#i love you so much and i hope you like this!

[velvetwyrme]

damn those conses do quence (/j /j, unfortunately[...?] no bug mpreg took place here)

anyway, woe, grub be upon ye. tbc... whenever i finish the many other things i need to do lol.

i did this instead of making an ask blog because i dont have the time or energy to upkeep that atm, but honestly?? it probably wouldve just be easier to make an ask blog instead of... doing whatever this is LMAO,,, but i had fun so its ok sklvfjbfkbdb,,

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

midoriya being reader's and bakugou's biggest cheerleader, rooting for them since day one!?!?!?! 😭💖 he literally watched his 2 friends grow up and fall in love...he's so happy for them 🥹💗 like imagine the waterworks when they tell him they're (finally) in a relationship...if anyone believes in their love, it's midoriya!!!! 💓

the way things go !

synopsis : izuku knows, he always has, but he'll let you both figure it out.

an. this is literally so cute i love this !! tysm for the ask, this is pretty late tho so super sorries about this if youre still sticking around anon :(( but i hope you (and all yall) enjoy!!

cw. fluffy fluff ! childhood friends YAAAAAAH—middle school katsuki lol, childhood to like second year of ua timeskip, lmk if there's anything else !

if he thinks hard enough, izuku midoriya can remember the exact moment he realised his best friend had fallen in love with you.

you'd gone from being a new addition to their little friend group to you guys being so tight knit that people automatically associated you all together, if one was around—the other two were always expected nearby, a little trio.

sure, izuku never wanted anybody to feel left out, but you and kacchan were his best friends forever. you all had sleep overs at katsuki's house and went out for ice cream, visit for birthdays and stay up late to watch tv and tell scary stories under the covers. katsuki always pulled mean little pranks afterwards which would always scare the pants off of izuku, you always reassured him though, saying katsuki was being stupid. he thought that it was really cool how you never seemed to get scared until he noticed how you'd jump sometimes, but he found you even cooler.

you were best friends forever, shown by the cool woven bracelets you'd gotten for your friends when you came back from a beach vacation with your family. kacchan had complained the entire time you were gone, calling everything boring without you, but he never said a word about it when you got back and smacked izuku on the arm hard when he'd tried to tell you how much they'd both missed you.

izuku had managed to rip his gaze off his bracelet, woven with green and shades of blue that matched the sea to look up at his friend to ask how he felt about his gift. katsuki's had hints of orange, reds and vibrant pinks and he didn't complain about it even though he always said it was a girl colour. red eyes like his bracelet fixed onto his arm.

"look and yours kinda looks like it has flames on it, see ? like your explosions !" you explained excitedly, and izuku couldn't help getting excited too. your humour was always contagious. "oh yeah, i see it !" he agreed and you look over at him to nod in approval, obviously proud of your choice. and izuku realised then that the blonde still hadn't said one word.

you didn't seem to mind though, still too excited from your trip and izuku's reaction to his gift. you stuck your arm against katsuki's and grabbed izuku's so he could stick it to his, all your multicoloured bracelets coming together to form a mess of jumbled up colours "see, now we all match !" you exclaimed.

katsuki's cheeks were pink, stained and blotchy even through the worn out little bandaid stuck to his cheek. and all he could manage then was a nod, katsuki who you'd always call a big mouth was speechless and just nodded. izuku thought that was really weird

"i like it." he mumbled out quietly, obviously realising that you were now both awaiting an answer from him "we match," he repeated "but mines cooler." he finished off, crossing his arms and huffing to the sky proudly. and you burst out laughing, little giggles spill out and you break out into a laugh as you lean onto izuku. he can't help himself from laughing either. katsuki tries, really does, but he ends up laughing a bit too, nudging at your leg with his foot when you call him a big mouth.

and for the entire rest of the day, kacchan had found some excuse or other to drag you around and hold your hand, saying something about how you'd get lost since you were gone for so long, izuku thought that was weird too since you were only gone too weeks, but he quickly forgot about it. it was still hot when you got back, so you went for ice cream with money miss mitsuki had given you all to celebrate your return, and had gone to your (not so) secret spot by the river bank to laze around after your bellies were full.

the wind breezed through his clothes as izuku remembered the taste of his two scoops on his tongue, sighing and feeling himself getting sleepy. he hears you and kacchan talking.

he's talking about how your bracelet looks more like his, so you two match more. "that means you gotta stay with me forever so . . don't leave again." he mumbles, izuku hears the tugging and pulling of grass roots "was boring without you here." before he quickly catches himself with an "that's what izuku said." and the green haired boy answered with a sleepy "uhuh . . " that makes you giggle.

"i can ask my mom if you and izuku can come next time !" you chirp excitedly and you've always been contagious, so izuku responds again with a sleepy "yaaay . ." that makes you laugh.

when school started back up, katsuki had been quick to rip off his jacket and show off his bracelet to your friends, shown off by the short sleeved t-shirt he was wearing. always proud to answer the question of where'd gotten his cool new bracelet with a loud "yn got it for me from when she went on her trip, i bet she didn't get you anything !"

always proud and showing off was a kacchan that izuku knew all too well. but it was always about himself, never about others. and yet here he was showing off your gift to anybody who would listen because you were best friends. izuku thinks he truly realised, not then, but during lunch break when kacchan had pushed a boy to the ground because he'd made fun of his bracelet and called it girly.

"not true !" he'd yelled "you're just mad 'cus yn didn't get you nothin' and she likes me more then you. i bet you're just jealous 'cus she hates you, she told me you stink !"

and that's when he knew. because all three of you were always together and izuku had never ever heard you say that. but it seemed that to katsuki, being hated by you was the worst thing imaginable.

and that's when he knew.

and to him it was only natural for katsuki, one of the coolest people he knew, to have a crush on the other coolest person he knew. but when he'd asked kacchan about it after school, he'd punched him in the shoulder and told him "n-no ! shut up, quit talking stupid !" even as his cheeks turned beet red and he trudged off to go grab his backpack.

there was no doubt about it, you had a crush on each other.

izuku knows it, he knows you both know it. so why don't you do anything about it ?! it's sorta been driving him crazy.

he sees it all. sure, him and kacchan don't actually hang out anymore, but you and izuku still hang out and he sees them. the looks, the almost touches and the teasing and the shoulder nudges and—seriously, does nobody else see this ?!

but he'll keep quiet, he won't force you to do anything, he'll let you both take your time. but it seems the blond has been getting more and more impatient with himself.

"hey, nerd." izuku jumps despite himself at the rough voice from above him, looking up and quickly hiding his notebook from his ex-childhood friend.

"k-kacchan, hey ! didn't expect to see you here, heh . ." he trails off, eyes darting to the side. and izuku really hadn't expected to see him, kacchan wasn't the type to stay after class, always ready to walk you home when school was out. he feels his hands shaking and clenches onto his uniform pants. katsuki ignores the boy's attempt at friendly conversation, scoffing.

"what's your deal, huh ?" uh oh, izuku panics—what had he done ? he doesn't remember doing anything to anger him.

"i don't know what you're talking about, ka—"

a hand slams against his desk, startling the green haired boy and he almost jumps out of his skin.

"don't fuck with me ! y'know good and goddamn well what i'm talking about."

"but i—"

and then your name gets brought up "ya keep fuckin' staring at her all the time. what, you like her or something ?"

wait, what.

"huh ?"

"don't huh me," katsuki copies with a nasally voice "s'bad enough she wants to hang with you all the time, now you want more ?!"

oh, wait.

"just so you know, she doesn't like the nerdy type so you can go ahead and—" katsuki cuts himself off when he sees izuku smile, a smile he in his mind can only imagine as a smug one, so he scowls " quit makin' that creepy fuckin' face at me, weirdo ! i'll tell you right now—you haven't won and i damn sure won't lose ! never to a nerd like you, you got that ?!" he declared, before stomping out of the classroom.

izuku despite the obvious declaration of war he has no want to be part in, can't help but smile. "you've got nothing to worry about." he mutters to himself.

it'll be fine, he'll let you take your time—he has a feeling it won't be for much longer anyway.

"good morning, yn."

"hi, izuku."

you insist on not looking him in the eye when you speak, and izuku who's known you for years by now, immediately knew something was up.

you're here early, the common room is empty beside you and him right now "how'd you sleep ?" you ask, sipping on some juice. izuku hums, fixing his tie for class, you beckon him over and lean over to fix it for him which he thanks you for with an added shy chuckle.

and it's quiet.

izuku takes a spot next to you, "you know, you can talk to me about anything right ? i don't wanna assume but you look a bit bothered by something." your best friend smiles warmly at you when you make eye contact "i'm here if you need anything."

you squirm in your seat and then finally you spit your next sentence out at super speed "katsuki and i have liked each other for a while now and he asked me out and i said yes !"

"I KNEW IT!" the green haired's exclamation knocks you back and he flies up from his seat, he smiles down at you victoriously like he'd just defeated a villain.

"i knew you guys had been acting different, it was just too obvious ! always looking at each other for long periods of time—and sneaking off and standing so close to each other, it all makes sense !" and you're struck absolutely silent, he rambled and rambled on like he was taking notes for his hero notebook—seriously, how much did he know ?!

"w-wait but—you knew that we liked each other ?" you ask. izuku sits back down, even clears his throat after his little outburst, and smiles at you.

"oh yeah, i've known that for a while now !"

". . how long is a while ?"

". . a couple years."

"oh." you conclude. "i'm sorry i never told you, zuku . .s'just that i know that you and katsu's relationship was . . more than a bit strained so . ."

izuku immediately frown in shock "what, no it's not—you shouldn't have to apologise ! that was between kacchan and i so—" and he stops in his tracks "is that why it took you guys so long to . ."

now you're cutting him off "no, no that's not it ! i just never really had the courage to say anything !" you shyly rub at your glass "and honestly, i had no idea he even liked me like that . ."

surely you had to be messing with him. izuku sweatdrops at you without a word.

"well anyway, i'm glad you too are happy, truly." he utters sincerely. you smile back at him with a giggle and your humour's always been contagious, so he laughs along with you.

and when he sees you and kacchan walking to class holding hands he can't help but throw up a victorious fist up, leaving his friends a little bit confused.

(afterwards during training with katsuki, he wishes him a playful congratulations on winning, the blonde proceeding to punch his arm hard and izuku couldn't help but laugh. until katsuki chucked his water bottle at him.)

taglist ! :

@napbatata @andysdrafts @queenpiranhadon @jastoo46 @cecelia77

@katszumi @m-inluv @monchurie @the-hangry-otter @starlostlaiba

@moonshuul @erenstitanweave @katsus-mistress @dondeh-zedonutqueen @liluvtojineteyam

@aspiringwriter1111 @sugurusmoon @redvelvetstan1

@niktwazny303 @nemisimp @kit-katsukii @alphasage @milktea-academia

[hotdogmchiggin]

DOODLE DUMP!!!!!!!!

No real rhyme or reason to it just felt like drawing Daisuke and the big Swan. Having fun figuring out how I wanna draw ‘em 😎👍

[mrsholmesreid]

EVERY FIRST, YOURS | spencer reid x reader

summary: you and spencer reid have been going out for a few weeks. he's taking things very slow, and you find his pace comforting and his awkwardness endearing. as your relationship grows more heated, you come to find that he was completely inexperienced before meeting you. you feel honored to be his first, to be the one he learns love from.

pairing: spencer reid x reader (no pronouns but reader has female anatomy)

word count: 9,05k

content warnings: fluff x smut, virgin!spencer, oral sex (reader receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, aftercare.

author's note: i tried to portray spencer's inexperience in a way that's more realistic—despite him reading a lot and knowing everything about most things—and that followed his character's personality but that was still enjoyable to read. i hope you love reading this as much as i loved writing it! let me know what you think :)

You and Spencer had been going out for a few weeks. After reaching for the same book at a bookstore, the two of you started talking—and it didn’t take very long before you planned a date. He chose a nice restaurant, picked you up, brought you flowers, and did every other gentleman attitude in the book. By the end of it, you were sure he was going to make a move—kiss you, touch you, maybe even try to get you to go home with him—but he did none of that. As he dropped you off at your place at a reasonable hour, he gave you a gentle, respectful hug, and thanked you for an amazing time with the promise of calling you back again soon. And unlike most other guys, he kept it.

You thought he was the sweetest guy you’d ever met.

It was only by your third date that he tried to kiss you. The routine remained—picking you up, taking you to a nice place (this time it had been a museum, where he risked to hold your hand—and you let him), and then, finally, driving you home.

When you reached your doorstep, it was a little later than usual because both of you wanted to stay for a short lecture they were having at the museum. His eyes glimmered under the dim lighting of your porch, and in a quiet moment that followed after a string of warm laughter about the night’s events, he asked if he could kiss you.

You’d never had anyone ask you that before. Guys would usually just take the hint and lean in all at once. But for some reason, the care in his eyes, the way he rubbed his hands ever so slightly against his slacks—as if trying to dry off a thin layer of nervous sweat without you noticing—endeared you deeply. Your heart warmed at the way his eyes stared at you. His pupils wide, taking you in and eagerly waiting for an answer.

“Please?”

The word sounded more like a whimper coming from his lips. You were so deep in your thoughts about how adorable he looked when asking you that question, that you forgot to actually agree to it. You didn’t just want to kiss him. You wanted to scream, jump in his arms, kiss him all over, invite him inside, and give yourself completely to this charming man. But you didn’t.

It was clear by how nervous he seemed that he had planned every second of every date he had taken you on—including this very moment—and you wanted to let him do it. You wanted to play along, to let him win the little game he had in his mind. You knew he had probably rehearsed that line a thousand times before actually saying it to you. “May I kiss you?” You could almost picture him saying it to the mirror. So, you allowed him to set the pace.

“Yes,” you smiled softly, taking a small step closer.

The kiss that followed wasn’t exactly what you were expecting, but in a way, it couldn’t have been better. His breath hitched, and you could see the exact moment his brain short-circuited after hearing your breathy one-worded answer. He took another step in your direction, closing the distance between you but not quite letting your bodies touch just yet. He took a deep breath, and very slowly, pressed a brush of a kiss against your lips.

It barely lasted more than three seconds, but to you, it was an eternity. You never thought such a chaste peck could make that many fireworks go off inside your head. 

You didn’t know it then, but the fireworks in his head were much brighter than yours; for that had been his first kiss ever.

After that, he simply pulled back with the biggest, silliest smile you’d ever seen. He looked like a child that had just been given a puppy. Or even the puppy itself.

His flushed cheeks said everything he couldn’t, and after exchanging goodnights, he went back to his car, leaving you just as flustered and happy as him.

What had he done to you? You felt like a teenager in love for the first time. But whatever it was, you couldn’t help but crave more of it.

For the next couple of dates, he followed that same script—but now, with a goodnight kiss at the end of it. You kept letting him set the pace, enjoying how adorable he looked whenever the time to kiss you came. Even his behavior in the moments leading up to it would change. He’d get more talkative on the drive back to your place, and you could swear you even saw him unconsciously skipping after closing the car door for you before taking you home one time. You loved his silly smiles, and they brought up a bunch of your own.

But as the dates kept going, his kisses evolved.

The first time he changed it, was after he had taken you to an amusement park. You were both exhilarated after the adrenalin-fueled evening when you reached your doorstep, and as if on instinct, he pulled you in with his hands cradling your face as he kissed you for a lot longer than three seconds. 

He hadn’t done that yet, and he seemed just as surprised as you by his own, unexpected action. The way his fingers naturally threaded through your hair to bring you closer, how his lips pressed more purposefully against yours—your heart nearly stopped.

He pulled back slowly, his hands slipping shyly from your cheeks, and he looked like the floor could swallow him whole with embarrassment.

“I-I’m sorry…” He stammered, but you could tell that, deep down, he really wasn’t.

“Don’t apologize,” you smiled and couldn’t help yourself, tentatively stealing another peck. You didn’t even try to hide how much you’d loved the fact that he had lost himself in the kiss.

His blush deepened at your stolen peck, but you didn’t press him further than that.

“So… we’re okay?” He asked timidly. 

“Yeah… we’re okay,” you replied, your grin widening.

After that night, his kisses only grew deeper.

On the following date, he allowed his lips to move ever so slightly against yours, making your entire body shiver.

By the next one, he flicked his tongue over your lower lip, hesitantly begging for entry—which you granted him in a heartbeat.

His movements were shy and almost experimental at first, but not long after, the routine chaste goodnight kisses were replaced by his hands on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as your tongues danced together. You didn’t realize it then, but you were teaching him how to kiss.

You were starting to wonder when he’d want more. Your make out sessions were becoming more heated with each date; to the point that, one night, he even pressed you lightly against the wall. The desire between you was growing undeniably evident—both figuratively and literally.

You’d been waiting for the night when he’d ask to come inside—find an excuse to actually cross the front door limit you’d been teetering over, go into your house, and take things further. But he didn’t.

You were patient, though. You could tell he was very careful with everything you did together, and not only did you respect that, but you were thankful for it. You thought you might actually benefit from having someone be a little more controlled than you in a relationship for once. Ever so used to guys jumping to conclusions and skipping important steps, Spencer’s pace was a comforting change of scenery.

But then it finally came.

You were leaving the restaurant, his hand hovering over your lower back as he guided you back to his car like he always did. Everything was going exactly the same, following the usual script perfectly. The next steps were clear: he’d drive you home, you’d make out by your doorstep, then he’d say goodnight and leave you a blushing, butterfly-filled mess.

Until things took a different turn.

“You know,” he broke the comfortable silence, sliding his hand against yours and interlocking your fingers as you walked. You could feel how warm his hand was, and the slight dampness on it indicated he was a little nervous. “I finished setting up that new shelf I was telling you about,” he mentioned, seemingly casually. 

“Oh, did you? You actually figured out where all the nails went?” You teased him lightly.

He let out a soft chuckle, “Yeah, I did. And now I’ve finally organized my books. This time I arranged them by author and theme,” he added, his tone proud.

“It must look beautiful,” you said in all honesty, not realizing the actual weight of your words until he let out:

“Do you wanna see it?” His voice trembled slightly and you could see right through him. That wasn’t an innocent invitation.

Your heart skipped a beat. He wanted you to see it? Like, actually see it, in person, alone with him in his apartment?

You raised your eyebrows, your face a mix of shock and ecstasy. The time had finally come.

“Y-you mean…?” You stuttered, not wanting to jump to conclusions despite the sheer obviousness in his gaze.

“We could go to my place—I mean, stop at my place, before I drop you home,” his nerves were evident by the way he stumbled over his words, trying to play it cool. “Would you like that?” He asked, sounding eager for your answer.

Of course you’d like that. You’d been waiting for that moment for weeks. But still, given how slow he’d been taking things, you needed to make sure that was what he wanted.

“Yes, yes I would, but… Are you sure?” You asked as the two of you stopped by his car, his hand pausing on the passenger’s seat door handle.

His gaze met yours, deep and meaningful. “I wouldn’t have offered it if I wasn’t sure.”

“Okay,” you nodded, the air between you thick with tension and understanding. “I’d love to see your new shelf, Spence.”

He smiled, a soft and genuine curve of his lips, as he opened the car door for you.

The drive to his apartment was quieter than your usual drives. It was like the both of you felt the weight of what was about to happen.

As he pulled over and guided you up to his place, you could tell he was nervous by how he constantly asked if you were feeling uncomfortable, cold, or tired. He was adorable like that, the true concern for your well-being evident in his actions.

“Make yourself at home,” he said as the two of you stepped inside. His apartment wasn’t too big, the perfect balance between having enough room and being cozy. It was warm and welcoming, the faint smell of books and coffee filling your nostrils.

“Thank you,” you replied. You watched as he carefully slipped off his shoes, so you did the same. “You have a really nice place, it’s very… you.”

“Thanks… Everybody says that,” he blushed. “Here, let me take this,” his hands gently slid over your coat, helping you remove it and hung it by the door. You gave him a soft smile, the thick atmosphere slowly fading into something more comfortable. You loved this about him, how he always felt safe, like home.

“So where’s this famous shelf?” You teased, his lips curling into a knowing smile.

“Follow me,” he said, offering you his hand—which you took without hesitation.

Spencer gently guided you further inside the apartment, showing you to the living room. The warm lighting casted soft shadows on the walls, giving the apartment a homey feel. There was a shelf filled to the brim on one side, but you could tell those weren’t all of his books, though. There were a few piled up next to the couch, which was large and comfy with pillows scattered all over it, and some more on the coffee table.

“Is this it?” You asked, pointing at the shelf as you stepped closer to it.

“The one and only,” he grinned, standing next to you with his arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“You did a really good job putting this up, it seems very… sturdy,” you said, running your hands gently on the shelf, as if studying it closely.

He smiled proudly. “Yeah, it took me a while. Hey, look through whatever you want, okay? I’m just gonna go grab a glass of water, do you want some?” He offered. As you turned to face him directly, you noticed his flushed cheeks and awkward demeanor. He was clearly nervous about having you here, like he was afraid of disappointing you, desperate to impress you.

You gave him a soft, reassuring smile, before politely declining, “I’m good, thanks. I’ll be right here checking out your beautiful collection,” you said, watching him leave while wiping his hands on his slacks like he always did when he was nervous.

You let out a soft chuckle, biting your lip as you thought about how lucky you were to be the one causing those adorable reactions on that man. Ever the methodic genius, Spencer kept surprising you every time you met by how comfortable he was growing around you. Still, watching him get flustered over the smallest details warmed your heart and filled your stomach with butterflies.

Running your fingers carefully over the spines of his books, you studied the titles but could barely register any of them. Your heart stammered against your chest, the idea of being there with him, alone in his apartment, was both exhilarating and terrifying. Despite the nerves, you didn't feel too bad, because you knew he was just as nervous as you. You could almost picture him pacing the kitchen, taking deep breaths and trying to calm his racing mind. And that mere thought had you smiling like a teenager in love.

You liked Spencer—you really liked him. And you didn’t want to mess any of it up. It had been long since you’d last felt anything remotely similar to what you felt for Spencer. Despite the two of you having not yet discussed the details of your relationship, you already considered him your boyfriend, and you desperately wanted to keep him around long enough to find out if he considered himself your boyfriend as well. And tonight was going to be a big step for the both of you.

Suddenly, you felt his hands sliding across your arms, gently encircling you with his own. Your entire body shivered, your skin feeling like it was on fire.

“You’re back,” you muttered, your voice strained with the surge of desire that coursed through you.

“Mhm. Did you miss me?” He hummed and whispered against the shell of your ear, pulling you back against his chest, your soft curves fitting perfectly against him. It was an unexpected move, but not at all unwelcome. His arms trembled slightly over you, as if he was terrified of your reactions, as if his heart was doing cartwheels in his chest—just like yours.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you joked, resting back against him with a smile playing on your lips. His closeness was both intoxicating and calming, and it took every bit of your strength to keep yourself in check. “But I did. Just a little bit, though,” you whispered.

“Just a little bit, huh?” He teased softly, his breath warm against your neck, making a shiver run down your spine with each of his words. “Well, good to know, because I missed you too.” He admitted sweetly, the words going straight to your core. Even though you were both only joking, only teasing each other for fun, the idea of him thinking about you made your skin tingle.

“Just a little bit?” You asked quietly, continuing the back and forth banter as your fingers intertwined with his.

“Mhm, no, I missed you a whole lot,” he muttered, his lips pressing a trail of soft kisses on your shoulder, going all the way up to your neck. Those words alone almost had you undone. You could feel his cheeks burning as he pressed them against your skin, the mere shift in temperature enough to make you wish you could see the shade of pink coloring over them.

“You’re blushing, aren’t you?”

“No…” He lied, his cheeks feeling even warmer against you.

With a swift motion, you turned around to face him, a surge of confidence taking over you. You wanted him, and you knew he wanted you too. His arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, your hands coming to rest on his shoulders. “Liar!” You teased with a giggle, finding the redness on his cheeks absolutely endearing.

“Shut up,” he muttered, looking away with a shy smile as he pulled you closer.

“Look at me, pretty boy,” you tilted his chin with your finger so he was facing you. His eyes timidly met yours, his pupils dilating immediately at the sight. “You’re cute,” you teased, and his blush deepened.

“You’re beautiful,” he muttered, one of his hands sliding up from your waist to cup your cheek, his thumb lightly tracing patterns on your skin.

You tilted your head to the side, completely surrendered to the man before you; a soft, lovesick smile on your lips. When you noticed his eyes flickering down to your mouth, then back to your eyes, you already knew what was coming.

“M-may I kiss you?” He whispered. Even after everything, even after all the times you two made out passionately at your doorstep, he still made sure you gave permission. There was something about the tone in his voice when he asked that, the pleading shine in his eyes that betrayed the true desire in his chest. Everything about him charmed you.

“You really think I'd say no to that?” You smiled, leaning a little closer, your lips just a breath away from his.

He smiled shyly, as if he were unable to contain his own reactions. “Just checking in. I can barely believe you even let me have you like this,” he admitted, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Well, now you know,” you added. “I always want to kiss you.”

He pulled back slowly, his eyes widened with excitement meeting your gaze before he gently brought his lips to yours. The kiss was slow at first, tentative and hesitant. Like you both knew what it was forecasting.

His hands slowly cupped your face, as if he was holding the most precious thing in the world. As the kiss deepened, one of his hands slid to the back of your neck, threading through your hair to pull your mouth closer to his. Meanwhile, his free hand sneaked down your side, resting on your hip to bring you flush against him.

Your tongue slipped past his lips, tangling with his in a dance that grew hotter by the second. You could feel your heartbeat racing pressed against his chest, the rhythm mixing with his own. Your hands went from his neck to his lower back, dragging down his shirt until your fingers reached the hem, sneaking underneath the fabric to meet the warmth of his skin.

He let out a soft gasp into your mouth as your fingers trailed along the skin of his lower back, a shiver running down his spine. You smiled against his lips, enjoying how easily you could elicit reactions from him. Feeling your smile, Spencer tugged you even closer, kissing you even harder.

You turned to putty in his arms. The heat of the moment urged you on, making you slowly back him toward the couch until the back of his knees hit the soft material. Your hands went to his shoulders, gently guiding him down, your lips not leaving each other’s not even for a second. As he sat on the couch, you didn’t waste any time before climbing right on his lap.

His hands immediately met your waist, pulling your body closer until you were sitting directly on top of him. Desire shot up your body like electric shocks when you felt the evidence of his arousal nudging insistently against your clothed core. You pressed down gently, causing a spark of friction that nearly drew both of you insane.

Spencer groaned into your mouth, pulling back to rest his forehead against yours as he caught his breath. “We’ve never been this far,” he muttered, your breaths mingling in the small space between your faces.

“Do you want to stop?” You asked, trailing kisses on his jawline, all the way down to his neck. Your lips attached to the sensitive skin below his ear, unable to resist the need to suck and bite him softly.

“God, no,” he let out in a heartbeat, the earnestness in his voice enough to urge you further. You sucked a little harder on his neck, your tongue soothing the skin right after, making a soft moan escape his lips—the sound going straight to your core. “Damnit, that feels so good,” he muttered, making you smile against his skin.

You continued kissing down his neck to his collarbone, your mouth eager to find new spots that made him gasp. His hands slid down your hips to your backside, gently kneading the soft skin, the motion making you gasp and freeze on his neck for a second. You could feel your underwear grow damper, as well as his pants twitching underneath you.

“I-I’m sorry, should I have not? I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked first…” He muttered as you froze, his hands shaking as they hesitantly left your ass.

“No, no, that’s not it,” you quickly replied, guiding his hands back to where they were. “I liked it, I really did,” you smiled down at him, enjoying the sight of his slightly tousled hair and flushed skin. “You can touch wherever you want,”

“W-wherever I want?” He stammered, barely believing your words. His cheeks turned bright red. “A-are you sure?”

“Wherever you want, baby,” you whispered against his ear, drawing a satisfied sigh from him.

“E-even here?” He asked, the sound of you calling him ‘baby’ going straight to his groin as he gently spread your ass cheeks apart, kneading the flesh. Your head fell to his shoulder, your hips rolling against his as your body grew warmer with pleasure.

“Even there,” you gasped, your hands running down his chest reverently. 

“What about here?” He asked, his hands sneaking up to your ribcage, his thumbs tracing the underside of your breasts. 

“T-there too, baby,” you muttered as his palms slid further up until he was cupping your bosoms. His hands gently squeezed them, thumbs brushing against your hardened nipples over the thin fabric of your shirt and bra.

“I like that,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss your neck as he played with your breasts.

“What, touching me?” You asked, completely focused on the feel of his hands on you, his body pressed underneath yours, and his lips on your skin.

“Well, that too,” he said, squeezing your breasts a little tighter. “But I meant you calling me ‘baby’.”

“Mhm, did you now, baby?” You teased, whispering in his ear.

The soft sound that escaped his lips was almost like a whimper. “Y-yeah, yeah I like that.”

“Good,” you murmured, your tone sultry against the shell of his ear. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you further down on him. Slowly, you began grinding your hips on his, unable to ignore the hardness that pressed against you. You could notice the hitch in his breath as the friction between your bodies took over your minds.

“Is this okay?” You asked as you continued rolling your hips.

“I-It’s more than okay,” he stuttered, his eyes wide as he stared up at you, his grip tightening on your hips as he guided your deliberate movements.

You grinned, leaning in to kiss him again. He complied in a heartbeat, his lips parting to allow your tongue inside.

The heat between you grew exponentially. It was happening, it was really happening. You were grinding down, basically dry humping Spencer Reid as he kissed you like a man starved. It felt like a dream come true.

The desire between you was getting harder to ignore. It was obvious what this was leading to, the tent in his pants and how you rubbed against it were nothing near innocent. But you didn’t want to be the one to take the first step. You didn’t want to seem too eager or to make him feel like you were pushing something on him—but god only knew how badly you needed him.

Then he pulled away, gasping for air, his skin flush.

“I want you,” he admitted. “I want to take you to my bedroom.”

You could tell he was nervous, that admitting this to you was probably one of the hardest things he ever had to say. You smiled, wanting him to know it was okay and he could trust you. You wanted him to know that you wanted him too.

“I’d like that,” you said, kissing his cheek. “I’d like that a lot, actually.”

“Really?” His face brightened, his hand coming to cup your cheek.

“Yes, really,” you smiled. “Only if you’re sure about it, though.” You brought your hand to his face as well, losing yourself in the sight of him asking you this.

“Oh, I’m sure,” he nodded quickly, almost desperately. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

“Really?” You blushed.

He nodded, blushing as well. “Yeah, I've… I've actually been picturing tonight from the very beginning.”

Your entire body shivered. “Me too,” you admitted quietly.

“Really?” He asked, his eyes wide with disbelief and something warmer—desire, admiration, love…?

“Yes, really,” you chuckled softly. “I actually thought it would happen sooner,”

“Oh,” he let out. “Did you want it to have happened sooner?” You could almost feel the insecurity in his tone.

“No, no, that’s not it,” you quickly added. “It’s just… Most guys would’ve tried to do this earlier, you know? But… I’m glad you didn’t,” you smiled softly, reaching up to caress his hair.

He melted into your touch, his face relaxing at your words. “I didn’t want to rush things with you. You mean a lot to me,” he smiled, his eyes wide staring up at you.

“You mean a lot to me too,” you replied, leaning down to kiss him.

His lips met yours softly, the both of you drowning in the sensations. The heat between you was still very present, so it didn’t take long before he was helping you off his lap and guiding you to his bedroom, the kiss not breaking for a second.

He kicked the door shut behind you carefully, gently backing you toward his bed. As the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, he slowly pushed you down onto it, crawling on top of you.

His body hovered above yours as you made out, hands exploring each other’s bodies with reverence. You could tell he wasn’t very used to this, his limbs trembled slightly against you as if he was overthinking his every action.

His knees gently spread your legs apart so he could fit his body between them, which you easily allowed. His hips pressed down against yours, your arms enveloping him and dragging him closer to you. His kisses grew even more heated, lips trailing down your jawline to your neck as he ground down against you. 

The way you gasped, the soft moans that spilled from your throat, everything overwhelmed him in the best way possible. He loved how responsive you were, how you showed him with every breath you let out how badly you needed him, just like he needed you.

His face left the crook of your neck to stare down at you, hands paused by the hem of your shirt. Silently asking for permission, his gaze met yours to find your desires mirrored in each other. No words were needed, his fingers gently tugging your shirt upwards until it was tossed across the room. His own shirt followed soon after.

Your chests pressed together snuggly as Spencer found his way back to your neck, his lips sucking gently on the sensitive skin below your ear. His hands sneaked down your back, fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra.

“Need any help?” You chuckled quietly, not in a mocking tone, but rather raw endearment for his gentle ministrations. 

“Yes, please,” he blushed softly. You reached behind your back undoing your bra with practiced ease. The straps fell loosely off your shoulders, the cups still covering your breasts.

“May I?” Spencer asked, his fingers stilling on the straps. You nodded, helping him as he slid off the garment.

His eyes widened noticeably at the sight of your bare chest as he tossed your bra away. “You’re breathtaking,” he muttered in complete awe of you, his fingers kneading the soft flesh with worshipping care.

Before you could respond, his face bent down to latch on one of your nipples, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as he sucked it into his mouth, a satisfied sigh escaping his throat as he felt it harden between his lips. You let out a low moan, your hands trailing down his back, tracing slow patterns that made his skin tingle.

His free hand played with your other breast, making sure he was lavishing attention to both mounds as he switched between sucking and squeezing each side. He was lost in the taste of you, nursing as if he’d been hungry for you for months.

Your chest rose and fell with your ragged breaths, pleasure overtaking you. His hips didn’t falter their grinding, the evidence of his desire causing a mindblowing friction between you. 

Your hands shyly sneaked down his back, hooking on the waistband of his pants. As your fingers trailed lightly under the fabric of his boxers, he hitched against your chest, letting go of your nipples to look up at you.

“May I take these off?” You asked quietly.

He nodded eagerly, his hands reaching down to help you as he unzipped his pants with a clumsiness that neared desperation. His pants were on the floor in no time, the thin grey fabric of his boxers doing little to conceal the hard line of his arousal.

The sight nearly drove you mad, your hands reaching down to your own pants, hips lifting off the bed to pull it off.

Spencer’s hands met your waistband in no time, helping you remove your pants. Each inch of your bare skin being revealed made his heartbeat rise a little more, the weight of the moment pounding against his chest. He needed you like he never needed anything else before in his life.

You gently pulled him back up, your lips catching his in a searing kiss. Your bare chests pressed together, the warmth of his skin seeping through yours as your kisses deepened. Spencer continued grinding against you, the only barrier left between your sexes being the thin fabric of both of your underwear.

Your sight was blinded by a haze of desire. You wanted him, you needed him to take you, you needed to feel him deep inside you. Not able to contain yourself, you reached down to hook your fingers on the waistband of his boxers—being careful not to overwhelm him, but also not wanting to wait any longer.

He let out a soft gasp into your mouth, pulling back from the kiss to rest his forehead against yours as he caught his breath.

“Sorry, too much?” You whispered, your fingers stilling around his hips.

“No, no, it’s not that, it’s just… I should probably tell you something,” he muttered, a blush creeping up his already flushed neck.

“What is it? You know you can tell me anything,” you murmured softly, your tone sweet and understanding, but laced with a tinge of concern.

“I… I haven’t exactly… I mean, I haven’t really��� this is kind of my…” he stammered, struggling to put his thoughts into words, but you understood what he meant immediately.

“...Your first time?” You finished for him. He nodded shyly, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “This is your first time, Spence?” You confirmed, your hands sliding up his back, your touch filled with affection.

“Yes… I’ve never… done this with anyone before. I actually hadn’t done anything with anyone before you,” he admitted quietly.

“Wait, you mean… nothing at all?” You asked, a little bit in disbelief. He nodded, making your heartbeat quicken. “Spencer, was I… was I your first kiss?” You asked, your eyes searching his, your expression unreadable.

“Yes… you were my first kiss, my first… everything,” he whispered. “Do you think I’m pathetic? It’s okay, you can be honest, I’ll understand…”

“No,” you interrupted. “I could never think that.”

His eyes lit up, finally running back up to meet yours. “Really?” He murmured, unsure if he wanted to hear your real answer or a made up lie to avoid hurting his feelings.

“Yes, really. I think you're so sweet, Spence, I could never think anything less of you. And the fact that I was your first kiss, your first… everything, is so special to me. I couldn’t be happier that you let me be the person who showed you this side of life,” you smiled warmly, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. “The only thing I wish had gone differently is that you’d have told me earlier. If I had known, I would’ve been gentler, kinder, more understanding…”

“But you were all of those things,” he muttered, his eyes soft staring down at you. “You were the best person I could think of to do all of this. You’re the first person who’s ever made me feel like this, like… I could take all the love you can give me and still crave more.”

Your gaze softened, your chest warm at his admission. “I’m so glad you trust me. You make me feel that way too,”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss on your lips. It was chaste, but meaningful. When he pulled back, his eyes met yours with renewed desire, but this time, they were filled with something warmer, something more understanding than pure lust. None of you dared to name it then, but that single look you two exchanged was the first seed of love starting to bloom between you.

“I want you,” he muttered.

“I want you too,” you replied.

Your lips crashed together again, hungrier this time. Your tongues tangled in a sensual dance, the fire between you heating up once more as your fingers found their way back to the waistband of his boxers. But this time, he helped you tug them off.

As soon as the garment was tossed across the room, his hands reached down for your panties, fingers hooking on their sides as you lifted your hips to help him slide them off your legs. Once you were both bare, his body settled between your legs, the skin-on-skin contact bringing your connection to a whole new level of intimacy and pleasure.

Your senses were heightened by each brush of his skin on yours, the warmth between your legs growing wetter with each movement. His hands kneaded your skin—the moans that escaped both of your throats filled the room as his fingers worked on finding your sensitive spots while grinding down against you, his bare length sliding between your folds and bringing both of you to the brink of giving into the fire burning between you.

You wanted his first time to be perfect. You wanted to give him the best experience possible, to be there for him all the way—much unlike most people’s first times. You noticed how sloppy and unthought through were his actions, you could tell he was moving on pure instinct and response observation. He seemed acutely aware of each of your actions, each of the sounds you made; following the path that led to them like he was tethered to your gasps and the arching of your back.

“I want to taste you,” he whispered, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Are you sure?” You blinked up at him as he rolled his hips slowly, his erection sliding lazily against your thigh.

“I’m sure,” he nodded. “I’ve read a lot about it online—about all of this, really. I think I have a pretty good idea of how things are supposed to go,” he explained proudly.

“Well, that’s great baby, but practice is very different from theory,” you said softly, caressing the back of his neck.

“Oh trust me, I know. None of this is like anything I expected, but… I want to learn… If you’ll let me…?” He trailed off, his gaze flicking down to your core then back to your eyes.

“Of course I’ll let you,” you smiled. “I’ll guide you through it if you need me to. But please, don’t do anything you don’t want just to please me, okay? I’m here for you, I want tonight to be a good memory,” you said, your tone dropping an octave and becoming more serious.

“I know,” he nodded, nuzzling his nose on your cheek. “Trust me, I want this very much. Maybe even more than you, probably even more than you,” he admitted, making you blush.

“Suit yourself, then,” you smiled, your body already thrumming with the thought of having him between your legs.

Slowly, he began trailing hot, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down your body. He lavished attention to your breasts, ribs, stomach, then finally began moving up your inner thighs. His hands gently scooped them up, placing them over his shoulders as his lips trailed dangerously closer to where you needed them.

His fingers spread your wet folds, revealing the flush, wet skin underneath. His breath hitched, and almost as if worshipping you, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your most sensitive spot.

He hummed against you, enjoying the taste and feel of your intimacy like nothing he’d ever felt. His lips closed around the sensitive bud, sucking it into his mouth as his tongue darted out to taste you. You moaned softly, your hands threading through his hair as your thighs threatened to close around his head. His hands carefully pried your legs apart, holding you open for him to feast on you with abandon. 

You could tell the rational side of him was slowly fading away, like he was giving into the moment without overthinking things he might've read online. He carefully tried to insert his middle finger in you, missing the spot a couple times before he finally managed to slide it in. You smiled, looking down at him.

The sight of him between your legs, hair tousled between your fingers, eyes shut as he lost himself in the act of pleasuring you—all of it drew you closer to the edge. He moved his fingers sloppily, and you let him explore. Something about his eagerness to learn and the way he seemed overwhelmed by his pleasure heightened your own.

Then he slid another finger in you, making a come hither motion until he felt a rougher patch. The way your hips bucked when he rubbed it told him everything he needed to know.

He continued thrusting his fingers, trying to hit that spot every time as his tongue lapped hungrily over your clit, following the direction your hand guided his head to. 

“Fuck, that's it, Spencer… that's it, please don't stop…” You whimpered, your legs trembling on his shoulders as you felt your release building. 

He looked up at you through hooded eyes, your words urging him on. He continued eating you out, groaning against you as he found pleasure in the act of pleasuring you. As if on pure instinct, his hips began thrusting against the bed, grinding his erection on the mattress, seeking some sort of friction to relieve the pleasure he felt. It was all overwhelming to him, he never expected to feel this much pleasure by going down on someone else.

He could feel you clenching down on his fingers, your walls beginning to flutter around him. He moaned, the sound vibrating against your core, heightening the pleasure you felt.

He had to force himself to stop grinding on the mattress, or else he'd be finishing too soon. Determined to bring you over the edge, he kept going, his eyes fixed on you as he ate you out.

“Are you close?” He asked, taking a break to breathe, though his fingers didn't falter.

“Yeah… please don't stop…” You moaned, already bringing his face back down onto you, trying to hold onto the feeling for as long as possible.

He understood what you needed, bending down to continue lapping at you, set on prolonging your release as much as possible. Overtaken by the pleasure, he sped up, trying to get you there faster.

“No, no, Spence, don't speed up!” You begged, your vision blurring with the impending orgasm.

“Sorry, I'm sorry,” he muttered, going back to the former pace until he felt you shaking in his arms.

It was official: Spencer Reid had made someone come.

You moaned his name, legs spasming around his face as he lapped down your release. His fingers gently withdrew from you, his lips kissing your thighs as you came down from your high.

“Did you… did you really just…?” He asked still in disbelief, looking up at you starry eyed.

“Yeah… I did,” you breathed out, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks of your release.

“I… I made you come?” He smiled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he slowly crawled back up your body.

“You sure did,” you grinned, wrapping your arms around him. “Thank you, that was… amazing,” you said, kissing his cheek.

“Was it really? I've never felt anything remotely similar to this in my entire life, it was… beautiful. I've never seen anything more beautiful than you letting go like that,” he admitted, his pupils wide and his lips tugging on a silly, lovesick grin.

“You did a really good job, baby,” you held him close, your body starting to recover from the aftermath.

“Are you sure? What about in the end when I sped up?” He asked, his tone dripping with insecurity but also curiosity to learn.

“Oh, don't worry about it, you're a fast learner,” you giggled softly. “It's just that, when I'm getting closer to release, it means you're doing something really right—so don't change it unless I ask you to,” you explained, your fingers tracing patterns on his back.

“Duly noted,” he smiled. “I'll remember that.”

Then he leaned down to kiss you, his forearms caging around your head as your lips met. You could taste yourself faintly in his mouth, and as his body lowered closer to yours, you felt a droplet of something wet fall on your stomach.

Looking down, you realized what it was, a blush creeping up your cheeks. He followed your gaze, noticing what was happening as well, his face hiding in the crook of your neck. You could see how his length throbbed, standing proudly and dripping on your stomach. 

“Uhm… I'm sorry about that, it's just that I…” he stammered, struggling to find less embarrassing words than ‘I'm so hard for you I could come from a single touch of yours.’

“It's fine,” you reassured him, cupping his cheek. “If you want to, I could return the favor or… or we could try something new…” You whispered.

His entire body shivered at your words, his eyes shutting as he tried to control his body's reactions. “As much as I'd love for you to return the favor, I don't think I can… last much longer if you do,” he blushed. “But trust me, if you let me, I'll hold you to that offer.”

You chuckled softly, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “Your call, baby. We can try whatever you want, whenever you want it,” you added, peppering light kisses down his neck.

A smile creeped up his lips as you kissed him. “I want… you. I want to take you now, if you'll let me,” he swallowed hard, nervousness battling with excitement in his chest.

“I'm all yours, sweetheart,” you murmured against the shell of his ear, making his entire body shiver.

“O-okay, then I should… I should grab a c—uhm, protection, I mean…” He stumbled over his words, quickly standing from the bed and looking through his nightstand’s drawer.

You chuckled softly from the bed, watching him nervously looking for the tiny box and pulling a wrapper from inside. “Got it,” he said, claiming his find with a satisfied smile.

“You know… We could go without it if we wanted to,” your eyes glimmered with mischief.

“A-are you serious?” He stuttered, unsure, but not appalled as he sat back on the edge of the bed.

“I mean… We're both clean, aren't we? And I'm on birth control… But it's up to you,” you blushed as the words left your lips, but you couldn't help yourself.

“Y-you’d let me? For real?” He blinked, still in disbelief.

“Yeah,” you smiled.”Would you like that?”

“Yes,” he nodded eagerly, not missing a second. He tossed the condom back in the drawer and climbed back on the bed, his body caging yours against the mattress. “Are you completely sure, though?” He asked again, his body trembling with excitement, his hands running up and down your sides.

“I'm sure, baby,” you smiled, leaning in to kiss him. 

He kissed you fiercely, his tongue delving deep into your mouth as his lips moved hungrily against yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling his hips down against yours.

You moaned at the feeling of his hardness pressing down on you, your hips bucking up to meet his. The movement from your hips elicited a guttural groan from him, his length grinding desperately between your glistening folds.

“I think… I think I'm ready,” he muttered, your breaths mingling as he pulled back from the kiss.

“Do you need help, baby? I can take over,” you suggested, noticing how nervous he was.

“No, no, that's fine I… I wanna try. But I'm glad to know you're willing,” he smiled, his hand moving down to grip his base.

“Of course,” you smiled back, your eyes rolling back as he rubbed the tip of his erection across your slit. 

“Fuck, that feels so good,” he shivered, letting out a curse.

You chuckled softly. “Language,” you teased.

“Sorry,” his cheeks turned pink as he began trying to nudge himself inside you.

You let him explore a little, noticing he was trying to fit it in, but struggled. You wanted to let him try, to let him have the feeling that he had some sort of control over this situation, so you didn't interfere.

“Shit, sorry, I'm just… it's just slippery…” He mumbled more to himself as he continued pushing, unsure whether he should use more of his hand or his hips. 

“It's okay, baby, may I help?” You asked softly, not wanting to embarrass him.

“Yes, please,” he blushed, letting his hand fall to the side.

You reached between you bodies, grabbing him and positioning him right at your entrance, nudging the tip in slightly.

“There you go,” you muttered. “Now you just thrust forward,” you explained. “It might slip again, but it's normal, okay?” You told him softly.

“Yeah, okay, thanks,” he nodded, overwhelmed by the sensation of your grip on his tip. “Are you ready?”

You nodded, letting him know it was time. He leaned back down, slowly easing himself inside you with a roll of his hips, until he was entirely sheathed within your heat.

He let his forehead rest against yours, your ragged breaths mingling together as the two of you adjusted to the sensation.

“How do you feel?” You asked quietly, looking up at him.

“So… so good…” He muttered, his hips shifting slightly. “It's so tight and… warm… I love it,” he admitted, slowly beginning to move.

You watched his face closely, admiring how his features changed with each of his thrusts, betraying the pleasure he felt. His rhythm was messy, his legs struggling to find the right ways to support his body as his hips surged forward again and again. 

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his arms supporting his body above yours as he continued moving. He groaned against your ear, the sounds mixed with low moans and soft whimpers as he made love to you.

“Am I doing this right? Does this feel good to you?” He mumbled, trying to angle his moves but accidentally slipping out, quickly sliding in again. “Sorry about that,” he whispered, one of his hands coming up to fondle your breasts. 

“It feels so good, baby, don't worry…” you moaned softly, your legs wrapping around his back to bring him closer. “Keep going, just like that, fuck… You're doing so good…” 

Your words urged him on, his hips moving faster against you. You gasped, the feeling of having him inside you almost too much. You loved watching him learn, how his uneven thrusts slowly became a little less messy, how he whispered ‘sorry’ whenever he accidentally slipped out… Everything about it endeared you.

You'd never had sex like this. So messy, and yet it was perfect. You felt the emotion with every thrust, every moan, every sloppy kiss he left on your neck. 

You noticed how his thrusts became even sloppier, how his grunts grew deeper and how his body tensed.

“Baby, I'm… fuck…” He groaned, his hips faltering for a moment before they continued thrusting forward. “...I'm close. Like, very close.”

“That’s it… Don't stop, keep going…” You whispered, your hands caressing his back as you leaned in to kiss his neck. “You can let go, let yourself feel good,” you whispered to him.

No further words were needed. With a deep, guttural groan, he pushed himself as deeply as he possibly could inside you, letting the pleasure take over him as he filled you up with his release.

“Spencer!” You moaned aloud, wrapping yourself around him as your second orgasm rippled through you. Your legs trembled around his waist, his body crashing down on top of you.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I didn't pull out, I made a mess…” he mumbled against the skin of your neck.

“No, no, baby, it's okay… I don't mind it in the slightest,” you muttered to him, your hand caressing his back. “How do you feel?”

“Amazing. Beyond words can express,” he replied, rolling off you so he was on his back next to you. You turned to face him, laying on your side.

“I'm so happy to have been your first,” you whisper, snuggling against his side.

“Me too… You were perfect, absolutely… Wow…” he gasped, catching his breath as he wrapped his arm around your waist to keep you close. “Hey, did you…?” He asked, frowning slightly as he looked down at you, still soft with the aftermath.

“What? Finish?”

He nodded, a blush creeping up his cheeks. You hummed in agreement, nodding eagerly with a smile.

“Really?” He asked again, his eyes widening slightly at your response. “Again?”

“Yeah, again,” you blushed.

“Oh my—you’re amazing,” he muttered, wrapping his arms tightly around you and leaning down to kiss your forehead.

You giggled softly, burying your face on his chest. “We should probably get cleaned up,” you said, feeling his release coating your inner thighs.

“Right—yes, sorry, aftercare,” He said, quickly hopping off the bed to grab a warm washcloth in the bathroom. 

He came back, sitting at the edge of the bed as he cleaned you up reverently. You watched in complete awe of him, enchanted by the earnest care he poured in his every touch.

“There you go,” he whispered, tossing the washcloth as he climbed back on the bed to cuddle you. 

“Thank you,” you said, letting yourself be enveloped by his arms.

“That was the bare minimum,” he muttered against your hair, breathing in your scent. “You know, we should do this again sometime,” he let out quietly.

You chuckled softly, the sound vibrating in your chests that were pressed together. “Of course we're doing it again, that's what boyfriends do to their—” you stopped yourself after realizing what you'd said.

“Wait, wait. What did you call me?” He froze, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“B-boyfriend…?” You hesitated, unsure about how he'd take it.

“So I'm really your boyfriend?” His smile widened.

“Well, I know we haven't talked directly about this before, but I've kinda been thinking about it, and—”

“Of course I'm your boyfriend! Oh thank god, I was starting to worry I was reading into things…” He sighed, relieved.

“Really? Oh good, I was so afraid too, you were being so careful with everything,” you sighed as well.

“You had nothing to be afraid of, did you really think I'd ask to have sex with you if I wasn't in love?” He let out as if it were obvious, barely realizing what he'd just said before you interrupted:

“You're in love with me?”

“Oh my—I mean, well, it's not that I'm…” He stammered, unable to cover up his slipup.

“Spencer, shut up,” you said, silencing him with a searing kiss. Startled, he kissed you back, his hands finding the back of your neck to pull you closer. “I'm in love with you too,” you whispered as you broke the kiss. 

The silly smile that spread across his face almost had you undone again. “Should I take that as a yes?” He murmured.

“A yes to what?”

“A yes to us doing this again?” He nudged you playfully.

You let out a warm chuckle, “Yes, Spencer. We're definitely doing this again.”

“Yes!” He celebrated, pulling you in even closer as he buried his face in your hair, your bare bodies tangled together impossibly under the covers. “I love being in love with you,” he whispered softly.

“I love being in love with you too,” you whispered back.

author's note 2: thank you for reading this all the way!! let me know what you think of this, and tell me if you'd like a part 2!! i may have ideas 👀

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[welshirishscottsman]

i love @drchucktingle so much and i’m trying to convince my groupchat of monster fucker friends to start reading tinglers and i hope i’m doing a good job at explaining why chuck’s work is so good and so important

like a lot of people i started reading tinglers because i thought they were just silly bits of satire but the more of them i read and the more blog posts, tweets, and interviews of chuck’s i came across the more i realized that what he’s doing is just the most radical, most humane expression of love out there

if you’ve never read a tingler before, look through the vast back catalog of stories, find one that piques your interest either because you see something of yourself represented in the title or because you like that kind of dinosaur or you think that word or phrase is interesting or funny and then pick it up, read it, and just allow yourself to enjoy the ride

or if you don’t like short fiction, check out one of the horror novels chuck has published—they’re great too and they prove love just as fiercely and sincerely as anything you could ask for

i’m being so serious, guys

we live in a world that makes it so easy to forget about love sometimes but chuck tingle wakes up every morning, puts the metaphorical pen to the page (or maybe it is a real pen idk), and sets about the serious work of reminding us that love is real

[navybrat817]

Mr. And Mrs. Barnes. Are they ever worried about being apart from each other?

It gets to them from time to time, nonnie.

Hurry Back

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky has to leave for a mission, and it feels a bit tougher than usual.

Word Count: Over 1.8k

Warnings: Established relationship, crying, being in love, feels, light angst, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Before Mr. and Mrs. Barnes got married. February has had some lingering January energy, and I hope you enjoy what I was able to write! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You woke up earlier than expected today. You and Bucky were typically up early anyway thanks to work, but he was up well before the sun rose since he had a mission to get ready for. He wanted you to get some more sleep, but you refused. Sleep would come later, and you wanted to be wide awake to see him off.

Helping pack his bag, you paused and brought one of his shirts to your face. Gently inhaling, you smelled the new detergent he recently switched to. You smiled at the memory of him in the store aisle bringing each cap to your nose to smell. When you asked why he was making you smell all of them, he said he wanted to use the one that smelled the most pleasant to you. He had done the same thing with his cologne, and he made sure to get your favorites.

“Smell is one of the closest senses tied to memories,” he said once you were home. “Whenever you smell my cologne and whenever I smell your perfume, we can think of each other.”

“Is that why you like a spritz of my perfume on your pillow?”

“Yeah, baby,” he smiled gently. “I smell it and I know I’m home.”

Setting the shirt in the bag, you grabbed your bottle of perfume and lightly sprayed it over the open bag. With Bucky’s heightened senses, he’d be able to catch the scent when he opened it. You hoped it made him feel like he was home.

Bucky came out of the bathroom just as you set the bottle back, your breath catching when he ran a hand through his wet hair. You wished you had time to drag him back to bed. Not even for sex, but just to hold each other. “You’ll have the alarm set while I’m gone, right?”

“Of course. I have alerts on my phone, too. I’ll be fine,” you assured him.

He barely nodded. You were aware that he didn’t exactly like the idea of you being there by yourself, but you reminded him the night before that you lived alone before the two of you got together. This wasn’t any different. You also understood the worry, and you appreciated that your safety mattered so much to him.

“Thanks for helping me pack,” he said, his voice thicker than usual. There was a noticeable tick in his jaw, too.

You tried to give him your best smile as you smoothed out the sleeves on his black t-shirt. “Nothing to thank me for,” you said, your voice thick, too.

This wasn’t the first time he had to leave for a mission, and it wouldn’t be the last, but today did feel a bit different. Not because of the worry for your safety, but maybe because it was the first time he had to leave since you two moved in together. In the past, you didn’t have to watch him walk out the door, and he didn’t have to look back to say goodbye.

Goodbye wasn’t exactly something you liked to say since it felt too final.

He captured one of your wrists before you could step away and brought your hand to his cheek. Your heart turned over as he nuzzled your palm, his scruff tickling your skin. “I hate this, you know.”

“Hate what?” you asked, tucking a bit of his hair back. You’d have to help trim it again soon. It meant a lot that he trusted you to help cut his hair.

“Having to be apart from you,” he answered after a moment, his eyes searching yours. He looked lost, but only for a moment

“So do I,” you admitted. He was a hero and people needed him, but it didn’t make him leaving any easier. Waiting for him to come back was the worst part. The dusk before dawn. “But it’s just a couple of days, right? And then you’ll be back before you know it.”

He’d be back with you in the comfort of your home where you both belonged.

“Right,” he said, kissing the center of your palm before he inhaled. “You sprayed your perfume.”

“I did,” you confirmed. Your man didn’t miss a thing. “I wanted it to smell like home for you.” Your voice cracked unexpectedly, and you feared breathing another word in case you burst into tears. You needed to keep it together. The last thing Bucky had to deal with before leaving were your tears.

His gaze went soft, and you nuzzled him when he touched your cheek, the same way he nuzzled you. You already missed the feel of his hands on you though he hadn’t left yet. He was going to miss your touch, too. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you, too, Bucky,” you whispered.

You knew in your heart you would never love anyone else the way you love Bucky. He was your best friend, your lover, your soulmate, your everything. If you lost him today whether by death or him walking away, you'd never move on from him. The overwhelming intensity and knowledge of that hit you like a freight train, and you couldn't stop the tears from spilling over. Words alone weren't enough to convey what you felt for him, and the deep emotion in your heart had to overflow and come out somehow.

“Baby,” he whispered, his thumbs quickly wiping away the teardrops. Looking into the deep blue of his eyes through your blurry vision, you saw the same overwhelming sense of love reflected in them. “Breaks my heart when you cry. How can I stop it?”

Stay.

But you refused to ask that of him. You could handle a short mission like you had before. You were a big girl.

“I’m fine, and I’m so sorry,” you told him. He had a mission to concentrate on and didn't need to deal with your tears, good or bad. “I swear, I’m not trying to cry. I’m stronger than this.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he stated, his brows pinched like he was trying not to cry himself. “Crying isn't a weakness. It never is.”

You nodded. It was something you said to him once after he had a terrible nightmare, and they weren’t just empty words. Tears were a sign of vulnerability, but also a sign of strength.

“And you’re so strong. You’re one of the strongest people I know,” he added, his mind in tune with yours. It comforted you. “I mean, you have to be strong to put up with me.”

He chuckled when your eyes narrowed. “I do not ‘put up with you’, so don’t say that,” you argued. He was your man, and you loved him. If anything, he put up with you. “You really think I’m strong?”

“I know you are. You may shed a few more tears when I leave and that’s okay if you do as much as it breaks my heart,” he replied, kissing one last tear away. “But I know you’ll pick yourself up, put a smile on your face, and kick the day’s ass like you do every day.”

You laughed a little and turned your face to meet his lips. He saw the best in you, and he brought it out of you. “I’ll do my best. And I know you’ll kick the mission’s ass.”

“And I know you’ll also find me and kick my ass if I don’t hurry back,” he half teased.

“Damn straight,” you smiled, taking a deep breath and slowly pulling out of his grasp when his phone dinged. Steve was probably waiting outside. “So, we’re just a couple of ass kickers, huh? That makes for a good team.”

The two of you were similar in many ways, but also so different, and it created the perfect balance.

“The best team,” he winked, patting his pockets. “Keys, wallet-”

“Still on the nightstand, ready for you to keep them safe and sound on the quinjet,” you said, nodding to where they sat. “And I have your coffee ready in your favorite to-go mug.”

“I’d say ‘what would I do without you?’, but…” He pulled you back to him, his stare robbing you of your breath once again. “I don’t want to ever find out,” he said.

You didn’t want to find out either.

Your heart fluttered when his lips covered yours. He easily coaxed you to open your mouth to his and allowed him to take what you were always willing to give. It wasn’t easy to be the one who had to stay behind, but it had to be harder to be the one who went ahead on the path. He felt alone for so long, but he’d always have the support of his friends. And he’d always have you.

Even if you physically weren’t beside him during a mission, you would be in his heart, mind, and soul.

You heard him swallow when he pressed his forehead to yours. Some days you wondered if it wasn’t just his senses that the serum heightened, but his feelings and sense of self. He fought for and tried to protect Steve before the serum. Did he fight so much for you because he had something to cherish and protect? Did he love more fiercely because of it? Maybe it simply enhanced the man he was and the heart within him.

“I know you’d stay longer if you could, but you shouldn’t keep Steve waiting,” you said.

Bucky reluctantly released you and slipped into mission mode, silently grabbing everything else he needed, including a knife you gifted him with. You couldn't help yourself. The man was proficient with many weapons, but something about a knife… Maybe you could find an outfit for him to cut off once he came home.

Once you helped him put his leather jacket on and handed him his coffee, you snuck in one more kiss. You refused to cry again. “Love you, handsome. Be safe, and hurry back.”

“Love you, beautiful,” he breathed, slipping his dog tags around your neck with his free hand. When had he grabbed those? “Keep those safe ‘til I get back.”

“I will,” you promised.

A weight settled in your chest when he opened the front door. You liked to believe some days that Bucky was invincible, but he was mortal at the end of the day…. Human. He bled; he suffered. But the weight within you lifted when he stopped and looked back at you with a loving smile. He was human, but he endured, he survived.

Bucky Barnes never gave up, and he never would.

Touching the dog tags, you smiled, too. Life was unpredictable, fleeting, and anything could happen when he left, but the love between you was steadfast, everlasting, and you had to believe he’d come home to you. And you’d welcome him back with arms open and the love he deserved.

I hope this month is kind to everyone and that you have love like the way these two love each other. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[fxstpace]

the accidental one-night stand

summary: the consequences of sleeping with your best friend while drunk include waking up with no memory of how you ended up in his bed and the awkward realisation that your friendship is irreparably damaged. but avoiding it only works for so long—especially when feelings you’ve both been hiding begin to bubble to the surface.

⇢ pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader ⇢ contains: fluff, angst, best friends to lovers au, college au, idiots to idiots in love, debatable attempts at comedy, implied sexual content, nudity, profanity, alcohol consumption, injuries & hospital visits ⇢ word count: 10.0k ⇢ note: this was written for the lonely hearts café collab hosted by @camandemstudios! thank you so much for letting me be a part; please check out the other authors’ fics as well. i hope you enjoy :)

There were many things that you expected would happen after you and your friends went out drinking to celebrate the end of the semester.

Waking up next to a naked Jeon Wonwoo was not one of them.

The first thing you notice is the sunlight. It filters through the cheap blinds, casting uneven slats of light across the room. The scent of stale beer and leftover pizza lingers faintly in the air. Normally, you would’ve groaned, turned over, and buried yourself in your blanket to fend off the cruel reminder that mornings exist. For a moment, you’re convinced you’re back in your own bed, with nothing more pressing than to decide whether you should get breakfast or sleep in till noon.

The second thing you notice is the peculiar warmth of someone pressed against you. A shoulder brushes your arm; a leg, bent at an awkward angle, leans uncomfortably into your thigh. When you squint, you see a pink piece of fabric hanging off one of the blades of the ceiling fan. That’s new.

Your eyes widen. When you turn your head, you are subject to the horrifying revelation that your best friend is lying in bed next to you—Jeon Wonwoo, sleeping on his stomach, bare back exposed to the world like it’s a perfectly normal occurrence in the three years you’ve known him.

You must be dreaming. But then you see his glasses, folded neatly on the nightstand and placed on top of your phone. Oh no.

“Oh no,” you say aloud, because, apparently, merely thinking it isn’t enough.

Wonwoo stirs at the sound, a soft groan escaping his lips. His head turns slightly on the pillow, and you freeze, praying to every deity you can think of that he doesn’t wake up. Unfortunately for you, whoever is in charge of karma seems to be in a particularly spiteful mood.

“Mm?” His voice is groggy, muffled by the pillow. His eyes flutter open. It takes him a second to focus on you. When he does, his brows furrow. “Why are you in my bed?”

Silence. You blink at him. He blinks at you.

What can you say? There is no eloquent explanation for waking up in your best friend’s bed—especially when he’s naked and you’re one hasty movement away from unraveling whatever fragile composure you’re clinging to.

“I, uh— I was hoping you could tell me that,” you croak out.

He shifts, the sheets slipping lower on his body, and you immediately avert your eyes. “Are we—” Wonwoo pauses, glancing down at himself, then back at you. His face flushes a deep pink. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, pulling the sheets tighter around you. “Oh.”

“Are you…?” He starts, then clears his throat awkwardly. “You’re not… y’know…”

“Naked?” you supply, struggling to maintain whatever shreds of dignity you have left. “No. Thank God. I think I’m, uh, wearing your shirt, actually. But my, um, bra is hanging off of your fan.”

If a pair of eyes happens to wander up there, neither of you acknowledges it.

There’s another long pause, filled only with the sound of your combined breathing and the hum of traffic outside. You can feel him staring at you; it takes all your willpower not to bury yourself into the mattress.

Wonwoo blinks at you again, his hair mussed and sticking out in every possible direction, a faint sleep line on his cheek from where the pillow was pressed into it. It would almost be endearing were you not teetering on the edge of an existential crisis.

“Do you remember anything?” He finally asks.

You consider lying, but what good would that do, anyway? You shake your head. “Um, not a lot. Do you?”

He hesitates, and somehow, it’s worse than an outright no. “I remember… karaoke,” he says slowly. “And shots. A lot of shots.”

“Karaoke?” you repeat, horrified.

“Yeah.” Wonwoo looks faintly amused despite the whole situation. “You sang ABBA. Badly.”

“I always sing ABBA badly,” you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose. “That doesn’t explain anything.”

“I don’t know either,” he says, sounding genuinely baffled, which is both a relief and a disappointment for reasons you refuse to examine. “Do you think—”

“What?” you prompt, though you already know the question.

Your best friend gestures vaguely between the both of you, the tips of his ears turning red. “Do you think we—?”

“Oh, my God, don’t say it,” you hiss, feeling your own face heat up.

“Well, something happened! You’re in my bed, and I’m—”

“Naked,” you finish for him, grimacing.

Wonwoo clears his throat again, suddenly very interested in the ceiling—though he pointedly avoids staring at the fan above your heads. “Yes. That.”

“Maybe we should just… not talk about it.” Your voice sounds weak to your own ears. You pick at your cuticles underneath the covers.

Wonwoo snorts. You stare at him.

“What?” you demand.

“You think we can just pretend?” The smile tugging on his lips is humourless. “Yeah, okay, good luck with that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Soonyoung was there last night,” he says grimly.

Your stomach drops.

“Oh no,” you say again, because there’s really nothing else to say.

You thought you were successful in avoiding Jeon Wonwoo and Kwon Soonyoung. You were not, and this must be the universe’s idea of a cosmic joke, because you’re currently crouched behind a dumpster while your two best friends are having a frantic, hushed conversation a few feet away from you.

The smell is an assault on every sense you possess—a vile concoction of rotting leftovers, moldy cardboard, and something acidic you can’t begin to identify. You shift uncomfortably, regretting everything that possessed you to follow Wonwoo and Soonyoung to this cold, putrid place. Your sneakers sink into what you pray is just old soda.

“...I didn’t tell her because she looked so freaked out,” Wonwoo says, voice tight. He doesn’t sound angry, exactly—more like he’s restraining his frustration, the kind of tone that demands silence from anyone with half a brain.

Except Soonyoung doesn’t have half a brain. “You didn’t mention to her that you remember everything? That’s… kind of a big deal.”

“Of course I remember,” your best friend mutters. “I was drunk, yes, and extremely stupid, but it’s her. I remember everything about her.”

You instinctively press a hand to your mouth, breath catching in your throat. He remembers? All this time, you’d convinced yourself that the foggy gaps in your memory extended to him too—that’s what he’d said, hadn’t he? You were convinced that the awkward morning after was borne out of shared ignorance. Evidently not.

Soonyoung snickers. “You? Stupid? Sure, and I’m fucking Albert Einstein.”

“Can you be serious for once? It isn’t funny.”

“It’s a little funny.” You can practically hear Soonyoung’s grin, though his face remains elusive. “I mean, come on. You’re usually so—I don’t know—emotionless and now look at you. This is gold.”

You want to throttle him. You’re pretty sure Wonwoo wants to throttle him, too. He settles for a long, exasperated sigh instead. “I’m not emotionless. I’m just�� worried.”

“Worried?” Soonyoung echoes, curious. “About what?”

“About her.” Wonwoo’s voice softens; the change is so startling that you lean forward without thinking, the damp ground squelching underneath you. “She looked so freaked out, Soonyoung. Like she couldn’t get out of my bedroom fast enough. How was I supposed to bring it up?”

You should leave. You need to leave, but your legs stay rooted in place, a strange combination of morbid curiosity and pure panic keeping you locked in place. 

“Fair enough,” your other friend acquiesces. “She was kind of a mess when I saw her that morning.”

“Exactly. So I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t want to make things worse.”

“But now you’re making it worse by not saying anything,” Soonyoung points out. “Come on, Wonwoo. You’ve liked her for years. You finally get her alone and you don’t even—”

“Don’t,” Wonwoo cuts him off, the word laced with quiet steel. “I didn’t plan for any of that to happen. You think I wanted to wake up next to her and realise it was all just… an accident to her?”

Your stomach twists painfully. There’s no way this is real. There’s absolutely no way you’re hearing this conversation right now.

“I left ‘cause I thought you would finally grow a pair of balls and confess,” Soonyoung says defensively.

Wonwoo scoffs. “Congratulations. Now it’s a fucking disaster.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” his companion chides gently. “She’s your best friend. She’ll understand if you talk to her.”

“She doesn’t feel the same,” Wonwoo says, so quietly that you nearly miss it.

Your heart nearly leaps out of your throat.

“You don’t know that,” counters Soonyoung.

“I do.” The resignation in Wonwoo’s voice carves something hollow in your chest. “She wouldn’t have been so freaked out if she did. That night—it wouldn’t have been an accident to her.”

Is this how Wonwoo saw it? Is this how you made him feel? The words linger in the air, heavy and unforgiving, until they slip through the gaps in your rib cage and squeeze your heart tightly.

“...I think you’re wrong,” Soonyoung says slowly. “You should give her more credit than that.”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond immediately. You hear the sounds of footsteps shuffling on gravel and hold your breath, waiting for their voices to fade before daring to move. Your muscles scream in protest when you stand up. Your legs wobble, and you don’t move the hand clamped over your nose and mouth. 

Wonwoo remembers. He likes you. He thinks you don’t feel the same. Standing in the shadow of a dumpster and reeking of garbage and despair, you’re faced with one inescapable truth: You have no idea what to do next. 

The coffee shop is too bright, but it’s the only place where the owner gives out a free chocolate chip cookie with every purchase. You nibble at the cookie, brushing away the crumbs that fall onto your lap. Your cup of coffee is untouched, steam curling out of it in lazy spirals. Xu Minghao sits opposite you, occasionally stirring his tea. The spoon clinks against the ceramic; it’s a little bit annoying, but you can’t tell him that when he’s almost certainly called you over to interrogate you.

You can’t remember why you agreed to meet Minghao. You can barely remember how you even got here, your legs on autopilot while your brain went through a series of catastrophes all involving Jeon Wonwoo. Minghao’s eyes bore into you, quietly observing. He doesn’t say anything, but he always seems to be one step ahead of you—always knows things before you’re ready to admit them, which is why you’ve been avoiding him, as well. 

Yet here you are, because Minghao’s persistence is a force of nature. Finally, you break. “What?”

“You tell me.” Minghao’s reply is immediate. He leans back in his chair and crosses one leg over the other with the sort of poise that makes you feel like a feral raccoon in comparison. “You’ve been acting weird all week.”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

He merely narrows his eyes at you.

“Okay, fine.” You sigh and lean back, dropping your half-eaten cookie next to your coffee. “What do you think is so weird?”

“The fact that you’ve been avoiding everyone like the plague. The fact that your good mood about our finals ending lasted for, like, thirty seconds. The fact that you look like you’ve seen a ghost whenever someone mentions Wonwoo.”

You wince. “I don’t look like that.”

“You do,” he says.

“I don’t. I’m just tired.”

“Sure,” Minghao drawls, “and I’m the Pope.”

You glare at him, but he merely smiles at you, like he’s sitting on a cloud of smug superiority and you’re some lowlife staring up at him. He continues, “Do you want to tell me why I had to hear about your night with Wonwoo through six degrees of separation?”

“What— Huh? What are you talking about?” you flounder helplessly.

“Wonwoo told Soonyoung,” he explains without missing a beat, “who told his roommate Jihoon, who told his girlfriend Sana, who told her best friend Miyeon, who told her roommate Jihyo, who told her boyfriend Seokmin—who just so happens to be my roommate, as you’re aware. And now I know.”

You stare at him, utterly aghast. “What a small fucking world.”

“It is,” Minghao agrees, nodding sagely. “Don’t worry too much about it. They all mean well.”

You pick up your cookie and shove the whole thing into your mouth, before burying your face in your hands. “Kill me. Just do it. Right here. Please end my misery.”

“I’d consider it,” he says, “but then I wouldn’t get to hear your side of the story.”

“There is no story,” you say, voice muffled by your palms.

“Interesting,” your friend muses. “But according to all six of my sources, there’s quite a story. Something about you waking up next to Wonwoo? Naked?”

You peek at him through your fingers. “Are you enjoying this?”

“Immensely.”

Groaning, you drop your hands onto the table. “It’s not what it sounds like.”

“Enlighten me.” Minghao’s smile widens in the way it does whenever he’s truly intrigued by something.

You resign yourself to the sad fate of telling your friend about what happened that fateful night. “We went out to celebrate the end of the semester. There was drinking. A lot of drinking—” you hesitate, voice catching in your throat— “and then I woke up next to him.”

“Naked,” Minghao supplies.

“I was wearing a shirt!” you say a little too loudly. A few heads turn in your direction, and you lower your voice, cheeks burning. “Okay, yes, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Or anything else. But nothing happened!”

“Mm.” His noncommittal hum feels worse than outright disbelief.

“I mean it,” you insist. “We talked about it. Sort of. And he said he didn’t remember anything, so—”

You swallow, remembering the conversation you weren’t supposed to hear. It sits in the depths of your stomach, hot and heavy and gnarly. You don’t want to bring it up. You really don’t.

Minghao arches a brow. “Did he?”

“Did he what?”

“Not remember anything.”

You swallow again, the aftertaste of your freebie dessert turning from sweet to bitter. “Why would he lie?”

“Why does anyone lie?” Minghao shrugs. “To spare someone’s feelings. To avoid awkward conversations. To hide the fact that they’ve been hopelessly in love with their best friend for years.”

“That’s not true,” you say, far too quickly. “That’s not… It can’t be true. If he’s liked me for years then—then remember when he had a girlfriend in our freshman year? He really liked her.”

You would know. You’d been there when he broke up with her, when you had to haul him to the nearest soju tent and let him get batshit drunk while you sipped on water and tried not to let your heart crack. Wonwoo had been heartbroken about it—enough for you to think that he’d loved her, and if his heart could have so much love bursting out of its seams, then what would it be like if you were given even a fraction of it? You’d squashed the thought immediately afterwards; he was here crying about his ex-girlfriend and you were a truly selfish person if you wanted to acknowledge your crush on him.

Minghao’s sharp gaze turns sympathetic. “I remember. But did you ever ask him about why they broke up?”

“No, I—I didn’t,” you admit. “He was crying his lungs out the day they broke up. I wasn’t gonna be insensitive. We never spoke about it afterwards.”

“So that’s why you think he can’t have feelings for you?”

“He’s Wonwoo. He’s not… He can’t— He isn’t—” Your words crumble under Minghao’s knowing smile.

“He is,” Minghao says, quiet but certain. “You’re just too busy panicking.”

“I am not panicking,” you say, panicking.

“Right,” your friend says drily, “and this is you at your most composed. Are you going to talk to him?”

“No,” you say immediately.

Minghao blinks, finally taking a sip of his nearly-cooled tea. “No?”

“No,” you repeat, crossing your arms. “I’m going to avoid him until graduation and then pretend this never happened.”

“That’s a terrible plan,” he deadpans. “It’s a great plan,” you counter. “Completely foolproof.”

“It’s cowardly.”

“Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.”

Minghao rolls his eyes, not unkindly. “Just drink your damn coffee. I’m paying for it.”

“Thank you, Minghao.” You smile gratefully at him. “I knew you would understand.”

Xu Minghao clearly did not understand.

It starts with him, obviously, because who else would take your very serious declaration to avoid Wonwoo until graduation and turn it into prime gossip material? By the time it reaches you again, it’s mutated beyond recognition. Sana texts you, asking if you’re okay because she heard you and Wonwoo had a “tragic lover’s quarrel.”

You stare at her message, then at your coffee, briefly debating the merits of deleting every single app on your phone. Then you sigh, and type back who told you that? and steel yourself for whatever reply you’re going to get. Her response is almost instant: Soonyoung said Minghao said you’re avoiding Wonwoo for dramatic reasons?? idk, call me.

You do not call her.

Instead, you stew in mild indignation until she finally ropes you into Taco Bell plans for the afternoon, promising that the food is on her. But the second you walk in, you know it’s a trap. Sana’s sitting by the window, her expression brighter than the fluorescent lights. She waves you over. You feel like you’re walking into a very elaborate sting operation.

“Hey!” she greets you, grinning. “Come sit! I already ordered drinks for us.”

“What’s gotten you so happy?” you ask warily, already exhausted.

“Nothing,” she says cheerfully. “I’m just so glad to see you.”

“Hm.” You eye her suspiciously. “And you picked Taco Bell because…?”

“Because it’s delicious, affordable, and deeply underrated,” she says in one breath. You want to scoff—everything she just spouted out about Taco Bell is false—but she continues, “Also, Jihoon’s coming. He said he was starving, and I thought, why not make it a group thing?”

“Right. Because I love being the third wheel.”

“Can’t you let me admit that I enjoy your company for once?”

Your response is immediate. “No.”

Sana’s face brightens when she glances behind you at the door. Jihoon walks in—but he’s not alone.

Jeon Wonwoo is with him.

You feel your stomach flip in that terrible, rollercoaster-drops-out-from-under-you way. Jihoon, for his part, looks completely unbothered as he scans the restaurant, but when you glance at Sana, you find her trying and failing to hide her triumphant smirk.

“Oh, my gosh,” she says in the fakest tone of surprise you’ve ever heard. “Wonwoo! What are you doing here?”

You glare at her, and she has the audacity to look innocent. Wonwoo, meanwhile, approaches the table with slow, deliberate steps; his hands are stuffed in his jacket pockets and his mouth is set in a thin line.

“Hi,” he says, glancing at you briefly before looking anywhere else.

“Hi,” you echo, willing your voice to stay normal. Jihoon takes the seat across from you, shoving Wonwoo into the booth next to you. The space feels smaller than it is, like Wonwoo’s presence is some sort of gravitational force you can’t ignore.

“What’s everyone in the mood for?” Jihoon asks, leaning back in his seat like a bizarre talk show host.

“Tacos,” you say immediately. “And to leave.”

Jihoon ignores the last part, turning to face his girlfriend. “Want to help me order for everyone?”

“Absolutely.” Sana is already standing, grabbing Jihoon’s hand. “We’ll be back in a sec.”

“Wait—” You try not to sound desperate. “Why can’t we all just go and order together?”

“No need! We know what you guys like.”

With that, they disappear, leaving you alone with Jeon Wonwoo.

The silence is instant and crushing. Your fingers pick at the edge of a napkin like it’s some kind of lifeline, the paper shredding under your nails. Next to you, Wonwoo shifts slightly, the sound of his jacket brushing against the booth unnervingly loud.

“You don’t have to—” he starts, then stops. “The napkin. You don’t have to do that.”

“I’m not doing anything,” you reply automatically, still shredding the paper to bits.

He sighs. “You’re going to tear it apart.”

Your hands still for a moment, then resume. “If Taco Bell runs out of napkins, I’ll buy them new ones,” you say, only a little sarcastic.

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything to that, but out of the corner of your eye, you see him shift again, squaring his shoulders. Something in your chest tightens, wound up like a spring.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” he says finally.

You laugh, short and humourless. “What gave it away?”

He doesn’t reply. You glance at him, but he’s staring down at the table, fingers tapping idly on the edge. You take a deep breath, gaze dropping back down to your hands. “It doesn’t have to be weird,” you offer tentatively—though it sounds unconvincing even as you say it.

“I agree. But you’re kind of making it weird.”

Your head snaps up. “...Me?”

“Yeah,” he says, looking at you now. “You’ve been avoiding me for, what, days? That’s not exactly normal behaviour.”

“...I wasn’t avoiding you.” Heat crawls up your neck.

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine. I was avoiding you,” you admit, voice dropping into a mutter. “But I, um, had a good reason for it.”

“Yeah?” he asks, leaning forward slightly. “What was it?”

You stare at him, throat tightening. How are you supposed to put it into words? That you’ve been avoiding him because every time you see him, your brain replays that morning and his conversation with Soonyoung in painstaking detail, and it makes your stomach twist in ways you don’t understand? That you don’t know how to act around him anymore, and it’s easier to run than to face him?

“I don’t know,” you say slowly, shrugging. It’s a lie, and it feels thin and flimsy, but you can’t manage anything else. “It just felt… easier.”

Wonwoo’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—disappointment? Understanding? You can’t tell.

“Easier,” he repeats, like he’s testing the word. “Do you think it’s easier now?”

“Not really,” you admit quietly.

“Exactly.” He leans back again, running a tired hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. That night was—it was a lot. But I don’t want to lose our friendship because of it.”

There’s a lump in your throat now. You swallow hard, trying to push it down. You want to tell him that it’s not that simple, that every time you think about him, you feel like you’re standing on a cliff’s edge, terrified of falling. But the words stick to your tongue, and all you can manage is a small, “I don’t want that either.”

Wonwoo nods. “Okay. Good. That’s—that’s good.”

You don’t respond right away. Instead, you focus on the napkin in your hands—or what’s left of it, at least. Your thoughts spiral. You think about the way he looked at you that morning, the way his voice softened when he said your name, the way he resigned himself to the fact that you wouldn’t like him back. The way everything feels like you’re teetering on the edge of something permanent and irreversible.

Now, sitting here with him, you wonder if you’re still on that edge—or if you’ve already fallen.

“I just—” Your voice cracks slightly; you clear your throat. “I don’t know how to go back to being normal with you.”

Wonwoo doesn’t hesitate. “That’s okay. I don’t know, either. We can work it out.”

It’s such a simple thing to say, but it cuts through the static in your head. You look at him, really look at him, and for the first time, you see not just the calm front he’s putting up, but the uncertainty that bleeds through—the way his fingers fidget against the table, the way his gaze flickers briefly before meeting yours again.

You exhale slowly. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” You nod, more to yourself than him. “Okay.”

His lips twitch into the faintest smile, until it is immediately obliterated by Sana’s shriek as the four Baja Blasts she was balancing in her arms plummet to the floor in a tragic display of carbonation and crushed dreams. 

The walk back from Taco Bell is stiffer than it needs to be. Wonwoo had offered to walk you home—mostly because both of you weren’t keen on intruding between Jihoon and Sana—but you’re acutely aware of the distance between you and Wonwoo, an awkward, invisible chasm neither of you seems eager to cross. You fiddle with the crumpled receipt in your pocket, sneaking glances at him every few steps. Each time, you catch him doing the same, though you don’t acknowledge it.

You didn’t think your awkwardness with Wonwoo would fade away immediately, though you have to give him credit for trying. It still clings to the space between you like stubborn static. Even the distant hum of traffic and the occasional rustling of leaves doesn’t drown it out.

“My cousin is graduating high school the day after tomorrow,” he says finally, breaking the long stretch of silence between you both.

“No way,” you reply, kicking a loose pebble on the ground. You watch it skitter away from you, and say, “They grow up so fast.”

“Yeah. It’s insane. I’m going back to Changwon tonight.”

“Really? I bet your aunt will be happy to see you.”

He smiles. “She’s going to screw me for not eating enough homemade food,” he says, and for a moment, it feels normal—but silence falls again, heavy and stilted.

It isn’t until you hear a soft, high-pitched cry that the spell finally breaks.

At first, you think you imagined it, a stray sound swallowed up by the evening breeze. But when you hear it again, clearer this time, you stop dead in your tracks, your head swiveling towards the source.

“Did you hear that?” you ask.

Wonwoo comes to a halt beside you. “Hear what?”

“That!” you exclaim as the sound repeats, urgent and mournful. You point towards the trees lining the edge of the parking lot. “There’s something over there.”

He squints. “Probably just a bird or something.”

“That’s not a bird,” you insist, already veering off the footpath. “It’s a kitten.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” you say, craning your neck to locate the source of the sound. Sure enough, a tiny ball of fur is clinging to a branch halfway up one of the trees, its pitiful cries echoing through the still evening air. “It’s stuck.”

“It’s a cat,” Wonwoo says flatly.

“It’s a baby. Wonwoo, it’s going to fall!”

“It’s not going to fall. It’s a cat.”

“Look at it!” you counter, gesturing wildly. “It’s hanging on for dear life. Do you want that on your conscience?”

He stares at the kitten, then back at you, shoulders sinking with impending responsibility. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you say, folding your arms.

“Fine,” he mutters, shrugging off his jacket. “Only ‘cause you asked.”

Wonwoo reaches for the lowest branch, testing its sturdiness before hoisting himself up. His movements are deliberate, cautious, and yet somehow still awkward—like someone who’s watched enough action movies to think he knows what he’s doing but has never actually climbed a tree in his life.

“Careful,” you call out, wincing as the branch creaks under his weight.

“Really? That’s the advice you’re giving me right now?”

“I could’ve said, don’t fall,” you point out.

The kitten, meanwhile, is less than thrilled about the rescue operation. It hisses and fluffs up its fur as Wonwoo inches closer, its tiny claws digging into the bark.

“You’ve got this,” you say.

“Oh, do I?” He grunts. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

With a final, determined stretch, he manages to grab the kitten by the scruff of its neck, holding it up triumphantly. It lets out one last indignant yowl before going limp in his grip, big, yellow eyes blinking up at him.

“Got it,” he says, holding it up like a trophy.

“You’re a hero,” you deadpan.

But before he can descend, the branch beneath him gives a menacing crack.

“Wonwoo—”

The sound is followed by a split-second of stillness, and then gravity takes over.

Wonwoo plummets to the ground with a thud. The kitten, miraculously unscathed, wriggles free from his grip and bolts towards the bushes, leaving the two of you in stunned silence.

“Oh, my God,” you gasp, rushing to his side. “Are you okay?”

He groans, propping himself up on his elbows. His glasses are somewhere on the ground next to him; you fumble for them and hand them to him. He puts them on and says, “No. I’m not okay.”

“You fell out of a tree,” you say, as though he might need reminding.

“Yeah, I noticed.” His voice is tight, laced with pain. When he tries to stand, he immediately winces, clutching his ankle.

“Don’t move,” you say, panic creeping into your tone. “You could’ve broken something.”

“It’s just a sprain,” Wonwoo mutters, though his face says otherwise.

“How do you know?”

“Because I can still feel my foot,” he replies, like that’s the definitive test for a sprain versus a fracture.

You hover uncertainly, hands flitting uselessly between him and his phone. “I’m calling for help.”

“It’s fine—”

“No, it’s not fine,” you snap, voice shaking. “You’re injured, and it’s my fault because I made you climb that stupid tree for that stupid kitten—”

Wonwoo interrupts by saying your name softly. “It’s not your fault. I could’ve said no.”

“But you didn’t,” you mutter, blinking back the ridiculous sting of tears.

He huffs a weak laugh, leaning back against the tree trunk. “Yeah, well. You’re really persuasive.”

“Just don’t—don’t move, okay?”

“Okay. I won’t. You… You will come with me to the hospital, right?” He is quieter now, as though the adrenaline is finally wearing off.

“Of course,” you say immediately.

When you drop down onto the ground next to him, waiting for Sana—who you’d called earlier—to come drive you both to the hospital, you catch a glimpse of the kitten peeking out from the bushes, its wide eyes reflecting the streetlights. You shake your head. “Ungrateful little thing.”

“Worth it,” Wonwoo says, surprising you.

“What?”

He shrugs. “It was worth it. You were worried about it.”

Oh. You don’t really know how to respond to that, but the words are sweet as honey, and despite the chill brought about by the setting sun and the rising moon, you feel warm throughout.

The fluorescent lights of the hospital flicker faintly while you wait for Wonwoo to finish his discharge paperwork. You stand a few feet apart in the waiting area, unsure of what to say. Arms crossed tightly over your chest, you rock back on your heels. Wonwoo leans on his crutches, shoulders hunched.

“I, uh, brought my car while Sana and Jihoon were with you,” you say, not daring to meet his eyes. 

“You’re driving me to Changwon?” he asks, sounding more resigned than questioning. “You don’t have to.”

You lick your lips. Half the reason Jeon Wonwoo climbed up a tree and sprained his ankle badly is because you asked him to. The least you can do is drive him back to his hometown so he can attend his little cousin’s graduation ceremony.

“Yes,” you reply, a little too quickly. His eyebrows twitch upward, but he doesn’t say anything. You shift from one foot to the other under his gaze, feeling self-conscious. “What, you think women are bad drivers?”

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t think women are bad drivers. I think you’re a—” He pauses. “Wait, that’s a trick question. You’re going to kick my ass regardless.”

“Exactly. So you can just get comfortable in the passenger seat and think about the systemic oppression of women in the workforce while I drive.”

The lightheartedness helps, but only marginally. When his name is called, Wonwoo limps toward the discharge counter, his crutches squeaking against the polished tile floor. You follow, stuffing your hands into your jacket pockets because you don’t know what to do with them. The nurse hands him a clipboard, and he scrawls his signature on the dotted line. 

You glance at his profile—the curve of his mouth, the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, the way his glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose. It’s all so familiar, and you hate the fact that you feel like a stranger standing next to him. You know he likes you, and it’s eating you up inside, gnawing at your brain, because telling him you like him, too, would ruin everything.

Not that everything isn’t already hanging by a thread, but what if something happens that makes it impossible to fix? What if you break up, and the friendship you’ve been clinging to falls apart completely? What if everything changes even more than it already has, and you can’t stop it? What if you lose one of the most important people in your life, and no matter what you do, you can’t find your way back to him? What if, what if, what if—it’s a thought that echoes endlessly.

“You don’t have to look so worried,” Wonwoo says without looking up, startling you out of your thoughts. 

“I’m not worried,” you lie, chin jutting out defensively.

He glances at you, then. “You look worried.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“Noted.” He hands the clipboard back to the nurse.

By the time you’re both outside in the parking lot, you’re back to being awkwardly polite, dancing around each other with all the grace of a baby giraffe. You watch as Wonwoo fumbles with his crutches, maneuvering them clumsily toward your car.

“I can carry those,” you offer, holding out a hand.

“I’ve got it.”

“Oh. Um. Okay.”

He doesn’t say anything after, but his jaw tightens as he leans into the passenger seat. It takes some effort—his crutches clatter against the doorframe, and he winces, trying to angle his injured foot without bumping it. You pretend not to notice his struggle, letting him preserve what little dignity he has left.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, you adjust the mirrors, stalling for time. Wonwoo doesn’t try to break the silence festering in between you both. The only sounds are the click of your seatbelt, and the soft hum of the engine.

The first few kilometres pass like this—with a quietness so thick, it’s suffocating. You grip the steering wheel a little too tightly, focusing on the road ahead as though it holds the answers to all your questions.

“So,” you begin after a while, when it becomes too uncomfortable to not speak, “your cousin’s graduation. Big family gathering?”

“Something like that,” Wonwoo says. “Everyone’s making a big deal out of it. She’s the youngest, so…”

“That’s nice.” You glance at him briefly, his face half-hidden in the shadows. “It’s good to celebrate milestones.”

He snorts. “Spoken like someone who’s never had to sit through hours of small talk about what you’re doing with your life.”

“Oh, I’ve been there. My relatives love to remind me of all the ways I’ve failed to meet their expectations.”

“And here I thought you were the golden child.”

You laugh dryly. “As if. My aunt still brings up the time I failed my learner’s permit test. Twice.”

“Twice?” he repeats, raising his eyebrows. “And you wonder why I think you suck at driving.”

“It was hard,” you defend, though your cheeks flush with heat.

The corners of his mouth lifts, the closest thing to a smile you’ve seen from him lately. It’s fleeting, but it stays with you, lingering between you both.

Conversation ebbs and flows after that, accompanied by long stretches of quiet. You focus on the road, stealing the occasional inconspicuous—or so you hope—glance at Wonwoo. At some point, his head leans back against the headrest and his eyes flutter shut. 

It doesn’t take long for his breathing to even out, his features softening in his sleep. You glance at him more openly now, heart tugging at the sight. He looks younger like this. The lines of tension on his face have disappeared, leaving only the quiet rise and fall of his chest. His glasses slip down the bridge of his nose, and you resist the urge to push them back up.

You grip the steering wheel tighter, an unexplainable warmth blooming in your chest. It’s ridiculous, really, how easily he manages to disarm you without even trying. 

But it’s not the first time you’ve seen him like this. The memory sneaks in, unbidden—the morning you woke up beside him, the sunlight filtering through the blinds, casting golden streaks across his skin; his hair mussed against the pillow; his face so close to yours. The disorientation, the rush of emotions you couldn’t name, the way your heart stuttered because of his proximity.

The warmth in your chest turns cold. You inhale shakily, tearing your eyes away from him.

Wonwoo stirs slightly, his head turning a fraction towards you. You glance at him again, your resolve faltering for a split second. You wonder if he would laugh if he knew what sort of thoughts are running through your head right now, or if he’d give you one of those infuriatingly expressionless looks of his—the kind that makes you want to simultaneously punch and hug him.

When Google Maps announces the next turn, you straighten in your seat, forcing yourself to focus. The road stretches ahead, long and winding, illuminated only by the yellow glow of your headlights and the streetlights on the sides.

It’s a long drive, you remind yourself. Plenty of time to figure out what you’re doing. Or avoid it entirely.

For now, you simply drive.

The moment you step foot into Wonwoo’s aunt’s house, a wave of warmth welcomes you—the aroma of something sweet baking in the kitchen, faint perfume, and the hum of cheerful conversation. Wonwoo limps slightly beside you, leaning more heavily on his crutches than he probably wants to admit, holding his duffel bag with his other arm.

You glance at him, frowning. “Are you sure you’re okay to walk around like this?”

“I’m fine,” he replies. You eye the faint wobble in his step but let it go for now.

Before you can dwell on it further, his aunt sweeps into view, her face lighting up like fireworks. Her hair, pinned back with a colourful bandana, curls in ringlets around her heart-shaped face. “Wonwoo!” she exclaims, hurrying over. Her gaze quickly shifts to you, and she clasps her hands together. “Oh, and who’s this?”

“This is—” Wonwoo begins, but his aunt isn’t waiting for an introduction.

“Oh, what a lovely young lady!” she gushes, stepping closer to you. “Are you two…?”

“No,” you blurt out, shaking your head vehemently. The tips of your ears burn as the word tumbles out of your lips. “We’re just friends.”

Wonwoo’s aunt looks mildly disappointed for a second before her smile reappears with renewed vigour. “Ah, well, it’s a shame,” she says. “You two would make such a beautiful couple.”

“Really, we’re just friends,” you repeat, your voice a little bit higher this time, as though saying it twice will make it truer.

Wonwoo shifts uncomfortably next to you, adjusting the crutch under his arm. His lips part like he’s about to add something, but he closes them again, opting for silence instead.

His aunt seems unconvinced, but thankfully doesn’t press further, instead ushering you both further inside. “Come in, come in! Everyone’s been waiting to see you, Wonwoo. And don’t worry, sweetheart,” she says to you with a pat on your arm, “you’ll fit right in.”

“Oh, actually, I—I think I should head back,” you say, lifting up your thumb and jerking it backwards.

“Don’t be silly,” Wonwoo says, unexpectedly. “It’s dark. You can’t drive back alone.”

“I—”

“He’s right, dear,” his aunt adds. “Stay for the weekend. I have a spare bedroom you can sleep in.”

You try to backtrack, shaking your head. “I didn’t— I don’t have any clothes, or toiletries. I didn’t pack anything.”

“That’s quite alright,” his aunt says. “We have extra toothbrushes, and I’m certain I have clothes that could fit you. Consider it a little vacation, if you will.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Wonwoo nudges your shoulder with his and gives you a pointed glare. Pressing your lips together, you—still a little unwilling—follow her into the living room. The sound of Wonwoo’s crutches tapping against the hardwood floor draws attention. A dozen pairs of eyes swivel towards you, curious but welcoming.

“Wonwoo’s here!” someone exclaims. His cousin bounds over to greet him, carefully navigating his crutches.

“Holy shit, what happened to you?” she asks, eyes wide.

“Language,” he chides, offering her a smile nonetheless. “And it’s just a sprain.”

But her attention quickly flicks to you. “And who’s this?”

Before you can answer, another voice cuts in. “Is this his girlfriend?”

You freeze. Wonwoo sighs.

“No,” you manage to say, laughing nervously. “I’m just a friend.”

Wonwoo nods in agreement, but it's too late. The murmurs have already begun.

“Really?” another middle-aged lady—another aunt, you suppose—asks, eyebrows raised. “Just friends? You two look so comfortable together.”

Hah. As if. You’ve spent the last few weeks avoiding Wonwoo so rigorously that your friends had to shove you both together into a Taco Bell booth for you to start talking to him again. Comfortable, your ass. Of course, you can’t say that aloud, so you turn to Wonwoo, silently pleading for him to step in, but he seems more focused on shifting his weight into his good leg. His family’s scrutiny, it seems, doesn’t faze him nearly as much as his sprained ankle does—which is understandable, to be fair. Just not for you at the moment.

“Seriously, we’re not—”

“But why not?” his cousin pipes up. “He’s handsome. You’re pretty—it’s like fate.”

Heat rises to your cheeks again, and you resist the urge to crawl into the nearest decorative vase and never come out. Wonwoo finally takes pity on you, clearing his throat.

“Can we all calm down? She’s here because I needed a ride,” he says measuredly.

“Sure,” his uncle mutters, and it’s followed by a smattering of chuckles.

“Alright, alright,” his aunt finally interjects. “Let the kids sit down before you lot grill them to death.”

Reluctantly, everyone’s attention shifts to the basketball match playing on the television. Wonwoo hobbles toward the nearest loveseat, and you instinctively reach out to steady him when he wobbles a little. He doesn’t say thank you, but the way he lets your hand linger on his arm feels like silent acknowledgement.

“You’re not going to make me carry you if this gets worse, are you?” you murmur, settling into the seat next to him, careful not to jostle his injured leg.

“Not unless you want to,” he deadpans.

You roll your eyes—but the moment your knees accidentally bump, the room feels a touch too small, too warm.

Conversations begin again, and occasionally, someone makes another comment about how “nice” you two look together, and you muster up a strained smile each time. Wonwoo, meanwhile, remains utterly unfazed, answering questions about college and his injury like he isn’t the centre of his family’s romantic speculation.

“Your family is… nice,” you whisper, when the room quietens finally.

“They’re just excited to see someone new,” he says.

“Excited to marry you off, you mean.”

He hums. “Maybe.”

His aunt hands out warm plates of brownies topped with ice cream, and you gratefully dig in. You’re mid-chew when his uncle asks, “How did you two meet?”

You groan inwardly, resting your spoon on your plate and barely restraining yourself from banging your head on the coffee table. Wonwoo’s lips twitch like he’s trying not to laugh. He shrugs and says, “We met through a mutual friend. Simple enough.”

“Very simple,” you echo, nodding your head prudently, hoping to end the conversation there.

“But was it love at first sight?”

Wonwoo tilts his head slightly, as though he’s genuinely considering the question. You elbow him hard, ignoring his startled oof. “No,” you answer quickly. “We didn’t even like each other at first.”

“Didn’t we?” Wonwoo asks, lips curving upwards.

“No,” you say firmly. “You were too quiet, and I didn’t know how to talk to you.”

“Maybe you just weren’t trying hard enough,” he quips.

You gape at him. “That’s—”

“Adorable!” someone cuts in, and everyone—except you—bursts into laughter.

You bury your face in your hands, utterly defeated. Wonwoo, on the other hand, seems entirely too pleased with himself, his soft laugh barely audible over everyone else’s.

You glance at him once again, dropping your hands and letting them rest on your lap. He’s resting back in his seat, his injured leg stretched out in front of him. The tiniest furrow creases his brow, a sign he’s not as comfortable as he’d like everyone to believe.

“You should’ve stayed off your feet,” you say softly, leaning closer.

“And miss all this fun?” he says, smiling softly. He’s quieter, now, seemingly tired of all the socialising, but he watches his relatives bicker over something stupid with fondness.

You shake your head, biting back your own smile.

It’s only later, as everyone disperses to their rooms, that silence befalls upon you both yet again—though not quite as awkward as before. Standing outside the guest room, you turn around to face Wonwoo, who leans heavily on his crutch now, fatigue evident in his every movement.

“You okay?” you ask.

He nods, face impassive. “You?”

“Ask me again tomorrow.”

His lips quirk upwards for the smallest of moments before he nods towards his door. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” you say, slipping into your room and closing the door behind you.

Sleep, that night, is a stubbornly elusive thing. You toss and turn, unable to close your eyes for more than a few minutes. Each time your mind refuses to quiet, you assign a new reason for your restlessness—the bed is too firm, the covers are unnaturally warm, the pillow is too lumpy. But you know, deep down, that the true culprit lies just down the hallway.

Jeon Wonwoo.

The thought of him—his silent steadiness, the way his mouth twitches up slightly when he finds something amusing, the fact that you’re in the same house as him—makes your pulse flutter in ways that you’re sure aren’t good for your heart.

You sigh, staring up at the ceiling. The faint creak of a floorboard breaks the stillness, and your heart jumps before logic catches up. It’s an old house; it makes noises. Then, there’s another creak, a softer one, like when someone is careful and doesn’t want to disturb anyone else.

Curiosity—and the undeniable urge to see him—wins over your hesitation. You slide out of bed, the floor cool against your bare feet, and pad to the door. When you open it, you nearly collide with Wonwoo in the dimly-lit hallway.

“Oh,” you whisper, pretending to be startled. “What are you doing here?”

Wonwoo shifts his weight to his better foot, leaning against his crutch. He’s dressed in a loose t-shirt and sweats, hair slightly mussed. “Couldn’t sleep,” he murmurs. “You?”

“Same,” you admit, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Your room’s closer,” he says.

You step aside, holding the door open for him. “Come in.”

Once inside, he maneuvers carefully to the bed, his movements slow to avoid jostling his injured foot. He sits down on the edge of the mattress with a soft groan, stretching his leg out.

“You sure you’re okay?” you ask, hovering awkwardly near the desk chair.

“I’m fine,” he replies, leaning back on his palms. “Don’t hover.”

“I’m not hovering,” you mutter, sinking into the chair opposite him.

The quiet stretches, each second feeling longer than the last. You wonder if this is how it’s going to be for a long time—awkward, but unavoidable, because not being by each other’s sides isn’t an option. You fiddle with the hem of your sweatshirt, glancing at him and then quickly looking away when his eyes meet yours.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Your fingers still. “Talk about what?”

Wonwoo tilts his head. “Whatever’s keeping you awake.”

You chew on your lip. Maybe it’s because it’s so silent that nothing seems intimidating anymore, or maybe it’s everything you’ve pushed down so far finally reaching a tipping point, or—and perhaps the most likely reason—maybe you’re just incredibly, terribly, immensely stupid, but the words spill out faster than your mind reacts.

“I heard you,” you blurt out.

He straightens a little. “Heard me?”

“The other day,” you clarify, voice wavering. “In the alley by the dumpster. With Soonyoung.”

The shift in his demeanour is subtle, but you notice it—his shoulders tense, his fingers curl around the covers on the mattress. “Oh.”

You take a deep breath and force yourself to continue. “You told him you remembered. That night. The… you know.”

Wonwoo doesn’t immediately respond, his gaze fixed somewhere near the desk lamp.

“I’m not mad,” you add quickly, feeling the need to fill the silence. “I was a little confused, but—but I get why you lied. I just—” You hesitate, wringing your hands. “I feel stupid. You remember everything, and I… don’t.”

His eyes snap to yours. “You’re not stupid. We were drunk. It’s only natural that you don’t remember.”

“I don’t even know what I said to you,” you say, barking out a short, bitter laugh. “Or what I did. I’ve been over analyzing it for days, and you’ve just… known.”

“Because it was important,” he says, voice low.

Your heart stutters. “Important?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

The air feels too thick, like the walls of the room are closing in on you. You swallow hard and muster up a weak smile. “You didn’t think to, um, bring it up?”

“I thought about it,” he admits. “A lot. But I didn’t know how you’d react. I didn’t want to mess things up.”

“Wonwoo,” you say, “we’ve already messed things up.”

“Fair point.” He gives you a small, rueful smile.

You let loose a soft exhale. It feels like a weight off your chest, somehow, as though partially revealing the truth eased some of the static in your head. Wonwoo shifts on the bed, adjusting his position with a wince. Without thinking, you stand and move closer, grabbing a pillow to place under his leg.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Making sure you don’t injure yourself even more,” you say, propping his foot up gently.

“Thanks, doctor.” He’s teasing you, and you know it, but his voice is soft when he says it. Your heart, that traitorous organ, speeds up a little.

You straighten up, but something about the way he looks at you pins you in place. His eyes roam over your face, searching, and it makes your skin feel too warm.

“You don’t have to feel embarrassed,” he says after a moment, “about not remembering.”

“...I can’t help it,” you admit, barely more than a whisper.

He leans forward slightly; his hand brushes against yours. “Then let me help you.”

“What are you—”

Before you can finish, he reaches up and removes his glasses, setting them on the nightstand. His movements are deliberate, his eyes fixed on you. When he says your name, it sounds like a plea, and then, “C’mere.”

You sit down next to him. Your heart pounds so loudly, you’re sure he can hear you. “Wonwoo,” you whisper, voice trembling.

“Do you want to remember?” he asks.

Your throat feels dry; your hands clench into fists at your sides.”I—”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, leaning in slowly, his gaze dropping to your lips. You don’t move away. You can’t, so you nod instead. When his mouth meets yours, it’s anything but tentative.

Wonwoo’s lips mold against yours insistently, sending sparks shooting through your veins. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer, and you instinctively reach up, threading your fingers through his hair.

You gasp when he deepens the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours unhurriedly, in a way that makes your knees weak even though you’re already sitting. He tilts his head, exploring your mouth with a thoroughness that leaves no room for hesitation. His hand slides up to cup your jaw; his thumb brushes against your cheek. The combination of his touch and his kiss is overwhelming. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire.

When you pull back for air, he doesn’t let you go far. His breathing is ragged, his fingers still gripping your waist like he’s afraid you might disappear.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks hoarsely.

You hesitate. “I— Your foot is still injured.”

“So?” Wonwoo counters, lips twitching. “That doesn’t mean I have erectile dysfunction.”

“Wonwoo,” you groan, half-laughing, half-mortified as you push at his shoulder.

He chuckles, warm and low. “Okay. No sex. But kiss me again.”

So, in the darkness of the night, in the quietness of his childhood home, you do.

There was a time when you thought Jeon Wonwoo was going to ask you out.

It never happened, of course—you wouldn’t be in this pitiful state if he had, wouldn’t be rotting in bed in layers of your own misery and heartache. 

You remember the way he’d looked at you that night. His gaze lingered just a second too long, his expression soft in such a way that made your heart flutter and your stomach twist into thousands of tight knots. You’d caught yourself staring at his lips, wondering what they’d feel like against yours, and immediately looked away, cheeks burning. He’d seemed nervous, too—words stumbling over each other like he was rushing to get them out. For one foolish, fleeting moment, you’d thought that he was going to say it.

When he told you about his girlfriend, you’d plastered on a smile and congratulated him. Still, something in your chest had sunk that day. What had you expected, really? For him to sweep you into his arms and confess that you were the one? He had always been kind, but kindness does not equate love.

Except it does, because Jeon Wonwoo had told Kwon Soonyoung that he likes you. It’s impossible—it has to be, because he had been devastated when he broke up with his girlfriend. But you remember the accidental one-night stand, and the night spent in Changwon, and the fact that he climbed up a tree to save a measly kitten just because you asked, and you know you’re lying to yourself.

And you? When he broke up with his girlfriend, you felt… relief. His sadness wasn’t something that you wanted to enjoy. No, you hated that he was hurting. But the other part of you, the part of you that had waited for this moment without ever acknowledging it, was thrilled.

The truth always finds a way to slip out. You’ve always been bad at hiding it, but the truth is this: You’ve loved Jeon Wonwoo for as long as you’ve known him.

The consequences of an accidental one-night stand go something like this: 

It starts with Kwon Soonyoung. Of course it does.

When Soonyoung gets drunk—really drunk—he becomes the type of mess no one really knows how to handle. He laughs too loud, stumbles too much, and becomes emotional over the smallest of things. The only difference tonight is that he has, apparently, outdone himself. He had, in his drunken state, managed to get himself stuck in the worst part of town with a phone number he couldn’t remember dialling, and no one had the heart to tell him he probably should just stay the night.

Somehow, Sana managed to rope you and Wonwoo into picking him up, much to Xu Minghao’s glee. 

And somehow, equally confusingly, you are on Jeon Wonwoo’s lap in his car, his foot fully healed now. The seat belt buckle digs painfully into your thigh, but it’s forgotten quickly—simply due to the fact that Wonwoo’s lips are on yours.

His hands are gentle as they rest on your back, holding you closer, almost like he can’t believe this is real. The softness of his lips, the careful yet urgent way he kisses you—it’s enough to make you forget the world outside of his car, enough to make you forget about your late-night rescue mission.

It’s dizzying, intoxicating, and when he pulls back for a brief moment to catch his breath, you barely let him before you’re leaning in again, eager for more. Your hands move on their own, finding his shirt’s collar and gripping it as if it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

You forget that you’re both in a car, in the middle of the night, on some random dark street far from home. You forget that there’s so much you’ve buried underneath layers of friendship and years of yearning. 

It all blurs out, except for the one question nagging you ever since Minghao posed it to you back in the coffee shop.

“Wonwoo,” you murmur against his lips, and his kisses slow, just enough to listen. “Why did you break up with your girlfriend in freshman year?”

He pulls back, brows furrowed slightly. “Because of you,” he says simply, as though it was obvious all along. 

Your breath hitches. The words settle into your chest, fluttering like wings, wrapping around your heart. Because of you.

“I don’t— I don’t understand,” you whisper. “Why?”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer immediately. His hands move to your face, fingers brushing away stray strands of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle. His thumb traces the curve of your cheek. He leans forward, just enough to close the distance between you both, and kisses you again.

It’s different this time. The kiss isn’t frantic or urgent. It’s slow. His lips move tenderly against yours, hands slipping down to the small of your back, pressing you against him. When he pulls back this time, it’s only by a fraction.

“You’ve always been there, you know?” he murmurs. “It was hard, trying to get over you. I didn’t want something to happen and for our friendship to end ‘cause of something stupid.”

It turns out you and your best friend are a pair of idiots, juggling the same worries about toeing the carefully-drawn line between friendship and the forbidden zone beyond it.

All at once, the confession you didn’t even realise you were dying to make slips past your lips. “I’ve liked you from the start,” you say, a little breathless, and before you can stop yourself, you’re laughing lightly. “I never thought I’d—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head while your hands find their way back to his shirt, tugging him close.

His lips return to yours, his kiss deeper this time, more insistent. There is no hesitation this time. The kiss spirals between soft and demanding, his teeth nipping your lower lip and your tongue sliding against his. His hands are everywhere, pressing you to him as if trying to make up for lost time, and you let him, falling into the moment with a fervour you didn’t know you possessed.

You pull back only when your lungs burn for air, lips swollen and kiss-bitten. Wonwoo’s hands settle on your hips, warm and gentle.

“I think,” he says, gruffly, “Soonyoung’s probably passed out by now.”

“Priorities,” you tut, but a laugh bubbles out of your throat anyway.

The consequences of an accidental one-night stand also include dealing with an irate Kwon Soonyoung the next morning, when he barges into your apartment without warning. You and Wonwoo, with identical bedheads and noticeable embarrassment, stand in a corner together while he paces your living room.

“You’re telling me,” he says, turning around so violently, he nearly trips over his own heel, “that you forgot to pick me up because you were too busy sucking face in Wonwoo’s car?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” you say, at the same time Wonwoo says, “How crass of you, Soonyoung.”

Your friend splutters, flabbergasted. “Wow. Maybe I should quit college and start a matrimony service instead.”

⇢ a/n: this entire fic was inspired by two of my favourite kdramas: business proposal, and love next door. thank you to skye, @etherealyoungk, & kae, @ylangelegy, for beta reading this fic & leaving sweet comments! thanks for reading & i hope you have a wonderful day!

[angelfic]

jason todd x reader

warnings — mentions of blood, death, violence, weapons, jealousy. unedited!!

a/n; i have to fight myself not to make reader have certain traits of mine like my anger issues but sometimes she deserves to be a little crazy. as a treat.

JASON TODD with someone that matches his freak.

You have so much patience and grace for him and he loves you for the way you make him feel less broken every day you’re together. But he won’t lie that he enjoys it when you’re the one who goes a little crazy.

He teaches you self defence pretty regularly, because he knows he can’t always be there, protecting you on the streets of Gotham and he’d rather you be prepared for any given scenario.

You’re a good student, listening to his every word and successfully mastering most of the manoeuvres he teaches you. He enjoys teaching you for many reasons, one of them being that he has an excuse for keeping his hands on you. But his favourite thing is the way your eyes light up when you manage to knock him off his feet or land a hit.

You ask him if he’s alright because there’s a pink flush kissing his cheeks and he mumbles that he’s fine, but really he’s blushing because he’s embarrassed about the sick thoughts he’s having about you being able to physically hurt him. That is until you grab one of his knives off the table.

You twirl it between your fingers, seemingly fascinated with the way the warm lighting of your apartment reflects off the blade, showing off its fatally sharp edges.

“Would you teach me how to stab a guy?”

He feels like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. Your voice is so sweet, asking him such a question so politely and who is he to deny you?

Never in a million years will Jason think he deserves you, and there’s always going to be a little voice in his head that says you could leave him at any given time for any one of your choosing. Which is why he gets jealous really easily, but he tries his best to hide it as not to scare you away.

Not that it would, since you never bother hiding the scowl on your face when you catch another girl throwing glances at him now and then. Jason doesn’t even notice the other girl until he looks over at you and sees the dark look in your eyes and suddenly his blood runs hot.

God forbid a girl tries to talk to Jason in a flirty way, because you’re immediately there, wrapping your arms around his waist, fingers sneaking under his leather jacket.

“Hey, babe,” you say, voice deliberately sweet as you look up at him. “I was looking for you.”

“That so, sweetheart?” he murmurs, amusement flickering across his blue eyes as his arms naturally find your waist. He completely forgets there was even another girl talking to him until you turn around to stare her down.

“And you are?”

“Oh, uh, no one,” she says, faltering slightly, her eyes still glued to Jason. “I was—”

“Right,” you cut her off, a smile gracing your face, but your voice is flat and devoid of any emotion. “We were just leaving.”

You don’t bother waiting for a response before you’re dragging him out of there and he’s gladly letting you.

Your smile drops as soon as you’re both alone and you’re letting go of him, walking faster ahead of him. He catches up to you easily, trying not to laugh when you bat his hands away. “I hope the two of you are very happy together,” you snap, refusing to look at him.

Jason grins, stepping in front of you to stop you. You cross your arms over your chest, glaring at him. “You could have shut that down, you know.”

He exhales a laugh, tilting his head and smiling even wider at how pissed off at him you look. “There was nothing to shut down,” he says truthfully, stepping closer to invade your personal space and uncrossing your arms to pull you closer. “Plus, I like seeing you a little jealous.”

A little is a bit generous since you look downright murderous, but he’s not complaining in the slightest.

You still refuse to look at him. “I am not jealous. I could have easily beaten her ass,” you mutter.

Jason huffs out a laugh, and when you scoff and turn away, he catches your wrist and tugs you forward so you stumble against him, using his chest to steady yourself. His lips ghost against your ear, making you shiver slightly as he whispers, “My money’s on you, babe. And for the record, you’re the only one I’m ever looking at.”

Your irritation melts into something else entirely and you playfully roll your eyes at him. He knows he’s got you now, just like he’s aware of how much you pretend to hate that he knows how to handle you.

When he comes home, covered in blood finally allowing his shoulders to sag with exhaustion, you don’t even flinch at the sight of him. You smile when he enters your apartment, dropping a kiss to his cheek in greeting and guiding him to sit.

“Any of this blood yours?” you ask, calmly. He doesn’t miss the concern in your voice and the way you’re subtly checking each area covered in blood for any hint of a wound.

He shakes his head and your body relaxes. “Good,” you mutter, focused now on scrubbing away a spot of dried blood from out of his suit. You don’t bother attempting to clean his hair since you’ll get it out in the bath a bit later.

He watches you, waiting for you to ask a question that never comes. The question that he feels like the members of his family are always asking in an attempt to morality check him.

You’re not like them, though. Your expression remained unfazed when the washcloth in your hands is more red than whatever colour it was before.

His jaw tightens. “You’re not gonna ask?”

“Ask what, Jay?” You tilt your head, pausing in your movements. He hesitates for a second.

“How many?”

Understanding dawns on your face and you slowly nod. “Ah. Well. Do you want me to ask?”

He studies you for a long moment as you resume your work with the washcloth, moving to the areas that the blood seeped through a gap in his suit to coat his wrists. The quiet hum of your shared apartment settles around you both. Then, he shakes his head. “No.”

“Alright then,” you say softly, setting the washcloth down. His bloodied shirt is next, torn in some places, damp with sweat from overexerting himself. You grab the hem, pulling it over his head and he lets you. Tossing it to the ground, you hesitate for the first time tonight when you catch sight of his torso. You frown, fingers skimming over his bruised ribs. Your touch is light, careful. You finally meet his eyes, unflinchingly. “Every single one of them deserved it.”

A sharp exhale leaves his lip, something between relief and something else — something darker. He shudders out a breath and finally allows himself to touch you, knowing you won’t break.

Pulling you closer, he rests his head against your chest, melting into you when your fingers start to lightly scratch against his scalp.

You aren’t scared of him. You never would be, he was pretty certain of that. He even sees some of that same darkness in you that he used to wish he could rid himself of. And he loves you for it.

Jason has never been more fucking gone for anyone in his life.

a/n cont.; only difference between reader and a psych ward patient is that she’s outside

[promptedwordsmith]

Hi hiiiii!!

I LOVED the valentine based piece you did!

If you're still taking requests, can I ask for angst-comfort this time where the guys forgot mc's birthday? I'm excited to see your take on this especially for Caleb!

Thank you and I'll be on the lookout for more of your work 💕💕💕

THANK YOU <3 <3 <3

I had SO. MUCH. FUN. writing this it was crazy!

Hopefully its OK!

Caleb

Caleb had been so busy. More than usual. It was one thing to have patrols through the Deep Space Tunnel, endless reports, meetings with higher-ups who never seemed satisfied, but on top of that, he had taken it upon himself to organize an important dinner party.

Or so he thought.

The truth—the awful truth—hit him like a physical blow when he unrolled the custom banner that had just arrived.

"Happy Birthday, [Your Name]!"

The world seemed to tilt. His grip on the fabric tightened, knuckles turning white as his violet eyes darted across the bold, celebratory letters. His mind, exhausted and running on autopilot for weeks, scrambled through his memory, piecing together the moments he had lost. The meticulous planning. The decorations. The food. He had arranged everything… for a party that had already passed.

Your birthday.

It had come and gone, and he—he—had completely missed it.

For a full five seconds, Caleb didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. The weight of realization pressed against his chest, drowning out every thought except one:

I forgot your birthday.

The sickening guilt settled deep in his stomach, twisting, tightening. You had waited for him that day. He could picture it—your hopeful glances, the way you had likely told yourself, he’s just busy, he’ll remember soon. But he hadn’t. You must have gone to bed that night thinking he didn’t care, thinking that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as important to him as you truly were.

The very idea of it made him feel like the worst kind of man.

He didn’t waste another second. He abandoned everything—work, reports, the dinner he had been planning for the higher-ups—none of it mattered now. The only thing that mattered was you.

By the time he reached your home, it was already evening. His uniform was slightly disheveled, his hair tousled from running his hands through it in frustration, but the guilt was what weighed on him the most.

You answered the door, and for a moment, there was only silence.

Caleb searched your face, looking for signs of anger, sadness—hurt. And when he found them, faint but undeniably there, the guilt doubled.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. "I messed up." His voice was low, raw, as if saying it out loud made the weight of it even heavier.

You crossed your arms, raising a brow. "You think?"

Your words weren’t angry, but the tired disappointment in them was somehow worse. You had already processed it, already come to terms with the fact that he had forgotten, and that made his chest ache.

Caleb was never one to stumble over words, but right now, he struggled. "I didn’t mean to forget. I was planning something. I was—" He inhaled sharply, shaking his head. "That’s not an excuse. It’s just…" He let out a dry, humorless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was so damn exhausted, I forgot what I was even planning for."

You blinked. "Wait, what?"

He let out a slow breath. "I was planning your party. That’s what I’ve been doing for weeks." He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident. "But I worked myself into the ground so much that when your birthday came, I just—" His jaw clenched. "I thought I was planning a dinner for the higher-ups. It didn’t even register."

You stared at him, processing. He watched you carefully, waiting, hoping for anything that would tell him how to fix this.

Finally, you sighed. "You’re an idiot."

Something in his chest loosened at that—because you weren’t shutting him out, weren’t furious.

"Yeah," he admitted without hesitation. "The worst one."

Caleb wasn’t the type to grovel, but when it came to you, he would do whatever it took.

He spent the entire night making it up to you. He didn’t just say sorry—he showed you.

First, he insisted on taking you out to eat, somewhere special, somewhere you liked. He wouldn’t let you brush him off, wouldn’t let you say, It’s fine, it’s over now. No, it wasn’t fine, and he wouldn’t let it be until he saw that light in your eyes again.

Then, after dinner, he walked with you through the quiet streets, hand in yours, holding on like he had something to prove. He was quieter than usual, more thoughtful, stealing glances at you every few seconds like he was afraid you’d disappear.

Finally, when you arrived home, he pulled you into his arms, pressing you close, his chin resting against your head.

"I swear to you," he murmured against your hair, voice rough with sincerity, "I will never forget again. Not in this life, not in the next, not ever."

And you believed him.

Because Caleb may have made mistakes, but when it came to you, he would always make it right.

Rafayel

Rafayel had been locked in his studio for days, unreachable. Your calls went unanswered, your texts ignored. Even when you showed up at his door, knocking, waiting, hoping, there was nothing. Just silence, just the knowledge that somewhere beyond those walls, he was lost in his art again.

And still, despite it all, you held out hope.

Hope that, even in the middle of his artistic madness, he would remember.

But the day had passed.

By the time three days had gone by, your hope had shrunk into something small and fragile. Maybe it was foolish of you to think this year would be different. Maybe you should have expected this. Rafayel loved intensely—when he loved, he loved with everything he had—but sometimes he got lost in his own world, and that love, no matter how deep, could feel far away.

Then, out of nowhere, your phone rang.

"Come over!" Rafayel's voice practically crackled with excitement, as if he hadn’t been a ghost for the last few days. "I finally finished it! You have to see it first!"

"Raf—"

"Ah, don’t say anything yet! Just come. Hurry!"

And then he hung up.

No apology for vanishing. No recognition of the days he had missed.

And certainly, no acknowledgment of your day.

You trudged through the cold toward his home, trying to ignore the sting in your chest. Maybe he had remembered and wanted to surprise you. Maybe this was his way of making up for it.

But deep down, a part of you knew better.

Inside his studio, Rafayel was frozen.

The moment he checked his calendar to see when his next exhibition was, the date jumped out at him like a slap to the face. The realization slammed into him so hard that he nearly knocked over a jar of brushes.

Your birthday.

It had come and gone.

The guilt hit him like a tidal wave, drowning out every other thought.

How could he forget?

He tore through his studio, hands shaking. A gift—he needed something, anything—! His eyes darted across the room, landing on a pile of canvases shoved into a forgotten corner.

His secret.

Bunches and bunches of paintings of you.

Sketches of you laughing, paintings of you gazing out at the sea, studies of your hands, your lips, the way your hair caught the light. He had never shown them to anyone, not even you. They were too raw, too personal, too embarrassing.

But now…

Before he could second-guess himself, he grabbed them all. He turned out all the lights, lit every candle he could find, and placed the paintings around the room. The atmosphere had to be perfect. When he was done, he shut the door, smoothing his hair, taking a deep breath.

He had a plan.

Just pretend everything was normal. Show you his newest painting, make you smile, then lead you to the hidden room to surprise you. Yes. That would work.

And maybe—just maybe—it would make up for everything.

When you arrived, Rafayel greeted you with his usual playful grin, grabbing your wrist and dragging you inside before you could even get a word in.

"Look," he said, presenting the canvas like it was the greatest treasure in the world. "What do you think?"

It was beautiful—of course it was. Rafayel’s art always was. The strokes, the colors, the emotion captured in every detail. It was a masterpiece.

But it wasn’t enough.

Not today.

He was watching you closely, waiting for your reaction.

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile. "It’s… incredible, Raf."

The way your voice wavered, the way you didn’t meet his eyes—it was subtle, but he noticed.

And suddenly, the guilt became unbearable.

Without a word, he grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the hidden room.

"Wait—Raf, where are we—?"

The door creaked open, and the glow of candlelight washed over you. Your breath caught in your throat.

Paintings.

Of you.

Dozens of them, covering every wall. Each one full of emotion, of devotion, of him. Some were unfinished, others so detailed they looked like they could breathe. It was overwhelming.

You turned to him, eyes wide.

"You…?"

He looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, his usual bravado gone. His cheeks were tinged pink, the tips of his ears burning red.

"I—" He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. "I forgot your birthday."

Your stomach twisted. So he had forgotten.

"I was painting," he went on, words rushed. "I lost track of time, and I—damn it—" He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. "I didn’t mean to. I swear, I didn’t mean to."

You turned back to the paintings, something warm pressing at your chest.

"You made all of these?" you asked quietly.

His hands clenched at his sides. "Yeah."

"For how long?"

A beat of silence. Then—

"Years."

The confession hung between you.

He had been painting you for years.

Slowly, you turned to face him. The usual mischief in his eyes was gone, replaced with something raw, something vulnerable.

"I’m sorry," he murmured. "I don’t know how I forgot something so important. You mean too much to me for that. I—I just…" He sighed, rubbing his temple. "I got lost in making something for you, and I ended up missing the thing that mattered most—you."

The anger, the disappointment, the hurt—they all melted away. Because here he was, standing before you, baring himself in a way he rarely ever did.

You stepped forward, hesitating for only a moment before wrapping your arms around him.

His breath hitched.

"You’re an idiot," you whispered.

A shaky laugh. "Yeah. I know."

"But…" You looked up at him, a soft smile playing at your lips. "This is the best apology I’ve ever seen."

Relief flooded his features. "So you forgive me?"

You pretended to think about it. "Hmm. I don’t know. Maybe if you make me a cake."

He scoffed. "I’m a painter, not a baker."

"Then take me out for cake."

He smirked, his confidence slipping back into place. "Anything for my muse."

And as he pulled you in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, you knew—

Even when he forgot the days on a calendar, Rafayel would never really forget you.

Sylus

Sylus prided himself on many things. His sharp mind, his strategic brilliance, his ability to anticipate every move before it happened. He was the kind of man who didn’t forget things—especially not something as important as your birthday.

Which was why, when he saw the disappointed look on your face as you pelted him with soft plushies, something deep in his chest twisted—an unfamiliar, unsettling sensation that almost felt like panic.

Almost.

But Sylus didn’t panic.

Instead, he stood there, one plushie bouncing harmlessly off his shoulder, another smacking his chest before falling to the floor. His crimson eyes flickered between you and the growing pile of soft toys you had weaponized against him.

“You forgot,” you accused, arms crossed, hurt flashing in your gaze.

He opened his mouth to deny it. To tell you he’d never forget something so important. But the realization hit him like a slow, creeping dread. He had forgotten.

The meticulously planned dinners. The gifts he had meant to have delivered. The subtle reminders he had given his men—Kieran, Luke, even Mephisto—to ensure he never let today slip his mind.

And yet, here you were.

Disappointed.

Angry.

Hurt.

It was a sight that unsettled him more than any rival, more than any enemy who had ever dared to challenge him. He could handle a hundred assassination attempts, negotiate the bloodiest of deals, and walk into a war zone without breaking a sweat.

But the idea that he had been the one to hurt you? That he had been the reason your smile had faded today?

Unacceptable.

He took a step forward, but you threw another plushie at his face before he could speak. This time, he caught it mid-air, fingers tightening around the soft fabric as he exhaled through his nose.

“I’ll fix it,” he said, voice calm, steady.

You huffed, turning your head away. “Too late.”

His jaw clenched. Too late? No. Nothing was ever too late when it came to you.

Sylus wasn’t the type to apologize with empty words. He wasn’t the kind of man who’d simply say “sorry” and expect you to accept it. He had to show you.

And he would.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and left.

You had expected him to brush it off. To smirk, tease you, tell you that you were cute when you were mad. Maybe even promise to make it up to you later in a way that would leave you breathless.

But Sylus had left.

Just walked out without an explanation.

That made you angrier.

You flopped onto the couch, hugging one of the plushies to your chest, your pout deepening. He had forgotten, and now he was leaving?

Your thoughts swirled in frustration until a knock sounded at your door—not the sharp, precise kind that his men would give, but a slow, deliberate rhythm you recognized instantly.

Sylus.

You hesitated for only a moment before getting up and opening the door.

And what you saw left you speechless.

He stood there, slightly out of breath, his silver hair a bit messier than usual, his blazer discarded, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up. In his hands? A massive bouquet—roses, lilies, your favorite flowers all woven together in a way that looked too beautiful to have been bought last-minute.

And then there were the gifts.

Not one. Not two. But an entire armful—beautifully wrapped boxes, all stacked precariously as he balanced them with ease.

Your lips parted in shock.

Sylus? The man who was always cool, calculated, in control? Looking just a little bit frazzled as he stood in your doorway with gifts clearly gathered in a rushed effort to make up for his mistake?

You should have stayed mad.

But instead, your heart clenched.

“I had everything planned,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, controlled but tinged with something you almost wanted to call regret. “Dinners. Gifts. Things meant to arrive today.”

He stepped forward, pressing the bouquet into your arms as his crimson eyes locked onto yours.

“I forgot,” he admitted, as if the words physically pained him to say. “And I don’t forget things.”

You swallowed, staring at him. This was Sylus. The man who could tear down entire organizations with a single whisper. Who could predict a person’s every move before they even knew they would make it.

And yet, he had forgotten.

Because, for once, he had been too wrapped up in things that weren’t you.

You should have made him suffer more.

But then he did something unexpected.

He lowered himself to one knee, not in a proposal, but in something equally as disarming.

A genuine apology.

“I don’t ask for forgiveness,” he said, eyes unwavering. “I don’t need it. But you deserve better than today, and I’ll make sure you get it.”

His hand reached for yours, fingers brushing over your wrist in a touch so uncharacteristically soft that your breath hitched.

You weren’t used to seeing him like this.

Vulnerable.

But maybe that was the point.

Sylus didn’t grovel. He didn’t beg. He didn’t need to.

And yet, here he was, choosing to show you a side of himself no one else would ever see.

“I…” Your throat felt tight as you looked at him, then at the bouquet, then at the ridiculous number of gifts he had somehow managed to gather in an hour.

His lips curled into a small smirk, sensing the shift in your demeanor. “Still mad?”

You should be.

But instead, you sighed dramatically, stepping back to let him inside.

“I’ll think about forgiving you,” you muttered, clutching the flowers to your chest.

His smirk widened as he straightened, stepping closer, hands finding your waist as he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear.

“I can be very persuasive,” he murmured.

You shivered, pressing your lips together to keep from smiling. He knew you too well.

And he had forgotten.

But he had also gone through all this effort to make it right.

Maybe you would forgive him.

Eventually.

But first? You were going to make him work for it.

Xavier

Xavier wakes up the next morning with the unsettling feeling that he’s forgotten something important. It lingers in his chest, creeping up his spine as he runs through the previous day in his mind. Work had gone as usual, no missions went sideways, nothing seemed off—so why does he feel like he’s made a terrible mistake?

And then, it hits him.

Your birthday.

Xavier sits up so fast that he actually gets lightheaded. He forgot. He forgot.

The realization settles into his bones like a cold weight, making his usual grogginess disappear instantly. He’s already moving before he can even fully process it, running a hand through his silver hair in frustration. How could he have let this happen? He knows he’s forgetful sometimes—distracted, too caught up in missions or losing track of time—but your birthday? Of all the things to forget, he had forgotten the one day that should have been about you.

His mind races with every possible reaction you might have had. Were you upset? Had you been waiting all day for him to say something? Did you pretend it was fine, even though it wasn’t? That thought hurts. It hurts worse than any injury he’s ever sustained in battle. He imagines you spending the day holding out hope, maybe even giving him chances to remember, only for him to say nothing.

He feels sick.

Xavier doesn’t hesitate. He throws on his jacket, grabs his keys, and heads straight to find you. If you’re at home, he knocks—firmer than usual, as if he’s trying to physically knock away his mistake. If you’re out, he searches, guided by instinct and urgency.

The moment he sees you, his sharp blue eyes search your face for signs of how you’re feeling. Are you angry? Disappointed? Trying to act like it doesn’t matter? He hates that he has to guess. He should have been there. He should have remembered.

"…I forgot, didn’t I?" His voice is softer than usual, lacking its usual teasing edge. There’s no excuse, no attempt to dodge the truth. Just quiet guilt.

Xavier isn’t the type to panic openly, but his regret is undeniable. He rubs the back of his neck—a rare show of uncertainty from him—and steps closer, as if trying to physically close the distance that his mistake has created.

"I don’t have an excuse. I just—" He exhales, frustration at himself bleeding into his voice. "I don’t know how I forgot. I should have been there, should have made the day special for you. But I didn’t. And that’s on me."

His hands twitch at his sides, like he wants to reach for you but isn’t sure if he deserves to. He hates the idea of you feeling unimportant because of him. The thought alone makes something tighten in his chest.

"Tell me how to make it up to you," he says, looking at you with the kind of intensity that makes it impossible to doubt his sincerity. "Because I will. However you want. Just say the word."

But that’s not enough. Not for him. He’s not just going to fix this with a single apology. He wants to show you.

Xavier doesn’t waste time. Once he knows where he stands with you—whether you need space, reassurance, or a little payback in the form of making him work for your forgiveness—he immediately starts making things right.

He doesn’t just buy you a last-minute gift to try and make up for it. No, that’s not personal enough. Instead, he recreates your birthday, a day late but no less meaningful.

Maybe he takes you somewhere quiet but special, a place that reminds him of you. Maybe he sets up a stargazing spot on a rooftop, bringing blankets and snacks, telling you it’s because he wanted to give you something that feels like forever.

Maybe he cooks for you—badly, because Xavier and the kitchen are a dangerous combination, but the effort is so heartfelt that you can’t be mad. He’d get flour on his face, burn something slightly, and still look at you like you were the most beautiful thing in the world.

Or maybe he brings you a gift—not something extravagant, but something thoughtful. A tiny, carefully chosen charm. A book that reminded him of you. A star-shaped pendant, because you always joked that he had a habit of falling asleep under the stars. He wouldn’t say much about it, just press it into your hands and murmur, "Didn’t want you to think I don’t pay attention."

He watches you carefully the whole time, making sure you feel loved, valued. He doesn’t over-explain or beg for forgiveness—he just shows you.

And when the night winds down, and he pulls you into his arms, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head, he whispers:

"I won’t forget again."

And you know, in the quiet certainty of his voice, that he means it.

Zayne

Zayne was exhausted.

The hospital had been relentless, a blur of critical patients, rapid decisions, and near misses. There had been moments he thought he might not even make it home tonight—almost being quarantined had only been the cherry on top of the chaos. His body ached in a way he had learned to ignore, but as he finally stepped out into the cold night air, his thoughts were blank, his mind running on autopilot.

That was, until he saw you.

Sitting on the doorstep of his home, your figure illuminated under the soft yellow glow of the streetlight. A glittering dress hugged your form, shimmering faintly even in the dim light, and a sash lay diagonally across your body, its edges slightly crinkled from the way your arms had been folded over yourself. Your head rested in your hands, your posture slumped—not just from the cold, but from something else entirely.

Something in his chest clenched.

He stopped in his tracks, the weight of his coat sliding off his arm. It landed on the pavement with a quiet thud, the sound breaking the silence of the night. You startled at the noise, lifting your head to see him standing there, his expression unreadable.

Then, as if some unseen force wrenched his gaze downward, his eyes flicked to his watch.

2:04 AM.

The date had changed.

It hit him all at once. The cogs in his mind, sluggish from exhaustion, clicked into place, and his stomach twisted with the weight of the realization.

Your birthday.

His breath left him in a slow, silent exhale.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just stared at him, and for the first time in a long time, Zayne felt a crushing, unfamiliar sense of guilt settle over him. He had let the day slip through his fingers, consumed by the chaos of work, and now—now, here you were, alone, in a dress you had probably worn in hopes of celebrating. And he had missed it.

Completely.

He took a slow step toward you, lowering himself to sit beside you on the step. The cold from the pavement seeped through his slacks, but he ignored it.

“You should’ve called me.” His voice was quiet, steady, but there was a tightness beneath it.

You let out a breathy, humorless laugh. “I did.”

His jaw tensed. He had no memory of that. The hospital had been chaos—his phone likely left in his office, forgotten in the madness. That didn’t make it better.

For a long moment, there was only silence. The city around you was quiet at this hour, the world asleep while the two of you sat in the aftermath of his mistake.

Then, finally, he spoke again.

“I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t an excuse. It wasn’t a rushed, meaningless apology. It was slow, deliberate—weighted with sincerity.

You turned to look at him, and for the first time that night, he allowed himself to truly see you. The way your makeup had smudged slightly, the way your lips pressed together as if fighting back something you didn’t want to say.

You weren’t just disappointed.

You were hurt.

His fingers curled into his slacks, his mind searching for the right thing to do, the right thing to say.

Then, as if making a decision, he reached for you. His hands—steady, careful hands that had saved lives and stitched wounds—found yours, his fingertips brushing against the chill of your skin before enclosing them completely.

“Let me fix this.”

You blinked. “It’s already tomorrow, Zayne.”

“Then we’ll start over.” His voice was firm, resolute. “Right now.”

Before you could argue, he was already standing, tugging you gently up with him. The world may have declared your birthday over, but he refused to accept that.

Without hesitation, he shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over your shoulders, his fingers lingering at the lapels for just a second before he pulled away. Then, taking your hand in his, he gave the faintest tug, silently urging you to follow him.

You furrowed your brows. “Where are we going?”

His lips quirked—just slightly. “To get cake.”

You stared at him. “Zayne, it’s two in the morning.”

“And you still haven’t had a proper birthday.”

His voice was so matter-of-fact, so Zayne, that you almost wanted to laugh. Almost.

But there was something about the way he was holding your hand, something about the way his thumb brushed over your knuckles absentmindedly, as if grounding himself in your presence. Something about the way he had taken one look at you and immediately decided that no, the day wasn’t over, not until he made it right.

So you followed him.

The city at 2 AM was eerily quiet, but Zayne led you with the same certainty he carried in the operating room, his hand never leaving yours as he walked with purpose. Eventually, you ended up at a small convenience store—the only place still open at this hour.

Zayne scanned the shelves with a critical eye, and you watched, bemused, as this brilliant, award-winning surgeon carefully inspected pre-packaged slices of cake as if they were surgical instruments.

Finally, he picked one. A simple chocolate slice. He held it up to you in silent question.

You sighed, shaking your head, but there was the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. “That’ll do.”

Minutes later, you found yourselves outside again, sitting on a bench beneath the glow of a streetlamp, the city stretching empty and quiet around you.

Zayne pulled out a pair of disposable chopsticks from his pocket, breaking them apart with practiced ease before handing them to you.

You gave him a look. “Of course you have chopsticks on you.”

He merely raised a brow. “You forgot utensils last time.”

You let out a small, breathy laugh at that—softer this time, real. And when he caught the sound of it, the tension in his shoulders eased just slightly.

The two of you sat in silence, sharing the slice of cake, the quiet hum of the city your only companion.

At one point, he glanced down at you, his expression unreadable. Then, with the utmost care, he reached out, brushing a thumb across your cheek, wiping away the last remnants of smudged mascara.

“Happy birthday,” he murmured.

It was late. Too late. The moment had passed. But somehow, as you sat there, eating cake in the early hours of the morning with Zayne by your side, it didn’t seem to matter.

And when he finally leaned down, pressing the softest kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there for just a second longer than necessary.

[cherry-coffees]

"Yes, Princess"

princess!Caitlyn x f! lady in-waiting!reader

cw: 2.7K words | forbidden love, 18+ mdni, smut with a hint of angst, fingering, oral sex, implied scissoring, top!Caitlyn, mommy kink, praise kink, my first time writing smut so I apologize!

Head up, eyes bright, graceful walk, sweet smile.

Those are the words that repeat in your head over and over again like a broken record as you enter the ballroom. The Kiramman ballroom, to be exact: one of the grandest rooms in the Piltover palace. The scene is breathtaking: chandeliers emitting a warm glow over the room that’s filled with expensive champagne and linen tablecloths and gold trimmings along the walls. A picture of elegance and grace that perfectly matches the Kiramman royal family.

You walk as gracefully as you can into the center of the ballroom to mingle with guests, bowing slightly and introducing yourself with a last name that always seems to catch people’s attention. You’re a Piltover noble, that much is clear. A pretty one at that: dressed in a baby pink, floor length gown that hugs your torso and chest just right, trailing into silk that parts in a slit up past your knee. Carefully chosen accessories, styled hair: you’re the picture of grace. 

After a few minutes of mingling with the other nobles in attendance, Mel finds you easily. “There you are!” She exclaims, gold flecks dusting her cheeks. “I thought I missed you; you took so long to join the party!”

Relief sweeps through you at the familiar face. “Sorry,” you sigh, adjusting your hair over your shoulder. “I was helping the princess get ready, and it ran a little late. I had to rush my own getting ready afterwards.”

“Ah, of course, my favorite lady-in-waiting,” Mel laughs airily. “How else would the Kiramman princess survive? And you look stunning, by the way; I’ve seen more than a few guys eyeing you since you came in.”

“I’m just happy I look composed” you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes, surrounded by important guests. “These shoes hurt like a bitch.”

“Yeah, well,” Mel’s lips quirk into a mischievous smile. “It must be working because there’s one person who hasn’t taken her eyes off you since you walked in.”

Oh.

Your stomach churns a little as you follow Mel’s glance behind you, to the front of the ballroom where the royal family is standing. Or, more specifically, the Kiramman princess: Caitlyn. Navy hair combed out and hitting her mid-back, with a simple navy gown to match. Her posture perfect and poised as always. But through her polite smile at the nobles that greet her, her icy-blue eyes were focused elsewhere: you. 

You try to suppress the wave of heat that goes through you. You know those eyes. You see them every day, had zipped up her dress and clasped her necklace around her neck not even an hour ago. A usual everyday task for you as her lady in-waiting, it might seem, but you still have your moments of your cheeks flushing pink. How can you not? It’s Caitlyn. She must have been destined to be a princess, to be admired by millions with her Gods-given beauty.

In this moment, though, you only let yourself lock eyes with her for a second before you’re turning back to Mel. “Um, yeah,” you blink, desperately hoping your carefully applied blush covers your flushed cheeks. “She, uh, recommended this dress to me, so she probably just noticed I ended up wearing it.”

Mel nods, seemingly dropping the topic, though there’s a hint of knowing in her raised eyebrows. “Right. Anyways, I’ll find you later. Wanted to say hi before I grab more champagne.” She squeezes your arm and flashes you a smile before she disappears into the crowd.

Now alone, you’re thrown right back into the scene of music and ballgowns and a few too many overly nice men. You smile sweetly, making polite conversation. What’s a lovely lady like you doing by yourself? You look beautiful. Are you really the lady in-waiting for Princess Caitlyn? 

You can only take so much of the same conversations, the same flirtatious glances and smooth offers to dance. You’re knee-deep in another exchange with some noble man from Noxus, who thinks he’s being way more charming than he is, when you feel a presence behind you. And, when you see the man go wide-eyed, you have a pretty good idea of who it is.

“Excuse me,” Caitlyn’s posh accent rings from behind you. “I was wondering if I might steal my lady in-waiting for a moment?”

“O-Oh! Yes, of course, Princess,” the man stutters, hastily managing a bow and backing away — to find another girl to hit on, most likely. You turn to face Caitlyn, tilting your head upward to meet her gaze. Damn, she’s tall.

“If you’ll come with me,” her formalities don’t falter once as she gently takes hold of your arm, steering you towards a less-crowded corner of the ballroom. It’s inherently obvious that you don’t really have a choice.

Caitlyn lets go of your arm once in the corner, and you take the moment to adjust your dress, fluffing it out a bit. Her eyes follow the movement. “Having fun?” She asks, her voice calm and unwavering.

“Ah, you know,” you sigh, tilting your head. “Greeting everyone.”

“Mm.” Her hand makes its way back to your arm, tracing lightly over your skin. “Any suitors catch your eye?”

Her words are posed as an innocent question, but you know her too well to believe it. Her hand’s motions don’t cease, and you can’t help a half-smile. “Possessive,” you mumble, so soft that Caitlyn might not have heard it if she wasn’t so focused on your every breath.

She hums in response. “Can you blame me? Some of the men are a little too handsy. More than what’s appropriate for a ball.”

Again, you fight the instinctive roll of your eyes. “Sure.”

The reply causes Caitlyn to step forward, eyes just slightly narrowed. “Don’t sass me,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your ear. 

“Then don’t lie to me.”

“Fair,” Caitlyn’s laugh is quiet, her hand falling to your waist. “So what if I want my lady in-waiting all to myself?” The emphasis on the word my isn’t lost on you. Admittedly, you don’t mind it. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?” You ask, blinking your wide eyes up at her with a slight furrow of your eyebrows. And oh, Caitlyn’s weak to your innocent expression. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to suppress the urge to kiss it off your face.

She lets out another hum, if a little more breathy this time. “Darling,” her voice is hushed. Now it’s your turn to go weak at the pet name falling from her lips in that hot-as-fuck accent of hers. “You know how I feel about you in pink. And with the slit? Are you trying to get me to loose it at my own ball?”

Well. You really don’t know how to respond to her accusation given that it’s true. So you just toss your hair behind your shoulder, glancing around at the crowded ballroom. “How unofficial for a princess.”

“I wouldn’t tease,” Caitlyn warns, moving behind you so her breath ghosts over the back of your neck. She doesn’t miss the gooseflesh that springs up at the contact, and she has to bite back a smirk. To anyone in attendance at the ball, it would just look like she’s fixing your dress. Her plan, you suppose.

You swallow, keeping your eyes trained on the opposite wall of the ballroom. So no one will suspect anything, you tell yourself. Definitely not because it makes you straighten up a little more and listen to every word she says when she uses that authoritative tone of hers.

“Hm,” Caitlyn lets a hint of a smug smile grace her features as she moves again, this time in front of you so your gazes lock. “I suppose I’ll see you later.” She leaves you with a brush of your hands before drifting off to rejoin Cassandra, Piltover’s queen and her mother.

You’re frozen for a moment, unsure of your next move. After a few seconds, you blink rapidly to compose yourself before moving over to take a glass of the champagne Mel had mentioned earlier. You really need a drink.

I------» ~~~ «------I

“Gods,” you exhale shakily as your body’s practically slammed against a wall. The precaution is a pale hand that cradles the back of your head, shielding it from hurt.

Caitlyn noses into the corner of your jaw as a silent apology before her mouth drops, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat. The scent of her shampoo floods your senses — some kind of flower, maybe?  

It’s been maybe an hour since the ball’s end, and you had come to check on Caitlyn before going to bed for the night. Though, not before stopping by your room to freshen up. Your guess had been proven right when she had opened her bedroom door at the first sound of your knock, yanking you inside with zero hesitation. She had been waiting for her chance, it seemed.

You can’t help another breathy sigh as her lips find your pulse point, sucking the sensitive skin into her mouth in a way that makes your hands find her shoulders, squeezing gently. “No marks,” you breathe, and you can feel Caitlyn’s annoyed huff against your neck.

“Why can’t I just mark what I want?” She presses another hot kiss to your pulse. She’s almost like a child, pouting over things she can’t have. But it’s not either of your doings. 

You can’t say anything to that because, if it had been your decision, you would have let her paint your neck with her love bites long ago. Caitlyn, too, seems to notice your tension, and she lifts her head back up. “You’re thinking too much,” she murmurs, her nose brushing against yours. “Don’t.”

Any reply dies on your tongue as Caitlyn kisses you with a fiery passion, presses of lips turning into the strokes of her tongue into your mouth. Her knee finds its way between your thighs, even with both of you still adorning your long dresses. You gasp, but she swallows it, continuing to kiss you deeply like she’s been wanting to for hours.

“Still worked up from earlier?” Her mouth breaks from yours, lips twisting into a lazy smirk. 

Your cheeks flush with a pink hue, and you glare at her. You both had gotten more than a little distracted when you had helped her get ready for the ball, ending with heated kisses and grinding that did little to relieve your ache for her. “Don’t tease.”

“Mm, you’re telling me what to do now?” All it takes is an arch of Caityn’s eyebrows and your gaze drops from hers. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, conceding by leaning up to kiss her jaw. Though, when you see the muscle flex, you feel a sense of satisfaction rush through you. She’s not as immune to you as she might pretend. That much is clear when she tugs you over to her bed, bringing you to straddle her lap.

“You’re making me crazy,” Caitlyn mouths at your collarbone, her hand sliding up the slit of your dress to squeeze your thigh. “I hated everyone looking at you. You’re mine to look at.”

“Ah,” you sigh, running a hand through her now-messy navy hair, the locks tangling in your fingers. “Everyone’s looking at you, Princess.”

Caitlyn’s icy eyes flash at your emphasis of her title, and before you know it, she’s flipped you onto you back on her bed, one of her hands pinning both of yours above your head. “That’s not what you call me when we’re alone.” 

“Cait-"

“Nope,” she tightens her grip on your wrists as punishment. “Try again.”

“Mommy-"

“There we go,” Caitlyn coos, letting your hands free and trailing her perfectly manicured nails down your arms. “Now, why don’t we get you out of this dress, hm?”

She’s tugging at the zipper of your dress before you can even respond, and you arch your back — half to give her more access and half because this all feels so good that you crave more. More of this, more of her.

And when Caitlyn tosses the fabric to the floor without sparing a glance at it, you swear the look in her eyes is predatory as she stares at you in your lingerie. “Beautiful,” she breathes, like she hasn’t seen you before, and you feel a wave of heat straight down to your core. 

“You knew I’d do this,” Caitlyn accuses, making quick work of slipping off your bra and panties. More specifically, the navy set that's her favorite of your lingerie. She claims it’s because the color suits you, but you know better. You know it’s because she likes you in her color: a silent claim on you. “You wore this knowing I’d want to fuck you.”

“You want to fuck me?” You question in mock-surprise, though immediately regret teasing her when she tangles your hair in her fist and angles your face up to meet hers.

“What was that?” Caitlyn’s voice is strict, composed even as her other hand grips your hip so hard you’re sure it’ll bruise. 

“Nothing,” you’re quick to assure, because if you sass her, Caitlyn won’t let you come. And gods, you want to come. She’s already worked you up so much that your thighs are slick with anticipation.

“And?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “‘m sorry, Mommy.”

“Good,” she releases your hair to move down your body and you hate how much wetter you get at the smallest of praise. “Now, be a darling and spread your legs.”

Your thighs fall open at the order, and you don’t have to see Caitlyn’s face to feel the smug pride radiating off her. She presses her thumb to your swollen clit and coos at the strangled gasp you let out. “I- please,” you whimper, pleading for any kind of relief.

But Caitlyn, though very sweet and attentive, is just a little bit mean, too. So she teases her fingers along your soaked slit, not giving you the penetration you desire. “What do you want, love? Fingers, tongue-?”

“Anything,” you whine because it feels like she’s been baiting you forever now, if only a few minutes. 

“So desperate for me” Caitlyn smirks teasingly as her gaze meets yours, but gives in all the same, plunging two fingers into you. Because she loves it — loves how badly you need her. She starts slow, but eventually builds up speed when you whimper in protest.

“Oh,” you mewl, fisting at her sheets when she angles her fingers upwards to meet that sweet spot inside you that dissolves you into pure pleasure. “Oh, please, I need-"

“Shh, I know,” Caitlyn soothes, her other hand on your thigh surprisingly gentle, a contrast to the rapid thrusts of her fingers. And she does. She’s so in-tuned to your needs, knows exactly how you like to be touched after months of secret affairs that no one in the palace would suspect.

With that, her lips wrap around your aching clit and suck, tongue teasing your most sensitive nerves as her fingers continue their rough motions inside you. You let out a squeal of pleasure, immediately clapping a hand over your mouth to muffle your noises. But Caitlyn doesn’t let up in her relentless stimulation, and it doesn’t take long for you to keen into your palm as you come around her fingers.

She helps you through your release, letting your hips angle against her mouth as your orgasm racks through your body, before she gently slips her fingers out. You shakily prop yourself up on your elbows and god, you could come again just from the dark look in her icy eyes as she looks up at you from between your thighs. “Fuck, Caitlyn.”

“You’re not done, you know,” Caitlyn murmurs, smiling all the same as she moves up your body to kiss you. 

“I know,” you mumble against her lips, reaching up to tug her hips down to meet yours. Caitlyn hisses, shifting to slip off her own lingerie before pressing her dripping core against yours. “Wanna stay like this forever.”

And, as she descends upon you once again, the brief thought enters your mind that you really hope you get to stay like this forever. Even if forever is only until the sun comes up.

Ugh. Need her.

As said, this is my first time writing smut so...I hope it didn't suck? Thank you sm for all the love and support on my writing in the month-ish I've been on here! Sending love to everyone <3

Reminder that my inbox/requests are open :)

[chessboredom]

I'm going insane making so much fucking gifs out of that trailer but you could see how Smilk's eyes are looking away/at each other like a subtle self consciousness/subconscious guilt having to make PV suffer just so he could understand what he's going through as a Fount of Knowledge having to find out that so many things in existence is a beautiful lie covering painful truths.

"... and your entire life has been a lie... Do you regret it? Do you regret... everything?!" He is talking to Pure Vanilla, but he made Pure Vanilla dress up AS HIS PRE-CORRUPTED SELF. HE'S PROJECTIIIIIIINGG

DON'T get me started on Shadow Milk's SERIOUS face(masked slipped off) starts glitching, his hair also swept to the side, showing Pure Vanilla's face, like it's just screaming with "You will become me... as I was once you." and then goes back to his Act of Making Pure Vanilla Cookie Suffer As Much As Possible.

AND PURE VANILLA JUST ACCEPTING GETTING CRUMBLED UNDER SMILK'S HAND LIKE?? I know how self sacrificial he is, but this is him Understanding. He is SMILING.

"Will we able to find happiness?"<- the Light of Truth. "Yes, hope is the first step towards a better world for everyone. If I could win, you will too." HE *IS* THE HOPE. HE IS TRUTH IS THE OCEAN OF DECIET. HE IS THE BRIGHTEST STAR IN THE VAST EMPTINESS OF SPACE. HE WANTS PEACE FOR EVERYONE. AUGH I'M GONNA EXPLOODE,,, GOOOOD I LOVE THIS SO MUCH

[servicpop]

short n' sweet ♡ valentines day special　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　adrien ( delinquent oc ) x student president m reader

ⓘ　fluff fluff fluff ! jealous adrien , reader gets confessed to by a girl

A day where cupid strings his bow and aims his arrow at couples is the day you spend the most time stringing up heart decorations around the school. Its only a few small splashes of pink ribbons and red hearts since Valentines isn't a huge thing—some people simply don't enjoy it as much as Christmas or others—but it's a nice opportunity to liven up the school with some fun flare.

For the most part, you can see cheesy couples receive bouquets neatly arranged into something pretty for their partner or love letters being handed out the old-fashioned way. You weren't a big celebrator seeing as you didn't have a romantic partner. Of course the occasional chocolates being given to friends was a tradition you practised when nobody bothered to give you a flower or a sweet confession.

But this year was different.

After finishing the decorations, you took the time to wander the grounds before returning to your councillor room. It was early enough for the walk to be rather peaceful with the occasional wave to people you knew when they walked by. Reaching the room you, place your hand on the doorknob, twisting it until it makes that click before a hand plants on your shoulder.

“Been awhile.”

You turn your head to see him in the flesh. Adrien, with that shit-eating grin. It was completely out of character for him to show up so early—or show up at all. That fact alone sent shivers down your spine. A coincidence that he shows up bright and early on valentines day?

“Bit late but,” Adrien takes a moment to exhale before his eyes meet yours.

“Will you be my valentines?”

You stand there, blankly staring at him. No flowers, no chocolates and certainly no handwritten love letter stamped with a wax seal as you were wishing for. He couldn't have been this unromantic. For all you knew, Adrien was just some ill-mannered guy who weaseled his way into your life thinking he had you wrapped around his finger just because you two 'hooked up' underneath the staircase.

“No.” Short and sharp; unintentional or not. Sure you liked him, a little more than you'd ever wanted to admit, but Valentines was meant to be unrealistically romantic, a day where you can feel like you're living in those old romance films.

“What?” You could hear the confusion in Adrien's voice as he watches you brush past him and slam the door infront of his face, drowning out his complaints through the door.

That whole ordeal in the morning definitely wilted your mood. The entire morning session of classes felt like a drag as if time was purposefully going slower each time you glanced at the clock.

You were probably the first person to leave the classroom when you were dismissed, rushing out to your locker to reunite with your friends in hopes of charging your social battery.

“Hey— prez? I have, um, something for you.” The nickname felt like deja vu, like you've been called it countless times by a certain someone. But it wasn't him; it was a girl around your age or even younger. In her hands was a square, pink box with 'milk chocolate' printed in a cursive font. Her face was flushed pink and it looked as though if she met eyes with you, she'd melt under your gaze. On top of the chocolates was a pretty letter with equally pretty handwriting.

It undoubtedly made you smile even if it was just a little.

You accepted her gift, making sure you flashed a polite smile at her before watching her scurry off like it had been the hardest thing of her life to come up to you like that. It was charming in a way. You skimmed the letter which was mainly just her stating her appreciation for you and how she wanted to get to know you better with her name signed at the bottom with a small heart next to it.

A few of your friends who had just made it out of class had witnessed the whole scene, patting your back and pawing at the chocolates like hyenas. It wouldn't hurt to share the love, especially when your friends seemed like they'd die without sugar.

You let them all take one before sealing the box and placing it in your locker for later, you pocketed the note just so you didn't accidentally lose it or have it slip out.

Come to think of it, the more the day went by, the more you noticed a lack of Adrien. Usually he'd make an appearance by now, whether that was to stare at you with a smirk while you walked by eachother or to 'accidentally' brush your arm on any opportunity he got.

You made nothing of it though, it was probably because he thought today was boring—given all the couples would boast their affection towards eachother in the hallways—and decided to skip. It was typical of him to do so. But it still weighed in your mind all the way until the home bell rung.

Your locker was the last stop before you could go home, opening the metal door to see that your box of chocolates were gone; replaced.

Godiva chocolates in the shape of a heart, a letter sealed in an envelope, and a bouquet of flowers that look strangely like the ones from the school garden was neatly arranged in your locker.

“Do you like it?” You practically jump out your skin as your turn to see the man you haven't seen the while day.

“You put this here?” You ask, looking back at the gifts stuffed in your locker.

“Who else would— nevermind don't answer that.” You could tell from the furrowed set of his eyebrows that he was pissed off about something, like it bothered him enough to replace the chocolates you were given.

“I thought that maybe you didn't like how forward I was this morning.” It was one of those rare occasions where Adrien wouldn't have that cocky look on his face or that teasing lilt to his tone. He wore an almost shy expression, like he wasn't used to giving gifts this romantic.

“Seeing as you liked that girl's gift so much.” You could hear the venom roll off his tongue when he said that.

You glance down at what Adrien gave you. Godiva wasn't a cheap brand and those flowers would probably have taken Adrien awhile to personally pick and choose the ones you liked to plant in the gardens. Your heart flutters at the thought that maybe Adrien was gone the whole day because he was trying to pick up gifts for you, all cause he felt a little guilty.

“I know its over the top but—” “I like it.”

He pauses and stares down at you like its the most baffling thing in the world to hear you say 'I like it.' You look up at him, and you can't hold your smile back—this time, you smile wholeheartedly.

“Thanks, Adrien,” You look both ways to see if anyone was watching and you lean up to kiss just shy of his lips on the corners of his mouth. It was a quick peck as you almost instantly pulled back to pack up your things and walk past him.

He stands there, frozen in place before his own fingers touch his face, grazing over the spot you kissed him at.

There's a sharp bang of his fist against the neighbouring lockers as he internally crumbles, holding his face like he needed to shield what was left of your fleeting kiss.

A victory perhaps?

a / n ; dividers made by anitalenia , and the gift graphics are made by my dearest anby !

[missdynamighttt]

AGHHH sitting on bf! katsuki's shoulders while he cooks to make up for skipping the gym.

katsuki was supposed to hit the gym today. he really was. but the moment you wrapped yourself around him in bed, all thoughts of training went out the window.

“shit,” he muttered, stretching his arms above his head. “didn’t even work out today.”

you, still groggy but entirely unrepentant, grinned and nuzzled into his neck. “you worked out your patience.”

"yeah? and you worked out my ability to say no.”

you grinned wider. “exactly.”

even after every time he tried to move to adjust himself, you clung to him like a koala, nuzzling into his chest, whining about how warm and comfortable he was. and damn it, how was he supposed to leave when you looked so damn cute?

so yeah, gym? skipped. gains? delayed. but cuddles? so fucking worth it.

now, in the kitchen, katsuki is making up for it. sort of. with you sitting comfortably on his broad shoulders.

he'd already deadlifted you a few times while waiting for the pancake to cook, grumbling half-heartedly when you cheered like he was performing in the olympics.

"you're way too happy about this," he muttered, flipping a pancake with precision despite your weight balanced on his shoulders.

"that's because you're my personal chef now," you teased, playing with the strands of his hair like you were styling them. "and i'm basically remy."

"tch... the rat from ratatouille?"

"yeah!"

he snorted, shaking his head slightly to mess up whatever you were doing. "the hell you are. you ain't cookin’ shit."

"excuse you! i am the mastermind behind this whole operation, thank you very much. you're just my hands."

katsuki rolled his eyes, but he couldn't hide the smirk tugging at his lips. "yeah? then where's my little chef hat, huh?"

you gasped dramatically. "oh my god, we need to get you one!"

"like hell we do," he scoffed, adjusting his grip on your legs as he effortlessly lifted you up again, just because he could. you let out a small squeak, gripping onto his hair, and he chuckled.

"okay, okay, you're strong, we get it," you laughed, ruffling his hair. "now, my strong, muscular, incredibly attractive boyfriend—flip that pancake before it burns."

“i ain't lettin’ you control me," katsuki clicked his tongue but did as you commanded, all while holding you up like you weighed nothing. he should’ve gone to the gym today, sure—but honestly? this was way better.

"i practically do," you tug lightly on his hair, and to your delight, his head moves slightly in the direction you pull.

katsuki freezes. “...did you just try to steer me like a damn car?”

you laugh. “maybe.”

“hmph, you’re lucky i love you,” he mutters, adjusting your weight like it’s nothing. “but if you try to puppet-master me again, i’m droppin’ your ass.”

you grin, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head. “i love you too. and no you won’t.”

katsuki sighs, but you feel his shoulders shake with a quiet chuckle. yeah, okay, maybe he won’t.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ saw this on twt but i cant find the video again☹️☹️ hope you enjoyed!!💜

[whateveriwant]

How the 141 Fuck

18+ only, GN!reader

Price

Right off the bat, let’s get one thing straight. John Price doesn’t fuck, he makes love

He has a very “it’s a marathon, not a sprint” kind of mindset towards sex. His work life is so fast paced, high adrenaline, always go-go-go-go, so in the bedroom he likes to really take his time and slow things down

Unhurried, powerful thrusts that let you feel every inch of him as it pushes into you

Likes a hands-on mouths-on approach – tugging your nipple between his teeth, teasing your earlobe with the tip of his tongue, tasting your mouth as he’s deep inside you

Once he finishes, don’t think he’s going to pull out any time soon. After all, you wouldn’t want his cock to get cold throughout the night, right?

Gaz

Kyle likes to tap into the intimacy side of sex. As such, he often falls into ritualistic tendencies that heighten this sensation – sultry music, mood lighting, showering together before/after, etc.

He fucks you steadily, with smooth rolls of his hips, like the sure motion of a wave gently flowing back to shore

Loves prolonged eye contact. It doesn’t matter who’s going down on who or who’s under who, he wants your eyes on his always

Though he’s fairly delicate with you, he’s not afraid to get a little rough when the occasion calls for it (like seeking out his treasured eye contact, for example)

Will pull you back by the hair or grab you by the jaw to make you turn around and look at him. And if the position is too difficult to easily maintain your gaze, well, that’s what mirrors are for

Soap

Johnny is a freak in the streets AND the sheets and there’s no way you can convince me otherwise

For starters, he is mes-sy. Sex always ends with you both covered in a healthy mixture of lube, spit, and cum

He has an erratic quality to the way he fucks – jackhammering into you one moment as hard and fast as possible before he’s stopping completely, holding himself still inside you because he likes to feel you squirm on it

Always does a little too much in bed. Things like slipping a vibrator in his ass as he’s got his mouth on you or bucking up into you as he has you ride and choke him are not out of the ordinary

I hope you don’t get tired easily, because he is never ever ever satisfied after just one round

Ghost

I think realistically, Simon is not super adventurous in the bedroom, but what he does, he does very well

Sharp, staccato thrusts. Deep, breath-punching thrusts. Bed creaking, headboard rattling, having your neighbor angrily banging on the wall kind of thrusts

He prefers to be on top, lying flat against you as he fucks you into the mattress. He does this not because he craves control or wants to smother you or something; he just wants to be as close to you as possible

Goes out of his way to ensure you’re always having a good time. Nothing gets him harder than hearing your loud, enthusiastic consent

Don’t be surprised when you find yourself stumbling around like a newborn deer the morning after. That just means he did his job right the night before

[puck-luck]

Hi, girly. I hope I find you fine.

I'd like to make a request with Quinn. Could you write something where reader is feeling down, like after a day of dealing with friends/family drama and she is just drained, plus they are at the lake house and yk all the boys are there but she doesn't feel like having dinner or hanging out with them, she just wants to cuddle and recharge and Q just excuses himself to be with her and hopefully makes her feel better.

Thank you so much 💓

warnings: cockwarming. that's IT. other than that, it's just domestic bliss.

pairing: quinn hughes x fem!reader

word count: 1,229

note: thank you @skylershines for requesting this! sorry it took me a while to finish :,) this ask wasn't inherently sexual, but since i am a smut writer, i had to throw in a sexual element or two. i am not THE fluff girl on tumblr dot com LOL but love you girly

The boys are downstairs making a ruckus about something. You’re starting to wonder if they ever tire themselves out, or if they’re always full of energy like this. The day has been long and chock-full of activities and you’re… rather exhausted.

Maybe it’s because of all the sun you soaked up on the boat that’s making you sleepy. Maybe it’s the swimming you did or the wine with the big, filling, home-cooked meal that Quinn made. Maybe it’s from the flight from Vancouver to Michigan two days ago that’s making you so tired. Maybe it’s the knowledge that you’re working from home– Quinn’s home– tomorrow and you can’t dedicate all your time to the fun happenings in the vacation home.

All in all, you don’t know what the root of your exhaustion is, but you know that there’s no way you want to leave this bed again today. You’re due for a good rot. You’ve got a book in hand and you’re all tucked in beneath the covers and the fact that it’s only 7:30pm doesn’t matter to you one bit. The sun hasn’t even started to set, but here you are, ready for bed.

Between the lines in your book, you can piece together what the boys are talking about downstairs. Trevor wants a bonfire. Jack and Luke want to go wakesurfing. Alex doesn’t care, but he wants someone to make a decision. Cole wants to stay in and play ping pong. You’re secretly hoping that the fact that you can’t really hear your boyfriend arguing with his brothers and friends means that he’ll be coming upstairs to join you soon.

It isn’t long before you hear feetsteps padding up the stairs and making their way towards the bedroom you share with Quinn. You continue reading, paying no mind to the man entering the room, but there’s a hint of a smile on your face. 

“Hey,” Quinn greets in a low, relaxed tone. He kisses the top of your head, hovering by your side of the bed. “The boys want to do something. Are you up for it?”

Not really. “What do they want to do?” you ask, not sure if they’d come to an agreement by the time Quinn joined you upstairs. You don’t really want to join the boys, but you don’t want to seem like a spoilsport during your first trip to the lakehouse. Being a recluse won’t get you any favors, no matter how much Quinn likes you. You might be able to go downstairs and sit by a bonfire or watch from the couch while the boys play ping pong. Sitting on the boat wouldn’t be that bad, but you’d have to change out of your pajamas (a cute little slip that you packed just for Quinn). You also know that “one hour on the boat” never actually means one hour on the boat. It always stretches into two or three. So, really, you’d rather stay in.

“Thinking about going out on the boat,” Quinn replies, because you’re really not that lucky when it comes down to it.

Again, you’re faced with a dilemma: you can go with them and feel tired and cranky or you can stay here and feel like you’re not being a good girlfriend by joining the group. There’s not really a good option. At least in this bed, you’ll be warm.

“I kind of just want to stay in bed, if that’s okay,” you tell Quinn with a small shrug. “But I don’t want them to think that I’m boring or anything. I’m just tired.”

Quinn lets out a laugh. “They don’t think you’re boring. Are you okay, though? I know your ‘just tired’ can mean something else sometimes.”

He’s so sweet. You’ve been with Quinn less than a year, but he’s still managed to note your idiosyncrasies and moods perfectly. “I’m okay, sweet boy.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

A wave of affection passes through you. “Do what you want, Q. You choose. I won’t say no to cuddling you all night, but don’t stay on my account.”

“Just let me tell the guys to go without me,” Quinn replies. He leans down and meets your lips. “Then I’ll be back.”

He departs, but his return is quick. He brings his own book and gets into his pajamas– nothing but his boxer shorts– before joining you under the covers. Quinn throws an arm over your shoulders and opens his book, settling in.

You read together in silence for a little while. You start to get bored and allow yourself two more chapters– after checking to see just how long those chapters were, six and eight pages respectively– before you close your book and set it on the nightstand. You slide down the bed a bit, wrapping your arm around Quinn’s waist and squishing your cheek against his chest. 

Quinn rubs your arm. “Sleepy, babe?” he asks.

You hum, turning your face into his bare skin and planting a kiss there. “You’re warm.”

Quinn breathes out a laugh. He pulls you closer; you’re practically on his lap now. You might as well finish the job and get comfortable, so you straddle Quinn and bury your face in his neck, kissing the skin there. Quinn brings his hand to your back and runs his fingers up and down the expanse of it in soothing motions. 

It tickles at first, making you squirm. After a minute or so, you relax into the touch– and a few minutes after that, you find yourself grinding down against Quinn’s rapidly-filling cock.

“Quinn,” you murmur in his ear. You pull back and meet his eyes, trying to convey what you want with just a look. 

You don’t want much. You’re still tired and drained from the day, completely washed out from the swimming and boating and sunbathing you’d been thinking of earlier. All you want is to have Quinn close.

“Yeah,” he replies with a nod. He sets his book aside and encourages you to kneel up just enough that he can slide the waistband of his boxers down and free his cock. 

Greedily, you try to grind against his shaft as soon as it’s free, but Quinn halts you with a soft touch from his free hand. 

He fists the base of his cock and pulls the crotch of your panties to the side, using the pads of his deft fingers to spread your folds. His eyes are hooded and loving as his tip breaches your hole, and he starts to smile when you sink down and settle against him. 

“Oh,” you breathe out once you take him fully, clenching down and loosening your grip on his cock a few times before melting into Quinn. 

“Sweet girl,” Quinn praises in the tone that’s just for you. He plants his hands on your hips and kisses your lips.

Neither of you make an effort to move. In fact, you find yourself growing very drowsy in Quinn’s comforting arms. His distinct, tender touch has your head lulling forward, falling against his shoulder. Quinn breathes deeply and you follow, matching him. The smell of his bodywash fills your nose and you close your eyes, taking another breath.

It’s not inherently sexual, having Quinn’s cock inside you and his lips on your skin. It is, however, exactly what you needed after such an exhausting day.

[malsmind]

pineapple juice

chris sturniolo x reader !established relationship

summary: chris came across a tiktok at night, giving him an idea for the next time you go down on him.

warnings: smut, oral (m recieving), dirty talk, pet names (baby, ma), cum eating, slight hair pulling, face fucking

author's note: had this idea while studying LOL, hope u like it!

wc: 877

english is not my first language!

it was one of those nights, chris laid in bed, scrolling trough tiktok, unable to sleep. he rolled over in bed, a soft sigh leaving his lips. his eyes narrowed in concentration, reading what the text on a tiktok said that he had on his foryoupage. "can pineapple juice really change the taste of semen?".

he watched the tiktok, listening to the guy on his screen explaining and educating the internet about the myth of pinapple changing the taste of cum. when the video came to an end, chris put his phone down, deciding he'd finally had enough of endlessly scrolling trough his phone. he laid awake in bed for a bit, thinking about the tiktok he just watched before he eventually fell asleep.

waking up the next morning, he got up, walked into the kitchen and poured himself a glas of pineapple juice, drinking it while sending you a good morning text. you were currently visiting a friend that lived a little further away from where you and chris lived, making you temporarily long distance, which wasn't a problem, especially not since chris had a plan.

...

every morning since seeing that tiktok, chris had consumed a good amount of pinapple juice, even cutting pineapple up and eating the few slices it provided troughout the day. today, you were finally coming back home.

chris was sat on the couch, waiting for your arrival. he heard your keys unlocking the front door, the soft thud of the small suitcase you had taken with you hitting the floor echoing trough the house. you walked towards the living room, spotting chris on the couch, immediatly jumping into his arms and hugging him. "i missed you." you mumbled into his neck, and he squeezed you in response, kissing the top of your head. "how was your time there, did you have fun baby?" chris asked you, leaning his head back to look down at you. "i did, it was so nice catching up again, but i really missed you." you chuckled, making him chuckle too. after looking at him for a little with neither of you saying anything to properly talk about you little trip, a small smirk formed on your lips, chris immediatly matching it. "yeah? what else did you miss, ma?" his voice was low, hands traveling from your hips to your ass, giving it a light squeeze. you put your lips to his neck, pressing soft kisses to the sensetive skin, making chris suck in a sharp breath. "i could show you..." you whispered against his neck.

before you knew it, you were on your knees infront of the couch, sitting between chris's spread legs, his sweats and boxers tugged down to his ankles, his dick in your mouth, tip repeatedly hitting the back of your throat. "shit." he exhaled, "missed my cock so much, hm?" he said, tilting his head to the side, looking at you in awe as you gagged around him, trying to take in as much as you could. "look so fuckin' good like this, baby." his hands grabbed your hair, guiding your head carefully. your hands grabbed his thighs, your soft moans sending vibrations trough his dick. "just like that." he breathed out, tightening his grip in your hair, bucking his hips up, fucking into your mouth at a faster pace. chris knew he wouldn't last long, he never did when your pretty lips wrapped around his dick so delicately. your occaisonal gags made him bite his moans back, loving the feeling of you struggling to take him fully, you both loved it.

his hips thrusted into your mouth faster, moans leaving his lips, his eyes never leaving the scene in front of him. "gonna make me cum. you want it? you want me to cum in your mouth, ma?" chris groaned when you sucked harder, answering his question, no words needed. his hips bucked up, breathy moans leaving his lips. "so.. fuck... so fuckin' good." he moaned. the harder and faster his thrusts got, the more you gagged. gasps and moans left chris's lips, he let go of your hair, pulling out of your mouth.

you stuck your tongue out, looking up at him. his hand wrapped around his dick, stroking himself. "gonna swallow f'me? gonna be a good girl, hm?" he asked, tilting his head, you nodded. his stomach tightened, mouth opening as loud moans left his lips, warm drops of sweet cum dripping down onto your tongue. once his stroking slowed down and every last drop of him was placed on your tongue, you pulled it back in, closing your mouth and swallowing, then sticking it back out to show him. he smiled down at you, biting his lip, waiting for you to say something.

once you registered the taste, how it was sweeter than usual, you smiled up at him. "wait, you actually did that?" you asked with a chuckle and he frowned in confusioun. "how'd you know?"

"you sent it to me, chris." you laughed. he didn't even realise that he sent you the tiktok, he was literally half asleep when he watched it. apperantly, awake enough to remember how he wanted to try it out, but not awake enough to realise he'd accidentally sent it to you.

dividers by @issysh3ll

@middlepartmatt @emely9274 @impossiblecollectorcat @staargazr @sllutty-sturniolo @shadowthesim237 @sturns-mermaid @courta13 @grace-sturnz @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan