#if u actually read all this props to u

[punkcherries]

everyone whittled me down and i watched arcane. it was alright

[kaiyunsim]

serendipity —

pairing : spider-man!jake x gn!reader

summary : a late night studying session with shinyu results in a weird stalker following you home… but wait, he’s webbed to the wall..? by… SPIDER-MAN? what’s even weirder is that you find yourself running yourself running into the hero more often and begin to see some similarities with… jake sim?

warnings : FLUFF, very very oblivious reader, jake is SUCH a loser here (i crave a loser bf guys… he’s just a nerd), jake is popular, shinyu as a friend of the reader

a/n : omg everyone thank @writhyv for getting me back to writing for jake ! ALSO for getting me to write a hot loser jake (i love it very much) GIFT FOR HIM !! thank u pook ilysm.

queueing… : serendipity - laufey, sweet - cigarettes after sex, safety zone - leehi, blue - kai (not yung kai)

— wc : 7.5k — not proof read —

jake sim is the kind of guy who could ruin your entire life without even trying.

he’s the hottest person you’ve ever seen in real life. like, actually hot. perfect hair, perfect smile, broad shoulders under whatever hoodie he always throws on like he didn't just accidentally win the genetic lottery. he’s popular in the way that feels effortless, always surrounded by people who seem to orbit around him like he’s some kind of sun.

the whole school loves him. teachers, athletes, the kids who sit in the back of class and never talk. jake sim could probably trip and faceplant in the middle of the hallway and people would still clap for him.

the only weird part is that he’s also… kind of a loser.

you don’t really know him, just know of him. he’s in a few of your classes, close enough to be a familiar face but not close enough for either of you to actually talk. if anything, he’s just background noise in your life, one of those people who exists on the edge of your universe without ever really crossing into it.

except sometimes, every now and then, you feel like he’s acting a little… strange around you.

not that you think too hard about it. probably nothing.

the first time it happens, you don’t even clock it as anything weird.

it’s in english class, some group discussion where nobody’s actually talking, just pretending to think really hard about the book none of you actually read. you’re flipping through the pages when you feel someone staring.

you glance up, and there he is. jake sim.

he’s sitting diagonally across from you, elbow propped on the desk, eyes locked on you like he’s trying to figure out the meaning of life or something.

you blink at him.

he blinks back.

and then, like he just got caught committing a crime, he whips his head down, pretending to scribble something in his notebook with the intensity of someone writing their final will and testament.

...okay. weird, but whatever.

the second time, it’s in the hallway between classes.

you're digging through your locker, minding your own business, when you hear someone clear their throat behind you.

“uh—hi.”

you turn around.

jake sim is standing there, clutching his textbook like it's a lifeline. up close, he's even hotter, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, hair falling into his eyes.

he's also… kind of red in the face?

“hey?” you offer, confused.

he opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, then immediately shuts it again.

“never mind,” he mutters, spinning on his heel and walking away so fast you'd think the hallway was on fire.

...what the hell was that?

it keeps happening.

little moments that should probably add up to something if you actually paid attention, but you don’t, because jake sim is jake sim, and you’re just you.

he stumbles over his words when you ask to borrow a pencil. drops his entire water bottle when you accidentally brush past him in class. one time, you catch him fully tripping over absolutely nothing when you make eye contact with him across the cafeteria.

but for some reason, your brain just files it all away under wow, popular guys are weird sometimes and moves on.

if anyone ever asked you what you think of jake sim, you’d probably just shrug and say he’s nice.

you don't know that he’s been in love with you since sophomore year.

you don't know that every time he tries to talk to you, his brain completely shuts down.

and you definitely don’t know that the same guy who turns into a stammering mess around you spends his nights swinging across the city, cracking jokes and saving people as if confidence is something that comes built into the suit.

the third time you actually talk to him is in chemistry class.

the teacher pairs you up for some experiment, something involving measurements and burning stuff, and jake ends up at your table, tapping his pen against the notebook like he’s trying to act casual.

"can you pass me the beaker?" you ask.

he freezes.

his eyes flick to the beaker, then to you, then back to the beaker like it's a bomb he’s been assigned to defuse.

"...yeah," he says, voice cracking on the single syllable.

you don’t think anything of it, just reach for the beaker when he hands it over. your fingers brush against his, and he drops it.

it clatters against the table, rolling onto the floor with a loud clink.

"oh."

jake looks like he wants to melt through the floor.

"it's fine," you say, bending down to grab it. “at least it didn’t break” you joke to lighten to mood.

he doesn't move, just sits there gripping the edge of the table like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

you offer him a small smile when you straighten up, placing the beaker back on the table.

"chill," you joke. "it's not that serious."

jake visibly short-circuits.

"chill," he echoes, like it's the first time he's ever heard the word in his life.

if someone told you jake sim had a crush on you, you’d probably laugh.

guys like him don’t go for people like you.

guys like him date cheerleaders or instagram models or the kind of girls who know exactly how to flip their hair and laugh in that effortless, pretty way.

not people who half-ass their homework and accidentally fall asleep during history lectures.

definitely not people who would rather have deep conversations on rooftops than go to parties.

but what you don’t know is that those are all the exact reasons jake likes you.

he likes the way you always stick your tongue out a little when you’re concentrating. he likes how you always hum to yourself when you think nobody’s listening. he likes how you talk to everyone the same, never acting like anybody’s above or below you.

he likes you.

and it’s ruining his life.

—

"do you think jake sim is... weird?"

shinyu raises an eyebrow. "weird how?"

you frown, trying to find the right words.

"i don’t know. like... awkward? around me?"

he snorts. "he's awkward around everyone."

"not really."

shinyu pauses, eyes narrowing like he’s finally catching onto something you've been missing this whole time.

"...wait." he leans in. "do you seriously not realize he's into you?"

you blink.

"what?"

"oh my god." he gape at you like you're the dumbest person alive. "he's had a crush on you since, like, forever."

you genuinely laugh at that, because there's no way.

right?

meanwhile, across the cafeteria, jake sim is currently choking on his water because he saw you glance in his direction for half a second.

sunghoon pats his back, looking vaguely concerned.

"bro, you have superpowers, but you can't even talk to your crush?"

jake coughs harder. he’s so, so doomed.

—

you don’t try to stay out late. it just happens.

sometimes it’s because you lose track of time, caught up in the city’s glow. sometimes it’s because you’re walking home after a long study session, brain fried from trying to shove too much information into it at once.

tonight, it’s the latter.

shinyu yawns next to you, stretching his arms over his head as you both step out of the library. “i swear, if i have to look at one more page of notes, i’m throwing my entire textbook into the river.”

“you say that every time,” you point out.

“and one of these days, i’ll actually do it.”

you snort, tugging your hoodie closer around you. it’s late enough that the streets are quieter than usual, the hum of distant traffic the only real sound. most of the shops have already shut down, save for the 24-hour convenience store at the corner.

shinyu pulls out his phone. “should i call a cab?”

“nah,” you shake your head. “i’ll just walk.”

he frowns. “are you sure? it’s kinda late.”

“i always do this. i’ll be fine.”

he hesitates, clearly debating whether or not to argue, but eventually sighs. “alright. text me when you get home, though.”

“yes, mom.”

he rolls his eyes, flicking your forehead before heading off in the opposite direction.

you stuff your hands into your pockets and start walking.

your route home is familiar, same streets, same flickering streetlights, same little shop windows reflecting the glow of the city back at you. you don’t feel unsafe. if anything, you like walking at night. there’s something peaceful about it, something that makes the world feel a little softer around the edges.

but then—

you hear footsteps behind you.

at first, you don’t think much of it. there are always other people out and about. but as you keep walking, the sound stays steady, just far enough behind that you can’t tell if it’s a coincidence or something else.

your stomach twists. ‘who the fuck is walking around the same route as you at 2am..?’ you think to yourself.

you glance over your shoulder.

a man. mid-thirties, maybe. hood pulled up over his head.

the moment your eyes meet, he quickly looks away, pretending to check his phone.

your heart beats a little faster. you’re probably overreacting.

but then you turn the corner, and the footsteps turn with you.

you pick up your pace.

so do they.

your chest tightens. okay. okay. you’re not imagining it.

you scan the street for other people, but it’s mostly empty. the nearest open shop is too far ahead, and the alley you just passed is—

wait.

your stomach drops.

you didn’t even hear him move, but suddenly, he’s not behind you anymore.

he’s right there.

you barely have time to react before he grabs your wrist, grip too tight, breath too close. “hey—”

before you can even think to scream, something flies past you—fast, sharp.

and suddenly, the man is yanked backwards.

one second he’s gripping you, the next he’s pinned to the alley wall, struggling against thick strands of white webbing wrapped tight around his torso.

your breath catches in your throat.

what.

your brain barely has time to process it before—

“hey,” a voice calls.

you turn, heart still pounding.

and standing there, perched casually on the edge of a lamppost, is spider-man.

your mouth goes dry.

he hops down, landing lightly on the pavement, head tilting slightly as he glances at the guy still stuck to the wall. “yeah, i don’t think so,” he says.

the guy grunts, struggling uselessly against the webbing.

spider-man sighs. “not your best move.”

you just stare.

you know who he is, obviously. everyone does. but knowing about spider-man and actually seeing him in front of you are two entirely different things.

he turns to you. “you alright?”

you blink at him, mind still catching up. “uh.”

he tilts his head. “i’ll take that as a yes?”

“y-yeah,” you stammer, clearing your throat. “yeah. i’m fine.”

“good.” he gestures vaguely toward the guy. “i’ll leave him here for the cops. but, uh—maybe don’t walk alone this late?”

you exhale sharply. “yeah. got it. solid advice.”

spider-man lets out a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.

for some reason, that tiny, almost shy gesture is what actually makes your brain start working again.

because up until now, he seemed untouchable, fast, sharp, the kind of person who moves like he already knows the next ten steps ahead. but now, standing here, he’s shifting his weight slightly like he’s not sure what to do with his hands.

and for some reason, that makes him feel real.

“do you, uh,” he starts, then hesitates. “want me to walk you home?”

your stomach flips.

“oh,” you say. “you don’t have to—”

“i don’t mind,” he says quickly. “just to make sure you get there safe.”

you bite your lip. you really should say no. he’s probably busy, and you don’t want to take up more of his time.

but also.

spider-man just offered to walk you home.

what kind of idiot would turn that down?

“…okay,” you say finally.

you can hear the smile in his voice. “okay.”

—

when you finally get home, he hangs back by the streetlight, watching as you unlock the door.

“thanks again,” you say, turning back to him.

he nods. “anytime.”

you hesitate.

“…do you do handshakes?”

he lets out a soft laugh. “not usually.”

“oh.” you lower your hand, a little embarrassed.

but before you can pull it back completely, he reaches out and bumps his knuckles against yours.

it’s such a small thing. so stupidly small.

but for some reason, it makes your heart stutter.

you glance up at him, but he’s already moving, gripping the edge of the nearest rooftop, hoisting himself up with an easy strength that makes your stomach flip.

and then, just before he disappears—

“goodnight,” he says.

your breath catches.

and then he’s gone.

you collapse onto your bed the second you get inside, phone buzzing with a text from shinyu.

shinyu: you home yet? you: yeah shinyu: good

you hover over the keyboard for a second, debating.

and then—

you: hey. what do you think of spider-man?

his reply is instant.

shinyu: idk. kinda cool? you: ...yeah.

you stare at the screen. your heart is still racing.

and for some reason, all you can hear is his voice.

stupid voice with that stupid accent you recognize but look over.

—

it’s become a thing now.

you didn’t plan for it, but somehow it has.

spider-man keeps showing up.

at first, it’s just the occasional late-night save, that charming but awkward conversation at the end where you thank him profusely and he gives you a weird little knuckle bump before disappearing into the night.

but then...

you start seeing him more.

you start to notice that he seems to be where you are, just when you need him.

it happens AGAIN one night when you’re walking home after another late study session with shinyu.

you’re tired. drained. your brain feels like mush, and shinyu, though he’s usually the one full of energy, seems to be on the same wavelength.

"i swear," he mutters, "if i see one more page of equations, i’m going to just… yeet this textbook into the nearest river."

you snort, nudging him. "don’t tempt me. i’m kind of considering it myself."

you both chuckle, but it's tired. the kind of tired where you can’t even muster the energy to fake your usual enthusiasm.

the streets are quiet again, just the sound of your footsteps echoing in the night.

and, as usual, that familiar feeling creeps in, like you’re being watched.

you brush it off. it’s probably just a shadow, the way the streetlights flicker and make things seem closer than they are.

but then, in the distance, a small rustle.

you freeze for a second, but quickly continue walking, convincing yourself it’s nothing.

you turn another corner, and then, there he is.

spider-man.

you blink, more than a little surprised.

“oh, hey,” you say, trying to act casual. "what's up?"

he’s leaning against the side of a building, arms crossed, but when you notice the way he’s watching you, you can’t shake the feeling that maybe he’s been here for a while.

he straightens, suddenly looking a bit... embarrassed? "uh, nothing much. just making sure you're alright."

you blink, a little confused. "i’m fine? why wouldn’t i be?"

he gives a small shrug, like it’s no big deal. "you know, just being careful. you’re walking kinda late, and i’m... well, i’m always around."

you raise an eyebrow. "you just 'happen' to be around whenever i'm out late?"

he looks sheepish. "yep."

you stare at him for a second.

“are you stalking me?” you joke, but it comes out a little too serious.

his eyes widen, and he starts shaking his head quickly, scratching at the back of his neck. "no! no, of course not. just... making sure you're safe, y’know?"

you chuckle softly, rolling your eyes. "right. sure."

he seems to relax when you don’t push it further. “anyway, i could walk you home if you want. just in case, you know?”

you shrug. it’s not like you mind. "okay, but only because you’re weirdly persistent."

he grins, clearly relieved. "wouldn’t dream of letting you walk alone."

it’s an awkward, quiet walk. mostly because spider-man doesn’t seem to know how to start a normal conversation. his silence is comfortable, though, like there’s no need to fill the space. just walking with him feels nice.

by the time you’re at your front door, you’re laughing over something dumb that shinyu had said earlier. you feel strangely at ease.

"thanks for walking me home," you say.

he shrugs. “it’s nothing. just doing my part.”

you smile, heart skipping a beat. "goodnight, spider-man."

"goodnight," he replies, his voice soft. then, as usual, he’s gone before you can say anything else.

—

the routine builds quickly after that.

it becomes normal to see him around whenever you’re out at night.

he always seems to be around, sometimes just dropping in for a casual chat, other times swooping in to rescue you from the occasional shady character or two.

but it’s the quiet moments you start to cherish.

there’s one night where you and shinyu are hanging out on the rooftop of your building, talking about life as you always do. the sky is clear, the stars twinkling, and it feels like a moment frozen in time.

shinyu is sprawled across the floor, pretending to sleep, while you’re sitting with your legs dangling over the edge, arms resting on your knees.

“so,” he says suddenly, breaking the silence. “what’s the deal with spider-man, anyway? you two talk a lot now.”

you freeze for a second, eyes narrowing. “what do you mean ‘talk a lot?’”

he raises his hands in mock surrender. “i’m just saying. you two have some weird dynamic. are you, like, dating or something?”

you laugh it off. “what? no! it’s just... he’s, uh, nice. i don’t know, he’s just been around when i’ve needed him, that’s all.”

shinyu sits up, raising an eyebrow. “oh, really? just ‘happens’ to be there. that’s cute.”

you roll your eyes. “he’s cool, okay?”

he gives you a knowing look. “if you say so.”

before you can respond, you hear the familiar sound of whoosh above you.

spider-man drops down onto the roof, landing lightly beside you with an easy smile.

“hey, guys,” he says casually, like he hasn’t just flown in to join the conversation.

you smile at him, your heart fluttering a little. “hey, spider-man.”

shinyu squints at him, grinning. “so, we’re just hanging out, huh? that’s cool. do you want anything to drink?”

spider-man looks at him in confusion. “huh?”

“i mean, you’re here now. should we get drinks?” shinyu gestures to the corner store below. “i’ll go down and grab something. you want anything?”

spider-man glances at you first, and then back at shinyu, his expression unreadable for a moment.

“uh, sure,” he says, his voice a little uncertain. “i’ll just have whatever you’re getting.”

shinyu gives a little nod before standing up and heading down the stairs to the convenience store.

you and spider-man are left alone again.

the air feels different this time, like the space between you has changed. you both sit there in silence for a moment.

he clears his throat. “so, uh... how’s the studying going?”

you laugh softly. “honestly? i want to burn my textbooks.”

he chuckles. “yeah, i get that. same.”

you glance at him, curious. “you study too?”

he shrugs, looking awkward. “well... when i’m not being, you know, spider-man. i try to keep up.”

you nod, smiling. “cool. you seem smart.”

he looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah, well, it’s all kind of a... blur, y’know?”

you laugh again. "yeah, i know exactly what you mean."

and suddenly, you realize something.

you’re actually... comfortable with him.

not just the whole superhero thing, not just the awkwardness, but the person behind it. you don’t need to be on edge around him.

and somehow, that makes you feel both lighter and a little strange.

later, shinyu returns with drinks, and the conversation picks up again. spider-man relaxes a little more, though he still seems a bit fidgety.

you can’t help but notice how, even now, when he’s around shinyu, he still doesn’t seem to know how to act. there’s an ease to his awkwardness that’s almost endearing.

shinyu teases him a little, asking if he’s ever had to take his suit off after a long night of “saving people” and spider-man just shrugs awkwardly, mumbling something about the suit being “perfectly breathable” as if that’s the most casual thing in the world.

it’s a weird dynamic, but it works.

and for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel quite so... lonely.

—

when it’s time to leave, spider-man walks you home again, which is literally downstairs.

you’re still laughing from something shinyu said, but when you glance over at spider-man, you notice him looking at you more seriously than usual.

“you okay?” you ask, surprised by the shift in his mood.

“yeah,” he replies, his voice quiet. “just... it’s nothing. just wanted to check on you.”

you smile softly. “you do that a lot.”

he shrugs. “it’s my job, right?”

and even though he says that, you can see the hint of something more. something deeper.

you’re not sure what it is, but you feel it.

you smile to yourself, wondering if maybe you’re starting to understand him a little better.

when you get to your front door, you wave goodbye, but this time, he doesn’t leave immediately.

he lingers.

“goodnight, spider-man,” you say quietly.

“goodnight.”

he’s gone before you can blink.

and you can’t help but feel like there’s something he’s not saying. something important.

—

you’re at school, sitting with shinyu during lunch, lazily picking at your food as the two of you chat about the usual, homework, annoying teachers, and how much you’d rather be anywhere else.

and then, somehow, the conversation lands on him.

"so, spider-man," shinyu says, taking a sip of his drink. "you never really told me. what’s the deal with that?"

you blink, caught off guard. "what do you mean?"

shinyu shrugs. "i mean, you guys talk a lot. what’s he like?"

you pause, considering it. "well... he’s nice. kind of awkward, but in a cute way. and, i don’t know, i feel like i can actually talk to him, you know?"

shinyu raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. "so you like talking to him."

"obviously," you say, rolling your eyes. "he’s funny, easy to be around, and—"

you pause for half a second.

shinyu waits.

"... and?"

you shrug, acting like what you’re about to say is no big deal. "and he’s kinda hot."

it happens instantly.

a loud choking sound from the table next to you.

you both turn your heads.

jake sim, golden boy of the school, is currently dying.

he’s hunched over, violently coughing, his drink abandoned as he tries to catch his breath. his friends, some of the other popular kids, are just watching him, either concerned or mildly entertained.

"bro, what is wrong with you?" one of them asks, patting jake on the back.

jake wheezes.

you stare at him, blinking. "... you good?"

he looks up at you, eyes wide, mouth slightly open like he just realized he made a scene.

"uh—yeah! yes! i’m fine!" he blurts out, too loudly.

you and shinyu exchange a look.

"uh-huh," you say, unconvinced.

jake quickly grabs his drink again, pretending like nothing happened, but you can see it, how his ears are red, how he’s suddenly so focused on stirring his drink with his straw like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

weird.

shinyu, being shinyu, decides to push it.

"wait, you were listening to us?" he says, grinning.

"no!" jake says, way too fast. "i wasn’t listening! i just— i mean— i heard something, but it wasn’t on purpose—"

he stops himself, as if realizing he’s making it worse.

you stare at him, trying to figure out what his deal is.

jake sim is, objectively, very attractive. everyone at school knows it. he’s the kind of guy who could probably get away with murder just by looking at someone the right way.

but right now?

right now, he looks like a glitching NPC.

shinyu smirks. "so, which part made you choke? the part where spider-man is easy to talk to, or the part where he’s hot?"

jake makes a strangled sound, like he just swallowed his soul.

"i—" he starts, then stops, looking deeply uncomfortable.

you narrow your eyes at him.

"wait," you say suddenly, realization hitting. "do you know spider-man?"

jake freezes.

his eyes dart around the table, as if searching for an escape route.

"i—uh—no?" he tries, but it sounds more like a question than an answer.

"that was very convincing," you deadpan.

"thank you," he says automatically. then, realizing what he just did, he groans and drags a hand down his face.

you just stare at him.

what is up with this guy?

shinyu snickers. "dude, you’re acting real suspicious right now."

"i am not," jake says, still looking very much suspicious.

you and shinyu both just keep staring at him.

jake, unable to handle the attention, suddenly stands up. "gotta go!" he announces, grabbing his tray and practically sprinting away from the table.

... what.

you blink. "okay, what was that?"

shinyu just laughs. "no clue, but that was hilarious."

you shake your head, still baffled.

jake sim is weird.

—

that night, like clockwork, spider-man appears.

you’re outside, walking back from the convenience store, a bag of snacks in your hand when you hear the familiar thwip of a web.

you don’t even flinch anymore.

“oh, hey,” you say as he lands beside you. "you’re early tonight."

spider-man, who seems slightly fidgety for some reason, clears his throat. "uh, yeah. just happened to be around."

you nod. "right. as always."

there’s a beat of silence as the two of you start walking.

then, spider-man casually goes, "sooo... you think i’m hot?"

you freeze mid-step.

"what—"

he panics immediately. "i mean—! not that i heard you say that or anything, but like— well, let’s say hypothetically you did say that, and hypothetically i overheard—"

you narrow your eyes. "did you overhear?"

he hesitates for a full second before blurting, "no!"

"uh-huh."

he coughs. "but if you did think that— i mean, just out of curiosity, uh... what part exactly were you talking about?"

you stare at him.

he shifts, looking way too eager but also like he might die on the spot.

you decide to mess with him.

"i dunno," you say, pretending to think. "maybe the mask? keeps things mysterious."

"mysterious," he echoes.

"or maybe the whole... ‘hero of the city’ thing," you continue. "kind of hard not to find that attractive."

"oh," he says weakly.

you glance at him.

his shoulders are tense. he’s definitely blushing. even through the mask, you can tell.

you bite back a grin. "why do you ask, spider-man? you interested in what i think?"

"wh—no! i mean— i guess? maybe? i just—" he stops mid-sentence, suddenly frustrated with himself.

you laugh. "wow. you get flustered really easily."

"i do not," he lies.

you grin.

he’s so bad at this.

but... it’s kind of cute.

he clears his throat, clearly desperate to change the subject. "so! um! anyway! totally unrelated question—"

"uh-huh?"

"—but, like... have you ever thought that maybe you already know me?"

you blink. "what?"

he shrugs, trying to sound casual. "i mean, like, what if i wasn’t just spider-man? what if i was, i dunno... someone you see every day?"

you frown, confused.

"... but you’re not," you say simply. "i’d recognize your voice."

spider-man pauses.

"oh," he says.

like he just remembered that’s a thing.

you keep walking, completely missing the way his entire body slumps.

"why?" you ask, glancing at him. "are you secretly my math teacher or something?"

he lets out a weird, awkward laugh. "pfft. no! definitely not. that’d be, um. weird."

you snort. "right... mr. lee..?"

spider-man sighs, clearly realizing this isn’t going anywhere. "never mind," he mutters.

you just shrug. "okay. anyway, are we getting snacks or what?"

he perks up instantly. "yes! let’s do that."

he’s back to normal.

but inside, jake sim is screaming.

when you get home, you fall onto your bed, thinking about the conversation you just had.

weird.

he was acting weird.

but it’s probably nothing.

meanwhile, somewhere across the city, jake is lying face down on his bed, aggressively kicking his feet like a teenage girl in a romcom, absolutely mortified.

his friends are still roasting him for what happened at lunch.

he’s never going to live this down.

—

rooftops are underrated.

shinyu agrees.

“this is the best place to complain about life,” he says, stretching out on the rooftop ledge. “no teachers, no school stress, just the city and the stars.”

“and potential death if you slip,” you point out.

“adds to the thrill.”

you laugh, taking a deep breath as the cool night air brushes against your skin. it’s peaceful up here, the hum of the city below feeling distant, almost like background noise.

this is your favorite part of the night, escaping the weight of the day, letting yourself exist without expectations.

shinyu, lounging beside you, throws a crumpled snack wrapper at you. “so. be honest. do you think mr. lee is actually grading our essays or just randomly handing out scores?”

“random,” you say immediately. “there’s no way he read mine. i wrote a whole paragraph about how pigeons should have jobs and still got an A.”

shinyu nearly chokes on his drink. “what?”

“i was sleep-deprived, okay?”

“bro.”

you grin, nudging his shoulder. shinyu’s dramatic laughter echoes in the open air, and for a second, it feels like nothing else matters.

but then—

thwip.

a familiar sound.

you don’t even flinch.

shinyu, however, does. “bro,” he says, staring at the figure that just landed on the rooftop. “your weird little superhero friend is here again.”

spider-man straightens up. “hey,” he says, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie over his suit.

“oh, great,” shinyu mutters. “now i have to third-wheel whatever this weird thing is.”

you roll your eyes. “it’s not weird.”

spider-man, beside you, shifts. “wait. what’s not weird?”

shinyu smirks. “you and them.”

spider-man nearly trips over his own feet. “what?”

you laugh. “ignore him, he’s just being annoying.”

“i’m just saying,” shinyu teases, standing up and stretching, “i feel like a chaperone. anyway, i’m heading home before mr. lee assigns another test. try not to die.”

you wave him off, watching as he climbs down the fire escape.

the second he’s gone, spider-man sighs dramatically. “your friend is kind of scary.”

“he’d love to hear that.”

he chuckles, shaking his head. “so. you just hang out on rooftops for fun?”

“why not?” you shrug. “it’s peaceful. no school, no responsibilities, no—”

you shift slightly on the ledge—

and your foot slips.

for a split second, your stomach drops.

but before you can even process it—

strong hands grab your waist, pulling you back to safety.

your breath catches.

you don’t even have time to think before you’re pressed against him, his hands still firmly holding you, your faces way too close.

your brain short-circuits.

spider-man tenses.

his mask hides his expression, but you can feel the shift, the sudden awareness of just how close you are.

your hands are gripping his arms, his hands are still on your waist, and for a moment, neither of you move.

the air is thick.

his breathing is a little uneven.

he’s calm on the outside, but inside?

jake sim is losing his mind.

because oh my god.

he is touching you.

holding you.

you’re close enough that he can see every little detail, the way your lips part slightly in surprise, the way your eyes flicker down for a second before meeting his again.

he’s panicking.

but he cannot show it.

so he clears his throat, trying to sound casual. “you, uh. good?”

you blink, snapping out of it.

“oh. yeah. thanks for—” you gesture vaguely, still hyper-aware of his hands.

spider-man nods, though his brain is still buffering.

he should move.

but his hands don’t move.

why aren’t they moving?

he’s gripping your waist like you’re going to fall again, like he has to keep holding on, and it takes everything in him to not scream.

you tilt your head.

“... you okay?”

"me? oh! yeah! totally fine! absolutely not freaking out or anything!”

you squint at him.

"... you sure?"

"yep! totally! one hundred percent normal behavior happening right now!"

he still hasn’t let go.

you raise an eyebrow.

he realizes he still hasn’t let go.

"oh! right! my bad!"

he snatches his hands away like he just touched fire, stumbling back a step.

you blink at him.

he looks like he just had an out-of-body experience.

"... you’re acting weird," you say.

"no, i’m not!" he says, voice cracking.

you stare at him for another second before shrugging. "okay."

you sit back down like nothing happened.

spider-man stands there, physically trying to reboot.

—

the next day at school, jake sim is a mess.

he is so weird about it.

you don’t even notice at first, too busy going about your day, but then, little things start adding up.

like how he keeps running into walls.

or how he drops his books every time you walk by.

or how, when you pass him in the hallway, he does a 180-degree spin and walks the other direction like he just forgot where he was going.

it’s like he has no motor skills around you.

and the worst part?

everyone notices.

"bro, what is your deal?" one of his friends asks after jake nearly trips over thin air.

jake just groans, aggressively rubbing his face. "i don’t wanna talk about it."

his friends exchange a look.

"you’ve been acting weird since yesterday," one of them says. "what happened?"

"nothing!"

"are you sure?"

"yes!" jake says, too fast. "i’m totally fine! absolutely normal! definitely not thinking about anything that happened on a rooftop last night!"

his friends blink.

"... what?"

jake.exe has stopped working.

"i gotta go," he says, shoving his books into his bag and sprinting away before they can ask any more questions.

meanwhile, you, completely oblivious to his entire breakdown, sit down with shinyu at lunch, happily eating your food.

"hey," shinyu says, nudging you. "you notice how jake’s been acting extra weird today?"

you pause mid-bite. "huh?"

"he keeps running into things. i think you broke him."

"... what did i do?"

shinyu shrugs. "no clue. but it’s hilarious."

you glance across the cafeteria.

jake is at his table, looking stressed.

you don’t think much of it.

meanwhile, jake is sitting there, gripping his drink, replaying last night’s moment in his head like a broken record, absolutely suffering.

there’s something weird about jake sim.

not in an obvious way, he’s still the school’s golden boy, still effortlessly good-looking, still surrounded by people who seem drawn to him like he has his own gravitational pull.

but ever since you started talking to spider-man, something feels... off.

and the more you think about it, the more you realize...

jake and spider-man are kind of similar.

not in every way, obviously.

spider-man is cool in a nerdy, awkward way. jake is just awkward.

spider-man is confident until he’s flustered. jake is flustered until he’s more flustered.

but there are little things. things that stick in your mind and refuse to leave.

the way they both stutter when they’re flustered.

the way they both react too strongly when you mention something embarrassing.

the way spider-man somehow always reacts to things you say about jake sim a little too specifically.

you wouldn’t normally care.

except now you do so you decide to test him.

the opportunity presents itself in the middle of lunch.

shinyu is ranting about his math teacher, and you’re half-listening, half-watching as jake sits at his usual table across the cafeteria.

he looks tired.

his friends are talking, but he’s zoned out, poking at his food with a fork like it personally offended him.

for once, no one is paying attention to him.

so you turn to shinyu and casually say,

"hey. you ever think jake sim is kinda... spider-man-y?"

shinyu blinks. "what."

you shrug. "just saying. they kinda act the same sometimes."

"what kind of reach—"

you don’t get to respond.

because across the cafeteria, jake, mid-bite into his sandwich, freezes.

like, completely.

his jaw locks, his eyes widen slightly, and for a second, he just sits there, bread still between his teeth, looking like he’s buffering.

it’s only when one of his friends elbows him that he starts moving again, slowly, mechanically, chewing like he suddenly forgot how food works.

you watch this unfold with mild amusement.

shinyu squints. "okay, that was weird."

"right?"

you decide to take it further.

"also, if you really think about it, their voices are kind of similar," you add, casually sipping your drink.

jake, still trying to recover from his sandwich malfunction, visibly flinches.

his friend frowns. "dude, are you good?"

"mhm!" jake squeaks, before quickly stuffing more food into his mouth to avoid talking.

his ears are so red.

shinyu glances between you and him. "...did you just break jake sim?"

"interesting," you say, watching as jake forces himself to act normal, failing spectacularly.

very suspicious.

—

that night, spider-man shows up like always.

you’re sitting on your usual rooftop spot, legs dangling over the edge.

he lands beside you, slightly out of breath.

you tilt your head. “you good?”

"yep!" he says. "totally! just... busy day."

you hum.

"...sooo," you start, watching him closely, "something really funny happened today."

spider-man tenses. "oh? uh. what?"

you grin. "i was talking to shinyu about how jake sim kinda reminds me of you."

he flinches.

"oh?"

"yeah," you say, leaning in slightly. "you both get flustered really easily."

"what? no, i don’t!"

you raise an eyebrow. "you’re literally flustered right now."

"no, i’m not!"

you squint.

he shifts uncomfortably.

"also," you continue, "you have the same little mannerisms sometimes. like how you rub the back of your neck when you’re nervous."

his hand immediately drops from the back of his neck.

you stare.

he stares back.

"...okay, that was suspicious."

"what was?"

"that!"

"what?"

"you just—" you gesture vaguely. "you’re acting weird."

"i’m always weird!"

"true," you admit.

he sighs in relief.

but you’re not done.

"also, your voice kinda sounds like his."

"what?!"

"just a little," you say, watching him panic. "not enough for most people to notice, but still."

"n-no it doesn’t!"

"you sure?"

"positive!"

you hum.

"you definitely don’t have anything you wanna tell me?"

"nope! nothing at all! absolutely nothing weird happening here!*"

you squint.

he is sweating.

interesting.

—

jake sim has fought criminals, dodged gunfire, and swung through the city at terrifying speeds—

but this is the most nerve-wracking thing he’s ever done.

because tonight, he’s going to tell you.

he’s going to take off the mask, look you in the eye, and say it, 'i’m spider-man. i’m also jake sim. and i like you. a lot.'

he’s been rehearsing it in his head for days.

except now that he’s actually standing on the rooftop where you usually meet, waiting for you, his brain is short-circuiting.

what if you get mad? what if you feel betrayed? what if you never want to talk to him again?

he groans into his hands. this was a terrible idea.

but he can’t back out now.

not when he hears footsteps coming up the fire escape.

his heart nearly leaps out of his chest.

okay, okay. just act normal. wait, no—don't act normal, you’re always awkward. act... slightly less awkward. you can do this. you got this.

he takes a deep breath.

the door creaks open.

he turns around, already preparing himself—

and then immediately panics because—

oh god. that’s not you. that’s shinyu.

shinyu blinks. “oh.”

jake freezes.

shinyu squints. “what are you doing here?”

"nothing!" spider-man blurts out. "just—y’know. being spider-man. normal superhero things. ha ha."

shinyu looks so unimpressed. "right."

jake is internally screaming. where are you?? why is shinyu here instead?? he was so ready.

shinyu leans against the rooftop railing, arms crossed. "so. waiting for someone?"

spider-man stiffens. "uh—no! no, just... hanging out."

shinyu hums.

spider-man shifts uncomfortably.

there's a beat of silence before shinyu smirks. "you’re totally waiting for y/n, aren’t you?"

spider-man chokes on air.

"what?!"

shinyu laughs. "dude, relax. you guys seem close, that’s all."

spider-man doesn’t know what to say.

shinyu keeps going, teasing. "you like them or something?"

spider-man malfunctions.

because the answer is yes, so much yes, oh my god yes, but he cannot say that.

so he just stands there, absolutely flustered, failing to form a single coherent word.

shinyu raises an eyebrow. "wait. do you like them?"

"WHAT? NO. HAHAHA. HA." spider-man's voice cracks.

shinyu stares.

spider-man stares back.

the silence is deafening.

then shinyu grins.

"oh my god, you totally do."

spider-man groans and buries his face in his hands. this is a disaster.

shinyu laughs. "don’t worry, i won’t tell."

"thank you," spider-man mutters, still dying inside.

shinyu pats his shoulder. "good luck, loverboy."

and with that, he leaves, completely unaware that he just ruined the big reveal.

spider-man sighs so hard.

he’s going to scream into his pillow when he gets home.

—

jake sim has been so, so careful.

for months, he’s balanced both sides of his life perfectly, being the popular golden boy at school while keeping his very obvious crush on you a secret, and being the confident, quick-witted spider-man who gets to talk to you without turning into a human error message.

but all of that completely shatters in a matter of seconds.

and it’s entirely his fault.

it’s late, and you’re heading home from another study session with shinyu.

your backpack is slung lazily over one shoulder, and you’re lost in thought when suddenly—

"HEY!"

a voice yells from the alley beside you, and before you can react, a blur of red and blue drops down from above.

spider-man.

except something is off.

because he’s standing in front of you... maskless.

his wavy hair is messy, his expression is panicked, and his wide brown eyes lock onto yours in sheer horror.

… jake sim.

"JAKE?" you yelp.

"OH MY GOD." jake grabs his head like he just realized he left the stove on. "OH MY GOD, I FORGOT MY MASK. I—I THOUGHT I PUT IT ON BUT I DIDN’T. I JUST SWUNG DOWN WITHOUT IT—OH, THIS IS SO BAD—"

he starts pacing in frantic circles, muttering a meltdown under his breath. "stupid, stupid, stupid—how do you forget your MASK? how did i even think this was a good idea? i should just move to another country—"

you’re just standing there, staring at him, processing.

spider-man is jake sim.

jake sim is spider-man.

it all clicks.

the awkwardness. the stammering. the similarities you swore you noticed but ignored.

you slap a hand over your mouth, because instead of being shocked, instead of yelling or freaking out—

you start laughing.

"you’re kidding." you wheeze. "you’re actually kidding."

jake stops spiraling and looks at you like you just started speaking another language. "wait. why are you laughing?"

you’re losing it. "because this makes so much sense now. oh my god. jake."

he goes so red. "don’t say my name like that while i’m wearing the suit, that feels illegal."

but you can’t stop laughing. "i can’t believe i didn’t put this together sooner. you—oh my god, you were literally short-circuiting in front of me at school while having full-on conversations with me as spider-man."

"please," jake begs. "please let me live."

you wipe a tear from your eye, catching your breath. "wait—hold on—" you inhale, trying to compose yourself. "so… does that mean… you had a crush on me this whole time?"

jake freezes.

his entire body locks up like you just hit him with a paralyzing spell.

you raise an eyebrow. "jake."

he doesn’t move.

he doesn’t breathe.

"jake," you say again. "do you—"

"OKAY—" he blurts out, exploding into motion. "yes! yes. i like you. a lot. i have for a really long time. and i know this is probably the worst way for you to find out but—"

you take a step closer.

he shuts up immediately.

he’s still rambling in his head, though, oh my god, they’re looking at me, they’re getting closer, what does this mean, am i going to die—

and then—

you kiss him.

it’s soft, quick, and so unexpected that it completely short-circuits him.

his brain blue-screens.

by the time you pull away, his soul has left his body.

"you just—" he breathes, voice barely above a whisper.

you grin. "you like me."

"YOU JUST KISSED ME."

"yeah." you tilt your head. "you gonna do something about it, spider-man?"

jake.exe has stopped working.

he just stands there, mouth opening and closing, until finally—

he just groans into his hands. "oh my god, i am so in love with you."

~

ty for reading and enjoying !

enha taglist : @minoouz

perm taglist : @s0shroe @minoouz

[nereidprinc3ss]

early seasons spencer and bau reader undercover at a club and it’s just like. he is so flustered but also weirdly confident and do with this what you will

in which spencer reid and BAU fem!reader have to pose as a couple at a club. she's more than a little flirty. the conversation actually gets quite suggestive. he's cute when he gets flustered.

warnings/tags: discussions of sex, reader wears a tight dress and makeup and heels, discussions of blushing but r's skin color is not implied to be light, i just needed a reason to talk about sex flush LOL, if u don't visibly blush this will still read fine

a/n: I LOVE EARLY SEASONS SPENCER X FLIRTY READER OH MY GODDD thank you for this request angel from heaven I hope you all like this as much as I do teehee

The bass buzzes through the floor and vibrates your teeth. House music has never really been your thing. Neither have tight dresses and high heels while on the job—but you’re willing to objectify yourself just a little if it will lure yet another loser who likes to chop up young couples into the awaiting arms of the American correctional system. 

Or to the wrong end of Emily's Glock. Whatever comes first.  

You scan the club—it’s not your usual scene, and you can only imagine how Dr. Reid is faring. As far as you can tell this is essentially his nightmare. It’s sensory overload central even for you. 

Your eyes catch on him at the bar, tucked away from the writhing crowd. He’s standing near the end, one arm resting on the surface while the other hand is jammed in his pocket. He seems completely unaware of the several women circling closer and closer. The whole earnest and dorky but still handsome thing seems to work well for him. Or, it would, if he had any interest in utilizing it. He’s dressed a little sharper than usual—no doubt styled by Morgan and Prentiss. Hell, the earnest dorkiness and the well fitted dark suit is working for you if nobody else. 

Sometimes he just looks… edible. 

And self-discipline doesn't always come naturally to you. 

“Doctor,” you purr in greeting, grazing the forearm propped up on the bar with white-tipped nails as you insert yourself in front of him. His fingers twitch under your light touch. 

Spencer doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes sink down your frame, sticking to every highlighted curve like you’re dripping honey. Or maybe he just doesn’t realize that you can see that’s what he’s doing. 

“Hi. You look nice.”

“Aw,” you smile, dulling the salacious edge to your voice, “you didn’t have to say that. Someone’s improvising.”

“I meant it. That dress looks nice on you,” he says, simply, and you hate his specific brand of charm because it’s not intentional. It’s not something he puts on. It comes out of nowhere and always knocks you on your ass when it hits—even in the smallest doses. His eyes narrow and he leans closer. You can feel the energy rippling around him like a force field as he examines you. “You’re wearing more makeup than you normally do.”

“Do you like it? Penelope ordered the wrong shade of blush and gave it to me. Supposedly it’s meant to make me look like I just had an orgasm. I don’t know if I believe it.”

Much to your disappointment, Spencer leans back, scanning the crowd for your target and speaking as if he’s only half-interested. 

“That’s not what you would look like. Sex flush deepens the color of your entire face and chest, not just your cheeks.”

Your brows knit as you contend with unwelcome butterflies. 

“Buy me a drink before you start telling me what I’ll look like after I orgasm.”

That catches his attention, and his suddenly wide eyes snap to you. If he had a drink, he’d be choking on it. 

“I wasn’t—it was a general you, I’d never—that would be inappropriate. It was. It was inappropriate. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

You lean with your back to the bar, elbows propped on black granite, and swing your hair over your shoulder. Spencer’s eyes dart back down to your décolletage and then up to the ceiling like he regrets being born. You smile wickedly. Much better. This is the way God intended for you to interact with Spencer Reid. 

“I’ll consider forgiving you. And I don’t blush. Not when I orgasm, not ever.”

Admittedly, you just want to milk the whole talking about you orgasming thing to see how pink you can make him. It’s not often you’re gifted with an opportunity to be so candid about your sexuality or flirt this unabashedly. But you are supposed to be posing as a couple. Maybe you’re just feeling extra in character. 

Instead of stumbling over his words some more, Spencer smiles with a degree of bemusement like he’s caught you in a white lie. 

His smile is so nice. His teeth are perfect, and his lips—

“Yes you do.”

Always so convinced he’s right, this one. 

It’s annoying. And kind of hot. 

“Uh, I promise you I do not.”

“Everyone blushes. It's a sympathetic nervous system activation response wherein blood rushes to your face. Your blood vessels dilate when you get flustered or anxious. Your face gets hot and your undertone changes.”

You raise your brows. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was challenging you. 

“Yeah? Wanna bet?”

“Actually, no,” he mutters, losing any bravado and casting his eyes downward subserviently. “You have a habit of proving me wrong.”

“That’s right,” you gloat, smiling wide. Someone bumps into you, and you turn around, highly unprofessional insult locked and loaded—but it’s just a drunk girl who apologizes and stumbles off. The encounter does, however, remind you that you’re supposed to be finding a killer. “Do you think this is the best positioning? He might not be able to find us way over here.”

“You think we should move?”

You look back at him and nod, holding your hand out. He looks at it uncertainly. You waggle your fingers and infuse your words with sugar. 

“Oh, come on. I don’t want to lose you. And we’re supposed to look like a couple, remember?”

Gingerly he accepts your hand. His is bigger than you’d have thought. Not nearly as freezing as your own perpetually are. It occurs to you as you grab his hand that his bone structure really is bigger than yours. He’s… tall. He is, at the end of the day, a real life adult man. His presence is palpable behind you and you enjoy the weight of his hand in yours as you tug him through the crowd, perhaps not taking the most direct route through the throng just so you can savor being able to touch him like this for a little longer. 

Miraculously you spot an empty booth and slide into it. It’s a deep alcove, shadowy and secluded at the back. That’s where you settle, against black vinyl, and where you wave at Spencer to join you. 

He lingers at the edge of the table, glancing around at the groups of dancing and drinking young adults. 

“I don’t know. Can you even see the dance floor from back there?”

“Part of it. But I’m sure he’ll be looking in the booths for couples. He’ll come to us.”

Spencer faces you again and sighs ruefully, a begrudging smirk playing at his lips as he slides into the booth and joins you against the back wall. His side is warm against yours. He smells nice. Clean. Almost herbal, like patchouli or vetiver. 

“What? You really hate sitting next to me that much?”

Spencer’s lips part wryly before he speaks, like he almost thought better of it but decided to anyway. 

“I think you just wanted a reason to get me alone and secluded so you can finally accost me.”

Your knees bump. You lean into it. 

“Accost you? That seems harsh,” you pout, leaning toward him clandestinely to undo his top button.

“I don’t see how. You are literally trying to take my clothing off as we speak.”

“I’m just increasing your sex appeal. It’ll be good, trust me. Maybe you’ll even end up taking one of those girls from the bar home. Or—back to the hotel, I should say.”

Spencer covers your fussy hands with his own sweetly, like he can sense the true jealousy simmering underneath the sarcasm, and places them in your lap. The touch lingers.

“Are you always like this?” He murmurs, voice lower than you can recall ever hearing it and twisted into the shape of a smile. 

“Only with you, Dr. Reid. Speaking of, how about you? Do you flirt with many other FBI agents on official business?”

“Just the one. She’s kind of a full-time job.”

“Shut up. I’m basically your babysitter. If anything, I should be paid extra for dealing with you.”

“Attempting to seduce your charge seems like a bad business model. There are definitely some ethical issues there.”

His hands still rest on yours. You lace your fingers with his and speak sweetly, meeting his eyes best you can in the dark. 

“I wasn’t aware I was seducing you. Do you feel seduced?”

He’s the first to look away after a few seconds pass—pulls your hands apart gently, politely arranging them back on your lap. 

“I think you’re incorrigible and a terrible influence. In all honesty, you terrify me and more often than not I walk away from our interactions a little confused.”

You clap a hand to your heart, the bare skin revealed by your low cut dress warm under your fingers. 

“Spencer… that kind of turned me on.”

He just looks at you for a moment, a hint of a smile on his pretty face, long enough to make you feel a bit nervous. 

Then he’s leaning forward, and unconsciously so are you, almost forgetting to breath when you’re practically pressed against him in this booth and he’s whispering so low and sweet into your ear. 

“He’s watching us. Right across the floor, next to the girl in the blue dress. White button up and a leather jacket.” His hand slides over yours, fingers skimming your collarbone in the process as he interlocks your grasp once more. “Keep your hand right here and lean closer. We need to maintain his interest.”

“I don’t think I can lean any closer,” you breathe, hoping it doesn’t register as nervous as it really is. You’re supposed to be the confident one who teases him. “But if you want me to sit on your lap, just ask. I won’t say no.”

He chuckles, too loud to be amorous. It’s clearly genuine. It sounds like the way his reddened cheeks always look. It almost does more for you than the bedroom voice.

“You… you are beyond help. I don’t think you could be appropriate if your life depended on it.”

Slowly you pull back so you can look into his eyes—much closer than you normally have an excuse to. They dart wildly over your face, partially obscured by the dark which cuts shadows deep into the dramatic hollows of his bone structure. He really is so pretty. 

You glance toward the man, who’s pretending not to watch you. When you focus your attention back on Spencer, sliding your hand up the curve of his jaw, you find yourself making a dangerous wish. You find yourself wishing that you didn’t have an audience. That this wasn’t all for show. That neither of you had earpieces in.

His pulse hammers under your little finger, and his lips part slightly as he doesn’t have the wherewithal to not glance at yours. He’s so unaware of how obvious he’s being. It’s cute. 

You run the tips of your fingers through the hair in front of his ear, the one sans bluetooth, pushing it back, before leaning in close once more to whisper. 

“Good thing we’re not going for appropriate. Actually—your hands could stand to wander a little more, Dr. Reid. Let me know if you need me to tell you where to put them.”

[alaia777]

hiii!!! i read your "a boy whos jacked and kind" fic and it was amazing!!!!! could you (possibly) do a pt2 with chigiri, reo, sae, and nagi? (or any other characters you want) ty!!!!

omggg thank u, of course !! 🩷🩷

jacked and kind? — p2

ೃ༄ chigiri;

“alright, princess. if you drop me or make me look stupid, i’m cutting your hair.”

“i’ll cut my own hair before i drop you.”

“you’re such a liar.”

you both start laughing as you wait for the music to begin. you’d both wanted to try this trend for a while, but you’d been hesitant, mostly because you were worried he’d hurt his leg. every time you work out together, or even just watch him at practice, your heart beats a little harder, anxious that something might happen to him. he always reassures you that he’s fine—but still.

a boy who’s jacked and kind. can’t find his ass to save my life.

when he places his hands around you to hoist you onto his shoulder, he makes sure you’re smiling. he just wants to see you happy. but as you glance down at him, you notice the grimace on his face.

“oh my god, are you alright?”

“yeah, yeah,” he mutters, trying to hold back a wince. “it’s just… you’re sitting on my hair.”

ೃ༄ reo;

“why is it taking you so long to put your hair in a ponytail?”

“can you just be patient?”

you were spending the afternoon at your boyfriend’s place, and honestly, there were so many things you could do in his enormous house. but the only thing you wanted was to try the trend your friend shared with you. it wasn’t hard to convince reo—he’d rather count every grain of sand on every beach in the world than do work for his parent’s company. he was bored and wanted to try something new, and you had just the solution.

a boy who’s jacked and kind. can’t find his ass to save my life.

you couldn’t help but laugh when you felt him lift you onto his shoulder. for some reason, the mix of his concentrated facial expression and how intently he was staring at his reflection was the funniest thing you’d seen all day.

“what’s so funny?” reo asked, looking up at you.

you just kept smiling, and in response, he dropped you into his arms, princess style, twirling you around effortlessly.

ೃ༄ sae;

“can you smile a little? you look like you hate your girlfriend.”

“you want me to do this or not?”

you wanted to roll your eyes so bad, but the last thing you needed was a snarky comment from sae. after what felt like an eternity, you finally convinced your boyfriend to do this trend with you—despite him repeatedly telling you how stupid it was. it took some careful planning: making sure he was in a good mood, giving him salted kombucha in the morning, getting him some salty seaweed tea, and putting on taxi driver right before he came home. he knew what you were up to, but honestly, he just wanted to get it over with.

a boy who’s jacked and kind. can’t find his ass to save my life.

you watched as he grabbed you by the hips and hoisted you onto his shoulder. he wanted to roll his eyes, but when he saw you smiling so stupidly, a small smirk tugged at his lips. you weren’t sure if he was smiling with you or at you, but the only thing that mattered was that your boyfriend was playing along—for you.

“well, that wasn’t so hard, now was it?” you said, playfully petting his hair.

“you’re pushing it.” he muttered, and without warning, he set you down on the floor.

ೃ༄ nagi;

“this is so bothersome.”

“you know what is going to be bothersome? me making your cactus into soup.”

were you threatening your boyfriend to do this trend with you? maybe. were you actually going to hurt his precious choki? never. and he knew that. yet here he was, watching you move things around the room to prop your phone up and film this video. nagi was tall, sure, but he was also incredibly lazy when he wasn’t on the football field. honestly, you weren’t sure if he’d put any real energy into this.

a boy who’s jacked and kind. can’t find his ass to save my life.

you waited for him to do something, but when you glanced at him, he was just staring off into the distance like usual. you turned around and waited for him to say something, but it was like he didn’t even notice you were looking at him.

then, out of nowhere, he grabbed you by the legs and hoisted you onto his shoulder. you yelped, completely caught off guard.

“are we done?”

“… i suppose.”

he left the room with you still draped over his shoulder, heading straight for the bedroom. he dropped you onto the bed and flopped down next to you.

“time for sleep now,” he mumbled, already pulling you closer.

ೃ༄ i hope you like it !!!

[cinnamanz]

✦ ─── 2 𝓱ands , 𝓢ophia 𝓛aforteza keep your hands on me.

─── 𝓢ophia never considered herself the jealous type—until you got a haircut. overnight, it was like the whole world had started seeing you differently, comments about how fine you looked haunting her everywhere. no wonder she'd bossed you to have your hands on her at all times.

❝𝓷eed a little less talk, 𝓪nd a lot more touch.❞

౨ৎ 𝓹airing. sophia laforteza x katseye seventh member!yn ౨ৎ 𝓰enre. fluff, established relationship wc. 4417 a/n. good god i need to stop yapping ab details in fics i keep dragging them on on the other hand, this is my compensation for lowk neglecting u guys nd not bringing food to rhe tsble but i fear its school thats got me on a leash nd unless smn takes one for the team nd burns my school down thisll be happening more nd more often CS EXAMS ND ASSESSMENTS R COMING UP NF IMA BAWL CS WTFFFF EVERYTHING IS TOO FAST IM SO LOST FUCKKKKKKK may or may not have taken too long to get to the part where its actually inspired by 2 hands mbmb the use of 2 hands's lyrics was lowk cringy😟 NAWT PROOFREAD AT ALL🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️ enjoy homos❤️

❝𝓲 just want your two hands on me at all times, baby. 𝓲f you let go, better put 'em right back, fast.❞

JEALOUSY WAS NEVER SOPHIA’S THING—at least, that’s what she always told herself. she knew you—her girlfriend, loved her. knew with every fibre of her being that you would never do anything deliberate to hurt her, never purposely stoke the ugly fire that smoldered deep in her chest. 

so why was it that, right now, the green-eyed monster clawed its way up her throat, curled around her ribcage, and blurred her vision like a stain she couldn't scrub away?

you’d gotten a haircut a few days ago—something sharper, something that framed your face so effortlessly it was almost unfair. it was the kind of change that ensured the girl crush label stuck to you permanently, as if it hadn’t already. and somehow, impossibly, it made you look even better—dare sophia say hotter—than before.

and safe to say, sophia wasn’t the only one who noticed. unfortunately.

the moment you turned to management and asked if you’d need a wig to hide your fresh cut from the eyekons before going live—like the other members had to in the newest tiktoks they were dishing out—their response was quick, casual—no need, you were free to show it off. gain more attention and eyes on the group before the comeback.

and that was all you needed to hear.

without a second thought, you propped your phone up on the table in your shared room with manon and daniela, fingers adjusting the angle with practiced ease, lips curling into a giddy smile. 

anticipation thrummed in your chest, an excited buzz settling beneath your skin as you ran a hand through your freshly cut hair, contemplating whether to hide it beneath a cap before settling to just tugging on the strings of your hoodie, tucking your hair out of sight from the camera.

the viewer count came rushing in the second you’d tapped ‘start live’, and your curious eyes peered at the camera, squinting to see what they’d been commenting about before shaking your head, a small chuckle of amusement spilling past your lips. 

user56 bro u look like an egg tf user1 humpty dumpty who?? user9 i think she pulls it off idk bout yall user0 ion care she can still get it even tho she looks like an idiot user2 i like them a little weird user89 GIRL TURN IT AWFFF

“i look like an egg like this? oh wow, that’s interesting. thank you.” you deadpanned, amusement flickering in your eyes as you read the comment aloud. a soft laugh slipped past your lips, shaking your head before tilting it slightly, as if assessing your reflection on the screen.

you kept the playful banter going for a few more minutes, responding to teasing messages with quick-witted remarks, occasionally tugging at the edge of your hood in mock offense. finally, you sighed, dramatic and drawn out, before giving in with a knowing hum. 

your fingers found the drawstring of your hoodie, twirling it lazily around one fingertip before tugging it loose. slowly, almost teasingly, you pushed the hood back, revealing the slightly poofy and mussed strands of your fresh haircut, the soft layers settling into place after being trapped beneath the fabric.

the moment your hair was freed, your hands instinctively shot up, smoothing over the mess, fingertips gently carding through the strands in an attempt to tame them. a small mirthful chuckle escaped you, a mix of amusement and mild exasperation at the way the hood had left your hair slightly disheveled. 

but even then, you still looked effortlessly good. and judging by the flood of excited comments rolling in, and eyekons definitely agreed.

"we vibing with it, chat?" you murmured, tilting your head slightly as your fingers absentmindedly combed through your hair, trying to smooth down the strands that had been ruffled by your hoodie. 

your lips pressed into a thin line, dissatisfaction creeping in as you examined your reflection on the screen, the messiness making your fresh cut look a little less put-together than you had intended.

"shouldn’t have actually hidden it away from you guys," you admitted with a soft sigh, shaking your head. "or it wouldn’t have been this messy."

your hands worked quickly, gently pushing some strands into place, but after a moment of struggling, you huffed in mild frustration. deciding to leave it as it was, you leaned forward, reaching for your glasses resting on the table. with practiced ease, you slid them on, blinking a few times as your vision sharpened.

"my bad, guys," you said, lips twitching into a sheepish smile as you settled back into place. "couldn’t be assed to put on my contacts."

user90 raw raw ah ah ah or wtv it was lady gaga said user56 okay guys fess up who tf took my pants user4 iSWEAR my pants were just on user77 and the crowd is… undressing themselves⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️ user78 omg girl dont play w me like that i might js make u mine user43 and FUCK whoever’s dating u bruh u look too good ima nut get OUTTTTTT user68 thank GOD my phone’s waterproof‼️‼️‼️ user70 TIL THE NEIGHBOURS LEARN HER NAME😭😭😭😭 user45 FLASH US

the chat exploded with reactions—some gushing over how good you looked, others teasing about your laziness, and more than a few keyboard smashes from people who were clearly losing their minds over the combination of the new haircut and glasses. 

you chuckled at the chaos, pushing your frames up the bridge of your nose before relaxing into the moment, letting the eyekons take it all in.

sophia who was watching just downstairs, however, wasn’t all that amused with the comments that flooded your live.

it was a jumpscare, truly. the moment sophia groggily unlocked her phone and opened tiktok, still blinking sleep from her eyes, she was met—ambushed, really—by an edit of your live from last night. the screen instantly flooded with clips of you, your freshly-cut hair falling effortlessly into place, set to the smooth, sultry beat of redbone by childish gambino.

typical, she thought dryly at the sound choice, but that didn’t stop the way her breath hitched slightly.

the light from her phone bathed her face in a bright glow, illuminating every tiny movement of her fingers as she instinctively scrolled down, her thumb hovering over the comment section before she could even think twice about it. she already knew what to expect, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating.

and sure enough, the comments were just as bad—if not worse—than the ones from last night. thirsting, keyboard smashes, people losing their goddamn minds over you. all of it blurred together in an overwhelming stream of admiration, and sophia could feel a familiar, unwelcome heat creeping up her neck.

because, god, of course everyone had to notice how good you looked. and of course, they wouldn’t shut up about it.

it didn’t help that the next few swipes on her for you page led to even more edits—clip after clip of your live from last night, set to sultry, slow-burning tracks that only seemed to emphasize just how good you looked. 

the way your freshly cut hair fell into place, the way your glasses slid down the bridge of your nose before you pushed them up absentmindedly, the way you’d smirked slightly at the camera without even meaning to—it was all there, replaying in high definition, edited to perfection, and worst of all, everywhere. god.

sophia groaned, flopping onto her back as she mindlessly scrolled, but she wasn’t about to just watch and let it slide. no, she was documenting this. saving receipts.

in less than an hour, she had added over fifty different edits of you into a private folder under your name, her fingers moving almost on autopilot. every new clip she found—save. another slow zoom-in on your face—save. a dramatic transition to the beat drop—definitely save.

by the time she was done, she was sure she had absolutely flooded the eyekons’ notifications, her name popping up repeatedly as she went on her little jealousy-infused saving spree.

but she didn’t care. not even a little.

because in her mind, this wasn’t just a collection—it was a statement. a quiet, possessive claim, a subtle way of reminding the eyekons exactly who you belonged to. every save, every tap of her screen, was her way of saying: watch all you want, but just know—she’s mine. and wait—no, no, no. jealousy is bad. an ugly feeling she shouldn’t be feeling. 

but the moment you’d walked into her shared room with yoonchae all mussed from sleep and seeking her out first thing in the morning, sliding into bed next to her, body molding onto hers and—to hell with it.

she’d decided to go live the next day out of pure boredom and cause chaos (unbidden flirting).

clad in an oversized black hoodie—one she had definitely swiped from your closet without asking—sophia lounged comfortably in front of the camera, the fabric swallowing her frame in a way that made it clear it was never hers to begin with. 

the sleeves fell just past her wrists, slightly bunched at her hands as she lazily adjusted the hem. paired with it was a black baseball cap, probably one of the few articles of clothing she actually owned, its curved brim casting a subtle shadow over her sharp features.

her free hand drifted to the waistband of the grey sweatpants she was wearing—another piece that was, without a doubt, stolen from your closet. with a quick tug, she adjusted the way they rested on her hips, ensuring they fit just right before letting her hand drop.

user44 GOOD GODDDDD user88 that hoodie looks rlyyyy familiar ms laforteza user51 SOPHIA LIVE OH GOD BLESS😭😭😭😭😭😭 user50 can u be my girlfriend for three seconds user41 BROOOOO I NEED U SO BAD SHUT UPPPP user32 how have u been sophia???

her lips curled into a small, satisfied smile as she glanced at the screen, watching the comments flood in—messages filled with excitement, teasing remarks about her outfit, and, of course, plenty of people calling her out for very obviously wearing your clothes again. she simply raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence as she leaned in slightly, skimming through the chaotic flood of words.

but she didn’t deny it. not once.

it wasn’t until halfway through the live that the shift in the comment section became impossible to ignore. at first, it had been the usual chaos—people gushing over her, teasing her about the hoodie, and thirsting over every little movement she made. but then, as if on cue, the flood of questions about you started rolling in.

user55 hey queen so whats the deal w y/n?? is she single perchance😌😌😌 user63 is y/n there w u??? user80 is y/n single?? asking for a friend nd research purposes🌚🌚 user66 blink twice if y/n is in the room

mixed in with those were the more audacious ones—the teasing, flirty messages that made sophia’s jaw clench ever so slightly.

user90 how does one marry y/n?? help a girl out pls user82 can i marry y/n??

“no, you can’t marry y/n.” she’d replied, her fingers, which had been lazily toying with the hem of her hoodie, stilled. she blinked at the screen once. twice.

narrowing her eyes, she hooked her fingers under her chin, tilting her head slightly as she peered at the comment section with squinted, unmistakably disapproving eyes. her lips pressed into a firm line, and for a moment, she just stared, letting the weight of her silence settle over the chat.

and if the eyekons watching had any sense at all, they’d know exactly what that look meant.

“what’s that about me?”

sophia’s eyes snapped up from the screen of the live the moment she caught movement from the doorway, her sharp, narrowed gaze instantly softening at the sight of you.

there you stood, bathed in the dim glow of the room, your expression puzzled as you tilted your head slightly, brows knitting together in mild confusion. dressed in baggy clothes—an oversized hoodie that hung loosely over your frame and sweatpants that pooled slightly at your ankles—you looked effortlessly comfortable, the kind of effortlessness that made sophia’s chest tighten just a little. 

your prescription glasses perched on the bridge of your nose, a clear sign that it was far too late in the night for you to bother with contacts. in one hand, you loosely gripped a bottle of water, your other hand absentmindedly brushing at your sleeve as your bare feet padded quietly against the floor, carrying you toward her without hesitation.

completely unaware.

unaware of the absolute chaos happening in her live chat. unaware of the thirsting, the borderline feral comments flooding in, the way the eyekons were already losing their minds over the mere mention of your name. and most of all, unaware of the way sophia was staring at you—conflicted.

because in that moment, she wasn’t sure what she wanted more—to selfishly keep you out of the frame, away from their prying eyes, or to let them see you, let them understand exactly why she looked at you the way she did.

but before she could make a decision, you made it for her.

with an easy step forward, you popped into the frame, completely oblivious to the digital uproar you had just caused, a sweet, sleepy smile tugging at your lips as you greeted the screen. 

"hi, eyekons," you murmured, voice thick with sleep, raspy in a way that sent an immediate shiver down sophia’s spine. "how’re we doin’ tonight? good?"

your words were slow, unhurried, tinged with the warmth of drowsiness as you blinked at the screen, adjusting your glasses with a lazy push of your knuckle against the frame. your lips curled into a small, satisfied smile as you nodded, as if genuinely pleased by the flood of chaotic responses rolling in.

user77 girl i cant do ts rn im ovulating bad user66 standing ovulation or wtv the saying is user62 heyyyy so lunch by billie eilish?? user79 MY DREAM RIDE😻😻😻😻😻😻😻😻 user39 WHATT HEJVUKFMFK WHAT THEUCKVLVMK user50 CLEAN UP ON AISLE MY PANTS😭😭😭😭😭😭 user99 cldnt even edge to ts i exploded IMMEDIATELY😂😂😂😂😂🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 user34 the crowd would applaud but their hands are busy😭😭😭 user14 i swear my pants were JUST on

"i’m glad," you hummed, voice dipping even lower, softer—dangerous.

sophia didn’t stand a chance.

the moment the sound of your voice filled the room, she could feel the heat crawling up her neck, warm and betraying. without thinking, she subtly turned her face away from the camera, pretending to adjust her hoodie as she desperately tried to will away the blush creeping onto her cheeks.

but of course, you noticed.

your gaze flickered toward her, amusement dancing in your sleep-heavy eyes, and a quiet chuckle slipped past your lips—gentle, teasing.

"what’s with you?" you asked, voice lilting, but sophia refused to look at you, choosing instead to stare pointedly at her phone as if it could somehow save her from this situation.

it absolutely could not.

“nothing,” she tried to fib through her teeth. her face was half-hidden from the camera, but you knew her well enough to picture the exact shade of pink dusting her cheeks, the way she’d press her lips together in a tight line to keep from giving herself away. “don’t worry about it.”

a slow, knowing smile tugged at your lips, though you chose not to push any further—for now. instead, you shook your head in amusement, eyes twinkling as you took in the rare sight of sophia, who was normally so composed, absolutely crumbling before your eyes.

"someone’s suddenly a little camera shy," you mused, voice dipping into something teasing, playful.

sophia let out a quiet huff, still turned away, fingers absentmindedly tugging at the hem of the hoodie she’d stolen from you, as if focusing on that would somehow help her regain her composure.

and for a few minutes, she did just that—taking slow, measured breaths, schooling her features back into something neutral, forcing the heat in her cheeks to die down. when she finally popped back into frame, her expression was much steadier, though the faintest traces of pink still lingered on her skin.

thankfully, the purple lighting she’d chosen for the live worked in her favour, casting a soft glow that helped mask the last remnants of her flustered state. she busied herself with scrolling through the chat, acting as though nothing had happened, her posture relaxed, exuding an air of practiced nonchalance.

or, at least, she tried to.

because just as she started to settle back into her usual rhythm, her brows twitched—barely, but enough—as her ears picked up on something that immediately set her back on edge.

"oh, baby, you’re too sweet," you purred, your voice dripping with playful flirtation as you read a particularly bold comment from an eyekon. "but if you keep talking to me like that, i might just have to take you out on a date."

user51 MY TURN user23 A TEAR ROLLED DOWN MY LEG user89 OHMGYGOD IVOLUNTER ASTRIBYTE user62 RAWRAWRARAWRARWRAW user94 THISMADE BOTH OF MY LIPS SMILE user42 raw i meant AWWWWWW user82 this so made my hole weak I MEANT MY WHOLE WEEK user42 i am not cinderella but ik it fits user51 born to cowgirl, forced to fangirl💔💔💔💔💔 user41 i have nothing appropriate to say HER VOICE UGHHHHH user17 i finally got the water bed everyone wanted in 2016 user88 good now OIL UP user33 YOU GUYS ARE ABSOLUTE ANIMALS IN HERE WTF ENOUGH GUYS ENOUGH YOU HORNDOGS user21 all ten fingers.

sophia froze.

her grip on her the drawstring of your hoodie tightened slightly, her jaw ticking as she forced her gaze to remain on the screen, pretending to be invested in the chat. 

but anyone who knew her—especially you—could see the barely concealed flicker of irritation in her expression, the slight way her nostrils flared, the way her fingers twitched as if she were this close to reaching out and physically covering your mouth to put an end to whatever nonsense you were spewing.

she knew you were just playing around. she knew it.

but that didn’t stop the possessive heat from curling low in her stomach, nor did it stop the subtle shift in her posture—back straightening, shoulders rolling back, as if preparing to stake her claim without saying a word.

user1 guys im kinda scared of sophia user79 SHES LOOMING HELPPP user52 guard dog who user93 damn sophia my b for even looking at yn user84 im gna sleep now okay?? dont choke me in my sleep pls user77 I WAS JS PLAYING W YN PLS DONT KILL ME user91 holy shit i js got shivers down my spine

sophia hadn’t meant to react so quickly, so instinctively, but the second another flirtatious comment slipped past your lips, she couldn’t hold back anymore. before she even registered what she was doing, her hand shot out, fingers wrapping around your arm in a vice grip—possessive, unwavering.

your amusement only grew at the sudden contact, lips parting slightly as you turned away from the chat, gaze landing on sophia. her expression was downright murderous, eyes dark, pupils blown wide with a sharp intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

without a word, she yanked your arm toward her, grip tightening as if to silently remind you who you belonged to. both of her hands locked around your forearm now, as if afraid you’d slip away if she loosened her hold even slightly.

and then—thud.

in her urgency, her knee jerked forward, slamming against the table. the impact sent her phone tumbling forward, landing screen-down with a soft clack, the camera immediately blacking out. the live was still running, but now all the eyekons could hear was the sharp rustle of movement, the sound of fabric shifting, a muffled noise—

because in the very next second, sophia had tugged you forward, pulling you straight between her thighs with a force that left you momentarily stunned. and before you could even process what was happening, her hands were on you—one threading into your hair, fingers tangling at the base of your skull, the other firmly cupping the back of your neck, anchoring you in place.

and then she kissed you.

no hesitation, no teasing buildup—just pure, unfiltered need.

it was all-consuming, the way she melted against you, the way her lips moved with a desperation that sent your mind reeling. 

she kissed you like you were her oxygen, like she had been starving for you this entire time—which she has been to be fair, and now that she had you, she refused to let you go. her fingers tightened in your hair, tugging slightly, as if to draw you in even closer—though there was hardly any space left between you.

but just as you were getting lost in the heat of it—just as you felt yourself melting into her touch—she suddenly pulled away, her hands shifting to your shoulders.

and then, without warning, she pushed you back.

you barely had a second to react before your back hit the couch once again, a soft groan escaping you as sophia moved fast, swinging a leg over your waist and straddling you with ease, her knees pressing into the cushions on either side of your hips.

you blinked up at her, breathless, dazed, lips still tingling from the kiss. but she didn’t give you a moment to recover. the rest of the world faded, the chat, the live, the teasing—nothing else mattered except this. except her. just like how she’d intended. and she leaned back in for more.

user77 HELLO??? WHAT IS GOING ON user51 GET ME OUT OF THE BASWMENY user11 BTCHCICHFUHFIE WTAFFDTFYE WHAT IS GOIUNG ON HELLO user78 I HEARD THAT user12 smn pick me up im scared user82 bon appetite to sophia ig user94 AT LWAST END THE LIVE????? user73 am i interrupting sumn user93 freak ON user44 media training went out the window im crying theyre not even tryna hide it HELPPP user25 probably making out in my cellular phone i pay for every month??? diabolical work i feel targeted.

sophia had no idea how she’d ended up here—pressed into the middle of a drunken, swaying crowd, the bass thrumming so hard it rattled her ribs, the air thick with sweat, alcohol, and the kind of recklessness that came with too many shots and too little self-control.

this was not what you had promised.

"it'll be chill," you’d said, smiling so sweetly at her earlier, brushing your fingers through her hair as you reassured her that it was just a casual going-away party for your friend—nothing too wild. 

but now? some random guy had the audacity to press up against her, subtly—or not so subtly—trying to grind against her like she wouldn’t notice. like she’d let him.

with an irritated grunt, she shoved him off, barely sparing him a glare before weaving through the crowd, jaw clenched. she barely knew your friend, didn’t care to, really. she wouldn’t even be out of bed right now if it were up to her, more than happy to be curled up under the covers with you, watching mamma mia back to back before switching to your personal favorites—until the two of you inevitably dozed off.

but no.

you just had to have plans. just had to drag her to some bullshit party for a friend jetting off to europe to “find the woman of her life.”

sophia cursed under her breath, her usually calm composure cracking as frustration simmered beneath her skin. her hands itched—aching to grab ahold of you, to pull you against her and make sure every single person here knew you weren’t up for grabs.

the flashing, colorful lights of the room made everything simultaneously too bright and too dim, disorienting her as she searched. the pulse of the music did nothing to drown out the growing sense of urgency clawing up her spine.

she should’ve never let you out of her sight—oh, there you are.

sophia could feel it creeping in—the sharp, insidious burn of jealousy sinking its claws into her chest, wrapping tight around her ribs like a vice for the second time that week.

surrounded by a cluster of women, all too eager to lean in, to bat their lashes, to laugh a little too loudly at something you’d said—something that, knowing you, probably wasn’t even that funny. yet there they were, hanging onto every word, eyes lingering a little too long, bodies angled a little too close.

her jaw clenched.

her vision blurred at the edges, tinted green with something she refused to name, but it propelled her forward before she could think twice, her feet carrying her straight to you, drawn in like gravity itself had shifted. 

she slipped through the crowd with practiced ease, a mask of indifference settling over her features like second nature—calm, cool, unreadable. but beneath the surface? she was nothing but raw chaos.

without a word, her fingers curled around the fabric of your shirt, tugging you back, away from them, to her. her hands moved instinctively, slipping over yours, guiding them down, redirecting—staking claim.

she flattened your palms against her waist, holding them there, her body pressing into yours like she needed you closer. always.

“want your two hands on me at all times, baby.” sophia's voice was a low murmur, silk-smooth and deliberate as she tilted her head back, lips just barely grazing your cheek before trailing toward your ear, a slow, teasing whisper meant for you—but performed for the lingering eyes around you.

“and if you let go, better put ‘em right back fast.” her grip on your hands tightened, guiding them to press firmer against her waist, as if daring you to even think about moving them away. her fingers curled around yours, possessive, a silent command to stay put. her heart pounded, a steady rhythm against your skin. 

"want your two hands on me.” like my life needs saving, she’d have dared utter if she wasn’t too lost in the way your breath hitched, fingers twitching against hers.

and maybe it did.

she leaned in closer, lips just barely brushing the shell of your ear, her breath warm and slow, sending shivers down your spine. “let ‘em all know.”

her hand ghosted back, fingers featherlight as they traced along your jaw before tilting your chin up just enough to meet her gaze, dark and unreadable.

“can you do it like that?”

masterlist.

— please do not repost, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way without permission. thank you! xx

[messenger-of-babel]

Nightmares

Summary: The Wayne family calls you in When they can't snap Tim out of it. (Tim Drake x reader)

Word Count: 2.5K

Notes: Tim is my fav as Robin ❤️ Yes, I did read the Hush arc. People are oddly divided if Jason really did try to kill Tim which is an argument for a later day, but it'd still mess with anyone regardless so shhhhh. Enjoy xx

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It was hardly ever that you were contacted by the Wayne residence, so when you got a call one Friday evening, a cold ball began forming in your stomach. With a surprised stutter you responded that you were still at the Gotham University library, studying up for your finals. Before you even got a chance to ask what was going on, Alfred kindly let you know that he was going to be picking you up before the receiver went dead.

Unsure of what to do, you shifted from foot to foot outside of the library. The night was cold for Spring, the coattails of winter still wrapped around the city. As you fidget you try to think of any reason that they would be calling you. After all, you and Tim had only been dating for eight months or so. In those eight months you had visited the manor maybe twice, much less met his family. Tim had dragged you through the hallways as soon as you hit the foyer, hurrying you to his room so fast that you could only exchange a surprised glance with the members he passed. You could only think of the worst scenarios, minutes stretching for eternity as you trapped yourself inside your mind.

What if they hated you dating Tim? You weren't from an affluent family like they were, growing up in a poor area of Robinson Park. You got into Gotham U on a scholarship, which was how you both had met in the first place. What if they looked down upon that and were going to threaten you to break up with him? If they ever chose to, they certainly would have the power and sway to. Hell, they could chase you out of Gotham entirely and no one would be the wiser. You thought of all these ideas, just to distract yourself from the underlying thought that sat like an unwelcome visitor int he back of your mind.

The little thought that whispered over and over again, 'What if something has happened to Tim?'

The Wayne car rolling to a stop in front of you was enough to snap you out of your worrying, making the ball in your stomach only grow heavier. The visage of Pennyworth, the butler, appears from the driver’s side. He gives you a small, tight, smile and exits the car, opening the back as you descend the stairs.

"After you, dear."

You hesitantly poke your head in as he waves his hand politely to the open door, blood draining from your face. You had expected the car to be empty, but as you studied the shadows it was very clearly not the case. The sturdily built man in front of you had his arm propped up on the window, chin in his palm. His deep blue eyes glinted from the shadows he seemed to melt into, rough timbre floating your way. "Come in."

You anxiously shuffle into the seat, leaving a space between you and the enigmatic Bruce Wayne. There's a tense silence as Alfred gets into the driver’s side and starts the car, headed to the Manor once more. You shuffle in your seat, pulse thudding against your neck.

"It's nice to meet you." you say, clearing your throat awkwardly. The icy eyes of the billionaire flick to you, scanning you up and down.

"And same to you." he says smoothly, staring back out the window with a rich indifference. "I'm sure you know why we called you?"

"Actually, I don't sir." you say gently, fiddling with your fingers. They gave you nothing to work off of, how could they expect you to know what was happening?

"It's about Tim." he says, and your heart flips.

"Is he okay?" falls out before you can even temper your voice properly.

"He's…in a difficult space right now." Bruce hums back at you, worry creasing at the corner of his eyes. "He won't work with any of us, won't come out. We thought that maybe you could help. Actually, Dick recommended we call you."

Dick Grayson. The only brother you had met, albeit only briefly. He had been passing through for a charity event and had come to ask Tim a question, ducking his head inside the bedroom. Tim had gone to get snacks, leaving you to nervously explain who you were. When you mentioned that you were dating Tim, a wide smile had split the older man's face. He'd promptly introduced himself, stepping inside and shaking your hand. Tim had chased him out soon after he arrived back, the elder brother's laughing echoing down the halls long after Tim had shut and locked the door.

"Is it bad?" you whisper out, fists curling on your knees.

"He's alive and physically uninjured, if that's what you're asking. Now, what I'm about to tell you is confidential. You tell anyone, and I mean anyone," Bruce's eyes flash dangerously. "Then there will be severe consequences."

When you nod his shoulders drop slightly, and he uncoils. You had always been intimidated by the man and the sheer power he wielded, but you didn't take him for someone to be so fiercely protective. There was something in his eyes that flickered when he stared you down, a scarred over wound that re-opened at the thought of you harming his family.

"I promise." you say, rising to match Bruce's tone. "I just want to help Tim."

The answer settles the wary father next to you, relaxing back into his seat.

He fills you in, dread filling your stomach more and more. He explains how they've been a target of a terrorist attack, Tim getting caught in the crossfire. The story seems wild and something in the back of your mind gets the impression he isn't telling you everything, but you remind yourself that this is Gotham, and being a rich family paints a rather large target.

"Fear gas?" you whisper, eyebrows furrowed. "I thought Batman put the Scarecrow in Arkham."

Bruce bites his knuckles but nods. "Yeah, that is what I thought too. So, we're suspecting it's either a lackey of his, or the Bat isn't as thorough as he appears." he grunts, teeth relenting their assault so he can cross his arms. "Masked annoyance." he mutters, his nose crinkling.

"How can I help?" you ask, adrenaline rushing through your veins in a mild cocktail of panic.

"Talk to him. get him to come out. We've had a doctor look him over and he'll be fine, he got out of the gassed room in time. His mental is just a bit…fragile, right now. He won't accept comfort from us. Some of us can't even get close. So, we thought you might be able to try." Bruce studies you closely. "We want to deal with this before press come snooping. It'll only affect his social life if this gets out before he's had a chance to recover, so I must reiterate the importance of your silence. This is a family matter; we will deal with it as such."

you nod along, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Yes, sir."

"But do not take it to heart if my son doesn’t recognise you." he says firmly. "He isn't himself right now. This isn't a reflection on your or your relationship."

You want to ask about how much he knew about your relationship, but as you open your mouth you're cut off by the voice of Alfred. "We're here, sir."

The car rolls to a stop, and Alfred opens Bruce's door and then yours. The manor is imposing, but you don't get long to look at it before you're ushered away. You're walked to the door of Tim's bedroom; except this time your arm is being led by the sympathetic smile of Pennyworth. He leaves you in peace, and it's never felt more imposing knocking on your boyfriend's door than now.

"Tim?" you call softly, rapping your knuckles against the richly coloured wood. "Are you in there? Can I come in?"

There's no response, making worry knot up in your chest. "I'm coming in, okay?" you call out, hand hesitantly turning the brass knob and opening the door just enough so you can slip inside.

It's dark, only moonlight illuminating the scene before you. His bedsheets have been ripped from the mattress, pillows scattered around. Drawers were open haphazardly, contents spilled across the tiled floor. Your heart lurched spying the sheer curtains that fluttered in front of the open bay windows, worrying that he might have gone out there despite the drop. It calms slightly when you spy him, huddled under the desk. You approach as if regarding a cornered animal, concern twitching in your fingers. The desk was devoid of any objects, swiped clear by a frenzied arm. The drawers were open and empty, content spilled around him.

"Hey, Tim." you say, crouching to him under the desk. He looks a mess, face pressed tightly into his knees. He's curled into a ball, arms tucked under his torso, resting on the front of his thighs. "it's me." your murmur, reaching out gently. "it's just me."

He jumps as your fingers lightly brush against his arm, face snapping up. His eyes are puffy and red rimmed, cheeks stained with tears. His hair is tousled and messy, falling over the shaking of his blue irises. The sight pangs painfully in your heart, and when he no longer pulls away from your touch, your hand slowly circles his wrist. He leans into your touch, body trembling as you pull him towards you. When you manage to get him in a hug you can feel the rapid beating of his heart, the shaky and quickened breaths that he draws into his lungs.

"Please don't hurt me." he whispers, shattering your heart. You look at him wide eyed, gently tilting his face to meet yours.

"Why on earth would I do that?" you breathe out, confusion on your face. His eyes are watery and far away, lips trembling. "I'd never do that, Tim. you know that."

"Please don't leave." he chokes out. "Please. Please don't leave. I don't want to be alone. I don't want to be alone again, I'll work harder, I’ll be smarter, I'll do better." he reassures frantically, pupils shifting rapidly. "I'll do enough this time. I'll meet your expectations. Just don't go."

Your mouth drops and there's nothing that you can say for a few moments. "Oh, Tim…" you breathe out. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? absolutely nowhere." you murmur gently. "And you don't need to promise that. You do enough, hell, you do so much. You do so much more than meet expectations, Tim. You surpass them in every way."

he shakes his head at your comforting, hair flopping in front of his eyes.

"I saw them." he mumbles, although you aren’t sure if it is to himself or to you. "They were just here, I saw them.'

"Who?" you ask softly, stroking your thumbs over his cheeks.

"My parents." he mumbles back out. "I saw them. they were here. They said... They said things..."

You sigh.

Bruce had told you that the effect of the gas made people see things, vivid hallucinations conjured up to torture them. You just hadn't been able to comprehend how deep in someone's mind the fear gas was able to pull from. "And there was Jason." he chokes out. "I never meant to replace him, but he wouldn't listen, and then I felt it all over again." he stammers out, spare hand coming to trace along his throat softly. "But Jason turned into Damian, and then he pushed me and I was falling again. I'm not a real son, I'm not a real replacement I'm-"

"Stop." you command, unable to hold your own tears back at his words. You had no idea what he was saying. Jason and Damian hurting him? Tim complained lightly about his brothers at times, but he had equal amount of compliments to give them back (even if they were begrudging). It had to be the toxin messing with his mind, distorting the images he kept conjuring up.

"Tim, your brother's love you." you say. "Bruce loves you, Alfred loves you, I love you. So please," your whisper, hands holding his face. "Please, wake up, Timmie."

His pupils dilate rapidly as he peers up at you, and you can see him struggle to focus. "Please," you plead again softly. "Please come back. Trust me. You're safe."

Water spills over his lash line and his lips curl into a sob, but his body relaxes. He unfurls from the foetal position, absent rocking of his body coming to a slow halt.

"That's it," you breathe out. "Nice and easy, just take a deep breath."

When he relaxes enough for you to crawl under the desk with him, you do, his arms circling your waist as you pull his head forward to rest on your shoulder. He turns and buries his face in your neck, hot tears streaking down your skin as he sobs. "I couldn't dodge it in time…" he weakly says, hands shaking. "If I had dodged I wouldn't be seeing this. I'm supposed to be…I'm supposed to be faster than that…"

Your lips frown at the despair in his voice. From his tone it seems like he was slowly becoming more lucid, but you still had no idea what he was on about. With a few gentle encouragements you get his frantic murmuring to cease completely, fight draining out of him. You can feel the effects wearing off him as time passes, and you hate to imagine what the toxin must have done to him at full strength. You just run a comforting hand through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp and occasionally shushing him. When you tilt your head to kiss the top of his head, your eyes narrow in on the piece of paper that had fluttered from his lap.

It had been obscured when he was curled up, pressed to his chest. now that he had begun to relax it had slipped out, landing face up. It was a photo of you, taken in black and white. He had gotten a new camera for his birthday and wanted to try it out, so he brought it to the library the next time you both met up to study together. You were looking up at the camera, smiling softly as the light from the window filtered in behind you. Your eyes follow the curve of your grin to the way your eyes crinkle joyfully as you gaze in his direction. The corners are rolled and creased from the toying of his fingers, and you softly reach out to pick it up.

His arms tighten around you as you move to retrieve it, making you rub his back comfortingly. "I'm not going anywhere." you say softly, pulling the picture back towards you. "I promise," you whisper, looking at yourself in the photo he had been cradling so reverently before you came. "I'm not going anywhere, ever."

And you intended to keep that promise before anything like this happened again.

[marauder-misprint]

would u write abt some angsty (mybe w a happy ending?) w remus, please? if possible maybe smtg like the bet trope, im soo down bad with bet tropes, 😔😔😔 im sorry if its a burden, and thank you for spending ur time reading this

You said "bet trope" and I said bet. So it's more fluff than angst... oops? I'll try to get more angst with Remus soon

Conducive

Remus Lupin x fem!reader

additional content

4.7k words

cw: fluff, lil angst,

“Moons, how is it that you’ve never been kissed, yet everyone calls you Casanova?” Sirius asks at dinner in the Great Hall one evening.

Remus raises his eyebrows but doesn’t look away from his plate.

“I respect women?” he offers. 

“We all respect women here. But come on, even Peter’s kissed Mary,” James adds.

Remus looks up at his friends. “I’m here for an education. Dumbledore was kind enough to let me be here; least I can do is focus. You three are distraction enough.”

“I just think you could do with some more… distractions,” Sirius says, waving his fork around as a prop to make his point. 

“If I wanted a female distraction, I’d have no issues obtaining it.”

“No issues, huh?” Peter asks. “Care to prove it?”

Remus shot him a glare. “Did you miss the part where I said if I wanted it?”

“I don’t see how you don’t want it.”

“Wormy’s got a point,” James says.

“Let me rephrase: If I needed a female distraction,” Remus says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sure, I want it from time to time, but if anyone else found out about my furry little secret, I’d be out of here. So I’m making the most of my time.”

“No one is going to find out!” Sirius says. “Have. Some. Fun.”

“You lot found out.”

“We live with you.”

“Still. You don’t think if I got involved with someone that it would take them that long? It was hard enough lying to you. What if I start to actually like someone? It’d be impossible.”

“Then don’t like them. Just get them to like you enough to kiss them and then ditch them,” Sirius suggests, earning himself a glare from Remus.

“That just sounds cruel.”

“More cruel than you denying yourself feminine company?”

“I’m Casanova, remember? I get plenty of company.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I still think you should prove it,” Peter says. “Do what Pads suggested.”

“What?”

“Get a girl.”

“Keep her ‘round long enough to get off and then you jet. Easy ‘nough, yeah?” James clarifies for Remus, given his mildly confused look.

“No,” Remus says firmly. 

“What if we made a bet out of it?” Sirius asks, leaning forward. 

That got Remus’ attention.

“Okay, then what do I get out of it? When I win.” 

“If, and only if, you can get a girlfriend and snog the living daylights out of her, we will… uh… willingly study with you in the library for finals. We’ll be complacent participants, helping you and ourselves. As you try to drag us to do every year,” Sirius says. He pauses as the other two nod. “And if you fail, butterbeers are on you for the rest of the year.”

Remus snorts. “So if I do it, I just get company in the library and you benefit. But if I lose, I’m financially ruined?” 

“More incentive,” Peter retorts. 

“You’re on,” Remus says, offering his hand for Sirius to shake. He does. “If I wasn’t sure I could do it, I’d be asking for better terms.” 

“Wait!” James interrupts with Remus and Sirius still mid-shake. “I feel like we should pick who it has to be. Otherwise you could just ask Marlene to snog you.”

Remus makes a face. “She’s dating Dorcas, you know this.”

“No, no, he has a point,” Peter says. “Either of them would snog you if you said it was for a bet, especially if it means we,” he gestures to him, James and Sirius, “lose said bet.”

“Fine. Pick the girl. For the love of Godric, pick someone single and semi-tolerable.”

The boys scan the hall, not paying attention to house. Their eyes land on you. All three boys seemed to be in agreement before any of them voiced your name. 

“Her,” James says, pointing at you.

You were just as perpetually single as Remus, although he didn’t know what your reason for being so was. It wasn’t like boys never approached you, offering to pay for your drinks at Hogsmeade or to stand by you at the next Quidditch match, but the boys always walked away looking a bit down. You shot them down. Every single one of them.

So in the boys’ attempt to get him to prove his ability to charm a girl, they also wanted to see a miracle. From the grins on their faces, they know it’s going to be impossible.

“So you want my financial ruin?”

“I want either want butterbeer or you to get fucking laid,” Sirius says coolly. “It’s a win-win for me.”

“We said nothing about me getting laid!” Remus exclaims, panicking. “We said kiss, snog, neck, whatever you want to call it. Not laid.”

James laughs, “If you can get a snog out of her, you’re definitely getting laid.”

“I hate that I shook on this already,” Remus groans. He knows he has no way out of this now. 

---

You are blissfully unaware of the bet the Marauders have going. You have no reason to think that you are of any concern to them, besides that Remus now occasionally says hello to you in passing. If anything, it feels like the other three are purposefully avoiding you, not that that matters to you. It’s preferable that way. You had always found Remus to be the most tolerable of them, but that didn’t mean you were friends or spoke to him all that often. Right now, it meant that you said hi back to him.

You are studying in the library when Remus comes up and asks if you’d mind if he shared a table with you. There are other tables available, but you agree. You are struggling with your Transfiguration essay and if it comes to it, you’re almost positive you could ask him for help. Until then, you work near each other in silence. That is, until someone else joins your table. 

Andrew Lark, a boy in your house, sits across from you. 

“You going to Hogsmeade this weekend?” he asks. 

“No,” you say shortly, not looking up from your essay, although you do stop writing. You don’t want to write the wrong thing down because Andrew was talking.

“Do you want to? I’d love to take you.”

“No thank you, Andrew.”

“Come on, love. Let me take you out.”

“I have no desire to go to Hogsmeade this weekend, nor do I want to go out with you.”

“Baby, we’d have-” he starts to say.

“Lark, she said no,” Remus says calmly, having stopped working as soon as Andrew approached the table. 

Andrew shot Remus an annoyed look. “Wasn’t talking to you, Lupin.”

“I know. But you weren’t listening to her.”

“This doesn’t involve you.”

Remus scoffs. “You interrupted my studying by being here. I’d say I’m semi-involved.”

“Then sit elsewhere,” Andrew says, before turning back to you. “Last chance? It’d be more fun than you’re imagining.”

You give Remus a sideways glance. He’s looking at you, waiting for your response as much as Andrew is. 

“Surprise, surprise, Remus is right. I said no.” You give Remus a quick smile before turning back to your essay.

Andrew rolls his eyes and stands up. “Think about it, dove. My offer will always stand.”

Then he walks away. You and Remus both return to your silent working. You feel Remus’ eyes on you every once in a while; you can also tell he’s looking at you from when he pauses his writing, letting his quill just hover above the ink pot longer than a person normally would. 

“So what do you have against Hogsmeade?” he asks after a few minutes. 

You snort. “Oh, nothing really. Andrew’s been asking me to go with him for months and I’d really rather not go with him. Plus, Slughorn’s essay? Haven’t even started that.”

Remus nods with a breath of relief. “Good, I don’t know how anyone can actually not like Hogsmeade.” He pauses. “Would you like company when you work on that essay?”

The question catches you off guard. You look up at him and you’re sure the shock is evident on your face. 

“I, uh, can’t stop anyone from being in the library,” you say, feeling uncertain.

“Well, no,” he chuckles. “But if you’d rather work alone…”

You don’t respond right away; you’re considering it. Remus wasn’t a bother. You didn’t know why he would give up a Hogsmeade trip to be in the library with you though. You knew he usually accompanied his boisterous friends to the village.

“If it’s just you, I suppose company could be nice.” A small smile is playing at your lips in a way Remus has never seen before. “If you’re thinking of bringing the rest of your little gang with you, I’d rather you stay away then.”

Remus chuckles. “Those gits will be off in the village. Possibly pestering Lark.” He sends a wink your way.

You shake your head as you look back down at your essay, but there’s an undeniable smile on your face now. Remus sees it as a success. Maybe with a little persuading from him, the others would let Lark know he needed to back off of you and you’d be free from his pursuits. 

Come Saturday, you and Remus are back at the same table. Except he’s sitting across from you and reading as opposed to working on his own assignments.

Curious, you ask, “Weren’t you assigned this essay too?”

“Finished it.”

“And you don’t have anything else to work on?”

“No. That’s why I’m reading.” He flourishes his book for emphasis.

“So you gave up going to Hogsmeade for…” Your voice lilts like you’re asking a question.

“To keep you company while you work.”

“I work alone all the time. I’m usually more productive that way.”

“Maybe you just haven’t had company conducive to efficiency.”

“Who talks like that?” you laugh. “Company conducive to efficiency.”

Remus smiles at you and sets his book down. “I’m just saying! Some people are more of a distraction while others let you do your thing. James and Sirius? Distractions. Peter… He goes back and forth between the two.”

“And I suppose you’re conducive for them.”

“Most of the time. Others, I’m as bad as they are.”

He picks his book back up to continue reading and you return to your essay. The library is silent except for the scratching of your quill and the occasional turning of pages by Remus. You sneak a few glances at him when you finish a sentence or a paragraph, and you catch yourself full on staring at him when you finish. As you put your work away, you clear your throat to get his attention.

“I suppose you being here was conducive, but I feel bad that you didn’t go to Hogsmeade.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t. Sometimes I need a break from certain people.”

“Then let me make it up to you. Let’s go to Hogsmeade together tomorrow.” You pause and blush at what you just said. “If you want to, of course, and don’t have anything else planned. I just thought that, because you didn’t go today and tomorrow will be less busy since everyone goes today.” You feel yourself rambling which makes you blush harder.

“Yeah, okay. That’d be nice. Meet you in the Great Hall after breakfast? Or lunch? I’m really okay with either.”

“I’m not a morning person,” you say with a chuckle. “We could get lunch in Hogsmeade?”

“Oh, okay. Then meet by the Grand Entrance around noon?”

“Sounds like a plan, Lupin. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As you walk away from him, he can’t help but smile. This was going better than planned. He didn’t have to ask you out; you asked him. And all he had to do was not be forward about it with you. Now, he just had to work up to kissing you, and then snogging. 

You’re more nervous than you expected to be in the morning. You had never been on a date before, and you weren’t even sure if this would count as one. Your roommates were confused as to why you didn’t go to Hogsmeade yesterday with them but were going today.

“It’s just backwards!” one had tried to explain when they heard of your plan. “Everyone goes to Hogsmeade on Saturday and does homework on Sunday!”

“Which leads to Hogsmeade being packed and then the library being packed. It makes sense to go today.”

You purposefully left out that you were meeting Remus and going with him. Just as he hadn’t told his friends that he was making progress with you. For now, until something proper came out of it, this Hogsmeade visit would be something you shared only with each other.

Remus is waiting for you when you finally leave your dorm. The walk to Hogsmeade is quiet. It’s not awkward though. You’re glad he’s not trying to force conversation. You fear that would be more uncomfortable. 

“So where do you want to go first?” you ask as you arrive. 

“I don’t mind as long as we hit up Honeydukes and Three Broomsticks at some point,” he says with a shrug. 

You can’t help but think he looks a bit cute with his hands shoved into his pockets. 

“Start at Three Broomsticks then? Get our lunch and go from there?” you suggest. 

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

As expected, the pub isn’t too busy. You find a table and order food and butterbeers from Rosmerta. Then it’s just the two of you at a table. He asks about your essay that you were working on yesterday and if you think Slughorn will like it. He talks about his own. Conversation covers a lot of school, but then it drifts to your friends and Quidditch. And then to the Marauders and their pranks. Time flies by so quickly. Your plates are emptied quickly and you go through several mugs of butterbeer. You only notice how much time has gone by you glance out the window by chance and the sun is lower in the sky than you had expected.

“Oh! We need to get going if you still want to go to Honeydukes.”

Remus looks to the window and nods. “I didn’t realize the time…”

He waves down Rosmerta and hands her some galleons. You smack his shoulder gently as you exit the pub together. 

“You paid? I was the one who invited you to Hogsmeade. I should’ve paid.”

He rolls his eyes. “Doesn’t the guy on a date though?”

You blush, which in turn causes him to blush. So this was a date. And you had initiated.

“Let me pay for your chocolate at least.”

“Oh, don’t go down that road,” he says with a laugh and a wide smile. “You are underestimating how much chocolate I’ll be getting.”

“Galleons worth?” 

“Galleons worth.”

“Remus Lupin! That cannot be healthy!”

“‘S not my fault my stash gets raided constantly.”

You laugh. The air is light between you. He really does get several galleons worth of chocolate; you thought he was kidding. You insist on paying for part of it. The owners of Honeydukes patiently wait for you to leave the store before locking the door behind you. The sun is set by the time you’re walking back to Hogwarts. The crescent moon is high in the night sky, bathing the path back to school in a pale light.

When you reach the castle, still standing outside, you say, “This was fun. I’m glad I got to go to Hogsmeade.”

“I’m glad I got to go with you.”

You feel your face heat. The romantic in you tells you, no, begs you to kiss his cheek. Tell him he’s why it was so fun. Talking over butterbeers was your favorite way to pass time and you really enjoyed getting to know him better. But you weren’t so bold. 

“Goodnight Remus,” you say before heading inside. 

He stood outside for a few minutes longer. He should have kissed your cheek. He was kicking himself for not doing so. But that might have been too bold and risked scaring you off. It was probably for the best that he didn’t. He needed to work up to it. The boys were waiting for him when he returned to his dorm.

“Where have you been all day?” James asks accusingly as soon as Remus walks through the door.

“None of your business, Mum,” Remus says, tossing the Honeydukes bag on his bed.

“Honeydukes?” Peter asks, sitting up. “You went to Hogsmeade? Just now?”

“You went to Hogsmeade without us?” James asks, putting two and two together. 

“You went yesterday,” Remus reminds him.

“You chose to stay back. Why go today?”

“Because-” he starts to say.

“You’re working on the bet, aren’t you?” Sirius cuts him off. The smile Sirius was sporting said that he knew he was right.

“Yes.”

James and Peter gasp. Sirius grins wider.

“So you going to tell us how it’s going?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Peter asks with a pout forming on his face.

“You’ll just know when I succeed.”

Sirius rolls his eyes and laughs. “Must be going well if you’re still confident you’re going to succeed.”

---

“Andrew, for the love of Merlin, leave me alone,” you complain on your way to class.

Whatever the Marauders did to him at Hogsmeade wasn’t enough. He seemed more urgent than ever to take you on a date, even with you telling him that you weren’t interested in him in the slightest. He stands in the doorway to your class, which he isn’t in.

“Come on, just one date. It’ll be the best one you’ve ever been on!”

Remus looks up from his conversation with the boys at his desk at Andrew’s voice. He hears you groan.

“Let me into my class!”

Remus is there in a moment. 

“Lark, let the lady through,” Remus says firmly.

Andrew spins around in the doorway, still blocking it but now looking at Remus. 

“Little Lupin to the rescue? You fancy her or something?”

“Yeah, a bit,” Remus answers, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “Now let her through. I think she’s made her opinions of you quite clear.”

Andrew glances at you over his shoulder. 

“Hear that, dove? Lupin likes you.”

“I’d hope so. We went on a date.”

Andrew’s arms fall so he’s not blocking the door as well and Remus pulls you through, which makes Andrew stumble slightly out of the way.

“What do you mean you went on a date?” Andrew asks indignantly. “A date? An actual date? With him?”

“That’s what I said. Care to confirm?” you ask, looking up at Remus, who is still holding your arm.

“Yeah. It was quite lovely. She’s quite lovely.” He looks down at you with a soft smile. 

Then without thinking, you lean up and press a chaste kiss to his cheek. Andrew looks ready to scream and a few hollers erupt from behind you. You scan the room for the source. The Marauders. You’re not too surprised at that. Of course Remus’ friends would be watching him as he came to play hero. It’s less than thirty seconds, but by the time you look back over to the door, Andrew has vanished.

“Thanks, Remus,” you breathe.

“Maybe he’ll finally leave you alone, huh?”

“Hope so.”

He walks you to your desk before returning to his own, where James pats him enthusiastically on the back. Throughout the entire lesson, you two are looking over at each other. Most of the time, when one is looking, the other isn’t. You only make eye contact with him once all lesson, which caused both of you to turn a deep shade of crimson. 

By the end of the week, Andrew stops asking you out on the daily and appears to be purposefully avoiding you and Remus. You find ways to spend more time with him, scheduling study time in the library and comparing schedules so that you can walk to your classes together. You even join him and his friends for lunch every few days. They were rather shocked the first time, but quickly turned into a welcoming group. 

It became obvious to those around you that you were seeing Remus. It came as a surprise to many people, including your friends. 

“What do you mean you’re dating Remus Lupin? When do you talk to him?”

“What do you mean you went to Hogsmeade with him? Alone?”

“When did this happen and why didn’t we know about it?”

Excuses of minding your own business and not wanting to count your chickens before they hatched echoed in your dorm. It really had come out of nowhere, but you suppose it was because Remus pursued you in a way that no one else had. He wasn’t putting you on the spot to do the things he wanted and disrupting you when you were clearly busy. He liked to be in your presence and took your opinion into consideration before suggesting things. Even better, he put Andrew Lark in his place. 

You were headed to your usual table to meet Remus for a study session; you refused to call them study dates because you knew your mind would say that you can’t be productive on a date. You laugh at your thoughts: dates are not conducive for studying. You hear Remus’ voice as you walk through the shelves, collecting some books you know you need for your Herbology assignment. You stop mid-step when you hear additional voices at your table.

“Have you snogged her yet, Moony?” Sirius asks.

“No, not yet,” he answers with a sigh. 

Not yet. You smile.

“Well, could you get on with it? You’ve been spending so much time with her. We need you for this prank.”

“You were the one to suggest the bet. Sorry I’m taking my time.”

“But you’re going to break up with her once you do, right?” Peter asks. “Complete the bet and get out before you catch feelings. That was the point of this.”

You bite your lip, hoping that somehow this wasn’t about you, that maybe Remus had a voice twin and they were talking about the other boy’s girl. You knew that it wasn’t possible, but you had to hope for a moment. But then James spoke. 

“Even better, you got Lark off her back so she owes you. She owes you a snog and then you’re free. You’ll have gotten your kiss, Casanova.”

Lark. He had only been after you for a while. And Remus had been the reason he was leaving you alone. 

You leave your hiding place within the books, stepping into their line of sight. Remus’ eyes go wide as he sees you. His heart breaks when he sees the tears in your eyes. You had heard and he knew it. 

You lock eyes with him and you shake your head. Holding the books close to your chest, you turn to leave the library. How could you work with someone who was only with you to snog you for a bet? A damn bet? 

You ignore Remus calling after you. You don’t break into a run; you have too many books in your arms to run, but you’re walking as quickly as you can. From the sound of his footsteps, he is running. Running and calling your name, saying it isn’t what you think. That the boys don’t know what they are talking about. You spin on the spot to glare at him through tears when he finally catches up to you and places a hand on your shoulder. 

“Did you or did you not ask to sit at my table in the library because of, of, of that bet?” you spit. It comes out harsh. It was supposed to. You were angry and upset.

“I did, but-”

“There’s no buts about this, Remus,” you say firmly. You’re firm but your voice is laced with sadness and uncertainty. “All of this was because of a bet. And I’m not a bet. So yeah. Go fuck yourself.”

You leave him standing in the corridor. He could’ve followed you. Some part of him knew he should have so that he could explain. 

---

You avoid Remus at all costs. He tries to hunt you down in the library, in between classes, in the Great Hall. He’s even taken to sitting outside your dorm. Your roommates step around him, muttering insults. He doesn’t blame them. If it had been anyone else doing this, he would be saying the same insults under his breath to Sirius, James and Peter. He hated himself for agreeing to the stupid bet in the first place. He should have just gone after you on his own terms. 

About a week later, you spent all day studying in the library and you were honestly surprised that Remus didn’t show up once. You missed dinner, but you didn’t mind. If you had gone to dinner, you might have run into Remus and if you were safe in the library, you were staying there until you went to bed. Except you ran into Remus while trying to go to bed. He was asleep outside your dorm’s door. You knew you should’ve just gone into your dorm and ignored him, but you were a good person and wouldn’t let him sleep like that all night. You nudge his side gently with your foot.

“Lupin,” you say softly. “Lupin, wake up.”

He stirs, rubbing his eyes. When he sees that you’re the one who woke up and not some disgruntled prefect, he jumps to his feet and hugs you. You make a startled noise at the hug.

“Please, let me explain,” he whispers.

“You have five minutes. Then I’m going to bed.”

“Okay, thank you,” he says quickly. “Thank you. Okay, so yes, it did start as a bet.”

You groan and reach for the doorknob. He puts his hand on top of yours to stop it from turning. 

“I have four minutes and thirty seconds,” he says, causing you to roll your eyes. “A bet that I couldn’t get a girl and snog her. I accepted because Sirius was being rude. Stupid, I know. But please, please, please believe me when I say the bet stopped being relevant the moment you agreed that I could keep you company in the library while you worked on your Potions essay. I wasn’t doing it just to snog you and prove to the boys that I really could get a girl.”

“And I should believe you because?”

“Because if it was just for a bet, I would’ve kissed you when we got back from Hogsmeade the first time. I would’ve snogged you in front of Andrew and the boys. Just to prove that I could do it. I would’ve been done.” He pauses, trying to read the expression on your face. “I’ve been spending so much time with you because I genuinely like you so much. I like being your boyfriend. I like being around you. I like making you smile. I like making you laugh. Yes, I’d like to snog you very much. But not for a bet. I want to snog you to feel your lips against mine. I like studying with you, I like paying for your butterbeers. I like walking around with you. I like when you hang out with my friends. I’d like to hang out with your friends.” 

He pauses his ramblings to catch his breath briefly.

“That is, if you’ll forgive me for even partaking in this stupid goddamn bet. And you somehow convince your friends to forgive me too.”

You cross your arms and lean against the doorframe. You take in Remus’ appearance. You’re used to him looking perpetually tired, but he looks exhausted, so much worse for wear than usual. His hair is a mess and clothes uncharacteristically rumpled. His expression is so genuine and sad, practically begging you to understand how much he cares for you.  

“Please. I know you’re more than a bet. So much more. The only good thing about the bet is that it actually got me to get close to you.”

“I’ll forgive you under one condition,” you say.

His face lights up and he takes a step toward you. 

“Anything. You name it and it’s done.”

You smirk. “When you do snog me, please do it in front of Lark. A little revenge on that sorry bastard.”

Remus smiles widely and nods. Then he places a gentle kiss on your lips. It only lasts a second, over as soon as it began. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He gives you an identical kiss. “One snog in front of Lark coming up.”

[sturniolosangel]

through the phone

warnings: sorta sub!matt, phone sex, masturbating, dirty talk ig?,not proof read as always

a/n: kinktober day 3! this will probably be shorter because there is no actual sex but please still enjoy! as always i🤍u

summary: matt’s on tour an really craving readers touch so he gives her a call.

on the call blue: matt red: y/n

i was laying in my bed after work waiting for my boyfriend to text me, which i knew would be late since he was now touring with his brothers.

incoming call… matt🤍

i pressed answer as i could hear his voice “hey baby i missed talking to you” “hey babe how was your day” “really good, just missing you really bad”. i could tell where he was getting at. “are you by yourself? you know we can’t do this when you’re around people”.

he sighed as he replied “yeah got the hotel room to myself. nick and chris went out just a few minutes ago” “you really needed me that bad you didn’t go out with your brothers” i giggled as i spoke. “yeah saw your new instagram post and got rock hard immediately” “please like you didn’t post that hot ass picture that made me and all your fans wet” i rolled my eyes.

“just need you no one else” he whimpered out. “just start off slow just like i would” his hand slowly pumped his dick his head rolling back. “feel good baby?” “really good just not you” “just close your eyes and imagine i’m there on my knees in front of you” “fuck…”.

i propped my phone up as i took my shirt, pants, and underwear off. i started to rub my clit to match his rhythm. he opened his eyes moaning out loud to see me sat up with my legs spread. “so fucking pretty” i moaned out as he compliment.

“go a little faster baby i can tell you’re getting desperate” i saw him nod his head as he picked up his past moaning out. i stuck two fingers into my pussy as i rolled my head back. “i can’t wait to fuck you. miss you more than anything” “can’t wait to suck your dick i need it so bad”.

“matt…” i was so close already so i slowed down. “doing so good for me matt” “mhm… needed this so bad haven’t came in days”. his hips were bucking into his hands as his eyes squeezed shut.

“shit baby!… gonna cum soon” “i’m right behind you just be a good boy and come for me” he moaned his hand tightening around his head. my fingers plunged in and out as i grabbed my boob in the other hand.

my legs started to shake as i moaned out “fuck! matt im gonna cum” i saw his eyes roll back as white streaks landed all over his hand and torso. “shit…” my back arched as liquid came rushing out of me as i moaned out and shooting the liquid all over my bed.

i controlled my breathing as i sighed out. “felt so good baby” matt smiled as he got up to go to the bathroom. “thank you so much i really needed that” “of course matt go take a shower and i’ll go take a bath you got a long day ahead of you tomorrow” “okay i love you so much i’ll send you so money for food tomorrow” “i love you too and you know you don’t need to do that”

“yeah but you know i love to spoil my girl” “woah don’t get me started again your brothers will be back any minute” i giggled as i said my goodbye and hung up.

liked by matthew.sturniolo, christophersturniolo, ariana_greenblatt and 3,727,920 others.

yn.yln: kiss me through the phone💋

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[elexaria]

we all know johnny would happily let simon fuck his girl bc they’re best friends, but when simon finally settles down, he’s a little hesitant.

simon is a man whore, he enjoys being balls deep in a pretty thing, mindlessly feeling each pulse of the ridged warmth that sucks his dick in so nicely. his eyes can white over, blood rushing to his face because he’s got a bad habit of holding his breath when he’s having sex.

but when he meets someone who he actually cares about, someone who’s more than a nice face and a pretty pair of legs— he feels drawn to them. he’s… whipped. before, he wouldn’t really mind sleeping around behind people’s backs— hey, it’s not a real commitment, it’s only fucking! but when he really finds himself stuck on that someone, he begins going out less and less— he’s actually committing.

and it SHOCKS johnny. “whit d’ye mean yer not goin oot?” he whines, eyebrows furrowed as he watches simon relax in the rec room, feet propped up on the coffee table as he enjoys the man u match. “am bringin’ ma wee lass out, ye can even bring—“ johnny’s cut off by simon glaring at him, a look that reads ‘drop it, i’m not interested’

it’s not the same when johnny goes out by himself, no sleezy simon by his side! and simon BITES when johnny proposes a foursome between the four of you, your cheeks bright red. he starts going off on one, about how he doesn’t want to do that shit anymore— it’s gay, blah blah blah. and johnny’s all like ?? “its nawt gay ye stupid eejit, its no like we’re shaggin each other! yer just pussy whipped!”

and then johnny goes through a breakup— it’s like the world comes crashing down. he’s moping around, melting into the rec room couch with a decrepit look as he holds his second beer of the night, not amused even in the slightest when you and simon try and get him to smile :( but he soon perks up when you’re on your hands and knees between his legs, one hand cupping the shaft of his aching cock, while your tongue dances and traverses each vein and pulse point. he almost cums right then and there when you tease his slit, his honey coloured eyes twinkling with restraint. “just this once.” simon grumbles, kneeling behind you as he teases your dripping wet cunt with the pads of his calloused fingertips, his other hand rubbing through his boxers to tease his erection :((

“just this once” he says, but simon gets fed up of johnny pulling the “am heartbroken, simon! :(“ and accepts that it’s more fun fucking a girl when its with ur bestie <3

[facefullofsadness]

when succubus!winrina are summoned

g!p demon!jiminjeong x human!reader

smut, 2k wc

happy extremely belated birthday (like can I even classify this as a bday post anymore?) to the most annoying person I know @aliceiwk because she didn't wanna tell me her bday even though I was gonna find out eventually bc I was gonna post this ANYWAY. is late as FUCK (literally an entire month PLUS late omg) bc of school, travel, other reasons wtv, but that wasn't gonna stop me!!! soooo yes mwah mwah lub u enjoy ur jiminjeong threesome!!

when yizhuo and aeri had the bright idea of doing a silly little demon summoning session for funsies, you screamed at them in horror. what the actual fuck kind of idea is that? the two girlfriends' justification was simply for shits and giggles! I mean, that shit isn't real anyway, right? there's no ACTUAL fucking shot demons would come to haunt you guys if you tried conjuring em up!

somehow, someway, yall ended up in a circle with some candles, some salt, a shady looking book, and a dark ass room. being in the actual moment sent chills down your spine, the summer nights being quite cold to accompany such a stupid idea you and your friends were going through with. when your last minute effort to back out, stop, and instead watch horror movies to get their spooky fill failed, the two girls begin flipping pages of the book.

"what aboutttt demon of gluttony?" the small girl asks, pondering which demon to summon.

"there's not a lot of things to do with that," the taller girl replies, one arm propped up behind her girlfriend, checking her nails on the other hand.

"demon of wrath?"

"we've all got enough anger combined to need that one."

"demon of sloth!"

"fuck does that even mean?"

"ooohhhh!! y/n desperately needs this one, demon of lust."

"oh, perfect!"

"hey wait what is that supposed to mean?!" you butt in.

"now now, it's okay to badly want head! we're just helping you out!"

aeri raises her hands up and reaches out to pull you into the chair placed in the middle of a pentagram surrounded in candles. you put your face in your hands, shaking your head at the reality of what was currently happening.

"now just sit tight and soon enough you'll stop complaining about your celibacy!"

performing the ritual was goofier than you expected it to be. with the accompaniment of yizhuo's unserious reading of the spell, aeri's cackle everytime her girlfriend stuttered, and forgetting to pause the music, having txt's blue hour playing in the background, it was hard to take anything seriously. having to go through with the summoning ritual twice because the first time was so botched, thinking doing it again would make sure it "worked".

unsurprisingly, nothing happened. ning was disappointed, to which aeri had to kiss away her pout, but you were relieved because what the fuck would have possibly happened if it worked? you sent the girls home after making them clean the stupid ritual up, collapsing on your mattress and passing out.

in the dead of night, two figures emerge from the shadows, the darkness of your room enveloping the strangers. you're completely asleep, your peaceful breathing and spinning ceiling fan the only white noise to mask the echoey voices across the room.

"what are you doing here?"

"I was summoned, I could ask the same question to you."

"why would I purposefully go somewhere you are?"

"it's simple, you're obsessed with me or something."

"not as obsessed as you are with me."

the shadowy figures huff in the darkness before staring back at your slumbering body.

one of them smirks and scoffs, "horny slut must've summoned both of us."

"how fascinating, I was worried it was gonna be a man again," the other figure tilts her head to the side, observing your sleeping face.

"ugh, one thing we can finally agree on, men aren't nearly as fun or tempting as women."

the being observing your face brushes a strand of hair out of your eyes, "girls are just so delicious."

the two look at each other and exchange a sinister smile, almost agreeing to be civil through eye contact.

"then let's have our fun tonight yeah, winter?"

"only if you share, karina."

you were awoken to your body being thrown around, your back sinking into the mattress, wrists pinned on either side of you, eyes shooting open with a gasp, shaking you out of your sleep. foggy sight clearing and eyes adjusting to the darkness slowly as two figures come into view, women (?), or as your mind would rationalize them to be.

two shadowy women with rustic obsidian horns growing through their skulls, dark tails swaying behind them, black leather-like wings spanning out from their backs, and dark red orbs emanating aura from their eyes. you're frozen into place, your eyes doing all the talking as they observe the figures pinning you down with their talon-like claws, skimpy leather outfits hugging the pale women's milky skin.

you want to scream, thrash, do something, but all you can do is stare at them, eyes darting back and forth between the dark-haired and blonde creatures.

"awww, look at her, such an innocent little thing," the blonde coos, her voice reverberating, almost as if she had a filter over it.

the dark haired girl replies, voice heavy with reverb and seduction, "but she's not, she needed to be fucked senseless by two of us, isn't that right?"

you're speechless, mouth opening to answer but no noise escaping. no way... was this a result of that stupid summoning ritual you guys did earlier that night? it... worked? BOTH TIMES???

"can't speak, can you? do humans not understand what consequences of your actions mean? didn't your people come up with that saying?" the darker one pouts, pulling back from your face to straddle one of your legs, knee slotting itself perfectly between your thighs.

the blonde one giggles, her sinister tone sending shivers down your spine, "fuck I cannot wait to consume you, you're extremely enticing."

somehow, you speak, voice heavy with confusion, fear, and exhaustion, "what the fuck are you?"

the two exchange a sly smirk, looking at each before turning back to you, "exactly what you asked for, demons of lust."

succubus, it had clicked in your head as you further observed their features, feeling their nails digging into your skin, the pain confirming you were in fact not dreaming.

"don't worry little one, we'll give you everything you want."

the blonde demon's tail wraps around both of your wrists, the dark-haired demon releasing you from her grip, letting the other pin your hands down and back above you. the blonde settles next to your head, her crotch emanating heat in front of your face. she takes a handful of your hair and grips the back of your head, pulling your face up and lowering herself to meet you, your scalp stinging in her hold.

"be a good fucking whore and let us do what we want with you, you'll enjoy every second of it."

she pushes your cheek against her crotch, her addicting scent filling your nose, feeling her hard appendage press against your face. meanwhile, the dark-haired girl between your thighs digs her knee against your core, whimpering at the pressure, having only worn panties and a t-shirt to bed.

the taller girl's cold hands grip your exposed thighs, digging her nails into your skin, making you hiss. she trails her hands under your shirt, ghosting her fingers over your waist and dragging her claws across your stomach. her hands are greedy, moving at a moderate pace but every touch is so intense and rough, knuckles now rubbing against your soaking underwear, friction brushing against your clit.

everything happens so fast as you swear you black out every few seconds the more their touches advance on your body. before you know it, you're choking on the demon called winter, the other succubus grinding her knee against your bare pussy being karina. you moan against the blonde's cock as she thrusts mercilessly into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat as tears spill from your eyes, the pleasure from the dark-haired girls needy hands on your hips forcing your body to roll against her knee with your panties pushed to the side, cunt leaking with your juices, making the movements slick, your eyes rolling back at the sensation.

"yeah little slut? like that big cock in your throat? can't speak huh? fucking whore," winter degrades above you, holding your head with both of her hands to control just how relentlessly she ruins your throat.

karina chuckles darkly below you, watching her pull away and lower her face to your pulsing core, "she is a whore, just look at how fucking wet this bitch is. she's practically a waterfall of cum."

through blurry, tear-filled eyes, you watch as karina's split tongue circled your hot clit, feeling its unforgiving movements dance across your aching slit as it flicks against your bud and hole simultaneously somehow. not that you question it, falling into an inevitable sub-space, your mind completely broken just as quickly as they had started fucking you.

you feel winter's member so deeply down your throat, it bulges in your neck, her rugged panting and breathing making the onslaught of your body worth it. all your noises are choked and silent however, karina's skillful mouth maneuvering your burning insides and throbbing outsides, the hums from her throat vibrating against your entire pussy. the sensation of winter's creamy cum flowing down your throat makes you roll your eyes back, not needing to swallow as her load slides down your esophagus easily.

"couldn't you be at least a little patient?" an annoyed karina pulls away from your pussy to complain, tugging your limp body up against her chest, winter's cock slipping from your swollen mouth.

the blonde's heavy breathing is accompanied by a reverberating chuckle as she responds, "don't be jealous, you get to taste the bitch's pussy, I should be the aggravated one."

the taller girl replies with a grunt, "fine, but I'm cumming in her cunt first."

"oh no, we're sharing that fucking hole," you feel the other succubus' body heat on your back, pressing her front against you, her still hard monster cock tapping against your ass.

"you are so fucking annoying," karina mumbles before pulling out her hard dick and slipping it between your folds, collecting your slick, pushing into your tight hole as you scream painfully at the intrusion.

she immediately sets an unforgiving pace, mercilessly pounding her throbbing member into your aching heat, holding you against her chest by your waist, your face in her shoulder as you sobbed in pain, the pleasure slowly creeping in. the girl behind you spits on her dick, spreading the saliva before forcing herself in you too, joining karina's relentless thrusting. tears flow from your eyes as bloodcurdling screams escape your already sore throat, the two demons' lengthy and girthy cocks tearing your tight cunt apart, drool leaking from your mouth as your brain abandons consciousness, completely broken and ruined from them fucking you.

winter pants against your ear as her hands sink into your hips, drilling you from behind, "you're gone now, aren't you doll? you've become our little cumslut to treat like a toy, haven't you?"

her words don't process in your fucked out head, nodding mindlessly to her question.

karina against you moans as your pussy squeezes around both of them, pushing in as winter pulls out, "taking us so well, little whore. that's right, be the good fucking slut you are and take it. take all of it."

they continue to absolutely annihilate your insides with their aggressive ramming, never stopping as they used your body like a sextoy, throwing you around like a ragdoll, pounding into you like you were just their property. the sound of wet skin slapping together and their loud, frustrated breathing filled your barely functioning auditory senses as you feel both of them stiffen against you, hot cum filling you, stuffing you full of their seed.

your lifeless body slumps against karina's front, winter holding you up as someone, unsure of who due to your barely conscious state, breathlessly comments against your ear, "we're far from finished, little one."

and they keep their word, not stopping the entire night, their split tongues working in tandem on each of your nipples, lapping at both of your holes as they seep pleasure, their cocks exploring every inch of your greedy orifices, letting you feel every bit of lust they harbor towards your mortal body. they fuck you until you break, until they ruin every part of you, until your begs and pleads grow silent, until time ceases to exist, the only thing in your sorry brain you can possibly process are karina and winter. and maybe when you're free, you'll thank aeri and yizhuo.

a/n: yeah their cocks probably have ridges and stuff but I didn't think about that while writing it, maybe next time <3 #welovemonstercock !!! can this even be classified as a short like this shit is long, oh whale

[artuurle]

Okay so about those headcanons-

I believe ascending to god-hood in Great God Grove is heavily Tied to a persons mental health, whole post is under read-more for the sake of everyone, poorly written ramblings by someone that struggles to write out thoughts below with some doodles (obviously spoilers too!) :

Aka dumb idiots who girl-rot (/silly) and don't handle their internal issues end up ascended in the realms hours to DAYS after the event instead of immediately after like in the case of King. In my headcanon this is because a gods new form is tied to who they are, and if you hate yourself, don't know who you are, or think you're nothing, it'll effect how you turn out, fighting with other aspects of how you see yourself for dominance. The harder the struggle to create a form, the more of a recoup period for said god to actually start being able to do things- think about it like recovering from exertion or from being sick.

This of course can lead to some problems for the said gods with more problems than others, like Inspekta:

He fears being nobody, dying, leaving nothing behind, and being forgotten- and when he ascended he quite literally lost his whole torso and his tail popped off! hands possibly representin' the others that propped him up! Finally waking up after ascending I'd take it he took his form rather poorly and actually needed extra time to recover *emotionally* before anything on top of the time needed to pop into full existence as a god. I believe when the other gods saw his entrance into the realm, it was quite literally him dropping in from a long ways up with a thud for the jacket and his head bouncing away (really silly, like a ball). while being able to put it together for the other gods he ended up really struggling about what he'd become in private.

Another god i believe may have had issues with ascending is not surprisingly, Click Clack. A god i feel in his human life spent making himself palatable and burying editing out how he felt about things and being unnoticed. Also wouldn't be surprising some of the burying editing came in during the time between him and Thespius ascended, his lover was above them now, after all! I actually drew how i envisioned his entrance to the god realm, because i'm biased.

like a sudden ink spill appeared after a while and he crawled out, exhausted.

anyway i've rambled incoherently enough hope u enjoyed my nonsense and the doodles [explodes]

[sculkapologist]

I finally finished a NEW CUSTOM MAP ART!!! "Visitor," a portrait of an enderman, is extra exciting because it's my first full-palette map painting, meaning I used block height to access all the highlight and shadow colours available!! More on the full process under the cut, but the short version of what this means is:

ITS A VERY COMPLICATED CONSTRUCTION. I created the art, then planned and built this manually, without any mods or schematics for construction. Huge props again to everyone else in the server for helping me gather all the materials to make this absurd thing possible!!!

This was the original art I made for it! I'm a huge fan of the "compressed" look of the vanilla paintings, so I've been starting with a large image and shrinking it down, though there were a lot of pixel tweaks to get it to read well. After shrinking it to 16x32 (for an art made of two maps), I convert it to a limited palette that I've set up to match the colours minecraft actually has available:

The map palette is actually tremendously limited, so figuring out a painting that will still look good with that constraint is a challenge in and of itself!

Anyway, the way minecraft maps work, a block that is Taller than the block to the north of it shows up with a slightly lighter colour, and a block that is Lower than the block north of it shows up on the map with a slightly darker colour. So when making a key for this one, I marked all the squares with a little arrow if it's the lighter or darker version:

Each "pixel" here is a full stack of blocks on the mapped area: 64 blocks, 8 rows of 8. In order to achieve the affect of every block in a given pixel being taller or shorter than the block to the north of it, dark and light shades need to staircase either up or down. Because staircasing downwards in survival sounds even worse than this madness, I did some planning to make sure each of the "downwards" staircases would touch the ground, so I could simply staircase up from south to north instead. This involved figuring out how many up and down movements were in each individual column and planning out 32 little layouts:

It's worth noting that if you look up minecraft map art on Youtube, most of what you'll find is either, the simple realisation that placing blocks allows you to make custom map art, or an explanation of how to use a generator that will let you plug in any picture and then produce a schematic for you. It's very cool that these exist, but I wanted to do full palette art myself, without an auto-generated schematic, and at the time THERE JUST WEREN'T ANY TUTORIALS FOR HOW TO DO ALL THIS?? Now, having the experience of finagling all this, i think perhaps the reason is that this is a mad undertaking.

ANYWAY: PROGRESS SHOTS!!

I actually love how the staircases look..... its like some kind of modern sculpture

Fewer shots of the second half since I did it on call with friends; the last screenshot is one Thren took of me activating the new locked map to use for the gallery.

Once these paintings are done, I lock the finished maps, make copies, and stock them in the art gallery so other friends on our server can also put these paintings in their homes! It's a lot of work, but really rewarding to see my art decorating various buildings around the server. ;u;

I have one more custom full-palette painting I've done the art for and gathered all materials for; I still need to do the full key and plan staircasing for it before I can start, but HOPEFULLY if my resolve doesn't waver there'll be at least one more of these!!

[that-sarcastic-writer]

Say it

Pairing: RE4R!Leon S. Kennedy X F!Reader

Summary: After coming back from Spain, Leon has been acting distant. You think seeing a face from the past has messed with his feelings, and he wants to prove you that is not the case.

Takes place after the events of re4 remake, mentions the events of RE2 remake as well

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, oral (fem receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (pls wrap it before you tap it), p in v, creampie, choking, praise kink, soft dom leon, he talks you through it, they're both just desperate for each other, the s in leon s kennedy stands for slut, language, established relationship

WC: 4.4k

A/N: I've been thinking about this mf ever since I played the remake. So I wrote this self indulgent piece of filth. This is my first time writing for him so pls be kind. Enjoy :)

You can also read this over at Ao3 (but pls still reblog and shit here thank u)

Leon Kennedy Masterlist

Creds of gift above to this tumblr

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

You knew you had no right to be upset, not when you knew damn well what he went through. Or more so, you didn’t actually know what he went through, so you couldn’t possibly imagine what was going through his head right now. But still, you knew something else was in his head, and it wasn’t just the horrors he had to deal with to come back alive from Spain. There was something else in his mind. You knew it.

This silence, it was killing you. Leon wasn’t much of a talker to begin with, not after Raccoon City, but for the better part of a decade, you learned to be comfortable with his silence. Right now though, you just felt uncomfortable.  

“Want me to pour you one?”

Oh he speaks.

You lifted your head from the pile of papers on your lap at the sound of his voice, you saw him standing in front of the small cabinet where he kept all of his alcohol, glass and bottle of expensive whiskey in hand. You half smiled at him and shook your head. 

“Not right now, thank you.” You watched him shrug in response and take a long sip of his glass, before he walked over to join you on the couch. But he sat on the opposite end.

You frowned a bit when he sat so far, but you chose to not comment on it and instead brought your attention back to your paper. A good five minutes went by, and you had made zero improvements, you hadn't even picked up the pen again, so Leon spoke again.

“How’s the paper coming along?” He asked with a clear of his throat as he sat back, propping his feet up on the coffee table in front of him and his head was turned in your direction.

You sighed heavily, “It’s not. I can’t for the life of me come up with the right words.” You groaned softly as you threw your head back and rubbed your tired eyes.

You were in the same place you were a little less than a week ago, when Leon left to find Ashley Graham in the middle of nowhere Spain, not knowing if you’d ever see him again or not. You couldn’t even sleep, or eat, let alone focus on a paper. And although Leon was now home, alive, you were still preoccupied. 

“And that is exactly why I dropped out.” 

“This is a Phd program, not my second year of undergrad. Undergrad was nowhere near as bad as this.” You snorted softly and shot him a look. He gave you an annoyed look knowing you were teasing him. “Besides, what you do is way worse than some paper. Fighting weird cults and bioweapons or whatever they’re called.”

“Yeah..” He scoffed out a laugh, but it wasn’t humorous. His expression quickly turned serious as he looked down at his lap. You could see the way his grip tightened the slightest bit around his glass and his jaw ticked.

He had been home a few days by now, having stayed in D.C for a few days to finish all of the report and briefing, and you hadn’t talked about what had happened to him in Spain, just that Ashley was safe, and some weird cult was behind it all, but he couldn’t say much more, or maybe just didn’t want to. Regardless, any mention of it would make him tense up. 

He got quiet, and his eyes not once looked your way again. You bit the inside of your cheek and sat up, leaning over your knees to be able to reach him.

“Leon,” You said his name softly and a gentle hand touched his leg. You felt him tense up, but he didn’t make any attempts to move away from your touch. “Are you okay?”

You didn’t care if he didn’t want to open up, you didn’t expect him to, and you would never force him to, but you wanted him to know you would listen if he did.

A shaky exhale left his lips, but he nodded. “Yeah baby, I’m good.” He answered after a few seconds, forcing a smile and forced himself to look your way, but his eyes never met with yours.

God this was killing you. 

Before you could respond, he downed the rest of his whiskey before rising to his feet and he started walking without saying a word. Oh no. Absolutely not. If there was something that made your blood boil, it was him walking away in the middle of a conversation. The avoidance. That was something you couldn’t deal with. 

“Leon.” You called his name firmly as you stood up and looked at him with a frown. He turned around with an exasperated spin and a tight jaw, frustration already starting to show. “Do not give me that look, Leon Kennedy.”

He smacked his tongue softly, holding back the urge to roll his eyes, “I’m not. I’m just..” He didn’t finish his sentence, he just sighed out loudly.

You let out your own sigh as you walked to stand in front of him. You stared up at him, eyes big as you met his pale blue ones. They looked emptier and less bright every time he came back from a mission, but this look, this look that screamed he was having a mental hurricane, he only had it after Raccoon City. 

“Baby I know… I don’t, I don’t know what you saw, or did in Spain, and I know you’re having a hard time right now. I just..” You sighed shakily, bringing your hands up to hold his face between them. He tensed up again, his jaw clenching and unclenching as his head hung low, but he said nothing and didn’t move away either. “See, this is what I mean. You don’t even want me to touch you. I want to comfort you, I want to help, but you won’t let me. I thought.. I thought we were past that.”

Your hands were at your sides now, and you had taken a step back from him. That seemed to make him look at you, now with big eyes full of guilt, like he hadn’t even realized he was rejecting you. He had been in his own head, not being able to forget the events of Spain, and not being able to sort out his feelings like he knew he should have. God, had he been acting like this the whole time he was home? Rejecting your attempts at comfort? 

“Baby..” He stepped forward, closing the gap you had just created, but he didn’t touch you. He just looked at you, lips parted. He didn’t know how to tell you. “It’s not that.. And it’s not you. In Spain.. There was someone else on that island..”

You stared at him with confusion at first, unsure what exactly that had to do with this. His eyes searched for yours with this guilt ridden and conflicted look. The same look he gave you after Raccoon City. The same one he gave you before he told you he needed time. And then it dawned on you. 

Someone else. 

“You saw her again, didn’t you?” Realization quickly flashed over your face, and that quickly turned into a mixture of anger and hurt as your gaze hardened. Leon saw it. “That’s what it is. You saw Ada. You saw Ada and now you have your balls all twisted up. Again.”

Now it was you who was walking away from him. You weren’t even going to argue this time, and you didn’t want to wait for him to tell you he needed time again. You were halfway up the stairs when Leon started to call your name, but you ignored him and simply turned the corner into your shared bedroom. 

“Shit.” He cursed to himself, sprinting after you, missing two steps and nearly tripping up the stairs in the process. 

By the time he made it to your bedroom you already had a backpack thrown on the bed as you aggressively threw clothes into it. His eyes widened with slight panic when he realized what you were doing.

“Hey, woah. It’s the middle of the night, where the hell are you going?” He huffed, walking back and forth between the bed and your dresser as you continued to aggressively toss clothes on the bed.

“Claire’s. Move.” You muttered as you stopped on your heels when Leon stood right in front of you, arms folded over his chest like a wall between you and your dresser. “Leon, I swear to God.”

“Just listen. It wasn’t like that. Nothing happened, sweetheart I swear.” God he wanted to hold you so bad, he didn’t realize just how much until now. But he didn’t reach for you, he kept his arms over his chest, afraid you would backhand him if he tried. 

“Yeah, ‘cause you probably realized she was just using you again, so you had no other choice but to come back home to me, and not with her, right?” You scoffed, the hurt and betrayal clear in your voice. He opened his mouth, but you didn’t even let him speak, “And before you ask me for time to sort out your feelings, I'm just gonna go stay at Claire’s, and maybe don’t bother looking for me this time.” 

You grabbed the backpack from the bed with whatever you managed to shove in there and started to walk to the door. But Leon was faster than you, stronger too. And before you could step foot outside that bedroom, he had closed the door and backed you into it, both of his hands pressed flat on the door on either side of your head. Your eyes were wide when you looked at him, lips parted but he didn’t let you speak this time.

“Do not say another word, don’t you fucking dare. Just listen to me.” He stressed every word with an authority that instantly made you close your mouth. You blinked a couple of times but didn’t dare say a word. So he continued. “Get this through your head, Ada means absolutely nothing to me anymore. She asked me to go with her, after everything and I.. I said no. I said no ‘cause I want nothing to do with her. I said no ‘cause I wanted to come home to you.”

“Leon..”

He shook his head at you as one of his hands gripped your jaw tightly and he bowed his head to speak closely to you. “I know I’ve been an asshole to you these past few days, I didn't realize I was shutting you out, and I’m sorry. But know that I would never chose Ada over you, not now, not fucking ever. I love you and I’m gonna marry you someday, don’t ever question that.”

You could hear your own breath, his breath, and he kept a tight grip on your jaw as his nose brushed against yours. You closed your eyes and sigh left your lips as you leaned in to press your lips against his, but he pulled back enough to leave you chasing.

"Stay here. Please baby." His voice was low and almost desperate. Fuck, you wanted him take you right then and there. You couldn't even speak, you just nodded, eyes still closed and lips parted. "Say it." 

"Yes. Yes, I'll stay, just.." You breathed out the words, mirroring his desperate tone as you clenched your fists around his t-shirt, pulling his body flush against yours. "Please." 

His mouth came crashing down against yours so hard he pulled a gasp from your throat. But it quickly turned into a whimper when he angled your head back, allowing him to slip in his tongue. And you happily allowed him to do so as his other hand gripped the back of your thigh. 

"Up." He mumbled against your lips as he nearly effortlessly hoisted you up, you instinctively wrapped your legs around his torso.

He walked the short distance to the bed, fingers squeezing your thigh and lips never leaving yours. He only pulled away when he laid you down on the mattress. You were about to whine when he leaned back, but you only managed to suck in a sharp breath as you watched him pull his t-shirt over his head. Your eyes landed on the bruises and injuries he had come home with, a large knife cut across his bicep, now slightly pink as it began to heal, another smaller one above his collarbone, less angry looking, and more purple bruises than you could count, but they were starting to heal as well. Goddamn, even bruised he was the most gorgeous man you have ever seen. Clearly you must've been distracted by the absolute sight that was your boyfriend because you didn’t realize he started to undress you as well until he pulled your t-shirt -that was actually one of his old ones- over your head. He flashed you with a grin and a look that was outright filthy before he leaned down and wrapped his lips around one of your breasts while one of his hands played with the other. 

The whimper that fell from your lips was almost pathetic, and you couldn’t help but arch your back further into Leon’s mouth, his lips sending shocks of electricity down your spine.

“Please Leon.” You weren’t exactly sure what you were begging for, but you were begging.

He pulled back from your breast with a hum, and tilted his head at you, “Please what?” You gave him a pitiful look, and made a sound resembling a whine. He simply stared at you with feign innocence, “What, baby? What do you want? Tell me.” 

Oh Leon S. Kennedy. That S didn’t stand for Scott, it stood for stubborn, because he had to have his way, no matter what.

You made the same pathetic noise, instinctively trying to rub your thighs together to give yourself to relief, but of course, Leon’s body was right in the fucking way, “Please I want.. Ugh fuck sakes Leon. I want your mouth, I want your cock, I want all of you, please.”

Leon had this smug smirk on his lips and he hummed, satisfied with your pathetic pleads, “Alright baby, this is what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna make you come on my tongue, then you can come on my cock all you want. Would you like that?” 

God, the look you gave him right then made him want to split you wide open. That look of pure need that you could only give him, that you have only given him. And you nodded with so much eagerness it was almost adorable. 

“Do you remember how to speak sweetheart?” He asked with this mocking voice and a smirk that made you pull your lips into a small pout as you nodded, and then he smiled at you, head tilted, “Then use your words. Say ‘yes Leon’.”

This motherfucker.

You grumbled a whine of annoyance, for a moment feeling defiant, but Leon quickly gave you a warning look, a look that had you backing down pretty fucking quick, “Yes Leon.” You finally said, hoping that would get you what you wanted.

So he is stubborn, and an arrogant asshole. Checks out.

He gave you a satisfied smirk, and planted a hard kiss to your lips before he moved down the bed. He pressed his lips to your stomach as he pulled your pajama pants down your legs, your panties quickly following. You shivered softly when the cold air hit your core, but the cold was quickly replaced with his warm breath. His pale sapphire eyes found yours for a second as he threw your legs over his broad shoulders, pulling you closer to his face. He dragged his tongue from your entrance to your clit and drew his tongue over the sensitive bud. The sounds that were coming from your mouth were anything but subtle. Your hands instantly flew to clutch his long hair. And while you might have not intended to pull, when two of his fingers slipped into you to join the rhythm of his tongue, you just couldn’t help yourself. You pulled, and fucking hard. He growled, sending vibrations through your core that had you gasping and he dug his other hand into your thigh as he forced you still on the mattress. 

“Oooh fuck, fuck Leon,” Your broken moans filled his ears, just as he felt the burn on his scalp from your pulling. 

He knew exactly where his mouth needed to be and where his fingers needed to curl to make you come apart, he prided himself in that. And with the way you kept crying out his name and your body wouldn’t stay on the mattress, he knew you had to be pretty fucking close. 

“Stay fucking still.” He growled as he pulled back enough for his thumb to replace his tongue for just a second, just so he could watch the way your body writhed each time his fingers brushed against your most sensitive spot. “Yeah that’s it, you’re so close, aren’t you baby? Mhm yeah. C’mon pretty girl, c’mon.”

His tongue quickly replaced his thumb on your clit, his lips closing around the swollen bud as his fingers scissored you open, the lewd sound of his mouth lapping at your dripping cunt filling your ears in the most delicious way possible. And you couldn’t help it, you pushed his head further against you, and the growl that rumbled in his throat as he abused your clit sent vibrations that had you seeing white. Your release coated his face and hand as you fell into a fit of shaking sobs.

His fingers left you slowly, making sure you felt every second of it as his tongue still circled slowly around your swollen clit, not stopping until you were practically pulling him away by his hair, your body still twitching a bit. He chuckled softly, leaving a wet kiss to your thigh in silent praise before slowly climbing up your body. 

You opened your eyes to find him settled between your parted thighs, two fingers in his mouth and he moaned lowly as he tasted your juices off his fingers. Your mouth was wide open, and a whine left your lips. 

“Hm? Wanna taste baby?” He smirked as he pulled his fingers from his lips and leaned down, pulling you into a messy kiss by your jaw. You could taste yourself on his tongue, on his lips, and fuck, it had you clenching around nothing. He groaned softly, his clothed cock brushing against your wet cunt. He quickly pulled back, seemingly not wanting to wait any longer. “You taste so fucking good, but you feel even better.” 

He ridded himself of his sweatpants in a second or two, boxer briefs quickly joining on the floor. He hissed softly as he sat on his knees and brushed his cock over your entrance, covering himself in your slick.

“Please babe..” You whine softly, legs dangling over his hips as you endured his torture. He chuckled softly and nodded.

“Yeah, don’t worry sweetheart, I got you.” He dug his teeth into his bottom lip as he leaned over you, your legs high on his torso as he slowly filled you, your walls instantly clenching around his cock. 

Leon moaned softly, eyes squeezing shut as he slipped further inside you, fingers digging into your hips with enough force to bruise, “Oooh fuck yeah, atta girl.”

You could only moan weakly in response, sounds so pathetic and broken, and Leon loved every goddamn second of it. He sat still for a few seconds, soaking in the feeling of your tight walls around his cock, but the feeling of your nails digging into his shoulders encouraged him to move. He snapped his hips, over, and over, each delicious drag of his cock making you cry out. His pace was brutal almost immediately, and you were clinging on to him like that was all you were meant to do, to take everything he had to give you.

“Goddamn, you’re taking my cock so well baby. Mhmm, doing such a good job,” His words were coming out in between moans and whimpers, the feeling of you cunt clutching him so well making him just as desperate as he made you. “This is what you needed, hm pretty girl? Yeah, me too.”

He had your knees nearly pressed up to your chest by then as he fucked you into the matress, and you took it happily. You nodded eagerly, gripping his hair and pulling his face from your neck to meet your gaze. “You’re.. You’re mine, mkay? Just mine.”

Your words of ownership caught him by surprise, and he laughed between pants, biting down on his lip and he hovered over you enough to press his forehead against yours, the change in angle allowing him to hit your most sensitive spot, and he had you mouth wide open.

“Yours huh? I’m yours?” He asked with a wide smirk, your words clearly riling him up. You nodded quickly. “This dick is just yours, right baby? Is that what you want me to say? That no one else can have me? That no one else deserves it?”

He grunted out the words, lacking as much control as you did, but still in control enough to taunt you, to get you going, and fuck, he got you going like one else could. You were practically screaming ‘yes!’ at the top of your lungs. Your neighbors probably knew Leon was back by then. But neither of you could honestly be bothered to care about noise. 

“Yes! Yes, only I can have you.” Your words were broken, your voice was absolutely broken in between fits of sobs. Your hands were gripping at his blonde strands as your toes curled, the flash of heat you so desperately craved to feel a second time settling in your body as you continued to take in his punishing thrusts. But you still managed to say, “Please say it. That you’re mine. Fuck, please say it.”

Fuck, when you begged him like that, so close to falling apart for him, how could he ever deny you anything?”

The moan that fell from his lips at your words left you shaking, but you were not ready for what he decided to do next. He leaned down, as close as he could to your face, lips almost touching as he wrapped his large hand around your throat, and between pants he said, “I’m all yours baby.” 

You don’t think you’ve ever come so hard in your entire life, and Leon felt it. His mouth fell open and his eyes rolled into the back of his head as your walls clenched around him, hard. A shaky whimper left his mouth as his hips started to falter, his thrusts becoming more sharp and shallow the closer he was to his own release. You held him tightly, fingers gripping his hair and his name left your lips in soft sighs enticing him to fall apart as well.

“Mmm goddamn, I’m so close. Fuck, let me come inside you baby. Ugh,” His words were shaky, so close to falling apart. You nodded eagerly, clinging onto to him as he squeezed your throat, his moans getting louder and shakier before he fell still, cock twitching as he spilled himself inside you, “Ooooh fuck, mhmm that’s it baby. Take it like the good girl that you are.”

You closed your eyes in delight, a satisfied sigh leaving your lips as you ran your fingers through his slick hair soothingly, his hand now resting beside your head just as he rested his face on your neck. His quick and heavy breaths were hot on your neck, just as his body was hot on yours, but neither of you wanted to move, or leave the other. He needed you to hold him, and you needed him to let you. He never wanted you to doubt what he felt for you, ever again. 

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like this, holding each other, Leon still inside you. Probably once he no longer had the energy to keep his weight off you, so with a kiss to your jaw, he moved away, lying beside you instead. He ran a hand through his disheveled and sweaty strands, getting his hair away from his face. With a lazy smile, he glanced over at you, equally fucked out, hair just as sweaty and disheveled as his. He bit his lip softly and leaned over to press a soft kiss to your lips. You hummed softly, bringing your hand to hold his face.

“Mmm, I think I should make you jealous more often if you’re gonna fuck me like that.” He laughed softly, a smug smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. You pulled back enough to look at him and you glared at him, nudging his head away. He only laughed harder.

“That was no jealousy, you asshole.” You rolled your eyes at him, lips slightly pursed, but the way he smiled at you and tilted his head made you crack a small smile. “I’m serious. Leon I swear to God if I find out you contact her again I will stab you in your sleep with your own knife.”

Leon knew your threat of bodily harm wasn’t serious, but he knew the reason behind it was, he knew he hurt you after Raccoon City, and it took him a long time to earn back your trust, and he would never put you through that again. 

“I won’t, I want nothing to do with her. I never did. I love you, that’s never going to change, yeah?” He leaned forward, a small smile tugging at his lips, and you couldn’t help but smile too. You believed him.

“I know. I love you too.”

“Good. Now I’ll go run us a bath for round two.” He shot you a wink as he got up and laughed when he saw the look you gave him, “That was a joke. I meant to get cleaned up.”

You narrowed your eyes at him and simply shook your head as you watched him walk across your bedroom, but when he was about to walk out, you called his name.

“Yeah baby?” He said, peeking his head into your bedroom from the hallway.

“So, when are we getting married?”

[herjuhodivine]

Hii! Could I perhaps ask for a yan! Caitvi with a darling who is scared of them? Ty 4 reading my request!

fun fact: i don’t like either one of these people ( vi is 50/50 on a good day )

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀₊ ˚ shared infatuation ꒰꒰🍒꒱꒱

masterlist ૮ ྀི ◞ ◟ ა navigation

warnings : objectification , fem!reader , poly relationship , violent outbursts ( vi ) , manipulation ( cait ) , sexual touching ( nothing explicit ) , dehumanization ( ? )

caitlyn and vi are the best couple to be around in public. but private…

caitlyn

doesn’t understand why you’re scared. she been nothing be nice to you and even dolled you up like a pretty princess.

everyday, she has a set routine for you that must not be ruined by anyone or anything. they will face the consequences if such happens

if you refuse to obey , she start manipulating you into thinking very differently about some people you care about.

she tends to do treat you more like a doll than a real person , “dolls must look pretty. dolls always obey their masters. dolls are obedient.” — her motto. 

she honestly care but also don’t care that you’re scared of her, she has nothing to worry about she may not put hands on you ( physically at least ) but someone else can take care of that ( more fear the more she’ll listen )

vi

i hc that vi is a really short tempered one but she tries to keep her cool around you and i mean TRY

every time you flinch, refuse, or ATTEMPT to run away from home escape, she ready to blow up and take out on anything or anyone.

“honey bun, please…stop getting me mad for attention! you know i’m completely devoted to you no matter what…just ask next time, k?” she’s delusional ! she thinks we asked for this.

she uses her anger to control you! you don’t want to get hit right? great! start listening—or else.

she does deeply care for you and she wishes you would just cooperate with her so she doesn’t have to use her anger to control you—she also cares about the fact you’re scared of her but she also uses it to her advantage clearly but then again, whatever keeps you with her, us, it doesn’t matter.

vi + cait

they love touching you. and i mean love touching you, boundaries don’t exist with them. from your hair to your lips, lips to your neck, neck to your collarbones, collarbones to your tits, tits to your stomach, yea you got the point.

cait will always scold vi for intentionally scaring you/using her violent outbursts to strike fear into you but she never actually stops her. if anything she’s watching from a distance, the scolding is just an act and they both know it except you of course.

whenever they argue about you, they never address you as a person, you’re an object, or not even consider human in a way, and since cait loves to keep you a doll you feel even more less of a person and more of a prop.

if you misbehave, vi will hold back cait from feeding you, showering you, etc. your punishment is either dehumanizing or rough housing sex; and cait most definitely does not agree with roughing you up have to keep up your precious porcelain skin, not taking care of you is the next best option, but cait is against that one too so vi has to hold her back. this punishment can go on for 48 hours to about a week or two.

©︎ J U H Ō . all rights reserved. please don't plazarize, copy, or steal any of my works without my permission, thank you !

[p0orbaby]

Why Do I Give You the Worst of Me (1)

summary: love and bad decisions collide as you struggle to balance a tour and a relationship that’s spiraling out of control

warnings: 18+ adult themes throughout

a/n: another series i’m hoping i don’t regret committing myself to… not sure how many parts it’ll be, i don’t plan anything

word count: 3.1k

-

You wake up face-first on a sofa that smells like cigarettes, spilled beer, and faintly, vomit. Not yours, you think. The synthetic fabric is scratchy against your cheek, and when you open your eyes, it takes a moment to realise it’s morning—sunlight cutting through the cracked blinds, striping the floor with dusty light. The sofa is mustard yellow, ugly in a deliberate, trying-too-hard-to-be-retro way. It doesn’t belong to you. Nothing in this flat belongs to you.

There’s a girl in the kitchen, humming softly to herself as she pours cereal into a bowl. You don’t know her name, but you know she wears Chanel No. 5 because it’s all you could smell last night when she leaned too close, whispering something you didn’t quite catch. Her hair’s a mess now—like spun gold caught in a tangle of barbed wire—but her makeup is still pristine. She’s the kind who sets her eyeliner with setting spray before going out, even if it’s just to the pub. You admire the commitment, if not the execution.

Your head throbs—a deep, insistent ache behind your eyes that reminds you of last night in bits and pieces: the gig (decent, though the sound guy fucked up your monitor levels), the afterparty (loud, sweaty, a haze of bodies and smoke), the lines of coke on a chipped coffee table, the bartender who kept giving you free shots because he recognised you from that NME interview last month. At some point, someone tried to fight you, though you’re not sure why. You vaguely remember smashing a bottle of tequila against a wall and laughing as glass shards rained down like confetti.

You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling, which is peeling in a way that suggests years of neglect, a building held together more by stubbornness than actual structural integrity. There’s a stain in the corner that looks suspiciously like mould, but you don’t care enough to investigate. The flat isn’t yours, after all. You were invited here by someone whose name escapes you now—a bassist from another band, or maybe it was their girlfriend? They’re gone this morning, anyway, leaving behind only the detritus of a night well-lived: empty bottles, crushed cigarette packets, a single black stiletto abandoned near the door like a fairy-tale gone wrong.

You light a cigarette, despite the pounding in your head and the fact that you’re pretty sure it’s technically illegal to smoke indoors here. The girl in the kitchen glances at you but doesn’t say anything. You’re not sure if she’s annoyed or indifferent; you don’t care. The smoke curls lazily toward the ceiling, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy the quiet. Mornings like this are rare—where everything is still and soft, where the chaos of your life is temporarily held at bay by the thin walls of someone else’s flat.

Your bass is propped up against the armchair, scratched and battered in a way that tells a story if you care to look closely enough. It’s a Fender Precision, black with a white pickguard, the same model Sid Vicious used to play—not that you’d ever admit that’s why you bought it. The neck has a gouge near the third fret from when you threw it at a sound tech who deserved it (and missed). The strap is leather, worn smooth where it rests on your shoulder, and the bridge still has flecks of blood from the time you played so hard your fingers split open mid-song. You keep meaning to clean it, but you never do.

You check your phone, which is cracked and sticky with something you don’t want to identify. No new messages, except for a text from your drummer that reads: “u alive?” You don’t bother replying.

-

You’ve been in the band for five years now, though it feels longer. It started as a joke—a group of friends fucking around in someone’s garage, trying to see who could play the loudest, the fastest, the most obnoxious. Somewhere along the way, it became serious. There was a DIY EP, recorded in one manic weekend on borrowed gear, and a string of gigs in dingy pubs where the audiences were more interested in drinking than listening. Then came the break—a slot supporting a bigger band, one of those industry darlings who’d already started to hate themselves for selling out. The kind of band that wears matching outfits ironically, even though everyone knows it’s not ironic at all.

Now, you play sold-out shows to crowds who scream your lyrics back at you, though most of them probably couldn’t name your second album. Your face has been on the cover of Kerrang! twice, though you didn’t bother reading the articles. You hate interviews, but you do them anyway because your manager insists. You’re better at the photoshoots—smirking at the camera in a way that suggests you don’t care (you do).

The band is your life, though you wouldn’t call it that. Calling it your life makes it sound like you have some sort of plan, and you don’t. You’re just here, playing gigs and writing songs and doing whatever it takes to keep the wheels from falling off.

Your bandmates are a mixed bag of personalities, each one a walking caricature in their own way. There’s Matt, the drummer, who swears he’s been abducted by aliens and won’t shut up about it. Alex, the lead guitarist, is constantly high and insists on bringing his cat on tour, which you find deeply annoying. And then there’s Holly, the singer, who somehow manages to be both the most chaotic and the most responsible member of the group. She’s the one who organises rehearsals, books the studio time, and keeps you all from self-destructing entirely. You love her for it, even if you’d never say it out loud.

The girl in the kitchen finishes her cereal, rinses the bowl, and leaves without saying goodbye. You watch her go, not because you care but because there’s nothing else to do. When the door slams shut, the flat feels even smaller, like the walls are pressing in on you. You stub out your cigarette, grab your bass, and leave too.

-

Outside, London is already alive, though you wouldn’t call it awake. The streets are sticky from last night—spilled pints and kebab wrappers crushed into the pavement, cigarette butts floating in puddles of something that smells suspiciously like piss. The air has that distinct urban flavour: exhaust fumes mingling with fryer grease and the faint tang of wet concrete. You pull your leather jacket tighter around you, not because it’s cold (it is), but because it completes the look.

The jacket is vintage—or at least you tell people it is. In reality, you bought it at a high-street shop three years ago, and it’s held up surprisingly well, considering the abuse it’s endured. The lining is torn, the cuffs are frayed, and there’s a mysterious stain on the back you can’t quite place. But it’s yours, and it feels like armour. The boots, on the other hand, are real vintage: a pair of Dr Martens from the ‘90s you found in a thrift shop in Brighton. They’re scuffed to hell, and the left one squeaks when you walk, but you refuse to replace them because they’re authentic.

You head toward the Tube station, your bass slung over one shoulder like a soldier carrying a rifle. People stare, but only briefly. In London, no one has the energy to care for long. The morning commuters are a mix of suits and students, their faces blank, their eyes glazed over as they clutch takeaway coffees in one hand and their phones in the other. You feel out of place but also weirdly superior, like you’ve cracked some code they haven’t even realised exists yet.

You hop on the Northern line, ignoring the signs that politely request passengers to “refrain from eating or drinking.” You’re not eating or drinking, but you do pull out a cigarette, which is arguably worse. It’s a roll-up, so you convince yourself it doesn’t count. An old woman glares at you, clutching her handbag like she thinks you’re about to mug her. You offer her a crooked smile, which she does not return, and you put the cigarette back in your pocket because she reminds you of your nan.

The train screeches into motion, and you pull out your phone. The lock screen is a photo of your bass, which says a lot about you. There are a few notifications—mostly spam emails and an unread message from Holly: Rehearsal at 2. Don’t be late, dickhead.

You glance at the time. 11:47 a.m. Plenty of time.

-

The rehearsal space is in Camden, a dingy basement that smells of mildew and unwashed socks. The walls are lined with egg cartons painted black in a half-hearted attempt at soundproofing, and the floor is sticky for reasons you’d rather not think about. The room has seen better days—probably in the ‘80s, when it was still a nightclub and not a haven for struggling musicians. There’s a single fluorescent bulb overhead that flickers ominously, and a space heater in the corner that’s never worked.

Holly is already there when you arrive, tuning her guitar with the precision of someone who takes this far more seriously than you do. She’s wearing a denim jacket covered in patches for bands you’ve never heard of, her hair tied back in a messy ponytail. She looks up as you walk in, her expression equal parts exasperation and relief.

“Christ, you smell like an ashtray,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

“It’s called branding,” you reply, dropping your bass onto the floor with a thud.

Matt and Alex show up ten minutes later, looking even worse than you do. Matt has the kind of face that always looks slightly hungover, even when he’s not, and Alex is wearing the same shirt he wore yesterday, now with an impressive new stain across the front.

The rehearsal starts late, as it always does, and quickly descends into chaos. Matt insists on playing a drum solo during every song, despite the fact that no one asked for it. Alex keeps stopping mid-riff to check his phone, claiming he’s “waiting for an important call,” though everyone knows it’s just his dealer. Holly shouts at both of them until her voice cracks, then turns her frustration on you for being “completely fucking useless.” You take it in stride, plucking random notes on your bass and pretending to care.

-

At some point, Holly storms out, leaving the three of you to your own devices. Matt immediately pulls out a joint, which Alex lights with a lighter shaped like a naked woman. You lean back against the wall, your bass resting against your thigh, and watch as they argue over which fast-food place to hit up after rehearsal.

“McDonald’s is closer,” Alex says, taking a drag.

“But KFC’s got the gravy,” Matt counters, waving his arms for emphasis.

“It’s not even real gravy,” Alex snaps.

“None of it’s real,” you interject, flicking ash onto the floor. “We’re all just cogs in the capitalist machine.”

They stare at you for a moment, then go back to arguing.

-

By the time rehearsal ends, it’s dark outside. You pack up your gear, ignoring Holly’s death glare as she reminds you for the millionth time that you need to take this more seriously. You nod, mumble something about “artistic integrity,” and leave before she can yell at you again.

Back on the street, the air is crisp, the kind of cold that bites at your skin and makes you wish you’d brought a scarf. You light another cigarette, even though you’ve already smoked half a pack today, and head toward the pub.

The pub is your sanctuary, a place where time slows down and the only thing that matters is the next round. It’s a dive, the kind of place where the carpet sticks to your shoes and the jukebox is permanently stuck on a rotation of The Clash and The Smiths. You know the bartender by name, though you’re not sure if he knows yours.

You order a pint and settle into a corner booth, your bass case propped up beside you. The first sip is like a warm hug, washing away the stress of the day. You’re halfway through your second pint when you see her.

-

You don’t notice her at first. Not properly. She’s part of the blur—the dim bar lights catching on glasses, the low hum of half-drunken conversation, the vague sense that you’ve been here before even if you haven’t. She’s leaning against the counter, waiting for her drink, and it’s not until the bartender—a man whose name might be Pete but who you’re pretty sure is just “Oi, mate” to everyone who comes in—hands her a gin and tonic that you actually see her.

And it’s a gin and tonic. Not a lager, not a rum and coke, not something ironic like a snakebite or one of those craft beers with names like Hops and Robbers. It’s a G&T, clean and crisp, with a slice of lime balanced on the rim like it’s posing for a stock photo. The glass is crystal clear, and so are her nails—short, practical, painted the sort of soft pink that suggests she doesn’t chew them during stressful moments (unlike you). She takes the drink with both hands, like she’s steadying herself, and there’s something about that—the deliberateness of it—that hooks you.

You tell yourself you’re just looking because she’s there. Because it’s either her or the guy at the next table who’s been droning on about Bitcoin for twenty minutes straight. But it’s more than that. There’s a stillness to her, an odd kind of clarity that doesn’t fit in a place like this, like she’s wandered in from a parallel universe.

She turns slightly, and you catch her profile: sharp nose, strong jawline, cheekbones that could cut glass but probably wouldn’t because she seems far too polite. Her hair is blonde—not platinum, not peroxide, but the kind of natural gold that makes you think of expensive shampoo and childhood summers. It’s tied back loosely, wisps framing her face in a way that seems accidental but probably isn’t.

She’s not wearing makeup. Or maybe she is, but it’s the invisible kind—the kind that takes forty-five minutes to apply but looks like you’ve just rolled out of bed looking flawless. Her jumper is navy, oversized enough to suggest she might have nicked it from someone else’s wardrobe, paired with jeans that sit perfectly at her hips without being skinny. On her feet are white trainers—clean, like freshly ironed bedsheets—Adidas, the classic three stripes in black, laces tied neatly, no fraying ends.

You’re staring. You know you are. But she hasn’t noticed, so it doesn’t count.

The bartender mutters something to her, and she laughs. Not the loud, performative laugh you hear from most people in bars, but something softer, like it’s meant for her and her alone. The sound is so out of place in this dingy pub that it feels almost sacrilegious, like someone’s brought a cathedral choir to sing in a nightclub.

You tell yourself to look away. You don’t.

Instead, you light a cigarette, even though the pub is strictly non-smoking. You do it for the aesthetic, the same way you do most things. There’s a half-empty pint in front of you—lager, flat and warm, probably with someone else’s fingerprints on the glass—but you take a sip anyway, because what else are you going to do?

She turns then, her gaze sweeping the room, and you’re caught like a deer in headlights. For a second, you think she’s looking at you, but she’s not. She’s looking past you, at the dartboard on the wall behind your head. Her expression is curious, like she’s trying to figure out why anyone would bother playing darts in a place like this.

Then her eyes meet yours, and the world tilts.

It’s not love at first sight, not really. Love at first sight is for Disney films and Hallmark cards and people who shop at Waitrose without looking at the prices. This is something else. Recognition, maybe. Like you’ve seen her before in a dream or a half-remembered story someone told you once. Like you’ve spent your whole life waiting for this moment without knowing it.

She holds your gaze for a second longer than is polite. Then she looks away, back at her gin and tonic, and you realise you’ve been holding your breath.

-

You don’t approach her right away. That would be too obvious, too predictable. Instead, you wait, watching her out of the corner of your eye while pretending to scroll through your phone. It’s a shitty phone, cracked and outdated, but you’ve never bothered upgrading because you secretly enjoy the low expectations it sets. No one looks at you and expects success when your phone screen is held together with Sellotape.

She moves to a table in the corner, near the radiator, and sits down alone. No book, no laptop, no visible excuse to be here other than the gin and tonic in her hand. She sips it slowly, methodically, like she’s savouring it. Like she’s savouring this.

You wonder what her story is.

Is she waiting for someone? A friend, a boyfriend, a clandestine meeting with a lover? Or is she just one of those people who can sit alone in public without feeling like a target? You’ve never understood that kind of confidence—the kind that lets you exist without an audience, without a role to play.

You take another sip of your pint, then decide, fuck it.

You stand, grab your bass (because leaving it behind would feel like abandoning a child), and make your way across the room. Your boots squeak against the sticky floor, and you curse them under your breath. She looks up as you approach, her expression unreadable.

“Mind if I join you?” you ask, gesturing vaguely at the empty chair across from her.

She hesitates, just for a moment, then nods.

“Sure.”

Her voice is soft, but not shy. Measured. Like she’s weighing every word before she says it.

You sit, placing your bass case carefully against the table leg. For a moment, neither of you speaks. You’re not sure what to say, and she seems content to let the silence stretch. It’s not uncomfortable, exactly, but it’s not easy, either.

Finally, she breaks it.

“You’re in a band,” she says, nodding toward the bass. It’s not a question.

You smile. “Yeah. What gave it away?”

She raises an eyebrow, and you realise it’s a stupid question.

“What’s the band called?”

You tell her, and she nods, like she’s vaguely heard of it but couldn’t name a single song.

“I’m Alessia,” she says, holding out her hand. Her grip is firm, her skin warm.

“Nice to meet you,” you reply, and for the first time in a long time, you actually mean it.

[lovebugism]

u ask for shy!reader here i come holding a request

shy reader who is used to ppl telling them they look better without glasses, only for steve to find out they actually do very much need them, especially to read

so steve finally encourages them to wear them more and make sure to tell them how cute they look with them

hi, angel! thanks for ur request! fellow glasses-wearers rise! (1.4k)

Six months, five days, and twelve hours — that’s how long Steve’s been your boyfriend. Not that he’s counting, of course. It takes him the same amount of time to find out that you wear glasses.

He always knew your vision wasn’t the greatest. You complained about it from time to time — the headaches and the blurriness — but he never thought it was bad because you never made a big deal about it. He figured it was more existential than urgent, the idea that you might need glasses in the future if your eyes ever worsened. 

He didn’t know they were already worse. 

It’s your first movie night together — “the first of many,” Steve lilted when he sat down on the couch beside you, with a bowl of popcorn in his hand and a kiss on your cheek. He liked the idea of that, of having a tradition with you. He liked knowing that a section of his busy week could be carved out just for the both of you.

And it’s not like you’ve never watched a movie together before. It’s just that usually, there are about five teenagers sandwiched between the two of you, not including Robin and Nancy. 

The former always insists on sitting on Steve’s left and only occasionally sharing her popcorn. The latter sits next to you and, halfway through the film, has already managed to convince you to leave with her and do something more fun.

But now, at eight o’clock, tucked tenderly away in your apartment, it’s just the two of you. 

And your terrible, terrible eyesight.

A quarter of the way through Beetlejuice, Steve catches you squinting at the television across the room.

You’re all wrapped up in his arms, lying on your sides on the small couch. Steve keeps you pressed against him to stop you from falling off the edge of it. One of his arms curls around your stomach and the other is balled into a fist to prop up his head.

He looks down at you, already smiling, and with a “Be honest, would you fuck Michael Keaton as Beetlejuice?” on the tip of his tongue. It fades when he notices your eyes are halfway closed.

For a second, he thinks you might be falling asleep. He can tell by your scrunched nose and quirked mouth that it’s something else entirely.

His hand squeezes your hip to get your attention. “Babe? You okay?”

“Huh?” you hum as you turn to him. The furrow between your brows dissipates when your eyes open to their fullest again.

“You’re squinting.”

Your mouth falls softly agape, as though in slight surprise. 

You hadn’t noticed it, really. You hardly ever do, but it’s been happening a lot more recently.

Just a week ago, Nancy pointed out how closely you held her newspaper to your face while trying to read it. After that, Dustin had been trying to show you a new VHS at Family Video but had to come about ten steps closer for you to see what it was.

“Oh. I didn’t realize…”

“Do you have a headache?” Steve asks, bushy brows pinched in concern. “Do you wanna turn the movie off?”

You shake your head against the pillow. “No. It’s fine.”

“Is it your eyes again? Can you see—”

“Yes, Steve,” you interject, laughing gently. “I can see the screen.”

“What’s the time say, then?”

“I can see,” you argue in a non-answer.

“Humor me.”

You huff. Then squint again.

The red numbers below the TV stand are mush. Your eyes try hopelessly to focus on them. With what you lack in eyesight, you make up for with confidence. “Nine… Thirty-six…” you answer with a nonchalant shrug.

Steve sputters out a laugh that fans against your cheek. He shakes his head in pity. “Babe…”

“What?”

“That’s not even close! It’s eight-fifty-five!” he chuckles with a pink smile and sparkling honey eyes. 

You roll your eyes at him in response. He leans down to kiss your cheek when you turn away from him again. 

“You gotta make an appointment to get your eyes checked, babe. You can’t just go through life not being able to see anything—”

“I have glasses,” you mumble.

“What? Since when?”

“I don’t know. Since, like, middle school,” you shrug. “I just don’t wear them.”

Steve, halfway offended, gapes at you in response. “…Why didn’t I know about this?”

“’Cause I don’t like wearing them. They make my eyes look funny. I hate it.”

“Where are they?”

“In my bedroom—” you answer absentmindedly, then whine when he starts to get up. “Steve, don’t! I’m comfortable!” 

“I’ll be right back,” the boy promises.

He shoves the covers down and climbs over your legs to get off the couch. He presses another kiss to your cheeks before he goes, like he can’t stand the idea of not kissing you every chance he gets.

He finds your glasses in a thin leather case in your desk drawer. They’re simple, rounded things — rimmed with silver and pretty in their minimalism. He rushes them back to you with a boyish excitement fluttering like a butterfly in his chest.

No one’s ever been this thrilled to see someone in a pair of glasses.

He beams at you when he hurries back into the living room.

You’ve already sat up against the back of the couch, not nearly as comfortable without Steve holding you. Your knees are brought up to your chest, the knitted blanket through over them and bunched at your lap. You meet his grin with a childlike scowl.

“Here. Put ‘em on,” he says, motioning the glasses to you.

“No,” you whine, flopping your head back against the couch.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Steve laughs. “They’re just glasses.”

“I don’t like them!”

“Why?” 

“‘Cause they make me look weird!”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Well, ask everyone who’s ever seen me in them,” you retort, halfway pouting. “I got made fun of for, like, six years when I wore them to school. Everyone called me Turtle until I graduated.”

A grin pulls at Steve’s lips. “Turtle?”

You nod shyly, looking at him through your lashes and trying not to smile back. “Yeah. ‘Cause I looked like Toby Turtle from Robin Hood—”

Steve doesn’t mean to laugh. It just sort of comes out. A big, boyish, hearty chuckle sputters from his mouth before he can stop it.

“Don’t laugh!” you scold, giggling alongside him.

“Well, now you have to put them on.”

Steve inches toward you with the glasses in hand. You don’t protest when he slips the sides over your ears and uses the knuckle of his forefinger to push them up the bridge of your nose. 

He steps back to admire you with a grin. Your girlish pout has returned to you, but it doesn’t look nearly as intimidating when you’re blinking up at him with unusually large eyes.

He shakes his head down at you. “You’re the cutest damn thing I’ve ever seen, you know that?”

“Don’t lie,” you grouse. “I look like a bug.”

“Correction: the cutest bug.” 

He laughs when it makes you glower. 

He steps to the side and points to the clock again. “Can you see the time now?”

You look at it, then back to him. “Yeah… ’S Time for you to go home,” you deadpan.

“When’d you get so mean?” Steve lilt, beaming at you as he settles on the couch again. 

The two of you absentmindedly crawl back into your original positions. He lounges behind you and clutches you to his chest again. “You used to be so nice, Toby Turtle—”

“Don’t,” you protest, halfway smiling despite the glare you give him. You look almost owlish behind the thick lenses. "It's not funny."

“I’m just kidding, babe,” he promises. He sprinkles kisses to your face and laughs into each one. “I love them. I swear.”

“I’m glad someone does,” you murmur.

Steve pulls back with a grin, toeing the line between sincerity and mischief. “I’ll show how much I like ‘em later,” he teases quietly, squeezing the outside of your thigh where his hand rests. “I have a feeling I’m gonna have a lot of fun with these tonight.”

Your face heats at his words. Your nose scrunches, feigning disgust as you push him away.

“Perv,” you mumble, crossing your arms over your chest and turning so your back is pressed against him again.

“I thought Toby Turtle was supposed to be nice—”

“Steve!”