don't seem to get it. their parents taught them to just force everything and let the child deal with it alone so they just repeat the cycle even though they know how it feels.
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blckbrrybasket · 3 days ago
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ᯓ★ đ’đžđŻđąđ€đš 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐹𝐧𝐬
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MDNI
SFW
- Lesbian (canon)
- Heavy metal is her favorite genre of music.
- Doesn’t have a hand towel in her bathroom. She shakes her hands to dry them and wipes them on her pants.
- Keeps her nails short and hates keeping them painted. She sees it as a waste of time since it chips so frequently.
- Has horrible long term memory but can remember the most random, specific memories or facts.
- Got hit by a motorcycle once and got into a fight with the driver.
- Would have had an emo phase when she was younger without knowing what being emo meant.
- Secretly not so secretly the biggest hater. Does gossip just in her own way of posing things as a fact.
- Hated any type of schooling with a burning passion. Did not do well with the structure it demanded and most likely did not do any schooling after the required amount.
- Snores so loud like a dad and will wake herself up with her own snoring at times.
- Ungodly high tolerance for alcohol
we all see how frequently she drinks.
- Also has an amazing spice tolerance and can eat basically anything. Human vaccum!
- Loves reptiles
- Hates clowns
- Tries to shower often and hates when she’s working for long days without being able to go home to clean.
- She has never done taxes
- When Sevika was younger if she caused something to go wrong she would flee the scene and let someone else take the blame. She isn’t above doing it now.
- Likes being alone. Give her a cigar and some whiskey and she’s set to be alone for the rest of her life. She’s had enough human interaction for one lifetime.
- Honestly bad at handling criticism and tries to rationalize everything she does in her head.
- Gets offended when people incorrectly assume things about her.
- She is completely oblivious to anyone liking her romantically or showing interest in her. She isn’t very conscious of being romantic so it goes over her head if she isn’t actively deciphering if someone is flirting.
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SFW (serious)
- Hates hugs but will reluctantly give side hugs to someone very close to her.
- Sevika finds herself blaming Silco some nights and other nights she wants him to come back so she doesn’t have to deal with the chaos Zaun has fallen into.
- She has a love-hate relationship with her parents and ultimately wishes her childhood was better.
- Raised stray dogs on the streets as a kid because she thought of them like her.
- Has insane troubles trying to fall sleep.
- When she does eventually get to sleep she keeps a knife under her pillow. Do not wake her up unless you want to get hurt 😭
- Doesn’t verbally say i love you much. She prefers relationships where you both silently know how much you love each other.
- She can like physical touch at times and seek it out, but she doesn’t like it all the time. Sevika can love deeply, but she doesn’t do well with clingy people.
- She gets overwhelmed pretty easily. Though she doesn’t show it much on her face, it’s easy for her to feel suffocated by lots of things happening.
- She has to get used to cuddling and only cuddles with people she highly trusts where she doesn’t feel as if she is physically trapped.
- Would not be into toxic relationships. She hates situationships where she isn’t secure and/or doesn’t exactly know what she is with someone. Sevika needs something stable or she will not open up.
- Views her childhood self as a completely different person than herself. She mourns the kid who lost their happiness.
- Doesn’t fall in love easily because of the walls she has built up for years.
- Hates receiving help. Hates asking for it even more.
- Was called scrappy when younger and grew up to become ‘a scary lady’. When she’s able to settle down more she realizes how much she hates being stereotyped as this always angry and violent person.
- After becoming a councilor and being alone again years of pain came back. It took her a long time to work through all of it. She could be doing the most random thing and would burst into tears.
- When she hangs out around people she prefers to be in silence.
- Is hard of hearing after the amount of head trauma she has had. By the time she was in her late 50’s she lost complete hearing in one of her ears.
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NSFW
- Likes using her strap but prefers feeling you on her skin.
- Loves scissoring, but only does it on special occasions because hit makes her hips ache.
- Likes being bit (are we surprised?)
- Manhandler.
- Loves seeing you drip over her fingers, stretching you out is her favorite part because she always takes her time.
- Is a masochist, not so much a sadist. She sees enough people getting hurt every day by late season two she wouldn’t inflict pain on you in bed.
- Bush!!!! Loves bush, has a bush, wants a jungle.
- Prefers you dressed down. Never complains when you dress up but seeing you in every day clothes, her clothes, or pajamas is her favorite thing.
- It turns her on when you are at equal positions in your relationship instead of one being over the other, but doesn’t mind your subbing or domming more. switch sevika is real.
- PRAISES! Comes up compliments in bed that you didn’t even know she appreciated.
- Loves you dominating her. Giving up all the power she has to constantly hold it turns her brain to mush.
- Every time she is buried between your thighs she will massage them as she gives you head.
- Wears boy shorts underwear and briefs. Keeps them low cut to show her happy trail.
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the-witty-pen-name · 2 days ago
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The Love Triangle From Hell (3)
Steve Harrington x F!Reader / Eddie Munson x F!Reader
Synopsis: Following PART TWO, Steve feels even more distant from his friends- especially you; Eddie reflects on memories he has of you two; Nancy and Jonathan work together for the paper; Robin does her best to navigate what being friends with you and Steve looks like; you seek comfort in one of the only ways you know how- calling Eddie
Series Masterlist
Word Count: 3.6k
Warnings: messy messy feelings; unrequited love; cursing; arguments; crying; angst angst angsty angst; allusions to violence; miscommunication; jealousy; kissing; implications of smut; horniness
A/N: You guys are literally the absolute best. I am having the best time writing this- I'm so inspired by all of you. The love you have shown this fic so far has me overwhelmed. Thank you for your kind words, you have helped me work through some serious writer's block. Your comments and reblogs are keeping me going fr
This is unedited; please let me know what you think and if I missed anything I should include as a warning.
This series with be 18+ in later chapters MINORS DNI
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His hands are tangled in your hair and he’s pulling you in close for another searing kiss. He can’t catch his breath, but he’s just so desperate to stay close to you like this. Your lips are so soft against his and your mouth is so inviting as you yank him closer. You whimper against his lips and it makes him shiver. He feels weak in the knees as you feel so pliable to his touch. You melt into his embrace and sigh happily as his lips trail down your neck. 
“Want you,” you moan softly, tugging his hair. He groans at the sensation. “Need you so bad.” 
“‘M gonna take care of you,” he promises, bringing his lips back to yours. 
“Love you,” you moan.
Before he finds out  if he says it back, his alarm goes off and he’s brought back to his reality. He groans disappointedly, covering his ears with his pillow- desperate for a couple more minutes with dream you. There’s a bang at his door. 
“Steve! Turn that shit off!” Eddie calls from the other side of the door. He’s yelling but his tone is playful. Steve hits his alarm off and drudges out of bed finally. Eddie has coffee made and Steve forgets anything is wrong at the moment. 
“Did she say anything last night?” Steve asks groggily as he pours himself a cup. 
“Um, not really,” Eddie replies, taking a moment to think about it. “I mean, yes but not about anything that we don’t know already. She’s conflicted, she doesn’t know what to think or feel. She just wants time.” 
“Okay,” Steve replies, leaning up against the counter. He takes a sip of his coffee. He needs to get to work. He can talk about this with Robin when he gets there. 
When you called Eddie, you didn’t expect Steve to answer. You thought maybe he’d say something- you wanted him too. But he didn’t. You couldn’t read him anymore.
Eddie was thrilled to hear your voice. He’d missed you, and he’d missed talking to you. He wanted that piece back as soon as he could get it. He reveled in the way his name sounded coming from you. 
“I’m so sorry,” you apologize, “I didn’t mean to upset Steve- I heard the way he dropped the phone down
” 
“It’s okay sweetheart,” he says compassionately. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 
He’s met with a sad feeling of silence. 
“I’m happy you called,” he says gently. He hopes the sentiment makes you feel better. 
“I’ve missed you,” you admit, and Eddie feels like his heart might swell out of his chest. 
“It’s hard when the two people who you talk about everything with are the people you want to talk about,” you joke, and he laughs with you. 
“You can talk shit about me,” he teases and he hears you groan. He bites his lip, holding back a smile. 
“How are you doing?” You ask, changing the subject. 
“Much better now,” he flirts. 
“How are you doing, really?” You ask again, your voice sounding more fragile. 
“I meant, honestly- not great. But not worse than anyone else is doing right now.” 
“Yeah
” 
“I miss you a lot too,” he admits. He runs a hand through his hair, and it reminds him of how amazing it felt the last time you played with his hair. He’s craving that touch so badly. 
When you both were in high school, Eddie went out of his way to make sure you always had a seat at the table. He’d notice as you stood with your cafeteria tray, waiting for Steve to realize there was no open seat for you at his table. He’d wave obnoxiously to catch your eye and he’d smile at the way you’d get shy from the attention. He’d point at the empty seat next to him, and he’d grin as your eyes light up in realization you had a spot. You’d shuffle through the crowd and take your seat next to him. You’d take a seat and ruffle his hair in your hands. 
Eddie was always a creature of habit. As much as he exudes chaos, he actually thrives in having a routine. Don’t get him wrong- it’s never been a good routine
 but it’s routine nonetheless. In high school it was a lot of the same. Tuesdays, Corroded Coffin played at The Hideout. He would get home way too late and never get in bed until close to 3am. Wednesday mornings, he’d sleep through his alarm and stroll into first period consistently 10ish minutes late. Thursdays he prepped for Hellfire, and then of course, the piece the resistance was Friday. Hellfire. An epic campaign that would run several hours and ensure the most recent shit week had been worth it to make it to that moment. 
He remembers that he was paralyzed when the group proposed to postpone Hellfire one time his first senior year. It snaps him out of his thoughts, as he was so wrapped up in you- and how close you were sitting. Eddie knew that hypothetically, it shouldn’t matter if the date changes. However, he couldn’t wrap his head around change. He hated it- still does. A disruption from his status quo throws off his entire week and it will take him too long to mentally recover. He knew that he came off as a hard ass, but he prefers it than trying to explain his mind to his friends. He had felt  his jaw tighten as he tried to rationalize with himself that it can be okay to switch it up. He unclenched his fists once he realized that he was making his knuckles white unintentionally. 
“Uh yeah, no problem. Saturday’s fine,” he was able to manage through gritted teeth. He relaxed when he could look past himself and see his friends smile, thanking him and happily chatting about the campaign. He smiled when he observed that his decision made everyone happy. That for him outweighed the internal struggle. 
He didn’t really listen to the reason everyone wanted to reschedule, but he picked up on after the fact that everyone is talking about the Snow Ball. He couldn’t help but recoil back into himself as his friends talked about their plans to go- who they’re asking, what suit they’re getting, what songs would play, and whatever. He couldn’t have cared less. Unless
 
His eyes wandered to sneak a glance at you. He wondered if you had plans- maybe you're hoping someone asks you. Maybe, he’s lucky and you were hoping that someone would be him. He wondered if you had a date. Maybe you already had been asked. It’s not like you had been aware of the way Eddie’s felt about you- unrequited feelings that tugged on his focus constantly since he’s known you. You caught his eye and offered him a shy smile and he could crumble. 
Eddie immediately averted his gaze, and focused his attention back on his friends. He ignored the way his face suddenly became so warm and he ignored the butterflies that were swarming around in his stomach. He couldn’t allow himself to dwell on these feelings- he knew that there’s no way you feel the same. Who could possibly like him? 
He felt a pressure when the freshman looked at him, one of them having asked Eddie about his own plans. Eddie sees the way the kids look up to him, they idolize him. He knows they think he’s cool. He can’t let that go just yet, he loved it too much. He needed it. He wanted to have them hang on to this version of him for as long as they’d believe in it. 
So, despite his usual distaste in school sanctioned functions, he did not want to allow the kids to think he couldn’t score a date. He could only blame society so much before they realized it’s actually his own fear of putting himself out there that cramped his dating life more than anything else. He then resolves that he needs a date to this dance. He tells himself that it’s for the freshman, to keep up the cool facade or whatever. But in actuality, he just wanted to ask you because he wants to ask you out. It’s his perfect window of opportunity. 
“Oh, I hadn’t thought about it, honestly,” you said, when one of the freshmen asked you if you had plans. “I’d been so busy with the play, I haven’t had a chance.” Eddie watched as you glanced over to Steve’s table. “Steve and I usually would go to this kinda thing,” you said quickly, and Eddie could see your apprehension despite your best attempt to hide it. “We’ll probably go as friends again.” 
He said nothing. 
A few days later, you called Eddie and he could immediately tell you’re upset. You’re doing your best to hold it together but he can tell you’re almost at your breaking point. 
“Hey,” you say, your voice straining as you try not to cry. “I know this is totally not your thing, but I’m kind of in a bind.” 
“What can I do?” He asked, sitting up straight on his bed. He was getting ready to locate his shoes or his keys- thinking you’re in trouble somewhere. He’ddrop anything to come get you. 
“I know you’d probably rather do literally anything else, but um, I have two tickets to the Snow Ball and I already bought a dress
” 
“I thought you’d be going with Steve?” He asked. You sniffled. 
“Um, yeah I kind of just assumed he’d take me. I didn’t realize that he asked out Nancy Wheeler,” you choked back tears. “I mean it’s not like that,” you lied, maybe not to Eddie but more to yourself, “we’re just friends. But I still thought He and I would be going together like as friends again- you know? But, uh, yeah- he is taking like a real date.” 
“I know you’d hate it, and I will make it up to you. But, I already bought the tickets and I can’t get my money back. It’s like not a date or anything, just like a friend thing
” 
“I’d be happy to take you,” he replied, sincerely. He can tell you were expecting him to fight you on it. When would you catch on that he’s willing to do anything for you? 
“Eddie, thank you so much,” you sniffled, still trying your best to keep it cool. “I owe you one,” your voice cracks and you hang up quickly before he gets a chance to say anything. 
Eddie didn’t really understand back then why you were even friends with Steve to begin with. Eddie thought Steve, frankly, was a total douchebag. However, once he actually got to know Steve- it was a different story. He couldn’t resent Steve. He loved him like a brother now. And once Eddie got to know the Steve you’ve always known, your feelings for him made sense. But at the same time, Eddie held his tongue for all the things Steve did or didn’t do for so long. Steve was good guy at his core, Eddie understood. But his actions didn’t reflect that in Eddie’s eyes. But it wasn’t his place to tell you that. It didn’t seem right. You’d known Steve so much longer than him. 
Nancy and Jonathan invited you and Robin to go with them to watch Lucas’ basketball game. You were excited to get out of your little apartment and support Lucas. Jonathan was photographing it for The Hawkins Post. Jonathan paced up and down the court side to get photos, and you sat up in the bleachers with Nancy and Robin. You were never one to go to school things really, but it was Lucas’s senior year and it was a big game- of course you were going to be there. 
“It feels weird, Steve not being here,” Nancy whispers to you and you nod in agreement. 
“Yeah, everything just feels weird right now,” you agree. “You and Jonathan are okay?” 
“We’re good. We’re doing good, um, still working through stuff but we’re going to just work through it.” 
“That’s good.” 
“Robin?” Nancy asks, and Robin turns her head to pay attention. “How’s things with Vicky?” 
Robin’s face turns tomato red. “Fine,” she mumbles, happily. “I’m gonna hang out with her tomorrow.” You elbow her teasingly, making her blush redden. 
“How’s it feeling? Being the best at all of this out of us?” You tease. 
“I don’t know,” she’s so embarrassed, it’s so sweet. “We both just like each other- it’s not that complicated. She’s so great.” 
The three of you turn your attention back to the game at the sound of the whistle. You clapped and cheered the loudest whenever Lucas had the ball. He tried to plead with the lot of you to tone it down, casting weary looks in your direction. You couldn’t help yourselves. You felt so proud of him. 
You decide to take a walk to the concession stands and get some snacks for everyone. You order four sodas and two large popcorns- one for Jonathan and Nancy and one for you and Robin. You fish the cash out of the front pocket of your jeans, and hand it to the kid working the window. You thank him, and balance it all in your hands to navigate carefully back to the stands. 
You see a familiar face coming down the hallway, sprinting. For a moment, you can’t help the smile that forms across the expanse of your face until you remember what’s been going on. Your face falls, and you feel so stupid for being excited to see him when it hits you again all at once. 
You don’t think Steve knew you’d all be here, because he looks just as surprised to see you. He stops and his sneakers squeak across the polished gym floor. He looks at you with an expression of pure panic. He totally didn’t think you’d be here. And you’re surprised he came alone- but of course he did, he’s Steve. Of course, he’s going to show up to every game for Lucas. You shouldn’t expect any less. It still takes you back. 
“Can I help with those?” he asked, gesturing for you to pass some stuff to him. You nod, and tilt so he can take some of the things from your grasp. 
“Where are you sitting?” He asks, and you nod your head towards Robin and Nancy. His face deflates. “Ah, okay.” He walks over with you, and he passes the items in his hand off to Robin. He moves aside so you can walk back into your spot. 
“Thanks, Steve,” you offer him a soft smile, appreciating the effort despite the circumstances.
“Yeah of course,” he mutters, backing away, lingering for a moment because the seat that’s usually there for him between you and Robin isn’t there. He quickly pulls himself out of his thoughts and just heads over to the next row of bleachers, finding a seat next to a couple of his old basketball teammates that are here for their little brothers. 
Steve can’t even focus on the game,  he keeps trying to steal glances of you from his peripheral vision. He wants to know what Robin said that made you laugh like that, and he wished he could have heard your laugh- but you’re too far away from him. He watches as your jaw drops at something Nancy tells you, and he watches how you cheer so happily for Lucas. He wants to know if this is bothering you the way it’s bothering him. You look like you’re keeping it together and he wants to know if that could truly be the case. 
Even when you’re carrying so much hurt, you give off such a radiance that Steve and he’s sure everyone else is just drawn into. Your pretty smile and your bright eyes are all he can think about- he only knows when to cheer when he feels the people around him move. He smiles when you stand up and pose, pointing to Lucas- then Lucas matches it, giving it back to you. He watches as you both share that moment of just pure joy, and his heart aches. He doesn’t know if he could ever make you that happy. 
When the game was over, you looked to see if you could find Steve but there was no sign of him. You all invited Lucas to go out for celebratory pizza for his big win, but he wanted to go with his teammates. The plan fizzled pretty much after that. Robin wanted to get home so she could call Vicky and Jonathan and Nancy wanted to head home so Jonathan could start developing his photos. When you and Robin are walking out, you see a familiar van. 
“I’ll bum a ride from Nancy,” Robin assures you, pushing you in Eddie’s direction. She waves to Eddie from a distance and then jogs to catch up with Nancy and Jonathan. 
“What are you doing here?” you ask with a smile. He pushes himself off of the hood of his van and walks over to you, his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. 
“I thought you might be here,” he quips. “Plus, I had to poke my head in- Sinclair is some big shot apparently?” he jokes, “I had to check out for a few minutes.”
“He’s really great,” you agree. 
“Was Steve here?” Eddie asks. 
“Yeah I saw him. He didn’t really stay either- I mean he stayed for the game, but we didn’t talk really.” You shrug. 
“Well,” he says, trying to optimistically change the subject, “Do you wanna get out of here? I could give you a ride home or we could get food or something- or even just drive around and not talk. I’m not picky.” 
He looks so beautiful like this, you observe. The sky is pitch black but the lights in the parking lot illuminate him perfectly with a soft glow. His hair is wonderfully messy and his smile is making it hard for you to breathe. Has he always looked like this? You wonder, astonished as it hits you all at once. He’s gorgeous. Your eyes linger, taking in every little detail you’ve overlooked before. He waves his hand in front of your face to snap you out of your trance. 
“Stop looking at me like that,” he tisks. 
“Looking at you like what?”
“Like you’re trying to jump my bones,” he chuckles. Your face warms, and suddenly you realize how long you must have been staring. 
“Ha, right,” you joke sarcastically, or at least, trying to joke sarcastically. You walk past him and get into the passenger side of the van and try your best to compose yourself in the few seconds it takes for him to follow suit. 
“Okay, sweetheart,” he says, turning over the ignition, “where to?”
“Can we just drive around like we used to?” you ask- the circumstances of tonight making you feel so nostalgic. 
“Of course we can,” he hums, passing you the case of his cassettes- a familiar and welcomed sight for your tired eyes. 
You watch Eddie as he drives, and observe the way the muscles in his arms flex ever so subtly as he turns the wheel. You watch his ringed fingers tap across the top of the steering wheel and you can’t help it the way your mind wanders. You’re so wrapped up in the way his hair sways so effortlessly and the movement of his jaw as he sings, you don’t even notice that Steve was leaving the gym just in time to see you both drive away. 
After a little while of aimless driving, and hitting up the drive thru, Eddie ends up parking at Lover’s Lake when neither of you are ready to go home just yet. 
“Eddie?” You ask absentmindedly, finishing off the milkshake he got you. “Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot,” he replies, also finishing his, but with an obnoxiously loud suck of his straw- determined to get every last sip. 
“Why do you like me?” you ask, cringing almost immediately. You think you sound like a middle schooler or something- you’re so embarrassed. His eyes widen for a brief second, contemplating his answer. He tosses the empty cup into the back. 
“First off,” he criticizes teasingly, “I did not say I liked you- I’m in love with you. Get your facts straight, ma’am.” 
“My apologies,” you giggle, holding your hands up in defeat.
“I mean- I love everything about you; always have,” he starts. “You’re sweet and kind. I think you’re beautiful. I think you’re incredible, and sometimes I can’t figure out why you wanted to ever be friends with me in the first place.”
“Eddie?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Would you kiss me?” 
Eddie’s a goner when you’re looking at him with those doe eyes. More than anything he wants to lunge across and close the space between you. It’s everything he’s ever wanted. It takes every fiber of his being to hold himself back..
“I don’t know if I can kiss you without knowing if I could ever kiss you again,” He whispers, but it doesn’t stop him from leaning in towards you. His hand lifts to hold your cheek and suddenly he’s so close. Closer than the two of you have ever been. His lips are tantalizingly close to yours when his forehead touches yours. A huge bang on the side of the van scares you both away from each other. 
“Give her time, my ass, Munson! Get the fuck out here! Get your fucking hands off my girl!”
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@sunshinepeachx @downbear @fanlifeaamt @exploding-bonbon @losingmygrasponreality @skiddypiddy @andvys @djodirt @moonlightsolo @kyga01 @sheisjoeschateau @melaninjhs
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pucksandpower · 3 hours ago
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chef!Max Verstappen x vegan!Reader
Summary: in which an unstoppable force (the stubborn Michelin-starred chef of a glitzy steakhouse) meets an immovable object (the vegan just looking for something she can actually eat) 
 and the rest, as they say, is history
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The steakhouse is packed, the ambient light just dim enough to cast a flattering glow over everyone at the long wooden table. Glasses clink together in a chorus of celebration, laughter, and conversation filling the air as your friends lean in close to chat. The table is filled with shared appetizers — charred octopus, beef tallow truffle fries, the occasional bacon-wrapped date — but you’re preoccupied with the thick menu in your hand.
“What’s good here?” You ask, keeping your voice casual. But inside, you’re already scanning for the little green leaf symbols that typically offer you some respite. There’s not a single one. It’s all meat, meat, meat.
“Everything,” someone pipes up. “But definitely the steak.”
You give them a polite smile, already sensing the dilemma growing in your chest. You could’ve sworn someone mentioned the place had plant-based options. But this is a Michelin-starred steakhouse — it seems like steak is the only thing anyone’s interested in tonight.
“Anything catching your eye?” You friend across the table asks, eyes bright with excitement.
“Not exactly.” You chew on your lip, setting the menu down. “I’m, uh, vegan.”
A silence falls over your corner of the table, the chatter continuing elsewhere as your friends stare at you. You feel your cheeks heat up, the familiar twinge of anxiety flaring up as you mentally prepare for the usual questions.
“Vegan? Seriously?” One of them finally says, brow furrowing. “You’re in the wrong place for that.”
“Yeah, it’s just ... it’s my thing, you know?” You laugh lightly, hoping to defuse the situation. “I’m sure they can whip something up in the kitchen, right?”
“I don’t know, this place is pretty strict,” another friend comments, glancing towards the kitchen doors as if expecting a sous-chef to pop out and reprimand you. “But you could ask.”
You take a breath, nodding. “Yeah, I’ll ask.”
The waiter approaches, a polished smile on his face as he sets down more drinks and asks if you’ve made any decisions. You tilt your head, giving him a hopeful look.
“I was wondering if the kitchen could prepare something vegan?” You say, your voice steady but polite. “I didn’t see anything on the menu, and-”
“I’ll ask the chef,” he cuts in smoothly, though there’s a slight twitch in his jaw as he scribbles something in his notepad. “One moment.”
As he disappears towards the back, your friends exchange wary glances. You try to brush it off with another easy smile, though your nerves are prickling beneath the surface.
“This could be interesting,” someone says, raising their eyebrows. “Michelin-starred chefs aren’t exactly known for accommodating special requests.”
“Yeah, well, I’m hoping this one’s different,” you say, half-joking, though you can’t shake the knot in your stomach.
The seconds tick by, each one dragging out longer than the last. You sip at your water, making small talk, but your mind is already in the kitchen, imagining what kind of chef you’re dealing with. When the kitchen doors finally swing open, you feel a flutter of anxiety — and maybe a little curiosity.
He’s not what you expect.
Max Verstappen storms out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel with an intensity that makes the air crackle around him. His blue eyes are sharp, his jaw tight, and there’s a heat in his expression that has nothing to do with the stoves behind him. He’s annoyed. No, more than annoyed — he’s furious.
And when he locks eyes with you, you feel like the world narrows down to just the two of you.
“Who asked for vegan?” His voice is clipped, Dutch accent thick, and it’s obvious he’s not here to make friends. Your friends glance between the two of you, sensing the impending storm, but you lift your chin, refusing to be intimidated.
“I did,” you say, matching his intensity with your own steady gaze. “Is that a problem?”
Max narrows his eyes, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. “This is a steakhouse,” he says slowly, as if explaining something very simple to a child. “A Michelin-starred steakhouse. I don’t make rabbit food.”
“Then maybe tonight you could make an exception,” you reply, keeping your tone even but firm. “I’m sure a chef of your caliber could whip something up.”
A scoff escapes him, and for a moment, you think he’s about to walk away. But instead, he steps closer, the heat of his presence almost tangible. “You think I’m going to ruin my kitchen with tofu or whatever it is you people eat?”
You blink at him, thrown off balance for a second by the sheer force of his disdain. But you gather yourself quickly, leaning forward slightly. “So you’re saying you can’t do it? That it’s too much for you?”
The challenge hangs in the air between you, thick with tension. Max’s jaw clenches, his eyes sparking with something dangerous. But then, to your surprise, he laughs — a short, harsh sound that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“I’m not making you anything,” he says, finality in his voice. “You should’ve picked a different restaurant.”
“Maybe I would have, if I’d known the chef had such limited skills,” you retort, not backing down.
His eyes darken, and for a moment, you think you’ve gone too far. But then, something shifts. The anger in his expression falters, replaced by something else — something almost amused.
“You’re really pushing it,” he mutters, but there’s a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
You feel a strange thrill at that, your pulse quickening. “I’m just asking you to do your job. Isn’t a good chef supposed to cater to all his customers?”
“A good chef is supposed to maintain the integrity of his menu,” he shoots back. “Not cater to every whim that walks through the door.”
“Maybe a great chef can do both,” you say quietly, watching him closely.
For a long moment, he just stares at you, his gaze intense and unreadable. You’re not sure what you expect him to do next — yell, walk away, maybe call security to kick you out — but what happens is the last thing you expect.
He leans in even closer, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?”
“Not particularly,” you reply, heart pounding. “I just know what I want.”
Max holds your gaze for a moment longer, then straightens up, tossing the towel over his shoulder. “You’re not going to win this,” he says, but there’s a hint of something in his voice — a challenge, maybe.
“We’ll see about that,” you reply, giving him a small, almost defiant smile.
He doesn’t smile back, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, something that makes your breath catch in your throat. Without another word, he turns on his heel and heads back to the kitchen, the doors swinging shut behind him with a decisive thud.
The table is silent for a moment, everyone exchanging wide-eyed looks as if they can’t believe what just happened. Your heart is still racing, your mind replaying the exchange over and over, analyzing every word, every glance.
“Did you just ...” one of your friends starts, trailing off in disbelief.
“I think I did,” you reply, a bit dazed yourself. But beneath the shock, there’s a strange sense of satisfaction. You’re not sure what it is — maybe the fact that you stood your ground, or maybe it’s something else, something about the way Max looked at you in those final moments.
Whatever it is, it leaves you feeling more alive than you have in a long time.
“Okay, that was intense,” someone else says, still staring at the kitchen doors. “Are you sure you want to keep pushing him?”
You take a breath, letting the adrenaline course through you. “Yeah. I think I do.”
“Good luck with that,” another friend mutters, though there’s a hint of admiration in their voice.
You don’t need luck, though. Not with this. There’s something about Max — something infuriating and fascinating all at once — that makes you want to see how far you can push him, how much he can take before he cracks. You’re not even sure what you’re aiming for — his respect, his irritation, or something else entirely — but you know you’re not backing down.
The minutes pass, and the chatter around the table picks up again, though you can tell everyone’s still on edge, waiting to see if Max will come back. You sip your water, trying to calm the lingering buzz of energy in your veins. Part of you wonders if you’ve made a mistake, if you’ve pushed too far, but another part — a bigger part — knows that this is exactly where you need to be.
When the kitchen doors finally swing open again, the table falls silent once more. Max strides out, his expression unreadable, and heads straight for you. He doesn’t have a plate in his hands, and for a moment, your heart sinks, thinking he’s come out just to reiterate his refusal.
But instead, he stops in front of you, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”
“Nope,” you say, meeting his gaze steadily. “I’m not.”
He studies you for a long moment, his blue eyes piercing. Then, to your surprise, he sighs — a heavy, resigned sound.
“You’re a pain in the ass,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly.
“So I’ve been told,” you reply, lifting an eyebrow.
He lets out a low, frustrated growl, but you can see the ghost of a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. The tension between you is still palpable, but it’s shifted — softened in a way that neither of you acknowledges.
“All right,” he finally says, his tone somewhere between exasperation and something almost like admiration. “I’ll make you something.”
Your friends exchange surprised glances, but you keep your gaze locked on Max, not letting yourself get too excited just yet. “You don’t have to,” you say, though the look in your eyes says otherwise.
“I’m doing this once,” he warns, pointing a finger at you like it’s some kind of punishment. “And if you don’t like it, you’re not getting a refund.”
You bite back a smile. “Deal.”
He narrows his eyes at you one last time before turning on his heel and heading back to the kitchen. The doors swing shut behind him, and this time, the silence at the table is charged with something new — something like disbelief, mingled with anticipation.
“What just happened?” Someone finally asks, breaking the spell.
“I think Max Verstappen just agreed to make a vegan dish,” you say, a touch of incredulity in your own voice.
“That’s got to be a first,” another friend chimes in, shaking their head. “You’ve got some kind of magic power.”
You laugh, the sound lighter than it’s been all night. “I don’t know about that. I think he just likes a challenge.”
“Or maybe he just likes you,” one of them says, waggling their eyebrows suggestively.
You roll your eyes, though a part of you wonders. There was something in the way he looked at you — something beyond just irritation. But you push the thought aside. Whatever this is, it’s not something you can figure out in the middle of a crowded steakhouse.
The minutes tick by, and though the conversation at the table picks up again, you can feel the undercurrent of curiosity running through your friends. They’re all waiting to see what Max will come up with, and honestly, so are you. The anticipation builds, your mind racing with possibilities — what could a Michelin-starred chef possibly make that’s both vegan and up to his standards?
When Max finally reappears, he’s carrying a single plate in his hands. He walks with purpose, his expression serious, but there’s a glint in his eyes that wasn’t there before. As he approaches, the table falls silent again, everyone leaning in to see what he’s brought.
He stops in front of you, holding out the plate with a sort of grudging respect. “Here,” he says simply.
You look down at the dish and feel your breath catch. It’s stunning — an artful arrangement of roasted vegetables, grains, and a vibrant sauce that you can’t quite place. It’s clear that he didn’t just throw something together — he put thought into this. Care, even.
“This looks amazing,” you say, genuine awe in your voice.
Max shrugs, though you can see the faintest hint of pride in his expression. “I told you — just this once. Don’t get used to it.”
You give him a small smile, something warm blooming in your chest. “Thank you.”
He nods, but before he can turn away, you add, “I’m serious. It really means a lot that you did this.”
For a moment, his eyes soften, and you see a flicker of something vulnerable beneath his tough exterior. But then he smirks, the mask slipping back into place. “You’re just lucky I’m in a good mood.”
“Is that what this is?” You tease, raising an eyebrow.
He doesn’t answer, just gives you a look that says more than words ever could. Then, with a final nod, he heads back to the kitchen, leaving you with the dish in front of you and the lingering feeling that something significant just happened.
You take a bite, and it’s even better than it looks. The flavors burst on your tongue, rich and complex, and you can’t help but smile. This is more than just food — it’s a statement, a challenge met and won.
The rest of the meal passes in a blur. Your friends order their steaks, and while they rave about their meals, you’re completely absorbed in your own, savoring every bite. You can’t help but steal glances towards the kitchen every now and then, wondering if Max is watching, if he’s thinking about you as much as you’re thinking about him.
By the time dessert rolls around, you’re almost too full to eat another bite. But when the waiter places a plate in front of you, you freeze.
It’s a small, delicate dessert — something that looks like a cross between a tart and a cake, with a perfectly smooth layer of chocolate ganache on top. But that’s not what catches your attention. Written in dark chocolate sauce across the edge of the plate, in neat, precise handwriting, is a phone number.
You blink, staring at it, your heart skipping a beat. Your friends lean in, catching sight of it as well, and their reactions range from gasps to stifled laughter.
“No way,” someone whispers, eyes wide with disbelief.
You can hardly believe it yourself. But there it is — clear as day, an unmistakable invitation.
You glance towards the kitchen, and just as you do, the doors swing open again. Max steps out, catching your eye from across the room. For a moment, the world seems to narrow down to just the two of you again, the noise and bustle of the restaurant fading into the background.
He gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod — an acknowledgment, a dare. Then, without waiting for a response, he turns and disappears back into the kitchen, leaving you with your friends and the plate in front of you.
“Are you going to call him?” One of them asks, their voice tinged with excitement.
You stare at the number, feeling a rush of adrenaline. “I don’t know,” you admit, though a smile is already spreading across your face.
But deep down, you do know. Because this — this little gesture, this playful challenge — feels like the start of something. Something you’re not quite ready to let go of.
You pick up your fork, take a bite of the dessert, and let the sweetness melt on your tongue. It’s perfect — just like everything else he’s made tonight. And as you savor the taste, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this is the beginning of something far more interesting than you ever expected.
***
The kitchen is filled with the scent of something sweet and savory, a blend of spices and roasted vegetables that wafts through the house and wraps around you like a warm blanket. You’re perched on a barstool at the kitchen island, one hand absentmindedly resting on your growing belly, the other holding a glass of freshly squeezed juice that Max insisted you drink, despite your protests that you were perfectly fine with water.
“You need the vitamins,” he had said, the Dutch accent that once made you bristle now soothing in its familiarity.
“Max, it’s fine,” you replied, but he had just given you that look — the one that says he’s not backing down — and you relented with a sigh, knowing there was no point in arguing.
Now, you watch as he moves around the kitchen with a practiced ease, his hands deftly chopping, stirring, and seasoning. It’s a sight you’ve grown accustomed to over the years, but it never fails to fill you with a mix of awe and gratitude. He’s changed so much since that night at the steakhouse, when he’d been all sharp edges and stubborn pride. Now, those edges have softened, replaced by a quiet determination to make you happy in every way he can.
“How’s it coming along?” You ask, taking another sip of juice and trying to ignore the flutter of excitement in your stomach that has nothing to do with the baby.
“Almost done,” Max replies, glancing up at you with a smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “Patience, liefje.”
“You know I’m not good at that,” you tease, leaning forward to try and catch a glimpse of what he’s cooking.
He chuckles, shaking his head as he continues to stir the pot on the stove. “I know. That’s why I’m hurrying.”
You can’t help but smile at that, the warmth of his words spreading through you like a comforting embrace. It’s moments like this that make you realize just how lucky you are — how much you’ve both grown together, built a life together. It hasn’t always been easy, but it’s been worth it.
“What are you making, anyway?” You ask, your curiosity getting the better of you.
He gives you a sly look, his lips curling into a smirk. “You’ll see.”
You groan, rolling your eyes. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love it,” he retorts, his voice full of playful confidence.
“Unfortunately, yes,” you admit with a mock sigh, though the smile on your face gives you away.
He laughs softly, the sound deep and full of affection. “Good thing, too.”
You watch him for a moment longer, your heart swelling with a mixture of love and contentment. He’s wearing an apron over his casual clothes, his hair slightly tousled from the steam rising off the stove. There’s something almost domestic about the whole scene, but it’s more than that—it’s the intimacy of knowing someone so well, of sharing your life with them in all its messy, beautiful complexity.
“Have I told you lately how amazing you are?” You ask, your voice softening.
Max glances at you, his expression tender. “Not today.”
“Well, you are,” you say, feeling a sudden rush of emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He pauses, the spoon in his hand hovering over the pot as he looks at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. “You won’t ever have to find out,” he says quietly, his voice laced with a promise.
For a moment, you just stare at each other, the weight of his words settling over you like a warm blanket. It’s not the first time he’s said something like that, but it never fails to hit you with the same force, the same certainty that you’ve found something rare and precious in each other.
Before you can respond, he turns back to the stove, breaking the moment with a casualness that belies the depth of what was just said. “Besides,” he adds, a hint of mischief creeping into his tone, “I’m pretty sure you’d starve without me.”
You laugh, the sound a little shaky as you try to regain your composure. “You’re probably right. But I’d find a way.”
“Not as well as I do,” he counters, his voice filled with mock arrogance.
“True,” you admit, watching him with a smile. “You’ve ruined me for all other chefs.”
“Good,” he says, the pride in his voice unmistakable. “That was the plan.”
You shake your head, but you can’t help the warmth that spreads through you. He’s always been confident, sometimes to the point of being infuriating, but there’s a sincerity to it now that wasn’t there before—a genuine desire to take care of you, to be there for you in every way.
“Are you going to let me taste whatever masterpiece you’re working on, or do I have to wait until it’s perfect?” You ask, trying to peek over the counter again.
“Patience,” he repeats, though there’s a glint in his eye that tells you he’s enjoying this far too much.
“Max,” you whine, drawing out the syllable in a way that you know he can’t resist.
He sighs dramatically, as if you’ve just asked him to perform some Herculean task, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “Fine. But just a taste.”
He picks up a small spoon and dips it into the pot, then turns and walks over to you, holding it out with a flourish. “Here.”
You take the spoon from him, your curiosity piqued. The aroma is intoxicating, and when you bring the spoon to your lips, the flavors explode on your tongue — rich, savory, with a hint of sweetness that lingers just long enough to make you want more.
“Oh my god,” you say around the mouthful, your eyes widening in surprise. “This is amazing.”
“I know,” he says, clearly pleased with himself as he leans back against the counter, crossing his arms. “I had to do something special for my girls.”
You swallow, the warmth of his words spreading through you like a soft, gentle wave. “Girls, huh?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. “So you’re still convinced it’s a girl?”
He shrugs, but there’s a softness in his expression that makes your heart swell. “Just a feeling.”
You smile, resting a hand on your belly. “Well, I’m sure she’ll love whatever you cook for her.”
“She better,” he replies, though his voice is teasing. “Or I’m sending her back.”
You laugh, the sound filling the kitchen and easing the last remnants of tension in the air. “Too late for that.”
“Damn,” he mutters, but there’s a smile on his face as he turns back to the stove, stirring the pot with practiced ease. “Guess we’ll just have to keep trying.”
You watch him for a moment, your heart full to bursting with affection. He’s taken to this whole thing — pregnancy, impending fatherhood — with a kind of devotion that you never expected, but that somehow doesn’t surprise you at all. He’s always been all in, whether it’s in the kitchen or in your relationship. It’s one of the things you love most about him — that relentless drive to be the best, to give his all, no matter what.
“You’re going to be a great dad,” you say softly, the words slipping out before you can stop them.
Max pauses, his hand stilling on the spoon. For a moment, he just stands there, his back to you, and you wonder if you’ve said the wrong thing, if maybe it’s too soon, too much. But then he turns, and the look on his face — full of vulnerability and determination — takes your breath away.
“I’m going to try,” he says, his voice low but steady. “I promise.”
You nod, unable to find the words to respond. Instead, you reach out, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it gently. He squeezes back, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gesture that’s so simple, so familiar, and yet it says everything you need to hear.
“Okay,” he says after a moment, clearing his throat and breaking the spell. “I’ve got something else for you.”
You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “What is it?”
He smirks, pulling his hand away and turning back to the counter. “Just wait.”
You watch as he opens the fridge and pulls out a small tray, carefully covered with a cloth. He sets it on the counter and, with a dramatic flourish, pulls the cloth away to reveal ... a plate of beautifully arranged pastries, each one delicately shaped and glistening with a light dusting of powdered sugar.
“Vegan croissants,” he says, a note of pride in his voice. “Made from scratch.”
Your jaw drops, and you stare at the pastries in disbelief. “You made these?”
“Of course,” he replies, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I told you I’d figure it out.”
You’re speechless, the effort and care he’s put into this gesture rendering you momentarily stunned. You know how much work goes into making croissants, and the fact that he’s done it just to satisfy your cravings — it’s almost too much.
“Max,” you say, your voice thick with emotion, “you didn’t have to do this.”
He shrugs, though there’s a hint of bashfulness in his expression. “I wanted to.”
You reach out, picking up one of the croissants and holding it in your hands like it’s something precious. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
“I try,” he says with a smirk, watching as you take a tentative bite of the croissant.
The layers are perfectly flaky, the pastry light and buttery despite being vegan. It melts in your mouth, and you close your eyes, savoring the taste. “This is ... incredible,” you murmur, barely able to believe how good it is.
Max’s smirk softens into a genuine smile. “I’m glad you like it.”
You take another bite, unable to stop yourself from grinning. “I don’t just like it, Max. I love it.”
He chuckles, leaning against the counter with an air of satisfaction. “Good. But don’t go telling anyone, okay? You’re still the only person I’d cook vegan for.”
You laugh, a sound full of love and warmth. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
He winks, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Better be. I’ve got a reputation to uphold, you know.”
You shake your head, your heart full as you look at the man you married — the man who, despite all his bravado, has always made you feel like the most important person in his world. “You’re impossible,” you say fondly.
“And you love it,” he replies, his voice softening as he reaches out to gently cup your cheek.
“I really do,” you whisper, leaning into his touch.
Max leans down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. When he pulls back, there’s a softness in his eyes that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world.
“I love you,” he says, his voice steady and sure.
“I love you too,” you reply, your voice thick with emotion.
And as you sit there together, the scent of freshly baked croissants filling the air, you can’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. Life might not always be easy, but with Max by your side — cooking for you, joking with you, loving you — you know you’ll always have a reason to smile, no matter what comes your way.
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golden-mantis · 17 hours ago
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This is very insightful. I can think of so many scenarios where I could apply this to my real life. I was just recently talking to my mom about feeling rushed in social situations and just wanting to leave. How the stress of the rush and people pleasing has prevented me from making friends with others who genuinely want to talk to me.
I want to stand out of line staring at the menu in a restaurant, taking my time to process what I really want to eat and what I can afford without feeling guilty that I am taking up space, or worrying that I look like a lost idiot.
I want to not only graciously accept complements (which I have been getting better at) but also take time to continue the conversation, complement them back, and speak to the random human who was kind enough to brighten my day- if they are not in a hurry.
I want to give food back that was made wrong, but better yet I want to feel brave enough to raise my voice, so I am heard when ordering in the first place because I am usually so quiet.
Another thing I wanted to note is that while I have been trying to do some of these things, it is also really helpful to do them with other friends and supports around you. If I am in my school's cafe, I am way more likely to talk to strangers and act bravely if I am already with a friend. I ask my friend to take the bus off campus every time. Someday I will work up the courage to go on my own but don't be afraid to ask for help from your community. It builds stronger bonds to ask for favors and join each other for small menial tasks. Plus, you have someone to lean on socially, someone who you can take cues from since you've known them longer than the strangers around you. You can also talk with them afterwards about the interaction if you're confused about what happened.
I am a pretty reactive person, when someone is distressed, I tend to join their distress even if I don't know what they are distressed about, but friends can also help in that regard as well. You have someone who you can refer to about what is going on, who may be calmer which tells my stupid monkey brain "actually everything is okay, we can get through this situation because friend is here, and they are calm"
If you’ve never been all that disobedient before, you can and should start really, really small. For example, you can wear the slightly revealing or gloriously trashy-looking garment that makes your mom roll her eyes and sigh despondently every time she sees you put it on. You will feel judged and disapproved of when you put it on, but that is fine. Your goal is to sit with the uncomfortable feelings and continue with your desired behavior anyway.  Saunter down the steps in that highlighter-yellow Garfield crop top with your chest hair flowing over the neckline, and harness as much courage as you can muster. It’s okay if you feel like a beacon of sin. Just keep it moving. Your emotions are not the target here. Your behavior is. You can feel however you are feeling in the moment so long as you keep acting like you’re free.  Do you have a favorite TV show that a partner or roommate vocally hates? Try watching that show around them without apologizing or defensively joining them in mocking the program. At first, you probably won’t be able to enjoy the show while in their presence. You’ll feel self-conscious about everything they find annoying or cringe-inducing about the show, and so focused on their reactions that you can’t relax. That’s okay. Allow those feelings of embarrassment and guilt to exist and pass through you without giving up. In time, you will be able to ignore these reactions more, and enjoy the activity.  You want to see the needle of discomfort moving down just a little, like Link’s body temperature meter in Tears of the Kingdom when he puts on a breathable outfit in a hot climate. You’re not gonna go from roiling hot to frosty cold in an instant. But after a certain point, you won’t be actively in pain anymore. Things are just gonna slowly suck less, bit by bit, until they are finally okay. That’s true of most major life adjustments, I find.  Probably the best way to develop self-advocacy skills while growing in your distress tolerance is simply by telling other people no. Do this without explanation or hedging. Nitpicky aunt wants to hear all about your dating life? “No, I don’t want to talk about that.” Unreliable ex-friend wants you to do them the tiny favor of moving their entire home gymnasium into a new third story walk-up? “No, I’m not available.” Manipulative shift supervisor wants to cajole you into sticking around for another three hours to close? “No.”  As many advice columnists smarter than me have already intoned, “no” is a complete sentence. “No” requires no explanation. “No” is not subject to debate. “No” can be repeated over and over like a broken record if a disrespectful person acts like they can’t hear it. And you can walk away at any time to make your “no” physical and impossible to argue with, when someone has proven they don’t respect your boundaries. 
you can read or listen to the full piece for free here
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insidekatmind · 1 day ago
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Guard~ Hwang Jun-ho
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Wearning: +18,smut
Request: yes!
You were taken to a mysterious place, where the games of your childhood came back to haunt you in a deadly way. The rules were simple: win or die. If you broke a rule, you weren't just eliminated. You were killed.
Shot to death for a simple childish game.
But the prize was tempting: 6 billion won. An amount that drove 456 desperate people, including you, to risk everything.
This place is called The Squid Games.
Around you, men with black masks that hide their faces. The masks have different symbols: the squares are the Managers, those who command; the triangles are the Soldiers, armed with guns always ready; and the circles are the simple workers, who never speak unless ordered to do so.
At first, you didn't know who they really were, but there was a man among them, watching you. Silent, attentive.
His name is Jun-ho.
---
Jun-ho was not like the others. Behind the Manager mask, he hid a secret: he was looking for his brother, In-ho, the winner of the 28th edition of the games, who disappeared without a trace. To find answers, Jun-ho had infiltrated the workers, assuming the identity of one of them.
And then he met you.
--
The second game was to cut out a perfect shape from a piece of caramelized sugar. If you broke the shape, you were eliminated on the spot.
Sitting on the ground, you clutched your small umbrella in your shaking hands. You knew it was the most difficult shape to cut out. The screams of those who failed filled the air, followed by the dry sound of gunshots.
You concentrate, breathing hard, sweat dripping down your forehead. Finally, with one last precise movement, the umbrella shape comes off without breaking.
You smile, relieved. You get up and approach a Manager to show off your work. He slowly turns to you. Under the square mask, Jun-ho’s eyes soften for a moment, almost imperceptibly.
“Done,” you say softly, a hint of pride in your voice.
He nods. “Good job.”
From that moment, something changes
---
After the brutal test of Tug of War, you are in the bathroom, in front of the mirror, cleaning a cut on your face. During the game, another participant accidentally scratched you with his nail as you struggled not to fall.
You are rubbing the wound with a piece of cloth, when the bathroom door slowly opens.
A man in a square mask enters, looking around before closing the door behind him. Your heart pounds in your chest.
“Rough game, hm?” he says softly, his voice recognizable despite the hushed tone.
you sigh as you dry yourself "no, do you think so?" you say sarcastically
"Hm, I have a feeling you'd be sarcastic," he says under his mask, leaning against the bathroom wall.
"it's the only thing I have left," you mutter tiredly. Under his mask, Junho's eyes softened as he listened to your words. Seeing you so clearly struggling and exhausted from the games was a hard sight to behold. He was silent for a moment before answering softly, "Don't say that."
You turn to look at him. "But it's the truth. In these games, you risk your life, it's easy to talk for you."
"I risk my life too, you know, doll." He retorts, and the nickname slips off his tongue before he can even register what he said. He paused for a second, before answering softly, "Believe me, it's not easy at all."
you look at him in disbelief, not believing him. "and let's hear what you're risking? you're a guard"
He laughs at your response and shakes his head slightly under his mask. He pushes himself away from the wall, taking a step towards you as he answers in a low voice,
"And if you think that being a guard is just fun and games, you're wrong. Do you have any idea what we've been ordered to do?"
you look at him carefully "kill people? well I notice that you do it with great pleasure" you blurt
He lets out a soft sigh under his mask, almost rolling his eyes at your words. He continues to walk towards you, until he's right in front of you, with his back to the wall. As he looks down at you, his voice drops: "You don't know how things really are. Do you think it's a choice? No, it's an order. We were told to do it. Not that you'd understand that, right?"
"He is only one, there are many more of you, the story of not having a choice doesn't hold up" you huff
He let out a soft sigh as you continued to argue with him. Then he leaned even closer, his body practically against yours as he looked down at you. The black mask on his face hid the slight frown on his lips. "Do you think the guards don't have to obey? Do you think we have the choice to stop or not follow orders? Do you think we have the choice to say no?" He asks firmly, a hint of irritation in his voice.
"I repeat, he is only one and there are many more of you" you move closer to him leaving no space. He lets out a small, bitter laugh under his mask as you enter his space.
He couldn't deny the fact that you were stubborn, and annoying. He stood there for a moment, still looking down at you as he held his body against yours. Then he answered in a low voice, "Are you always this stubborn?"
"I'm usually quiet but this place drives me crazy" you mutter looking at him. He lets out another soft sigh, shaking his head slightly under his mask.
After a moment, he lifts a hand to your head and gently moves a lock of hair from your face. He pauses, before saying in a more calm tone than before: "Yeah, I don't blame you. This place does the same to me too".
You lean into his touch feeling a sweet caress after a long time. He feels you leaning into his touch, that you're almost melting completely. His fingers continued to gently brush your hair, before moving to gently cup your face. He let out a silent sigh as his thumb carefully brushed your cheek.
You sigh softly and lean into him more. "It feels so good to be caressed after so long".
He can’t help but frown under his mask when he feels you lean into him. He slowly moves his other hand to grasp your waist, as he carefully guides you forward to rest against his chest.
He wraps his arms around you gently, holding your body against his, and his hands draw gentle circles on your back. His eyes wander once more to the cut on your face as he says softly, “Doll, why didn’t you clean yourself up properly? You even have a cut on your face.”
You sigh softly and hug him, “Who cares, I’ll have more,” you whisper tiredly. He feels you gently wrap your arms around him, causing his to tighten around you. He sighs softly under his mask when you mention the possibility of him having more injuries. “I don’t want you to get any more. Especially while you’re here in the arena.” He responds by gently holding the back of your head against his shoulder.
You hum in response and let yourself go to the feel of his arms around your body. He stays silent as he listens to you hum softly, letting his mind focus on the feel of you against him.
He held you tightly to his body, not wanting to let go so soon.
The feeling of having you in his arms was something he didn’t want to give up so quickly. He liked the way you leaned into him, the way you let him hold you, even though we were in the bathroom.
His arms still held you against his chest, his chin resting on your head. He could faintly smell your shampoo, a pleasant smell that made him tighten his arms around you slightly.
He was silent for a moment, before saying softly, “You know I’m going to be in trouble if anyone catches us like this.”
You nodded weakly into his arm again. “Do you want me to let go?” You whispered, hoping he’d say no.
Feeling your body nod against his, he let out a soft sigh as he rolled his eyes under his mask. He pulled you a little closer, not letting go even a little. “If I told you I wanted you to move, would you?” he murmurs softly as he rubs your back.
"well i would struggle but yes" you whisper again into his arms. When he hears you answer, he lets out a soft hum, clearly not satisfied with your answer. He pushes you back, until you are pinned against the wall, your body still in his arms. He freezes you in place as he bends down to your height, his mask right next to your ear. "Doll, are you sure you really want to leave? You look reluctant." He murmurs softly.
"no i don't" you whisper as you hold him close. He lets out a soft smirk when he hears your words, a victorious smile beneath his mask. "That's what i thought. You're not really willing to leave, huh?" He runs his hands up your sides, his fingers delicately tracing your curves. He had you pinned to the wall, not letting you move even a little.
The feel of your body against his, the way you leaned into him made his face heat up. He leaned down, lowering his mask slightly to your neck and feeling his warm breath on your skin. He murmured softly, "Tell me, doll. Do you know how hard it is for me to stay calm when I'm with you?"
you look at him softly, "can you take off your mask?" The request takes him a little by surprise, but he quickly regains his composure. He looks at you from under the mask, considering your words. After a moment, he slowly raises his hands and removes the mask that covers his face. He places the mask on one of the nearby sinks, before looking back at you, his dark eyes meeting yours. His hair was falling delicately over his forehead, giving him a slightly disheveled look.
You smile softly and caress his cheek. "You're so beautiful," you whisper softly. When he feels your hand gently caress his cheek, his face reddens from the unexpected compliment. He looks at you and sees a soft smile on your lips, and it makes his heart beat faster. He responds softly, his voice a little softer than before, "Do you really think so?"
You smile softly and nod. He swallows slightly, his face still red as you nod in agreement. sign of confirmation. "Doll, you shouldn't say things so suddenly. You'll make me act even more out of place than I already have." He murmurs softly as he moves his head to lean into your touch.
"do it," you whisper. When he hears such direct words from you, he lets out a sigh of relief.
He then grabs your wrists, pinning you against the wall again; this time both wrists are in his grip. “You’re only making it worse for yourself, doll. You really shouldn’t say things like that.” He says in a low, slightly warning tone.
He leaned in closer, his body pressed against yours, your wrists still in his grip. He looked at you intently, his expression a little serious, but with a slight hint of something else. “Let me ask you this, doll. Do you want me to go further?”
You look at him and nod quickly. He’s slightly surprised when you nod quickly in response. He smirks slightly as he looks up at you and studies your face carefully. “You’re so quick to say that, doll. I wonder if you’ll regret it later.”
He leans in even further, pinning your wrists against the wall above your head. Then he moves closer to your neck, his breath warm on your skin as he murmurs softly. “But I won’t stop.”
His lips soon move to your neck, gently planting kisses on your sensitive skin. He moved slower, savoring the feeling of having you in his arms. He continues to hold your wrists still, preventing you from moving, while his other hand slowly slides down your body. You moan and cling to him.
When he hears your moan, he makes a soft hum against your neck. He slowly feels you grab him, as if you want to pull him closer, as if you want his body against yours. He gently bites your skin, trailing kisses along your neck with his lips, until he reaches your ear. He whispers in a low, warm tone, "You're mine, doll. Just remember that." You nod in response.
He lets out another soft hum as he feels your head nod against his body. He feels you pressing yourself more and more against him, as if you were submitting completely to his touch. He slowly lets his hands wander over your body, his touch firm against your curves. He murmurs in a low, possessive tone against your ear, “Be a good doll and hold still for me, okay?” You nod again in response.
When he says these words, he feels your body tremble slightly, as he slowly caresses your hips with his hands. His touch on your skin is gentle yet firm, as if he’s making sure to memorize every inch of you. He begins to slide his hands gently down your body, his fingers tracing your curves until they reach your face. He looks down at you, meeting your eyes. “You look so beautiful like this, doll.”
He raises his hand and gently runs his fingers through your hair, his touch soft and tender on your skin. His dark eyes scan your features, carefully studying every detail of your face: from your lips to your cheeks, to the slight cut on your face. He looks down at you for a few seconds before murmuring softly, "You look so fragile like this. You're mine, and tonight I'll remind you of that." Hearing those words, you moan in response.
He lets out a small smirk in response to the sound of your moan. His hands slowly slide to your hips, gripping you gently as he pulls you closer to his body. He murmurs in a low, firm tone, "You make it harder for me to hold back, doll."
He leans back slightly and his eyes travel back up your body, pinned to the wall. He looks down at you, his expression a little serious, but revealing something else. “You know, honey, I’m going to make sure you’re completely mine before the night is out.” You whimper in response.
He slowly leans forward again, pinning you to his body. He looks at you intently, his eyes locking with yours. Then he slowly murmurs against your ear, his voice low and seductive, "You know I won't be gentle, doll. I'm going to have you all to myself tonight." You moan softly, getting excited at his words,
He feels your moan against his body and it makes his body heat up. He slowly lowers his hands, grabbing your thighs and lifting you up quickly, your legs wrapping around his waist. He pins you more firmly against the wall, making sure you're locked in place.
He feels your body shaking against his, your arms wrapping around his neck as you hold on tight. He watches you as you're against the wall, his eyes locked on your face. He studies your expression for a few seconds before letting out a small smirk. "Doll, you really don't know how hard you make it for me to control myself."
You look at him longingly and kiss him. He’s a little surprised when you suddenly kiss him, not expecting such a bold move from you. He kisses you quickly, his lips moving against yours in a firm but somehow gentle way. He slowly moves his hands up, grabbing your wrists as he pins your body to the wall again, now holding both of your wrists in his grip.
His lips move against yours, his kiss slowly becoming more intense as he pins your body to his. He continues to hold your wrists with one hand, not letting you escape his touch. After a moment he pulls away and looks at you, your face red and slightly breathless from the kiss. “Baby, you make it hard to hold back.” He says softly, his eyes roaming over your face.
“I need you,” you murmur longingly. He lets out a soft sigh when he hears those words come out of your mouth. He looks at you intently, his eyes meeting yours. He sees the desire on your face, and he’s both surprised and excited by it. Then he responds softly, his voice almost whispering, “Do you want me that bad, doll?”
“Yes please,” you murmur in response. He lets out a soft hum as he looks up at you and notices the pleading look on your face. His expression softens slightly, a hint of possession in his eyes. “Beg all you want, doll. I won’t be gentle. Tonight I’m going to have you all to myself.” You groan in anticipation.
He quickly turns around and walks with you in his arms, still holding you tightly in his grip. Then he places you on the nearest bed, positioning you right in the middle. Then he looks down at you, his eyes roaming over your body. He grabs your thighs and pulls you towards him, moving you over the sink
He places himself between your legs, his body hovering over yours. He looks down at you, a small smirk on his lips. Then he slowly runs his hand up your leg, his touch almost reverent. “You look so beautiful like this, doll. All mine, just for me.” You moan in response.
He quickly begins to undo your shirt, his fingers working deftly, fast and precise. Your shirt soon opens, exposing your skin to his gaze. Then he looks down at you, his gaze slowly wandering over your body. His expression is a little hungry as he looks at you, his eyes slowly darkening. “Doll, you look so beautiful. You have no idea how hard it is for me to control myself with you like this.”
He moves his hands down, gently touching your skin as his fingers begin to explore every inch of your body. It’s not gentle; his touch is firm and somewhat possessive. He slowly moves closer to you, his body pressing against yours as he leans down. His lips are right next to your ear and he murmurs softly, “You feel so good under my touch, doll. I want you so bad right now.”
You whimper at his touch wanting more and you cling to him. Jun-ho removes his clothes and rubs his hardness against your entrance and then enters you making you moan loudly. He starts to move against you harder and harder, he was true to his word. He wasn’t gentle at all. His hips move at a slow but steady pace, each thrust is hard and deep.
With each thrust you moan loudly as you cling to him. He watches you intently, his eyes locked on your face as he notices the look of pleasure on your face. “You feel so good, doll. It’s like you were made for me this beautiful pussy” he moans thrusting even harder.
He can feel you trembling under his touch, your body responding in ways that only make him wilder. He moves closer to you, his body flush against yours as he continues to move against you. His mouth moves down to your neck, where he gently sucks your skin, leaving little marks in his wake. “You’re mine, baby. I’m the only one who can see you like this. You’re mine and mine alone.”
He picks you up and fucks you in his arms, hitting you deeper and deeper. "this pussy is so tight" he grunts, fucking you harder and you scream.
"I'm close" you murmur, moaning and Jun-ho smiles and pushes his hips even more brutally. "cum for me doll" he murmurs and you come hearing his words.
Jun-ho smiles and pushes himself even more brutally and then cums inside you. You screamed from the mixture of pain and pleasure. You hid your face in the crook of his neck and he smiles. "You're mine, there's no escape now" he whispers in your ear.
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irisintheafterglow · 1 day ago
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bsf!shoto doesn't understand when being punctual went out of style.
when you swing open your front door the instant he was about to knock, you startle backward like you'd seen a ghost.
"oh, wow." your eyes are wide open and your mouth gapes before snapping shut. "you're, uh, here very early," you manage to say, turning back inside and kicking the door the rest of the way open with your foot. he follows behind you as you hurry back to your bathroom, your makeup halfway done and seven possible outfits laid on your bed. he follows you through the hallway, stopping only a moment to glance at a baby photo of you on the wall. he'd seen the photos hundreds of times, but he found it amusing that you made the same face of surprise when you were little.
"i am ten minutes before our agreed upon meeting time, is that distressing?"
"not distressing, just surprising. in my experience," you continue while patting glitter on the inside corner of your eyelid, "guys don't usually show up on time for dates."
"well, it's a good thing i'm not other guys, then," he smirks and you roll your eyes with a poorly hidden grin. "i also didn't need to waste time picking you flowers--"
"since most of the stuff makes me sneeze anyway," you finish for him, your cheeks warm under the dusting of powder blush. you had known shoto for nearly three quarters of your life, yet it still caught you off guard every time he said something that told you he'd been paying attention to you. "very thoughtful of you." your eyes meet his in the mirror, flicking to his broad shoulder leaning against the doorframe. "staring is rude."
"then you're a hypocrite," he immediately counters with no change in tone, the only indication of his smugness the slightest narrowing of his eyes. his expression turns thoughtful, fond almost. he smiles softly and the endearment makes your cheeks warm even more. "i like that color. the one on your eyes."
"mmm, i know it's your favorite," you reply coyly. shoto's eyes drag from your face down the rest of your body, something different flickering across his face. "something wrong?"
"no, you just...you look beautiful," he manages to say.
"i'm wearing pajamas and all might socks that have at least three holes. in each sock," you chuckle, turning to him over your shoulder. "i certainly don't feel beautiful."
"i can fix that."
"what?"
"what?" he blinks at you, dumbfounded, and you giggle at his slip-up. "who said that?"
"you're funny, sho." you try to ignore the way his eyes follow every movement of your hands as they swipe color over your lips and make last adjustments to your lashes. when you're done, he steps out of your way so you can take your numerous outfit choices to the bathroom, settling down next to your bed to help you decide like he'd done before. "this is a little different, you know," you say through the crack in bathroom door as you tug on your first arrangement. "before, you were helping me decide what to wear for school award ceremonies and stuff like that."
"i could still do that, if you want," he replies with complete sincerity. "i do still want to do that."
"it's a little weird to be dating your best friend, since i feel like you already know all the things that would make me a terrible person to date," you continue and he falls silent on the other side of the door, prompting you to peek out of the bathroom. "sho? is everything okay?"
"yes, everything is fine." there's the slightest dip in his perfect eyebrows that tell you otherwise.
"the 'no lying' rule carries over from friendship to dating, you know," you remind him casually and step out completely, turning in a circle for the full effect. "what do you think?"
"i think that's a bit...warm," he states bluntly. you blink at him and half expect him to laugh, but he doesn't. he's dead serious about you being too warm.
"i am a little warm, yes," you admit in your thick sweater and fleece stockings. "but, i'd also like to dress warmer than i need to because it's so much easier to cool off than it is to warm up."
"i can do both of those things for you," shoto declares. "why wouldn't i do both of those things for you?"
"i don't want you to hassle and need to use your quirk on date night." your voice trails off but he's having none of it.
"is this what you mean by 'things that make you a terrible person to date?' planning ahead so you're not a burden?" you shift your weight uncomfortably under his gaze and can't muster any other answer but shrugging.
"i just...i don't want you to need to change to accommodate me, now that we're together," you explain quietly. he stands and takes your hands in his, lacing your fingers together without a second thought. "if it's easier for me to be uncomfortable and you to be comfortable--"
"why is both of us being comfortable not a possibility?" he asks, tilting his head forward slightly. "why can you prioritize me but i cannot prioritize you?" you have no further argument but his point is hammered home. "do you love me as you wish to?"
"wholeheartedly."
"then let me love you as i wish to. wholeheartedly."
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hjpsdiary · 2 days ago
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slytherin boy's headcons (them as ur bf <3)
theodore nott as your boyfriend :
‱ he’s the definition of quiet but observant; he notices every little thing about you, from your favorite snacks to how you fidget when nervous.
‱ doesn’t talk much, but when he does, it’s meaningful—his compliments feel rare and precious.
‱ surprisingly affectionate in private; he’ll always find excuses to brush his fingers against yours or pull you close when no one’s looking.
‱ reads a lot and will casually leave books he thinks you’d like in your bag or on your desk.
‱ fiercely protective but subtle about it—he’ll silently step in when someone’s bothering you or shoot a glare that makes them back off immediately.
‱ has a sarcastic sense of humor that comes out more as he gets comfortable with you; you’re one of the few people who ever see him smile.
‱ remembers everything you say, even the small things, and will surprise you by acting on it weeks later.
‱ not big on grand romantic gestures but makes up for it with small, thoughtful actions, like brewing your favorite tea or saving you a seat in class.
‱ loves stargazing; it’s one of the rare times he really opens up, sharing his thoughts and dreams while lying next to you under the stars.
‱ isn’t the best with words when expressing feelings but tries to write them down for you in short, heartfelt notes.
‱ values trust above all else; if you’re patient with him, he’ll let his walls down completely and be endlessly loyal.
‱ his love language is acts of service—he’ll carry your books, fix your broken quill, or help you study without you even asking.
‱ secretly adores when you wear something of his, like a sweater or scarf, and won’t say it outright but will be internally smug all day.
‱ has a soft, calming presence that makes you feel safe and at ease no matter what’s going on around you.
‱ he’s not perfect, sometimes retreating into himself when overwhelmed, but he’ll always come back to you, knowing you’re his anchor.
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mattheo riddle as your boyfriend :
‱ the ultimate bad boy with a soft spot only for you; he’s tough around others but absolutely melts when it comes to you.
‱ constantly teases you but gets genuinely offended if you don’t fire back—he loves the banter.
‱ incredibly protective to the point where he’ll square up with anyone who even looks at you the wrong way.
‱ thrives on physical touch—his arm is always slung around your shoulders, hand in your back pocket, or fingers intertwined with yours.
‱ has a devilish grin that he only uses to fluster you because he knows it works every single time.
‱ somehow knows exactly where you are at all times, and not in a creepy way—just always shows up when you need him.
‱ calls you ridiculous nicknames like “princess,” “trouble,” or “love,” depending on his mood.
‱ super possessive but not in a toxic way—he just loves reminding people that you’re his.
‱ absolutely hates when you’re upset with him and will go out of his way to apologize, even if it means swallowing his pride.
‱ smokes casually and offers you his jacket when it’s cold, the scent of him lingering on it for hours after.
‱ loves pulling you into trouble with him, whether it’s sneaking out after curfew or pranking someone, but always makes sure you’re safe.
‱ surprisingly intellectual—he can talk about dark magic theories for hours and gets a kick out of teaching you forbidden spells.
‱ his temper can flare up, especially when someone crosses you, but he always calms down when you’re around.
‱ absolutely adores seeing you in his clothes; he’ll smirk and say, “Looks better on you, anyway.”
‱ deeply loyal—once you have his heart, there’s no getting rid of him, and he’ll do anything to keep you happy.
‱ loves late-night conversations, where he gets a little vulnerable and tells you about his past and his fears.
‱ has a soft side he rarely shows, but when he does, it’s for you—whether it’s stroking your hair when you’re stressed or mumbling “I love you” when he thinks you’re asleep.
‱ he’s chaos personified, but somehow, with you, he feels like he’s finally found a bit of peace.
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lorenzo birkshire as your boyfriend:
‱ he’s the smooth talker who flirts like it’s second nature, but with you, it’s genuine—he means every word.
‱ loves to make you laugh; he’ll go out of his way to crack jokes, pull silly faces, or do over-the-top impressions just to see you smile.
‱ low-key a hopeless romantic; he’ll surprise you with little handwritten notes, flowers he “found,” or surprise dates in secret spots.
‱ absolutely loves PDA—he’s the type to kiss your cheek in front of everyone or hold your hand just to let people know you’re his.
‱ he’s fiercely loyal, and anyone who tries to mess with you instantly regrets it; he’ll defend you without hesitation.
‱ the type to whisper in your ear during class, making you both laugh quietly, even if it earns him a detention.
‱ incredibly charming but gets adorably flustered when you flirt back or catch him off guard.
‱ loves spoiling you in small ways—buying you your favorite sweets, carrying your bag, or sneaking you an extra butterbeer during Hogsmeade trips.
‱ surprisingly good at comforting you when you’re upset; he’ll listen, wrap you in a warm hug, and crack just the right joke to lighten the mood.
‱ lives for the banter between you two; he thinks it’s hilarious when you try to outwit him, even if you win.
‱ would give you his scarf or cloak without hesitation if you were cold and wouldn’t stop teasing you about looking “adorable” in it.
‱ the type to plan spontaneous adventures, dragging you out of bed to sneak around the castle or explore forbidden areas.
‱ he’s a mix of chaotic energy and soft affection, always knowing when to be playful and when to be serious.
‱ low-key brags about you to his friends but pretends he’s “too cool” to care when they tease him about how smitten he is.
‱ loves running his fingers through your hair absentmindedly, especially when you’re sitting close or leaning against him.
‱ insists on being your biggest cheerleader, hyping you up before exams, Quidditch matches, or even small challenges.
‱ gets jealous easily but tries to play it off—he’s terrible at hiding it, though, and ends up pouting until you reassure him.
‱ he’s the kind of boyfriend who’s both your partner in crime and your safe place, balancing wild fun with genuine love.
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draco malfoy as your boyfreind:
‱ starts off guarded, but once he lets his walls down, he’s completely devoted to you.
‱ the type to act all cool and aloof in public but secretly loves holding your hand or brushing his fingers against yours.
‱ buys you extravagant gifts, not because he’s trying to show off, but because it’s how he expresses his love—jewelry, rare books, or even something sentimental he knows you’ll cherish.
‱ incredibly protective; he’d go out of his way to make sure you’re safe and comfortable, whether that means intimidating someone who’s bothering you or walking you to every class.
‱ struggles to express his emotions verbally but makes up for it through his actions—he’ll always be there when you need him, no questions asked.
‱ low-key thrives on your praise; hearing you say you’re proud of him or appreciate him makes him feel on top of the world.
‱ gets jealous easily and tries to play it cool, but his little snarky comments give him away every time.
‱ loves spoiling you in subtle ways, like slipping your favorite dessert onto your plate at dinner or reserving the best spot in the library for you.
‱ softens dramatically when he’s with you; he goes from sharp sarcasm to quiet vulnerability in your presence.
‱ late-night talks are where he truly opens up, sharing his fears, insecurities, and dreams he’s too afraid to admit to anyone else.
‱ secretly loves when you mess with his perfectly styled hair, even though he’ll complain about it every time.
‱ will drape his scarf or coat around your shoulders if you’re cold, muttering something about how he “can’t have you freezing to death.”
‱ loves hearing you laugh; he’ll go out of his way to say something witty just to see you smile, even if it’s at his expense.
‱ incredibly attentive to your needs—he notices when you’re tired, stressed, or upset, and does everything he can to help.
‱ he’s not big on public displays of affection but will always find little ways to show you’re his, like resting his hand on your lower back or standing close enough for your shoulders to touch.
‱ gets flustered when you compliment him, especially if you call him handsome or clever—he’ll roll his eyes, but his pink cheeks give him away.
‱ he’s not perfect and sometimes lashes out when he’s stressed, but he’s quick to apologize and make it up to you.
‱ when he says he loves you, it’s rare but deeply meaningful—you can tell he means it with everything he has.
‱ despite his flaws, he’s fiercely loyal, endlessly protective, and wholly yours, doing everything he can to make you feel loved.
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blaise zabini as your boyfriend:
‱ effortlessly smooth and confident, he doesn’t even need to try to charm you—it’s just who he is.
‱ the king of subtle but meaningful gestures, like holding doors open for you, pulling out your chair, or placing his hand on your lower back to guide you through a crowd.
‱ loves to spoil you, but in a classy, understated way—think fine chocolate, rare books, or spontaneous weekend getaways.
‱ very private about your relationship; he keeps most of his affection behind closed doors but isn’t shy about letting people know you’re his.
‱ gives the best advice; he’s incredibly perceptive and always knows the right thing to say when you’re stressed or upset.
‱ he’s not big on loud, over-the-top displays of affection, but his actions always show how much he cares—he’s the type to quietly take care of things before you even ask.
‱ loves watching you talk about something you’re passionate about; he’ll rest his chin in his hand and just admire you with a soft smile.
‱ has a wicked sense of humor and loves teasing you, but it’s always playful and never hurtful—he secretly loves when you tease him back.
‱ he’s the epitome of cool, calm, and collected, but you’re the only one who can fluster him when you catch him off guard with affection or a well-timed compliment.
‱ ridiculously good at remembering details about you, like your favorite drink, your childhood stories, or even the exact shade of your favorite lipstick.
‱ loves to keep you close—whether it’s casually draping an arm over your shoulder or pulling you into his lap when you’re alone together.
‱ fiercely protective but subtle about it; one look from him is enough to make anyone second-guess bothering you.
‱ will casually drop compliments about you in conversations with his friends, but if they tease him about being soft, he just smirks and doesn’t deny it.
‱ he’s a fantastic listener and always makes you feel like you’re the most important person in the room when you’re talking to him.
‱ takes immense pride in how you carry yourself and always reminds you of how incredible you are, even if you don’t see it yourself.
‱ adores dressing up for dates with you and insists on coordinating outfits so you both look effortlessly elegant together.
‱ late nights with him often involve deep conversations, a bottle of wine, and a lot of soft touches as he shares pieces of himself he doesn’t show anyone else.
‱ has a surprisingly tender side—he’ll hold you close when you’re feeling down, whispering reassurances that everything will be okay.
‱ he’s all about balance: the perfect mix of suave, playful, and deeply caring, making you feel like the luckiest person in the world.
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endearng · 2 days ago
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Out of reach
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Pairing: earlyseasons!Spencer Reid x hotchner!fem!reader Summary: You pull away from Spencer because of your jealousy. You go back to him after a few drinks in. WC: 9k A/N: fluff! pining! idiots/friends to lovers! alcohol consumption; spencer is a bit mean; reader doesn't communicate; hotch is a little older to have a daughter around spencer's age (do not come at me this is fiction). If I missed anything, please let me know! I had so much fun writing this one and it's now one of my favorites <3 masterlist
The jet was quiet as you and the BAU team made your way back from Los Angeles after successfully finding Lila Archer's stalker. The case had been a bit draining, after all, you've only been working with the FBI for a couple of months, and seeing dead bodies and all those other displays of violence was something you were still trying to get used to. Despite your sensitive nature, being Aaron Hotchner's daughter meant that you had mastered the art of a poker face through the years, not that it meant that your inner feelings were any less important. This is how you found yourself sitting all alone in a corner of the jet as everyone minded their own business. On any other day, you'd be sitting next to Dr. Spencer Reid, talking about whatever it was that could get your mind off the case you had just wrapped up. Spencer and you were friends, some would even say the best of friends, but you didn't mind about naming things — what mattered the most is that you got to be yourself around him and you didn't bother hiding behind the Hotchner glare, as he once put it.
Despite being unknown territory for you, after all, feelings and all that were protected by a deeply analytic and practical mind, you knew what you were feeling. Well, you were analyzing your reactions to check what had actually happened — and the thing is, you couldn't admit, not even to yourself, what that sinking feeling in your chest when you watched Spencer saying goodbye to Lila was. Amid your analysis, Spencer quietly approached you, silently motioning to the seat next to you. You nodded, shutting every single thought of him. Or at least, trying.
"Hi."
Hotch glare. "Hi, Reid."
Spencer felt nervous. He had never been on the receiving end of your
 wrath before, so it was unknown territory and he didn't know how to act. His racing heart and clammy palms weren't helping him, either. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Listen, um, you... can... can we talk?" The stammering. Way to go, Spencer.
Glancing at him, ignoring the skip in your heartbeat, you nodded. "Yeah. Is everything alright?" A firm, secure tone. You mentally patted yourself on the back.
"You're a little distant... and—and I got a bit worried. Did... Did something happen?" He wanted to kick himself. What kind of person can't hold a serious conversation without stuttering like an idiot? Get a grip, Reid.
"No, Reid. Everything is alright. I'm just... thinking." You said.
Bullshit. You both knew that. Spencer, on the other hand, didn't know why it was bullshit. But he knew it was.
"Are you sure?" He asked, leaning towards you, almost invading your personal space and he shut his eyes before delivering the next question, "Is... I haven't done anything to upset you? Right?"
You took a second to answer him, willing your voice to stay still and the knot in your throat to go away. "No. It's nothing you've done. It's just... it's on me." You gave him a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes — that's when he knew something was definitely wrong.
He nodded, but he was still worried by your sudden change of behavior, especially towards him. It was like he was anyone else, again. And, God, he didn't want that. "What is it, then? You can talk to me, you know. We're best friends."
Best friends.
The words felt bitter on his tongue. The sound of them broke your heart all over again.
Best friends. "Right. Yeah. I know." You said, quietly, and it felt a little lifeless to him. He clenched his hand, fighting the urge to touch you, to ask you what was truly bothering you. "Thanks for offering."
Spencer felt conflicted. If he didn't say anything and didn't push you to speak, you would probably bury whatever it was that you were feeling and it would lead him into being even more worried about you. If he did, you would probably snap at him because of his undesired, bothersome insistence. "It's nothing." He said, defeatedly. "Can you just... Do you promise it's not me?"
Your heart ached and you smiled at him, a tiny, faint, barely there smile. He was so adorable, sometimes. "I'm just upset over something else. Don’t worry. You didn't do anything wrong." You finished, trying to convince yourself that he had not, indeed, done something wrong.
And he didn't. He didn't. You and Spencer, despite your proximity and sometimes incredibly ambiguous relationship, hadn't said anything about deeper feelings towards one another. You let yourself admire him, lovingly, from afar, and were happy with the snippets of attention you had from him when you two had some free time. You two were regulars in the coffee shop near his apartment and, by now, the local librarian, Mrs. Jones, could probably fake your signature from how often you two went there to borrow books. She would watch you two behind the bookshelves, whispering excitedly and curiously to each other about whatever suggestions you were getting from each other. As you missed Spencer's longing glances to read a summary, Mrs. Jones smiled to herself, both at how adorable you two were and how oblivious you were. In museums, you would sit down after some time walking around to his explanations of art and historical movements that impacted the expression of a certain age — you pretended to not know a few things, just so he could speak his heart away and not be interrupted by your own contributions.
You kept silent to make him happy.
Which was exactly what was happening now.
Spencer knew, for sure, that you were hiding something from him. But he also knew that he had no right to force it out. He fidgeted awkwardly, not knowing what to do with his hands, his heart still clenching. “But, but... you’d come to me if you needed help, right?”
You nodded, unable to speak. You knew you were wrong, omitting things from him. Just as the guilt was starting to weigh in your heart, Derek passed by you two with a magazine in his hands, throwing it at Spencer, exclaiming, "My man!"
You looked down, already knowing what it was. Spencer was a mess beside you: blushing, stuttering, avoiding your and Derek's gaze and throwing the magazine as far as he could, like it had burned him. Your reaction was a subtle twitch of your lips, not in amusement, but in need to disguise the pang in your heart. You both spent the rest of the flight sitting in silence, simply being in each other's orbit. You, guiltily. Spencer, worriedly.
Your reaction — or lack of — was staggering to Spencer. He thought you two were getting somewhere, despite your closed off nature and demeanor, he thought he was finally cracking you up. Everyday was torture, seeing you walk through the bullpen's glass doors with your professional clothes and your composed figure. It was torture to see you walk around so prettily and serious, holding his bare heart in your hands, and not even realizing it. By now, he lived and thrived on those rare opportunities you had to spend time together as he became more and more covered in you.
As the jet landed and Spencer walked out to talk to Derek, you pettily made sure to step on Lila Archer's face when leaving the jet in sheer frustration.
Back to the bullpen, you had gone to the restroom to splash some water on your face in order to calm your nerves and to tell yourself that it was only a matter of time until things got back to normal — until you got back to normal. Glancing at your reflection in the mirror, you wondered if Spencer could tell that there was something wrong with you, if you had let any of your feelings slip during your short conversation. The version of you that stared back was as impassible as you ever were. As you made your way to your desk in the dimly lit sea of desks, you caught Spencer and Derek talking, both having their backs to you.
Sighing, you just left the headquarters, not wanting to know what they were discussing, or rather, knowing what they were discussing, but unwilling to stay, even if it would quench your curiosity as to what Spencer had been thinking.
Maybe you didn't want to know the answer.
—
The days went by, cases coming left and right, flights making you almost dizzy — not that you would admit, but you were terrified of heights. Between those and your training, you barely had time to think about Spencer and the entire Lila occasion. You spent your days busy with work, studies and physical training in order to keep your mind away from that, but as you lay awake at night, the memories would come back to haunt you relentlessly to the point you had recurring dreams of them. Together, as you watched from the sidelines. You kept to yourself, slipping further and further away from Spencer.
Reid, on the other hand, felt your absence more than anyone. You took a rain check on all the invitations he made, even when he invited you to movie night, when he would definitely choose a Russian movie because you mentioned once how you liked how the language sounds. There wasn't any more donuts on his desk as he arrived in the morning (he would always joke that you and your father secretly lived in the headquarters and that someday he would see Haley bringing your groceries to the secret house), and there was no one for him to throw his paper airplanes, small flashcards with the Russian phonological alphabet, at. The change in your behavior was absurdly clear to everyone: you barely called or texted him anymore, you didn't look his way when someone told a joke to check if he thought it was funny... He was sulking, to say the least. Upon questioning you, you blamed your lack of free time and as he was going to question you further, you said in a teasing tone that not everyone was like him and that the FBI was actually making you go through all the training phases.
Finally, during the end of a particularly frustrating workday, he finally snapped, grabbing your arm before you could enter the elevator. It was only you and him in the otherwise empty hallway. "Ok. What's been going on? And don't," he said, closing his eyes, "don't dance around the subject. Don't say it's the Academy. Don't say you have to work. Don't. Please, be honest with me."
The exasperation in his eyes and in his tone almost broke the wall that hid your true feelings, but as you glanced at him, you figured you couldn't do it. Be honest? What for? To hear that you're nothing more than his best friend? Losing said friend was not an option, not to you, at least. But you also knew that you weren't treating him right, that keeping him out was not at all fair to him, that leaving him in the dark was as hurtful as it would be to lose him.
Breathing deeply, you answered with the same stoic expression you wore every single damn day. "I told you, Reid. People go through different, busier times in their lives." The lie tasted like acid.
Spencer clenched his teeth, frustration and confusion beginning to override some of his social anxieties. “That! That!” He asked through clenched teeth, his gaze intense.
"That what?" You asked, puzzled.
"You... you stopped calling me 'Spence'—not that you did it often, you did it more when we were all alone, and it... it sucks! It sucks because I don't know what happened or what I did that was so wrong to make you stop liking me!"
Come on, just say something! Get angry, get sad, get something!, his mind screamed.
"I never stopped liking you," you said, looking away from him. His words hit a particular spot that you were totally willing to discover later, but the mere thought that he knew that you liked him more than as a friend made you shiver.
"That's not the point! Or—or rather, it is! Because if you didn't stop liking me, why would you act like you did?" He asked, his tone rising a bit.
"Calm down."
"Calm down? I will not calm down!" He almost yelled. His eyes widened slightly, disbelief clear in his features and tone, not to mention the frustration. "Just. Please.” He said, closing his eyes, willing himself to tone it down, not that it worked... “Tell me what you're thinking, what happened to you! For once! Any normal person would react and stop acting like an emotionless robot!"
You gaped like a fish out of water, taking a small step back, his words digging a hole in your heart. Upon hearing his own words and noticing you distancing yourself from him, all the anger vanished from his body. The widened eyes were a sign of realization of what he had said to you. During the early months of friendship, you had confided in him that you struggled with portraying emotion like others normally did. Maybe it had something to do with growing up with a father who did it so perfectly when he was out of the house. When he wasn't actively playing the ‘dad’ part, Aaron Hotchner would wear an unreadable mask like it was his armor, his defense from the outer world, but as soon as he got home, he was back to his main role. You would watch him with his coworkers and mimic him perfectly to make him laugh. At some point, making fun of and imitating his demeanor had become some serious form of self-defense for you. Spencer, then, joked that you were making your way to the perfect job, but then he had gotten serious and told you that it wasn't a flaw. That it wasn't a problem that you kept deeply to yourself sometimes — that it was okay to be yourself around him. You had felt safe by his side since then.
But now, what did those words mean? Were they lies?
He breathed out your name, softly, "I... I... I'm sorry."
"Just drop it," you replied, pushing the elevator button. Your dismissive tone and your action of leaving made Spencer feel utterly desolate, like he had done the wrongest thing in the world and perhaps he had, but he just wanted you to let him in. For once, he wanted to have the answers from your lips, not spend any more time analyzing your every single action and words...
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."
"You know, Spencer
" he looked up at you when he heard his name, as you held out an arm to hold the elevator doors open. As if thinking better than to say anything, you sighed and turned to enter the elevator, shaking your head with the most disappointed look he had ever seen on your face.
Spencer tried looking at you one last time before the elevator doors closed, and despite your face being as unreadable as it often was, he saw a flicker of sadness that stung his heart more than he liked to admit. If he hadn't done anything wrong before, now he had utterly fucked everything up.
—
The drive home, for Spencer, was a torture. He knew that he had to pay attention to the road ahead of him, to the other vehicles and drivers, but his mind kept drifting to the last glimpse of you back in the headquarters. Your empty eyes appeared behind his eyelids every time he pressed his eyes closed. He willed himself not to cry, to not blur his vision, taking his frustration out on the steering wheel, where his grip was so tight that his knuckles turned white. As he parked his car and looked up to one of his windows, he remembered you. Because of course he would remember you.
The sight was almost comical, to be honest. You, clad in one of the suits that fitted you so well, sitting on his windowsill, a cup of green tea in hands as you stared out the window, trying to analyze every single drop of rain before it reached somewhere outside your vision range. The funny thing was that you had no shoes on, instead, Spencer lent you a mismatched pair, not being one used to having people over, he didn't have a pair of spare slippers. Then, you sat there with a dinosaur-pattern sock on one foot and a striped-pattern sock on the other.
Spencer, sitting on his sofa and holding his own cup (he had let you choose your mug and stayed quiet when you pointed quietly at his favorite), smiled to himself. It was weirdly calming seeing you out of your character, doing something so... human.
"I can feel you staring, you know," you said. And your tone was almost... teasing?
"Right. Sorry." He said, looking down at his steaming tea.
"I'm not scolding you," you said, turning to look at his direction with a grin.
"Right, no—heh..." he replied, bashfully, cheeks reddening at the sight of your smile.
If only you knew... how many hours he would lay awake at night, as thoughts swirled in his head, how everything seemed to shut down at the thought of you. How he would fall asleep to the wish of being on the receiving end of one of your rare smiles, how he appreciated that you were always the first one he talked to upon his arrival at the headquarters. How... how he would do anything for you to look at him under a different light.
Seemingly out of nowhere, you giggled. Everything stopped.
Spencer.exe has stopped working.
"Heheh—I guess... It's not everyday you get to see a Hotchner so out of its—heheh—habitat." You quipped, looking at him with a smile on your face.
Suddenly, Spencer lost his voice. The connection between his brain and his tongue, which felt heavy, disappeared. Completely speechless, eyes slightly wide at the sound of your laughter. It made you laugh a bit more, but when his stare and open mouth got too much to handle, you looked down at your feet, wiggling your toes to distract yourself from the intensity of his gaze full of awe. Then, Spencer got back to his senses, smiling at you as you missed it to look away in embarrassment.
Spencer blinked away the tears and left his car, entering his apartment. As he took off his shoes, he let the tears fall at the sight of your windowsill.
—
Meanwhile, you were getting wasted at some bar. Not just any bar, but the one you usually went with Spencer when you were feeling daring and wanted a change from the places where you both used to go to. You were a bit of a lightweight, so a couple of drinks were enough for you to start playing trivia with Spencer and let your gaze linger for longer, basking in the sight of him so carefree, having fun with you.
Upon your arrival, the bartender that usually took care of your orders, MJ, greeted you with a smile. When she saw no one was joining you, she frowned. "Good evening, Hotch. Where's loverboy?"
You sent her a look, but since you were letting your guard down, after all, there were no acquaintances or friends around, you didn't know if the look came out as a glare or if you looked like a kicked puppy. She snorted. "Gee... That bad, huh?" She asked, and you didn't answer again, though you muttered a soft thanks, MJ when she gave you your go-to drink.
And it turned into two drinks. Three. Four...
(MJ was now giving you alcohol-free drinks, too worried for your well-being. You and Spencer started to grow on her as you two kept coming back.)
You rested your chin on your left hand while you traced patterns with your right index finger on the counter. MJ was eyeing you suspiciously, drying a few glasses with a washcloth. "He kissed another girl." You admitted, quietly.
"No way." She gasped.
"Way."
"But... I thought you two were a thing." MJ was baffled, placing down the objects she was holding in sheer shock. "I always thought you two were like... together for years."
"We were a thing.... I think, at least... I don't know, MJ." You sighed, tucking a stray of hair behind your ear. Looking up at her, hazy eyes taking in her focused expression, you sniffled, "we were on this case and then he met a girl and then the next moment the two of them were making out in a pool. In a freaking pool."
She tsked, anger flashing in her eyes, "I swear, those nerdy guys are the worst."
"Yeah..." You muttered, fiddling with your straw. "Can I have another one?"
She pursed her lips, but she relented. Then, as she handed you the liquid, a guy sat next to you. Did he look like Spencer or were you already hallucinating?
"Hi. I'm Dave. Can I buy you a drink...?" He asked with a small smile, wanting to know your name.
No, not Spencer. It’s cool.
"Hi, I..."
MJ cut you off. "Hey, Dave, I think she had too much to drink already."
They exchanged looks and it took you a minute to feel offended by her interruption and knowing you were perfectly capable of speaking for yourself, but realizing you would probably have to entertain a stranger, you felt grateful for it.
Dave left with a sour smile. "Thanks." You muttered, again, looking at MJ.
"Do you need me to get you a cab, honey?"
"That would be great." You said, placing money bills to pay for your drinks and the tip.
MJ looked around to spot someone to keep an eye on the bar as she led you out of the place, hand never leaving your shoulder. As she called a cab, she made you stand on only one leg to make sure you weren't gonna need her to go with you. You scoffed, but obeyed her all the same, with a low snicker. As you two waited for the cab driver, a woman who MJ trusted with her life (and her favorite regulars), you tried to make conversation to make up for embarrassing yourself by talking about Spencer with someone. How pathetic.
"So, what does MJ stand for?"
She chuckled, shaking her head at you and at your dazed eyes. "That's classified information."
"I'm familiar with that."
The cab driver, Paula, arrived. She greeted the both of you with a smile and a cheerful good evening! As you entered the vehicle, you rolled the windows down and pressed the subject further, "Seriously, is it Mary Jane or were your parents more creative?"
She rolled your eyes at you, shaking her head. "It's Mary Jane. MJ because who would take me seriously?"
You smiled. "I like the shoes!"
Paula started driving slowly, just to let other drivers drop their own passengers, as you were lost in your own little world, serious expression taking over your face again, not wavering, as you delved deeper into the whirlwind of thoughts plaguing your head. Paula, looking at you through the rear-view mirror, asked, "Is everything okay, honey?"
You buckled your seatbelt. "Yes, yes. Just... keep driving slowly, please."
"Where to?"
Only then you realized you never gave her an address. Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you gave her Spencer's, telling her you were going home.
—
An unknown number had sent Spencer a couple of messages.
[8:32 p.m.] Lovergirl is here, drinking all by herself.
[8:32 p.m.] Water, but still. I'm not having her passed out without you here.
[8:40 p.m.] Sent her home, people were starting to approach.
Throughout the time he had spent with you at the bar, the two of you exchanged numbers with MJ in case she needed your help — you know, being FBI agents and whatnot. But Spencer didn't need to see her name to know it was her and she was talking about you; 'lovergirl' and 'passed out without you here' gave him clue enough. His stomach tied in knots when he read that people were starting to approach her, the nagging feeling that the image conjured in his mind was making him feel almost sick, then, it hit him like a truck: Lila Archer.
Their
 case? was as fleeting as a careless glance. To be honest, Spencer accepted her advances to spite you for having such power over him, even if unknowingly so. The young agent felt like you were so out of his league, so out of reach — you were all that pile of confidence and stoicism and pure lusciousness and everything to him. And he was a young guy who truly had barely been kissed so far. How could he approach you, charm his way into your heart, especially when you barely bared it? With Lila, it was... nice. Easy, even. It was nice being wanted, to be able to read her intentions and desires like a children's book. With you, it was a tantalizing challenge, one he was, for the first time, struggling with. It was not like having a high-school crush, not like pining over the untouchable girls that would catch his interest as he grew older. No. This was something new. You had hit him deeper than ever or anyone before.
Plus, as much as he hated to admit it, he gave room to the anxious thoughts regarding your father as well. Would it affect his relationship with his superior? Would it affect your relationship with your father? Spencer felt dizzy just by the mere thought of ruining something uniquely yours. No, he couldn't impose himself on your life like that. It was mean, it was wrong, it was immoral.
To want, to desire, is to be selfish.
It was a bold assumption. To think you were jealous of him. Nevertheless, the signs were all there, had been all along. He was just dumb and scared enough of making assumptions.
A barely there, faint sound of a knock on his door made Spencer fly out of his bed, dropping his phone on the bedroom floor, but he didn't pick it up. He had a suspicion as to who could be knocking on his door, but he was too scared of assuming anything. Again. Opening the door, he saw you, breathing a bit heavily. The stairs, he supposed. You always complained about them. Once you exchanged looks, Spencer’s surprised one and your earnest one, you asked, "Do you really think I'm a robot?"
Shit. He could feel his heart breaking in a million little pieces. The insecure edge of your voice and words made him squeeze his eyes shut; in his mind, he was kicking himself simultaneously as he sank down to his knees, on your feet, begging you to forgive and forget his dumb, stupid, frustrated, unrealistic words.
"No," he breathed out, wincing, almost as if he was in physical pain. "I—I didn't mean to talk about you like that. I was..."
"Frustrated?"
He nodded, silently, eyes never leaving your face. Your speech, albeit way out of the ordinary that he was used to, was flawless. If not by the dilated pupils and the faint smell of alcohol, not to mention MJ's texts, he would dare to say you were perfectly sober. "I was, too." You admitted, looking down.
Spencer made way for you to enter his apartment. He watched as you kicked your shoes off. The sight, that had become as common as the act of breathing, made his way flutter. You intended on staying. Or so he hoped. You walked further into the place, noticing everything as it ever was, as if you hadn't been to his apartment for some time now. "You must be thinking why I'm here," you said, moving to sit on the couch and mentioning him to sit on the small coffee table in front of you, as if you owned the place, and not him.
Perhaps it was true.
He closed the door once you were inside, hesitating for a moment before joining you. He kept noticing things about you; the way you were walking, the way you could barely look him in the eye, the way you looked
 “How much did you have to drink?” He asked, quietly.
"Not much. You know I don't usually drink because I can’t hold my drinks. And I'm sure MJ was giving me plain water at some point." You said, looking up at him. Well, at least, your speech flawlessly delivered, even though you were moving a bit more
 disoriented than usual. She's totally a Hotchner.
"I... I am," he started, sitting in front of you carefully. "I... I'm sorry. It's just... You've never been so distant. I guess that I was mean to you to elicit some reaction."
Your analytical gaze softened upon his confession. You needed to give him some break, be a little easy on him. Well, easier than you were being as of lately. Nodding lightly, you added, "I'm here to apologize, too. I know... I know that I pushed you away and I made you think that... that that was your fault. It's not."
He froze. No, he wouldn't have you taking the blame for how his actions caused you to react. He looked up at you, reaching out a hand to touch your intertwined ones, "It is."
"Hear me out. Please." You said, lowly, not breaking eye contact. This was so hard, and you had never felt so afraid before. How ironic — to be afraid of being brave. "I... I guess that by now you know why I pulled away."
"I do," he admitted, nervously. "It took me some time, but I... I think I figured you out."
You looked down, embarrassed. It was overwhelming for him to see you portray such different and so many emotions all at once. To you, it was as agonizing as it was freeing. "Well, yes. So... It, um, it wasn't fair. We... we are not something. We are not a thing."
His heart, doing all the thinking and feeling, nearly stopped. As if it wasn't enough, you kept on going, "I'm sorry, I truly am, for how I behaved and how I made you feel by being absent. It's... it's not my place. You have your own life, Reid. I can't be upset with you for making decisions. You're a grown man..." you sighed, glancing at every direction but at him. "I know that I'm wrong, okay? And I know that I shouldn't have pushed you away, nor should I have kept my feelings from you."
Spencer drew in a long breath. He didn't know what to say, but you couldn't be more wrong. All at once, he wanted to scream, but he didn't know what ro say; he wanted to run, but he didn't want to leave you alone — not for a second. He didn't ever want you out of his sight; he didn't want to be the one you were apologizing to, hell, he wanted everything to be okay between them, but it was nice that she was talking to him, finally.
"I..."
Every time he thought he could say something, words failed him. Then, you took it as another opportunity to word-vomit everything you've been feeling. "I was... I was jealous. I didn't like to see that. I didn't like that it happened. But I also know that I have no right to be upset with you because you're single and she's attractive and you're both consenting and willing to do whatever you please, so..." You shrugged as if speaking those words aloud didn't stab new holes in your heart.
Spencer looked at you, totally speechless. It made you snicker. And speak further. Shut up, you idiot. Please, please, please! "And, ah—hahahah—I guess I am, indeed, a bit of a robot because it took me a bit of alcohol to pluck up the courage to come here and totally—hic—destroy our friendship by telling you I love you so much; that I'd hate to see you with anyone other than me. It happened and I hated it. It still stings."
Spencer's heart threatened to fail once again. Your giggles, your words, your confession... His mind completely short-circuited. She loved him. She loved him? She loved him?!?!???!!! That’s what she’d just said, apparently. Okay, calm down. And she’d been jealous. She didn’t like him kissing another woman, because she fucking loved him. Say something, you dumb idiot, his brain shrieked. Say something!
You parted your lips to say something else, but apparently decided against it. Another beat of silence of Spencer staring dumbly at you. "I'm going," you blurted out, standing up.
Spencer, at breakneck speed, stood up as well to stop you from walking away, placing his hands tentatively on your shoulders. Your bodies were now apart by mere inches. "No." His voice was so small and pained that you sat back down.
Despite your apparent willingness, your next words told him about your turmoil. "Why would I stay, Spencer? I've been pouring my heart out to you and you haven't said a thing."
Looking at you, so bare and so vulnerable, Spencer suddenly had flashbacks from when he had lashed out on you earlier and simultaneously fought the feelings that were bubbling inside of him upon your confession. Couldn't you see the sheer shock on his face? Couldn't you see that he was battling against every single bit of self restraint not to pull you into his embrace and make you believe him when he would tell you that you were the only woman for him?
Sure, he had dreamed of you saying those words to him countless times as time went by and you two got closer. Shit, he literally dreamed of it. Of you. Speaking sweet nothings to him... He broke out of his daze, realizing that he was deadly silent, "Don't go..."
"Then say something. I'm here. Not as Hotch's daughter, not as your coworker, not as a part of the team you work with. I'm here as the woman in whose heart you've grown over the last few months. I'm terrified of your answer and you keep depriving me of it." There was a hint of annoyance and hurry on your voice, and he could understand you, he truly could. He just didn't... he lost his voice when he looked at you.
Saying your name softly, he beginned, “I said stupid, untrue things, and I’m sorry. I’m a jerk, and I know that I’m a jerk and—" You quirked your eyebrow and he took a deep breath, trying to cut his rant. "Just... don't sit there and think that I have nothing to say."
"Have you said it?" You pressed it, quirking an eyebrow.
"No." He admitted, widening his eyes a bit as he realized his mistake.
At the same time, you shot, "Not saying something is also an answer for me—"
"—but not for the reasons you're thinking! Do you know how hard it is for me right now?" Spencer was starting to sound very desperate and pathetic, not to mention the fact that he wasn't answering your questions.
Deep breaths (from both ends).
"Look, Reid..." He glared at you upon hearing his last name. "I think I should go home. You and I clearly need some space—"
"What we need to do is talk."
You sighed. "Then why won't you give me an answer?"
Silence.
"You won't even remember this in the morning."
At that, you deemed yourself utterly defeated. This was useless. "I'm sorry I came over. I'm... I'll just go, okay? Please, don't be upset about tonight. I apologize in advance."
The sight of her, once more shying away from him and turning to escape from him, was making Spencer frustrated, with himself, to no end. His heart clenched at your apology, to which he shook his head vehemently. The thing is, he wanted to get ready to answer you, properly, just like he always had some trick up his sleeve or some funny or curious fact to blurt during the most random moments. Spencer was good at speaking, but only when the speech was already ingrained into his mind, something he had read or rehearsed before. Plus, he was sure your state of drunkenness would stop you from remembering that moment.
Spencer dashed to his door, barely stopping you. No, no, no, no, no... She can't leave. This might be my only chance. "You're not going anywhere."
"Excuse me?"
"Stay with me. I don't want you to go." He said, softly, slowly, looking straight into your eyes. It made you dizzy. Either that or the alcohol.
"No?"
"Y-you're drunk and I... I don't think it's safe for you to go by yourself and it's late and... and..." he trailed off, nervously, desperate to get you to stay.
"I'm not drunk."
"You're not fooling me. You might be as concise as ever but you're not sober. Stay."
"Promise... promise you won't be upset with me?"
His heart dropped, heavy with guilt. And with love for you. "I promise."
Spencer silently led you back to the couch, gingerly holding your hand. He felt dazzled, speechless, desperate, frustrated, all at once. But your touch was starting to ground him back to reality, where you were real, having confessed your feelings for him, and he was a mess, not even being able to say anything back. Without much thinking, he said, "You should stay over tonight."
"Okay... I'll take the couch."
"As if I'd let you sleep on the couch."
"It's okay."
"Stop... stop acting like I sent you away."
You kept silent. You felt like he did. Through his touch, he hoped to get you to understand that his feelings were a mess, but they existed, and they were real, and they were yours. "That'd be alright with me, you know. Taking your couch. I think I would sleep better on your floor than I would ever in my bed. To... to say that anything is better if you're somehow involved."
His stomach made a flip-flop. Brain short-circuited again. You yawned, as if you had just made an annoying comment on the weather.
"Are you tired?" He managed to mutter.
"I am."
"Come on. Let's get you to bed."
"No."
"What do you mean 'no'? I'm not letting you on the couch. Come on."
"I can't go to your bed with outside clothes." You booped his nose.
He chuckled lowly, confused a little by your words. "Are you seriously worried about clothes?"
"You don't like germs. That's why I removed my shoes."
Okay, he thought, if I manage to put her to sleep without having a heart attack, I definitely don't need a cardiologist's appointment because it would mean I'm that strong.
"Y-you... remembered?" Damn it, Reid. Stop stuttering.
You sighed, tiredly, and rested your head on his shoulder, looking down at his hand holding yours. "I remember everything about you."
"You do?"
"Yes. Fortunately or unfortunately."
Spencer was too stunned to speak. Too stunned, too dumb, too afraid. Damn it. Damn it. He couldn't stop cursing internally. He forced himself to pull you towards his bedroom and even though he still sensed some uncertainty, he kept going. Reaching for a pair of sweatpants and a big t-shirt, he gave those to you. "You can change into these," as he left the room to make you more comfortable.
"Wait!" You almost shrieked.
"What happened?" He prompted, worriedly, reaching a hand out to touch your arm.
"I don't want you to go."
He bit back a sigh. "I'll be just outside."
"Just... stay here?"
"I can't—" he interrupted himself, just turning around so his back was to you instead. At that, he looked up at his ceiling and prayed to any deity to let him survive that night.
He could hear the sounds of your movements. The zipper being undone, the soft ruffling of the fabric as you tugged your shirt up your head... He was imagining your exposed skin, every perfect inch, how would you look without all those clothes that suited you so nicely, how would it be to touch you, to run his fingertips all over your heated skin, how would it be to kiss every freckle on your body, to—"Done."
Turning around, the sight was adorable, which made him somewhat guilty of his early impure thoughts. "I feel like Alice when she shrunk into a tiny human."
He couldn't fight the smile at your words. He led you to his bed, where you laid on your back on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling. Spencer left you briefly to get you a glass of water and some painkillers to leave by the bedside table. You thanked him with a silent glance. As he turned to leave, once again, you said in a small voice, almost phrasing it like a question, too afraid of the answer. "Stay."
"I'll take the couch."
"You asked me to stay, thrice, I guess
 And I did. I asked you once and you did. I still have a few requests left. I'm keeping tabs."
He relented, laying next to you and placing a pillow between you two. You breathed out a chuckle and he shook his head, clearly knowing where your mind had gone to. He placed his hand on top of the pillow, offering his comfort, and then you tentatively placed yours on top of his. He grinned to himself.
It was hard for him to wrap his head around what had happened that night. He knew his words — or lack of — could be read the wrong way and you possibly did, but he also hoped that his actions were speaking louder. Just as he was getting lost in thought again, he heard your voice once more.
"Spence?"
That damned nickname.
"Thanks for, um, being so respectful. Not that I don't think you'd be. But, um, as you've said, I'm drunk. And I told you I love you. And you're simply holding my hand." He gulped. He was keeping count, too, of how many times you said you loved him. Twice, so far, but he wanted so much more, endlessly. He wanted to lose track. "I guess... that makes me love you even more," you finished, crushing his heart between your palms, voice thick with sleep.
When he finally turned his head to look at you, your eyes were closed and you looked peaceful, drifting off to sleep. Then, when he was sure you were actually asleep, he stood up from his bed, grabbing a pillow and a spare blanket to lay on the floor.
"I'll gladly sleep on my floor if it means I get to have you around, too..."
—
Spencer didn't get any sleep.
He tossed and turned on the floor all night long, both because his carpet was not the most comfortable spot to sleep on, but also and mostly because there was no way in hell his mind stopped working. All through the night, Spencer fought the urge to shake you awake to ask if this was real, if you really loved him, if the words that slipped through your lips were in fact your feelings towards him. Despite his curiosity and eagerness, he let you sleep, figuring that he had already put you through too much already. As you slept, a movie played on his mind: your moments together, your confession of love, and overthinking the words we are not something. We are not a thing. He feared that you would wake up and realize how badly he had screwed up and decide not to want him anymore. Yes, he was that anxious.
You, on the other hand, even though confused by his lack of answer to your heart’s words, felt lighter than ever by speaking out your truth (the booze did help you a lot, though). Being as analytical as you were had its perks. One of them is that you never let yourself suffer too much for too long, too attached to reality to care much about the rest. So what if he rejected you? Life goes on — and that’s what you thought with every other loser that you caught yourself thinking too much of. Spencer, though
 Who were you kidding? Spencer was Spencer. And that meant the world
 It wasn’t so bad, if he actually rejected you
 you’d only have to face him every day, until the rest of your lives, doomed to work together, cursed to think and rethink all over again small, fleeting moments such as an exchange of longing glances.
(You felt strangely calm due to your touch with reality. Maybe, just maybe, you were hoping for the best based on his care with and for you. But boy, were you ready to give him a piece of your mind.)
As your eyes fluttered open, you stretched your limbs on an unfamiliar bed with too much space. Upon your confusion, the memories came back with full force. You jolted, sitting down, searching for him — and, to be honest, not wanting to find him. The house was deadly silent, so you tried to trick yourself that you were sure he wasn't there. You dashed to the bathroom, taking a quick shower to get rid of the shame and the faint reek of alcohol. As you moved around his stuff, you couldn't help but think that you were so familiar with his things that it was almost like you belonged there. Sigh. It turns out that hiding emotions is easier than feeling them, especially their extremes.
As soon as you finished putting on your own clothes, you stopped dead in your tracks as you heard footsteps outside the bedroom. You froze, not knowing what to say. Or do.
Spencer entered the room, holding a tray meticulously organized with some food on it. “Morning. I, um, made you breakfast.” Because of course he would make you fucking breakfast. 
“Morning,” you replied awkwardly and hoarsely. Maybe you cried a little bit, who knows
 “Thanks, you didn't have to.”
“I did.”
You take your time to get a good look at him. He had bags under his eyes that appeared to be tired. The sight made your heart drop. “I'm sorry
”
“Don't be.”
“But I was wrong.”
“So was I.”
“But—”
“Last night you said some things. Do you, uh, do you remember what you told me?” You nodded, unable to speak. “Do you remember what you told me?” He repeated, trying to get a verbal answer from you.
“Yes, Spencer. I remember.”
“Can you listen to what I have to say now?”
You nodded, weakly.
“I didn't say anything because
 because everything had gone in the most opposite direction they could've gone.” He said, approaching you calmly. “I was up the entire night, hoping to find the right words to tell you that would make you believe me after I
 was stupid. I
 First, I'm sorry I made you feel that way. I know you said that we're nothing, that we weren't something, that we didn't have anything
 but
 but you're everything to me.” At that, your eyes finally met his. The intensity of your gaze made him shudder, but he kept going. “All the time we've spent together was nothing compared to what I want to have with you
 and
 and
 God! Do you have any idea of the torture I was put through with you? Constantly thinking of what we could be, what we should be, too scared of your reaction or that—that—that Hotch decided to chop off my neck because he found out that I was crushing on his only daughter!”
At the mention of your dad, you burst out laughing. Seriously? That was such a clichĂ©! “Hey! I'm serious!”
“I'm sorry
” You bit your bottom lip, fighting the urge to laugh at him some more. He was adorable.
“As I was saying,” he continued, trying to sound annoyed, but a hint of a smile threatened to break on his lips, and he didn't pull away when you approached him nor he did when you wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his chest, looking up at him, adoringly. He looked down, meeting your gaze,  “I
 I love you. I love you too. God, it just feels so good to say that!”
You giggled, again. God, he could never get used to that sound.
“And I’m sorry for being so mean to you when I was frustrated. I should have been more patient and my unthoughtful words hurt you.” You kept silent, remembering his words. “I—I’ll spend the rest of my life apologizing if you’ll have me.” He added, intimidated by your gaze.
Silence. “Well, I accept your apologies. I was unfair to you as well. And you know where I stand when it comes to you. My feelings, I mean.”
“I do
 But
”
“But?”
“I'd like to hear you say it.”
“Say what?”
“That you love me?”
“I don't know. Do I, really?” You joked.
He blushed furiously, ready to stutter himself out of that situation. “No, I mean
 you—you said that—that you remembered what you said last night and
 so
 putting two and two
”
Another giggle interrupted him. You traced his jawline, leaning up to kiss his right cheek. “I really, really love you.” A kiss to his left cheek. He chuckled. “I love you.” A kiss on the tip of his nose, to which he snorted, totally lovestruck. “So much.” A lingering, tender kiss to his forehead. He closed his eyes, already anticipating the next spot you would press your soft lips to.
As you made your way to finally kiss his lips, you decided to tease him and let him wait for a bit longer. Spencer groaned in protest and you chuckled a bit, finally deciding that it was enough. Pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth, making him sigh, you were thrilling on making him more and more eager. His grip on you tightened just slightly as he let out a shaky breath. You wanted to laugh, but instead, you poked fun at him. “Now you know what it's like to be teased.”
“I love you. Oh, Jesus
 You're driving me insane. You're here
 And you, you're you
”
You grinned, looking up at him, finally, finally pressing your lips to his. As you let out a small sigh, his breath hitched, both of you utterly drowning in relief and satisfaction. You pulled back a bit, grinning, going back to kissing him. Spencer's hands found your jawline, sliding back to tangle in your hair as he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth. Parting your lips slightly, you granted him full access to kiss you properly, and he moaned at the taste of you, gripping your hair rougher than before. You groaned softly, and he proudly heard and swallowed all your small sounds.
The ring of a phone broke the urgent atmosphere that was building between you two. Spencer ignored it, letting it ring until you pulled away, gasping for air. As you did, the noise stopped and you met his lost eyes, totally dumbstruck, and you laughed because you probably looked the same way. He gave you a charming, lopsided grin, too stupid, too hypnotized to say anything.
The phone began ringing again. “Son of a
!” he cursed, picking up the phone. “Hi, this is Dr. Spencer Reid and unless this is an absolute emergency, I'm kinda busy—”
“Reid.” Aaron Hotchner's firm voice hit Spencer like a bucket of cold water. Widening his eyes, he gulped.
“Yes
 sir?” You smiled at that. Of course you knew who he was talking to.
“We have a new case.” Hotch announced.
“Oh
 okay
 I, um, I—I'll be there in 20.”
Silence.
“Is everything okay, Reid?” Hotchner could read anyone, Spencer was now sure of that. Even through the goddamned phone.
“Wh—yeah, yeah
 Everything's
 totally f—fine.” He cursed under his breath as you gripped his vest, trying not to laugh.
“Do you know where she is?” Hotch inquired after another moment of quietness. 
“Who?” He squeaked. You chuckled silently.
“My daughter.” Of course it was his daughter.
Playing dumb is not a good look on you, you mouthed.
“N—no
 I haven't
 heard from her.”
“Sure.” Hotch said, skeptically. Spencer could feel the sweat on his forehead. After a moment, your father finished the call with an unreadable “We need to talk.”
Once the phone call ended, you burst out laughing at Spencer's reaction. “Not funny.” He protested, a frown on his face and a soft smile betraying his faux frustration.
“Come on, it is funny.”
He glared at you. “What do you think he wants to talk about?”
“I don't know. Men talk. I wouldn't want to get involved.” You said, grinning, pulling him by his vest.
He squeezed his eyes shut, relishing in the feeling of having you so close. “Do you think he knows?”
“Of course he knows.”
“How are you so collected?”
“Because I'm not the one he's going to scare to death, apparently.”
“He said ‘we’ need to talk. Emphasizing ‘we’. If he knows you’re here, then it probably—” you cut him off with a kiss.
“Well, then
 Are you ready to face your biggest fear? The frightening Aaron Hotchner?”
Glancing at you adoringly, he chuckled. “I’d face him and whoever, whatever, a thousand times, if it meant that I could get you in the end.”
—
A couple days after the case, you and Spencer meet again, in your apartment. Sitting down on the couch, you ask him, amusedly, “Do you think he noticed?” 
“Totally. I could barely look him in the eye for the first moments,” He said with a fond smile, hiding from you the fact that he had awkwardly and bravely spoken to your dad about your relationship. You laughed, placing your legs on the top of his legs. “I guess we should thank Lila, after all.” He joked, and you laughed out loud. 
Leaning him closer to him, grabbing his chin and looking deep into his eyes, you muttered, “Don’t ever say her name again, Spence.”
Your wish was always his command. It would always be.
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kiss-me-muchoo · 2 days ago
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đđąđ„đšđ«đąđœđšđ­đž || 𝐭𝐡𝐞 đŹđšđ„đžđŹđŠđšđ§ đ± 𝐟𝐞𝐩!đ«đžđšđđžđ«
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summary_ when you declined to play Ddakji with a man, the least you expected was him stalking you, even less expected when you oblige him to lick your bleeding wound after seeing him kill a man and escaping him.
warnings_ MDNI, age gap (not specified but legal) reader is a foreigner (implied American but not specified again), stalking, blood play, dom!salesman, switch!reader, toxic till the end, sexual innuendos, manipulation, questionable morals, do not romanticize this irl pls, NO PROOFREAD YET
notes_ I’ll just drop this fic and leave it there bc why am i feeling so horny for an Asian sociopath? me la estoy pasando bien raro (i like it)
♫ â™Ș the worst playlist 4 this man
✰ Index (+ fics here)
ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
Everything was irritating. The class you had was canceled last minute, the crowd at the train station was loud, the tapping of a kid in a window was constant, and the message you received asking for your campus ID to keep using your student account was sudden and required immediate action. Your cramps and migraine only aggravate everything.
You were steps away from the stairs when you stopped to take the damn picture of your ID and be done with that. But of course, you couldn’t find your wallet at first glance, so you moved aside to take a better look.
You worried about kneeling and ruining your black coat with the dirtiness of the floor at the station, but at the same time, you thought it was just stupid.
A trail of curses flooded your mind as you tried to find your wallet, making you oblivious to a random man walking in your direction.
“Excuse me, Miss
 Would you like to play Ddakji?” Said the man asked you in Korean. You were occupied with a hand inside your thrifted designer tote, and your mind unconsciously prepared an answer in English.
“Sorry, I don’t have time” When you realized your mid-answer you sighed, just as you fished out your wallet. “For every win of yours, you’ll earn a great sum of cash”
Once you stood up, you met the face of the man who now answered in English as well. Very tall, handsome, innocent smile and in a suit; a businessman. You knew it was wrong to judge but there was something behind the smile he offered you that resulted eerie.
Like behind that seemingly blameless expression, the man was hiding his true intentions.
Might’ve been your eyes or hair that caught his attention. You weren’t native, and he didn’t want to think he could take advantage, yet his feet dragged him to you.
Placing your bag over your shoulder again, you grab your glasses and phone with tangled EarPods. You give the man one last look. You are not having a good day and you don’t have time to deal with this.
“What do you say?” He asks feigning kindness, eyeing you subtly without your knowledge.
“No, thank you. I don’t even know how the game works”
“You look like you are a natural. You might be surprised if you try. You just have to pick a color and try to flip the opposing tile”
The rich always trying to fuck the one who isn’t. This was just a new way. The urge to roll your eyes grew but you remained still.
“Look, I’m sorry. But I bet you do this just to see how desperate people who need money can go. I won’t be one of them. If not, sorry for misjudging you” you harshly say before putting on your EarPods and leaving the station. You leave him perplexed, huffing in disbelief and igniting a fire of curiosity inside him.
And you completely forgot about the Ddakji man as you made it to your little apartment, not knowing he would turn upside down your upcoming days.


Warm days in winter were exciting for you. They boosted your energy and made you want to be out all day.
You had the luck of living in a beautiful complex because it was once from a friend of your mother who married years ago and now had her single apartment for rent.
It had long warm hallways that hosted at least eight apartments by floor. With orange and pink subtle lights and uneven edges. It was truly a sight despite how little the apartments were. One bedroom with closet and bathroom, a tiny studio, small kitchen, enough space for a dining table, another small bathroom, and a half sized living room with balcony.
Your loneliness was well-balanced because you loved your home. But even on warm days, you wanted to be out.
Your red shoes contrasted with everything you stepped on. You carried a bag with a bunch of books and another one with thrifted clothes you bought.
At the park you always walked by, there was a fair amount of people as usual. You don’t care much to look around but someone makes you stare longer than needed.
The same man who asked if you wanted to play a game at the station was in the park. Another impeccable suit dressing him, looking attractive like the first time and already looking at you.
He offered you a smile, to which you didn’t reply. You looked at the ground, feeling like you had frozen.
What a weirdo, he offered bread and a random paper to a lonely man.
Simultaneously, you wondered if the man found you attractive enough to stare like that. With your mind that often became nihilistic, you thought you were delusional and that you should just keep walking.
His eyes remained glued to you. As his prey was thinking about what was better to choose, he contemplated you walking again.
The salesman realized he had made you nervous and that made him feel eager to end his job and follow you again.
Once he realized you lived in a good neighborhood, where his elegant suits matched the vibe, he got even more excited to see you again.
So now, was like it was meant to be.
How sweet, sophisticated, and innocent you looked.
Something shifted, as you passed by his side, only having a view of his back, you assumed he was worked out, his hair looked perfectly fine, and his big hands offered two things. Perhaps you had misjudged him and he really wanted to help. But your inner voice said otherwise. In a sudden change of events, you decided to look back once you were almost at the exit of the park.
With his deep gaze still set on you, your lips formed a smile.
And he took it as a first win in the games that had begun between you two.


Once again, you find yourself in the library. Inside one of the biggest malls you’ve been to, you are leaning at a counter, asking if they have an English translation of a book you were interested in.
Your Korean isn’t good enough yet, so as the nice librarian disappeared to find your request, you are working on your next reply, with a translation app.
“Do you recommend me this one?” your back arched as a startled reflex. You quickly stand straight and turn around to see the person you grew anxious to avoid and see again. The salesman is there, looking down at you with a perfectly orchestrated smile.
“Huh?” you ask disconcertingly, he shows you a book, his face looking like he had found a wounded little bird. But it was only you, startled and nervous by his strong presence.
The book is The Divine Comedy. Dante Alighieri.
“Certainly is a good one. A lot of heavenly justice
” you say trying to sound confident, looking at the cover of the book. Displaying the layers that separated heaven from hell. “Do you believe in heavenly justice?”
“I don’t know. We can’t call someone a sinner without a proper trial beforehand” he chuckles, which makes you frown for a second. He truly was unpredictable and you didn’t like that. “Ah, sinners. Always misjudged and harshly punished for being the ones who have the guts to make things
” his deep voice and tone made you wonder if he was self-perceived as a sinner, which made you feel worse.
“You sound like an ethnocentric
”
“I don’t think I’m far into that type of thinking, y/n” Your eyes almost popped out, leaving your hands in an anxious tremble.
“How is it possible that you know my name?” Before he can even answer, you add more. “You are stalking me”
His demonic smile makes your heart stop. The smile you once thought had innocence can’t blind you anymore. He isn’t innocent. He literally confirmed he was stalking you and you didn’t know how to feel.
“I don’t like the idea that conveys the word ‘stalking’. We can call it predestination
” you huff in disbelief. “What do you want with me?”
“I would like to get to know the woman who rejected my Ddakji offer. And ask for one more game” Your lips form a line, and quietly you are hating how much you are enjoying the conversation.
“Hmm, I’m bad at most games, so I’m afraid I will reject you once again” You turned back again to see if the librarian was coming when you felt him stepping closer, which made you feel nervous again.
“I might believe you. I always win
” he whispered in your ear, sending shivers through your spine and creating a lot of tension.
Your psycho mode almost made you lean forward again, daring to see if some friction was possible. But you didn’t, trying to be prudent and acting sane.
“I would’ve wanted a normal first interaction and this time you should’ve asked me out on a date. That’s how it works where I come from but
 here, I guess not” he stepped aside as the librarian handed you the book. And as you thanked her and turned to leave and pay somewhere else, he took out a card and handed it to you.
“I’m sure we can work on some sort of arrangement. Here, you may call me
” slightly irritated that he didn’t say much about your inquiry, you snatched the card and walked away.
The cathartic feelings of wanting to keep talking to him and running away from him at the same time resulted in excruciating. It didn’t make sense, the point of him was to nowhere. Being clueless about his age, name, and everything made it feel wrong. Yet, curiosity was starting to burn you.


Like a miracle, the heavens moved and sprinkled some luck above you. You found some friends on campus, they spoke English like you and were foreigners as well. One of them was a friend of the owner of a club and invited you for the night.
The invitation made you forgetful about your salesman, whom you hadn’t talked with since the encounter in the library. The card he handed the last time rested between the book you bought the same day, making you unable to read more because it reminded you of the encounter with him.
It resulted unknown to you when was that your life had turned over the edge of becoming twisted. Your feelings for a mysterious man who seemed more accusable than appeared remained undecided.
He made you feel like a wildfire and a caged bird at the same time. Delicate but menacing.
He seemed older than you, professional in a field, mature and imposing. Which you didn’t mind when he appeared to ask you about The Divine Comedy. Either way, you were playing but couldn’t risk anything. Especially in a country where you didn’t know how everything worked.
After getting out of the shower, your thoughts on the salesman are completely faded. You slip on a sequin dress and paint your eyes with glitter and a smokey style.
Thereafter, at the club you let yourself go and have a wild night. Between classes, essays, and the issue with the salesman, you needed a time out.
Everything feels nice when you take a bathroom break and you smile at your reflection. You know you are close to being drunk, it’s the most enjoyable stage of ingesting alcohol.
“Hey, let’s go dancing, I couldn’t find you before!” Yells one of your friends after you reunite with the little group. You nod excitedly, taking her hand and letting her take you to the dance floor.
The music reminded you of that time when spinnin records were a trend and everyone played their mixes at parties back at home. As you move along the track, you don’t look at anything in particular, you just feel interesting and sexy. But your eyes end up giving a quick glance at one table, almost making you stop your euphoric moment.
You swore you saw your salesman.
Looking around you don’t see him, so you return dancing but the odd sensation in your chest doesn’t let you rest.
“What happens?” Asks another friend, looking worried.
“Nothing. Just thought I saw someone. Never mind
” you shake your head, smiling and convincing them that everything is fine.
But once they got more drunk, you walked out, despite curiosity, you wanted to confirm if the tall gorgeous man was near you.
Rarely you bring up to question your life decisions. Not because you thought you were perfect, but because you easily accepted your errors.
And it wasn’t hard to accept you completely messed up by getting out of the club. Where the night was colder, and some steps away from the main entrance, the crowd was loud. A man could be heard pleading and sobbing, which made you fearful but eager to see what was happening.
You peeked at the alley beside the club. A wave of shock flooded you once you noticed another man was punching the one who yelped and sobbed for forgiveness.
Your salesman was the attacker.
“Please! I’ll pay everything back!” Your mind raced back to the moment you spotted your salesman inside the club minutes ago.
His dark grey suit didn’t fit the aura of the place, but he seemed to be talking with the same man he was now punching.
It was obvious at that point that he wasn’t a good man. He made fun of making people play his seemingly innocent games to later laugh in the face whenever they lost. He was never flirting with you, the odd feeling of uncertainty you felt with him was right.
You had to go. You had to burn the card he gave you, avoid the station where you met him, and forget about his face.
There’s panic in your system, your heart beats fast and nausea starts coming up your throat.
You want to get immediately drunk and forget everything you saw with a hangover. You need it.
But you don’t get very far. Midway through the stairs that conduct to the club, a hand holds your forearm with extreme pressure and drags you inside a private room.
Your salesman finally found you.


“You just killed a man!” you almost yelled as soon as he pushed you inside and closed the door.
The room was very fancy like the club. It had a big desk near a window, flower-shaped hanging lamps, black sparkly floor tiles, and a sage velvet couch.
Your salesman slides his fingers through his hair and looks at the ceiling before turning to you. One hand still carrying the murder weapon.
“He deserved it” was all he answered and you take a breath. In need of an alibi, you opened a random fridge in the room and grabbed a beer. Your salesman watched how you sipped at the can. He knew you were feeling a mix of curiosity and disgust for him.
Once you drink at least half of the content, you sigh, brushing aside some hair and walking towards him.
“Who are you?” you ask pleadingly, desperate to know how far you’ve gone for him.
“Eventually you’ll know” he sounds cold, calculating, and menacing. “You didn’t call
”
He was taking advantage of your vulnerability.
“I met you a week ago, I don’t even know your name” you admit with shame and dissatisfaction.
For the first time, he genuinely touches you. Hands straight to your waist, making gasp in surprise.
“You’re smart and will eventually understand. You’re my good girl”
His good girl
.
What was left to do when you have a sociopath holding your waist with the same hands he had used to kill a man? Play along, even if you are terrified.
What had been your horrified face, slowly ends up in a smirk, tilting your head, squandering cheekiness. “I’m not your good girl, sir”
He slowly leaned back, taking a seat on the sage couch, one of his hands going straight to rest behind his head, against the wall. He twirled the knife against his knee, making you uneasy, but confident about your upcoming words.
“If I walk away, you can’t do much with me, I’m a foreigner. Sure the authorities would dismantle whatever dirty job you’re into and that’s a big no-no” you explain, and feeling a little too bold, you step between his legs.
“Your lack of ignorance amazes me” he admits, offering you a cocky smile. “It makes me even more infatuated”
Your left knee pushed aside his hand twirling the knife. He remained still but sure seemed slightly surprised when you ended up straddling him. With your hands glued to his dark tie, putting it into place.
“Hmm, well, be careful. I am no threat, I barely have valuable skills to get rid of you but I know I could be a problem. So I guess I won, sir
” you allow yourself to smile, following a path with your fingers, from his tie to his cheeks and nose, softly tracing his pale skin.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart” You knew he was trying to be in control, and the best part was that you weren’t fighting for it.
“There’s a lot I might not understand. I’m just a girl who happened to be in this city for a temporary academic project” When your lips brushed his, you couldn’t deny he was so fucking hot, you wished he wasn’t so weird and probably part of a mafia or cult or whatever. “You are the grown-ass man who got obsessed with me”
“I just find you an odd but interesting player, sweet girl” he tried to use his innocent smile but it was useless when you grabbed him by the shoulders and finally dared to kiss him.
He controlled it the moment he touched you again. His hands had a possessive sting and firmly grabbed you by the hips. One of them still holding the knife.
Feeling bold, with adrenaline flowing freely, you softly bit his lower lip. You knew it was over when he almost let out a moan, and after checking he had his eyes closed, you literally jumped away from him.
Without looking back, you started running. Your clumsy steps turn frantic, knowing damn well he would start following you soon. As you literally start pushing people to get out, your heart beats faster than ever and you have a growing anxiety, begging you to stop and breathe.
Once the cold air hit you, as you took a cab and saw no sign of your salesman, confusion struck you and you saw the blood in your chest and arm.
“Are you alright, girl?” The driver asked, also watching your bleeding state.
“Yes, just an accident, I’m okay” he nods unsure, but starts driving after you give him your destination.
His knife must’ve sliced your skin when you stood up from his lap. When he moved one of his big hands to caress your chin.
It wasn’t that you were scared of him, of your salesman. Although you should be; but you weren’t. Could it be that the worst part was that you were attracted to him? Even after watching him kill a man? You were screwed.
You realize the reason why you always ran away from him is because you don’t know how to face his unpredictable demeanor.
At that point, you didn’t know what he wanted. Only that he was obsessed with you. But his intentions remained a mystery unsolved.
Before getting out of the cab, you pay and send your friends a message that you left early because you got a headache after vomiting. This didn’t happen, but would’ve been better to experience it as a young woman in her twenties.


When you opened the door, he was already inside. The worst part is that you weren’t surprised anymore. You only stood at the feet of the door, looking at him with uneasiness.
“You got me worried,” he says, stopping his movements around your table. “You left some blood stains and I thought it was serious”
“You accidentally showed me your true nature. A little bit of blood shouldn’t scare you” his shirt indeed had some bloody spots, his blazer was gone, and the sleeves of his messy shirt were rolled up. You hated that your first thought was that he looked very hot.
He moved and took a seat at one of your tables. He sighed and you realized that perhaps he was also screwed up. For letting himself go too far for you.
“I don’t regret any encounter we’ve had,” he says. “Me neither”
He can’t stop staring at your bloodstained dress and you notice.
Fuck everything, you thought.
I’m attracted to him, he’s attracted to me, What’s the worst thing that could happen? (I don’t want to know).
“Silly boy, look what you did to me,” you say looking at the soaked fabric.
Something possessed you at that moment. Your hands went straight to lift your dress. His eyes trailed your sparkly underwear, your lower belly, and your ribs that rose and fell as you breathed.
Your hands twirl behind your back to unhook your bra; also soaked, throwing it to the floor.
Your salesman is quiet, his innocent smile about to fall because you know you have taken him by surprise.
Likely you’ll get a scar. The would-be slightly deep, an uneven line that passed from your neck to your shoulder.
You step forward, confidently eyeing him.
“Clean it” he tried to stand up, probably to grab a med kit but you stopped him with your heel. “With your mouth. Lick it clean
”
He gulped.
His manspread became the only thing you could care about. How he eyed you with lust and possession for some seconds, and then to lean forwards.
Once again his hands landed on the curves of your hips and he made you step up, leaving him inches away from you.
Your sudden surgation grew and his hot tongue finally made contact with your skin.
You savored the feeling of his tongue, knowing he wouldn’t clean anything but the semi-dry blood over your breast. He was only making a mess.
Then, he lifts his head and catches your lips in a sullied kiss. The way he held you, made you understand how he always wanted control. Above anything.
“I will be gone within time. You can ruin me while it lasts
” you blurt out, panting for air.
“I’ll ruin you. But I don’t want to rip you apart. That’s pointless
” he admits in your lips, blood near your chin that he wipes out. “You’re the most fun I’ve had in years. My little toy
”
“Alright, I’ll be your toy” he nods, kissing you again. “Know that my lips are sealed when it comes to you”
“And you won’t have to worry about anything again
” you moan on his lips when he pulls your hair and finally makes you lay on your once new carpet, now displaying some splotches of blood.
“I don’t need your money”
“Don’t you want to make your mother proud and relieved from student debts? From rent?” You can’t think straight. “It’s not correct
”
“None of this is, y/n. Now shut your mouth and spread your legs, toy”
It’s wrong, immoral, a complete madness. You know everything will change once the night dies and the morning comes. But as much as you tried to communicate to him that you weren’t scared, you knew it was over, you’ve gotten too deep into his shit.
“Farewell to my purity” you whisper in his ear and it’s enough to make his eyes turn darker, full of lust.
Everything that consoles purity would be gone from you. And the fact that you were ready scared you. But once his hands started meeting places across your body, you welcomed the sin.
As well as your mind seized thinking. Not caring about the consequences.
_______________________________________________
If you ask for more I will provide
QuiĂ©n me manda a escribir estas mamadas? I’m just ovulating.
339 notes · View notes
moonchildcovenxx · 13 hours ago
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Scissoring With Sevika
a/n: Guys i got possessed!! It’s the voices I swear! this is loosely based off of @justhereforsubsevika’s post so go check that out if u like mine :)!!
first time tribbing with sub/switch sevika??? you know what hell yeah!
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Sevika prided herself in her poker face. It was an ability that came naturally, and the years of being Silco’s second in command had perfected this trait. It took a lot to break your stoic, brooding, girlfriend. That is until it didn’t.
Sevika had simply stopped moving above you. It was uncharacteristic of her to quiet so quickly. “Vika baby
” you trail off as you shift your hips to look at her. You always craved to feel her closer.
 Sevika’s warm muscular body against yours never failed to make you needy. She could hardly believe it herself when you suggested scissoring in place of her fucking you stupid with a strap. Sevika hated to admit when she was wrong, But it felt good. Better even. So good in fact that you both froze when a soft mewl fell from her parted lips.
“Shut up.” Sevika immediately rasped out as your intrigued yet teasing giggle filled your dimly lit bedroom.
“Didn’t know you could sound like that Sevika.” The atmosphere in the room has reached a drunken, hazy, stupor and your eyes darken as Sevika tucks her lower lip between her teeth, her thighs shuddering atop yours. “Don’t—Stop that.” Sevika attempts to chide, but she cuts herself off with a breathy gasp as your clits kiss oh so gently. It has her pretty grey eyes rolling back, it’s a small touch, but she can feel everything. “F-fuck.” Sevika pants, dropping onto her elbows to cage around you.
It’s taking all your energy to stay as quiet as possible to hear the absolutely devastating noises that are leaving your girl. 
Something in you blooms as you watch Sevika’s usually sharpened, stoic facade crumble. Her cheeks dust rosy as your eyes roam her figure not knowing what or where to settle on. Sevika’s already pussy drunk—completely stupefied. That much you can tell. The way her eyebrows furrow, arching upward is merely one sign. A permanent shiver racks her body at even your slightest change or quirk of your body. A beat passes where both of you are still, clearly waiting for someone to make a move. And then it clicks. What Sevika wants you to do. and all of a sudden you find your hand at her throat pulling her into a deep kiss. “Yeah like th-that ohgod.” 
Sevika leans closer finally letting your hands guide her hips where you want them. And where you want them is bucking down onto you. You need her clit against yours. You need to feel the way her cunt just drips as you coo praises up at her. “So pretty like this, huh?” Your words are slurred from the pleasure each time she grinds down onto your now sloppy pussy. Sevika shakes her head fervently trying to keep some semblance of dominance. Trying and failing to pretend she was unbothered by your vulgar words and even sultrier actions, but it wouldn’t work. As you leave biting marks on her collarbone, the resulting noise that you drag out of her is so throughly debauched you moan back her name in response.
“I’m going to stop if you don’t speak up.” You tsk up at her. Your words are nothing but lies. You need to cum just as much as Sevika does, but you’re in love with the indignant, pained expression that falls over her features, her restraint finally snapping when you threaten her. “No—ah-baby please it feels so—so good oh god oh my god!” Sevika all but wails into your chest, as you meanly hum in mock thought, you’re sure that the throbbing in your cunt gives you away. When was the last time you were this wet?
“Hmm. Should I let you cum Vika? you’ve been so
.” you cut yourself off by squeezing her neck ever so slightly, and in result Sevika’s mouth drops open, this time staying there as you continue to toy with her. “so ‘bratty’
” You giggle, as Sevika shakes her head again. “I’m-fuck-‘m not a brat.” Sevika hitches out indignant. Her deep raspy lilt long gone, in its place a broken whimper. “Please I’m—Please I’ve been good I wanna-“ She cuts herself off as her eyes roll back for the nth time of the night. The pleasure coils painfully in your tummy, the tightly wound knot ever so close to snapping. 
“Then cum for me Sevika.” you manage breathily as your clit rubs against hers oh so addictively that your hips buck up to meet Sevika’s erratic thrusts. 
“Oh God-hahh—”
Sevika falls into you, head burying into your shoulder as she all but creams on your overly sensitive pussy. 
“Just like—ah- that I got you.” You purr comfortingly, managing to hook your leg around her thigh holding her still. The silence envelops the two of you comfortably as you breathe in an overwhelmed yet satisfied breath. The quiet continues and you think that Sevika has simply fallen asleep on top of you as you lean back into the ruffled up pillows. 
“I
wouldn’t mind doing that again.” Sevika raspy low lilt is amusedly back—like it had never left, and you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face as you nod eagerly cuddling closer in her arms.
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estranhossonhos · 19 hours ago
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It's obviously not a requirement I look for, whenever I meet someone (friends, bf/gf, doesn't matter - I mean people I want to keep around and nourish a relationship with); but I would love to have a significant other with this kind of mindset. That cooks with joy, plans every mealtime with ease, and feeds on other people's reactions to their food. In fact, whenever I get invited to eat at someone's house, and they complain that the food didn't turn up how they envisioned, or state that «it's nothing fancy» - oh, you have no idea how moments like this warm my body, heart and soul. And I wish I was writing all of this out of nostalgia, with that magical, slow-motion like remembrance about everyone gathered around a table, enjoying themselves, talking, laughing, ... but for me, it goes beyond that.
tw: mental health + unhealthy eating patterns
I try not to feel ashamed by confessing this, but I can't help but notice how people look at me weird. It's such an automated/basic thing everyone does, and I can't do it? «What do you mean? You need food to live, yet you can't cook nor do the groceries? ». Not quite, but I do need a whole day to do it, and a few days in advance to get myself ready for this mundane task. You see, my brain shuts off whenever I look at what's inside my fridge or pantry - if there's even anything in there to begin. I simply cannot put combine ingredients like you do (and it's not due to lack of knowledge). And whenever I can, it will most likely become my go-to meal for the next few weeks. It's a logistical nightmare to even consider going out to the supermarket. Yes, I could order online - but that's another task on itself. 80% of the times this gets me so overstimulated that, I've ended up (discreetly, I hope) crying in public, on a few occasions.
Don't worry, it's not an everyday occurrence. And for better or for worse, I am too self-conscious and pragmatic for this bad habit to take over. But whenever my neurodivergent brain is going through the slumps (you know: those occasional rough patches that resurface every once in a while, sprinkled with anxiety and depression), I prefer to stay in bed, disassociate and lose track of time, with an empty stomach. Even though I merely switched that moment with another filled with more guilt and shame towards myself. And yes, that also includes going out to eat. That's why I (while trying to play it cool) usually choose what somebody else ordered, or what the waiter recommended. This way nobody suspects anything is wrong with me, right?
Now, if this all seems childish and overly dramatic, congratulations: you are a typical functioning human-being. Believe me when I say this: I feel the same way you do, whenever I hear myself complaining about this «first world problem». But unfortunately, this drains the little energy we have to navigate our daily lives as neurodivergent individuals in a neurotypical world. Especially for those with a very tight monthly budget, who live alone or share a place with people they are not close with. Just like you, I used to find unnecessary and environmentally unfriendly all of those pre-packed, peeled and/or frozen meals, veggies and fruits. Nowadays I am thankful whenever I find them, since they quite literally have saved my life multiple times. Chemicals? Not healthy? Never heard of them. I need fuel to get out of bed and to not rot away. And if that fuel is a frozen lasagne with a weird ingredient list, so be it. I promise I'll compensate in a near future, when I am mentally and physically out of the slump, and I feel capable of asking for help (if needed) or to mask myself again as a typical functioning human-being đŸ’Ș So, next time you catch yourself complaining about those «unhealthy and ready to eat meals» or any other «unnacessary invention» that promises to make someone's life easier: take a deep breath, question everything but always try to do it out of pure curiosity. This way you're always reach the correct answer, be apart of less judgemental world, with more acessibility, compassion and solidarity towards one another.
Cooking for you is my love language.
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dirtylittlesecre7 · 1 day ago
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Hiii I was wondering if we could get a dom!cho hyun-ju x f! Reader where weve bee feeling kind of insecure so she helps prove that theres nothing to be insecure about? Do u think u could add some praise, hand holding n whatever else u would like to add? Pls n thank u!!
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! nsfw content !
dom gf!hyun-ju x f!reader
(these are happening in a way that the squid game does not exist)
word count | 1,5k
warning | smut, oral(reader receiving), yeah that's all
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"aren't you ready yet?" the voice coming from outside the door made you swallow hard, you looked at yourself in the mirror again. you had made an agreement with your girlfriend to go out but you didn't want to go out now. you wanted to wear the dress hyun-ju bought for you on today's date but something seemed missing, you weren't feeling well, even looking in the mirror started to hurt so you turned your head away "I..I'll be ready in a minute."
hyun-ju looked at the clock and let out a breath when she realized that your reservation time was almost past. of course she would always wait for you but it had taken longer than necessary. after a while you heard another knock on the door "is everything okay..? if you need anything please tell me, should I come in?" her worried tone made you feel bad too, you didn't want to ruin anything on a day like this. hyun-ju was about to leave when she didn't hear anything from you but the sound of the door opening made her stop.
she looked at you, then her gaze roamed over your body, you looked so... perfect. she smiled slightly as she realized that you were embarrassed by her gaze and locked eyes with yours again. hyun-ju took a step closer and held your hands. "you're so beautiful, but why is your face so sulky, hm? tell me, darling." one of her hands went to your chin and made you look at her. you could barely put your thoughts into words but finally managed to speak. "I..I don't feel very good in this dress..don't get me wrong- you bought it for me and it's absolutely beautiful but..I think I diminished it's beauty by wearing it."
a sigh filled the air, hyun-ju entered the room and then closed the door and placed both hands on your cheek, her thumbs drawing small circles as you began to relax under her touch. "I don't want you to say things like that. please. I know it's hard to change your mind no matter what I say and I hate it but..I wish you could see how you look through my eyes." her hands went down to your waist and with small steps she led you to where the mirror was, now with your back turned to her you were looking at yourself in the mirror again. hyun-ju tilted her head slightly to the side and placed a small kiss on your neck "every part of you is so beautiful, so precious." another kiss, her voice was lower this time "I am so lucky to have you, such a delicate beauty that would make angels jealous..it's completely unfair for you to feel so insecure when everyone around you is talking about your beauty, my little baby."
you turned your head to her, every word she said caused your eyes to fill with tears, hyun-ju's face filled with worry as she felt a pain in her heart the moment she realized this "who talked about me?" she knew you were upset right now but when she heard your soft voice and saw the way your bottom lip pouted, she couldn't help but giggle at your sweetness, and kissed your lips, wiping your bottom lip with her thumb as the lipstick you had just applied smeared with her "last week when we met the others, you got up to go to the bathroom and as soon as you left, se-mi made a comment about how your skirt looked good on you. well..I can't say she was wrong of course but I have to admit I was jealous. you attract attention everywhere we go and it makes me happier to have you."
you tried to process what she said, hyun-ju gave you a moment to give yourself time but her gaze fell on the strap of your dress that had fallen off your shoulder. you flinched slightly when you felt her fingers on your shoulder while you were lost in thought, raised your head to her but she wasn't looking at you, her eyes traveled from your shoulder to your neck "y/n.." you answered while the way she said your name made your body shiver "yes?" the moment hyun-ju heard your weak voice, it was all over for her, neither the restaurant nor anything else on her mind. she lowered the strap of your dress again and kissed your shoulder. whispered "we're late enough for the reservation..."
she made you lie down on the bed and was soon on top of you. "I'm sorry..I didn't mean for it to happen-" your sentence was cut off when hyun-ju's hand slid under your dress and caressed your thigh. "shh..there's nothing to apologize for." looked into your eyes with desire. "let me prove how beautiful my girlfriend is, with or without a dress." she delicately removed the single piece of fabric you were wearing, she was eager to touch you but she liked to savor this moment more slowly. soon you were left with only your panties, her fingers finding your clit through the fabric as she kissed your lips hungrily, sucking on your bottom lip and you let out a whimper when your tongues met.
her kisses slowly moved down, first to your neck, then to your breasts, lingering for a while before coming to your stomach. you giggled slightly as the tiny kisses tickled you. hyun-ju smiled when she heard your laugh and lifted her head. "that's it. I always want to see you laugh." continued, the wet kisses she left in between were making your mind blurry. you admired how she could take away all your worries, even a single kiss could make you forget all the bad things.
as she went down further, she kissed your clit through the fabric, hand stopped you as you were about to close your legs, she raised her head and looked at you "I want you to keep your legs open, okay little one?" you just nodded in approval, you didn't want to wait any longer and she knew it very well. took off your panties without waiting too long and got between your legs, her hand found your hand and intertwined your fingers "hyun-ju.." you said her name needily. without making you wait any longer, her tongue met your pussy, she sucked your clit for a while, and then she went down a little further, stuck her tongue in your hole. you squeezed the hand you held with a loud moan, hyun-ju continued to destroy you with her tongue while she started caressing your hand with her thumb.
her movements were slow and seductive but when you didn't expect it, she sped up, she grabbed your leg with her free hand and spread it wider, making it easier for her to eat you out. all you could do at that moment was moan her name. even though she had done this often, holding hands made you feel strangely embarrassed. hyun-ju always made gestures like this during sex and she always managed to embarrass you. in fact, at that moment you realized how unimportant the thoughts of the people around you were, when you had a girlfriend like this and were loved like this, you didn't want to care about others anymore. there was only her and you.
hyun-ju's movements didn't stop, her tongue was moving rapidly inside your pussy while her hand holding your leg slowly moved from your belly to your breasts, when she started playing with your hardened nipple with gentle movements, you let out another loud moan, she knew very well which parts of your body were sensitive. after a while the pleasure you were getting from both sides started to be too much, you moved your hips and your stomach tightened, you knew you were close to cumming "hyun-ju..I..I'm..c-close.." you could barely speak between your moans, just threw your head back in pleasure. hyun-ju moaned as your hips moved around her face and after a while you couldn't hold yourself back any longer and came in her mouth.
she pulled back, looking at the juices flowing from your pussy before looking at you who was exhausted. she grinned slightly, oh she loved eating you out so much, she could do this all day long but she had other things to worry about right now. her lips were glistening from your juices, licked her own lips and leaned in closer, kissing your cheek. “I love you so much.” buried her head in your neck. “please don’t hesitate to talk to me at times like this, I don’t like you being by yourself, I’m always here. always.” her arms wrapped tightly around your waist and she laid down on the bed, pulling you to her. “we’re late for dinner..” you purred, she chuckled and pulled back slightly to look at your face. “I got more than what i wanted, but I can still make you something if you’re hungry?” saw you avert your eyes shyly and kissed your forehead with a smile. “you rest here, I’ll go and make sure you get fed well.” she put the covers over you and looked at you one last time before leaving the room. when the door closed, there were no bad thoughts or anything else on your mind anymore.
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